Explicit: A Novel

by Ava Harrison

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Anywhere. Start anywhere. The fact you’re calling is a huge step, so start wherever you’re comfortable and I promise to listen.”

  And so I do.

  I give him the synopsis of my war with Lindsey. I tell him of our past, the partying, Antibes. And then after I tell him about me taking her home. I don’t tell him about the painting because right now, in my vulnerable state, that’s too much. But I tell him about how I asked her to hang out tomorrow.

  “Do you want more?” he finally asks when I stop speaking.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are you afraid of? Right now you say you just want friendship, so what is it you fear?”

  “What if I let her in, and what—what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

  “Listen, man. I get it. But you can’t live your life in fear. There are no guarantees in life. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ll always be lost. But what if you stop looking for the answer and just enjoy the journey? Lindsey might not be the end game for you, but what she can be is your friend, and if you value her and value herself, I know she’ll always be there for you.”

  “So how do I do that?” I ask.

  “Take down the walls. I know you did, briefly, but take them all down. You want to hide from your brothers, that’s your prerogative, but take the friendship she offers. Let it build you up. What you did tonight, calling me, is a huge step. You could be getting high, but look, you called me. You should be proud of yourself. And tomorrow, show her this side of you ’cause I’m proud and she’ll be proud too.”

  For the first time in a long time, I realize that maybe I do deserve it.

  Maybe I do.

  And if Lindsey is going to give me this opportunity, I won’t fuck it up.

  I’m done hiding.

  I’m ready to see what can happen if I just let someone in.

  “Wait. You stayed over there?” Olivia’s voice rises in disbelief. It’s almost comical.

  “No. We just watched a movie and then I went home. Nothing happened, Olivia. I’m not going there again.”

  “Good, because he’s not good for you, Linds. He’s bad news, and he’ll only drag you back down.”

  I don’t know why, but I hate what she’s saying about him. The Pierce I saw last night isn’t that guy. Olivia only knows what Spencer tells her, and it pisses me off that he speaks so poorly of his brother.

  “You know, Spencer should really try to get to know his brother. He’s not anything that you’ve described. It’s really sad how misinformed he is.”

  “Spencer hasn’t said anything. In fact, Pierce has him completely snowed. No matter what kind of trouble the boy gets into and how much he drags his family down, Spencer always defends him. It’s frustrating because he’s spent so much time worrying about him, yet Pierce does nothing to change his situation.”

  “That’s not true, Olivia,” I seethe, trying hard not to sound cold, but failing miserably. “He’s had a tough life and you’re not really one with room to judge. It’s fine for you to rehab your life, but Pierce can’t? That’s pretty hypocritical of you.”

  She sighs. “I don’t want to fight with you, Lindsey. I’ve just been on the other end of those phone calls, and I know how much he’s hurt Spencer. I’m sorry for being concerned about my fiancé.”

  She said she didn’t want to fight. I should stop as I’m not going to win with her, but I can’t. She’s wrong this time. “When was the last time a phone call like that happened? When he was arrested?” I huff. “I’m telling you, Olivia. He’s different.”

  She sighs. “I hope you’re right, Lindsey. For Spencer’s sake and for your own, because I can tell he’s gotten under your skin. All I’m saying is, remember the things he’s done in the past because I don’t want to see you get hurt. Listen, I know I’m being harsh, but truth is, it’s just too close to home. I was that destructive once. I saw how it not only affected my life but the people around me. It’s hard for me to hear Spencer so upset. I know that sounds hypocritical seeing as how I landed myself in rehab, but I got help. I just wish Pierce would get help too.”

  The tension in my shoulders loosens. I know Olivia means well. She’s not trying to be a bitch. She’s just frustrated from the past, and I can understand. Trust me, of all people, I can understand how frustrating Pierce Lancaster can be. I hope I’m not wrong, but I really don’t think I am.

  “I miss you, Linds. When I come back in town, can we grab dinner?”

  I smile, glad that we seem to be all right despite our argument. “Of course. I miss you, too. Go have fun in France. Send me pictures. Make me jealous.”

  She giggles. “You’ve got it.”

  We hang up the phone and I recall everything Olivia said. I don’t regret standing up for Pierce. I truly believe he’s a changed person. I hope he doesn’t prove me wrong.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready for our friend date. Pulling on a black shift dress and a pair of booties, I apply the last bit of makeup—a light layer of mascara, a touch of blush, and some lip gloss. Looking one last time in the mirror, I wince. What am I doing? My scar is showing. I can’t believe I almost left without throwing on a pair of tights. Quickly, I reach into the drawer and place my foot into the black tights. The marks on my ankle scream at me to rip off the tights and crawl into my bed and cry. What would he say if he saw my scars?

  Why does it matter? You’re just friends.

  Maybe I shouldn’t go?

  Call it off. Maybe Olivia is right.

  Maybe he hasn’t really changed.

  Goddamn Olivia.

  Grabbing my phone, I call Amelia. “I can’t do this,” I blurt out before she can even say hi.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Friend date. I can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?” she asks.

