Some Things are Meant to Be

"Hey, I said back, as if nothing had happened between us.

So that was where we were.

Friends.

We played kickball together, and I had to watch his lithe, hard body stretching to catch the ball or racing around the bases. We resumed our silent study sessions, with his thigh pressed up against mine as we both tapped away on our laptops. We joked about music, about campus culture, about our families. He never made a move. He never asked for anything, even though in my mind, I was begging him to. Wishing he would. Imagining falling asleep in his arms.

Sometimes it seemed like he'd forgotten he'd ever wanted to kiss me. And sometimes I'd catch him watching me, especially during kickball games, and I'd swear I could feel the heat of him from where I stood. I told myself I was making it up. I told myself to let it go. I told myself it was only a kiss, only that one time. I told myself to stop picturing him, what his face must look like when he . . .

I told myself to leave it. And I almost did.

One night, after I'd already gotten home from practice, taken a shower, and pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of soft, cotton volleyball shorts and was just climbing into bed, there was a knock at the door.

I glanced around the room nervously. Cate had gone to Ohio for her sister's wedding. It being Thursday night, the floor was relatively quiet.

I padded to the door and opened it a crack to find Charlie leaning against the doorjamb in his faded leather jacket, his hair damp, smelling faintly like shampoo and some kind of manly deodorant, something with pine.

"Everything okay?" I asked, opening the door wider so he could come in.

"Sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry if this is weird, I didn't know who else to call and," he smiled a little ruefully, "I didn't have your phone number, so I asked Kiara to find out your room number."

I nodded. "What's up?"

"I just got this crazy call, and I told my parents, but after that I kept thinking 'who do I tell?' and my brain kept being like 'Nadya, tell Nadya,' but I kept trying to tell my brain, 'we're leaving her alone, remember?' but my brain really wanted to tell you so here I am." He took a deep breath. "I've been working on this research paper on neural networks and music composition, and I was just selected to present it. In London."

My mind raced with all new information. He'd wanted to tell me first? He was telling himself to leave me alone? He was a computer genius?

"Wow, that's awesome," was all I said. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." He heaved a huge sigh and a giant, sloppy grin came over his face. "I can't believe it."

"Here, sit down," I said, gesturing to my half-unmade bed. He slouched against the wall and I sat down next to him, tucking my feet under me.

"Where's your roommate?" he asked, looking around.

"Ohio."

"Oh. Cool."

"So . . . tell me about neural networks."

"No way," he laughed, "I wouldn't subject my worst enemy to a late-night lecture on neural networks."

"Okay . . . tell me about 'we're leaving her alone, remember'."

He ducked his head. "Ah. Pass."

"Come on." I nudged him with my elbow.

"You come on," he said, rolling his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Humor me."

"Unrequited . . . like is miserable enough without having to detail it to the person you're in like with." His eyes twinkled, but the rest of his face was serious.

"You like me?" I whispered.

"Uh, duh." He gave a nervous laugh. "I kissed you completely out of the blue before Christmas, and I've been stalking you basically since I first realized that you study in the honors lounge."

"But," I protested, "you never kissed me again. You never said anything."

"Surely it was obvious." He raised his eyebrows. "Surely you realize that if a guy is spending literally all of his time with you, he's got it bad. Even if you don't think of me that way."

I readied myself to step over the proverbial edge and into the unknown. "Surely you realize that when a girl is undressing you with her eyes every chance she gets, she's totally head over heels for you."

He let out a ragged breath. "Nadya, what are you saying?"

"Charlie." I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. "I do think about you. That way. All the time."

He closed his eyes. His hand brushed against my knee. "But you didn't kiss me back."

"I was surprised." I took a deep breath. "I was confused, I was a little drunk. I was a little . . . taken aback at how good it felt."

"What do you mean?"

"Imagine you're with someone for over two years," I said, trying not to look away, "and you think you're in love, and then it ends and you feel . . . nothing. But this guy, this random guy you barely know, kisses you and you feel . . . tingly all over." His hand got tighter on my knee, his breath started to get short. "And then you become friends, and you can't stop thinking about him. You just totally failed in the relationship department, and before you've even had time to process the loss you're completely falling for this new guy, this guy who barely even looks your way-"

"Come on," he growled, "you know that's not true."

"It was confusing," I went on. "It was hard for me to figure out what I was feeling."

"How . . . how are you feeling now?"

"I feel . . ." I closed my eyes. "at home with you."

His hand on my knee slid up my thigh, up my arm, cupped my cheek, leaving goosebumps rippling across my skin in its wake.

"Can I kiss you?" he breathed.

"Yes."

This time, his mouth on mine wasn't just a chaste brush of the lips. He was leaning into me, drinking me in, his hand on the small of my back pressing my body against his. We fell back into the bed and our legs intertwined, his tongue sliding into my mouth and my hands in his hair.

"Nadya," he said, his voice low, leaning his forehead against mine. "You have no idea . . . I've wanted this so badly for so long."

I slipped my hand between us to cup him through his jeans and he groaned.

"I can feel," I whispered, and squeezed him through the rough fabric. He tilted his hips against me and shook his head.

