Explicit: A Novel

by Ava Harrison

  He sighs. “Because I don’t even know how to get started. It’s something I’ve always just done for me. I don’t know that anyone would be willing to pay for one of my pieces.”

  My mouth drops open. “You’re an idiot.”

  He jerks back as if in shock.

  “I would pay for one of your pieces, and not because I know you. We ran in a circle full of wealthy people who love expensive things. They would eat your stuff up in a heartbeat. But beyond that, you have connections to so many galleries and so many hotel chains. You just need to start painting.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugs, seeming to consider what I’m suggesting.

  “The best part is, if you’re looking to do a hotel chain, you only need to create ten to twenty images and then have them printed on canvas. You could mass produce them and make a fortune. Do your custom pieces for the ultra-wealthy who will insist on having them.”

  He laughs as though I’m crazy.

  “I’m serious, Pierce. You’re really good.”

  He blushes, looking uncomfortable at my praise.

  “I think you need to talk to your dad. Show him how good you are.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at me. “What about you? What is it you want to do with your life, Lindsey?”

  I don’t even have to think about it. I know. I’ve known since the second I walked into the boys’ club. It was my calling to help youth.

  “I love the center. I love the kids. I only wish we could help more. Girls need a center like it, too. Those on the streets have just as few opportunities as the boys.”

  “So, build one,” he suggests as though it’s the easiest thing to accomplish.

  “It’s not that simple. It’s so much more. Take Xavier, for example. He’s having trouble at school and I’m really worried about him, Pierce. The only way for him to get away is to get out of that school, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Nowhere his mom can afford.”

  “So, what’s the solution?” Pierce asks as if he believes I have this all figured out.

  “I’d love to open up a boarding school for boys and girls on the street. Give them opportunities. The same we had. Help them with their résumés, all of that. Give them a fighting chance to make something of their lives.”

  Pierce looks at me. Really looks at me hard.

  “I’ve actually . . .” I bite my lip. “I’ve actually been working on it already. I’ve even been working on getting a business plan together. Then I’ll just need to find investors. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Call your dad, ask him to invest.”

  My stomach drops at the mention of my dad. “That’s not gonna happen. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.”

  “Call him,” he persists. “Give him a chance. I think if you work on a business plan and you show him how serious you are, he’ll be proud.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” I won’t. My dad doesn’t understand anything that’s not oil. He’d probably laugh at me.

  “Stop that,” Pierce demands.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Stop doubting yourself. You can do it. You’re so smart, Lindsey. Those kids love you. Promise me you’ll do it for them, if not for yourself.”

  “I promise I’ll think about it.”

  He frowns but lets the conversation drop. We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around the art museum, grabbing lunch, and just hanging out. I love having Pierce as a friend, but I also can’t help but want more when he’s like this, when he’s so easy and free and open. These thoughts running through me are bad.

  Really, really bad.

  And yet, no matter how bad I know it is, no matter how hazardous it is to my heart, I’m not sure I want it to stop.

  It’s too damn quiet.

  It’s well after three and yet here I am all alone ’cause I got stuck with computer duty. Obviously, I’m not always going to get sports, but computers? For fuck’s sake, I’m an artist. What the heck do I know about computers?

  No one knows you’re an artist, though, so why would you be placed in the art department?

  A part of me wants to tell Carson, let him in on this huge part of me. I mean, he’s been so helpful. Why don’t I?

  ’Cause you’re so damn scared he’ll look down at you, like your brothers did.

  It’s better this way.

  If no one knows, no one can judge you.

  No more sulking. Time for a distraction. A distraction in the form of a pretty brunette, with dark blue eyes and a small birthmark on her ear that every time I see, I want to lick . . .

  Shit.

  That was not the thought I meant to distract myself with, but now that I have, I wonder what she’s doing. I pull out my phone and fire off a text.

  Me: What you doing?

  Lindsey: You’re not supposed to use your phone at work.

  Me: I’m bored.

  Lindsey: Are you five?

  Me: Entertain me.

  From behind me, I hear the screeching sound of the door opening. “How did you know I was here?” I ask, turning to face her, but the sound of my words catches in my throat. She’s wearing a white thermal, but it’s tight and I swear it’s see-through . . .

  Does she know?

  This can’t be okay.

  Fuck, is it getting hot in here?

  “Don’t you know by now? I know everything,” she replies, and I need to shake my head to rid myself of the inappropriate images playing out in my mind.

  “I’m starting to catch on,” I answer too fast, but I’m still looking at the perfect outline of her breasts. She coughs and I know she’s caught me staring. “Um, where are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m in art. You really should tell Carson to put you in there. You’d be a lot better than me.”

  It’s like this damn girl reads my mind. “Maybe next time I see him, I’ll mention it,” I mutter, knowing there’s no chance I will.

  “Pierce, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You know that, right? Your work is really good.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

  The sound of footsteps stops our conversation as Xavier walks in.

  “Hey, man, you here for computers?” I beam, happy to have a distraction to just how hot Lindsey looks today.

