Chapter Sixteen: Chemistry
WHEN Nicolette finally exited Harry’s (almost half an hour later than expected), Daniel almost bounced immediately out of his seat and onto the pavement intending to flag her down; but as his hand closed over the door handle, some voyeuristic impulse made him hesitate. She was wearing the same black sheathe dress, only she’d switched from the low heels she’d been wearing the night before to beat up white sneakers, along with a white long-sleeve knit sweater replacing the sheer black cardigan. He suspected she was carrying the cardigan along with her heels in the colorful cloth bag slung under her left arm. She was carrying a paper bag in her left hand, probably her dinner, taken as a perquisite from the kitchen. A very very dubious perquisite, he thought, imagining the mediocre marinara pasta he’d eaten last time he’d been there. While Harry’s was fine once in a while, the thought of having to eat there one or more times a week...he suppressed an involuntary shudder.
Daniel watched as she left the restaurant, turned left and walked the length of two storefronts toward his truck. She paused to lean into the entryway of a small curio shop that normally did a brisk business during the day. He was fascinated, watching her in an unguarded moment when she wasn’t aware she was being observed; he felt as though he was waiting for some hint, some insight into her character that would help him decide what his next move should be. She rummaged in her bag for a moment, before putting her paper bag on the ground as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
When did she take up smoking?, he wondered.
She had been on the track team in high school -- back then, smoking had run counter to her training regimen, which she had followed almost religiously. His momentary chagrin was forgotten as he watched her shake her hair out of her eyes, a gesture that made his throat tighten with its lost familiarity. In the days and weeks after she’d left, it was little things like that which had regularly assailed him in the wee hours of the morning. It was those dark, lonely hours when he’d missed her most acutely: the way she would shake the hair out of eyes; the smell of her conditioner; the furtive way she used to steal food from his plate when she thought he wasn’t looking. He wanted to step out of the truck and fold this familiar stranger into his arms, put all of his existential yearnings to rest...and yet something still held him back.
Nicolette shook out a cigarette, lit it with casual ease that suggested long habit, then breathed out a long plume of smoke to join the hazy, chilly evening. Slowly, she sank against the glass window, leaning her shoulder next to a brightly colored carnival glass lamp on the other side of the storefront glass, then tilted her head until her temple lay against the glass as well. She took another long drag of her cigarette, pausing to swipe her hand over her cheeks at the same moment Daniel realized her eyes were catching too much of the light. She stayed that way for one more drag, then picked up her burdens, intent on continuing her walk.
His stasis broke, her sudden vulnerability giving him the impetus he needed to step out of the car. Not wanting to chase her, he called her name, standing next to his truck while he held the door open. Her reaction surprised him, as her head jerked around, almost causing her to stumble, dropping her lit cigarette to the ground.
She caught her balance, then scanned the street, momentarily unable to place where the call had originated from. Across the street, a man standing next to a big Ford raised his hand. (It can only be Daniel!, her mind supplied reflexively -- the way it had been for every tall, dark haired man seen out of the corner of her eye since Daniel had wandered into Harry’s the night before).
She hesitated, momentarily unsure if she should cross. She could see wariness in the set of his shoulders, his wariness exacerbating hers. She was still unsettled; unsettled from their meeting, and unsettled from that crazy dream she was sure their meeting had subsequently caused. They stared at each other, momentarily frozen into inaction as each waited for the other to give some indication of intent; he waiting to see if she was going to stay or leave, she wondering if he was going to raise his voice at her. In the end, it was the chilly Half Moon Bay weather that broke their momentarily stalemate; a gust of damp ocean air set her to shivering. Daniel smiled tightly, then motioned toward his truck as he called out, “Why don’t I give you a ride? I can get you home a lot more quickly.”
He hesitated before gesturing with his head toward the open door, reluctantly adding, “The heat’s been running,” worried that the admission might suggest he was a stalkery voyeur or something, but hoping the offer of a heated cab would be an added enticement.
