Caramel Cigarettes [Fourth Addition]


I added on a lot for this addition!

If you still haven’t been caught up with this story, the links are below:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Please enjoy & leave comments (especially if you like it and want to see more)!

– Dahv


Nicky and I didn’t speak until Monday afternoon.

I saw her in the hallway earlier that day.

On my way to class, I walked past her as she leaned over the water fountain. She was wearing a pair of jeans – the legs rolled up to her knees. Her shirt was green; hair was down. The jeans outlined the crack of her ass and slid, revealing her hot pink thong, as her lips approached the bubbler. The stream of water wet her lip ring and dribbled down her chin. I wanted to say “hi,” but how weird would it have been? Her ass was inches from my pocketed hand; I could feel heat build in the bridge of my denim. My eye wandered to the space between her legs, and was reminded of how close we almost got. I continued to walk down the hall. I reached my classroom before she came up for air.


Nicky stood behind me in line for coffee. Her hair was now in a bun, with pencils tangled in the curls.

“Nicky,” I said. I looked ahead of me, scaling how long the line was, estimating how long she’d expect us to speak.

“How were your classes today?” She asked.

I shrugged. “Not bad.” I slipped my hands into my back pockets and tilted my head back, wondering if her eyes shifted down to my ass.

“You pumped for Chemistry tomorrow?”

I nodded my head even though she couldn’t see me. I sunk my hands deeper.

“It should be fun.”

I heard her unzip her purse and then tap her thumbs. She had moved onto another conversation and it was killing me. I turned to her. “You still wanna partner up tomorrow?”

She was nose-deep in her iPhone. Her red acrylic nails tap-danced along the screen. The notification bar, stomaching text messages and Facebook notifications, reflected off of her eyes: her eyes that were no longer looking at me. She finally nodded. “I think tomorrow we are doing a water lab.” She slipped her phone back into her purse and left it unzipped. “Should be fun. I wouldn’t mind getting a little wet.” She tee-hee’d before biting down on her bottom lip. A string of saliva stretched between her lip ring and upper lip.

“You’re so bad,” I whispered. Sweat dashed between my shoulder blades.

Nicky stepped into me, filling the space between my legs. Her arms belted my waist. She leaned in close, lip ring rubbed against my left earlobe. “You don’t know what bad is then, do you?”

I woke up to the sound of a slamming door. My alarm clock read 7:15. I had forty-five minutes to get ready for class and all I wanted to do was delve into my sweaty sheets and hear Nicky’s voice again. She stepped in between my legs – her thigh touching my crotch – and was closer to me than I was to her. It was a dream, but I could still smell her lemon grass. Turning on my side, toward my nightstand, I unplugged my phone. I had two unread messages: both from Nicky.

“I just had the most fucked up dream about you. Text me when you wake up,” was one of the texts, sent at 3:55am.

I smiled at the thought that she thought of me in bed. My forearms brailed goose bumps at the thought that her dream woke her up.

“You want to get dinner tonight?” Her text, sent at 7am, read.

I put my phone down and got ready for class.

After my two morning classes, it was now 11am, I went over to the student center. A line of students, waiting for coffee, curled around the concession stand, where the bi-weekly newspaper and cases of water were sold, and stopped near the help desk. I got in line. The girl in front of me, with a purple cartilage piercing in her right ear and a red hoodie tucked under her arm, stood with her hip out as she spoke on her cellphone.

“Complete bullshit,” she murmured. “Seriously, why can’t you call me? I gave you my fuckin schedule and you either call me in class or not at all.” She threw the hoodie over her shoulder. “I’m gonna find someone who calls me, you just wait.” She pushed the “end” button on her screen and slipped the phone into her back pocket. Putting her red hoodie over her head, she blindly elbowed me in the jaw. “Wow. I am so sorry,” she said as she pulled her sweatshirt down.

“It’s cool,” I said rubbing my jaw.

“Let me buy you a coffee.” She retrieved a white leather wallet from her back pocket. Looking up at me, crow’s feet pinched beside her green eyes.

“Whoa. Don’t even worry about it.” I laughed.

