Crush

by Wood, Mae

  I remained quiet and sat on the bed, watching him carefully and wondering what he’d do next. Half-smiling to myself as his feet carved out a steady beat that my head turned to music. But the half-smiles were all mine. He was like a caged lion, his gaze on me. Hot stares swept up and down my body, took in my face, fixed on my eyes.

  I watched his intense strides. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, turn, begin again. I counted and began to move a bit, back and forth, in time with him. And all the while, he didn’t say anything. We’d had quiet moments together, when words weren’t enough, but those times weren’t like this. The heat between us now was all anger, and I didn’t like that. I liked the other heat we had. I wanted more of that.

  “Get naked,” I said, starting to pull my T-shirt over my head.

  His feet stopped and pivoted toward me. “You cannot fix this with sex.”

  I dropped the edge of my shirt. “There’s nothing to fix.”

  “We,” he said, gesturing in the empty space between us with both hands, “can’t be a thing.”

  “That’s silly. I’m not going to be a client forever,” I said, pulling my T-shirt off and tossing it at him. The ball of pink cotton hit his chest and fluttered to the ground.

  “You wanted to keep this quiet. You asked me to keep this quiet. Right? So, don’t get on your high horse that you’re somehow ‘super cool,’” he said, wiggling his fingers as he mocked me, “with us doing … whatever it is we’re doing.” He scooped up my shirt and held it out to me.

  The heat between us shifted once again, the undeniable pull between us creating friction as he fought it. I watched him a moment, watched his fingers gently toy with the soft fabric. I wanted those fingers on me, on my skin, and I felt his need to touch me. Then he dropped the shirt in my lap, his eyes shot away toward the window, and the pacing resumed.

  I grumped as I shoved the shirt over my head and threaded my arms into it. Getting naked was my go-to move and it had never failed me before. “What we’re doing? I think it’s called sex.”

  At my words, he stopped dead in his tracks. “This is just sex?” he shot, his voice cool. Both of us knew the lie in those words.

  I wasn’t going to fight him on what this was if it wasn’t just sex, because I didn’t know what it was either, but I was going to fight like hell to keep it.

  “We’re not stopping this. You can’t stop this,” I said.

  “I can and I am.” He began to throw stuff in his overnight bag while I stood and watched. Steam rippled off his back. His arms flexed with too much power as he gathered his things. His dirty, crumpled suit. Dress shoes. Socks, one and two. “Fuck! My briefcase and computer are in your conference room. My car is at the winery.”

  “Well, that makes it easy. Let’s get some lunch at the winery. And you can prove to me what a real, grown-up professional you are by having a nice, real, grown-up, professional lunch while I have some buttered noodles off the baby menu.”

  By the time we were seated at a table for two under an umbrella on the patio, I could almost pretend this was normal. That we were a normal couple on a normal lunch date who had just gotten into a silly fight over who forgot to put gas in the car, or how to load the dishwasher, or something else equally stupid where it was better to accept and forget the argument than to muddle through who was right. He’d cooled off on the drive from his hotel and I had too, but that didn’t make the words easy to find, so we sat in silence.

  Rick was serving us, and after confirming that we really did offer buttered noodles for children, I ordered grilled salmon on a spinach salad and two flights of wine.

  The silence between us lingered and I didn’t know how to end it.

  When the food arrived, I dove into my salad. “Try some of the chardonnay,” I urged him, waggling my fork at his untouched glass of wine.

  “I’m good. Gotta drive back.”

  “Just taste it.”

  “I’ve tasted enough.”

  “Really, Ryan?” My voice rose in disbelief.

  “Yeah.” His tone was firm in response, but the look in his eyes gave him away.

  It hadn’t been enough. For either of us.

