It’s been two weeks since presser-gate, which is what Natalie and I have been calling her romantic gesture to win me back after the Lights Game 3. They went on to win games four and five, but the Liberty snatched game six, which brings us to tonight - Game seven. We’re back in New York. I felt a pressure in my chest as the plane landed this morning. This is where things unfurled last time. But then Natalie grabbed my hand, and I felt relaxed.
I unpack as Natalie takes a shower. I take in the room at The Moxy that looks too similar to the one from three weeks ago. For a second, I feel like I’m watching a memory play out instead of living one. Natalie’s opened suitcase in the corner of the room, clothes sprawling out. As I look out past our already lived-in hotel room and see the New York City skyline I think, how could this feel so similar yet so entirely different? The Old habits kick in, and I go to curl my desire for Natalie into myself before I stop and remember I no longer have to. She’s here to stay; she is mine. I shake it off. I need to trust myself and Natalie.
My eyes catch Natalie’s nightstand. Her book is there, dog-eared to the page she left off on. She’s moved on to The Book of Dust trilogy - the prequel series to The Golden Compass. I love how she loves fantasy. Getting lost in another world, the characters becoming like family, it makes me look at her in a whole new light. This is a woman whose imagination knows no bounds, and this fact steadies me.
I move into the bathroom where Nat’s just stepping out of the shower. I will never get used to this casual intimacy. The moments that are so normal but feel like Christmas morning when I get to do them with Natalie.
Droplets of water fall from her unbound, wet hair down her toned abdomen, and it makes a heat swell in my pelvis.
“What’s wrong?” Natalie asks. I must have a look on my face because now she looks worried, and the desire dries up.
“No, nothing, I just…missed you.”
Nat Smirkes and gets rid of the distance between us in one step.
“Missed me, huh? Was an eight-hour travel day not enough for you?”
Her hand caresses my cheek. A gesture that’s both teasing and comfortable. An image flashes through my mind: me working at my table while Natalie reads on my couch, knees to her chest, my blanket draped over her, her lips moving almost imperceptibly along to the words. The thought alone makes me smile.
“You’ve got some act going today,” Natalie observes.
“Come on, I’m starving and need at least two Gin Martini’s to cure this jet lag,” I respond.
“You’re not gonna take advantage of me post-shower? I expected more from you.” Natalie works her hand down to my stomach. To that sensitive spot right below my navel. I close my eyes and let out a moan. The steam from the shower encircles us in a cocoon of warmth. I lean away. Needing to create some distance. I immediately regret it, but Natalie takes the hint and goes to dry her hair.
“Is there somewhere you had in mind?” Natalie says as she now wraps the towel around herself.
“What?” I’m still kicking myself for five seconds ago when I let the thought of being vulnerable scare me. Natalie’s hand is suddenly in mine, and I look up to her pale eyes that have a glimmer of worry in them.
“Jen, if you want to stay at a different hotel - I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it.” My stress breaks like the warmth of the sun after a bad storm. I squeeze her hand. “Let’s get something to eat before we lock ourselves in for the night.”
She beams back at me and pulls me out of the bathroom and onto the bed. I squeal in delight.
We somehow stumble into the one restaurant that doubles as a Karaoke bar. But we don’t find that out until we’re halfway through our meals - A burger for Nat, and a spicy chicken sandwich for me. We’re heads down in our food when suddenly I hear the opening chords to “Mr. Brightside” blast through the speakers. Natalie and I both turn to see a bachelorette party scream as they cheer on the “bride to be,” who is wailing the Killers lyrics like a drunk sorority girl in the back of an Uber.
I turn with wide eyes to Nat. She still has her mouth full, and her jaw is agape. “This might be the straightest thing we’ve ever done together,” I say.
Through her mouth full of food, Natalie replies, “woregoingnext.”
I almost spit out my martini.
“What?! No way, uh-uh. I don’t do Karaoke.”
Natalie has finally swallowed her food and washed it down with her Rosé. It still tickles me that that’s her drink of choice. So feminine and demure of her.
“What do you mean ‘don’t do karaoke,’ are you the fun police?”
“It’s just not my thing.”