Her heart accelerated as she briefly considered his offer; she desperately wanted to study him from a better vantage point, to compare the image she’d memorized from high school with the man standing on the opposite side of the street. She wondered how much he’d changed, and how much of that change had been because she’d run away from home.
She shut the line of thought down, realizing that wallowing in guilt and waxing lachrymose might make things just a little bit awkward. She bit her lip (which brought a more genuine smile to Daniel's lips), then crossed the street after checking left and right.
He’s taller, she thought, as she compared the man standing in front of her to the image in her memory; and big, she thought, contemplating that he’d added muscle to his torso since she’d left. He’d filled out a little bit, the thought leaving her feeling surprisingly sad and disappointed; he had come more fully into his own while she was gone; she had missed being a part of it.
He noted her sorrow, puzzled by it, then smiled as he walked to the passenger’s side and opened the door for her as he used to back in high school. She chuckled, her sadness momentarily driven back by the familiar gesture as she realized she had unconsciously paused by the door, waiting for him out of dusty, but deeply ingrained habit. She was aware of his careful movements, as if he was afraid any sudden movement would scare her away...and perhaps there was a grain of truth to his perception.
She stepped up into his Ford and settled into the bucket seat, turning to make eye contact with his brown eyes so he’d know it was safe to close the door. She watched as he walked around the front, feeling the little butterflies in her stomach grow to armadillo-sized. It was a wonder she could breathe with them banging around her ribcage. The interior of the truck smelled very faintly of new car smell, Daniel's aftershave, and underneath it, him. Her heart accelerated further as she felt an ambiguous mixture of uncertainty and a not-unpleasant sense of fear. This was a very different reception than she’d have expected after he’d walked out of Harry’s. She couldn’t help but admire the unconscious play of muscle in his shoulders as he levered himself up into the driver’s seat and prepared to drive.
He fought the urge to turn and stare, still unable to fully believe that Nikki -- his Nikki! -- was here, sitting in the passenger seat of his Ford. He studied her as she watched him settle into the driver’s seat and put his seatbelt on, once again noting the white triangular scar which cut through her left eyebrow. It should have broken the symmetry of her physiognomy, but somehow it emphasized it, highlighting her cheekbones and elfin chin, his eyes drawn downward. He caught her eyes; he had always, even as a child, been fascinated by her dark eyes and the way they contrasted with her blonde hair. He could spend hours looking for the pupils, lost in the inky depths of her irises. Sometimes, on bright days he could find them, when her eyes had the faintest hint of brown; but most of the time -- like now, in the shadowy interior of his truck -- he couldn’t.
Nicolette, feeling the weight of his scrutiny and realizing that he wasn’t finding her wholly contemptible, felt her shyness and giddy anticipation increase. She fought the absurd impulse to duck her head into her bag and hide there until she knew he was looking somewhere else; at the same time, she was excited by his approval.
She jumped as Led Zeppelin filled the cab, her startlement breaking the shivery moment.
Daniel pulled his phone out of the cup holder in the center console and deftly n
avigated the interface, shutting the music off. In the sudden silence, he asked, “Where you staying?”
Was that the slightest hint of unsteadiness in his voice?
“I’m at the Sand Flea tonight.”
He nodded; technically it was the ‘Gold Coast Motor Inn’, but locals knew it as the ‘Sand Flea’. It was cheap, convenient, and several times in its recent past had lived up (down?) to its nickname. She faced the windshield as he backed out of his space. Half Moon Bay wasn’t a huge community; on a Monday night, its nightlife ended relatively early, leaving Main Street largely deserted. The low lying fog was turning into a light mist, lending the empty streets a hazy, dreamy quality. Nicolette was glad she didn’t have to walk back to her motel room through the damp.
The drive was a relatively short one, but the silence quickly became uncomfortable for Daniel, an unusual reversal for them.
“I wanted to apologize for the other night. I wasn’t expecting to see you there, or...well...” his voice dropped off, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air between them: ...ever again.