  Chapter Nine

  Ryan

  Kenzie was stupid pretty. So pretty that she made me stupid, apparently, because even though I probably should have just gotten my shit from the conference room and left, I was having lunch with her. She wanted a real grown-up, a professional. She was going to get one. And I wasn’t about to let her bully me into drinking wine. If I let her talk me into wine, there was no telling what else I’d let her talk me into. She was some sort of pixie Pied Piper. I needed a drink.

  I ignored the wine, flagged down the server, and ordered a beer. Damn tasting room with its lack of hard liquor. I’d planned on being in Napa all weekend and planned on spending much of it drunk anyway. Now I’d spend it drunk for a totally different reason. Maybe once the beer and self-recrimination had worn off enough that I could make it back to the city, I could get good and fucked up there.

  “Let’s have the meal we were supposed to have had last night,” she said as soon as the server was out of earshot.

  I nodded my agreement and hoped my beer would arrive soon.

  “My mom, you know, Shelly, your client, said I’ll be doing meet-and-greets with people and helping her serve as the face of the company, but she didn’t know what you’d want me to do. Except for exams and graduation from my undergraduate school where I will obtain my bachelor’s degree, I’m at your service,” she said.

  I tried not to flinch at her emphasis on those sore points. There was no doubt that I deserved more than a little meanness from her, deserved her to throw some ugliness at me, but she wasn’t giving me any. She was teasing and playful with a spark of sex that wasn’t dampened by my foul mood. I wasn’t going to scare her off and that made me want her even more. She was here for this. She wasn’t going to shrink from me and hide crying. Nope, any hiding away and crying was going to be by me if my boss ever found out. Kenzie wanted a real adult and it was time to be one.

  I took a big breath in and out, before taking that final step into real adulthood. “Okay, I was an ass.”

  “An apology?” she said, a little twinkle in her eye telling me she hadn’t expected me to play this card.

  “I think that’s a confession. Here’s an apology. What I said wasn’t cool. You’re awesome. I’m sorry.”

  “And …” she prodded, setting her sunglasses on the top of her head. Her eyes slayed me. Cut right into my heart and pulled honesty out.

  “That’s it. I’m sorry,” I said simply because there wasn’t any other way to admit I’d been the childish one.

  “Okay,” she said with a nod, her lips gently pressing together. She was serious and it looked just as good on her as playful did. “We’re cool. And we’ll figure it out.” She waved her index finger at the four glasses in front of me. “Taste the wines.”

  “Kenzie,” I began to protest.

  “Your beer,” said the server.

  I took it from his hand and downed a few greedy gulps. I was kidding myself if I thought I was actually going to drive home this afternoon.

  She’d asked for discretion and the least I could do was to give her that. Alone again, I opened my mouth to continue my apology tour, but she beat me to it.

  “We’ll figure the rest out, okay?”

  Her take surprised me. We were fully clothed and sitting on a busy patio and far from touching, but the feeling from yesterday roared back. I only saw her. She saw me.

  “Tell me what I’m supposed to do this summer besides grow the best grapes.”

  “You don’t have to know all the details of the deal. You just have to be conversant and—”

  “Fair warning. If you say ‘look pretty,’ I’ll probably punch you.”

  Damn, I liked her. “Your job is to know the vineyard. To know the wine and the market and the margins and the returns and to be enthusiastic.”

  �
�If you say ‘like a cheerleader’—”

  “Like the grown, professional woman who loves this place, and knows everything there is about making the best wines, and who gave me that tour.”

  “Not everybody gets the special tour, you know.”

  I’d always gotten what I wanted before and playing by the rules got me there. Good grades, good college, good job, good grad school, even better job. Hard work equaled good results. It was the formula I swore by. Doing the right thing was the only way, and now, without realizing it, I’d decided I was going to ignore the shoulds and shouldn’ts. I wanted—irrationally, I wanted—and the rest I’d figure out as it came up.

  I reached over and squeezed her knee. “I sure as hell hope not everyone gets your special tour.”

  Chapter Ten

  Kenzie

  I wanted to kiss him goodbye, but I knew I shouldn’t. So, awkward handshake in the parking lot for the win!

