Want You Bad

Dina

The lobby buzzer number pops up on my phone, so I dial nine to unlock the door. I know from experience that gives me less than ninety seconds to prepare myself for this reality. Why I even suggested letting him come to my place is a mystery. Aside from my sister and Hollis, I don’t let people in my space. This is my sanctuary away from the world. The place where I get my work done and relax with my dog.

Beyond that, it’s nothing impressive. As a scholarship kid living on the dwindling reserves in my bank account from life insurance money, I couldn’t exactly splurge on furniture if I wanted to eat, so everything in here is a hand-me-down that has seen better days. It’s not a space that would be featured in any magazine, unless the title was Poor Students R Us.

Knocking forces me to blow out a breath and walk the few feet to open the door. I unhook the double locks, twist the deadbolt, and swing it wide to reveal a man who makes ‘nerdy’ the stuff of fantasies. His rugged scruff and chambray scarf would look out of place on most men, but Holden makes it work.

“Hey.” He steps inside, looking in both directions like he’s searching for a booby trap. “Where’s the beast?”

“Oh, he’s shut in my bathroom for a minute until you get settled.”

He holds up a plastic bag, wearing a wide smile. “I brought more stuff to win him over.”

“Gosh, your sister is going to have to watch you with your niece. Thank you, though. Nacho is happy to be on the take.” I step back a few feet to give Holden room to move.

He slides off his tan blazer and scarf, hanging them on a hook behind the door, then pans the small room. The entire condo is maybe 600 square feet, and within that, there are two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living space. It’s the smallest footprint available in this building, and being on one of the lowest floors, the cheapest. Hence why I picked it.

“This is cozy.”

“Tiny. It’s tiny. But it’s all I need.”

He walks ahead of me, taking everything in. And by everything, I mean the eight-foot wide kitchen, the dated brown sofa and chair, an end table with an art déco lamp that works less than half the time, and a small wood dining table with two mismatched chairs. He stops and stares at the lone piece of artwork I own that hangs over the sofa.

“My sister made that. She designed it to match this lamp.” I gesture to the faulty light source. “She hated it the second I picked it up, but I had this weird attraction to it. It’s quirky and outdated. Reminded me of myself.” I should have stopped at “this lamp.”

Holden spins to face me, which lands him inches away. My small condo feels like it’s shrunk by a factor of twelve since he walked in. Like we’re fighting for the limited oxygen in the room, so all I can breathe in is him.

“The only similarity I see is that you’re both beautiful.”

That makes me laugh. “That’s a terrible line, Dickens. Please tell me you don’t think this thing is beautiful.”

He chuckles in return, stepping even closer. “Okay, it’s hideous.” The man staring at me now is not the same one who walked through the door. He was carefree and confident. The Holden in front of me looks hesitant and unsure, but also has the unmistakable look of hunger. “But you are beautiful. Take my breath away, beautiful. And that’s not a line.”

I believe him. I believe him enough that the moment from the street five days ago replays in my mind, and this time, I don’t want to run away. So I dive in instead. He seems to read my intentions, because as I inch toward him, he does the same and we meet in the middle, closing the foot-wide gap. He snakes a hand around my waist, but doesn’t pull me in.

“Kiss me, Dickens.” I grab two handfuls of his plain white T-shirt and rise on my tippy toes until my mouth reaches his.

As far as first kisses go, it’s electric. Like an actual current flows from him to me as he expertly grazes my lips. It’s just enough contact to make me desperate for more. I yank him closer until I have more control. So I can set the frantic pace my body is begging for. His stubble scratches the sensitive area around my lips, which adds to the thousand different sensations I’m feeling. He tastes like apple pie and smells more intoxicating than a library full of first editions. I could so easily get lost in him as he meets my demands, but we’re interrupted by a loud whimpering.

I pull away, my chest heaving from my lack of breathing. “Nacho!”

What kind of neglectful fur mother shuts her dog in the bathroom and forgets him so she can have a make-out session? Someone needs to call the Humane Society, because this is a level of animal cruelty that cannot be tolerated. I sidestep to the bathroom door, not able to take my eyes off of Holden while he recovers just as much as I do.

I open the door just wide enough that I can bend down and scoop Nacho up, so he won’t launch an attack on my houseguest.

Holden seems to compose himself and walks toward the door to grab the plastic bag he arrived with. He pulls out a ‘prince’ cookie, and waves it so a surprisingly silent Nacho can see it. “Look what I brought you, buddy.”

Nacho squirms in my arms, so I set him down and hope he’ll behave. He beelines to Holden, who breaks a piece of cookie off and hand feeds it to my little con man.

“I’m taking notes. Fresh baked dog cookies, stuffed squirrels…”

Nacho’s ears perk up hearing Holden’s words, and before either of us realize what’s happening, he takes off into my bedroom and returns with one of his beloved squirrels.

I look at Holden as my shoulders slump. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

Sure enough, the squeaking starts before I finish my sentence.

Holden laughs, but I’ve listened to this incessant squeaking for three straight weeks, and the cute factor wore out a few days ago. On the plus side, at least he’s distracted, and he’s not trying to solidify his position as the man of the house.

With Nacho occupied, Holden drops the remaining cookie in the bag and sets it on the kitchen counter. Then he resumes his position in front of me, but we’re spun around, so now he’s facing the balcony and I’m facing the front door. Not that it matters. All I see is him.

“I hope you know this wasn’t my plan when I asked for your help, but this is definitely my new favourite study method. You know about contextual effects?”

I shake my head, unable to form words with my suddenly dry throat.

“It’s basically the connection between environment and recall. So I’d be willing to bet, if you let me kiss you while I’m studying, I can just think about kissing you during my exams, and I’ll remember everything.”

“If you are under the impression thinking of kissing me will help you recall historical facts, then I’m doing something really wrong.”

He narrows his eyes for a second, then seems to understand my reasoning. “Valid point. I’d say it’s more likely thinking about kissing you would make me forget the alphabet, which I memorized before I turned two.” He smirks and shrugs one shoulder. “I was a child prodigy.”

I swat his chest and laugh, then spin around before we get any more distracted. “Let’s try our AQ5R method first, hmm?”

As distracting as that pre-study first kiss was for me, you’d never know by the way Holden buckles down and focuses on the material in front of him. He’s scribbling notes, which I’m transcribing onto cue cards for a different study technique when he needs to switch things up. My searches even turned up a few documentaries that are endorsed by reputable sources as being historically accurate.

For more than five solid hours we work in relative silence, only stopping to take Nacho out for a bathroom break and grabbing a bite to eat, since I don’t have much to offer.

“I’ve tried to read this journal twice before, but I couldn’t get through it. I knew, in theory, the topics covered would be helpful, but I couldn’t find the right way to approach it to retain the information. You’re a lifesaver.” Holden sets his pen down on his notepad, closes his laptop, and slides his knees out from under the table so he’s facing me. “The AQ5R method is a success.”

Watching him absorb the material and knowing I helped him get there. Seeing how my skills and effort can make a real difference in his future—as small or insignificant as my role may be—it’s a feeling I can’t quite describe. It gives me a sense of purpose that can’t be replicated.

“I’m glad I was able to help.”

“You know what would really help?” He stands from his chair and reaches a hand out to me.

I take the offered hand, stand in front of him, and shake my head.

“Another kiss.”