Nikki studied his profile, memorizing the lines of his face intermittently brought into relief by the street lights as they drove. Her eyes traced the line of his forehead and nose, her gaze hesitating over his lips, before forcing herself to look back toward the road, “It’s okay. I should have, I don’t know...called ahead or sent a letter or something.”
He nodded absently as they reached the intersection across Highway 1, pausing to check north and south before crossing, heading toward the coast, “Maybe. I think it would have been a shock no matter what.”
She nodded, sensing The Question she had been dreading, her body tensing with a sickening inchoate panic. The Question would inevitably lead The Conversation, but thinking about it and about dealing with his possible responses -- especially after his reaction to seeing her unexpectedly at Harry’s -- left her desperate to redirect the conversation.
‘Where have you been for the last seven years?’ would be the start of the The Conversation; she dreaded his response. She didn’t feel ready to try and explain her film career (I can’t even say it plainly in my own mind, she thought bitterly).
Or maybe, ‘Why did you leave?’. That one was almost as bad.
“How long were you waiting?” she asked, landing on the first thing she could think of to distract him, feeling like a coward.
“Not long,” he answered, declining to be specific (and not wanting to admit he had been waiting for nearly an hour, like he was stalking her...especially since that was pretty much what he had been doing).
I should stop stalling, she thought, her stomach clenching with anxiety...but held her silence as he pulled into her motel’s parking lot, nosing his truck into a spot she pointed to.
“I was sorry to hear about your mother passing,” he said, eyes fixed on the dark bushes lining the walkway of the motel.
She glanced at him, surprised he would mention her mother, his words rousing the familiar paired relief and guilt, followed by a stronger surge of guilt at her relief. She struggled to find a meaningful response, trying to navigate the hazardous maze of resentment and pain. As the silence began to stretch, she finally gave up, “Thank you.”
She studied his profile, watching as his eyebrows drew together. He always had been surprisingly adept at reading her feelings; she wondered what he was reading now.
They sat in silence, both of them wanting to continue but momentarily nonplussed as they realized they weren’t sure how to proceed, the years apart and the long silence having robbed them of the ease they had once felt in each other’s company.
“Nikki--“ “Daniel--“
They both stopped, waiting for the other to start.
“You fi--“ “Why don’t--“
They both stopped again, waiting. Daniel mimed zipping his lips shut, then gestured toward Nikki.
She smiled, lightly patting his shoulder, then nodded toward the low building as she asked hesitantly, “Do you...want come in and hang out for a little bit?”
Daniel hesitated, feeling the lingering ghost touch of her hand on his shoulder. He briefly heard Ryan’s words in his mind, cautioning him against expecting too much until he had a better understanding of the situation, “Sure. I might have an early shift tomorrow, though.” He didn’t, but he figured a little cover could go a long way if the conversation went south.
Nicolette nodded, simultaneously nervous and relieved as she gathered her bags and pulled off her seatbelt, suddenly embarrassed how much she’d liked the feel of his shoulder under her hand. She couldn’t help jumping slightly as Daniel opened the door for her, smirking slightly as he offered her a hand down. Nikki shook her head; in the two years that he’d been driving when they were together back in high school, he had rarely failed to beat her to the door if she wasn’t going out of her way to race him. She wondered how he always managed it.
“It’s my super power,” he said with a smirk, correctly reading her amusement, “Wolverine heals, Kitty Pryde has intangibility; I get to the door first.”
Nikki snorted as she stepped into the damp night air, “Wasn’t she the one that nearly killed Logan when she touched him?”
“You’re thinking of Rogue. She was the one that can transfer other mutants’...”
He trailed off as he realized she was smirking back at him teasingly, “Nerd.”
He chuckled as she turned and walked the short distance to her motel room. He was surprised at the intensity of his desire to guide her along the walkway with a hand on her back.
