Arizona Heat (14 page)

Reagan exits the bathroom and I’m standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He cocks his head to the side in confusion and I offer him a small smile before climbing back in bed and acting like a normal person. I suddenly feel like I’m analyzing his every move, watching for possible symptoms. He takes off his shirt and I look from his bare shoulders to the sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His mother’s cross sits in its usual spot in the middle of his chest and from here, he looks totally fine.

“Will you play a song for me?
”
I ask shyly.

“Okay,
”
he says, trying to hide his pleasant surprise. Reagan walks over to his guitar case, unzips it, and produces his acoustic before placing a pick between his teeth. He sits on the bed with his legs crossed, resting the guitar over his thigh. I test the waters by moving myself behind him and when he doesn't object, I slide my legs around his waist and rest my head on his back. He begins to play and I close my eyes, feeling his muscles move as he strums the chords. I listen intently to the melody and feel something inside me lift up when he starts to sing.

If you would just look over at me

You’d see all the things that I see

And then you would always know

You’re beautiful at everything

I’ve watched you for years at my shows

I wanted you to wait for me you know

But you never saw me like that

Now my hearts broken

Look at me

See the beauty I see

Come back to me

And I’ll be the one to make you believe

She never dreamed of a kiss

That would leave her feeling like this

If she would just look at me now

I’d show her someone that could love

Look at me

And see the beauty I see

Come back to me

Oh, I’ll be the one to make you believe

Make you believe

You’re so beautiful that I can hardly breathe

Look at me

You’ll see all the beauty I see

He finishes strumming and I smile against his back. “When did you write that?”

“High school,
”
he says, laying the guitar down on the bed.

“
High school
,
”
I repeat incredulously.

“Why does that surprise you?
”
he asks, amused.

“It’s so good.”

“If you had come to my shows, you would know I was good back then too.”

“Excuse me, I did go to your shows,
”
I pout with my hands on my hips.

“One or two doesn't really count,
”
he states.

“It most defiantly does, and how would you know how many I came to?”

“I paid attention to everyone that came to my shows.”

“Yeah, right,
”
I scoff.

“Especially the cute ones,
”
he says with a smile.

“I was hardly
cute
. Awkward is a better description.”

“You’ve always been cute, even when you were a kid,
”
he admits.

I can’t contain my smile, happy to know he thought I was cute at the same time I thought he was. “Who did you write the song about?
”
I ask. Reagan tips his head from side to side like he doesn't want to tell me. I give him a look like I don't care, even though I might care a little, and he takes a deep breath.

“Maria Esposito,
”
he shrugs.

I gasp a little, unintentionally. “But she was an awful human being.
”
I don’t mean to be rude but she was the biggest bully ever and the kind of popular that can turn the whole school against you with a single sentence if she felt like it. Maria never did anything herself. Her minions did all the dirty work. Our junior year, Sara called her out on something she said in the lunch line and Maria’s people shoved her inside a locker at the end of the school day. She was in there screaming for an hour before a janitor finally heard her.

“I realize that now but when I was a kid I didn't know any better. She was hooking up with our bass player anyway.”

“I don’t know her now, maybe she's a totally different person, but back then she did not deserve to have such a beautiful song written about her.
”
The words come out a little whinier than I intended them to which means I did a poor job at hiding the fact that I’m a little jealous I don’t have a song written about me.

“A good song is a good song no matter where it came from,
”
he suggests. I open my mouth to protest but Reagan’s lips are on mine, effectively removing the memory of whatever I was going to say. I place two hands on either side of his face and let his tongue invade my mouth. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since I last felt his lips on mine but it feels like years. He pulls me onto his lap and I wrap my arms around his neck. Our foreheads touch and I look into his eyes. He looks as content as I feel and his mouth tastes like mint as I place soft kisses on his lips.

“Let’s watch a movie,
”
he suggests and I feel a pang of disappointment. I nod as best I can without looking like I was expecting this night to go a different way. We settle in under the covers and I lay my head comfortably on Reagan’s chest. He flips through the movies and we argue over every title.

“No, you can’t watch the second movie before having seen the first one,
”
I say.

“Josie, it’s ‘The Fast and the Furious,
’
not ‘The Godfather.
’
You can watch ‘2 Fast 2 Furious
’
without having seen the first movie. I promise you won’t be confused.”

