Page 62 of Backslide
His own lips part, then meet again, as he processes this.
“What about you?” she asks, her eyes searching his face. “High?”
He pauses. Considers his answer. “It’s zero low too.”
“What?!” she says in disbelief. “No! I don’t buy that for a second. How is that possible?”
He tick-tocks his head. Brings a hand up to cover his eyes, embarrassed though their answers aren’t different. “The same way it’s possible for you?”
She shakes her head. “No way. There have been so many more girls for you—like, I know that.Everyoneknows that.”
“Yeah,” he says. “For other things. But not… for this.”
They’re silent for a minute, searching each other’s eyes.
“Well, good,” she says finally. “No time like the present. Let’s do this.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Condom?”
“Sabrina has. In her bedside table. Her mom gave them to her ‘just in case.’?”
“But—are you sure?” he asks. “I could plan something more… special.”
She gazes into his earthy eyes; he gazes into her overcast ones. “Thisisspecial.”
Noah searches Nellie’s face for any sign of doubt. Finds none. “Okay, then,” he says, nuzzling her as he rolls her fully onto her back beneath him. She squeals, laughing.
He kisses his way down her long neck, past her collarbones, between her breasts, to her belly. Then, slowly, he slides her Victoria’s Secret underwear all the way off, past her ankles, heels, and toes. He returns to hover above her, eyes full of a new kind of focus. “Let’s do this.”
13NELLIETODAY
After the visit to town, I beg to be dropped off before the rest of the group heads to dinner. And when I get back to the room alone, I flop onto my bed—careful-ish of my shoulder—and pass the fuck out.
The combo of the gummy, heat, wine, and stress has officially done me in.
I sleep through the organic pizza feast. I sleep through the drinks. And, when I wake up, in a foggy disoriented state, it’s pitch-dark out, the chirp of crickets the only sound. And I get the sense that even they’re the last insects at the party.
I reach over and grab my phone. It’s after 1 a.m. And, unfortunately, I am ravenous.
I haven’t eaten since the Cheerios.
I stand up and pad over to a side table by the door where I’ve dumped my snack bag from the plane and retrieve a raspberry jam oat bar. It will have to suffice, along with those salted caramel truffles I’ve been eyeing. Beside the bag slouches the organic market tote from Noah.
Right!
Unwrapping and demolishing the bar, I carry the tote over to the bed to forage through it for my meds. But inside I find so much more than I expected.
There’s a prescription anti-inflammatory. A pain medication, as promised, too. But there’s also arnica cream, a cold pack, Epsom salts, and a heating pad—which I celebrate like it’s a new car.
Yesssss.