  “Well, Olivia—”

  “Stop right there, Linds,” she cuts me off. “I really like Olivia, obviously, and I know she’s your best friend, but her opinion of Pierce might be a little biased. She only hears one account, and that account is not the same one you are seeing. He might have changed. Give him a shot.”

  “It’s not that,” I admit on a sigh.

  “Okay, so why don’t you tell me the real story? What’s really going on?”

  “My leg.”

  “Your leg? I must be missing something. What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “My scars.”

  “No one sees your scars.”

  “That’s ’cause I cover them,” I deadpan.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. You are the only person who sees your scars. You know what we all see? We see a woman who went to hell and back, conquered odds, many could never dream of, and lived to be a better person. We don’t see scars, we see a reminder that you lived.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Actually, her words give me a hard time trying to remember how to breathe.

  But my lack of words doesn’t stop Amelia from knowing what I need.

  “You got this, Linds. Now hang up.” She doesn’t give me a chance to object before she hangs up.

  She’s right. I can do this. I lived.

  The buzzer ringing through my apartment means I’m out of time. Hitting the intercom, I say, “Send him up.” Then a few minutes later, I throw the door open. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a black tee, with black motorcycle boots.

  “This is . . . strange,” I comment on our coordinated colors. “Were you spying on me?”

  “Um, no. All black is hardly original.” He winks.

  “Should I change?” I grimace.

  His eyes widen and he chuckles. “I think you look stunning. I don’t want you to change.”

  I’m relieved to see he’s not overly dressed himself.

  “Ready to go?”

  I nod, grabbing my clutch off the table. When I walk out the door, he puts his hand on the small of my back,
sending shivers down my spine.

  “Where’re we going?” I ask to make conversation, needing to forget the way his hands on my body affect me.

  “That is a surprise.” He looks down at me, smiling wide.

  The car ride is quiet, my nerves increasing with each mile driven. Why am I so nervous? This is a friends date, I remind myself. We pull up to his apartment building and I bite my lip, confused.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “No. Come with me,” he says, opening my door and holding out his hand for me to take.

  “Are you ordering me Chinese? Because this friend loves Chinese.”

  He chuckles. “I had something else in mind.”

  When we enter his apartment, one of the best smells invades my senses. “Are you making lasagna?”

  He smiles. “It’s almost done. I had my neighbor watch it for me.”

  “What neighbor?” I ask. He’s on the top floor, so he doesn’t have neighbors.

  “Mrs. Millie Tilson. She’s on the floor below me. She’s in her early seventies and just had her first great-grandchild. She loves helping.”

  I smirk. “Making friends with all the ladies in the building?”

  “Millie is more like my grandma.”

  The thought warms my heart. I’m glad he has someone like that.

  Walking around the corner, everything inside me goes still. My limbs won’t move as I take in the scene laid out in front of me. In the middle of the room is a round table set with fine white linen, an ornate candelabra, exquisite china, and what looks like heirloom silver flatware. My breath catches in my throat.

  “You did this?” My head turns to see him rocking back and forth on his feet.

  “I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says shyly.

  My heart swells. “Pierce, this is incredible. But you know, friends don’t do this kind of stuff for friends, right?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, well, I was a dick to you in Antibes.”

  My stomach twists at the memory. Old feelings, deep-seated insecurities gnaw at every molecule in my psyche. I push them down; there’s no place for those feelings here.

  “I have a lot of making up to do if we’re really going to be friends, Lindsey. I thought this would be a good start.”

  “A romantic dinner is a good start to a friendship?” I tease.

  “An elegant home-cooked meal from one friend to another,” he offers.

  I nod. “You’ve done well, Lancaster. A point to you.”

  We sit down to eat, between bites we don’t speak. The silence stretches between us.

  Uncomfortably.

  Begging for someone to break it.

  I do.

  “Tell me something funny,” I blurt out, needing to kill the awkward tension that has descended upon us. He doesn’t answer, and truth be told by the way his mouth gapes open, he must think I’m crazy. “Come on, tell me anything. Tell me something about you when you were a kid.”

  “When I was a kid . . .”

  His mouth parts and I wait on bated breath for pieces of him he’s about to gift me. It’s like we’re on the precipice of something, reaching toward the unknown. I should be scared of what this means to us but I’m not. I’m falling head first into the abyss. My eyes wide open. Eager for more.

  “When I was young, around four years old, Spencer was fourteen and Grant was thirteen. We had a dog. Her name was Alexis. She was the cutest wheaten terrier you’ve ever seen.” His lips part farther and he lets out a laugh.

  The sound has my insides warming.

  “What did they do,” I press with excitement in my voice.

  “One would hold me down, and the other would call out for Alexis to come lick me. They would hold me down for hours. Or maybe it was five minutes, but I just remember being soaked with dog saliva.”

  It’s such a small moment, one he tucked away inside, so deep it was probably forgotten, but just hearing it, I understand him more. He loves his brothers. Looks up to his brothers. And all he wants is for them to love him back.

  Like me.

