by R. C. Martin
“Now, Rome, don’t go starting wars you can’t win.”
She kisses the same spot, leading me to believe she never intended to kiss me full on in the first place. Figures. She’s too good at this to miss her intended target—robbed of her sight or not.
“Oh, and I want yellow next,” she informs me as she turns around once more.
I clear my throat, take a breath, and shake off the dreamy fog she just dumped all over me. I don’t offer up any further response as I dip her brush in yellow paint. She’s right—I hate it when she’s right—but I’m not prepared for that kind of fight. My racing pulse is proof of that. I know better than to underestimate her and that’s exactly what I’ve done.
Tonight, I’m forced to wave the white flag.
It feels good to be back in normal company. For the most part, last night was fun. I was with friends and, even though it was obviously a date setting, I didn’t feel like an extra wheel or whatever. Our group is pretty good about that. Also, truth be told, as long as Daphne’s around I never feel like the odd man out. Though, I can’t deny that no matter how much fun it was to do something out of the ordinary—last night was fucking strange.
Seeing Logan flirt with anyone is normal. I’m so immune to it now, I hardly even notice when she does it to me. The strange part was watching Roman flirt back. It was like Thursday night, except way more intense. Daphne was completely fixated. I’ve never seen her so…confused. Shit—I’ve never seen Roman so conflicted. It was like he liked the attention but he didn’t know what to do about it.
I blame his cock. Logan is irresistible and I can’t fault him for being physically intrigued by her. I know there’s only so much a guy can take before his willpower just can’t handle it anymore and he gives in. But if that’s all that’s going on between them, he’s playing with fire.
I know the guy well enough to understand that he doesn’t fool around. His integrity is at a whole different level. Then, on the other hand, I believe what I told him about Logan. Underneath her armor, she’s just a girl. She wants love just like everyone else. So for her sake, I can’t help but root for them.
As soon as I walked into Grace and Harvey’s place, the lady of the house all but annihilated me with questions. Logan doesn’t have very many fans—she’s not the kind of girl that other girls like—but Grace is an ally. Probably because Harvey would never give Logan the time of day and so Grace isn’t threatened by her. Whatever the case may be, I think Grace is under the same impression as I am. If the two of them want to be together—fuck it. Their odds are just as good as anyone else’s. Either they make it or they don’t. However, I don’t know any details and Daphne won’t be here until a little later. I have to hide in the den with the guys, away from the questions and the gossip that’s happening in the kitchen.
Unfortunately, hanging out with Harvey and Pete doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better. Being around them takes me to a whole different place with a whole different set of questions that I can’t answer. Thinking about Harvey and Grace trying for a baby and Pete and Willow considering dating one another—it just makes me feel like I’ve got to get my shit together. I’ve been in this place for so long…this place where I’m just dealing. I don’t know if there’s anything else for me.
I’ve got the shop, which is my dream—a fulfilled promise to Rett—and it’s everything I ever hoped it would be. I’ve got friends who are my family and that’s been enough. Except, deep down, I know it won’t always be. I want a family of my own. Problem is, I screwed the family I had when they were around and then they were taken from me. Rett and Crystal, they were all I had left after Grams died and I lost them both at the same time. That was my fault. After all this time, I still don’t know that I deserve to be trusted; if I deserve the family I want. What if I just fuck it all up again?
I want Daphne. It’s no secret and I’m a jackass if I deny it—to myself or anyone else—but the last thing in the world I could handle is losing her. I’ve lost enough. So living life in this space where I’m just dealing? It’s safe. I’m not sure if I’m willing to rock the boat hoping for more.
Coder pulls me from my thoughts when he leaps from the couch, throwing his hands up in victory after having won his game against Pete. They’ve been playing NBA Live on the Playstation while Harvey and I watch. Pete shoves his brother in annoyance and then offers me the controller. “You want to go against the kid?”
“Why not?” I ask as I trade spots with him.
