Tell Me Not to Go Page 7

  “I don’t know where to begin. I want to have fun. And to have sex. Lots of it.”

  Damn, I wish we were having all that sex right now.

  “Agreed. Obviously.”

  “No demands. No expectations. We see each other when we want and when we have time.”

  I don’t want Sam to be some dirty secret. Even though that might be thrilling for a minute, I want to get the full-blown version of her. I want something big and passionate and exciting, and this is the perfect way to have that without falling into another long-term relationship. But only if we can be ourselves completely.

  “Okay, but I want to do more than have sex,” I say. “I want to go out. Do things together.”

  “That’s fine. But no guilt if the other person says no.”

  “So this won’t be some big secret?”

  “No,” she says. “Especially with Lizzie. I don’t want to lie to her or hurt her.”

  I get a pang in my stomach thinking of what my sister will have to say about this. But I’m tired of not going after what I want because of what people will think of me.

  “Me neither. But can we wait a few days before we tell her?”

  “Why?”

  “What if you change your mind?”

  “Unlikely.”

  “I want something that’s mine. For me. Not for everyone else.”

  She pauses. “I get it. But just for a few days. And we can’t drag Lizzie into the middle. No talking about each other to her.”

  Like I would ever do that.

  “Done. And either of us can call this whole thing off at any time.”

  “Yes. But the most important thing is, neither of us can ask for an extension,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  Can’t be much of an extension anyway, since she’ll be leaving soon after graduation.

  “And absolutely no falling in love. No matter what.”

  I haven’t fallen in love with women I’ve spent years with, so I doubt there’s any danger of that happening in the next few months. Sam and I might have crazy chemistry, but we are opposites in many ways. And the one thing we do have in common is that we don’t want to get in too deep right now.

  “Right, no falling in love.”

  “Are we really doing this?” she asks, her voice softening.

  “I want to. Do you?”

  She doesn’t answer me, and I wonder what’s going through that complicated, sassy mind of hers.

  “Yes.”

  I smile, surprised by my sense of relief. “Then when do we start?”

  Chapter 9: Sam

  90 days left

  Dr. Lee smooths out the patient’s electrocardiogram and calls me over to take a look. The wave patterns are normal, so it looks like this patient, Mrs. Chaudry, is in the clear.

  “Have you heard from any other schools?” Dr. Lee asks.

  I’m so thankful I got to shadow her last year. When I finished working with another doctor a couple of months ago, Dr. Lee asked me to come back again and talked to me about specializing in cardiology. It’s going to be a long and grueling road, but I’m planning to take her up on that advice.

  “Just one acceptance so far. Still waiting to hear from UCLA.”

  “The fact you got an interview is exceptional,” Dr. Lee says, her pin-straight hair tied up and out of her way.

  “Thank you, Doctor. And thanks again for the recommendation.”

  “You’ve more than earned it. Plus, I’d love to see more women in cardiology.” She glances again at the test results. “Why don’t you come with me to deliver the good news to the patient?”

  Mrs. Chaudry is a sixty-year-old widow who has already had one minor heart attack. When I was talking to Mrs. Chaudry a couple of hours ago, I discovered that her son lost his job and then his home. He and his family moved in with her, which is causing a lot of stress. I doubt Dr. Lee knows this, or if she does, gives it much consideration. Because of time constraints, Dr. Lee is able to spend barely five minutes giving Mrs. Chaudry her test results, and even though the doctor ends with a general warning about exercise, diet, and stress, I can’t help but feel frustrated. Such a missed opportunity to encourage Mrs. Chaudry to make specific changes—simple things like walking or meditation—that could release her stress and extend her life.

  I know this is what my dad means when he complains that we don’t treat the whole person. Yet I also know that Dr. Lee is a good doctor who cares, but is constrained by the realities of a difficult health care system. I blow out a breath and remind myself it’s easier to create change from within. I have to believe that I can do things better in order to keep going.

