by Lexi Bissen
“Coffee…really?” How can he go from hot and heavy on the porch to acting nonchalant and talking about a hot beverage?
Gibson pours the steaming coffee into one of the mugs. “What? Is there something else you want?” Oh, that little sneaky fellow. He wants me to say I want him to kiss me again. He leaves me there and now wants me to chase him. Well, as much as I would love to feel his lips against mine again, I’m too stubborn to give in.
I walk up and grab the mug out of his hands. “Coffee sounds perfect. Thank you.” I take a sip and relish in the taste. There is nothing better than a hot cup of Joe in the morning.
He looks surprised by my answer as he pours his own cup. “You’re welcome. I’ll be needing tons of this since someone decided to wake me up at the ass crack of dawn.”
I look at the clock on the stovetop. “It’s eight-thirty. That’s not early.” Sean and I are up at six-thirty and out the door heading for the gym. I’ve gotten so used to it over the years, getting up that early doesn’t faze me anymore.
“Babe, it’s Saturday morning. Any time before eleven is too early for me. I don’t do mornings.” I don’t listen much after he calls me babe. I love the new nickname. Not as much as I love princess, but it still makes me smile. “Why are you smiling like that?” I tighten my lips together, not even realizing I was giving him a goofy smile, too lost in my thoughts.
“I...um, I just…never mind,” I stutter out. Wanting to avoid the question, I look down and begin picking at my nails.
Setting down his coffee, Gibson makes his way over to me. He grabs the mug out of my hand, places it on the counter beside us, and stands in front of me. “Don’t never mind me. What were you so happy about over here?”
He crosses his muscular arms over his chest. I doubt he is going to let me get away with not answering, so I decide to get it over with and embarrass myself. “I liked it when you called me babe,” I say so low, I’m not even sure he heard me.
“So, you like pet names, huh?” Gibson reaches out and pulls me against him, much like he did when we were outside. This time, though, he leans against the counter, so I’m standing perfectly in between his open legs and his hands are on my hips.
I nod my head at his question, too self-conscious to say anything out loud. I never thought I would be the type of girl who liked it when a guy called her by a nickname. When other couples called each other those cutesy names around me, I would roll my eyes, but now, I get it. It’s not because the guy forgot your name…well, not always, but more an affectionate name just for you. It’s sweet.
Gibson squeezes my hips and I jump a little at the unexpected touch. “I never thought I would be a terms of endearment kind of guy, but you brought out yet another thing I didn’t know I had, princess.” I sigh and lean into him more.
“I love that one the best,” I say, to him, feeling a slight blush start to creep its way onto my cheeks.
He raises his eyebrow. “Princess? Really?”
I nod my head. “Yep. Why do you call me that anyway?”
Gibson lets out a laugh and I feel it against my stomach. I squint my eyebrows and tilt my head, wondering why he’s laughing at my question. “You really want to know?”
I lean back from where I was against his chest so I can look into his eyes. “Well, now I need to know.”
He keeps a hold of me so I can’t get too far away. “All right, all right. That nickname sort of just…happened. It’s really because you reminded me of someone—”
I push at his chest. “If you tell me it’s because I remind you of some other girl then you are such an as—” Gibson grabs my hands and holds them against his bare skin.
“Calm down, firecracker. It’s not that you reminded me of someone, it’s more of a fake someone.”
“I’m not following you.”
Gibson sits there, letting out a small laugh. “Have you ever played the game Super Mario Brothers?”
Is he being serious right now? What does that have to do with anything that we are talking about? “Of course I’ve played. I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement if you were born in the nineties.”
“You sort of…remind me of her.” Gibson runs a hand through his full hair, like he’s nervous about his confession. Well, I would be, too. It seems like an insult.
“I remind you of a character from a kid’s video game?”
I pull out of the hold he has on me to grab my coffee. Nothing is worse than drinking it cold. “Hey, don’t knock Princess Peach. I had a major crush on her when I was a kid.”