He tucked his hands into his pockets as she approached the door and slid the plastic card she had rummaged out of her bag into the lock. Daniel followed her in, watching as she traversed the modest room, turning on lights as she went. The room smelled of what he thought of as ‘Eau de Generic Motel Room’ -- that combination of industrial cleaning fluid, ubiquitous laundry detergent, and air freshener that permeated every motel room he’d ever visited. He paused in the short entry hallway, taking stock of the room and the layout of the furniture along with entrances and exits. Intellectually, he knew it was safe and didn’t expect an attack of any sort, but the basic survival instinct was so ingrained he couldn’t stop himself. He wasn’t even really sure he wanted to break the habit...though his VA shrink would probably say that was a symptom of his PTSD. Nevertheless, he noted doors and windows and planned in his mind where he would go for cover in case...well...just in case.
He passed the doorway to the bathroom and dressing area on his left, then stepped into the main room with its two double beds, a reclining chair, and vanity. The room was themed in pastel desert hues of gold, grey, and green, with gold embossed wallpaper. Nikki dropped her brown paper bag on the vanity, then smiled as Daniel shifted between the beds so she’d be able to reach the front door; it was instinctive on his part and probably overly sensitive, but he didn’t want her to feel as though he was blocking the exit.
Perhaps intuiting some of his thoughts, she smiled at him as she crossed the room. Without thinking, she lightly patted his chest, silently thanking him for his consideration, though she nearly missed a step as she suddenly wondered if the casual gesture had been inappropriate. She longed to touch him, to reassure herself of his warm solidity -- she still struggled with disbelief that he was really here.
She stopped before the bed closest to the interior wall where a plain, scuffed blue duffle bag had been carelessly dropped on the foot of the bed. As casually as he could, he moved to the sliding glass door on the other side of the room, taking a second to peek around the curtains, curious where the room was situated relative to the rest of the motel. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her lithe form as she bent slightly to rummage in her duffle bag, pulling out a change of clothes. A small smile graced the corner of her mouth, as if she was unconsciously aware of his indirect study. He felt a moment of consternation, then just gave up and turned to watch her, abandoning any attempt at subtlety.
>
Nikki looked up, clothes in hand, meeting his eyes, “I’m going to take a quick shower -- I’ve been running around all night, and probably smell like garlic and industrial soap.”
“I like garlic.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to face-palm, ‘I like garlic’? Seriously, Daniel?
Her brows dropped as she favored him with a perplexed smile, “Thank you. I’ll be quick. Is that...?”
Daniel gestured encouragingly toward the bathroom, “Go ahead. I’ll still be here.”
They were both aware of the faint acerbic hint his last words carried, causing her to flinch slightly as her amused smile faded. He felt a moment of primal satisfaction, then immediately regretted it, regretted losing the superficial intimacy they had been building. He was still largely at the mercy of his bitterness, despite its momentary dormancy. Nicolette just nodded, inviting him to make himself at home, promising again not to take too long. He listened for the water to start, then wandered about the room, taking stock; it didn’t take long. Aside from motel furniture, there wasn’t much: one duffle; the absurd bag she probably still thought of as her ‘purse’; the bag containing her dinner. He resisted the impulse to look through the drawers in the room, or peer into the contents of her duffle. He was curious, but his sense of propriety would’t allow him to violate her privacy like that.
He sighed as he sat on the reclining chair, suddenly restless and agitated, unable to sit still, but without anything to do. What was he doing here? What was his endgame in all this? Did he even really want this?
He stood and paced the room, finally letting his curiosity have a little bit of free rein as he checked whether either of the sliding dressing room doors had been left open, surprised to find only a yellow two piece bikini along with a pink down jacket in plain view in the right one. She really hadn’t brought much with her, making him wonder if this was just a long visit, or if she really intended to stay.
He was surprised at the sudden knot that formed in his stomach, the question bringing with it a rush of anxiety and resentment. He was annoyed how quickly the thought of Nicolette leaving (again!) left him feeling off balance, as though the slightest move in the wrong direction threatened to snuff the tiny spark of hope he had found. He turned from the closet, no longer interested in its contents. He had spent the last seven years working to get over Nicolette -- he’d joined the Army, for Chrissakes, flew halfway across the world in an effort to put her out of his mind. In a way, shipping out to Afghanistan had been a relief; he couldn’t imagine any place more removed from Half Moon Bay and all the memories they had built over fifteen years of courtship. He had thrown himself into the training, into the job at hand, hating idle moments where he had time to think or reflect on what had been lost. It had earned him accolades and respect as a soldier, but hadn’t been enough to fill the void. Even in the high Afghan mountains -- especially in the long, boring hours of waiting between patrols and meetings with the tribal elders -- he hadn’t been able to get away from his memories.
