Make a Move

by Meika Usher

  “Correct.” I stepped over Anya’s duffel bag in the entry—where she’d leave it for her entire stay—and headed for the couch.

  “And she was still bailing before the boning?”

  “Yep.” Leaning forward, I grabbed the remote and aimed it at the TV.

  “Do not even think about it,” Anya said before I could get the Winchester boys off my screen. “I love this episode.”

  “You’re lucky my mother taught me to be nice to guests,” I grumbled, tossing the remote to her. “Otherwise, I’d tell you where you can—”

  “Anyway,” she cut in, grinning. “Why no boning?”

  I folded my arms over my chest and stared unseeing at the TV screen. “She’s not looking for anything serious,” I answered, the words bitter in my mouth. “And, call me a sap, but I am.”

  Anya paused the show and turned to face me. I could feel her eyes studying me for long seconds before she spoke. “I don’t think you’re a sap,” she said. “You’re a good dude.”

  “Thanks,” I started, “I—”

  “But you’re also a dumbass.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “If you think she’s not interested in more after the way she stormed out of here...” She shook her head, lips twisting wryly. “There’s no help for you.”

  Her words—and their implication—swirled around in my head. But before I could form a full reaction, she turned back to the TV and hit Play. “Now, shush. My show is on.”

  26: Birdie

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I jerked my head up to find Vaughn studying me as I wiped down tables in Heathcliff’s after close. “Nothing,” I growled. “Why?”

  “Well,” he said slowly, rounding the bar. The dim overhead lights caught a glint in his hazel eyes as he neared me. “You’ve been slamming things around and swearing to yourself all night.” Beneath his beard, his lips tilted. “And it’s amusing as hell. It’s just not you.”

  I dropped the cloth I’d been using to clean the table and straightened, wiping my hands on my apron. “Just a bad night,” I replied, resolutely shoving aside any and all thoughts pertaining to one Nathaniel Kim. Because that dick didn’t deserve a molecule of space in my head. It’d been three days since I left Nate standing on the sidewalk outside of his place. Plenty of time for me to build a bridge and get over it. Except that I hadn’t. In fact, I was angrier now than I was before.

  Didn’t help that Nate had spent every one of those days blowing up my phone. Calls, texts, voicemails...all of it. I ignored his calls, deleted the texts. I didn’t need to hear him justify what he’d done. I just needed him to leave me alone.

  But I didn’t tell Vaughn any of that. “I’m fine,” I said instead, scrubbing at a sticky spot on the tabletop. “Fucking fine.”

  Vaughn leaned against the table I’d been cleaning, arms crossed over his chest. I glanced up. Beneath the sleeves of his Metallica t-shirt, his arms bulged, drawing my attention to the Cruella de Vil I’d done last month. “You should really come in for a touch-up,” I said, narrowing my gaze on his skin. “I can get you in next week if you—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.” His tone was level, with a dash of amusement. “But don’t change the subject.”

  “There’s no subject to change.” I moved on to the next table. “Sometimes I’m cranky. Deal with it.”

  Vaughn stayed in his spot, but kept talking. “You’re never cranky without a reason. And you’re certainly never this cranky. So...what’s up?”

  A long, exhausted breath left my lungs. I walked to the bar and tossed the cloth into its bucket. Then, I leaned my elbows on the gleaming surface and shoved my fingers into my hair. Okay. Yeah. I was a bitch tonight. A grade-A rage monster. And if anyone had pissed me off just right, I might have punched them in the face. Luckily, that hadn’t happened. Vaughn liked me, but not enough to keep me on if I assaulted his customers. And I needed the extra cash my shifts here brought in. Almost as much as I needed my brain to just...shut up.

  Anya, it kept saying, rolling the name around until it was smooth as sea glass. Ahhhn-ya. Who was she? And why had no one ever mentioned her before? Nate said she wasn’t his girlfriend, but she’d certainly walked into his place like she belonged there. And the expression on her face indicated she had not expected to find me inside.

  My stomach churned at the memory. I never wanted to be that girl. The other woman. I knew what that did to people. How that damaged them. And that Nate would put me in that position...

