Under My Skin

  “Liz here?” I ask gruffly.

  She stares at me for long minutes, and I notice that she’s wearing some short, silky robe but her face is fully made up, and her hair looks a little wild. She’s also leaning on the door in a way that makes me think she might not be a hundred percent sober.

  “Is she okay?”

  She continues to stare, but this time her cute little face sneers at me. “What do you think, you—jerk face?”

  Seriously?

  She thinks I did something wrong, and jerk face is all she can come up with?

  I faintly remember Liz saying something about her best friend being somewhat prudish, but I’m starting to lose patience right now because that’s not important. What’s important is making sure she’s okay.

  “Sophie,” I say slowly, “I need to know if she’s okay. She didn’t show up for the movie we were supposed to watch.”

  And then I hear her voice.

  The television is on its highest level in the apartment, nearly drowning out the sound of her voice but she’s still audible. Wobbly, but audible.

  “Sophie, do you think we can get Ben and Jerry in the flavor of margarita? Or daiquiri? Or even vodka. Vodka’s good. Nothing to dilute your pain!”

  Sophie turns slightly worried eyes to me. “Mark, you need to go. We’re busy.”

  What the fuck?

  Something is wrong with Liz because she wouldn’t have stood me up otherwise, and right now it looks like she’s stood me up. She’s here, so she’s got to be pissed about something and even if she’s not pissed, now I’m fucking pissed so I’m not leaving without an explanation.

  “Sophie, let me through babe. I need to talk to her.”

  “Why you—you cheating miscreant,” she hisses.

  Miscreant? Really? Cheating?

  “Huh?”

  “The blonde in the drugstore. You really think that you can mess around on Liz—on any one of us in this town, and we won’t find out? You got another thing coming mister!”

  I want to applaud Sophie for her loyalty, but her abysmal insults detracts from any heat behind her words. I’m also trying to figure out what the hell she means by messing around on Liz.

  “Huh?”

  She wags her finger in my face. “Don’t you play dumb, or I’ll—I’ll…”

  Understanding finally dawns when I recall the earlier events of the day.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yes, exactly. What you just said. You are in it deep. I suggest you leave right now and hope that word of your tomfoolery doesn’t reach Chief Connor's ear.”

  I can’t help it.

  I start laughing.

  Sophie’s cheeks, already tinged pink, turn a deeper shade. “What?” she whispers furiously. “No, forget that. Never mind. You need to leave right now!”

  “Sophie, I promise, what you two saw or think you saw isn’t what you think it is. Let me talk to Liz.”

  And then I hear her again. “Sophie, is that our pizza? Why’s it taking so long?”

  I turn pleading eyes on Sophie. “Babe, let me through. I need to talk to her. I’d rather cut off my own arm than hurt that girl. Take one good look at me, and you’ll know it’s true.”

  She squints at me, really squints until her eyes are tiny slits. I let her look her fill, and I guess that’s the right thing to do because she silently puts a finger up to her mouth and moves to the side to let me pass.

  The door slams behind both of us, and I hear Liz squeal. “Goodie! Time to let all that hot melted cheese and pepperoni journey to my ass. Not that anyone’s looking anymore. Screw men. Screw him,” she shouts, hiccuping in the middle of her insult.

  I want to laugh again, but I sneak a glance at Sophie who looks mortified. I make my way deeper into the apartment, and I’m reminded of the first time I came over to surprise her with dinner. The scene before me is different but the same.

  Their place is a mess. The counter is littered with wineglasses, the inside of which has melted ice cream. Each glass looks like there’s a different kind of candy crushed on top of it. The little table in the kitchenette is piled high with magazines, martini glasses, and shot glasses. There’s an open bag of Cheetos half spilling out onto the table.

  I swing my gaze to the living area.