Natalie’s eyes bore into me. I try to look away, but the thought of her watching me heats my cheeks and makes me smile. Her watching me. I think. What a reversal of the script. “Don’t make me be-eg,” Natalie sing-songs, like she’s already warming up her voice for the mic. I can’t help but giggle. I feel her fingers brush my calf under the table. I stroke my chin like I’m really trying to think this through, even though I know in my bones what the rest of the night looks like. Singing our hearts out, walking with my hand in her back pocket down the cobblestone streets of Brooklyn, the smell of lavender and rain on my skin and in the hotel sheets. Suddenly, I’m seeing more, the future I haven’t allowed myself to think of in fear, this wouldn’t last. My smile falters—Natalie’s hand stills on my knee.
“There’s that look again,” Nat whispers.
“What?” I try and school my features.
“The one you had earlier today in the room. I know your faces now, Jennifer Felix, and this is one I haven’t seen since…” Natalie takes a shaky breath. I think she’s done, but then she finishes her thought with a deep sense of regret.
“...since I was the biggest idiot I’ve ever been and almost lost you.”
I study Natalie’s features. Her hair is down, still damp from her shower. Her locks frame her face and soften her high cheekbones. This isn’t the Natalie I saw that day in the hospital bed; cold, unfeeling. This is the Natalie that can’t stop yapping when she’s excited, whose smile beams up at me every time she spots me in the crowd during a game, who has told me she loves me. She loves me. I let that thought fill my bones and warm my organs. I take a breath and start.
“I just don’t want this moment to be over, that's all. I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact that I have you and you’re not going away. I guess I still don’t believe it.” Natalie stands. I think she’s about to go to the bathroom or something, which would be bizarre timing, but instead she comes over to my side of the booth and slides in. Her long fingers come up to either side of my face, and she holds me in the palm of her hands. “I want you to know that I will always choose you. That “Basketball is wife” shit is over. I’m serious about you, I’m in love with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” I taste the rosé on her lips as she crushes them into me. I didn’t know I needed to hear that until she said it. It’s like she just healed that unfinished part of my heart that was left open by woman after woman, until she came along and closed it up.
“I love you, too,” I whisper into her mouth.
She pulls back every so slightly—a mischievous grin now on her face.
“Good,” She says, “Now that that’s settled, let’s go fuck up some Karaoke before I take you home and fuck you into oblivion.
I squeal as Natalie grabs my hand and we bound over to the bar. We have to put in our song request before we can go.
“I’m thinking Fleetwood Mac, maybe Landslide?” Nat ponders.
I shake my head, “I don’t know, I really am not a karaoke person.”
“Jennifer Felix, I am learning so much about you today. First, the love of travelling together, and now you are anti-singing? I’m gonna have to take you to a musical when you're here to really torture you.” Natalie laughs, and I roll my eyes.
“I am not ‘anit-singing’, I actually love singing—it doesn’t matter. I just don’t like singing in front of a bunch of randos.”
Natalie smirks.
“But that’s the best audience. You’ll never see them again. So it doesn’t matter if you suck or if you are the greatest talent since Celine Dion, you are completely anonymous.” “Celine Dion, huh?”
“She is a once-in-a-generation voice whose music defines entire eras and whose presence radiates timeless grace and unmatched artistry.”
“Did you memorize that?” I giggle.
“I’m texting Weesie to back me up right now.”
“No, no, I agree, I just didn’t expect this from once-in-a-generation basketball powerhouse Natalie Czipski.”
A smile slowly blooms across her face. It’s a smile I’ve never seen from Natalie, and it’s making me melt.
“What can I do for you ladies?” The bartender interjects.
“Sorry, no, we’re just thinking about what song—” I start, but then Natalie blocks me off and whispers something into his ear. He nods and walks away.
“What was that??” I exclaim.
“You’ll see,” Natalie smirks.
We head back to our table and finish our food as other patrons get up to sing. Avril Lavigne, Rihanna, and Panic! At the Disco play out with questionable renditions. Suddenly, the opening chords to “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield come on. Natalie stands. “This is us, baby.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Natalie, no!”
“C’mon, before we miss the first verse!”
