Nearing September

by Amber Thielman

  “That doesn't surprise me in the least,” he said. “You have always been pretty determined when you want something.” It was true, I thought. Even as a kid I had always gone after what I wanted, usually refusing to stop until I had it in my hand. What surprised me the most, though, was Nick's support. Nick and I had always been so different—we often butted heads, and our arguments were intense and prolonged. But now, after I had moved to Seattle, he seemed different somehow—like he wasn't out to start a fight with me every hour.

  “Piper seems to be doing okay, right?” I got to my feet and headed for the kitchen, surprised when Nick got up and followed me.

  “Seems to be,” he agreed. “I think it's hardest for her at night when she has time to lay in bed and think about Emily. School keeps her mind preoccupied, which is a relief.”

  “I know the feeling all too well.” I reached into the fridge for a beer and popped the top before taking a long drink. I needed a beer—or six. In the time I’d been in Seattle with Nick and Piper, Richard still hadn't tried to contact me. But I was stubborn—two could play this game.

  “With the extra income from my job I should be able to secure my own place within the next month or two,” I said. I pulled a TV dinner from the freezer and popped it in the microwave. “That way you can have your room back and Piper can keep the guest room.”

  “I don't mind the couch,” Nick said. I rolled my eyes at him, trying not to laugh. His attempts every day at trying to hide the pain in his back and neck was not lost on me—and yet, I had yet to hear him complain about it.

  “This is your apartment, Nick—you deserve to have your own bed. And like we discussed before, Lindsay would never condone me living here if I didn't have to. I’m not going to be the reason you two have issues.”

  “Stop worrying about Lindsay,” he said. “We had issues before you came into the picture, trust me.” I watched him run a hand through his shaggy blond hair. Even dressed only in jeans and a black T-shirt, I had the fleeting image of running my hands over my biceps—and then down his chest—-and then lower—

  Jesus.

  Tearing my gaze away from him, I took my food out of the microwave and stirred it with a fork, trying to ward off the hot flush in my cheeks.

  “It's not a big deal,” I said. “I just want to…” My words trailed off as I turned around to look at Nick, his face abruptly coming close to mine as he stared at me intently, his hazel eyes burning into mine. Moments ago, he had been seated at the table with a bottle of beer, and now he was standing in front of me, steady, as if getting ready to tell me a secret. I froze and swallowed, smelling the mint on my breath, only vaguely aware that at the front door, someone was knocking. In a split-second flashback, I remembered the first night I’d been in Seattle.

  Never have I ever fantasized about anyone in this room.

  Neither of us said anything for a long moment, and the silence was deafening. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I allowed my eyes to search Nick's face, but I couldn't read his expression. I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. I had no idea what to say—I could barely move, hardly breathe. He seemed to be smothering me with a single look alone. After what seemed like an eternity, I pulled back, slightly, and took a step around him. My hands were trembling, my breath caught in my windpipe as I fought to make my escape and compose myself. I was nearly out of the kitchen when Lindsay appeared, her arms folded and her eyebrows raised, blocking my escape.

  “Am I interrupting something?” she asked. Her voice was cold, icy, as her eyes flickered between Nick and me. I felt the heat rush to my face again, a dead giveaway, but I was smoother.

  “I had something in my eye,” he said. “It's been killing me. Sam was trying to help me get it out.” For a moment, I was confident there was no way Lindsay would believe that tacky lie—but after a few seconds, she let out her breath and smiled, her chilly façade suddenly gone.

  “Did you get it?” she asked sympathetically. I was amazed at how gullible the blonde was, but I knew that it was better for me—that is, unless I wanted to get bitch slapped by the bimbo.

  “I think so,” I said, and he stepped around me to lay a wet kiss on Lindsay's red-stained lips.

  “You look sexy today,” he purred, and I felt my stomach jolt with nausea.

  “I'll leave you two alone,” I said. I tried to hide the distaste in my voice, but even if it was evident to Nick or Lindsay, neither of them seemed to notice. Taking their silence as my cue to leave, I stepped around the embracing couple and headed upstairs, only just realizing that my hands were shaking with adrenaline.

