Entwine (6 page)

Young boys and gentleman
, Sarah thought. They were the two types of men for that sort of gesture, which made a shiver run down her spine. How old was he—because he certainly wasn’t a cute little boy. He looked twenty-eight, but she knew he could be a bit older than that. Maybe thirty-two.

That’s not too old for me, is it?

Sarah had been in her own little head, occupied by her own little thoughts for the whole fifteen minutes as the big curtains swept back and the lights dimmed further. The movie was about to start.

“You ready?” he asked her.

“If I say yes now, it doesn’t mean I can’t blame you later if I hate it.”

“It’s a Statham. That isn’t possible.”

“Hey,” someone called behind them. The voice was deep, disgruntled. “It’s very
possible
to kick youse out. Shut up.”

With that, he leant in next to Sarah. She was about to settle back, kick off her shoes and wait for the movie to start, but he wasn’t done yet, clearly. With the light from the screen just playing on the edges of his lips, they were all she could see and think.

“True, what’s to hate?” Sarah whispered, feeling her breath, hot, between the space of her lips and the side of his. “Cars, action … sex.”

“That’s what interests you, ey?”

Sarah crushed her eyelids together and hoped he wouldn’t notice. Damn, she was digging a mighty fine, deep hole for herself. Right now, she’d gladly curl up and reappear once he had left.

Why did she suck at being calm and sexy near him? She was sure her hands would shake if she tried to hold them still, and her heart sure was doing an unhealthy amount of beats per minute.

She gulped. “’Spose.”

He traced her jaw with his finger as he said, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Um, I,” Sarah started saying. She willed her nerves to calm. “No, I come sans an attachment.”

“Good.”

His finger came down, from the sweet spot behind her ear to trail down her jaw then petered off. She bit her lip to contain the feeling building in her. He saw that. He brought his finger up along her bottom lip. His breath was like a heater pushing hot air down her neck to her breasts, as he looked down at her mouth.

She had to touch him. Her fingers greedily sought out the back of his neck, fastening over his skin once she felt her way there. His skin was hot, lickable. Lust pumped though her, and flushed between her legs with the knowledge of them connected; with him so close, kissing would barely require movement.

He leaned in and, as Sarah’s chest tightened and her insides clenched with the thrill, she decided she must know at least one thing about this mysterious man first.

She pressed her pointer to her lips, his only blocked by that one finger she held between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sarah replied, dropping her finger. “But you aren’t taking three for three.”

He pulled back a few inches, a crease visible between his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“The coffee, the ticket …” Sarah let that hang there a moment. She added, “I want one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Your name.”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask that.”

Sarah was mesmerised by his lips so close, yet so far—taunting her.
Soft, warm, kissable
, she decided.

“It’s Malik,” he said, pronouncing
Ma-lik
. “Means ‘King’ in Arabic.”

Sarah chuckled softly, pressing her lips to his cheek to stifle the sound. She really didn’t want to be kicked out right now.

“What’s funny?” Malik said, his tone cautious.

“I’m Sarah. ‘Princess’ in Hebrew.”

He smiled at that. And it happened.

Their lips met with hunger, at first ravishing, then he tugged at her lip. She fought to bite back at him. Releasing the tension didn’t calm her, though she expected to feel relief, and so their lips worked together, feeding their desire. She hinted first, touching her tongue with his for a moment, and he widened the kiss. She slipped her tongue in.

Sarah leaned her forehead against his, exhaling. She heard his low, guttural growl as she felt his lips clench against her skin.

Her hands gripped at the back of his neck, tighter than before. She pulled at his hair, his skin. She knew that, whatever it was, she needed more of what he had given her. His hand rubbed down her waist and slipped under her top. There, at the line of her pants, hands clenched on either side of her hips. He spread his fingers from the line of her V to the little dimples at her back, and coaxed his hands deeper into her flesh until it hurt Sarah, so good.

Malik smiled while looking at her lips, then sealed them with a peck. He said, “What a fit,” and the double meaning wasn’t lost on her.