The mug stops right at my lips and I look over it at Gibson. “Your childhood crush was Princess Peach? I thought every guy had the hots for Jessica Rabbit?” I know my brother did.
He shrugs it off and heads for his abandoned cup. “Redheads never did it for me. I’m more of a blonde kind of guy.” He sends me a wink just before taking a sip of his drink. I can’t help but laugh at him. Gibson may look like trouble with his tattoo’s and piercings, but the more I’m around him, the more I see his playful side. And the more he’s bringing mine out, too.
I make my way over to the small kitchen table with my now warm coffee and sit down. “I still cannot believe I remind you of Princess Peach,” I say, looking up to find him staring at me.
“I’d take it as a compliment, if I were you. I did just say she was my crush, didn’t I?”
“Let’s just end this ridiculous conversation before I cancel our date thinking you’re on a mission to live out your childhood fantasy with me.”
Gibson laughs, walks over to the table with his coffee—still shirtless, I might add—and takes a seat next to me. “Okay, princess. But nothing would get you out of our date tonight.”
Even though I know the meaning behind the nickname, I still can’t help but smile at it.
Looking around the kitchen, I notice his computer sitting open and papers scattered all around. Maybe he’s been working on his essay for English. God knows I need to get my butt into gear and finish mine. I already have three new assignments that will be taking up some time from my other classes.
“So, how’s your paper coming along?” I ask him.
He glances at the closed computer for a second and then back to me. “Actually…I finished it.”
I stare at him, waiting for the part where he says ‘just kidding’, but it never comes. Gibson talked about how he was terrible in school and hated going. I’m surprised he finished his essay so early. “Really? You’re already done with it? That was fast.”
“There’s not much else for me to do around here. It was either get the essay over and done with or sit and stare at the wall.”
I nod my head in agreement. “You’re right there. If you want any kind of entertainment, you have to travel over two hours to Mobile. Even for a good movie theatre. Ours shows the movie a month after it comes out. I’m still waiting for them to get the newest Hunger Games.”
“Now you see why it was so hard for me to plan a great date. There are slim pickings around here.” The end of his sentence has a little southern tone to it.
“Sounds like you’re taking to our little town. Even embracing the southern accent and phrases. Pretty sure there aren’t many L.A. boys who say slim pickings.”
Gibson crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “There is no way in hell I’m speaking with a southern accent. You must be hearing things.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that. You’ll soon realize you’re coming to the twang side.” I give him a wink, reach for the computer, and open it up.
The computer is quickly slammed shut and Gibson’s hand is lying on top of it. “Let’s not go on there,” Gibson says.
I raise my eyebrow at him, now curious as to why he doesn’t want me to look at his computer. He is a teenage boy, so there could be something like…porn? Do guys even watch porn? And in the kitchen? “I was just going to read your essay since you finished it.”
“How about I make you some breakfast?” he says, pulling the
computer away from me.
I place my hand on top of his and stop his retreating arm. “Or you can make me some breakfast while I read your essay. I’m going to have to read it anyway, why not now?”
Gibson looks between me and the computer, making me wonder what’s in it. He isn’t pulling the computer away from me anymore, but he’s also not releasing it. I look to him with a slight pouty lip and sad eyes—the same look I use on my dad when I want something. Works every time. “Please? I’m sure it’s not horrible. Let me do a short read through and then we can have some of those yummy eggs you’ll be making us.”
A slight smile forms on his lips. Puppy eyes work like a charm. Gibson let’s his grasp on the computer go and I bring it to me before he can change his mind.
I open the computer and watch Gibson move about the kitchen as I wait for the screen to load up. He hasn’t said a word and seems like he’s trying to avoid looking at me. His movements are all wrong. Usually he’s more confident, but the way he avoids eye contact and plays with his lip ring is new. Maybe he’s afraid of what I’m going to read in his essay. I know I’m unsure of what he’ll see in mine. I have yet to find a way to tell my parents about UNF and I’m putting everything I want to tell them into a one-thousand word paper. I formulate my thoughts better in text and it would be the perfect way to get everything out in the open.