Before I even have a chance to pick my team, Daphne comes storming into the room. No one even has a chance to say hello before she throws her phone directly at my chest. I drop the controller and catch her mobile as I scowl at her. “What the hell did I do to you?”
“Nothing!” she grumbles. “They’re driving me up a wall!”
“What are you talking about?” asks Pete.
“Roman and Logan! I left for work before Logan got up and my entire shift they’ve both been texting me—asking me questions about the other and last night and I can’t take it! I. Can’t. Take it. So you do it.” She turns around and leaves the room. We all sit silently as we watch her go.
“Um, are you going to fix that?” asks Harvey, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.
I sigh, lifting my hat so I can scratch my head before sliding it back on again. “Yeah. I’ll be back,” I mutter, handing him the game controller on my way out. “Wings, hold up.” I catch up to her just before she makes it to the kitchen and grab her wrist, pulling her back into the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I want to stay in denial,” she replies with a careless shrug.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—I’m not ready for this, them, to be real. I mean, from the moment I heard about it, I could hardly believe it. Even watching Logan agonize over an outfit and having my brother show up with a bouquet of daises…I don’t know, I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Then, all night long, he could hardly take his eyes off of her. She loved every minute. I could see it written all over her face.”
“So, they like each other. Stranger things have happened, right?”
“Are you kidding?” she shrieks. “Fuck no! They haven’t!” She runs her fingers through her wavy locks, her maroon bangs falling back into place as she shakes her head at me. “The thing is, if I jump in this with them, if I accept that this is real, then I put myself in the middle. Do you know what happens to the person in the middle?” As if on cue, her phone sounds with an alert. I look down at the screen and see four unread text messages from Logan and two from Roman. “That’s what happens. Today they’re oddly high on the idea of each other. I can’t really have to explain why that blows my ever-loving-mind.
“Say they continue down this path and legitimately fall for each other. What happens if it doesn’t work out? What happens if they get together and then they get in a fight or they break up? Then I’m the one in the middle. My brother on one side, my best friend on the other. That sounds like hell. Honestly, I’m not convinced that the two of them together could end any other way than complete disaster. So, for now, I’m avoiding it.”
“You mean them,” I correct her, holding up her phone as it begins to ring.
“You answer it,” she says, turning to head into the kitchen. “Or don’t,” she speaks over her shoulder. “I don’t care.”
It’s Logan who’s calling. I sure as hell don’t have anything to say to her, especially not if she’s calling about Roman. I let it ring through to voicemail before dropping the device in my pocket. Knowing that Daphne will be in good hands with Grace and Willow, I head back to play video games with the guys. It isn’t long until lunch is finished and we all squeeze around the dining room table to eat. Most of the group thinks it’s too hot to hang outside, so we enjoy our sloppy joes in the air conditioning.
Well, most of us do. Daphne hardly eats a bite.
When Coder asks if she’s going to finish what’s on her plate, she s
lides it to him without a word. That’s when it hits me that something else is going on. I don’t know what, but no way this thing between Logan and Roman can have her so twisted up. Yet, considering her grand entrance, I’m not sure I’m willing to pry for details right now.
After we help Grace clean up in the kitchen—which is light work with so many hands—Willow suggests that we watch a movie. Harvey is a bit of a movie fanatic, so his collection is outrageous. It’s not long before we’ve decided on our first film. Harvey and Grace claim the love seat while Daphne sits next to me on the couch, Willow occupying the spot on her other side. Pete sits on the floor, his back resting between her legs, while his brother sprawls out in front of the coffee table. I’d bet money that he’s knocked out in fifteen minutes.
Sure enough, he’s fast asleep before the title credits are finished. Nobody bothers him, though; with all of us lounging on full stomachs, any one of us could be next.
Daphne’s phone vibrates against mine and I know she can hear it because she sighs and then holds out her hand. “It was probably mine,” I say, ignoring her silent request.
“Please,” she scoffs. “All of your friends are in this room right now and I’m sure none of them are texting you.”