  I walked to the houses. Our three houses sat together along a curving gravel drive, surrounded by rows of vines. My grandparents’ house was in the middle, with my parents to the left and Drennan’s family’s on the right.

  My cousin was on her front porch, brushing our dog. “Nice night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how was brunch?”

  “A-mazing.”

  “Do the moms know you slept with the banker dude?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said, sitting down next to her and patting Bubba on his head. At least I hoped they didn’t know. I decided not to think about what they’d say if they did. “The moms aren’t going to find out.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that. He was eye fucking you while you were on the patio.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” I said, focusing on my fingers slipping through Bubba’s fur.

  “Whatever, Kenzie.”

  “I’m going to get packed up. Let’s get out of here in an hour.”

  I cranked music on the drive back to Davis and kept my eyes on the road, shutting down all of Drennan’s attempts at conversation. In my head, I played through the past twenty-four hours. Wondering how I’d come to this core belief, this bedrock feeling that Ryan was more than a fling. It was like we’d fast-forwarded through all the get-to-know-you dancing of dating and fallen into this space where we were meant to be. When you know, you know, right?

  Twenty-four hours, I kept reminding myself, trying to pull myself back to reality. Twenty-four hours. A single day and my world was different. Whatever this was, whatever adventures awaited in this uncanny situation, I knew Ryan and I knew one more thing. This was more than a crush.

  I dropped Drennan at her dorm, swept past my roommates, and hid away in my bedroom, trying to force myself to start reading through my class notes, but I couldn’t think. My mind was full of Ryan and full of the future. Full of sunlit grape leaves, of fruit purpling from its first green, of a man who would walk those rows with me.

  Studying wasn’t working, so I headed to the rec center and tried to clear my head in the heated pool, confident the exercise/vitamin D combo would do the trick. My mind was still busy with thoughts of Ryan, about last night, about whether our paths really had crossed before, about what it would feel like working with him this summer, about what that squeeze on my knee under the table had meant. Because unlike the handshake that was for anyone to see, that touch hadn’t felt like a goodbye or a hello. It had felt like we were together. Solidly together.

  I let that feeling take root in my chest. I swam until my limbs were overcooked noodles and then sat on a deck chair, wrapped in towels as the air cooled around me and the sky darkened to a deep blue and satellites began to twinkle like stars above.

  A real grown-up. I needed to be one, if I wanted to make this work with Ryan, if I wanted to make anything about my life work. A real grown-up with real responsibilities. That was me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryan

  I’d sat in my car in the parking lot and watched her walk away from me. I’d felt out of place. It was my car—the bag of smelly hockey gear in the back seat left no question about that. But it felt different. Something felt different.

  I felt different, and it wasn’t just about whatever the hell it was between me and Kenzie. It felt bigger. Like some fault line had shifted, like a city had been leveled and rebuilt. The streets and buildings were there, but new. Changed but the same. And I wasn’t sure what to do. That was the oddest bit. I wasn’t known for hesitating or overthinking. I was a deals guy. It was all about the execution, with the destination never being a question.

  I’d only had the one beer at lunch, so I decided to drive home. Staying wasn’t going to help me get my head on straight. By the time I’d gotten to my apartment, I was half convinced the past twenty-four hours had been a dream. Or had happened to someone else.

  Laundry started and groceries ordered, I’d flipped on ESPN when a text from my college friend Greg buzzed on my phone.

  Hell yes, I could fill in tonight. Ice time. The cure-all.

  “Bonus,” Samson crowed. “Crushing it!” He circled me on the ice, banging his stick on the crossbar of the goal behind me.

  I’d been a beast tonight. Unstoppable. I wasn’t letting anything get past me. Not letting anything get to me. Yeah, so it was rec league. And yeah, I hadn’t ever played more than rec level, even in high school. This was not the pros. This was dudes who loved the game. Well, dudes and one girl—Elsa.