  He’s so like me.

  And, strangely enough, it comforts me.

  Later that evening, Pierce drops me off at my place. He doesn’t have to, I could have taken a cab, but he insists and a part of me melts.

  “Thanks for tonight, Pierce. Dinner was amazing.” I shuffle my feet. “The company wasn’t too bad, either.”

  “I had a nice time, too. Friends?”

  “Friends,” I agree.

  Pierce leans in and I hold my breath. He places a small kiss on my cheek, heating my insides. “Good night, Lindsey.”

  “Good night, Pierce.”

  I turn and enter my apartment. When the door is shut and locked, my back hits the wood and I slide to the floor. Tonight topped every night I’ve ever had with any man. Pierce could have taken me anywhere money could buy, but he made things special for me.

  My walls are falling, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  As soon as the door shuts, all the breath rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh.

  This girl.

  There aren’t words to describe today. But I’m revved up. Excited.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this stoked about anything. Or anyone. But there’s something about Lindsey. It wasn’t just that it was fun to be with her. It was easy.

  Head in the clouds, I make my way out of her apartment building and start to walk to my place. I pull my phone out when I hit the pavement outside and hit the contact button.

  “What’s going on?” Carson answers.

  “I just wanted to say thanks.”

  “So everything went good, I take it?” He laughs.

  “Not like that, man, but you were right. I need a friend, and Lindsey is a good one to have.”

  “You got me too.”

  I welcome his words. Carson isn’t as old as my brothers, but he’s still a few years older than me and I do look up to him, so to know he’s on my side makes me feel good.

  “Now where’re you off to?”

  “I’m just going to go home.”

  “Good. Good choice.”

  I laugh. He’s right. It is a good move. Truth is, it’s the only move. I’m not willing to lose her and what this could be even if that is only friendship. I know she wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t put up with my shit, and the thrill isn’t worth that risk.

  “So what are you going to do on your day off?” he asks.

  Closing my eyes, I think about it for a moment. What is my end game? If I’m being honest with myself, I want to see Lindsey. The revelation has me staggering. God, what’s happening to me? It’s like I opened up a damn floodgate and now I can’t close it.

  “I’m not sure. Out of curiosity . . .” I stop myself. God, I’m acting pathetic.

  “She has the day off too.” He chuckles, and I want to jump through the phone and thank him for not making me ask, but I try to play it cool.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Sure. Who you trying to kid, you or me?”

  “Fine. Thanks for the info.”

  “No problem. Okay, man, got to go. Lynn is waiting for me, so you know . . .”

  “Got it. Say no more. See you Monday. And thanks.”

  “No need, but you’re welcome.”

  I place the phone back in my pocket and head home. Although fall is here, the air is still warm with lingering summer air, so instead of getting a cab, I decide to walk the ten blocks. That has to be long enough to clear my head, and then hopefully come up with the most kick-ass idea for tomorrow.

  Five blocks in and I’m grasping at straws. What does she like? I realize I don’t know very much about her, what makes her tick, or her hobbies. Maybe if I show her more about my passions, she’ll tell me about hers. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to take her to my favorite place in all of the city. I’m going to take her to the Met. I’m going to show her every painting that inspired me and
that’s embedded in my soul now.

  For the first time I’m seeing straight and I’m excited for what’s to come.

  My phone rings bright and early, and I groan in response to the loud chime. Glancing at the clock, I question who on earth would be calling me at this hour.

  “Hello?” My voice is groggy and full of sleep.

  “What are you still doing in bed? It’s a beautiful day. Get your ass up. We have places to be.”

  “Pierce?”

  “Seriously, Lindsey. Get your ass out of bed and get dressed. I’m on my way to get you. We’re going to the art museum.” The line goes silent and I know he’s hung up on me.

  He can’t be serious?

  I jump out of bed and rush around, splashing water on my face to wake myself. I apply a little makeup and am just putting on my shoes when I hear his knock at the door. I open it with a blank face.

  “Seriously? Nine a.m., Pierce?”

  He grins. “I want to get there at the opening so we can avoid long lines. They have a new piece I’ve been dying to see.”

  His excitement is contagious, and I can’t help but crack a smile. “All right, Picasso. Let’s go.” As I walk past, I grab the nape of his shirt, dragging him with me.

  He’s right. There are no lines at this time in the morning and we’re able to easily walk from piece to piece and marvel for as long as we want. We’re looking at an abstract modernistic piece I don’t like at all.

  “Not a fan,” I admit.

  “No? I think there’s something beautiful about it,” he muses.

  “It looks like a preschooler painted a bunch of shapes and mixed them together.”

  “Or you could use your imagination. Step back and really take a look.”

  I narrow my eyes, but when I see he’s not joking, I take a step back and really try to visualize what he sees. Tilting my head to the side, I “meh” out loud. He may be right that there’s something beautiful about art, but it’s the way he talks about it that’s truly captivating.

  “I really think you’re missing your calling, Pierce. Very few people are born with the talent you possess, and I can tell you love it. Why aren’t you pursuing it?”