Nothing More

Chapter 3

When I get to the apartment, there's a package on the doorstep. Tessa's name is scribbled in black marker. I shove my key into the door and kick the box inside with me. The lights are off so I know I have the apartment to myself.

I need a shower. I'm tired and need to get some schoolwork done. I yell Tessa's name through the apartment, just to make sure she isn't here, before I undress in the living room, just because I can. The handle to the shower in our only bathroom sticks when you turn it. It takes at least two minutes for the water to catch up with the pipes. Our landlord "fixed" it twice but it never stays.

Tessa even tried a few times, turns out repairwoman isn't her thing. I laugh at the memory of her soaked body and how mad she was when she thought she fixed it. When she turned the metal handle but she ended up yanking the thing off the wall and getting sprayed in the face with cold water. She screamed like a banshee and ran down the hallway, tripping over her own feet.

I've grown used to the creaky nozzle, so I step back and wait for the water to catch up with the pipes. I hear the spraying noise coming and take a quick pee. I still feel awkward about seeing Dakota today. I wonder if she feels the awkwardness too or if she's already over our relationship? She doesn't reach out to me much, ever really, so I have no idea how she feels or where we stand. I don't think she has any negative feelings toward me. She doesn't have a reason to. It's a little weird to me that we went from talking everyday, to barely at all, to two words if I'm lucky.

I miss her sometimes. I got used to not seeing her when I moved from Michigan to Washington, but we still talked everyday. When she started getting distant, I missed her so much but I could tell something was off. I hoped that maybe she was just adjusting to her new life in the city. I wanted her to get the full experience of a new life and new friendships. I wanted her to get to know her dance academy and I know how important her career is for her. I didn't want to be a distraction for her. I tried to be as supportive as I possibly could. I understood when she didn't call me back. I promised her it was okay when she didn't answer my calls for days at a time.

I played my role of understanding boyfriend well. I'm comfortable in this role, just like the nice guy. I stayed patient and ever so understanding. Even when she called me to give me reason after reason why our relationship wasn't working. I still nodded along on the other line and told her it was okay, that I understood. In a way I was lying to her. I didn't understand why she couldn't spare a little time for me when all of her f*******: updates were pictures of her at different restaurants and nightclubs.

I missed hearing about her day. I wanted to listen to her brag about how well she did in class that day. I missed her raving about how she couldn't wait for an upcoming audition. She was always the first person I went to with anything. That began to change after I met Tessa and started getting closer to Hardin, but still, I missed her. I don't know a lot about dating, but I do know that this wasn't it.

I finally step into the shower, the water is scalding, lashing out against my skin. Adjusting the water, I connect my phone to the idock and turn on my sports podcast. The announcer's voices are deep and loud as they bicker over the unnecessary politics surrounding the game. Our bathroom is small, microscopic really, with one low sink with creaky faucets planted next to a small toilet that I can barely fit on. Whoever designed this apartment didn't do it with a six-foot guy in mind. Unless said six foot tall guy likes to bend his knees to get his head under the shower stream. The warm water works at my back as I play through the awkward encounter with Dakota today. It wasn't necessarily bad, but it could have gone better. I wonder how she feels about our relationship, well lack of. Did she notice that my body has changed since she's seen it last? Did she see that my arms have grown into thick ropes of muscle and my stomach finally has the lines of muscles that I've been working toward?

My husky build was often the topic of the crowded hallways of my high school. "Lardy Landon," they called me. The childish nickname sounds beyond stupid now, but it bothered the crap out of me when the meatheads would walk behind me, chanting it. Kids can be assholes such assholes. That was only one of the many flames of the hell that was high school. That was nothing compared to what happened with Carter, but I'm not going there tonight.

I'm getting too lost in my own mind now. Back to the weirdness between Dakota and I.