His jaw clenched as he found his resentment awakening his anger. He had been doing fine, getting along just fine, and now BAM! She comes barreling back into his life, stirring up things that, less than a week ago, had seemed settled. Sure, he was struggling with the job thing, and he still had his rough moments, but they were getting less frequent, the ugly memories of his service gradually losing some of their power. And in less than sixty seconds, it felt as though all that work had been blown apart.
He paced the room by the foot of the bed, finally going to the window and leaning against the wall, peeking behind the curtains, checking for...he wasn’t sure what he was checking for, and that uncertainty fanned the flames of his anger further. A sudden memory of a conversation with his VA therapist came to mind, something about taking the time to catalog his emotions. He shook his head in irritation.
Fucking cognitive behavioralist motherfucker.
He took a deep breath, mentally flipping off the smug bastard’s absurd little goatee.
Anger, obviously. Resentment, duh. Arousal...also duh, I’m male. Excitement...he realized he was eagerly looking forward to seeing her again when she stepped out of the shower, that he wanted to memorize her profile; to see if she still did that hair-flip thing she did when her hair was wet; to reach out and touch her, to reassure himself that she really was there.
Fear...that’s interesting.
Daniel folded his arms across his chest, torn between the urge to see her again, and the more sensible desire to head for the door while he still could. In the end, Audrey’s words tipped the scale in favor of staying.
I’m listening to my heart, sis, he thought ruefully, and so far, it’s proven itself to be one dumb motherfucker.
He was still resentfully musing over his sister’s words when Nicolette stepped out of the bathroom wearing tight blue jeans and a long-sleeved forest green plaid flannel shirt, a towel carelessly draped across her shoulders. True to her word, she had taken a little less than twenty minutes.
She had tried to hurry, but her nervousness and excitement -- and her own fear -- had made it difficult to open the door. The thought of being in his presence had left her breathless and giddy, fighting to hold back a goofy excited grin, He was here! Now! She had gotten her foot in the door!
The other things, though, her nervousness and fear...she had been forced to stop in front of the bathroom mirror and give herself a brief pep-talk. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t shared some of her feelings -- so the hope that there was some mutual enthusiasm was encouraging.
Her heart sank as she stepped out of the bathroom, hesitating; his mood had shifted, his body language having become closed and defensive. His resentment and frustration were palpable, a marked change from his curiosity and approving scrutiny. Unconsciously, she mimicked his stance, folding her arms and leaning back against the wall, unsure what to say. She was suddenly reluctant to step further into room. She could sense his anger and defensiveness, intuitively understanding that most of it was likely directed at her, though she couldn’t see what she had done that might have stoked his ire. After a moment of silence, he turned to face her, silently studying her as she stood in her defensive pose. Dimly, he wondered what his face must look like to bring her up short like that.
He took a deep breath, forcing down his anger. As he calmed, her skittishness seemed to ease, his efforts evoking a hesitant smile. She scrabbled helplessly to find a subject to fill the silence, hopefully something to give him a little more time to settle, “So...what are you up to, these days?”
She watched lines crease his forehead as he unconsciously picked up on the sudden awkwardness.
“I’ve been working as a paramedic. I just recently passed through all the requirements.”
Nicolette waited for him to continue, but the silence began to stretch. She had hoped he’d offer more, or perhaps ask a question back (which filled her with dread as she realized she’d made a tactical blunder when she realized what the most likely return questions were). But he just studied her, his hostility easing slightly. His scrutiny unexpectedly rekindled her shyness, making her want to hide in the bathroom. She had a sudden memory -- when she’d been, what, five? -- of lifting her skirt to hide her face when she was feeling shy. She watched as a small smile began playing about his lips, making her wonder if he was perusing the same memory.