Gibson’s computer loads and the start screen with a photo of an electric guitar pops up. He doesn’t have it password protected, so when I click ‘open’, his paper is right on the screen. It looks to be three pages long. I’m impressed he got so much done in a couple weeks. I start on the first sentence and know why Gibson is nervous right away. I wouldn’t have thought someone like him would have been so forthcoming and honest with this paper. The first paragraph tells me everything I need to know about this man standing in the same room as me.
Fame, fortune, and women—that’s all that comes to mind when you think about a rock star, or in my case, a rock star’s son. Sure, those three things come with being the child of the lead singer of one of the biggest rock bands, but with some good comes a lot of bad. All they wanted was to use you. The groupies who followed were looking to get a hold of money and get their spot in the light. Being the son of Aaron Mitchell wasn’t what everyone thought it would be. For the people who say they wish they could have my life…well, I’m sitting here wishing for the same thing.
I hate that he’s had to go through a life of not being able to know who he can trust. I can’t even imagine the kind of tricks people tried to play to get close to Gibson. Being a teenager is hard enough; it has to be much worse when people are always wanting to use you for something. Gibson was hurt at a young age by people who thought they could manipulate him into getting what they want. It’s sad and makes me want to take him away and hide him from the world.
I continue reading. Gibson talks about how he would have never wanted this kind of life. At first, he thought it was cool to be the popular guy in school. All the guys wanted to be him and all the girls wanted to be with him, but it got old for him—the drinking and partying got old. He had been doing it more out of habit than enjoyment the past few years.
Tears burn the back of my eyes as I read about the life Gibson wants to change. When I finally reach the last paragraph, a small tear makes its way down my cheek.
What do I want out of the future? No one has ever asked me that before. Everyone assumes I’m right where I want to be—partying and being a high school drop-out. Does that sound like the kind of future someone should have? It doesn’t to me. My new life goal is to get as far away from my father’s name and lifestyle as possible. I don’t want to become a drug addict like my mother or an absent father like I had growing up. I’ve never had it, but I think I would want a family of my own…a son or daughter I could teach music. A wife who is there for me when I need her and I can love in the way I was never shown. That’s somewhere I could see myself. Maybe even teaching music. I know I want the opposite of what I’ve lived. Being out of the public eye and under a microscope is my life goal. And beginning now, I’ll be working on my fresh start.
I stare at the now blurry screen, unable to look up at Gibson. I’m not a crier, but reading about how someone you care for wants so badly to change their life brings out my emotional side. Footsteps come up behind me and the delish smell of breakfast foods gets closer and closer, until I Gibson clears his throat, stopping. Closing the computer screen, I close my eyes tight, trying to make the tears at bay disappear, and stand up from my seat, making my way over to Gibson. When I’m standing in front of him, I grab the plates of food, place them on the counter next to us, and grab Gibson, pulling him into a hard hug. Every time we’ve embraced, it’s been out of lust and attraction, but this time is different. It’s me needing to hold Gibson. I need the comfort from him after reading his paper and the emotions his story gave me.
With my arms wrapped tightly around Gibson’s neck and him holding on to my waist, I don’t know how long I hold him for, just that I never want to let go. I want to be the one to help Gibson reach his goal of a fresh start in a new life. He deserves one.
“As much as I love having you in my arms, are you okay?” Gibson says, breaking the long stretch of silence.
I loosen my grip on his neck and lean back to look into his eyes. “I just needed to hold you. I really do hate your parents,” I say, squeezing him tight.
“Some days I do, too, babe. They aren’t a reason for your tears, though. What’s done is done and now I plan on moving on to better things.” He leans down to plant a small peck on the tip of my nose then grabs the food and brings it to the table. “Now, let’s get to eating before all my hard work gets cold.”
