We Were Once

by Scott, S. L.

  I’ve spent more time with her in my head than I have in person, so none of this makes sense to me. Like why does it seem like she just discovered the joys of kissing? Like she’s never known what it feels like to lose your body in someone else’s. For us, every brush of our lips is a bit or piece of us sharing something more. Or maybe she’s wild like a preacher’s daughter—prim and proper on the streets and a vixen in the sheets.

  My gut tells me that’s not the case, but what do I know these days? I’ve been skating by on charm and half-assing it for the past year at Yale. I have to get my act together.

  After I hang up my apron and go to clock out, I find Bryant filling a cup full of soda to go while Todd swivels on a stool at the counter. Todd and Bryant have been my closest friends since kindergarten. If a fight over Becky Norris didn’t break us up back in the sixth grade, no one’s coming between us now. “What else is in that cup?”

  “Whiskey,” Bryant replies. “Did you have a doubt?” If there was one kid in school who everyone wanted to be friends with, it was Bryant Eldridge. Not because he was the star football player (that title still belongs to me), or could get any girl he wanted (okay, me as well), but because he was the coolest guy around. Friends with everyone, easily entertained, and the most laid-back person I know.

  Todd says, “We’re heading to the lake. You in?” Todd Berenger knows his way around this city. He’s sixth generation New Haven and lives on the other side of the proverbial tracks. I’m not saying he’s from money, but they’re not doing too bad. His parents also cut him off financially a few years back when he decided he wanted to take some time off to figure out what he wants to do with his life. He still doesn’t know.

  They both deliver for the diner part time and the pizza joint around the corner. Which has me thinking about Chloe again. I haven’t delivered food in well over a year, but when Todd’s truck broke down, I had to cover. She was my first back in the saddle again.

  I’ve definitely had some deeper thoughts about how that worked out, but I’m not giving in to overanalyzing them. No good would come of it since my path was set years ago. “Who all’s going?” I ask, rubbing my hand over the scruff of my face.

  “Mick, Jim, Sanders—”

  “Dana and those girls,” Bryant adds and is promptly elbowed.

  “Now he won’t go, ya fucker,” Todd reprimands. “We’re going, Evans. The rest of them don’t matter.”

  Seeing Dana is not at the top of my agenda. “I really don’t want to deal with her tonight. If I’m with you guys, she’ll be all over me. If I bring someone—”

  “Who would you bring?” Bryant asks, hopping up on the counter.

  “Do we know her?” Todd chimes in.

  I chuckle. “I said if and I’m not going. I have some things to take care of.”

  Todd is a shark who’s gotten a taste of blood. “Would one of those things be a girl you met?”

  In no mood to lie to them or hide what I’m thinking, I lean against the wall and kick my foot up on the side of the counter. “I actually met her when I was covering for your ass last Sunday.”

  “Damn, for real? Is she hot?”

  I level him with a glare. “Of course, she’s hot, or why would I bother?” I sound like an asshole, even to me. How she caught my eye the first time we met has become secondary to how she makes me think and makes me feel around her. I can’t rest on my laurels with her like I do with everyone else. She won’t let me, and I like that. She’s holding me to the standard my mom also believes in me. But yeah, I don’t need to overthink a good time or have it ruined by these guys. Next, they’ll want to see her, and I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “She goes to school with me. It’s . . .” How do I describe what Chloe and I are? “New.”

  Bryant is a lot easier to slip stuff by because he doesn’t generally care about much, but Todd, on the other hand, is the one who will see through a lie. New isn’t hearts and flowers, but it’s not a lie either. I feign indifference for my own benefit. He asks, “Like it’s becoming a thing?”

  “How’d you get there from me calling it new?”

  “Because you’ve never said that before. If you’re just hooking up with her, you’d say so.”

  I reply with a shrug, striving to maintain a lack of care and failing. “I don’t know much about her yet.”

  Disinterested, Bryant stands and waves us toward the door. “It’s getting late. Let’s go.”