“It’s not that I think I’ll be confused. It’s the principle.”

“Fine. What about ‘The Transporter?
’
”

“I’m going right to sleep if you make me watch anything with Jason Statham,
”
I say.

“What is wrong with Jason Statham?
”
Reagan asks.

“Nothing is
wrong
with him. He’s nice to look at, don't get me wrong, but I feel like if I’ve seen one of his movies then I’ve seen them all.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that,
”
he says.

“You don’t know Jason Statham,
”
I scoff. Reagan looks at me with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen him make and my conviction falters. I tilt my head to the side to signal I don't believe him but he leans firmly against the headboard with his arms crossed. “Seriously? No. You don't know him.
”
My voice gives my uncertainly away and Reagan smiles.

“I walked past him at a party once and he gave me a nod so…”

“Oh yeah, that makes you practically brothers,
”
I laugh.

I don’t even know what movie we decided on but it starts with a rather graphic sex scene. My mouth goes dry and I unintentionally swallow with a loud gulp. The energy between us shifts and I wrap my leg around his, testing the waters. Reagan runs his hand over my back, down to my backside and gives it a little squeeze. That is all I needed to confirm that he is feeling it too.

I roll on top of him and press my lips to his with ferocity. We kiss like the future of the entire universe depends on our entwined mouths. It takes five-seconds to shed our clothes and slide myself over him. We don't waste any time, letting the pleasure consume us. I move up and down, absorbing every bit of him, and falling even further into his spell. This feeling is like a drug I’ll never quite get the fill of but I sure want to try.

My hands finds his and I push them in to the mattress as I bite his chest. He groans with approval and forces me upward so we are chest to chest. I wrap my arms around his neck and throw my head back as he kisses my collar bone. A quiet moan escapes my lips followed by an unexpected giggle as I get thrown onto my back. Reagan smiles down at me and cups my face as he eases in and out of me slowly. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer.

We come together and I never want to move on from this moment. I realize that I can lie to myself all I want but I am wrapped around his finger. It scares me and excites me all at the same time. Falling for someone so hard and so fast wasn't something I planned on doing but I’m not sure I can stop it. I don't think I want to.

It’s hard to believe that technically I was engaged yesterday and now I’m falling in love with another man but truth be told, I haven't felt engaged for months. Simon and I have been drifting for so long that I don’t even feel guilty about being with Reagan. After all, he leapt into bed with someone else first. At least I had the decency to break up with him before being with Reagan. For the first time, I’m doing something that I want to do without second guessing it and I’m not going to feel bad about that. I’m falling and I’m happy.

It’s nonstop with Reagan: morning, noon, and night. We take naps in-between and eat occasionally but, needless to say, we haven’t traveled very far in the past few days. It took a week to cruise from Arizona to Illinois and in four days we’ve only gone from somewhere in the middle of Indiana to Buffalo, New York.

My fingers are covered in a delicious blend of Franks Red Hot and margarine. I’m comfortable enough now with Reagan to stuff my face until my heart’s content and thank goodness because these chicken wings are delicious. I order mine hot and Reagan gets mild. He’s also comfortable enough now to not feel threatened by the fact that I can out eat him in spices.

“Your face is a disaster,
”
Reagan laughs.

“You think I’m ugly?
”
I ask with a mouthful of chicken and a hurt expression.

“You know that’s not what I meant,
”
he says, wiping some sauce off my cheek and popping his finger in his mouth. His eyes get really wide and he reaches for his water, taking big gulps until the glass is empty. He’s still panting afterwards so I hold my glass out to him, letting him finish it.

“How can you eat so many of those?
”
he asks with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“They taste like heaven in my mouth,
”
I say as if it’s the most obvious thing I’ve ever said.

“Those things should come with a warning.”

“They do,
”
I say holding up the front of the menu. “See? It says, ‘medium is hot, medium-hot is very hot, hot is very very hot.
’
Is that not a good enough warning?”

“Touché,
”
he mutters, admitting defeat. “How’d you even hear about this place?”

“I had a friend at school from Buffalo. She brought me up here for a weekend. We went to Niagara Falls and did all the touristy stuff.”

“Sounds like fun.”

I smile at the memory. “It was the weekend after midterms and we hadn’t left the library in days. We needed some time to get away from everything, from the city. Since Paula’s family is up here, we got to stay with them for free.”