I make my way back over to the same chair I was sitting on earlier. “I want you to know I’m here for you, Gibson. I realize you’ve never had many people by your side, but I want you to know you can trust me. I want to help you with your fresh start. You deserve it and I want to be there for you,” I say, needing to get it off my chest before we drop the conversation of his paper.
His eyebrows raise, and I’m wondering if I’ve overstepped some sort of boundary. We haven’t exactly known each other for that long and even though we have a date tonight and have had a few…intimate moments, that doesn’t mean he wants any of my help with something so personal.
Before I can take back what I had said, Gibson reaches across the table and plants a hard kiss against my lips. Finally. It isn’t as hot and heavy as the other kisses we’ve had. It’s more of a thank you kiss and I know right away what he’s telling me. He wants me there with him, beside him as he makes this change in his life. And I couldn’t be any happier. I’ll be there for this man I could see myself falling for.
He pulls back and I know I’m sporting a goofy smile on my face. I don’t worry too much about it because he’s smiling back at me. “Let’s eat.”
I nod my head and look down at the plate of eggs in front of me. My stomach growls at the thought of food, but once I glance down at the pile of yellow and brown glop, it completely vanishes. He said he made eggs, right? I’m not sure what type of eggs they eat in California, but these sure aren’t the kind we eat here in Alabama. We’re not very fond of burnt food and this plate, with the burnt eggs and toast, would get you kicked out of anyone’s house. I take a small bite of a non-burnt area, trying to be nice to the guy who is chowing down on his nastiness. The moment the food hits my tongue, I spit it back out.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like eggs?” Gibson asks after seeing my reaction to the food.
I want to be kind and tell him I’m not very hungry anymore, but he deserves to know the truth. He stares at me, then looks down to his plate, examining whatever the hell is on it. I’m not sure how he doesn’t see the difference between his eggs and everyone else’s. I stand up and take our plates with me. “How about I make us some eggs, sausage, and pancakes? You can try some of my homemade cooking.” I send him a wink and head off i
nto the kitchen.
I’m nervous. I try to think back to the last time I’ve ever been this nervous and come up with nothing. This date has my brain all scattered, which is ridiculous. Gibson and I have hung out, just the two of us, before—hell, this morning I spent hours at his house, showing him how to properly cook eggs and my secret to making the best pancakes in the world. He was pretty satisfied when he ate them. He’s probably never had a homemade breakfast growing up with a mother like his.
I made my way home shortly after we ate and cleaned up the kitchen. Gibson said he would take care of the mess, but I felt bad leaving it there for him to deal with. Plus, staying meant I got to be around him more. If someone had told me three weeks ago I would enjoy spending time with the rock star’s son who came to town, I would have laughed and told them they were crazy. On paper, we have absolutely nothing in common. Gibson comes from a life of fame and money and I come from a small town where my family lives with the bare minimum. Even our interests are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Today, Gibson told me no matter how hard I tried, he would not get on board with my love of country music. I gave it a shot at least. And he hates reading. Unless it’s music sheets, he avoids it. That should have made me run for the hills. I mean, how could I be with a guy who doesn’t read? But even though he doesn’t enjoy a good book like I do, he sat with me on the couch and asked what my favorite books were about. Even when I went into a long description of each of the characters and my love for authors, he listened and his eyes never glazed over.
Even with our different interests, we never had an awkward moment of silence, which gives me hope for tonight. And if I’m choosing Gibson over my daddy’s strict instructions to stay away from him, he’s worth it.
I had told Gibson I would be at his house by six and its four forty-five right now, which means I need to shower if I’m going to be able to leave in time. I take extra time in the shower to make sure every part of my body is scrubbed and hairless, doing a once over on my legs since I’ll be wearing shorts. I stand under the hot water once I’m finished and let my muscles enjoy the relief.