  I closed the bedroom door behind me, trying to catch my breath and slow my heartrate. What in the hell had just happened? One moment I'd been babbling about work, and the next moment Nick's face had been inches from mine—and he hadn't pulled away. I’d felt something so odd and unfamiliar while looking into his eyes—a buzz of excitement, a tingle of desire. I had kept expecting him to pull away, to turn his back, to apologize for invading my personal space, but he hadn't. He had stared at me, that annoying smile tugging at the edge of his lips as our eyes met and locked. Time had seemed to freeze, as if slowing down to prepare for a perfect, steamy moment—

  Lindsay. Damn Lindsay. I knew I couldn't even hate Lindsay—after all, Nick had been Lindsay's long before I had developed a twisted attraction to him. A week ago, I could hardly stand to be in the same room as him, let alone feel the way I was feeling now. What in the hell was happening? It was just Nick—just good old Nick who had taught me to climb trees as a child and how to hot-wire a car (much to my mother's horror) as a teenager. Nick, who had grown up tall and lanky and who'd had buck teeth until my senior year and eyebrows that grew like a bushman. Just Nick.

  No, he was no longer just Nick. Now he was a man. And he was tall. And muscular. And his eyes were beautiful, and his abs were rock solid, and his stupid, stupid hair always fell into his face, and it made me want to rip it all out, just so I would stop thinking about it.

  Downstairs, I could hear Lindsay babbling about something. I didn't care what about, all I could wonder was if Nick was listening as closely to her as he had to me. I wondered if he was kissing Lindsay's neck, staring into her eyes, giving her that sly, pretty smile that made my knees weak and my stomach hurt. I had no right to be thinking of him like that—he wasn't mine to think about, and he sure as hell wasn’t mine to have.

  I pulled the cell phone from my pocket to check for any word from Richard. I was angry now, angry and embarrassed that I had come all the way to Seattle with another man and my boyfriend still hadn't called. Was it so hard, really, to send a quick text or a seven-minute phone call? That's what couples did, even long-distance ones. I was getting the feeling that Richard had forgotten all about me.

  Pushing thoughts of Richard aside, I typed a quick text message to Tasha, my fingers shaking as I did so.

  I'm in deep shit.

  I tossed the phone aside and laid back on the bed, my head propped on the pillow as I listened to Lindsay giggle about something downstairs. Sometimes I could hear Nick’s deep voice responding, but I couldn’t make out the actual conversation. A moment later, my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  Details.

  With a deep breath, I responded, unsure of how Tasha would react. Hell, I didn't even know how I was supposed to respond. But God, I needed help. I needed advice. I needed a friend. In a situation like this, I would have automatically turned to Emily—Emily always knew what to do. But Emily was gone, and I was between a rock and a hard place with nowhere else to go. With trembling hands, I replied to Tasha's text.

  I think I'm falling for Nick.

  Nick

  It was difficult for me to focus on anything Lindsay was saying because all I could think about was the moment I had shared with Sam in the kitchen. Well, the moment I had forced her into, anyway. I didn't know what had come over me—one moment I'd been talking about the apartment, giddy with excitement, and t
he next moment I had found himself right up next to her, my eyes meeting hers, the smell of lavender coming from her hair. At that moment, I had wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her, to suck on her neck, to let my hands travel up and down her freckled arms until she sighed with contentment and shivered with pleasure. But my God, I hadn't done that. I had done none of that—and why? Because it was Sam.

  I considered myself an easygoing guy—I always had been. Laid back, kind, funny—charming. But Samantha Carson had always been the one person in the world who made me want to shout and yell and hit the wall. I argued with her more than I argued with anybody—and it was always over the stupidest shit, too—like what food was better (mushrooms or cake—duh), what car was worth the money (any vehicle that I didn't total), what city had a lower crime rate (I knew it was probably Seattle, but giving up that point wasn't an option). We argued. We bickered. Sometimes I got so irritated with her that I wanted nothing more than to cover her mouth with my own just to get her to shut up.

  “Nick?” Lindsay said, pulling me back to reality. “Are you okay? You seem a bit—distant.”