  “Fucking asshole,” I growled as I shoved away from the counter.

  “Whoa,” Vaughn replied, putting his hands up. “Sorry.”

  “Not you.” Untying my apron, I hung it on its hook in the back. “Nate.”

  “Nate?” Following behind me, Vaughn shoved open the stockroom door and reached for the mop bucket. “Wait. The Galaxy Crash guy?”

  “Yep.” I watched as he rolled the bucket to the sink and proceeded to fill it with sudsy water.

  “What happened there?” he asked, turning the faucet off. “He seemed like a nice guy. Great taste in TV.”

  Despite myself, a scoff escaped. “I can’t believe you watch Galaxy Crash.”

  “Says the woman who can quote Bring It On from start to finish.” He rolled the bucket into the empty bar and pulled the mop out, sloshing water onto the floor. “As well as all of its terrible sequels.”

  “That’s our little secret,” I said, hoisting myself up onto the bar as he began to mop. I’d swept the whole place tonight. He was on mop duty.

  “And I’ve never told a soul.” He swished the mop back and forth and I watched the lights glistening in the watery path. Used to be, I’d watch Vaughn’s muscles flex as he worked the mop. Dude had great arms. But I’d gotten over my little objectification pretty quickly once I branded his ass with a cartoon mouse.

  “Anyway,” he continued, glancing up from his work. “You gonna tell me what’s got you all...” Pausing, he straightened long enough to gesture a hand toward me. “Whatever this is. What did Galaxy Crash boy do?”

  I swung my feet back and forth, letting the heels of my shoes hit the underside of the bar. “Fucker’s got a girlfriend.”

  Vaughn paused mid-mop and looked up. I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t have to say it. But he did, because that was how Vaughn operated. “Dude was sucking face with you not two damn weeks ago in this very bar.”

  “I know.”

  “He have a girlfriend then?”

  “I asked him. He said no.” I dropped to my feet and tiptoed over the wet floor to put up a few stray chairs I’d missed. “Doesn’t matter. Not like we were gonna be anything serious, anyway.”

  “Of course it matters.” He dunked the mop into the bucket, then plopped it onto the floor. “No decent guy would pull that shit. Serious or not.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I dropped the chair on the tabletop, seat down, and reached for another. “Yet here we are.”

  “Yet here we are,” he repeated, throwing a little extra oomph into his mopping. “What a fucking asshole.”

  We both went silent after that, and I was grateful for it. I didn’t want to talk about Nate and his douchebaggery anymore. I didn’t want to think about it. In fact, I wanted to forget all about it.

  Once we were finished closing up, we headed for the door, zipping coats and pulling on gloves. It’d started snowing a couple hours ago, and it was a frigid wonderland outside.

  “Okay, I’m gonna say it,” Vaughn said as he pulled his keys from his pocket and locked the door behind us. “This is weird.”

  I pulled my fuzzy pink hat onto my head and turned his way. “What’s weird?”

  “You.” He gestured over me. “This. The mopey, angry thing.” He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black coat. Snowflakes collected in the crisp dark hair of his beard. “No one gets to you. Galaxy Crush guy did.”

  I pulled my coat tighter around me and shook my head. “Did not.
” Starting up the walk, I glanced upward, admiring the slow, fluttering dance of snowflakes in the streetlights. How could anyone hate winter when it looked like this?

  Vaughn was right behind me. “I get it,” he said, matching his pace to mine. “It’s shocking as hell. That guy did not seem like the type to—”

  “I’m fine, Vaughn,” I interrupted, glancing over. “Justifiably angry, but fine.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Bird.” He draped a heavy arm over my shoulder. “But we both know you’re full of shit. Now.” He steered me left, and added, “How about I buy you some breakfast?”

  I let Vaughn lead me into Shrimpy Dick’s as I tried not to think about his words. But they’d burrowed right into my brain and played on loop. No one gets to you.

  He was right. I was like a goddamn duck—everything just rolled right off my back.

  So why was Nate sticking to my feathers?

