The Next Move Read online

  Shit, you are fading fast, my friend. "You still have it on you, don’t you? Or did you leave it downstairs?"

  Fabric rustled as he seemed to search for his phone. "Here."

  She found his hand in the dark and pulled the phone free. Turning away and covering it as much as she could, she opened it and put it into silent mode.

  Movement behind her caught her attention, but it sounded deliberate, as if he was shifting position, not losing his balance. The bedspread crinkled softly and a muffled whisper suggested that his head was on the pillow.

  She closed his phone, careful not to snap it shut, and waited until the LCD went dark before setting it on his nightstand. In the darkness, she could vaguely make him out. He laid on his back now, his hand over his eyes.

  Barely whispering, she said, "Do you need anything else?"

  "I’ll be fine." He spoke through clenched teeth, taking long, deep breaths.

  "I’m leaving now." She squeezed his hand. "If you need anything, call me."

  "I will."

  Seventeen

  Chris opened his eyes slowly, bracing himself for the onslaught of morning light, but the room was much dimmer than he expected. Though he was relieved that there wasn’t enough light to reignite the fire between his temples, confusion tangled his thoughts. It couldn’t still be dark out, could it? He’d been awake for countless brutal hours before sleep had finally taken over. The pain and nausea were mostly gone, so he must have been out long enough to take the edge off.

  Fuck, I didn’t sleep through an entire day again, did I? Frustration and anger pierced the dull, throbbing fog. He’d lost more than a few days to migraine stupors, and it pissed him off every time. Migraines were bad enough when they didn’t steal entire days of his life, let alone fuck up his sleep schedule for the subsequent couple of days.

  Closing his eyes, he gingerly turned his head from side to side, testing for stiffness in his neck and the possibility of more pain shooting up into his head. Only an annoying ache remained in his neck. Careful not to move too quickly, he raised his head and opened his eyes.

  The blinds were drawn, sealing out all but a blinding razor edge of daylight. He flinched and rubbed his eyes.

  When the hell did I drop the blinds? He could have sworn they were open before. Sitting up slowly, trying to get his bearings, he looked at the clock on the nightstand. Strangely, it was turned away from the bed, a hand towel draped over it.

  I didn’t rearrange the furniture downstairs while I was out of it, did I? He picked up the hand towel and turned the clock around. It was a little after one thirty. He sighed. Over half the day gone, and it would be hours before he waded out of this migraine hangover enough to be fully functional again.

  "Another day sacrificed to the migraine Gods." His throat was raw and his own hoarse voice grated on his exhausted, frayed nerves. He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d actually slept and how many he’d spent wishing he was dead, but he felt like he hadn’t slept in a month.

  Cursing under his breath, he picked his cell phone up off the nightstand. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the LCD screen, but eventually it came into focus.

  There was a text message from Kat. Let me know when you’re alive again. If you need anything, call me.

  The last part ricocheted through his mind, sparking some deadened synapse out of the haze, and he remembered Kat bringing him home sometime before the blinding hell had fully set in.

  "If you need anything, call me."

  Bit by bit, the night before came back, the fragments drifting together to form a semi-coherent picture. The club. Kat’s sudden insistence that they leave. The relentless strobe effect of passing streetlights clamoring against the inside of his skull like angry wasps until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

  Looking back, he should have seen it coming. It always seemed so obvious in hindsight, but maybe it was just the migraine itself that kept him from putting the symptoms with the cause. By the time any of it set in, the fog was already descending and the pain well on its way.

  Kat knew before he did. She always did. David and Natalie sometimes caught on, but Kat always knew. By the time one piece was in place, she knew the next three moves.

  "That woman knows me better than I know myself." Hitting her number on speed dial, he flinched in anticipation of the shrill beep from the keypad, but it didn’t come. He wondered when he’d put the phone on silent mode.

  "Hey," she said, picking up on the first ring.