DATES

THEN

Names had always meant a lot to Sarah, and for a week her mum, dad and she didn’t say a word about the affair, but she was burning with want of that lady’s name.

Her mum still made dinner for them, but she would sometimes say, “Sarah would you pass me the salt, please?” and her dad would lean over, Sarah would take it and pass it to the other end of the table. Her Mum found excuses for everything that week. Couldn’t watch their favourite re-runs of
Everybody Loves Raymond,
because one night she could only fit in a waxing appointment at 8.15 pm, the last slot of the night. Sarah was better off catching up on that assignment, she was told, instead of coming to buy groceries this week. It was unsaid, but clearly her mum wanted space, and it made for tension between Sarah’s dad and her, too. They didn’t speak, always skirting around being alone.

But, after that week, Sarah had to sit down and beg her mum for help. She had an English talk due on the history of Shakespeare, and she had no idea where to start looking for information, no clue about the meanings of his plays, and hardly an idea on writing an interesting speech.

Her mum went to the bookshelf behind her, and Sarah watched, body twisted around, elbow hanging off the back. Her mum bent to a lower section and flipped through the spines until she found what she wanted. Upon returning to the table, she nodded at the book in her hand, a smile forming on her beautiful face for the first in a long time.

Her mother had fair skin and full lips, and her smile was always the best thing about her. Sarah was grateful that, even though she was bored of this silly subject, it made her mum happier today, and it meant Sarah could talk to her.

Sarah had discovered just how hard it was having no one to lean on, and she would do anything not to go through this alone again.

“This is the copy I used when I was at school,” her mum began. She flipped some pages until she came across one with scribbled notes along the margin. Fingering the note, she ran her finger under the writing like a marker as she read, “
Romeo and Juliet
explores the depth of all-consuming, passionate and ugly love. No other emotion overrides the power of love. It can be violent, and even supersedes loyalties.”

Sarah wondered afterwards why her mum specifically found that play when her speech was on Shakespeare. She wondered lots of things, like why her mum was looking for a specific note that she had presumably written as a teenager. Was she sixteen, like Sarah, when she’d wrote that? Sarah’s stupid diary writings were nothing like how insightful her mum had been at her age. But maybe she had inherited her passion for the written word, and that made Sarah smile.

It was that night her mum came to visit her in bed again. Sarah had her sheets and comforter resting over her crossed legs, and she was flipping through her mum’s old copy of
Romeo and Juliet
again for ideas on her speech.

“What are you smiling for, Sez?” her mum asked.

Sarah knew her mum was letting her back in from the way she said it. “Just thinking about things.”

Her mum nodded and came up to sit on the side of her bed. She didn’t look at Sarah, but rather played with the floral design on the cover, and feathered her fingers along. It seemed lyrical, the movement, and it made Sarah wonder what her mother was thinking.

“I’m sorry, baby,” her mum said after a while. “He was my all-consuming love, and I don’t know who I am, or what my life is, now it’s all been a lie.”

“But I’m not a lie, Mum,” Sarah said. She reached out and took her mum’s hands, and they held each other for a while. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Her mum smiled again, and Sarah couldn’t not smile with that infectious feeling sliding up inside her, making her giddy.

“Her name was Alyssa,” her mum said. “Alyssa Fawnheart. I couldn’t think of a prettier name, myself, and she’s the one with his heart.”

With a sad smile, her mum stood and walked away, but stopped and asked, “Do you have a boyfriend? I’m sorry I haven’t asked how you’ve been, but I can tell by your glow something has happened.”

Sarah blushed, looked down. She looked back up, calmer, and said, “His name is Nicholas.”

“Bring him over for dinner tomorrow night.” Her mum tapped on the doorframe, smiling to nothing at all. “I need to meet this young man.”

Sara couldn’t sleep for well over an hour. She lay in bed and looked at her ceiling and, when she couldn’t stand that, she propped up her pillows near the windowsill and gazed out at all her neighbours, the street lights, the garden lights, the starlight and an occasional car passing through, and wondered why this pretty-named woman called Alyssa Fawnheart had to come in and tear down her mum’s and her perfect lives.

