Page 109 of Backslide
Even in the dim light, his hazel eyes sparkle with a badness that ramps up my heart rate.
“You feeling okay?” he whispers, leaning over me, his lips parted.
“Pretty good actually,” I say, my voice a rasp. “Right now.”
“Right,” he says. “But I should make sure—don’t you think? That you’re okay?”
I’m about to protest because, is he going to pause hooking up to check out my arm? But then he slips his hand inside my pants and between my legs.
His fingers roam so gently I might scream.
Instead, I gasp. At least I think it’s me. And he groans. My hand squeezes the banister as he presses his fingers inside me. Because, if I haven’t already, surely I’m about to fall—hard.
I am dead. Or I don’t care if I am. If this is it, I’m okay with that.
Time is no longer a thing. Space is what I don’t want between us.
My body is trembling, pulsing—like we’re back in that club where we first saw each other and I am the bass. I reach for him too. Try ineffectually to pull at his pants, but he’s tied the drawstring tight.
Who ties the drawstring?
And that’s when Noah pauses for a second, despite my protests, leaning hot and heavy against me, and says, “Condom?”
I shake my head. “I’m on the pill. You?”
“I should be good—all clear and no one since Avery.”
“Clean bill of health for me too,” I say.
He narrows his eyes and cocks his head. “We’ll see about that.”
The doctor is in.
21NOAHTODAY
There is life after death. And it’s in West Marin.
Because we have been resuscitated. Brought back from the brink.
That’s what I decide as I lead Nell through the dark into the bedroom. Pull her down onto the platform bed. Finally drag those sweatpants down her smooth legs and throw them in a corner—so that now I’ve got all of her.
It’s faint with all the clouds, but there is a feeble moonbeam falling through the small windows. It bounces off her skin like a circle light, making her glow.
Despite the shadows, I can see her lips are a little swollen from all the kissing. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes have a dreamy quality, though they’re also laser-focused on me.
I hover over her, holding myself up on my forearms.
“Poor Mike,” I say.
“Why?”
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Hmm,” she says, shooting me a wicked smile. “I think he does though.”
And as I dive for her, she giggles, wrapping herself around me. I let myself drop to one side, so we’re entangled, lying facing each other. I run a hand slowly up her bare side because I can—her thigh, her curved hip, the ridges of her rib cage. I cup her breast, my thumb brushing back and forth, as she closes her eyes and arches against me.
I am fucking toast. And not just for tonight. I know it then as I watch her not watch me.