  "Hey."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Like someone beat the shit out of me."

  "I’ll assume that means you’re feeling better then, since you don’t feel like they’re still beating the shit out of you."

  "You know me too well."

  "I know you when you have a migraine." She paused. "That was a bad one, wasn’t it?"

  "I’ve had worse, but yeah, it was a bitch." He glanced around the room. "By the way, thanks for closing the blinds and putting something over the clock."

  "Glad it helped."

  "It definitely did."

  "Well, it’s good to hear that you’re back in the land of the living. Do you want any company?"

  "I can’t promise I’ll be very good company."

  "You’re never good company."

  He laughed softly. "Fuck you."

  "Somehow I don’t imagine you’re up for that yet."

  "You’re right about that." He paused, rubbing his eyes. "But yeah, if you want to come hang out, you know where to find me."

  "Give me an hour or so."

  "I’ll be here. Let yourself in."

  "Will do."

  After he hung up, he looked around the room again, at everything she’d done to keep any light from making his night of hell any worse. Guilt twisted his gut as he vaguely remembered arguing with her and snapping at her at the club. As she did every time, she calmly ignored his protests, informing him in no uncertain terms that they were leaving.

  He sighed and got up, holding onto the nightstand for a second until he was sure his feet were under him. Then he went into the bathroom to take a shower. At least then he’d feel, and maybe even look, slightly closer to human by the time she got there.

  The woman had the patience of a saint compared to others who’d been around him in that condition. A few years back, he’d dated a girl who would quietly tolerate him until the worst was over. There was nothing quite like being in the midst of a migraine hangover while groveling for forgiveness from someone who simply didn’t understand what it did to him.

  Kat got it. She ignored anything he said, did everything she could to keep his surroundings dark and quiet, and made a quick, stealthy exit before the worst started. Another girlfriend from his past insisted on being right there with him, constantly, trying to give him comfort and not understanding that her presence only made it worse. The sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, even the simple knowledge that she was in the same room, assaulted his senses.

  Hot water ran through his hair and down the back of his stiff neck, relaxing the tired, tense muscles and melting the lingering ache. Why the hell couldn’t he find a girlfriend that understood him, even when he was possessed by the migraine demons the way Kat did?

  After he’d showered, shaved, and dressed, he went downstairs to find something to eat before she came over, then settled on the couch to watch television. There was nothing interesting on, but it was easier on the eyes than trying to read and it numbed his still-aching brain.

  The front door opened, then closed. Chris clicked off the television as Kat came into the living room.

  "Welcome back to the land of the living," she said with a smile.

  "Thanks."

  Kissing him lightly, she joined him on the couch.

  He gestured at the chess board on the coffee table. "I’d suggest a game, but I think chess is a bit cerebral for me right now."

  She giggled. "What does that have to do with your migraine?"
/>   "Quiet, you." He elbowed her playfully. "By the way, thanks for the ride home last night."

  She smiled. "No problem. But you owe me a rum and Coke."

  He cocked his head. "Wait, I thought I ordered the rum and Coke that never came."

  Nodding, she winked. "You did. But next time we go out, I get one for my trouble."

  He cringed. "Was I really as much of an ass as I remember?"

  "Chris, you’re always a dick when you have a

  migraine."

  "Is that how you know it’s coming?"

  "Among other things."

  "Whatever I said, I’m—"

  "Chris." She touched his leg. "We’ve been through this a million times." Her thumb moved back and forth on the side of his leg. "You don’t have to apologize."

  "I know, but…"

  "Stop arguing with me." Her eyebrows lifted and her lips tightened, bringing to his mind a vague image of a similar, but decidedly less good-humored look of the night before.

  He smirked. "Or the Migraine Express will leave without me?"

  She laughed. "You know I wouldn’t leave without you. Not when you’re like that."

  "What? So you’d leave me stranded any other time?"

  She shrugged. "If I had a reason, yes."