  27: Nate

  I thought about bailing. I sat on the foot of my bed this morning, staring at my Captain Marvel socks, and I thought about bailing. But I knew that if I didn’t show up to that bakery at ten a.m., ready to taste cakes for Sunny’s wedding, I would not be alive to attend said wedding. Which meant I definitely would not be maid of honor. And, after a week of silence from Birdie, despite my attempts to explain everything, I wasn’t about to cede that title to her.

  And so I pushed to my feet, marched into the living room, and woke Anya’s cranky ass up. We were in this mess together.

  “Oh, hell no,” Anya said, sitting up on my couch. “I’m not going.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not going.” I sat on the other end of the couch and tied my shoes. “Sunny invited you. You have to go.”

  “No,” she said slowly, shoving a hand through her newly-shorn blond hair. The spiky ends stuck up all over the place. “I’m not.”

  “But—”

  “Nate. Seriously.” Her eyes landed on me. “Think about it. Do you really think it’s a good idea to walk into that place today with me? When she is gonna be there?” Anya stood, stretched, and walked to the bathroom. “She already thinks we’re fucking,” she continued as she peed with the door open. “If you want any chance of explaining shit, I can’t be there.” Her spiel was punctuated with the flush of the toilet and the running sink as she washed her hands.

  I fell back into the couch, her words sinking in. Anya was right. I hated when she was right.

  “Judging by the look on your face,” she said as she reentered the room. “You’ve realized that I am correct.” She parked her ass on the coffee table so that she was sitting directly across from me. “I’m not usually one to gloat, but—”

  “Please.” I sat up. “You gloat all the damn time.”

  “Well, maybe be wrong less and that wouldn’t happen.” She rested her chin in her hand and eyed me. “You’re dead in the water if I show up with you, Nate. You gotta walk into that place solo, march up to her, and demand to be heard.” Pausing, she let her gaze flicker over me. “Or, you know, politely ask if you can speak to her outside.”

  I exhaled deeply and pushed up from the couch. “If I don’t return, it’s because I was murdered on the spot,” I said as I pulled my coat on.

  Anya rolled her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

  Ignoring the dig, I buttoned my coat. “I’ll try to smuggle you some cake.”

  “You’re a doll,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “I’m eating the leftover Chinese.”

  I ALMOST HAD MYSELF convinced she wouldn’t show. Almost believed she’d sit this one wedding thing out to avoid me. She’d done a great job of that thus far, so it wouldn’t be a total surprise.

  Except I underestimated just how bad she wanted to be maid of honor, because there she was, at a table with Sunny and Cat, joking and laughing and being all beautiful and shit.

  Yep. I should have known she’d be there, regardless of my existence. Or in spite of.

  Probably in spite of.

  Realizing that watching through the window put me firmly in creeper territory, I pulled open the door and forced myself inside.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said as I reached the table. I didn’t want to come, I finished silently.

  “We almost started without you,” Sunny said, scooting over to the next chair to make room for me between her and Birdie. “Jack’s got all kinds of heavenly things lined up.”

  I shrugged out of my coat and bypassed Sunny’s vacated chair, choosing the empty one next to Cat instead. “Can’t wait,” I replied as I settled in. “It smells delicious in here.”

  “Damn right it does,” Jack said as he sailed out of the kitchen, tray of cake samples in hand.

  “All right,” Cat said, thumbing through a stack of notecards. “There will be three rounds. First round: five flavors.” She doled out the cards, along with those tiny pencils you usually only see at mini golf places. “We have three categories to score. Taste, texture, and cake-to-clothes coordination.”

  “Uh, what?” Sunny asked, cocking her head.

  “You’re gonna want the cake to complement the wedding party’s clothing,” Cat said, eyes wide.

  Sunny fiddled with her tiny yellow pencil. “Are we really considering judging a cake by its frosting?”

  “And its filling,” Cat agreed, dead serious. “You don’t want everything to clash, do you?”

  “I...ahh...” Sunny looked from Cat to me to Birdie, who shrugged as if to say, I got nothing. “All right.”

  “Excellent,” Cat said, tidying the stack of scorecards she still had in front of her. “Now, let us eat.”