  “I'm fine,” I said, and forced the image of Sam's face from my mind. Lindsay leaned toward me, her manicured hand reaching for the zipper on my jeans as I nibbled on my lower lip. She smelled like vanilla, such a sweet smell, and yet for a fleeting second, I wished she smelled like lavender instead. Like Sam.

  “You are fine,” I murmured. “Really, really fine.”

  Sam

  On Saturday, I helped Nick pack a picnic basket, and the two of us took Piper on a daytrip to Alki Beach. I couldn't deny it; I loved the beach, even if we had to deal with the slight chill in the air and wavering sun. I loved the feel of sand between my toes and the smell of coconut sunscreen on my skin and even the call of the seagulls above my head. The only part of the beach that I didn't enjoy was the water, but if Nick didn't talk me into surfing again, I knew I would be fine.

  It was a beautiful day in Seattle—warm, but not too hot. The sun was out, and the beach was moderately crowded, but I didn't mind. Back in Miami, the beaches were packed full all day, every day. Here, there was room to breathe.

  “Can I swim?” Piper asked as I slathered sunscreen on the girl's shoulders. I was pleased to notice that she didn't have her stuffed bear with her today—she'd left it behind at the house, now ready to face the world without it.

  “Yes,” I said. “But the water is colder than it is back home, okay? You’ll only be able to wade in, and then I want you to come get warmed up. Also, please stay close to the shore, okay? That undertow can be pretty swift.”

  Nick looked over at me with a smirk before he popped the top on his beer and took a long swallow, sighing with contentment. Under the Washington sun, I watched his sunscreen-clad muscles flex and relax as he burrowed his bare feet into the sand and rested his head back. I couldn't see his eyes under the dark sunglasses he wore, but the mystery compelled my more. As I watched Nick sip his drink, I made a mental note to get a gym membership and work out. A confidence booster was never a bad idea. I was in Seattle now—I could become a whole new person here.

  “You know how to swim, right?” I asked, turning my attention back to Piper. Emily would turn over in her grave if something happened to Piper because I was too busy making sappy eyes at Nick.

  “Of course I do, Auntie Sam,” Piper said with a frown. “Every kid my age does. Duh.”

  “As long as you got your water smarts from your mom and not from Aunt Sam, you'll be fine,” Nick said, raising his sunglasses to waggle eyebrows at me.

  “You're hysterical.” I turned back to Piper, making it a point to avoid Nick's silly grin. “Just stay close, okay? Where we can see you.”

  Piper took off for the water, her bare feet leaving tiny prints in the sand. It was only a few minutes before the girl was making friends, other beachgoing families clad in their bathing suit/sweatshirt combos hovered near, and I was giddy to see the smile on Piper's face.

  “I think we're doing okay, don't you?” I asked after a few more minutes. I reached for a wine cooler and twisted the cap, taking a sip of the bubbly drink.

  “Doing okay with what?” Nick asked.

  “Raising Piper.” I shrugged as I sipped my drink, trying not to feel too satisfied when I noticed Nick's face turned in my direction. Even under the dark of the glasses, I knew he was looking at me. I made it a point to lean back in the beach chair, shoulders back and breasts filling out the tiny striped bikini top. I closed my eyes, raised my face to the sky, and allowed the warm rays to wash over my skin.

  “So how come Lindsay didn't come with us today?” I asked after a few minutes of silence. In the waves near the shore, Piper was playing Marco Polo with a few kids around her age. Sometimes a childish shriek of glee would come from that direction, and it made me so pleased to hear. I turned my attention back to Nick, who was silent. For a moment I wondered if he would even answer me.

  “Don’t know,” he said finally. “I didn't exactly tell her we were going. I guess that would have helped.”

  “She's your girlfriend, Nick,” I said. I tried to keep the bitterness from my tone, but it was difficult. “You should want her here.”

  “I should, shouldn't I?” He removed his sunglasses and cleaned them on the beach towel, his hazel eyes squinting in the sunlight. His skin was darkening with sunburn, and I had the urge to rub sunscreen all over his face—and then his back—and then his abs—and then down further—

  “Sam?” Nick said. “You should drink some water. You're looking flushed.”

