by Allison Parr
My heart clenched and unclenched, heat and wind washing through my body, all the elements alive and pulsing. “There’s nothing I want.”
His dark eyes brightened. “Nothing?”
I raised my chin defiantly. “Nothing you have.”
“And what else is there?”
Our voices were soft, but we were so close we didn’t have to strain to hear each other. I could feel my pulse pounding, my blood rushing as my heart tumbled over at an impossible speed. “Things I can find myself.”
“Like?”
My eyes involuntarily flickered over to the list, still sitting on the top of my dresser, close to Ellie. Abe caught the motion. “You have a list?”
“Something like.”
“Let me see.”
I smiled. “Oh, you don’t need to know about all of it.”
“I think I do.” He stood and plucked the piece of paper off my dresser.
And at that moment I remembered my late night addition a week ago. “No!” I jumped up and threw myself at him without a second’s thought.
Eyes bright with laughter, he lifted the list above his head. I tried to snatch at it but all of my limbs were too short—Abe had a full head on me and even with my arm fully outstretched I couldn’t reach his. But the image of Abe reading Get over Abraham kept me leaping, determined to keep him from reading my desires.
He didn’t relent, instead dancing backward with the grace he usually reserved for the field, until he stood with his back against the wall. I swatted him, my light fists glancing off his warm arms. He grinned down at me a moment more, and I figured I could at least distract him even if I couldn’t win physically—and then he tilted his head back and angled the paper down.
I clamored atop the trunk at the foot of my bed and leaned across the space between us to trap his hand against the wall. It didn’t work; instead I lost my balance and fell into Abe. He managed to catch me, but the angle was awkward and he tripped himself, and in the next instant we tumbled across my bed. I sprawled across his chest, breathing quickly, my forearms resting on him, my hair draping down to tickle him.
His eyes were wide and clear and unblinking. They drew me in; I couldn’t look away from them. Instead, I shifted, until my whole body lined along his. He was hard and warm and solid and my body craved more touch, craved that our limbs and fingers and everything be entwined, that we be braided together until we couldn’t be separated.
The air shimmered between us. With each breath I took, I could feel my body pushing against his, my breasts full and aching as they strained against the fabric of my shirt. My hands smoothed down over his biceps, smooth as carved marble under my fingers, living marble. His hands ran down over my body, coming to rest in the small of my back, holding me tight against him. I ached for those hands to keep moving, to keep roaming. My breath hitched but our locked gazes never faltered.
He pulled me down and kissed me.
My lips opened under his and hot desire spread through my body, arching my back and my body toward him. His tongue glided deeply into my mouth, stroking and seducing, and I writhed against him. I wanted more of it, wanted the clothes between us to be gone. My core ached and my breath came short.
His hand slipped under my shirt. He took his time, his finger slowly winding their way up my side, caressing my hip and waist and ribs until he reached the underside of my breast. I let out a mew of pleasure as his thumb traced the bottom of my bra.
He rolled me over, a tumble of limbs and flesh. His weight above mine was welcome, desired, and I hooked one leg around his to bring him closer. One of my hands tangled in his hair, soft and thick and curling slightly around my fingers, while my other slid over the strong planes of his back. He skimmed my shirt up and off, a gentle rustle of fabric. Air kissed my skin ever so gently, and I gasped into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, exploring my mouth with a thoroughness that almost left me boneless.
Almost.
I placed my hand on his chest. It was a testament to his strength—and perhaps his willpower—that he braced his arms on either side of my body and held himself aloft above me. “What is it?”
“What are we doing?”
He smiled down at me. “I’d think that was self-evident.”
I let out a huff of amusement, but still gave him a soft push so that he sat up. He did, though slowly, and I did as well, until we sat across from each other in a nest of blankets. I scrunched up my hair in a brief tick of frustration. “Okay, but why?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that a trick question?”
I accepted that with a smile, but stood my ground. “All I mean is—I don’t really want to be friends-with-benefits.”
To my great surprise his expression utterly blanked, and no matter how hard I tried, it remained unreadable. “Really.”
Great, I’d probably insulted him. As though it wasn’t hard on me, too, having a conversation when there were so many better things our mouths could be doing. “I just mean—no, that is what I mean. I don’t want to hook up with you.”
He reached out and slowly traced a line from temple to my jaw, and then over the outline of my lips. “It didn’t seem that way a minute ago.”
I trembled but remained firm. “Okay, yes, I do physically, but emotionally it’s a really bad choice for me right now.”
His eyebrows climbed and his dark eyes turned practically black. “I’m ‘emotionally’ a bad choice?”
I hung my head in embarrassment. “I’m insulting you, though I swear I’m not trying to.”
His voice came out clipped. “Yet you’re doing a very good job.”
I made myself look up, because he deserved an explanation. “Abe.” I took his hands in mine. “Abraham, I get that you can’t really be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back, but you get that I was totally infatuated with you for years, right? I don’t think it’s healthy for me to hook up with you when I want to start looking for a real, lasting relationship.”