“A paramedic? What made you choose that? Back in high school...” her voice faltered as she realized she had inadvertently ventured onto dangerous territory.
He smiled, though there was little humor in his voice, “I wanted to make up for some of the things I...” he hesitated, changing what he wanted to say in mid sentence, “...saw in Afghanistan. It was pretty bad over there.”
She stared at him in shock, her mouth threatening to drop open.
“Afghanistan? What were you doing there?”
He shrugged, “Army Ranger. They tend to send us where the fighting
is fierce. Mostly propping up the Afghan government by pushing back Taliban; provided security while our people encouraged the locals to build schools and plant crops other than poppies. It was...thankless work.”
Nicolette stared at Daniel, struggling to reconcile that with the deeply compassionate boy she remembered, trying to understand how that boy could have become an elite soldier, killing other men for a living.
Did he do that because of me?, she wondered, seeing something in the defiant tilt of his chin, the thinly veiled sadness she had first seen in him back at Harry’s.
“It was hard finding a place after I got back; Mom thought maybe I should counterbalance...that maybe working as a healer would help settle the accounts.”
He listened to himself, feeling a sense of unreality and surprise, Why am I telling you this? I don’t even willingly talk about this stuff with my VA guy when he has time to see me.
Nicolette nodded, a profound sense of sadness sweeping through her as she realized that he had probably seen things which had changed him -- or left him feeling changed. Things which he wished he could take back or undo...while realizing he never could.
Maybe we’re not so different after all, she thought, maybe we both feel corrupted by our choices.
She found herself blinking rapidly, struggling with sorrow for his loss. She intimately understood that profound sense of defilement when you realize you’ve lost your innocence -- that you weren’t even aware you had something which could be irretrievably lost until it was gone, raped away from you by circumstances. She desperately wanted to cross the room and wrap her arms around him, to offer him...anything to ease his loss.
But if he joined because of me...? Is this my fault? How much of the boy I knew in school is left?
Daniel studied her, watching the emotions play across her face, surprised at her sudden sorrow.
For me?, he wondered, genuinely surprised at the intensity of her reaction, Am I reading her right, or is this just wishful thinking?
“It’s not that big a deal. I did my job, and when my time was done, I quit.”
Nikki nodded, forcing the emotion down, though she knew it would probably haunt her -- wondering if her quitting Half Moon Bay had caused him to enlist, and how much of his subsequent experience she was culpable for. At the time, she had felt boxed in, cornered; escape had seemed like her only means of surviving....but the cost of that desertion seemed to increase every time she started to make peace with it.
I don’t know how, but I’m going to make this right, she thought, breathing deeply to get herself back under control. She met his eyes, forcing a smile.
“It must have felt good to come home,” she commented.
When he didn’t immediately respond, she began casting about for anything she could ask to divert the conversation.
Maybe I should ask My Question, she thought, aware that it had been casting a shadow over her thoughts since she’d started her petition to the parole board for a change of venue months ago. She realized the odds were high that her Question would yield an unsatisfactory answer. At best, it would be tipping her hand and showing her interest; at worst she’d look like a stalker or an opportunist -- flying in out of the blue and very clumsily attempting to play on their mutual history. She resolved to save it for another day, then cringed as she heard herself ask The Question despite her resolve not to.
“Are you...” she hesitated, wanting to sound causal, fighting to suppress a wince as she realized she was falling miserably, “Are you seeing anyone?”
Daniel frowned, aware that his wordless study of Nikki was making her squirm; he felt unremorseful at her discomfiture. She leaned against the wall by the motel room’s entrance hall, the simple patterned wallpaper creating a crown of embossed laurel leaves around her head. Daniel watched as she shifted her weight, bringing her hands behind her back, perhaps unconsciously squaring her shoulders. Her loose-fitting flannel slid to one side, baring her left shoulder as the weight of the damp towel began to slide toward the ground. He admired her lithe figure, absently wondering if she was posing intentionally. It looked too planned to be incidental, but something in her expression spoke of nervousness and uncertainty; it should have ruined the effect, but Daniel found it enhanced her appeal. His throat was suddenly tight with emotion as he realized that wherever she’d been, whatever turns her life had taken, her experiences had added an unexpected depth that he couldn’t remember existing before she left.