  "I would never give you a reason to do that."

  "With enough alcohol in you, you might." She winked.

  He scoffed in mock offense. "I’d come get you anywhere, at two in the morning, with a foot of snow on the ground. I can’t believe you’d even think of abandoning me somewhere."

  "You’re a big boy, you’d find your way home."

  "Bitch."

  "Jackass."

  "You know, I’m not going to tolerate this rampant abuse."

  "You will, and you’ll like it."

  Chris laughed. "Wicked woman." He kissed her forehead, then leaned back, draping his arm across the back of the couch. "Well, like I said, I can’t promise to be great company today."

  She shrugged. "I wouldn’t expect too much after last night."

  "Good, keep your expectations low, and I won’t disappoint." He laughed. "I hope that only applies post-migraine and not in the bedroom."

  "The low expectations or the disappointment?"

  "Well, I certainly hope I don’t disappoint…"

  "Definitely not," she said with a grin, leaning across the couch to kiss him. "But, I assume that’s still out of the question at the moment?"

  He nodded, laughing. "Unless your expectations are really low right now. So in the meantime, you’re stuck with me and my witty conversation."

  "I’ll manage, I think."

  The conversation meandered to this and that, talking about friends and work and everything else they usually discussed, simply enjoying each other’s company. As much as he hated to have someone around when he was in the midst of a migraine, he rather liked having company afterward. The presence of another human being was comforting at that point, a quiet reassurance that the storm had passed.

  At some point, Chris opened his eyes, wondering how long it had been since he’d closed them. As he swam out of disoriented darkness, the first thing he was aware of was the vague throbbing between his temples that spiked when the light invaded, then faded rapidly as his eyes adjusted. The second thing he noticed was the comfortable warmth of Kat beside him.

  He glanced at the clock over the television. It was almost nine.

  "Damn, sorry, I guess I fell asleep."

  She murmured something, then lifted her head. "It’s okay. So did I."

  "Did I bore you to sleep?"

  She laughed. "Hardly. Just tired."

  "Tell me about it."

  Gently freeing herself from his arms, she sat up and stretched, twisting a kink out of her back. "I probably got more sleep than you last night, but not by much."

  His eyebrows lifted as he rubbed his neck. Most of the pain was gone, but an annoying tightness remained. Falling asleep in an odd position hadn’t helped. Watching her, he said, "What kept you up?"

  "You."

  He blinked. "What do you mean? I was here."

  "I know." She rubbed her lower back gingerly, then looked at him and shrugged. "What? You think I don’t worry

  about you?"

  "I didn’t think you’d lose sleep over it."

  She leaned towards him and kissed him lightly. "I always do."

  You’re not helping my conscience, Katrina. "So I killed your evening out and kept you up all night? Jesus, I’m sorry."

  She touched his face and grinned. "And when you’re feeling up to it, you can make it up to me."

  "Oh, I will. Believe me, I will." He kissed her, drawing it out for a moment. Then he paused, running his fingers through her hair. "Well, as long as you’re here, you’re welcome to stay the night."

  "So even after I threatened to abandon you, you’re not going to throw me out of bed?"

  He laughed. "No, but I’m not going to throw you into bed tonight, either."

  "You mean, sleep together, but actually…" She scoffed melodramatically. "Sleep?"

  He laughed. "Yes, exactly."

  Kissing him lightly, she said, "I can live with that."

  Eighteen

  Swimming out of sleep and into reality, Kat became aware of Chris’s body against hers. Wondered how long he’d been right beside her. Her skin still tingled vaguely where they made contact, as if he hadn’t been there long and her nerves were still acknowledging the intrusion.

  She was on her stomach and his hand and forearm rested on her back, warming her skin through her T-shirt, so he must have been on his side. He stirred a little, probably just shifting in his sleep, maybe passively responding to a movement she didn’t remember making as she awoke.