  I can’t see her body, but I spot her cute, bare feet propped up on the arm of the couch, with tissue paper woven between each of her toes. The TV is playing a dance sequence with Bette Midler, Goldie Hawn, and Diane Keaton. Liz is waving some pink fluffy thing around in the air like a composer with a baton. All I see are her feet and pink fluff.

  Huh?

  “Ah, Liz,” Sophie begins hesitantly. “You’ve got some company.”

  “What? Tell them to go away. Does that mean the pizza’s not here? I’m starving.”

  “I can’t exactly do that right now.”

  “Well why the hell not?” She sounds put off. “We agreed Soph, tonight is girl night, no dicks allowed. Pun intended.”

  “Well Princess, that might be because tonight you were supposed to be with me, not your girl.”

  She bolts up and looks at me wide-eyed from over the back of the couch. Her hair’s a wild, sexy cloud around her face, and she’s got pink sugar crusted around her top lip.

  I try not to notice how fuckable she looks right then because we’ve got to talk, but my dick doesn’t get the memo.

  Bastard.

  It only takes her a second to regain her bearings and recover from her shock. “What the hell are you doing here?” She tries for disdain, but I hear the hurt and confusion in her voice.

  In that split second, staring at my beautiful, crazy girl, I make a decision. I hadn’t planned on doing anything at all, but it’s clear we need to stop dicking around.

  Liz

  How is it possible to want to throw yourself in someone’s arms and simultaneously claw their eyes out?

  I must be officially insane. I promise myself the minute I throw Mark out on his man-whoring ass, I’m talking to Sophie about options to improve my mental health.

  Right after I punch her in the face for letting him in.

  I blink again, just to make sure that he’s really standing there, and he’s not some alcohol and sugar induced apparition. I open my eyes, and he’s still standing there looking hot in faded jeans and a gray t-shirt. My mouth starts to water because I’m pretty sure that’s the same tee he used to bind my wrists that one time—

  No, no, no Elizabeth. Stop thinking about sex. Use your head.

  But I can’t because that little reminder now has me thinking about his head, and he’s still standing there looking hot and gorgeous. My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest. The feeling is sharp, bright, and blinding. I can’t deal with the combination.

  Joy because he’s standing right there in front of me and pain because I know it’s over.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I clear my throat because my voice sounds hoarse and raspy.

  Screaming encouragement at the television while the women of the First Wives Club seek their revenge will do that to a girl.

  He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there and arches a brow.

  That’s his signature ‘I’m going to make this difficult for you’ look.

  “You’re still standing there,” I point out.

  “So are you,” he replies.

  “I live here!” I shout.

  “Princess, you’re missing the point. It’s clear to me that we have some shit that needs sorting out, so tonight where you go, I go until we sort our shit out.”

  “Let me just get this clear. You think it’s okay to go to the drugstore with some blonde chick during the day and then come to me at night?”

  Okay, so I sound utterly ridiculous, but that’s beside the point right now because he starts to move in my direction and his eyes are full of intent. Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of me, and his eyes go warm and hazy. I’m standing there in my sexy, silky baby pink
negligee that cost a trip to Agent Provocateur and way too much money for a law student.

  At least now I know the lingerie works.

  His eyes are blazing, and even though he’s standing remarkably still, the sexual tension is so thick, even Bertha’s hedge clippers would have a hard time cutting through it.

  I gulp.

  “Let me ask you a question Princess.”

  “I don’t want to answer any of your stupid questions,” I snap, finding it hard to hold onto my anger because he’s standing so close.

  He barrels on ahead. “When we first had our ‘chat’,” he uses air quotes for this, “you insisted we weren’t dating. Right?”

  “Where are you going with this?” I ask, even though I know exactly where he’s headed.

  He ignores me. “Weren’t you the one to insist on physical monogamy? Are we unclear on the meaning? You’re a pretty smart girl, I’m sure you know, but let’s define it just so we’re both clear on what exactly that means for what’s happening between us. Physical means tangible. Your body on, under, or in front of mine, my body in yours. That’s physical. Monogamous means that we just do that with each other. Nobody else.”

