Faster We Burn

by Chelsea M. Cameron

“Thought you were leaving,” Kayla said.

  “I was. I am. I just wish he would call me. Trish said he hates apologies and that I need to let him cool off, but I just want him to contact me in some way.”

  She came to sit next to me against the wall. “You’ll work it out. I swear.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “Comes from being the older sister. So, are you going to stay or go?”

  I shook my head. “I have to go. I can’t stay here with Mom.”

  “She’ll come around.”

  Not likely. “I wish I had your confidence about that too.”

  ***

  It was nearly ten when I pulled up in front of Stryker’s apartment. He wasn’t alone. There was another car there, but I didn’t know whose it was.

  I tried calling him one more time before I knocked, but he didn’t answer, so I knocked and waited.

  No answer.

  The lights were on upstairs, so he must be home. I stepped back and saw someone peek through the curtains, but they were gone before I could see who it was.

  I banged on the door again and footsteps pounded down the stairs.

  “Katie,” Stryker said as he yanked the door open. No, he didn’t just say it. He breathed it. In those two syllables I heard hope and shock and even a little anger.

  “Who is it?” A female voice said from his open door at the top of the stairs. I heard her start walking and when she came into view I had to swallow hard.

  Ric.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were home with your happy little family,” she said, coming to stand behind Stryker and putting her hand on his shoulder. Marking what she thought was her territory. It only took me a second to assess the situation and know that Stryker had done this on purpose. Not that I was that cocky, but I knew he thought this would piss me off, which was the exact reason I wasn’t. Nice try, Stryker Grant, but I don’t play that game.

  Stryker smoothed his expression and spoke in the hard voice he’d used when he stormed out of my house earlier. His douchebag voice.

  “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

  “Yeah, and I thought I told you it wasn’t just the sex, so we’re even.”

  Ric’s eyes narrowed when I mentioned the sex. They both smelled heavily of alcohol, but they were both fully-clothed. Well, Stryker was. Ric looked like she’d just come from clubbing.

  “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this anymore, Katie.” If he clenched his jaw any tighter, he was going to damage some of his teeth.

  “I didn’t come here for that. I came to say I’m sorry. I know you hate apologies, so I hope you like grand gestures instead.” Without another word, I went to my car and grabbed two grocery bags. My trunk was full, so it was going to take a few trips to bring everything in.

  In my head this had gone different, mostly because I expected him to be home alone. I’d written out this whole script on my way up, and he’d decided not to follow it.

  “I’m making you dinner,” I said when I came back holding the bags. “So let me in because I need to preheat the oven if we’re going to eat before the sun comes up.”

  Stryker stared at me as if he couldn’t figure me out.

  “You’re not pissed that Ric is here and I’m drunk and we might have messed around?” Ric smirked at me from over his shoulder.

  “Not really. You gonna let me in or not?”

  He moved aside and I pushed past him and Ric and marched up the stairs. I heard her saying something to him, but I couldn’t make it out. I set the bags down on the kitchen floor and started unpacking them.

  Finding a turkey on Thanksgiving was something I deserved a medal for. I had to go to three grocery stores and finally found a fresh one in an organic market. It was tiny, but it would do for my purposes, and it didn’t need to be thawed.

  I plunked it on the counter and pulled out a bag of potatoes.

  “You’re cooking me an apology turkey?” Stryker said, waiting in the doorway, as if he was nervous to come in his own apartment.

  I slammed down a can of cranberry sauce. “Yup.”

  “This is so weird,” Ric muttered.

  “You can stay if you want,” I said, giving her a dripping sweet smile. “The more the merrier.”

  “Yeah, I’ll pass,” Ric said, edging down the stairs. “You, um, have a good time.”

  “Are you sure?” I said, pulling out an acorn squash. “Well, see you at Band.” I smiled as wide as I could and slammed the squash down, making her jump. She gave Stryker a look and scurried away.

  “Aw, shame she couldn’t stay,” I said, pulling out some rolls. “I wasn’t sure if you liked this kind or this kind.” I pulled out another bag. “So I got both.”

  “Katie, what are you doing?” He finally came all the way inside.

  “I’m making up for the shitty reception you got at my house. You wanted a perfect Thanksgiving, so I’m giving you a perfect fucking Thanksgiving. Now, could you be a gentleman and go get the rest of the bags from the car? Please and thank you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Stryker

  I stumbled out to her car and found the trunk absolutely bursting with anything and everything you could make a Thanksgiving with. I grabbed some more of the bags and hauled them back up the stairs. It took a while because my balance wasn’t at its finest.

  When I opened the door and saw her, I was almost relieved. I thought she’d see me with Ric and that would be it. She’d yell and scream at me, call me an asshole and never want to speak to me again.

  But, no. Katherine Ann Hallman had found a way to surprise me again.

  It took me two more trips to get everything upstairs. Katie set it all out on my counter, and then when she ran out of room, she lined the boxes and cans up on the coffee table.