The more I try to remember about our encounter, the more my brain screws with the memories and jumbles them. I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I never could. Even when we were young, she always had secrets. It was appealing then, mysterious and uncomplicated. Now that we're older and she broke up with me with little explanation, it's not so fun.

I stare at the seaweed green shower tiles and think about all of the things that I should have said and done during those five minutes. I stare at the wall, remembering her standing in front of me earlier today. I wish I could have read the pages behind her almond eyes, or found some words hidden beneath her full lips. Those lips.

Dakota's lips are something else. They are just big enough to draw my eyes, a subtle pout that makeup can't create. The rosy color of them always drove me crazy and they feel amazing wrapped around my c**k. We were only sixteen when we messed around for the first time. It was our two month anniversary and she just bought me a puppy. I knew my mom wouldn't let me keep it, and she had to know the same, but we tried to hide it in my closet. We would feed the little gray thing the best food from the little pet shop down the street from my house. He didn't bark much, and when he did, I would cough to try to hide the sound. It worked for a while, until he grew too fast for my small bedroom.

After two months of captivity, I had to tell my mom about the dog. She wasn't nearly as upset as I thought she would be. However, she did explain the cost of upkeep of a puppy and when I compared that to my measly check from the car wash that I worked at a few days a week, it didn't add up. Even with the tips added in, I couldn't cover a vet bill.

After some tears, Dakota agreed. To ease the pain, we geeked out and watched all of the Lord Of The Rings movies. We binge drank Starbucks and complained about paying five dollars a cup. We ate twizzlers and peanut butter cups until our stomachs hurt and I drew circles on her cheeks, the way she always liked, until she fell asleep on my lap. I woke up to her mouth warm and her lips tight around my d**k.

She learned that she really liked to please me this way, and she started doing it almost every time we hung out. I liked it, of course. Hell, who am I kidding? I loved it and couldn't remember how I ever thought j*********f was an enjoyable way to o****m. It's not so bad, I suppose. I look down at my c**k hanging, the hot water running over it. I wrap one hand around the base, teasing my own tip with my thumb the way she used to with her tongue.

With my eyes closed and the warm water pouring over me, I can nearly convince myself that it's not my own hand stroking myself. In my head, Dakota is on her knees in front of my old bed in Washington. Her hair was lighter than before and her body was tightening from all of her dancing. She looked so good, she always has, but as we grew up, she just kept getting hotter and hotter. Her mouth is moving faster now, between that and the sounds of her moaning over me, I'm nearly there.

My body begins to tingle, from my toes to my spine. Somehow one of my feet slips and I step sideways, losing my footing. A string of words that I don't use often spits from my lips and I grab onto the checker print shower curtain and pull.

Click, clink, click. The damn thing gives in, tearing at each plastic ring. It falls, taking me with it. I yell again and my knee hits the edge of the tiny tub.

"s**t!" I scowl.

My arms feel like jello when I grip the edge of the tub and lift myself out. The door bursts open before I can cover myself and Tessa has her hands flying around her body like a Hippogriff.

"Are you alright?" she shrieks.

Her eyes dart over my body and she covers her eyes.

"What the hell?" Sophia screeches.

Great, now Tessa's friend Sophia is in here. I'm supposed to be remembering not to call her that. reach for the ripped curtain and pull it over my n***d body.

Could this get any worse? I look at both girls and nod, trying to catch my breath. My cheeks are on fire and I would rather disappear into a pile of dog s**t than be curled up in the bathtub, n***d, and one leg hanging over the edge. I push my free arm down onto the wet floor of the tub and try to pull myself up.

Sophia pushes past Tessa and grabs ahold of my arm. Someone kill me. She quickly tucks her brown hair behind her ears and uses both hands to pull me up. Please kill me. I try to keep the curtain covering my inappropriate bits, but it falls just as I stand up. Anyone listening out there? If you won't kill me, at least make me disappear. I'm begging you.

