WITHOUT YOU (STRIPPED) (7 page)

“I don’t have any protection,” I whisper, breaking the silence of the room. With a devilish grin twisting her mouth, she wiggles out from my hold then kneels before me.

“Guess we’ll have to improvise then.”

Just her face this close to me, her hot breath stroking my skin like the measured exhale of a predator within reach of its prey hardens me in seconds. She licks her lips, and I slam my eyes shut just as she takes me into her mouth. Fireworks of orange and red burst behind my closed eyes as her tongue runs up and down the length of me.

Holy…

Oh…

Yes.

The rhythm of her mouth gradually increases and, seeing her beneath me, wet hair caressing her shoulders, muscles strained with intense concentration, coaxes out the surge of pleasure well before I want it to.  

“We should…do that…every day,” I say, gasping for breaths in between. She shimmies up my boxers to their proper place then kisses her way up my stomach and neck. Lips to my ear, in a voice so low I almost don’t hear, she says, “I’m going to miss this so much.”

Warily I lean back, meeting my gaze to hers. “
Miss
this? What are you talking about?”

“When you go to Costa Rica.” A slow blink does nothing to disguise the sudden glisten in her eyes. “I’m going to miss this—you…every glorious inch of you.” She forces a smile and, just like that, the balloon of ecstasy in my chest deflates.

“I’m not taking the internship, Quinn. I decided last night.”

“You have to.”

“No.” My voice hardens. “I don’t.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to leave you.”

Abruptly, she steps to the side and out of my reach. “You’re an idiot if you think staying for me is the right decision.”

“It
is
the right decision! You need me, and you’re too stubborn to admit it! I saw it in your eyes that night at the beach. And last night. You’re scared to lose someone you love again. Say it out loud, Quinn. Say you don’t want to lose me.”

“Are you delusional? Of course I don’t want you to go! And of course I’ll hate to be apart for months! But goddamnit if I’m the one who’s gonna hold you back. I don’t want that stain on my hands so don’t you dare use me as your fucking excuse.” She reaches for her bra then turns for the door with a pointed glance over her shoulder. “And by the way, saying you don’t want to leave me is a hell of a difference from wanting to
stay
with me. Don’t think I didn’t catch that. So if that’s your reason—to
not leave me
—then forget wasting your time. I don’t need your sympathy.” Silent footsteps carry her out of the locker room then across the rubber mats in the pool area.

“I do want to stay with you,” I call after her.

“Too late, Torrin.” Another few steps and she’s disappeared into the shadows beyond the pool.

“Fuck!” My bare foot slams into the wall, and every cell below my ankle ignites with fire. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I don’t know what’s happening between us. All this fighting, this relentless push and pull of misery masked with the occasional stint of bliss. What happened to before? When our only troubles were dealing with a random scheduling issue, or deciding where to eat?

Will we ever get
that
back?

I close my eyes against the feeling that the whole building is pressing down on my chest, at the same time remembering something Quinn said to me when we first met.

Only those who avoid love can avoid grief.

Her reasons for avoiding love were different back then; she thought her sister killed herself over a guy, but…I don’t know, maybe Quinn was on to something: staying miles away from the one thing that’s capable of making her feel like she’s actually dying. Make
me
feel like I’m dying. Like my heart’s being ripped from my chest. Hollowing me out, emptying my veins until nothing but a fragile shell is left behind.

I rest my forehead against the locker, my hot breath mingling with cold metal. Water drips down my back, the ghost of a touch like one of Quinn’s fingertips. The whisper of her breath I may never feel again.

The heel of my palm slams numbly into the locker, echoing an angry blow throughout the small, stuffy room. No one’s around so I do it again. And again. I don’t know who to hate more; I don’t know who to blame for this ugliness inside me.

My hand balls into a fist, ready to strike again when, suddenly, Quinn’s tiny hands grab my wrists. I flinch at her touch, the way her soft fingers squeeze and restrain against the last bit of will that courses through my body. Dressed now, she looks up at me, eyes and lips flat and unsmiling.

“Torrin,” she whispers, stepping closer. Her leg brushes mine and if it were anyone else, I’d fight. Push away. Leave.

But not with her.

Never her.

“Please don’t say anything,” I say. More words linger under my breath, jagged and raw.

I love you.

You are my everything.

Don’t walk away.

I look into her eyes, try to memorize them without the glisten of tears and etch of lines crawling out from the corners…blurring through my own tears. She blinks, and a tiny teardrop slides onto her cheek.

“Torrin,” she says, louder and with more strength. Taking a deep breath she squares her shoulders, letting her arms fall to her sides and looks me dead-on—cold and hard just like the first time I met her. “You can’t stay.”

“Goddamnit, Quinn. I’m not leaving you!”

Eyes wide, she eases a step back.

I inhale a measured breath, focus on lowering my voice and continue. “Don’t you see? You are far more important than any job—photography or not.” I slide my fingers between hers and gesture to the opening between us. “This, right here…
us
…I’m not willing to give up. I don’t want to go.”

A short, soundless moment pulses—long enough that I think she might be accepting my words—until she blinks and says, “Have you ever heard yourself talk about photography? The passion in your voice, Torrin, it’s unmistakable. It’s the type of passion that drives people like you to go on and do amazing things with their talent.” A look of finality washes over her face, erasing every bit of feeling from her features. “Not something to be wasted on me.”

She heads for the door to the hallway, the edges of her skirt clinging to her still-damp skin. The door swishes closed behind her, and I let my eyes drift to the moisture-stained ceiling. 

My head against the wall, I close my eyes. Is what she said true? I’m trying to stay because I don’t want to leave her here alone? Instead of wanting to stay to be with her?