  It was enough food to feed at least twelve people, but she also had other things. Placemats shaped like leaves and red, orange and yellow plates and even a paper fold-out turkey.

  She didn’t say a word as she rooted around in my drawers and found the apron I’d put on when I’d sent her that funny picture.

  “Give me a hand?” She turned her back and held out the strings so I could tie them behind her back.

  I tied a bow and moved away from her as quick as I could, resisting the urge to wrap my hands around her waist and pull her body toward me.

  She stepped around me and went to my television, going for the instant movies. She did some searching and selected one that turned out to be Charlie Brown.

  “Sit. Watch. Enjoy,” she commanded, pointing to the couch. I did as I was told and she pulled out a very old and stained cookbook, flipping the pages until she found the right one. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye while I watched the Peanuts gang’s antics.

  I knew there was no way she could singlehandedly make all that food, but I kept my mouth shut. To be honest, I was a little terrified of her at the moment.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, picking up one of the bags and rooting through it. “Here. Make some paper turkeys.” She threw a box of markers, some scissors, glue and construction paper at me. The fact that she was pretending not to be pissed at me told me that she was, she was just trying to hide it.

  “What?” I said, looking at the supplies.

  “Haven’t you ever made a paper turkey?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not in school or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  She glanced at the mountain of yet-to-be-peeled potatoes and reluctantly sat down next to me.

  “Okay, so you trace your hand like this.” She traced her hand on an orange piece of construction paper. “Then you cut it out and do a few more and then you make a body and a head with the brown and glue it together. Presto, hand turkey.”

  She handed me the marker and I saw that the design I’d drawn on her hand this afternoon was still there. I’d expected her to wash it off.

  “Okay, I need to get back t
o work. I expect at least two decent hand turkeys by the time I come and check on you again.”

  When she tried to get up, I took her arm to stop her.

  “Why are you doing this for me? You don’t care that I was getting drunk with Ric?”

  She didn’t pull away. “Did you have sex with her?”

  “No, but I was going to.”

  She met my eyes without fear.

  “Why? Because if it was to push me away, you failed. I’m still here.”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out.” She put both hands on my shoulders and leaned in as if to kiss me.

  “I’ve told you. It’s not just the sex.” Using my shoulders as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet. “Now don’t disturb me. I’m cooking, and the first rule of cooking with Katie is that you keep your ass out of the kitchen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, turning my focus back to the hand turkeys.

  I got a little artistic with my hand turkey, putting texture on the feathers and giving the turkeys interesting facial expressions. Katie banged around the kitchen, peeling things and boiling water and rubbing butter on the turkey and raiding my spice cabinet. I couldn’t help but notice that she put everything back where it should be when she was done.

  If she didn’t know what she was doing, she was really putting on a good show. The Peanuts show ended and Katie came and chose another show, Addams Family Values.

  “It qualifies as a Thanksgiving movie,” she said before I could even comment.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “How are those turkeys coming?” I held one up that was nearly dry.

  “Very nice.” I guess that was as good as it was going to get. I went back to making turkeys and she went back to cooking.

  I didn’t glance back until she swore loudly.

  “What happened?” I didn’t move from the couch, worried she’d throw something at me.

  “Cut myself. I’m fine.” She ran it under the water. “Do you have any Band-Aids?”

  “Yeah, sure. Can I move from the couch to get them?” She glared at me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  I dashed to the bathroom and came back with a Band-Aid and some ointment.

  “Here,” I said, coming up behind her while she was still at the sink. She jumped a little, but I’d been counting on that.

  “Rule number two about cooking with Katie is that you don’t sneak up behind her like a creeper.” She snatched the Band-Aid and the tube of ointment from me and slid sideways, so I wasn’t behind her.

  “Get back to your turkeys.”

  I did as I was told, but not before brushing my fingers along her back where the apron was tied.

  “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want you chopping off any of those fingers.” She chucked an empty can at me, but missed.

  ***

  Four hours later, my eyes were heavy, but my apartment had never smelled so delicious. There was so much food she had to be creative with containers to put it in. The mashed potatoes were in a metal ice bucket, the squash was in a mixing bowl and she’d put the cranberry sauce into a few of my shot glasses.

  As I taped the paper turkeys all around, she threw a white lace-edge tablecloth on my coffee table and set it with the plates and new silverware and cloth napkins before placing the paper stand-up turkey in the middle.

  I looked at the plates and bowls mounded with food.

  “I am never going to eat all this,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about that. Here.” She handed me a serrated knife. “You get to carve the turkey.”

  I did my best and started putting pieces on her plate.

  “I’ll be totally honest,” I said as she spooned some mashed potatoes onto her plate, “I didn’t think you were going to pull this off.”

  “Well, that just goes to show you don’t know me and what I’m capable of.” Our hands brushed as we both went for the rolls. I moved my hand back and let her go first.

  “That was a dick move, though. You should apologize to Ric. I’m not her biggest fan but it still wasn’t nice,” she said.

  “I know.” She poured gravy over her potatoes and turkey and went to sit on the couch. “Oh, crap, I forgot the wine.”