“Let me guess: you don’t drink coffee?”

Before I could answer, she said, “You’re too chill to be a coffee drinker. I just slammed you in the face and you’re fine with it.”

I chuckled to myself and smiled.

“Would a tea work?” She asked.

“I don’t even know your name. You don’t have to buy me anything.” I looked down at the ground. She was wearing a pair of black and blue D.C. sneakers. The left shoe was untied.

She offered her hand for a shake. “I’m Jacqueline.”

I followed up her offer. “I’m Kelly.”

We shook hands. She then pulled me in like a hook for a hug. Nose close to her neck I could smell mint.

Stepping back, I heard a popping sound. Blue gum residue covered her bottom lip. She bit down and raked the residue back into her mouth. “I like giving hugs.” She said. “You’re cool with that right?”

“I mean, I’m chill enough for you to elbow me in the face.”

Jacqueline laughed. She brought her thumb up to my chin. “Poor baby. I feel so bad.” She took out a pack of gum. “Are you too cool for gum?”

“Wow. You really wanna make it up to me, huh?”

She put another piece in her mouth. Her tongue folded over the blue sugary strip. “I don’t usually hit on -” she paused. “Holy shit. I mean hit people before I introduce myself.”

“Am I too chill to be hit on?”

We made eye contact. Her eyes sized me up, shifted down and then back up; her left eyebrow twitched when she gazed at my chest. She slipped her hands into her back pockets and tilted her head back. I was tempted to do the same, but instead I raised my hands up to my head and flexed.

Jacqueline handed me her phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you when I get out of work.” She tugged on her hoodies’ drawstring: dry, knotted at the ends. “We should get dinner tonight.”

I added myself as a contact in her phone and returned to her home screen. There were missed call and unread message icons bunched in her notification bar. I handed her back the phone.

“I’m down for that.”

 * * *

“What up playa?” Nicky texted me at 5.

I still hadn’t responded to her last two texts. Sitting at a table for two in the dining hall, waiting for Jacqueline to show up, I eyed my conversation with Nicky. Above the response box, the typing icon – a speaking bubble with ellipses – popped up and then disappeared. I put the phone down on the table. My screen lit up. The typing icon was visible.

“I didn’t see you all day,” her text concluded with a frowning face.

I kept my phone on the table. The typing icon appeared again. Putting my phone on silent, I laid it screen-down.

“Hey, girl.”

Jacqueline, wearing a white button-down shirt tucked into brown khakis, pulled her blonde hair into a pony tail and let her bangs – cut diagonally to the left – fall over her eye. She came over to the table and stood behind her chair. She started to unbutton her shirt – more and more – until the pink lace, crowning the bra cup, was visible. I looked down at it, but I felt like that was the point.

“How was work?” I stood up and pushed my chair in.

“Work was work.” Her right pointer finger played with her collar; the touch spiraled down and around the row of buttons. “You have any other plans after this?”

The sound of the other students around us hushed for a moment as my eyes followed her finger; her finger, circled the row of buttons, lingering towards the waistline of her pants. She pulled the front of her shirt out of the khaki’s grasp, revealing three silver studs vertically lined down her navel.

My lips felt cold, thinking about kissing her there. I saw myself holding her up, with her legs wrapped around my waist, carrying her to the bed, unbuttoning her pants, pulling at each leg, lowering her thong to her ankles, diving head-first in between her thighs, with my hands on her hips, I’d wet my lips and go.

“You hungry?”

I went to make eye contact with her, but she was already heading towards the food court. My tongue circled my lips clockwise, and then counter-clockwise, in hope to trace some taste.

The taste was me; the taste was plain.

I shook my head, picked up my phone and followed Jacqueline into the food court.

There were no unread texts. From the home screen, I returned to my conversation with Nicky. Thumbs levitating over the keyboard, I thought of what to type.

Jacqueline approached me with a Diet Coke in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She murmured, “I’m fucking exhausted” and continued to walk past me. A strong cinnamon scent wafted behind her.

The typing icon appeared on the screen. I smirked.

“Can I come over?”

(Message sent).


 Photo Credit


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