  After I leave Dr. Lee, I head to the women’s locker room to change. I was so engrossed in my shift that I almost forgot about tonight. But now I’m slipping into a soft V-neck sweater and a tight pair of jeans. I even put on makeup and make my hair extra straight and glossy. All so I can go to Jeff’s house, get naked, and bang him silly.

  I must be out of my damn mind.

  It’s ridiculous to sneak around, but if I went home to get pretty, Lizzie would know I was after a man. I understand why Jeff wants to wait to tell his sister about us; he wants to make sure we’re not going to crash and burn after one night and then regret opening our big mouths. And he wants it to be private, even for just a little while. But it’s going to feel shitty keeping this from her.

  I give myself a pep talk as I park at Jeff’s and go around the Craftsman house, up the well-lit path to his studio. I knock on his door—a little too hard maybe. Three agonizing seconds go by, during which I fear I might turn around and Road Runner it back to my car, a trailing cloud of dust in my wake. I can’t believe I’m so nervous. But it’s been a long time for me, and now I can’t even remember the reason why.

  Jeff opens the door, wearing a crisp white T-shirt and an old pair of jeans, and—sweet mother—I’m so glad I waited. Because my body hums, my brain shuts off, and I’m left with only one, overwhelming thought: I want this man.

  He reaches for my wrist and tugs me into the house. The door slams shut behind us after Jeff kicks it with one bare foot. His mouth is on mine, his hands are everywhere, and he’s kissing me like we’re on the Titanic saying our final farewells.

  He steps back with a cocky grin. “Sorry. I needed to get that out of the way first. You hungry?”

  “Hell yeah,” I say, launching at him. He catches me, wraps his arms around my waist, and lifts me into the air. And that turns me on so much that I almost swoon like those white ladies in old romance novels. Instead, I grab his ass.

  He carries me toward his room, but has to stop at the bottom of the ladder. He thunks his head on one of the rungs.

  “Okay, you were right about this ladder.”

  “Last one up doesn’t get oral,” I laugh, pushing him out of the way.

  He climbs up quickly, crowding behind me. I try to climb faster, but he smacks my butt.

  “You did not just do that,” I say over my shoulder.

  “Couldn’t help it.”

  Finally, we get to the top and collapse onto his bed. We kiss and tussle, my fingers in his hair, his in mine. I’m so thankful there’s no awkwardness, no conversation. There’s time for that later. Right now I need my hands on him.

  He tugs his shirt off and over his head, throwing it to the side. He chucks it so hard that the shirt sails over the rail and down below.

  I nip his bottom lip. “Nice arm.”

  Jeff gives the same treatment to my sweater, although that stays in the loft. When he sees me in my bra, he closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath.

  I use the opportunity to shuck my jeans, and then I lean back on my arms, the red lace cups of my bra straining with the effort.

  Jeff opens his eyes, and they scan long and slow over me. I can’t help but preen inside. Maybe a little on the outside, too, because I shake my hair and smile like a pinup girl.

  “This is so much better than when you flashed me,�
�� he says. “And that’s saying something.”

  I pull him down on top of me, and I tingle everywhere our skin touches. I know he feels it too, because he kisses me, slow and deep, his hand running down my side.

  He comes up for air. “Remember when we were shoved into the back of Ryan’s tiny car the night we met?”

  “Yeah. You called me ‘sweetheart’ in an angry caveman way because we were fighting.”

  He kisses my shoulder, and I shudder.

  “Yeah. The whole time, I really just wanted to rip your clothes off.”

  My hands move down to the front of his jeans. “Me, too.”

  He helps me tug down his pants, and he looks so sexy in his boxer briefs that I want to devour him. So I do.

  First, I slide my mouth over his chest, stopping to lick all the places I admired when I caught him fresh from the shower. So many hills and valleys to explore on a guy. He tries to regain control by pulling me back up to him, but I’m not having it.

  “It’s been a long time. Let me play,” I finally whisper.

  His only response is a groan, so I head lower. But just as I get to the best part, I realize we haven’t talked about any of the important things.