Reagan nods and looks away, furrowing his brow as if he is considering something. He looks regretful. “I never went to school.”

“You didn't need to,
”
I say, trying to make him feel better. “You got to jump right into your career. You’re more talented and successful than a lot of people who go to college. You don't need a piece of paper to validate that.”

Reagan nods, considering my words. “I wanted the experience, I guess. The routine of going to class and hanging out with friends.”

“Oh c’mon. You wouldn't really trade fame for mundane life.”

“Mundane doesn't sound so bad,
”
he shrugs.

“But then you would have to resort to playing your songs on a bench with a bunch of desperate college groupies waiting for you to notice them.”

“
College
groupies. That’s it. I’m quitting the music industry.
”
His sarcasm makes me smile.

“Aren’t I enough for you?
”
I ask and immediately regret it, sounding like a jealous girlfriend. Neither of which I am. Reagan’s face twists into a smile. I look up at him through my lashes, trying to hide my reddening cheeks. He reaches his hand to my chin and lifts up my face, forcing our eyes to meet.

“You. Are. Everything.
”
He enunciates each word with conviction. My heart flutters and blush consumes my face. I can’t quite formulate the words I want to say to him.

We pay for our meal and walk into the warm night air. Anything is possible at this point, we could do anything, go anywhere. Reagan has a way of doing that to me. He makes me believe in things I had long since given up on, like love.

Before him, it was a myth to me, couples pretending to be happy when really all they wanted was for people to envy them. I thought that what Simon and I had was a good thing. We weren't pretending to be in love. We each knew what was expected of the other and I thought it was working. All I asked for was fidelity and apparently he couldn't even do that.

With Reagan, I feel as if it might be possible to actually be happy with someone. What are the chances that two people who care for each other with fierce passion can actually work? People don't usually get both. You get the fierce love that always gets away or you accept comfortable mediocrity and stay together until the end. He gives me hope that I might be able to have both.

Then I remember the lives we lead and can’t help but ask myself if Reagan is my one who got away. He’s still here, but I can’t help thinking that it’s too good to be true. I realize the cynicism of assuming the end of our relationship while we’re still at the beginning, but how would we work? We get back to New York and then what? Stay together? Try the long distance thing? Quit med school to follow him? He quits music to stay with me? There’s no possible scenario where this ends well.

“Penny for your thoughts?
”
Reagan asks as we lay next to each other in the camper bed.

“Just thinking about what happens when I get home,
”
I admit.

“With Simon?
”
Reagan asks.

“Yeah,
”
I say quietly, unsure if I want to share all of my concerns.

“I’ll come with you if you want.”

“I don’t think that is a good idea,
”
I say, shaking my head.

“Why not?”

“It’s just something I have to do alone,
”
I insist. Reagan furrows his brow and turns away to look up at the ceiling. He’s brooding, as always, with that cute face he makes when he’s thinking. It’s a mix of concern and thoughtfulness. I wish I could hear his every thought and then I might understand what it is like to have a mind like his. He looks over at me and offers a small smile. I gaze into his eyes, willing him to tell me what he is thinking. He must understand my expression because he sighs.

“I’m a little worried,
”
Reagan admits.

“Worried?
”
I ask quizzically. He looks away and tightens his jaw. It doesn't take me long to figure out why he might be worried. I haven't exactly given Simon a glowing recommendation when telling Reagan about him. I’ve given Reagan no indication that Simon and I should be alone in the same room, especially now. Our fights are rare, but brutal when we have them: cruel, bitter, and full of low blows.

“I promise it’ll be fine,
”
I say, placing a hand on his cheek and forcing him to face me.

“I don’t believe you,
”
Reagan says, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

“Are you calling me a liar?
”
I ask, amused.

“Yes,
”
he says and I swat his chest. Reagan grunts and rolls on top of me, positioning himself between my legs. I lift my head off of the pillow to meet his lips and wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer. As I look into his eyes, I am finally able to formulate the words I want to say to him. I want to tell him what I’ve known for a while now, but denied myself the honesty. I love him. He is everything to me too. My only hesitation is the thought that he doesn't mean it the same way I do. I have more to lose in this game than he does. If I decided to play, give him everything, I would be left with nothing.

These are the things I want to tell Reagan but I can’t stand to be hurt again.