Natalie grabs me, and we race up to the ‘stage’, which is really just an area cornered off with barstools and mic stands. Natalie begins,
“I am unwritten, Can’t read my mind, I’m undefined…”
I can’t help but smile. Natalie is actually killing this. She keeps going,
“I’m just beginning, The pen’s in my hand, Ending unplanned…”
Something comes over me, maybe it’s the rosé breath coming from Nat, or the fact that it feels like we are the only people in this bar, or maybe it’s just that I lowkey love this song, but I find myself singing the pre-chorus with full commitment.
Natalie is beaming, laughing with abandon. I keep singing because I realize my desire to make her happy will outweigh my embarrassment of singing karaoke in a dive bar any day. We belt the chorus together and take turns with the rest of the song. I’ve weirdly never felt closer to her. This is a whole new Natalie, and I realize there will be so many more moments just like this.
We sing the last line together, The rest is still unwritten…” and I realize there is no truer statement to describe what the two of us are building. A weight I didn’t know I had been holding in my heart flies away, and I let go of the idea that things could turn at any minute. There is nothing bad pre-destined for us; there is only what we decide, what we choose to write in our story. I love her, but I also get to love her without fear. The song ends, and she kisses me. “That was amazing,” I say without realizing.
“Am I slowly turning you into a karaoke person?” Natalie’s eyes are mischievous and hopeful.
“You’re slowly turning me into a Natalie Czapski person.” I retort.
The scattered applause fades back into the sounds of the bar. The clinking glasses, someone laughing too loudly, the sticky floor beneath my boots. But none of it feels real. What feels real is the pulse still beating in my chest, the warmth of her hand still tangled in mine. It hits me that love doesn’t always need a grand gesture; sometimes it’s just this — a bad mic, a song you didn’t plan to sing, and someone who makes you brave enough to sing it anyway.
We barely get through the door of our hotel room before our clothes are off and Nat’s hot kisses sear my skin. She pushes me onto the bed, and I am at her mercy. I’m buzzing. The adrenaline from the karaoke bar hasn’t worn off, and my pro-athlete girlfriend feeling me up on the cab ride home did nothing to help that.
“Take off your clothes,” Natalie demands.
I peel off my jacket and t-shirt. I decided not to wear a bra tonight, and it was the best decision I ever made because the look on Natalie’s face right now has me wet before we’ve even started. Natalie begins undressing at an agonizingly slow rate.
“Are you trying to torture me?” I say, breathless.
Natalie smirks.
“We have the whole night to ourselves, why rush?”
“So that’s a yes.”
Natalie laughs and brings her face down to my navel. Goosebumps erupt across my entire being as Natalie licks her way down to my clit. I let out a moan that’s pleading. She’s teasing me with her pressure.
“Please.” I get out.
“Please, what?” Natalie answers.
“Please, Natalie.”
“Mmmm.”
She increases her force, and I can’t think anymore. She sets a relentless rhythm, slipping in one finger, then two. I’m seeing nothing but my oncoming orgasm.
“Don’t come yet,” Natalie gruffs.
I can’t even respond, I’m so close. I get out half a retort, but Natalie has slowed. She kisses up my stomach, her fingers still creating a pulse. The muscles of her left arm flex and shift as she comes up to meet my eyes with hers. They are deep wells of the most innocence I have seen from this woman. Completely vulnerable, and she almost looks scared. She brings her lips down onto mine in a kiss that is almost a question. It says, Are we doing this? I bring my hands to her jaw and kiss her back with a ferocity I don’t think either of us was expecting. Yes.
She pulls back with a smirk of determination. She sets a relentless pace now with both her gloriously long fingers and that mouth, oh god. I get a whiff of Natalie’s scent, and I come all over her fingers.
She falls beside me, and I curl into her.
“Did we just…read each other’s minds?”
I laugh and snort. She laughs at my snort. I cover my mouth in embarrassment. She takes my hand away from my mouth and kisses it.
“That was the cutest thing I have ever seen.”
“My snort?”
“Yes.”
I look at her. The woman whose mind I thought was a mystery inside a locked box inside a fortress. But turns out I have the key, and the mystery isn’t actually a mystery, it’s just a story, one that I get to learn new things about every second, and one I get to write with her from now on.