Wouldn’t it be better off not knowing?

• • •

NOW

Sarah couldn’t tell you what that movie was about. Cars, action, sex? Most likely. All she knew was that Malik fuelled her up, made her heart race, and could likely please her in the last department.

They exited in the usual manner. The credits began to roll and they squeezed out of the rows, filing down behind all the people in lower rows and around to the hall leading out of the dark cinema. But something unusual happened while he walked next to her. She felt his fingers skim along the back of her hand, so she turned it, her palm facing his, and though his face didn’t hint the slightest at what they were doing, he moved his fingers in patterns along her hand. By the time they passed under the light in the main foyer, he had weaved his fingers through hers.

She looked up, and he was gazing down at her with his lips slightly parted, his eyes filled with the same warm desire as she felt inside.

“Like it?” Malik asked as they left the back doors.

The darkness of the night shocked Sarah. She forgot to answer initially. She hadn’t expected time to stop for them, but he had a way of altering her perception of the world around her. All the street lamps were lit up, shopfronts were dark, bars were over windows, and roller doors shut over the entrances. Only a corner Seven Eleven store was open. She estimated it was nine o’clock, or so.

That realisation made her mind fire warnings at her.
It’s dark enough for him to have his way with you
, she thought. She’d be at his mercy.
It’s isolated enough for anything, really.

“Um,” Sarah started, “it was awesome.”

“Same. Thought the movie was awesome.”

They shared a look. Neither had watched the movie, in between their hands grasping at each other’s skin and clothing. Or, even, when they’d managed to not kiss for what felt like fifteen whole minutes. The whole time Sarah was sure, by the look that mirrored her thoughts, that Malik had been consumed by thoughts of her, too.

“Want to sit?”

He pointed at a bench. It was near the bus stop station outside the back of the cinema. There were three bus stops under covers, bright, neon-lit advertisements on either side of each of the covers. Streetlights were situated on either end, and there were several people waiting.

“Sure.”

She put her bag on the other side to where he sat down, clamped one hand under her thigh and the other draped over her bag, holding it close. She had no idea why, but the flurry of butterflies in her tummy had changed, and instead she was aware of the time, the guy at the bus stop checking his timetable, the two teenagers giggling and huddled over an illuminated phone, the cars going by.

Sarah decided she had to start first. “I’m a junior editor. First day on the job, ran around learning people’s names, getting my desk and computer set up, learning health and safety rules, ran around to do coffee runs and barely ate. I’m still not so hungry.”

“All you had to do was ask, you know,” Malik said.

Sarah crinkled her eyebrows.

“What I do for a living. Or my past. What colour I like. Whatever you want. I never claimed to be a closed box, waiting for a beautiful girl like yourself to lure in.”

Sarah giggled. Her shoulders had lost their heaviness, and she brought both her hands up, one to her chest and the other unconsciously fluttering in the air to make him stop. Her laugh was filled with innocence that filled the air, stripping the distance between them. It was the first real emotion Sarah had displayed that wasn’t thought out, or performed in mind of pleasing him. It was something he brought out of her.

Now there wasn’t a gap between their thighs. Her hand rested on his after she was done, and he noticed it. There was quiet for a while, and Sarah saw him watching her hand, or thigh. But he watched her, whatever he had his eye on, and she never wanted to leave.

His scent distracted her thoughts, her processing, and she couldn’t focus on anything but the haze his scent created. That was another thing she’d discovered about the allure of him. He smelt of something sweet, yet with a kick of spice.

His heat brought her mind back to here, now, with him. His hand was once again brushing against her fingertips, and she shivered, and grabbed his hand quickly, to rid the teasing feeling he created in her. Once the rough feeling of his hands touched her, sealed with their grip, she relaxed. It was like a drug. He completed a part of her, and satisfied a need, like the uniqueness a drug had on each person.

“Anyway,” Sarah said, “I would rather know your favourite colour. It’s an important thing I have to know about a guy.”