His dark eyes searched mine for a long moment. “That’s what you’re looking for?”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
His breath touched my neck. “You’ve wanted us for ten years.”
I slipped my hand up his jaw. He leaned his face into it and I smiled. I could feel my heart steadily pounding, and I breathed in the relaxing, familiar scent of him. “But I don’t want to get my heart broken by you again.” I picked up my list and handed it to him.
He glanced down at it briefly, and then his brows dove and he took a second, longer glance. “‘Get over Abraham’?”
“Probably the wrong wording,” I said mildly. “I got over you years ago. It should probably read stay over Abraham.”
“I can get under that,” he said below his breath, and then shot me a sharp, heated smile.
I responded with my best Seriously? expression, which he returned with full on impishness. I shook my head and tried to continue without laughing. “I don’t want to put myself in a position where I’ll end up pining. I want to fall in love. I want a real relationship. I don’t want to hook up with a friend.” Especially not with him. “We had a shot, four years ago, and it didn’t work out. End of story.”
“It didn’t work out because it was the wrong time and place. Besides, you called that shot. I’m calling this one.” He smiled slowly. “You say you want a real relationship?”
I nodded, refusing to be embarrassed.
“All right then. Let’s date.”
I gaped at him. That hadn’t even been on the list of reactions I’d expected. “What?”
He smiled at me, slow and sure. “You know. You and me. See each other.”
That idea was so antithetical to my notion of the universe that I shook my head dumbly. “You don’t want to date me.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because!” Why was he even suggesting this? “You’re only interested because for the first time in our lives, I’m not throwing myself at you.”
He let out a
breath of laughter. “That’s not true.”
“But it is true. The first time, Abe. In over ten years. And what else has changed between us?”
He raised a brow. “Besides four years?”
“It’s been four years again and again. I mean it, Abe. Look, I know I messed up when I buried my head in the sand and didn’t talk to you and managed to no longer ever be home when you were. I take responsibility for ruining our friendship—”
“You can’t do that.”
I stopped. “Why not?”
“Because I did the same thing.”
News to me. “Wait, really? You were avoiding me too?”
“Tamar, you’d just told me you loved me. I was terrified.”
Now I raised my brow. “Thank you. But that’s not the point. The point is that I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to fall in love with you all over again. And I’m not going to ruin, for the second time, our friendship.”
Shock registered on his face. “I don’t want to be friends with you, Tamar. I want you naked on the bed and moaning my name.”
I turned red and hot, but stayed firm as I shook my head. “Well, then we’re at an impasse.”
“No, we’re not.”
I stared at him. Had he missed something? “Yes, we are.”
“Are you dating anyone else?”
I almost wanted to make someone up, just to rub him in Abe’s face. “No.”
He shrugged, looking perfectly content. “Are you going to stop being friends with me now?”
I considered that. As it turned out, I really liked Abe. I didn’t want to lose him all over again. “No.”
“And if I do this—” He leaned forward and slowly brushed my hair away from my face, giving me ample time to move. When I didn’t, he pressed a slow, hot kiss to my lips. Heat inflamed my entire body and curled my toes. “—...Are you going to punch me?”
My breath came quick and my heart was out of control again. “I suppose not,” I said grudgingly.
He leaned back, satisfaction clear in the smile curving his lips. “Then, fine. We’re not dating. But we’re not not dating. We’re at an impasse.”
I let out a huff of air. “I’m still looking for a nice, baggage-free boy to have a relationship with.”
He didn’t look away from me, and the desire and determination in his gaze was overwhelming. “Just try to fall in love with someone else while I’m around.”
The heat that shivered through me made think I might take flight. “That’s not fair. I want to fall in love with someone who’s also falling in love with me.”
He eyes danced. “I know everyone thinks of me as laid-back and easygoing, but I can be just as stubborn as you when I want something.”
“And what?” I said hotly. “You want it to be impossible for me to be happy without you?”
His smile widened. “Sounds about right.”
My mouth fell open, and it took a few moments to summon words. “Mule-headed!”
His brows lifted. “What?”
“It’s beyond mere stubbornness and into horse-donkey hybrid territory.”
His lips twitched and then his eyes flickered slightly, like he was recalling something from the back of his memory. The words rumbled out of him, slow, measured, memorized. “‘You make me laugh and you are so smart and brilliant and gorgeous and every time I look at you I can feel it in my chest’.”
Chills ran down my back. “You remember that?”
His eyes were hot and dark. “You were the first person to ever tell me she loved me. That’s not the kind of thing you forget.”
“I was nineteen.”
He leaned toward me. “You meant it.”
Warm shivers ran though me, and I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
He smiled. For the first time in my life I absolutely could not read him. “What are you thinking?”
He shook his head. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.” He stood, and then braced one arm on the wall beside me so he could lean down close enough that his breath kissed my cheek. “See you later, Tammy.”
He walked out of my apartment, and I let go. Then I clutched my pillow to my chest and fell back on my bed, certain nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter Thirteen
I fell in love with Abraham Kramer when I was twelve years old.
