"It won't happen again."
I turn my face to Katniss, ignoring the road for a moment. We're stuck in traffic anyway, so it's not like there's much to see. This is first time she's spoken since she apologized this morning for wrapping around me like a vine in her sleep—which was completely unnecessary in the first place. I'm trying not to admit to myself that I've never felt more content and comfortable in my entire life than I did when I woke up with her in my arms. Never. Not even with the girls I've previously dated. But I like I said, I'm trying not to admit that.
"What?" I ask, watching her twirl the end of her braid in her fingers.
"I won't…cling to you like that. It was a total invasion of privacy." She bends her knees and pulls them under herself.
"Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I didn't…mind it." Yeah, mind it. Wow, I'm an idiot. But it's better than saying it was like holding onto forever for a brief moment in time. Fuck, that's cheesy. What the hell has gotten in to me? I barely know this girl.
She whirls her upper body in my direction, and her eyes fly to mine. They are wide and filled with some emotion that I can't identify.
"It's just," I say, trying to back pedal, "I'm here for you, okay? I know that we don't know each other all that well, but I can be here for you if you need me. I want to be leaned on by you." That didn't sound too creepy, right?
Her eyes linger on me for a moment longer, then fall down to her lap. "They don't happen too often—the nightmares," she whispers. I find myself leaning towards her, eager to hear what she has to say. I can't believe she's letting me support her. "But I've been dealing with them since my dad." She fidgets, pulling at her braid again. "I'm not used to…having help with them. Everyone I've lived with has just gotten used to them, and has basically ignored them. But last night, it was…nice." She finishes her sentence with a shiver.
"I meant what I said, Katniss," I say, unable to control the words. "I'll protect you in any way I can."
She turns her face back to me, her lips twitching with a smile she's trying to contain. "I'm getting that."
The rest of the drive is silent, but it's not uncomfortable like it was before. We are both so transfixed with the scene around us. Skyscrapers and old buildings and billboards and lights and people surround us.
"Let's find a hotel and then explore," I say as we're stopped at another red light. "My friend told me about a cheap place down by central park."
"Sounds good." She takes deep breath and exhales loudly. "I could never live in a place like this. Too many people."
"Where would you wanna live?"
"I'm not sure. I like where I am now, I suppose. I just want to be near the wilderness."
I want to ask why, but she turns up the music, officially ending the conversation. I follow the signs and the scribbled directions Finnick wrote for me on the back of a receipt for magnum condoms (thanks for that image, Finn) to get to central park and the hotel.
It's a shithole. I can already tell from the dilapidated building covered in moss or mold or something poisonous. But whatever. It'll do. I turn my jeep into the small underground parking lot; it feels like we barely make it under height maximum.
Katniss and I both get out of the car, and she grabs a small over-the-shoulder purse from the backseat before we head into the elevator.
It isn't long before we have our keys and I decide to run back out to the cars to get our bags while Katniss checks out our room. It's on the fourth floor, so I take the creepy, red-carpeted elevator up to it with our bags slug over my shoulders.
The room actually isn't too bad. It's a large improvement from the lobby and the outside. It's small—the two beds only about a foot from each other—but at least it isn't decorated in a cheery beach theme. It just has white walls and an emerald carpet. The comforters on the bed are also green, and there's a small TV sitting on top of a large dresser. I've never understood why they put dressers in hotels. I've never heard of someone putting their clothes there. Maybe they do it so it seems more like a normal bedroom instead of a place where who knows how many people have done God knows what.
Katniss is sitting on the bed closest to the door, her legs crossed. I set her bag down beside her before moving to the other bed where I throw mine carelessly.
When I turn back around to Katniss, she's watching me with a sad expression. But when I open my mouth to ask her what's wrong, her face immediately hardens—transforming into a blank slate. So I drop it. But her eyes—they continue to tell all. She glances at my bed and then hers and release a quiet, uncomfortable noise from the back of her throat. What does that mean exactly? But she stands up and heads to the bathroom without another word.
It's sweltering here, a juxtaposition to the air-conditioned jeep, so I tear off my long sleeve shirt and begin to rifle through my bag for something else to wear.
"Hey, Peeta?" Katniss storms back into the room, her voice urgent, and I quickly turn around, alert.
"Yes?" I question. But she doesn't say anything. I watch her beautiful face flush as her eyes flick down my bare front before they meet mine again. I feel a flutter in my stomach.
Maybe I'm not the only one that's experiencing some attraction.
She bites her lower lip and I twitch in my khakis. Fuck, that's hot. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, cutting off my thoughts. "I forgot what I was gonna say."
She turns and goes back to the bathroom. And I'm wearing a grin so big my cheeks ache.
We try to fit in everything. And we stick out as sore thumbs—obviously tourists with our "I heart NYC" hats and our cell phones constantly snapping pictures. Katniss looks happy. Actually happy. I've seen her look sad and worried and angry and scared and amused—but never unwavering happiness. We take the corny picture with the fake Empire State Building while we're there. We listen to the soft acoustic music as we sit at the Lennon memorial at Strawberry Fields in Central Park. We point at our favorite advertisements on Times Square and we both giggle when we get lost on the subway.
When the sun starts to set, and we're leaving Chinatown with full bellies, Katniss puts her head on my shoulder as we sit on the subway. She must be tired.
"Let's get a drink somewhere," she says. Okay, so maybe she's not tired.