I can’t argue with her, so I reach into my pocket and pull out her phone. She takes it from me and spends the next twenty minutes reading and replying to the texts she’s been receiving from Logan and Roman all day. When she’s done, I can tell that something is still bothering her, which bothers me. Assuming that whatever is on her mind is probably distracting her from the movie anyway, I don’t feel bad about inciting her to talk to me. I reach for her legs, tucking my hands under her knees before spinning her towards me and hooking them over one of mine. She looks at me curiously and I lean over to whisper in her ear.
“What’s wrong?” I ask and then pull away to look into her eyes. She holds up her phone and then drops it back in her lap. I move to speak into her ear once more. “There’s something else bothering you. Tell me.”
She offers me a small smile and then tilts her head up to whisper her reply. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Will you just…hold me?”
I do as she requests without further prompting and she relaxes against me. When I look up, I see Grace watching us. She smiles and winks at me and I shake my head, the smile that I give in return unavoidable, before I turn my attention back to the movie.
“Shit, is that what time it is?” I mutter, spotting the numbers on his blu-ray player across from us. I look down at the end of the couch, where Trevor sits with my feet in his lap and a beer tilted toward his lips. He lowers the bottle and checks the time before he smirks at me and nods. “I’ve got class tomorrow! I’ve got to go.” I stand up too fast and take two steps before I lose my balance. He catches me with one hand on my waist and guides me down into his lap.
Our faces are so close that my nose is only millimeters away from his. For a second, I forget that the room suddenly feels like it’s been tipped on its axis due to my inebriated state. I didn’t think I drank that much, but apparently I was wrong. However, none of that matters now in this sublime moment. His blue-green eyes are locked on my brown ones and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing that I am.
I could kiss him.
I force my lids shut and take a deep breath. I can’t kiss him. Not like this. The last time I got drunk and kissed a guy, I wound up pregnant. Granted—I don’t really have any reason to be afraid of that now. I’m on birth control. Well, when I remember to pop the pill I am. Not that Trevor and I are going to—
“You can’t drive,” he says, distracting me from my thoughts.
Suddenly the room is spinning. I open my eyes and grab hold of his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get drunk.”
“I should be the one apologizing,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m a bad influence on you. You’re not even of legal drinking age, yet. What are you, nineteen?”
“Oh, shut up! I’ll be twenty in a few days…” A fact I was reminded of this morning. That’s all it takes to fuck up my entire day. I hate my birthday. “Anyway, I’m the only junior who isn’t even close to being legal. I blame my damn parents.”
“What? For enrolling you in kindergarten when you were four because you were smart? Yeah, what a shame,” he teases.
I giggle, because I literally can’t stop myself, and then reach for my phone. “Maybe I can call Logan.”
“I thought you said she was working on a group project or whatever. Isn’t that how you ended up over here in the first place? I was your backup for shitty-day-reprieve.”
“You’re right,” I mutter, propping my forehead against his. “Can you drive?”
“No can do, Wings. Looks like you’re stuck here for the night.”
I’ve never stayed the night at Trevor’s place before. We’ve been friends for months now. I’ve hung out here a few times, but I don’t usually lose count of how many drinks I’ve had, leaving me in the state that I’m in now. He’s right, though. Today sucked ass and I needed a friend. I don’t have very many of those anymore, which is mostly my fault. Trust is hard to come by and—
“Come on,” he says, patting my knee. “You can borrow a t-shirt or something to sleep in.”
“Okay,” I murmur as I stand. He takes hold of my hand as he leads me to his room, for which I am grateful. Walking in a straight line isn’t exactly something I can boast of right now.
He rummages through his dresser for a shirt and then leads me to the master bathroom so that I can change. It’s still kind of crazy to me that this twenty-five-year-old guy owns this beautiful home. He takes really good care of it, too—but, I suppose, it’s just him. How hard can it be to clean up after one person? I think that’s crazy, too. I mean, he’s hot, he’s successful, he owns his own business, his own home, that badass truck, AND he’s single?