  I move up to look at him, pleased that he’s dazed.

  “I know you’re always prepared, but is there anything I should know about? Down below?”

  He doesn’t catch my meaning, so I give him a second.

  “Oh. No,” he says. “I’m careful. And I’ve been tested. You?”

  “Same. And I’m on birth control.”

  “I’ll still use something,” he says quietly.

  “Okay.” And now I feel awkward. Even though I have no reason to. Even though this is a sensible and necessary discussion. But for some reason, it hits me that I am about to go down on Lizzie’s brother, and I go cold.

  Jeff puts his arms around me and pulls me close. “We can stop if this is too weird for you. I might jump out of this loft head first, but we can always stop.”

  I smile against his strong chest and run my hands over his patch of blond hair. I try to shut my brain off and just feel. The warmth of his body. The firmness of his chest and legs compared to mine. The kindness he exudes, even while his body is urging him on. How crazy that I want to be the one to soothe that ache. I kiss him again, reaching behind me to unsnap my bra. As he watches me, I slip the straps off and toss it to the floor.

  He doesn’t compliment me again, doesn’t say a word, in fact. But his eyes go wider, and he slides down my torso to take one nipple in his mouth. A few feather kisses and kitten licks, and my body is on fire again.

  He kisses his way down my stomach, as I arch my back so he can slip off my panties. I suddenly feel desperate—like if he doesn’t touch me I’m going to cry. And then he does, and I cry a little anyway. He looks up at me and freezes.

  “Are you okay?”

  There’s no way to explain to him how good it feels after all this time to have someone smart and sweet want me—and most of all, for me to let myself want them back. I pull him to me, my blood pulsing so fast I’m faint from it.

  “Don’t stop,” I say. “If we’re going to do this, then I want to do it all. Everything. Don’t hold back.”

  He kisses me hard and fast, and then he slides down my body and puts his mouth on me. I don’t wonder if he’s okay with it. No smartass internal dialogue about my body. Instead, I grip his head and pull him into me. He doesn’t let up, even when I start begging, and my body convulses and expands underneath him. It’s a fierce, cleansing feeling that burns through me like a comet. What an idiot I was to go so long without this.

  He’s on top of me now, his eyes feral, his breathing rapid.

  “You’re amazing, Samantha.” He grabs a condom and slides it on.

  “Wait, let me touch you,” I say.

  “I can’t. I can’t. Next time.”

  His hands are trembling and the feel of him along the length of my body is too much. So I wrap my legs around him and invite him in. And it’s a shock—foreign and familiar and full. But so, so good. The slide, the contact, the urgency.

  “Look at me,” he says, cradling my head and taking my mouth.

  Kissing him feels necessary. As our mouths become crazed, he falters and loses control. I spur him on—grabbing his firm ass, lifting to meet him.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t stop,” he says.

  His desperation is a relief, because I don’t want to be the only one.

  “Give it to me,” I demand. “Harder.”

  “Oh, Sam.” His gentleness is gone, replaced by a drive, a beating drum demanding movement. I match him rhythm for rhythm. And then he is shouting my name and I am watching him come undone. I love it. I love it. I love it.

  We lie entangled but floating, me lost somewhere in my thoughts, but still registering the feel of him against me.

  “Sorry,” he finally mumbles.

  I manage to sit up on one elbow.

  “What the hell for?”

  He grabs my hair and winds it around his finger. “I wouldn’t exactly win a prize for that performance.”

  I bite his earlobe. “This is supposed to be fun. It isn’t a contest.”

  “I’m usually a little more thorough,” he says.

  “Seriously? I feel like a lotto winner holding one of those giant checks.”

  “Good.” His smile is bright and pleased.

  We lie there, our senses returning, until I become squeamish that we didn’t set any ground rules about what happens after sex. I don’t know what to do now.

  “I guess I should go,” I say after a few minutes of silence.

  “Seriously?”

  He sounds bewildered, but even worse, he sounds hurt.