  I glare at him. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, Princess, if we agree that we’re only fucking each other, why do you care if I spend time with another girl if I’m not fucking her?”

  I cringe. There are several reasons for this. First and foremost, he’s absolutely right. I’m acting like a jilted bride, throwing myself a pity party with sweets, insanely expensive nightwear, alcohol, man-bashing movies, and my BFF. Next up on that list is hearing him use words that refer to him being intimate with someone else. A sharp pang lances through my chest, and my uncomfortable truth comes crashing down around me. The thing about uncomfortable truths is that they are always there, lurking in your consciousness, but they’re smothered by denial.

  Denial’s the safety blanket and once it’s gone, you’re left terribly, horribly exposed.

  “How would I know if you’re not being physical with her?” I whisper.

  His job clenches. “Why do you care?”

  I can’t take it anymore. “Because I just do, you big lug! I don’t know how or why but you got under my skin dammit!” When a smile starts to spread slowly across his handsome features, I add “like a disease, not under my skin in the good way!”

  “Baby,” he says softly.

  I can’t take the tender look in his eyes. “Don’t call me that! In fact, just leave right now and don’t call me ever again.” I know I’m being dramatic but at this point I’m about to lose my sanity.

  One corner of his perfect mouth tips up. I wonder wildly if I need to get the steel bat out of the hallway closet and then he says, “you saw me with my cousin.”

  There are moments in movies where everything comes to a screeching halt and the character just stares dumbly at what’s happening to them.

  This is one of those moments.

  “What are you talking about, what do you mean?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Babe, you saw me with my cousin Charlotte, who’s in town visiting Grams.”

  “I don’t know of Bertha having any granddaughter named Charlotte,” I say suspiciously, a kernel of hope starting to unfurl in my chest.

  “Well, she used to be a crazy tomboy. Now she calls herself Charlotte, but she used to go by Charlie.”

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  Oh no!

  I know Charlie. Charlie used to come and spend two weeks with Bertha during the summertime, and she and I got into all sorts of wonderful trouble when we were younger. She even helped me pull a prank or two on Mark and Drew. She was a few years younger than me, and it drove Bertha nuts that she had taken such a shine to me. The last time I’d seen her was when she was fourteen and I had been seventeen.

  Clearly, Charlie the tomboy had grown into a very adult woman.

  Mark stares at me while this new information registers in my brain. Part of me wants to smack the smirk off of his handsome face, because I know I’ve just revealed my hand, but the other part of me wants to jump into his arms and plaster kisses all over said face because I’m just so relieved that he wasn’t with someone else.

  “Oh,” I say in a small voice.

  He moves closer to me and I can feel the heat pouring off his body. “So I’m under your skin, huh?”

  “Like a disease,” I remind him weakly. I try to glare at him, but I think it falls short because he’s staring at me intensely, causing that telltale moisture to gather between my thighs. I breathe shallowly as he inches closer to me.

  “Oh, I think I need to see my mother. I think she needed something, and I just remembered.”

  I’m a terrible BFF. I’d completely forgotten Sophie was even there. My head swivels in her direction.

  Her eyes sparkle, and she’s fighting back a smile even though she looks like a hot mess. We’d tried our makeup artist skills on one another earlier. I’d also gotten a wild hair to play hairdresser only to learn that I couldn’t set hot rollers to save my life. She stands there in her slinky robe, hair askew before bolting to her bedroom. She’s the fastest getter-ready that I’ve ever met because it’s less than two minutes before she sprints out of her room clad in jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “Bye, have fun, and don’t be too good!” she calls as she darts out the front door.

  Traitor.

  How am I going to deal with this mess?

  Mark doesn’t seem too bothered, because the minute Sophie’s out the door, there’s less than an inch of space that separates our bodies. He fingers the thin silky strap of my negligee. “I like this,” he mutters.