  The buzzer blared, marking the end of the game. The No Names had put up a W. And it felt good. I ripped off my gloves and mask, tucking them under my arm. I handed them to Mr. Meow. Mr. Meow. But whatever. I’d worn “Bonus” on my back all night. No one wore their real names. They were all ridiculous nicknames. And I liked that vibe.

  Cleaned up, we hung out in the hall, waiting for Elsa to appear—leave no teammate behind. Samson’s blond hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. I had a good guess about that nickname.

  “What’s Mr. Meow’s origin story?” I asked him and my friend Greg, who’d invited me out tonight.

  “He’s a cat guy,” said Samson.

  “Like a cat lady?” I asked.

  “I think it’s his girlfriend or wife or whatever with the cats,” said Greg, “but he’s always bitching about the cats. So—”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Bonus, you up for beers?” Sugarbear asked me. I smiled at his Boston be-ah.

  “Oh yes, I’d love a be-ah, Sugabe-ah,” I said.

  “Don’t poke the Sugabe-ah,” Samson said.

  Since Sugarbear was about six three and built, and I wasn’t an idiot fourteen-year-old, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Our forward emerged from the locker room and trotted down the line of us, taking another round of high fives. Brown hair, a slight frame, and a huge smile. She looked friendly.

  “You rocked out there,” I said to her as we slapped hands.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You lived up to your name tonight.”

  “Min-na-soooo-da girl,” said Sugarbear, smiling as he teased her, his eyes crinkling at the edges in delight. She stuck out her tongue at him. Sugarbear had it bad for Elsa, but I couldn’t get a read on whether they were together or if the Elsa-Ice Queen reference was about more than her hockey skills.

  “Beers!” called Samson, holding out his stick in front of him, leading the charge of this crew toward the hockey bar down the street from the rink.

  Greg and I met playing club hockey and we’d lived together on and off from before I met Olivia until she and I finally split. After four months of being the third wheel in a two-bedroom apartment with him and his girlfriend Tamara, it was time. I’d stepped up and bought my own apartment. A place that was mine. That I didn’t share with anyone. A place where I wasn’t going to have to move because of a hike in rent.

  I’d done enough of that following my parents’ divorce, sharing a room with my brother, and sometimes my brother and my sister, never quite sure if unpacking was entirely worth th
e effort. My dad berated my mom for moving us to coastal Orange County after the divorce, complaining about how she was going to struggle to make ends meet with three kids on part-time community college pay and how he was maxed out with what he could afford in child support—which my mom never directly discussed with me, but I knew he wasn’t doing what he should have. But her sister was there, and my aunt was married to an eye surgeon and she didn’t work, so Aunt Kate eventually supplanted my dad as the second parent in our lives.

  I’d justified the apartment because I was doing more than all right for myself and it wasn’t like real estate was going to get less expensive, thanks to all the tech people. And with my share of my dad’s life insurance, I had enough for a down payment. I felt house broke, but it was worth it knowing the place was mine. The second I got a call about a venture capital fund or a boutique with a lucrative position, I was jumping ship unless Marlena came through with this promotion. The good news was that as long as I kept paying the steep mortgage every month, I wouldn’t have to go anywhere again in my life. Good thing goaltenders usually played for cheap in adult hockey leagues, because I was on a budget, but thankfully one that allowed for post-hockey beers.

  “Where’s Scooter been hiding you, dude?” asked Samson as we sat around the hockey-themed bar with its TVs replaying the Miracle on Ice game from the eighties.

  “He had me in his spare bedroom for a while,” I said, pouring myself a glass from the plastic pitcher of Coors on the table.

  “Should have let him out earlier. Next season, you should join us,” said Elsa.

  From the chair next to her, Sugabe-ah gave me a death stare. Definitely not together. And he definitely wished they were.

  “Oh, Elsa warms up,” teased Greg, earning a glare from Sugabe-ah.