"That's obvious. You're the most beautiful girl on the planet, any guy would want you that way. I can't have you for one night, I can't just be friends with benefits." He looked deep into my eyes. "If we're gonna do this, I want you for real."

I nodded and kissed him again, grabbing onto the hair at the nape of his neck, grinding myself against his leg.

His hand slid up my t-shirt, over my belly, cupping my breast in his hand.

"They're small," I whispered, apologetically.

"They're perfect," he whispered back, kissing my earlobe, my neck, my collarbone. Then he was pulling up the fabric of the t-shirt, kissing my breast, kissing my stomach, kissing the inside of my thigh.

"Okay?" he asked. I nodded, and he pulled off my shorts in one quick motion, leaving me totally exposed.

His eyes went dark as he looked at me, wanting, needing. The naked arousal written all over his face was overwhelming and as he lay down between my legs, trailing kisses up my thighs, I stared up at the ceiling, willing myself not to come apart.

He started to caress me with his mouth, warm and slick against me, tearing new sounds from inside my chest. And then his finger slid inside me, stroking, teasing, and I began to unravel completely.

"Charlie," I breathed, "Charlie you don't have to, we can just . . ."

He looked up at me, but his fingers stayed where they were, sliding in and out of me, brushing against that oh-so-sensitive spot just inside of me . . .

I bit down hard on my bottom lip, struggling to hold on.

"I want to watch you come," he said in a low voice. "I want to make you come. I want to feel you . . . feel you shake against my mouth." His eyes flicked towards the ceiling. "God, I'm so hard right now. I can't even look at you, you look so . . ." He breathed out. "You look so fucking sexy when you . . . . shit." His hips pressed against the bed and he fixed his mouth on me again, rougher and wetter than before. I curled against him, my legs starting to shake. He groaned as my hips tilted, put a hand on my stomach to steady me. I cried out and began to come apart, convulsing against him, wrapping my legs around his torso.

This man . . . this man was going to be my undoing. God help me, I had already fallen for him. He thought we were slowly descending together, and here I was, completely and totally in love. Nadya, you idiot.

He slowly came back up, kissing my stomach and breasts again, tugging on the t-shirt that was my last stand against total vulnerability.

It slipped over my head, and soon he was ripping off his t-shirt, too, coming to press his lips against mine again now that we were skin-to-skin. I fumbled with his zipper and slid my hand down the front of his boxers to find them soaked with precum.

"You're so turned on," I smiled against his mouth.

"Are you kidding?" he whispered back in earnest. "I've been fantasizing about this moment for months. I can barely contain myself."

I suddenly felt the urge to share more with him, like he was with me.

"I've never come in front of somebody else before," I said. "Except . . . just now."

"You mean, the boyfriend. The asshole. He never . . .?"

I shook my head and his eyelids fluttered. He slid his hands up the sides of my body, staring down at my breasts and stomach and thighs with awe.

"I don't know why, but I find that so . . ." he sighed. "I can't get enough of you, Nadya."

"Me neither."

I pushed down his pants and boxers and wrapped my hand around him, brushing my thumb over the head of his penis.

"Nadya," he said in a strangled voice. "Nadya can I . . . can we . . .?"

I nodded and reached beside me, into my beside table. Thank god I'd stashed a couple of condoms in there, "just in case."

He took it from my hands, opened it, and rolled the latex down his shaft. Then he lay on his side, facing me, hooked my leg over his hip, and rocked slowly into me. The feel of him inside me, stretching me, filling me, made my head tilt back and my mouth open, but Charlie slid his fingers into my hair and brought me back to look at him.

He pressed his forehead against mine, and I could feel him shaking under the hand I lay on his chest as he moved in and out, inch by inch, stroking my thigh and making small, quiet moans.

"Hey," I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. "Don't hold back. You don't need to hold back. It's you and me now." He groaned and cupped my ass, pushing himself in deeper. "I'm here with you. I want you. I want you tomorrow, I want you the next day. I want to stay here with you forever."

He pushed deep inside me and stilled, just his stomach tightening, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth open, his near-silent orgasm coursing through both of us before he finally relaxed and took a deep breath. His forehead was still pressed to mine, and a sudden shyness stole over his face.

"I have a secret," he said, his voice so low I could barely hear it.

"What?" I said, my heartbeat quickening.

"Please don't feel weird, it's just . . ." He breathed out. "I'm in love with you." He closed his eyes, his cheeks flushing. "I shouldn't have said that, but I can't help it, I needed to say it. Or maybe I should have said it earlier, before we were together, I just . . . I've been falling for you for so many months . . ."

"Charlie," I said, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. "I love you, too."

"Are you serious?" he asked, a disbelieving smile on his face, and-oh god, my chest was aching, were those tears in his eyes?

I nodded, my own throat clogging up.

"I love you, Charlie."

He kissed me hard, full of urgency, full of wanting and heartache and happiness, and pressed his body flush against mine. I could feel his heart beating slow and steady underneath my fingertips.

I was home.

So won't you please just

Take my hand

And take my whole life, too

Oh, but I can't help

Falling in love with you.

Author's note: The version of "Can't Help Falling in Love" quoted in this story is the Ingrid Michaelson version. Don't @ me, please. ;)