Sophia's brown eyes have a green tint to them that I hadn't noticed before. I look away from her but I can still feel her eyes on me. I try to focus on the pointy toe of her shoes, they are brown and pointy and remind me of something Hardin would wear.

"You steady now?" Sophia raises her dark brow and I nod.

Can I be anymore embarrassed? I don't think so. It wouldn't be possible to be more embarrassed. Thirty seconds ago I was m**********g in my shower and now I'm n***d and embarrassed. This entire ordeal would be hysterical if it were happening to someone else.

She's still looking at me. It dawns on me that I haven't responded.

"Yeah.. Yeah. I'm fine," I sound even smaller than I feel.

"Don't be embarrassed," she says quietly. I shake my head.

"I'm not," I turn my chin down and force a laugh.

Tessa has disappeared from the bathroom and the space feels smaller than usual. The mirror is foggy and everything's dewy and Nora's still in here. She smiles and her finger touches the center of my stomach, just above my belly button. Her nails are long and painted black. I like the way they look. Dakota never has long nails because of dance.

She isn't allowed to paint her nails or have them long at all. She complains about it, but she obviously loves dancing more than nail polish, so at the end of the day, the nails go.

Sophia's finger is still making a slow line down my stomach, just above where the curtain is covering enough for my c**k not to waving around. My mind is trying to figure out why she's touching me like this.

"You shouldn't be," the compliment comes out as a purr and my body responds. I don't know her that well, but I do know that she's much bolder than the girls my age. She doesn't have a problem cussing out the television during Master Chef, and she clearly doesn't have a problem touching my soaking, n***d body. The trail of hair from my belly button down to my pubic hair seems to be entertaining her.

Did she say something? Ahh, yeah, she did. She said 'you shouldn't be'. What does she mean by that? I shouldn't be embarrassed? I busted my a*s in the bathroom while j*********f and was found n***d on the shower floor. Of course I'm embarrassed.

I look at her, at the reflection of her dark hair in the foggy mirror.

"Thanks," I weakly reply. I clear my throat and continue, "I took quite a tumble," I laugh, getting closer to finding the humor in the whole thing. Her eyes are warm and her finger is still touching me. It's not awkward, but I don't know what to say or do. Before I have to decide, she pulls away with a smile.

I don't know Sophia very well. I know that she's a few years older than me. I know that her parents live in Washington near my mom and Ken. I know that she likes her friends to call her by her middle name, Nora. I know that she always smells like sugar and candy. I know that she comes over a lot because she doesn't like her roommates. I know that she keeps Tessa company when I can't, and somehow they have become friends over the last few months. That's pretty much it.

Oh yeah, she just graduated from culinary school and works at the same restaurant as Tessa. And now I can add that she likes to touch n***d, wet stomachs.

"You sure did," she laughs. The corners of her eyes crinkle up and her lips look incredibly plump, especially when she licks over them with her tongue. Wet lips and those eyes, she's lethal.

She knows it, I know it.

Obama knows it.

She's the kind of woman that will chew you up and spit you out like gum, and you'll love every minute of it. Her index finger is tapping on her bottom lip and I'm still quiet. She can't be hitting on me? I'm confused by her behavior. Not that I'm complaining, just confused.

Nora's eyes meet mine one more time and she grazes them over my chest once and turns on her heel. Without a word, she leaves the bathroom and walks into the hallway. I rub my hand over my face, wanting to erase the last three minutes, but keep the last thirty seconds.

When I hear Tessa ask her if I'm okay, I roll my head back, take a breath, and close the door. The shower curtain is destroyed and the tiny room looks like it's been hit by a tornado. The plastic rings from the curtain are scattered across the floor, the bottles of shampoo and Tessa's body soap are all over the place. As I clean them up, I can't help but laugh at this whole thing. Of course this would happen to me.