  “Um, actually I’m here to talk to Lindsey.”

  I look over at her and notice she has gone stiff. What’s that about? “Everything okay?” I ask Lindsey, narrowing my eyes at her.

  She looks over at Xavier and his face is pale. Her lip peeps up into a small, reassuring smile and nods before turning to me. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” She moves to walk past me and I reach my hand out, my fingers touching the exposed skin of her wrist. She stops her pace and looks at me, her blue eyes looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I whisper so Xavier, who’s already almost out of the door, doesn’t hear me.

  She bites her upper lip with her teeth and then inclines her head down. We stand there for a second, the heat of her skin searing the pads of my fingers with a burning want I didn’t know was possible, but she breaks the trance without another word and leads Xavier out the door.

  Leaving me alone yet again and this time more confused about her than I started.

  The day is slow.

  Apparently not as many kids were here today and the ones who were didn’t want to hang in the computer room. Carson is doing a boxing lesson, so most of the boys were there, leaving me a bit desperate for things to do. I take the time to research art galleries and agencies that offer representation. I’d never really thought about pursuing this as a career, but Lindsey’s enthusiasm and praise has made me start to contemplate the idea. I have a lot to think about, but for the first time, the future doesn’t seem so dim.

  Hours later, I’m back in my apartment and my phone is ringing off the hook with text after text.
It’s like every friend is trying to lure me out tonight. Even though I’ve been sober since the night Lindsey found me drunk and passed out on a street corner, doesn’t mean the urge isn’t there. How does the saying go . . .

  Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.

  With every new text and plea, I find myself wanting to answer the call of debauchery and sin, so without a second thought, I rip my clothes off and take a cold shower, trying to freeze out the voices telling me to do things I know I shouldn’t.

  When the urges don’t go away, I throw on sweats and a thermal and head straight out the door, my feet taking me to a location that shocks me. It looms in front of me. Dark and ominous, but what’s inside is the opposite. What’s inside is everything right. Everything I need right now. Inside is Lindsey.

  She’s like a siren luring me. I should turn around, not tempt fate. Respect the distance she wants to keep. But I can’t. I want her. I want to be near her. She calms me, she gives me peace, and I want to bask in the feeling and never leave.

  Without a second thought, I walk through the glass doors and straight to the doorman. “Pierce Lancaster, for Ms. Walker,” I say.

  He nods and picks up the phone sitting on his desk. “Hello, Ms. Walker. Yes, I have a Mr. Lancaster here to see you. Can I send him up? Okay. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and turns back to me. “Just sign this book and head on up to 15E.”

  After I sign my name, I head toward the elevator. In the silence, I wonder if I’ve made the right choice coming here. Maybe I should have called Carson instead. The truth is as much as we hung out in the past, I barely know Lindsey. Sure we’ve slept together and hung out a few times but coming here could be a bad idea. I’m still lost in thought when I see her peeking out of her door.

  “What are you doing here?” Her eyes are wide as she speaks, and a tiny line creases between her brows. Her concern is evident in her features.

  “Rough day. I needed to be away from that scene.” I shrug.

  She opens the door farther, and I step past her into the foyer. “I was just watching TV,” she offers, probably to fill the awkward silence that’s descended upon us.

  “Do you mind?” I ask, turning to look at her.

  She shakes her head and gives me a small smile, the first since seeing me, and my shoulders lift and then lower on an exhale.

  Relief.

  “Of course not. We can watch a movie. Come on.” She leads me out of the foyer and I follow her into the living room where I plop down on the couch as if I own the place and take the clicker in my hand.

  “Glad to see you made yourself right at home,” she jokes.

  “What do you want to watch?” Scrolling through the channels, it’s obvious nothing is on, so it’s going to be a Netflix kind of night.

  “How about the new Avenger movie?”

  “A girl after my own heart.”

  “I’ll grab popcorn.”

  “Thanks.” The inflection in my voice says I’m not referring to just the popcorn or the movie, but for the fact she’s helping me. Her lips tip up, and a beautiful smile forms across her face. I can tell she wants to respond, but she just stares at me, her chest rising and falling steadily with all her unspoken words. After a beat, she turns and walks away, and I put the movie on. In the distance, I hear the familiar beep of the microwave and then she’s coming back with a big bowl. She sits next to me, her body so close to mine that we’re touching, and she tucks her legs so they are practically resting on my lap.

  “Friends cuddle, right?” she asks.

  No, they don’t, but I don’t say it. “Yeah, totally.”

  I let us both pretend we can do this. That there’s nothing going on between us. I allow us to pretend ignorance, because deep down we both know, we’ll never be friends.

  We are destined for so much more.

  Stretching my hands above my head, I stifle a yawn. I slept in today, but last night we were up late watching TV. We never actually talked about what set Pierce off, but I was happy he came to me. Him showing up at my place proves he’s trying. The thought makes me happy in a way I didn’t realize was possible. Until last night, I didn’t realize how badly I wanted Pierce to succeed. How badly I wanted him to be clean. But when he showed up at my door, and he asked for my help, it was as if every last bit of resistance faded away. He was trying. He wanted to change. And I wanted him to as well. He needs to be clean for the sake of the kids.

