From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Eighteen

JAYMES

I hide in the bedroom with Melissa while she does her hair and makeup. And I don’t leave the room until she does. She’s my buffer. I don’t trust myself alone with Fitz. Yet that’s precisely what’s on the agenda for this afternoon.

“I’ll be back by four to change my clothes for the party. What are you two going to do?” She hikes her purse strap onto her shoulder and eyes us while I sit on the opposite end of the sofa from Fitz.

“I’m thinking day drinking sounds like a solid plan.” I press my lips together.

She laughs as though I’m not serious.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Fitz adds unexpectedly.

Melissa shakes her head and opens the door. “There will be plenty of alcohol at the party tonight. Maybe stay sober until I get back. Byeee.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

We remain idle.

Silent.

Gazes pointed at our laps.

Finally, Fitz clears his throat. “If we stay here—”

“We’re going to spend all day having sex.”

“Pretty much. Were you serious about day drinking?” He glances over at me.

“Were you?”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

“I’ll get my purse.”

The nearby bars are not open before noon, but we find a café that serves mimosas. Several drinks in, I start spilling more about my life than Melissa did the previous night. Sadly, no amount of alcohol makes Fitz share his past.

By noon, we’re sitting in a booth at a sports bar, eating greasy burgers and drinking on-tap beer.

“Tell me more about Miguel,” Fitz says, relaxed in the corner of the booth, one hand holding his beer, his other hand on the table, fingers drumming it.

It takes me a few seconds to remember Miguel while I stack my fries like a ladder next to my half-eaten burger. “He was older. His dad worked nights, and his mom was a waitress who always worked.” My nose scrunches. “I don’t know when she slept. Do you suppose she was a vampire?” I giggle, feeling a warm buzz.

He gives me several slow blinks. Is he considering my question? Or is he too drunk to know whether it’s possible for Miguel’s mom to be a vampire?

“We had to be quiet so we didn’t wake his dad. And we had to be quick.” I snort. “I think he jizzed himself before he wiggled out of his pants because it only went partway in.” I hold up my finger and slowly bend it. “He was limp.”

Fitz continues to blink slowly—a blank expression.

“But I gave him a second chance the following week, and he did better. Popped the cherry.” I make a popping sound with my lips. “What about you? Did you have success on your first time?”

He narrows his eyes at my plate. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Where do you want to go? We shouldn’t drive.”

He stands and holds out his hand to me. “We don’t have a car.”

“That makes sense. I guess there will be no sobriety tests that involve you kissing me,” I mumble, taking his hand after scooting out of the booth.

“Now, now ... that was a scientifically proven method.”

I giggle while we exit the sports bar. Fitz holds my hand as we stroll past shops and restaurants down the street. I’m gloriously buzzed, but I’m unsure if he’s affected.

“Oh, look!” I tug on his hand to stop him and point at the window. “You know what we should do?”

He scowls at the neon sign. “You think?”

“I do.” I pull him toward the door.

My phone chimes from somewhere in the room, rousing me from a deep sleep. When I sit up in bed, my stomach twists, squeezing its contents into the back of my throat. I lurch out of bed, sprinting to the toilet.

The souvenirs of my day drinking splatter into the toilet bowl. Then I collapse on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Day drinking might not have been the best idea.

“Oh god.” I look down.

I’m topless and braless, and my jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped. Closing my eyes, I piece together the events that led me to worshipping the toilet. Everything plays in reverse order.

We were messing around on Melissa’s bed. Then he started to nod off to sleep, and I did too. Before that, I remember laughing when we returned to the apartment. I don’t know what we were laughing about, but I laughed so hard I cried. Then Fitz kissed me as only he does.

Hands claiming my face.

Tongue in my mouth.

All consuming.

“I want you,” I shoved his shirt up his chest, kissing and licking his abs before he could close the door behind us.

“Fuck. What are you—” His back hit the open door, holding it open, as I dropped to my knees and released him from his jeans, eagerly sucking him into my mouth and humming my pleasure. “Jesus Christ.” He panted, one hand pressed flat to the door, his other hand on the back of my head.

“Oh no, no, no ...” I cover my face, remembering the elderly lady who crept past the door and gasped.

Climbing to my feet, I grip the edge of the vanity for a few seconds before washing my hands and face. Then I brush my teeth and comb my fingers through my hair. “Oh fuck ...” My fingers graze the bandage over the sensitive area on the back of my neck, and I remember ...

We got tattoos.

I return to the bedroom, where Fitz is asleep with one arm draped over his face, pants still open. No shirt. “Wake the hell up! Why did you let us get tattoos?”

I have three missed calls from Melissa and a handful of texts. While Fitz grumbles, slowly waking up, I exit the bedroom and return Melissa’s missed calls.

“What the heck have you been doing?” she asks.

“Nothing. I mean”—I rub my forehead—“we ... grabbed lunch and meandered around.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I was in the bathroom. Where are you?”

“We stopped by the marina to ensure everything was ready. I’m leaving now. But when I get there, I’ll quickly change into my dress, and we’ll have to go. Are you two ready?”

“Yes, uh ... totally.” I gather my shirt and bra from the floor and dart into the bedroom.