The clothes I brought into the bathroom with me are wet, the shirt has a huge water spot on the back, but the shorts aren't too bad. I pull them on and grab the wet clothes to take into my room. My hair is drying now, only the roots are still wet. I rake Tessa's brush over my short cut and use a comb over the little bit of facial hair I've been growing lately. The vanilla lotion in the bathroom is a little greasy, but it smells good and I always forget to buy my own lotion.

When I step into the hallway, Nora's laugh is loud and Tessa's is nearly silent. She hasn't laughed in a while. It bothers me, but I've learned that she needs to deal with this break up on her own terms, so I don't push her. I have an essay due Monday and I've only finished half of it, so I toss my clothes into the laundry basket in the hall and walk to the kitchen to get a water and say goodnight to the girls.

Tessa is sitting on the couch with her feet propped up on a pillow and Nora is laying on the rug on the floor with a pillow under her head and my Skyhawks blanket wrapped around her like a burrito. I glance at the TV, Cupcake Wars. The usual. These women watch nothing more than the Food Network and the teen dramas on Freeform. I do like some of those shows. The one about the foster family is my favorite.

"I'm doing a kitchen run, do you guys need anything?" I ask them, stepping over the fuzzy sock covered toes peeping out of the bottom of the blanket.

"Water please." Tessa leans up and pauses the show. A woman with black curly hair is frozen on the screen, mouth wide open and hands in the air. She's stressed over burnt cakes or something.

"Do you have anything beside water?" Nora asks.

"Picky," Tessa teases her.

I don't know what we have, but I hold up my finger and walk into the kitchen. Tessa even organizes our fridge. Turns out, we have a lot of drinks other than water.

"Gatorade, sweetened Iced tea," I call out. I jump when Sophia's voice comes from behind the fridge, "Ew. I hate Gatorade, except the blue one." She says as if she's personally offended by my favorite drink.

"Gross? How can you say that, Sophia?" I laugh and she appears from behind the open fridge door.

"Easily," she smiles, leaning against the counter. "And stop calling me Sophia, if I have to tell you again, I'm going to call you George Strait every time I see you."

"George Strait?" I can't hide my laughter. "Out of every name you could have said, that was one I wasn't expecting."

She's laughing too, a soft laugh with sharp eyes. It suits her.

"I don't know, he's my go to." Soph- I mean, Nora shrugs her shoulders. I remind myself to look up George Strait to see what he looks like. I know I've seen him before, but I haven't listened to country since we moved from Michigan.

Her hair is in a ponytail now, long curls cover one shoulder. Is she flirting with me? I can't tell. Dakota always teased me about being clueless to flirting. I like to think of it as uncontaminated. If I were hip to all the possible advances, I would probably turn into one of those guys who are obsessed with how women perceive them. I would question everything I said or did. I might even become one of the dudes who soaks their hair with gel and hide their sci-fi books in some desperate attempt to be appeal to women. Well, I've never been cool, and I'm okay with that. Besides, I would much rather fly under the radar and keep my books on my shelves and find a woman who likes them too.

We don't have any blue Gatorade, so I attempt to temp her with a red one. "You're so quiet," Nora says when I hand her the bottle. She examines it, raises a brow, and shakes her head.

"I'd rather have this than water, I suppose." Her voice is soft, not demanding at all, despite the fact that she has a serious Gatorade hating problem. My mind curiously wonders what other opinions she has. Are there any other sugar saturated drinks that she holds unnecessary hatred for? I find myself wanting to know about them. While I'm preparing my defense over all of my favorite drinks that she could hate, she twists the top from the bottle and takes a drink.

"It's okay," she shrugs her shoulders and takesanother swig as turns to walk away.

She's weird. Not in a, she lives in her mom'sbasement and collects beanie babies, weird. She's weird as in, I can't figureout her personality, and I definitely can't figure out what those awkwardpauses or random touches are supposed to mean.

I usually read people so well. Insteadof cracking the code of romance, I grab my water from the fridge, finish myessay, and go to bed.