  Oh, who are you trying to kid? You wanted him to be clean for other reasons altogether. Selfish reasons. Because if he’s clean, you have no reason to not like him, and you have no reason to not want to spend time with him. As friends.

  The need to think of something other than the festering desire to check in with Pierce has me picking up my phone, but instead of calling him, I pull up my to-do list and start to bang out tasks I need to accomplish before work today. After about an hour of answering emails, I pull out my notepad and one item is still to be checked off.

  Business plan, speak to Dad about it.

  I can’t put it off any longer at least I can’t if I want significant money to help the kids. I have to call. My fingers shake as I search my contacts for the one man I had no intention of calling anytime soon but need to. My father knows my number, yet he never uses it. My pride has stopped me on a number of occasions and this time is no different. Pierce’s plea for me to call has me finally hitting send.

  It rings several times before I get his voicemail. I should hang up, but at the last minute, I decide to leave a message. The beep sounds, and I begin.

  “Hi, Dad, it’s Lindsey. I was just . . .” I sigh. “Listen, I need to talk to you. Can you please give me a call when you get a chance? Love you. Bye.”

  I end the call and enter the center where I’m nearly late for work. When I walk in, I’m happy to see Carson is already there and on top of things.

  “Hey, Lindsey,” Carson calls from the desk. “I have everything posted for you. You’re gonna be running the art station today.”

  “Sounds great,” I say, turning to leave.

  “Hey, Lindsey,” Carson calls to my back.

  I turn to face him again.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this and I want to say I’m sorry. I should’ve never let you compete in the gauntlet after everything you’ve been through. I feel really bad.”

  “Not your fault, Carson. And even if you had told me not to, I still would have done it.”

  “I believe that,” he says, chuckling.

  I look around the office and something dawns on me. The last time we were in here, I yelled at him about giving Pierce a shot. God, I was such a bitch.

  “Pierce took good care of me. You were right about him, Carson.”

  He quirks his eyebrow. “How so?” His voice is curious.

  “He’s a good guy. He deserves a chance.”

  He nods. “I’m glad you agree.”

  “I’m sorry I jumped down your throat. I should’ve trusted you to know what you were doing. I won’t doubt you again.”

  “You had your reasons, I’m sure. I’m glad everything is okay now.”

  “It is. It really is.”

  I turn to walk away before coming back in. “Hey, Carson?”

  He looks back up at me.

  “I recently came into the knowledge that Pierce is an extremely talented artist. You might want to have him run the art station at some point.”

  “Will do. Thanks for the tip.”

  I go set up my art room and get it ready for the boys. A few minutes later, they start piling in. Christopher, Rocky, and Jackson are not looking thrilled to be doing art today.

  “Oh, come on, guys. Is it that bad that you get to hang out with me today?”

  They all groan. “It’s not you, Miss Lindsey, but I’d rather be playing basketball,” Christopher says with a shrug.

  “I get it, but it’s always good to try your hand at new things.”

  They take their seats while I get them all
set up and onto their projects. I lift my head and spy Pierce walking past the door. He stops and waves at me.

  “I’m schooling them in basketball today.”

  I smile. “Yes, I saw that. Take it easy on them, would you?”

  He grins. “Never, woman.”

  I chuckle.

  The rest of the day passes slowly. I wonder how Pierce is doing with the guys at the basketball station. I kind of miss hanging with him if I’m being honest. No matter how much I complained about being placed with him in the beginning, at some point, everything changed.

  I’m looking at my phone when it dings with a new email. I open it to see it’s my bank and a large sum of money has been deposited. “What the hell?”

  Christopher raises his head, lifting a brow at my language. Sorry, I mouth.

  I pull up my bank app, log in, and scroll through until I see it was my dad. He has added a hundred thousand dollars to my account. It’s his typical M.O. Whenever I call to talk to him, it’s usually for money and it always ends with a deposit of a hundred thousand dollars. Enough to get me through the next couple of months, and it buys him time to avoid me.

  Disappointment envelops me. I wasn’t calling to complain or beg for drug money. I was calling because I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to make him proud. But none of that even matters. That he couldn’t be bothered to call me hurts. Doesn’t he want to hear my voice? Doesn’t he miss me?

  “Guys, I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom,” I say, rushing out of the room. I’m trying to stave off the tears that will inevitably begin to flow. I make it to the bathroom before I let loose and a waterfall of tears drips down my cheeks at the loneliness I feel. My parents want nothing to do with me. I’m alone in this world. It’s the simple truth.

  I’ve been crying in here for five minutes before I look in the mirror to discover my face is blotchy and tear-stained. I do my best to wipe off the smudged mascara and dab my skin with cool water to take down the redness. It works marginally, but I need to get back to the boys.

  Walking out of the bathroom, I collide with a familiar hard chest. Looking up into Pierce’s worried face, I can’t help it. I cry harder. He pulls me into an alcove, holding me tight and rubbing my back.