“No, not... No. You?”
He fought to repress a smile as he watched some of the tension leave her shoulders, her eyes blinking rapidly as she shook her head. He felt some of his own tension leave, his relief surprising him. He hadn’t realized how much her answer mattered to him.
A contemplative silence settled over them, though it was far from restful. Realizing the likely turn of Daniel's thoughts, the panic which had been hovering in the wings begin to assert itself more aggressively. Things seemed to be going better than she’d expected, especially after the precedent set by their previous meeting. If he asked what she had been up to, she knew she would have little choice but to tell him about the last seven years; her desperation and fear, the bar, the clubs, her film career, the drugs...Mrs. Hamilton...prison.
She suddenly found it hard to breathe as he inhaled, doubtless to ask The Question that would start The Conversation. If their delicate connection was broken now, she feared it could never be rebuilt. Driven by her desperation to derail his train of thought, she asked, “A paramedic? Paramedics have long hours, don’t they?”
He shrugged, “Sometimes -- though it’s more the graveyard shifts that are rough. I’m pretty new, though, so...” he shrugged again.
Sensing that she had only succeeded in slanting the conversation more steeply toward her history, she blurted the first thing that came to mind, a teasing edge coming into her voice as she unconsciously began a game that they used to play. By the time she realized where the game usually ended it was too late, the rhythm of the game too familiar for either of them to change course.
“It sounds like a lot of hard work.”
His gaze sharpened as a he began to smile, sensing the direction of her thoughts, “It can be.”
Her heart began beating faster, though she adopted an exaggeratedly blasé manner, asking, “Why is it that they make the ‘Messicans do all the hard work?”
“Good question. Are you going to start white-splaining now?”
“Probably. Somewhere there’s a garden missing its gardener.”
“No doubt. Shouldn’t you be clapping on the 1 and the 3?”
“Maybe. Isn’t there a border you should be crossing?”
“Already did. Shouldn’t you be practicing your jumping or something?”
She smiled at him, a challenging twinkle in her eyes, “White men can’t jump, cabrón. I can jump just fine.” She added a self-satisfied grin for emphasis, knowing he would take it as provocation. She experienced a brief moment of doubt about the wisdom of starting the old catechism as Daniel grinned, something in his eyes giving her a fluttery sensation in her chest.
He stood and crossed the room, his heart hammering as a sudden heady surge of desire and familiar excitement swept through him. He stood over her, looking down into her face, her shivery excitement adding to his own.
“You can, can you? Let’s see.”
She shivered involuntarily as he reached up and lightly placed his hands on her shoulders, acutely aware of the warmth and texture of his skin where it met her exposed shoulder. She looked up into his eyes, feeling her breath suddenly coming short as she slid her hands from behind her back, though whether to embrace him or push him away she wasn’t sure.
Nikki gasped as he roughly spun her around, facing the wall, her hands coming up to brace herself as his arms wrapped her midsection from behind leaving her back pressed against his front. She arched her back, pressing her hips against him, the surprised catch in his breath making her smile as
he braced against the pressure.
The towel draped across her shoulders slipped to the ground unnoticed.
“Daniel...” she started to protest, but felt his breath against the side of her neck, followed by his lips. She shuddered as she lost the thread of her thought, then sighed as he moved from the side of her neck to the angle of her shoulder, only dimly cognizant of the moisture from her hair as it soaked through her shirt where it was trapped between his chest and her back. A moan was startled out of her when he reached up and roughly, almost painfully tweaked one of her nipples through her shirt, causing her back to arch again. She felt his lips smile against her neck as he leaned into her while she simultaneously backed up against him, acutely aware of his arousal. Her thoughts were lost in a haze of pleasure as she felt his hands smooth her shirt over her abdomen, then slide back up under her shirt, the skin of his hands on her stomach causing an unconscious murmur. She stood, hands pressed against the wall, supporting their weight as his hands rose to cup her breasts, the texture of his skin on hers causing her to shudder. He tweaked her nipples again, more gently this time while he continued kissing the side of her neck.