  My spirits lift. Maybe we’ll just have sex and avoid awkward conversation.

  But I’m not that lucky. My reprieve doesn’t last long because he takes a seat on the couch and pulls me down into his lap, locking his arms around me so I can’t get away.

  Jeez.

  “We gotta talk Princess.”

  I chew on my lip. “Well, I don’t really think we need to since everything’s all cleared up. Why don’t I go change, and maybe we can catch a later show of the movie?”

  When his expression turns thunderous, I realize that was the worst thing I could have possibly said.

  “Elizabeth, let’s get something straight,” he says tightly. He’s never used my full name before— well, except for the time he gave me a ticket.

  “Can we have sex first?” I ask, trying for cuteness.

  That doesn’t work either. I can tell because now I worry that the tic in his jaw will explode, it’s pulsing that hard. “Umm…” I trail off because he stares me into silence.

  “Princess, for the first time since we’ve known each other, you’re going to let me talk and you’re not going to interrupt. You’re not going to start throwing your ass backwards ideas on relationships and dating out there either, and if you think to test me, the minute shit starts spewing from your mouth, I’m out the door, and I’m not walking back through it again.”

  I nod, not liking how bossy he’s being right now but also not wanting him to walk out of my door.

  “Good. Now, just in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been together since the night I made you come for the first time. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Fuck that physically exclusive bullshit. You’re not my fuck buddy, and I should have never agreed to your quite frankly—asinine conditions. You’re more than just pussy. If I want pussy, I can get it without having to sit through chick flicks, hypothetical legal cases, and outrage over celebrities whom I don’t give a fuck about fucking each other.”

  What he says makes sense. I open my mouth so I can reluctantly agree with him, but he puts his hand over my mouth and shakes his head. “Uh-uh Princess. You’re already in enough trouble as it is for assuming I’d fuck around on you even if you did think we were just fuck buddies—and that’s another thing you’re in trouble for too. You’re going to let me finish. You’re more tha
n a quick lay, an easy lay. Every time we go out and you wear a tight shirt or those goddamn jeans that hug your ass or a short dress that shows off all that leg, and I have to sit through dinner or a movie or some other shit for hours when all I want to do is rip your clothes off and fuck you hard…” he trails off and then draws in a deep breath. “If you were just pussy baby, I wouldn’t torture myself with all that anticipation. If you were just pussy, I wouldn’t listen just a little harder when you open your mouth to say something because I’m wondering if it’s going to be fucking crazy or funny or brilliant. You make me want to laugh, rip your clothes off, and bash my head against the wall all at the same time.”

  Oh God.

  Oh God.

  His words are tearing into me, ripping through any shield whatsoever I have left around my heart and causing warmth to flood from my heart through to my veins into my the very core of my being.

  I don’t like this.

  It feels good—no, it feels great but because it feels so great, it also feels scary as hell.

  I really don’t like this, but I shove those uncomfortable thoughts out of my head. If calling what we have together a relationship makes things easier, then I’m all for it.

  “Really don’t like the look on your face right now Princess,” he mutters.

  I purse my lips and shrug. He’s already told me not to talk, and it’s honestly a reprieve because I don’t feel like sharing my thoughts.

  Too bad he sees right through me.

  “I should probably ask what’s running through that demented little brain of yours right now, but we’ve got more important things to get to,” he says. His amber eyes glow with intent, and I shift back on the couch just a bit.

  He responds by settling his large palms on either side of my hips and lifting me so that I straddle him. One hand wanders up my side to the back of my neck and he applies gentle pressure so that my head dips and our lips brush. I moan and open my mouth wider, craving his kiss. He takes what I offer and to show my appreciation, I yank his t-shirt up so my hands can slip underneath and wander along all that tantalizingly firm flesh. He growls into my mouth when my fingers gently pinch at his nipples simultaneously and then he pulls me away.