I'm a little confused by her actions, but I don't dare shift away. I want this. "Okay. We'll find a bar close to the hotel," I tell her. I move my arm so it rests on the back of the plastic seat, eager to feel her press close to me. And to my surprise, she does.
We had fun today, no doubt. We laughed and talked and saw beautiful things I may never see again—and maybe she's starting to be more comfortable with me because of it. Or maybe it's because of her nightmare last night. Maybe she's realizing that I meant what I said both yesterday and this morning—that I'll protect her. Whatever the reason behind her touching me, I'm ecstatic to feel the heat of her body against mine and the breathe in the smell of peach that lingers in her hair and on her skin.
There's a small but crowded bar on the block on which our hotel is located called The Hob. It's a bit of a dive, but Katniss doesn't really seem like the kind of girl that fancies clubs—in fact, her eyes turn a silver white when she sees a jazz band playing on the small stage amidst the grungy décor. People are dancing all over the space, so we weave through them and head to the bar.
A tall man with chocolate skin approaches us. He wipes the wood of the bar with a discolored rag and shines us a powerful smile. "Can I get you anything?" His voice is rough like sandpaper.
"Six shots of Jimmy Beam," Katniss calls over the loud wail of a saxophone. I turn to her with wide eyes, surprised a little thing like her could possibly stand that. She just raises her eyebrows, challenging me again. But there's no way I'm gonna tell Katniss what to do. I can tell she's used to making decisions for herself—probably longer than she should have had to.
"And I'll have a Jack and coke," I chime in.
It doesn't take long before he slides my drink across the bar and lines up Katniss' shots and begins to fill them to the brim.
"You might not be able to handle that, little lady," the guy says, eyeing Katniss in a way I really don't like as she picks up her first shot. "You look like the type that doesn't know her limits."
She narrows her eyes at him. "If I get sick, I'll flash the bar." And then she tosses all six shots back in rapid succession.
My mouth drops in surprise at the way she drinks and at the thought of seeing her bare chest.
The bartender takes away the empty shot glasses with a smile on his face. "Deal." They shake on it.
She places her hand on my bicep, bringing me out of my daze of wonderment and horniness. I meet her grey eyes, and she jerks her head towards the dancing throng of people a couple yards away. I quickly down my drink and as soon as I set the empty glass on the counter she tugs me to the dance floor.
When we are in the middle of the mess, she presses her body to mine. I can tell the alcohol is already starting to set in, her eyes becoming glassy. But I'm not a saint. And I'm going to take advantage of a drunk Katniss and dance with her a little more intensely than I probably should.
I grab her hands and lift them, setting them around my neck. Her fingers immediately weave into the hair at my nape. I slide my hands down her silky arms, caressing her olive skin. I continue to trail them down her sides, slowly fingering her ribs through her skin-tight shirt, until my hands land on her hips. Then I shift them to her ass and pull her pelvis to mine.
The music changes to sultry jazz tune and the people around us immediately pair off and begin to dance like Katniss and I are—close and personal.
I lean down and press my forehead against hers as our hips begin to swivel together in a very dirty way. She raises her eyes from the sight of us pressed together and meets my gaze. Her pupils are dilated and her irises are so silver their blinding. She presses her chest to mine and I feel her nipples pebble against my skin.
I can feel myself harden in my jeans, and begin to pull away—but she stops me. She glides her fingers down my shoulders and back until they slip into my back pockets. And she squeezes my ass.
"Fuck," I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut. I don't know where her surge of confidence is coming from, or mine for that matter, but it's both an amazing and a fucking terrible idea. There's no way anything between us could ever end happily.
We dance the night away. Unfortunately for me, Katniss never gets sick so she doesn't have to flash me and the rest of the bar. But she's definitely drunk as she stumbles the half-block to our hotel room. I try to keep her in my reach, but as soon as we exited the dance floor she went back to being her closed-off self and spins out of my grasp.
When we get back to the room, she strips off her clothes in front of me instead of hiding in the bathroom like she normally does. I try not to stare as I cross the room and begin to disrobe myself, but it's hard. Her breasts look amazing and perfectly lifted in her lacy powder blue bra. When I'm in my boxers, I crawl under the covers to the farthest edge of the bed away from her and stare out of the window at the city.
I've always heard that NYC is supposed be alive at night but if it's true, these walls must be thick because I can hear anything but the soft rustling of Katniss behind me. The moon is barely visible out of the corner of the window sill, half of it hidden behind a skyscraper. It's bright and round and hopeful.
As soon as I close my eyes, I'm out.
I wake up to a shift on my bed. My eyes fly open and I narrow them at the clock in the side table. It's 3:00; I've been asleep for almost two hours. The bed moves again and I turn over to find Katniss sliding under my covers and resting her head down on the white pillow next to mine.
"I liked sleeping with you last night," she whispers as she moves closer to me. "I felt safe."
When we're only inches away, she turns around, facing away from me. Though I think it's what she wants, I'm half-asleep and still not even sure this isn't a dream; but hesitantly, I wrap my arm around her waist and press our practically naked bodies together.
Her body relaxes against me, and I feel her nudge her legs between mine. So much for her "it won't happen again" speech she gave me this morning. Not that I mind her sudden change of belief.
But it's not good. It can't be. Not with me.
Everything good that happens to me always ends in heartache.
Hey guys! Sorry this is a short chapter, but I wanted to post something because it's been awhile. Thank for the favorites, follows and reviews! Expect more soon!