When his hand dove beneath the waistband of her jeans, she shuddered violently at the contact, feeling her legs and arms suddenly overtaken by warm electric prickles originating from his fingertips on her body.
“Oh my...” then thought was lost with the movement of his hands.
“Are you jumping yet?” he asked teasingly.
She still stood with her palms virtually trapped against the wall supporting them, her back arched into his front as she nodded, “It’s been years...” then froze as she realized what she was saying, where that thought would lead; what was likely to happen if she didn’t bring the situation to a grinding halt. Suddenly she felt trapped and helpless, not wanting to stop but knowing that if it didn’t stop, her actions could be seen as blatantly manipulative, using sex to purposefully cloud his judgement. It was uncomfortably close to the truth...
Once he started asking those questions about her past, if her actions could be interpreted in such a malign way...
She steeled her will, finding a way through the haze of pleasure and excitement as she tried to bring the situation to a stop, “Daniel, wait. Stop.”
It took a second for her words to penetrate through his own haze of arousal and pleasure. When they did, he froze, at first thinking that perhaps there was a problem with something specific he was doing. She stepped forward and twisted away from him, his hands sliding around her waist as she stepped away. The contact broke as he stepped to one side slightly, giving her more room.
She turned, her back to the wall, hands behind her back supporting her. He stared into her eyes, her vision still clearly glazed with arousal and desire, panting with exertion. He realized he was probably returning the same heavy-lidded gaze.
Indignation and disappointment mixed with anger as he asked, “Seriously, Nikki? Again? Are you going to shut me down every time things start to get even a little intense?”
He braced for an angry retort, or chilly silence in response. He was surprised when she just shook her head, her brow furrowing, "I shut you down that first time because you were half out of your mind with grief over your dad. I wanted our first time to be," she hesitated, searching, "to be worth remembering...not a sympathy rage bang!"
He struggled with his confusion at her response, knowing she was at least partly (probably even mostly) right as a dull sense of shame washed through him.
"And this time?" he asked indignantly.
"This time..." she fell silent, momentarily lost in thought.
He studied her flushed face as she stood, still clearly out of breath while a light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. His intuition told him that she was teetering on the edge, that she wanted him at least as badly as he wanted to be with her. If she felt so strongly, then why stop...? If she didn’t want things to get this far, then why tease him? She had clearly started them down this path...hadn’t she? Had he started this, perhaps egged her on?
He realized he wasn’t completely sure what had just happened.
He glared at her, still breathing hard as he drew a shaky hand over his forehead, taking in her contrite, apologetic pose, then surprised them both when he laughed bitterly, “You look like a guilty puppy.”
She visibly relaxed, tension draining out of her, but her answering smile was guarded, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I just...”
“Went on autopilot?”
Nikki hesitated, then nodded, “Yeah. I guess that’s as good a way of phrasing it as any."
He turned away, still rubbing his forehead, “You and me, both."
"I'd like to continue our,” a smile played at the corner of her lips as she paused for emphasis, "conversation, but...walking before running? Baby steps?"
He sighed, then nodded, "Fair enough."
After a sharp internal struggle, he finally added, "I was out of line, earlier. You made the right call, back then. I couldn't see it at the time, but..."
She nodded, relief painted across her features, "S'okay."
"I should probably go," he said, though he hesitated a moment, giving her a chance to argue before finally turning toward the bathroom.
She didn’t want him to go, but maybe it was for the best. Like she’d said -- ‘baby steps’; though she couldn’t keep herself from hoping that he’d contradict her.
She settled slowly on the bed, pressing her palms together between her knees as he walked into the bathroom, his gaze abstracted and unhappy.