  As Jack delivered a plate in front of each of us, I snuck a glance at Birdie. She was doing an amazing job at not looking at me. I could tell she wanted to, though. In the way her eyes focused a little too intensely on the plate before her, and the way she nodded as Jack spoke. Oh, and the slight rush of color in her cheeks.

  Just look at me, dammit, I thought. Give me a chance to explain.

  “So,” Sunny said as she eye-banged the cake slices in front of her. “No Anya?”

  At the mention of Anya’s name, Birdie stiffened. Still didn’t look up, though.

  “No.” I cleared my throat. “She, uh, decided leftover Chinese and no people sounded better.”

  Sunny tilted her head, a thoughtful look on her face. “Solid choice.” Then, tapping her fork against the edge of her plate, she added, “I’ll stop by later. Force her to interact with me.”

  I nodded, teetering between the desperate need to make sure Birdie knew this didn’t mean what it sounded like it meant, and the desire to act normal. Because, on top of what was already a tense situation, I didn’t need Sunny questioning why I was being weird. Well, weirder than usual.

  Then again, maybe she’d clear up the Anya thing for Birdie, since she wouldn’t listen to me.

  Then again, part two...that would mean Sunny would know there was a need for things to be cleared up. And that didn’t sound like a fun conversation at all.

  “Can your forced interaction include leaving the house?” I asked Sunny. “She’s been holed up on my couch for days, and I feel the desperate need to...I don’t know, do dude things.”

  Beside me, Cat lifted her brow. “Dude things? Please, elaborate.”

  Sunny snorted. “It’s Nate. He probably means he wants to spend hours reorganizing his comic book collection. Or scrubbing the underside of the toilet.”

  “All of which you can do with Anya there,” Cat added.

  “Yeah, but not naked,” I replied as I picked up my fork. “Which is my preferred chore-doing routine.”

  “Same,” Jack cut in as he wiped his hands on his apron. “It’s just so...freeing.”

  “Jesus, now all I’m picturing is the two of you, scrubbing toilets while free-balling,” Cat grumbled, letting loose an intense shudder. “Balls. Everywhere.”

  “Why can’t you naked-clean while Anya’s around?” Birdie asked—the first thing she’d said
since I arrived. Her eyes met mine, and she added, “I’m sure she’s seen your balls plenty.”

  Because she’s your girlfriend, you lying sack of shit. She didn’t say that part aloud, but it was clearly implied.

  I opened my mouth to tell her that, no, Anya had not bared witness to my testicles, because she was not my girlfriend. But Sunny spoke up before I could. “I mean, yeah. After all these years? But I gotta tell you. If I came home to find Ben cleaning the bathroom naked, he’d probably never get laid again. Seeing him all bent over and pantsless...” She sat down her fork and made a face. “I think I just lost my appetite.”

  “Oh, no you didn’t,” Jack said, inching her plate closer to her. “There is too much deliciousness here to be ruined by testicles.”

  “That’s what she said.” Cat smirked and took up her fork. “Let us eat.”

  As Cat and Sunny dug into the first cake selection, I shot a glance across the table. Birdie had her fork in hand, but hadn’t eaten. Instead, her eyes were steady on me.

  All these years, Sunny had said. After all these years.

  Birdie didn’t know that Sunny was referring to my years of friendship with Anya. No, judging by the razor-sharp glare she had aimed at me, Sunny had basically confirmed what she thought she already knew: that Anya and I were A Thing.

  And it didn’t look like I’d be getting a chance to clear that up anytime soon.

  28: Birdie

  The tentative winner of the afternoon’s cake-testing extravaganza was a decadent chocolate thing with a black cherry filling. I was pretty sure I came the moment I tasted it. Jack looked smug as fuck as he cleared away plates. If I weren’t basking in cake afterglow, I might have thought it obnoxious. As it was...dude earned it.

  Cat, however, wasn’t totally sold. “I don’t know,” she said as she stacked the scorecards into a neat pile. “The filling just isn’t very...springy.”

  A growl emanated from Sunny’s throat. “It doesn’t need to be springy,” she replied, rolling her tiny pencil across the table so that Cat could tuck it into her bag. “Because we’re not getting married in the spring.”