“Cool. I’ll be there in twenty.”

I end the call without a goodbye.

“Wake up! Melissa’s on her way.” I shake Fitz’s leg. “Dammit, Fitz. Wake up! ”

He grumbles and rubs his eyes before opening them.

“We. Got. Tattoos.”

Fitz eases to sitting. “Yep.” He winces. “We did. It was your idea.”

“ Dude! You had a say. We were not sober enough to get them. What irresponsible idiot gave us tattoos? Alcohol is a blood thinner. Guess what you shouldn’t do before getting a tattoo?” My voice escalates with each word.

He chuckles, standing and arching his back in a long stretch. “Drink alcohol?”

“This won’t end well. If we found someone that irresponsible, I can only imagine how irresponsible he probably is with keeping things sanitary and sterile.” My stomach twists as I consider all the dangerous possibilities.

“We weren’t that drunk. We were just enjoying life.” He tips his chin and lifts his arm to inspect his tattoo.

“We have to be ready by the time Melissa gets here. Get dressed.”

I’m never drinking a drop of alcohol again. When Fitz closes the bathroom door, I make the bed, throw on my dress, and apply makeup in the full-length mirror while my curling iron heats up.

Even though I can’t see the back of my neck, I know what it says—more proof that I wasn’t drunk enough to forget.

Mine says “He’s mine,” and his says “She’s mine.”

“One word, Fitz. You couldn’t pitch in a little money for that extra word?” I ask when he stands in the doorway wearing the hell out of a black suit and crisp white shirt with a silver-and-blue geometric tie. I almost forget that I’m hell bent on blaming him for today’s events.

“Pitch in?” He grunts a laugh. “I bet you make more money than I do. So the question is, why were you so cheap with something so permanent?”

“I was testing your level of generosity.”

His lips twist, and he nods several times while inspecting my gold ruched dress with a cowl-neck and generous split up my thigh. “Let me guess. I failed?”

“Times infinity.” I scowl at his reflection, even though it’s hard because that suit does things to me. Things that get me into trouble.

“What’s the big deal anyway?”

I twist the curling iron. “ He’s my person implies friendship. He’s mine implies ownership. Something that’s forever.”

“It is what it is.”

I unplug the curling iron and turn toward him, inhaling a massive breath and holding it for a few seconds. “It is what it is? How do we explain it?”

“Who’s going to know?”

“What? Melissa will know. And Will and Maren will know. Basically, the three people we don’t want to know will know .”

“It’s on the back of your neck, covered by your hair. And mine’s on my torso, covered by my arm. Besides, you can always get ‘he’ changed to something else.”

I think of words that end in h - e . I’ve got nothing. “What words end in h-e ?” I brush past him to slip on my heels in the kitchen.

Fitz follows me while staring at his phone. “Well, there’s avalanche , heartache , toothache , unsheathe , mustache , guilloche —”

“ Mustache ? Mustache’s mine? That’s ridiculous. And what the hell is guilloche ?”

“It’s, uh ...” He squints at his phone’s screen. “A decoration formed by two intersecting lines.”

“I’m an idiot. No.” I shake my head a half-dozen times. “You make me into an idiot.”

His head juts back. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. If I make you into an idiot, then what do we say about the woman who suggested we get tattoos from a sketchy tattoo artist in the first place? You are the bad influence. And it’s me who does idiotic things under your bad influence.”

I wave him off. “Nonsense. I’ll look into guilloche . And what will you change ‘she’ to?”

He chuckles. “I’m afraid my choices are fewer than yours. I’ll probably go with galoshes .”

“Galoshe’s mine?” I grumble. “But seriously, you’re older. Why did you let us get tattoos?”

Fitz slides his hands into his pants pockets. “Because you thought we should go day drinking, which made me more agreeable than usual. Need I remind you of the alternative plan?”

I zip my purse and look at him. “Day drinking didn’t exactly stop that from happening.”

A slow grin steals his lips. “You remember that, huh?”

I avert my gaze while setting my purse on the counter and filling a glass with water. “I woke up without my shirt and bra. Something happened. And yes, I remember!”

When he doesn’t respond, I take a sip of water and turn toward him. Fitz grins. God! It’s a huge grin. It breaks through my not-so-innocent facade. I have a waning desire to act unaffected by Calvin Fitzgerald. I know where he stands, even if I don’t know why. And I accept it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change my growing feelings for him.

“I’m not doing anything to my tattoo.” I shrug. “Someday, he will be mine.”

The hint of a wince wrinkles his face, disappearing just as quickly as it appeared, but not before stealing his smile.

“But you’d better change yours to galoshes . It’s the only thing that will make sense for you.”

His cheeks puff for a few seconds before he slowly breathes. “But let’s be honest, nothing about me makes sense.”

“You need to stop listening to Will and Maren.” I click my heels toward him, grabbing his lapels. “Can I just say you look incredibly sexy in this suit?”

A renewed smile slides up his face just as the door opens.

I step back.

“Late! I’m running so late. My brother has no sense of time.” Melissa whizzes past us to the bedroom. “I’m going to need help zipping my dress!”

“That’s all you.” Fitz shakes his head.

“Coming.”