But she’s not alone. She’s got her family a few miles away, her roommate, Nikki, who should be back from Vermont any day now, other friends in her dorm…

Quietly, I pad into the pool room, get dressed, and retrieve my phone. I hit redial on the New York number from yesterday. The line rings twice, and then a squeaky voice answers.

“Ms. Mann?”

“This is she.”

“This is Torrin Kingsley. I’ve made my decision.”

June 1
st

Welcome to Traveler Magazine.
Jackie Mann’s words have been haunting me for the last week and a half, escorted by the unrelenting feeling that I’m going to throw up. I don’t know if it’s the right decision. But Quinn was right; this is an opportunity most people will never get. And I have to try.

“Dude, you’re gonna be late.” A hand slaps my shoulder, and I pry my gaze from the very spot Quinn and I last kissed: the wall beside the lockers. I try not to notice the glisten of water just beyond the brown door as I turn toward Andrew, though I can’t help but remember the smile on Quinn’s face as she dove in that day of the festival.

Andrew adjusts the strap of his workout bag on his shoulder. “There’s a Quarters tournament over at the TKE house tonight. What time is Sal gonna let you off?”

“Not ’til nine. I’m not really in the mood to drink though, so have fun without me.”

“Hold up.” He blocks the small opening between locker rows with an extended arm. “What’s got you so jacked up? Did you and your girl break up or something?”

I haven’t talked to anyone about the distance that’s grown between Quinn and me since I told her I accepted the internship. The way we haven’t broken up, but slowly let a forest of protected feelings sprout in that budding space. I still visit Loyola at night, but instead of fooling around with her or taking a field trip to the beach, we’ve sat on her bed regurgitating a vague description of our day, watched a TV show or two, then I headed back to my dorm.

Not exactly the ideal way to spend the last few weeks we have together.

“We haven’t broken up, yet,” I tell Andrew and start for the door.

“Yet?” Wrinkles crawl across his forehead as he jumps a step to catch up with me. “But you plan to?”

“We’ve only been together two months. Not exactly grounds for a long distance relationship. Besides, I can’t expect her to just sit around and wait for me to get back. If she wants to see someone else, I’m not going to stop her.” 

His eyes focus on the main hall of the gym for a moment. Then he looks at me, wide-eyed as if he just came up with the most brilliant idea and, I have to admit, even I—for a millisecond—feel a tiny bubble of hope rise up in my chest. Until he says, “Who says she couldn’t go with you?” He shoves his back against the door and holds it open for me. We spill out onto the path, the summer storm above still drizzling rain down upon us.

“I can’t ask her to drop everything here in California to live in another country with me for half the year.”

He shrugs, sticking out his tongue to catch a few water drops. “Why not? What’s keeping her here?”

“I don’t know. Family? School? Her job? I’m sure there are plenty of reasons she wouldn’t want to come. On top of that, she couldn’t afford it and would never let me pay for her.” He gives me a puzzled look, and I explain, “She’s a little stubborn when it comes to borrowing money.”

“Okay, so what if she got a job out there to pay for it? Or got an internship like you? I don’t know, it just seems like you two are giving up way too easily.” A soft punch lands on my shoulder. “Not really your style, Kingsley.”

~*~

Not my style. Andrew was right. Giving up so easily isn’t my style.

The evening shift at Sal’s is slow, allowing plenty of time to scour the internet with my phone in search of the perfect solution. Fifteen minutes to closing, the bell on the door jingles and, before I can look up, Quinn is behind the counter, her hands wrapped tightly around my neck, the words, “I’m so sorry,” spewing over and over from her lips.

I bury my head into the side of her neck, inhaling the sweet bubblegum scent I’ve craved for the past week. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who’s been an ass.”

“We both have. And whether you’re leaving or not, I don’t want to spend our last few weeks mad at each other.”

Mad?

I lift her up to the assembly counter and take her face in my hands. “Babe, I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

“Not even for calling you an idiot?”

I kiss her, every nerve in my lips jolting alive at the taste of her. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve called me,” I mumble against her mouth. “Besides, I think I figured out a way to make this work.” From the counter, I grab my phone and show her the career finder page I’d been browsing. “I know you’d object to coming to Costa Rica with me on my expense, so I found a list of jobs you can apply for. There are a lot of restaurant openings, from sous-chefs to waitresses. And I found an internship, too, at a pretty well-known restaurant in one of the resorts only a few miles from where I’ll be staying. With all these choices, I’m sure you’ll land something. We can start applying tonight.”

Her eyes, flicking between the phone’s screen and mine start to fill with tears. Fingering the edge of my apron, she inhales a deep breath, holds it for at least five full seconds then sighs.  

“You know I would love to work in a restaurant, especially as a sous-chef,” she says, her voice shaking and on the verge of breaking. “And I can’t believe you would take the time to find all these for me. But…” She shakes her head. “I can’t leave my job. I promised Mr. Hunter when I begged for my position back that he would have me unconditionally for the next year. It’s only been a few weeks. I can’t bail on him again. He’d never forgive me. And I’d never forgive myself for blowing him off.” She draws up a watery smile. “I actually kind of like the guy.”

After Quinn quit without notice a few months ago, I can see why she wouldn’t want to leave the art director short of a model again. I let out a sigh. “Yeah. I guess it was a long shot asking you to leave everything for me.”

She leans forward, pressing her lips to my chin and it’s impossible to think that I may not have many more of those before I go. “You know I would go if it weren’t for that.”

I nod, wrapping my arms around her. I do know. “So what do we do now?”

“You go and we try to make it through this. It’s only five months.” Her words are hot whispers against my neck. “And maybe I can even come visit you for a week between the summer and fall quarters. Couples do stuff like this all the time. And I don’t know about you, but I think we’re stronger than most couples.”   

God, I hope so.