  I pull the blanket up around me. “I thought we weren’t going to guilt each other?”

  I expect Jeff to start arguing with me, or to turn frosty and get out of bed. Instead, he sits up on one elbow and drags the blanket down my chest with one finger, leaving me bare to the waist.

  “You sure that’s what you want?” he asks, his face relaxed, but his voice deadly serious.

  “Maybe.”

  His finger makes small circles on my collarbone. “I thought we were going to be honest?” Round and round his hand goes, lower and lower. I’ve lost track of what we’re talking about.

  “I thought you’d want me to go.”

  His finger stops. “Are you crazy?”

  And then he rolls me on top of him, and I can’t remember why I considered leaving.

  Forty-five minutes later, I am panting and Jeff is lying comatose.

  “Satisfied now? I’m pretty sure you broke something.”

  “Worth it. I feel redeemed. My eight out of ten rating remains intact.”

  I laugh so hard, my stomach aches. “Wasn’t aware there was official sex scoring.”

  I’m still hot from all the exertion, so I kick the blankets off. There’s a small skylight above Jeff’s bed, and I strain my eyes in the hopes of spotting a star.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he says.

  I turn to look at him. The sheet is resting low on his hips, and his arm is propped behind his head. He looks sexy enough to be in a condom ad.

  “I can’t stay. Lizzie is home and she’ll wonder where I am.” And no way do I want to lie to her when she asks.

  Jeff snakes a hand down my stomach. “So are we going to go through with this? Or did you get me out of your system?”

  I love the feel of Jeff’s touch, the easy way we communicate now that the sexual tension is gone. “I want the ninety days.”

  “Thank the Lord. Because the things I plan to do to you . . .”

  I roll toward him. “Yeah? Like what?”

  He squints his eyes, like he’s working out a math problem.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to think up a bunch of stuff.”

  “Trying to work your way from an eight to a ten?” I guessed that Jeff had a competitive streak, but I didn�
�t know it extended all the way to his bedroom.

  “Practice makes perfect.”

  We laugh together for a while, and then we talk about dumb things—work, weather, I don’t know what.

  I’ve missed pillow talk.

  He twists his hand in my hair, and I smooth my hand down his shoulder, because it’s difficult not to touch him. It begins to lull me into a haze, and I want to pull the covers up and go to sleep. But being wrapped in his arms all night might make me lose sight of the fact that this is a ninety-day-only affair. He is not my boyfriend, and I need to go home.

  Jeff watches me as I get dressed.

  “We need to tell Lizzie soon,” he says. “One, because I hate keeping this from her, and two, because I want you to be able to stay over.”

  I nod and head down the ladder. He walks me to the door, of course.

  I run one hand over his hair, loving how the thick, blond strands feel in my fingers. “Tonight was better than nice.” In fact, it was a ten out of ten. But I don’t want to tell him that.

  His face lights up. “Hell yes, it was.”

  He gives me one last, long kiss, and I spend the rest of the night missing the feel of him.

  Chapter 10: Jeff

  86 Days Left

  Want to come to dinner tonight at Jude’s? Sam will be there, Lizzie texts me as I’m working at my desk.

  Definitely, thx

  Her offer is especially welcome right now because I pulled an all-nighter yesterday preparing a presentation. The thought of someone else feeding me is enticing.

  As much as I love my sister, though, I would kill to be alone with Sam. We haven’t had time to see each other the past few days, and the texts and phone calls only make me want her more.

  Looks like I’ll see you at dinner tonight, I text Sam.

  ☺ Wear your jeans

  You like those, huh?

  ♥♥

  What will you wear for me? I ask her.

  It’s about what I won’t be wearing . . .

  Great. Now my blood rushes south as I imagine the possibilities.

  I send Sam a devil emoji, along with, Wanna come to my place after dinner?

  Yes

  This day is looking up considerably.

  I hurry and finish an e-mail to my boss so I can get home to change and then head to Jude’s. I would have gone straight there, but if Sam wants jeans, she’ll get jeans.