  When his fingertips trailed down her back, the resultant goose bumps rousing her completely, she knew he was awake. As consciousness set in, she realized it was that gentle, slow touch that had brought her out of the darkness in the first place.

  Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, "I didn’t wake you, did I?" The grin in his voice told her he knew the answer.

  She tried to sound annoyed in spite of the smile tugging at her mouth. "Yes, you did."

  Against her skin, his lips pulled tight and a soft huff of laughter warmed the back of her neck. He ran his hand down her back. "You’re not mad at me, are you?"

  "Hmm, it depends on what you’re going to do now that you have me awake."

  "Well," he said, his hand moving under her shirt. "I wasn’t planning to let you go back to sleep anytime soon."

  She laughed softly. "Then I hope you’re going to make it worth my while to stay awake."

  "Oh, I will." His hand moved up her back, pulling her

  shirt with it as he kissed just behind her ear. "You know I will."

  "You always do."

  He pushed his hips against hers, taking her breath away with the heat of his hard cock behind the cool silk of his boxers. She raised herself just enough to let him pull her shirt off. Once it was gone, she started to roll over, but his hand on her back held her still.

  "No," he whispered. "Stay just like that."

  "But I want you to kiss me."

  "I will," he said. "That’s why I don’t want you to move."

  Before she could question him, he kissed between her shoulder blades. He kissed his way down her back, pausing on each vertebra to make a tiny circle with the tip of his tongue or simply plant a lingering kiss. The gentle touch of his lips seemed to bring every nerve in her spine to life, igniting each in turn like runway lights. His hand slid down her side, grasping her hip as she arched her back.

  His lips still touched the small of her back. "Turn over." The vibration of his voice traveled up her spine and her body obeyed him before her own mind could even give the order. He raised himself off of her, giving her room to move, and his lips were against her belly before she’d even settled back onto the bed. Every kiss took him lower, lower, still lower, until his stubbled chin
grazed the fabric of her panties, making her breath catch.

  Grasping her hips gently, he let his thumbs hook under her waistband. Slowly he drew it down, pulling over her hipbones, his lips following the elastic while his hands traveled down the backs of her thighs. Fingers, fabric, and lips worked their way down, pausing long enough to let his fingertips make light, breathtaking circles on the backs of her knees.

  With a flick of his wrist, her panties slipped off her feet, but his lips never broke away, kissing the inside of her ankle. Working his way back up, inch by exquisite inch, he explored her skin, finding erogenous zones with his tongue, his lips, his fingers. Every place he touched sent electric shivers up the lighted runway that was her spine. Why did he effortlessly understand her body in ways no other man cared

  to?

  His hand slid up her calf to the inside of her knee, parting her thighs with the very lightest suggestion of pressure from his fingertips. Sheets bunched in her hands as his lips traveled up her thigh, each soft kiss lasting longer than the one before.

  As his tongue dipped into the groove between her hip and thigh, and his fingers slipped inside her, just barely brushing against her G-spot as they took slow, smooth strokes. Not yet, his fingertips told her G-spot. I will, but not yet. He kissed his way towards her pussy and his fingers drew nearer and nearer to that perfect place, that perfect pressure, but still remained just out of reach. Not yet.

  Her entire world centered on what his tongue and fingers were—and weren’t—doing. She couldn’t even remember to breathe except when a shiver made her gasp.

  The heat of his tongue met her pussy, but avoided her clit. Not yet.

  Her spine arched off of the bed.

  Crooking just slightly, his fingers, finally gave her that delicious pleasure she craved, but only for a second. Not yet.

  His tongue inched closer to her clit. His fingers bent a little more with each stroke. Not yet.

  At the exact same instant, his lips closed around her clit and his fingers beckoned against her G-spot. Right now.

  By the time his tongue made its first slow, delicate circle around her clit, she was drunk off of his touch, reality swirling into a blur of white light and punctuated by the occasional gasp for breath when her lungs reminded her she needed air.