Oh, god. What if he’s really, like, a serial killer or something? Like Dexter.
I laugh out loud, incredibly amused that my drunk mind could conjure such an image.
“Are you alright in there?”
“Yeah! Be out in a sec,” I yell back. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I see that his t-shirt stops about mid-thigh. If I were sober, there’s no way in hell I’d leave this bathroom with so little clothing. I know this—I KNOW this and yet I have every intention of going back out there just as I am. I think it’s safe to say that my inhibitions have been tampered with.
I leave my clothes folded on the counter between the double sinks and then slowly open the door to his room. I find Trevor sitting on the edge of his bed with a glass of water. When he spots me, he holds out the second glass he’s retrieved for me. It takes every ounce of nerve I have to close the distance between us.
I’ve seen him without a shirt on before. Hell, the day we met, he took it off for me. But now he’s sitting on his bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts. I won’t lie. It’s an incredibly sexy and distracting sight. I have to remind myself, again, that I’m not to kiss him.
The hardest part of denying myself is that it’s not just my hormones I’m fighting. The desire I have to be near him…it becomes more encompassing as the days go by. He means so much to me. I think he knows but we’ve never actually talked about it. Our feelings. What’s going on between us. And I—
“Here, drink up. I can set the alarm for you. What time is your class?”
“Nine. So I should probably get up at, like, seven-thirty?” I say softly, bringing the glass of water to my lips.
“Fuck, that’s early. Okay.” He leans over and adjusts the clock on his nightstand while I slowly make my way out of the room. “Where are you going?”
“Um—I just thought, I mean, I was going to—”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he insists, shaking his head at me. “Do you see the size of this bed? I’d be a total dick to make you sleep out there. Get in here.”
“Okay,” I whisper, smiling self-consciously.
The duvet on his bed is gray, like charcoal. His sheets, too. I wonder if he chose the color to mask any legitimate charcoal stains that may be inadvertently smeared amongst the covers from those late nights when he falls into bed after hours with his sketch pad.
“I won’t bite, you know?” he tells me as I settle myself on the opposite side of his king-sized bed.
“That’s too bad,” I mutter ever-so-softly under my breath, moving closer to the middle. As I do so, I notice his newest tattoo. It’s only a couple months old. I know because I was in the room when Harvey inked it on him. I reach out now to touch it. I’m not sure why—I know you see with your eyes and not your hands—but I can’t help it. Since it’s been cold out, he’s been wearing long-sleeved shirts, covering the half sleeve that decorates his upper right arm. I almost forgot what it looked like.
It’s a wooded night-scape; the full moon partially hidden behind scattered clouds that float across his shoulder. It’s in black ink. I love the way it looks both gloomy and romantic at the same time. I seriously have no idea how he does it, but Trevor can depict any emotion he wants to in a drawing. On the edge of the scene, just above the crook of his arm, sits a lone wolf. His back is what faces me, the profile of his face on display as he gazes up at the moon. He’s not howling, as wolves are often depicted. He’s just…staring.
“He looks sad,” I say without thinking.
“I am, sometimes,” he replies after a brief pause.
“It’s you?” I murmur, fascinated by this new information. My fingers trace their way across the detail of his fur, as if they have a mind of their own, desperate to explore.
“Yeah.”
“Where’s his pack?”
He shrugs. “Dead. Or gone.”
I scoot closer to him and pull the covers around me snuggly. It’s not that I’m cold or bashful—only suddenly anxious about where this conversation is about to go. We don’t really talk too much about old relationships, or our current lack there of. Partly because it’s hard for both of us to drudge up the past, seeing as how it’s riddled with loss; but it’s also because we don’t talk about our relationship. Not really. The more our friendship evolves, I’m not sure we can do one without the other. Right now, though, I’m feeling tipsy and bold and I want to know.