I’d never been to California before, but when my mother’s college roommate invited our family for her son’s bar mitzvah, Mom leaped at the chance. Most of this had to do with the old roommate’s husband, who worked at an expanding start-up in the same field as my dad. Especially given that Dad had been out of work for eight months, and Mom’s librarian salary wasn’t exactly thrilling.
It felt like a thousand people came to the ceremony. At our own synagogue back in Illinois, I knew each of the hundred members, but we didn’t have this kind of population density, or this kind of popularity. I sat between my mom and an older lady who smelled like heather, and watched the boy who walked onstage.
Even then, he had wide shoulders and stood taller than most kids our age. His floppy hair kept falling into dark eyes that tilted downward at the corners. He had a strong, confident voice, like he wasn’t nervous at all, and if his voice cracked or if he stuttered I never heard it. I thought, as I watched and listened, that I’d never come across anyone as attractive as this bar mitzvah in his suit and tie, with the contagious smile and open face. Not even Brandon Miller, and he was openly acknowledged as the hottest boy in the seventh grade.
At the party, I sat at a round table with the children of the Krasners’ other family friends. Some of them had met before, at breakfasts or other mitzvahs, but they were strangers to me and I focused on my food. I resisted eating the colorful fondant flower that came on my piece of cake; I knew from past experience that it would turn my mouth and tongue magenta.
I kept sneaking glances at Abe’s table, clearly filled with his best friends—loud boys in black ties and girls in pretty dresses and pierced ears. I wished I’d worn something better than the blue pastel dress I’d bought for the seventh/eighth grade semi-formal. I’d picked it because I’d liked the color, even though it was two sizes too big, but now I realized that the extra fabric just made me look silly and childish.
As soon as dessert finished, I slipped back to Mom’s side. She had to push me out onto the dance floor, where all the other kids milled about as the DJ played Top 40 songs. I lingered at the edge, still and uncomfortable, and hoped the next game announced would be something easy and solitary, like Hula-hooping. I was a champ Hula-hooper; I’d already won two contests this year, and gone home once with inflatable shoes and the next time won oversized sunglasses with star-shaped lenses.
The DJ slowed the music and leaned into the mike. “Time for Coke and Pepsi!”
My heart sank. The game required a partner. Two parallel lines formed, and when the announcer called out a beverage, players pulled different stunts. The slowest pair was eliminated each round. I doubted anyone would pick the shy unknown girl to partner up with, so I started to back away.
“Don’t you want to play?”
I stopped as I nearly backed into Abe’s mom, who smiled down at me. Unlike Abe, she was small and dark—his height and hair color must have come from his dad. Or maybe they were recessive traits. We’d just learned about that last quarter. Our science teacher had paired us up in duos, and given us an activity to see what traits our children would inherit. I flashed on trying that experiment with Abe, and quickly ducked my head, flustered. “I don’t have a partner.”
“That’s not a problem.” Mrs. Kramer lifted an arm. “Abraham! Why don’t you come partner with Tamar?”
My belly spiraled into my toes. No way would Abe want to pair up with me when he probably had a crush on one of those pretty girls. Cheeks even hotter, I risked a glance.
And to my astonishment, he came toward us with a smile.
Mrs. Krasner smiled kindly. “This is my son, Abraham. This
is Tamar Rosenfeld, the daughter of one of my best friends from college.” She gave me a small push forward.
Abraham caught my hand.
My heart cavorted about my chest like a frantic bird, and my eyes widened into saucers.
He grinned at me. “Hi.”
I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
We stood in silence for a moment as his mom wandered back to the adults, and I scrambled for something, anything to say that wouldn’t make me sound like an idiot.
“You know how to play?” He tugged me gently after him, straight through the crowd of other twelve—and thirteen-year-olds until we stood in the place of honor at the front of the line. I was peripherally aware of some of the glances, but I was almost solely consumed by Abraham.
“I’m not really sporty,” I confessed rapidly as we faced off and the DJ started going over the rules.
“Don’t worry,” he said, at ease and comforting. “We got this.”
And we did.
Of course, that might have had something to do with Abe being the bar mitzvah boy, but it didn’t matter to me.
“Coke!” the DJ yelled, and Abe and all the kids in his line dropped to their knees, I bolted across the floor, competitive spirit rising with my determination not to be last. I skidded the final foot and dropped down onto Abraham’s thigh, clutching at his shoulders with both hands to keep steady. I looked about frantically, hoping I hadn’t been the slowest.
I hadn’t. Down the row, one girl scowled at her partner as the DJ declared them out. Delighted, I grinned widely at Abe, and he returned it.
That first time I sat on his bent knee I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. When he sat on mine, I burst into giggles, and he joined in with a shout of laughter. Soon we were both sprinting back and forth and I didn’t even care when I slipped and fell.
At the end, the DJ crowned us with green-and-purple jester hats made out of felt, and I hugged Abe impulsively—possibly the first impulsive hug of my life. He returned it, and in that moment I felt my heart slip out of my chest.
* * *