  “It's the stupid sun,” I mumbled, taking another long drink from the bottle. And while that wasn’t wrong—I could get a sunburn in twenty-degree weather---the real reason wasn’t the heat—it was stupid Nick with his stupid toned abs and his stupid sunglasses.

  “Look at her out there,” I said, wiggling my toes in the sand as he gazed lovingly in Piper’s direction. “She looks so happy.”

  “She does,” agreed Nick. I looked away from him, placing my sunglasses over my eyes.

  “We must be doing something right.”

  Nick

  On Monday I took it upon myself to make amends with Paul. Had Sam and Piper not been living with me, I would have made it a point not to go crawling back to my agent, begging for forgiveness. But there was no way I would let Sam bring in all the money—I knew she saw me as nothing more than an out-of-work model with no money, but I was determined to prove her wrong, even if that meant taking a hit on my dignity to do it.

  “I need a job,” I said to Paul. I'd asked him to meet me at a bistro downtown, and I was relieved when Paul came in. I hadn’t expected he would show.

  “The last gig I got you, you fucked up,” Paul said. He was a burly man—stiff and unpleasant and never too kind. He wore a wrinkled suit that accentuated his pot belly and glasses that sat too far forward. The little bit of hair he had left on his head was promptly slicked back in the morning and held in place by half a jar of gel.

  “I know I did,” I said. I signaled the waiter to refill both of our glasses—the drunker Paul was, the more willing he would be to give me another chance. “I fucked up bad, Paul, I know. But—I need another chance.”

  “And what makes you think I'm willing to give you that?” Paul asked, reaching for the glass and chugging half of the brandy down.

  “I need this, Paul,” I said. I sipped at my glass, thinking of Piper, and then of Sam. “I need to bring money in. I'm a parent now, okay? My sister left her daughter to me, and I have to work to take care of her.”

  “Ha!” Paul scoffed, looking displeased. I wanted to punch that stupid look right off the guy’s fat face. “What was your sister thinking, leaving an innocent kid with you?”

  “Well, me and a friend,” I muttered. “My friend Sam moved from Miami to help me.”

  “Two fags raising a kid?” Paul scoffed. “That's the best you could do?”

  “Samantha,” I snapped. “Sam is a woman.�
� I glared at Paul, who scowled back, and suddenly I was wondering if this whole thing had been a mistake.

  “I don't know why you're under some twisted assumption that I owe you something,” Paul said. He shot back the last of my drink and ordered another before leaning forward, his attention on me. “But I'd be lying if I said you weren't one of my more gifted clients.” He straightened up, smoothed his tacky maroon tie, and winked. I made himself wink back when all I wanted to do was roll my eyes.

  “So you'll give me another chance then?” I asked.

  “One more,” Paul said. “One more chance, Mr. Barlow. If you blow it this time, I'll make sure you never step foot inside a photography studio ever again.”

  “Deal,” I said, and shook my agent's hand. Being a male model was not a bad gig—it drew in some money and kept me busy enough to not wallow in my sorrow. I'd considered going for something else—a job that Sam wouldn’t turn her nose up at—but modeling was what I knew best, so I'd go for it again.

  It was noon when I got back to the empty apartment. Sam had started her job that morning at the hospital and Piper was in school, which left me both lonely and antsy with no entertainment. I considered having Lindsay over, but the thought of having to deal with her emotional bullshit turned me off the idea. At one, I sent a text to Sam.

  How is work?

  I was pleasantly surprised when she answered less than ten minutes later.

  Good. I enjoy it here.

  Unsure of what else to say, I sent a smiley face and set the phone down, wishing I was there instead of here. That was a first, I knew. Usually, the two of us couldn't get far enough away from each other to play nice. But recently I wanted to be close to her—not just physically, but emotionally, too. I enjoyed talking to her—she was one of the few women I wanted to talk to.

  “Nick? Baby?” There was a knock on the front door, and Lindsay came through a moment later, juggling her purse and two grocery bags, looking flustered and hot from the heat.