  “I’ve got something better.” I searched the bottom of my liquor cabinet and found a bottle of spiced rum Allan had forgotten about that I’d been saving.

  “You trying to get me drunk, Stryker?” she said when I held up the bottle.

  “I was already drunk. I’m on my way to sober, but if you want to venture into drunk territory with me, I wouldn’t say no.”

  “Well, seeing as how I can’t go back to the dorm since it’s closed up for the holiday, and I have nowhere else to go, I might as well.” I grabbed my plate and the rum and joined her on the couch.

  She held out her glass and I poured a little in and then poured myself some.

  “To the perfect Thanksgiving,” she said, clinking her glass with mine. We both drank and she chose another movie. Planes, Trains and Automobiles with Steve Martin and John Candy.

  She smiled at me and we dug in to Thanksgiving 2.0, The Middle of the Night Edition.

  “How is it?” she said after only my first bite.

  “Fantastic,” I said, my mouth full. It was even better than her mom’s and that was saying something.

  “Thanks.” We both ate and watched the movie, laughing at the same parts. I hadn’t seen this movie for years. Trish was a John Hughes fan. She only loved Nicholas Sparks more.

  Everything was fabulous, and I was thrilled I didn’t have to lie and pretend I liked it. I would have, but I was glad I didn’t have to.

  The rum made me warm and relaxed, and hearing Katie’s laughter made everything even better.

  She made everything better. Food, music, kissing. Hell, she made breathing better because every time I breathed, I got a little bit of her scent.

  I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye and found she was doing the same thing. We both looked away and put our attention back on our plates.

  No girl had ever done something like this for me. Not even close. I still didn’t know how I should react. Did this mean she had feelings feelings for me? Yes, she’d said it was about more than the sex, but how much more?

  I’d never been this fucking neurotic about a girl and it was freaking me out. She shifted and her leg brushed against mine.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s fine.”

  She was still wearing the apron and I had to stop myself from picturing her wearing that and nothing else.

  I cleared my throat and took a sip of rum, but I choked on it.

  “You okay there?” she said, raising her hand to bang me on the back.

  I waved her off. “Yeah, fine.”

  She must have thought I was being a moron because I was drunk.

  Katie

  What the hell was wrong with me? Just sitting next to him on the couch was proving to be more difficult than I thought. I’d always taken it for granted that when I wanted to have sex with him, we’d just do it.

  Holding off was hard. I couldn’t help but notice how the tattoos on his arm flexed when he moved his fork, or how his hair was different, swept to the sides of his face. His leg brushed mine, sending chills up and down my spine.

  I tried to watch the movie, but I kept catching myself looking at him instead. It was shocking to think that I hadn’t thought he was attractive when I’d first met him, even after he took off the stupid fangs.

  Now I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to stare at him all night. This realization made me blush with embarrassment, as if I’d said it out loud.

  “You did a good job with the turkeys,” I said, pointing my fork at one he’d taped to the door. He’d drawn it with an eye patch, and the one taped to the window behind the television was winking.

  “What’s that one supposed to be?” It had hollow dead-looking eyes and a gaping beak.

  “Zombie turkey,” he said, as if it wa
s obvious.

  “Got it.” Now that I thought about it, zombie was the most obvious conclusion. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” He put down his fork as if I’d seen a robber and he was getting ready to protect me.

  “We forgot to say what we’re thankful for. Shit, I can’t believe I left that out.” I blamed the rum. And him. It was totally his fault for being so…him.

  “It’s not too late. We haven’t had the pie yet.” I’d been a slacker and bought a frozen pie, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Do you want me to go first?”

  “If you want me to.”

  He poured some more rum into his glass and took a sip.

  “I’m thankful for music and art and friends who stand by me even when I screw things up and Trish and broken cars that I get to fix and tricky equations I get to solve and that everyone I care about is healthy and for a girl who wears too much pink, doesn’t take no for an answer and tells me that it isn’t just about the sex.”

  He took another sip of rum and I blushed at the end of his speech. I hadn’t blushed at something in a long, long time.

  “How can I follow that?”

  “I’m sure you’ll do okay,” he said, patting my knee. His hand lingered for just a second before he moved it.

  “Okay, I’m also thankful for friends who stand by me even when I screw things up and also pink and roommates and my sister and my parents and Grampa Jack and for everyone being healthy and…and for a boy who took pity on a girl with a broken heart and showed her that all guys aren’t douchebags and who makes her feel happy again.”

  I took a swallow of rum and waited for him to say something.

  “Seems like we have a lot to be thankful for,” he said, swirling the liquid in his glass. All the things unsaid between us hung in the air like smoke.

  “Oh, I’m also thankful that I’m alive. I don’t know how I forgot that,” I said. “Being alive is important. Unless you’re a vampire.”

  “Haha.”

  He put his glass down on the table and sighed.

  “I’m sorry about the Ric thing. I feel even shittier about it now that you’ve done all this.” He waved his arm around.