Page 75 of Dropping In

Brooks nods, gulping down his beer and signaling for another. Then he leans on the bar with me. “What if you can, and you get to spend the rest of your life holding onto the one girl you’ve always wanted?” The bartender puts his beer down and he stands. “Nobody’s guaranteed anything, Mal, but we all get a chance to fight. And you’re one of the toughest motherfuckers I know. So fight.”

+ + +

I chew on Brooks’s words the entire reception, limiting myself to only one more beer. Eventually, I let it all go enough to enjoy the day, because Jacks is my brother, and whatever is going on in my head, I want to remember this day for him.

“And for me,” I think, as I slow dance with Nala, her arms wrapped around my neck, her head resting close to my heart, our bodies pressed together in a perfect line. This, right here, makes me believe Brooks is right. Walking away is not an option. It never was.

Living up to her? Being the man she needs? That’s scary. But if it means coming home to her every night and having that wedding on the beach someday? I’ll work harder than I’ve ever worked in my life.

Wrapping Nala tighter, I press my lips to the top of her head, drawing her scent into my lungs, bending a little so I can brush my nose along her cheek, her jaw, her neck. My body starts to harden, and I give in to it for just a second, letting the desire that I’ve put on lockdown the past couple of weeks course through me, letting the feel of Nala take me down the rabbit hole that is just her and me and the pleasure we make when we’re together.

“Mal,” she murmurs, hands wandering to my hair.

“Hmm?” I move to the juncture where her neck and shoulder meet, the gentle curve perfect for sinking my teeth into. I hold back that thought, running my nose along it instead. I want her so much it hurts. Mixed with that hurt is a deep-seated kind of fear, one that took root the night she admitted she told me everything, the night I pieced together not just what happened, but how. I can’t stop wanting, Nala, can’t stop my body from reacting to hers. But I also can’t battle back the fear that I’m going to do something that will hurt her, or make her remember.

It’s shut me down, made me so I don’t want to touch her because not touching her is easier than ever, ever thinking I’ve reminded her of that kind of horror.

She arches her back, the small amount of space I put between us closing, the hard rod between my legs now growing impatiently, doing its best to split through the zipper of my pants. My breath halts, especially when her hands yank just a little too hard on my hair, controlling me, bringing me down to her mouth, to her level—commanding me when she runs her lips over mine.

She swallows my groan, licking it straight from my mouth, and I pull back abruptly, sweat dotting my brow, lungs heaving like I’ve just run a marathon.

“Nala.” Her name croaks past my lips, which are suddenly dry and unable to form more words than her name.

She tries to press closer, and I hold her inches away, knowing that if she touches me again, I might explode.

“Don’t shut me out,” she says, eyes wide and honest. “I know that this is hard…that what I told you, it makes you think of me differently.” My heart jolts, and I watch her straighten her shoulders, blinking furiously until her eyes are clear of anything but that bright blue courage. “If you don’t want me anymore, you have to tell me. Because I still want you, Malcolm, and it hurts me when you won’t touch me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The words feel like they are ripped from me, exploding out of my chest, but they’re barely a whisper. The music has changed, and people all around us are twisting and turning, their feet moving a mile a minute, but I’m standing in front of Nala, holding her eyes with mine, while we both break a little more. “I want you, every hour of every day. There’s nothing I want more than you,” I tell her, and I feel the fight come back. There’s still fear, but I’m exactly what Brooks called me: a tough motherfucker, and nothing, not even the fear of being left behind, is going to take this from me.

“I want you,” I say, almost fiercely. “But I don’t know how to touch you…why you would want me to.”

Her eyes don’t fill, there are no tears and no shame. Instead, color blooms high on her cheeks, the same pink she gets when I’m inside of her and she’s seconds from coming. And then she steps closer, pushing past my arms and lining us up again so she can feel all of me, and I can feel all of her.

“Because no one touches me like you. Not even when I was dreaming about you and what it might be like if you one day loved me.” She stands on her toes, tilting her chin up and resting her hands at my hips. “You love me, Malcolm.” I nod, bewitched by her, by her words, by the images she has painted. “So show me.”

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