  We head for the door. “See ya, T.”

  “Have a good night, Josh,” he calls from the kitchen. I lock up and follow the guys to the truck.

  The driver’s side window slides down, and Todd leans his arm over. “Don’t go falling in love, Josh. I made that mistake for all of us.”

  The grin that works its way across his face is something that took a long time to see after his bad breakup last year. A girl from Yale broke his heart, leaving us to sweep up the pieces. It hits close to home for some reason. Kicking his tire, I then back up onto the sidewalk again. “Just having fun, my friend. Have a good night and don’t call me for bail money.”

  “We wouldn’t. You never have any money.”

  I chuckle, walking to my Bronco parked in the back. Between the guys harassing me about not going and my mind dwelling on a certain pair of green eyes, I climb into the cab and sit back.

  Mulling over the last week, I purposely let Chloe lead. It was her who pulled me into the lab and kissed me like we were about to get caught. She loves to control everything, including our meetups, which makes me think she’s gotten away with it for too long. Does no one in her life challenge her? She’s whip-smart and her humor is as dry as a desert and always makes me laugh. She can hold her own, dish it out, and take it.

  With that killer body, she’s basically the perfect woman.

  So why is she single?

  There’s so much left to discover about the divine Miss Fox, but I’m still left wondering what happens when she loses the upper hand.

  Guess there’s only one way to find out.

  7

  Chloe

  Slipping on pajamas, I whip my hair into a towel on my head and brush my teeth before settling on the edge of the bed to slather on lotion. My gaze darts to the clock on the nightstand. You would think I had coffee tonight by how wide-awake I am. I’m usually in bed by now. Instead, my mind is wired.

  After wasting an hour daydreaming about a certain guy’s lips, tongue, and the way he holds my waist like I might slip away has caused my thoughts to deviate from my routine, so I took a room temperature shower in hopes to cool off without getting too cold.

  It didn’t take my mind off him, though. It only made matters worse. I’m starting to sound like Ruby. I need to get my mind off sex and back on my goals. Graduation. Med school. Columbia. Focus, Chloe.

  But kissing him amongst the photographs at the gallery had me feeling powerful and naughty, something I’ve never felt before. And I liked it. I still do. I’ve started devising plans, excuses really, to kiss him again. Like a multitude of plots to have those lips against mine as soon as I can.

  I’m starting to wonder what sleeping with him would be like.

  One word—combustible.

  I huff, lying on the bed, utterly frustrated with myself. I’ve lost time that I didn’t have to spare, and I’m pretty sure I’ve literally been objectifying him. I’m a terrible human. I’m glad Frankie can’t read my mind.

  Oh, good God. What have I become?

  I’m not too far gone. I can name at least three other qualities that I’ve begun to admire about Joshua Evans.

  1. Although it was a box of dirt, the gift for Frankie was one of the most thoughtful I’ve ever received.

  2. The camaraderie between him and his mom is quite endearing.

  3. He doesn’t pretend he’s something he’s not. Though I could argue that you get more than what you see.

  And for the bonus round, the way he lives—fearlessly—is enviable. He makes up his own rules.
Does it count for me finding balance if I find someone who balances me?

  Too tired to deal with drying my hair, I get up and wander into the living room with the towel stacked high on my head. In the kitchen, I could kick myself for not going to the store today. With a carton of eggs, cheese, and olives, I don’t have much of a selection. Olives it is. I pull the jar out and try to cram my fingers in when a slew of rapid-fire texts send my phone buzzing across the coffee table.

  Abandoning the olive jar, I hurry over. My suspicions that it’s Ruby on another bad date are wrong.

  There on my phone is the word Soulmate staring back at me above the text messages.

  Who’s Soulmate?

  The moment I say it, I know who it is. Well, that and the message clued me in: I miss your lips on mine.

  Grinning ear to ear, I type: Who is this?

  My phone rings. Acting oblivious to the previous texts, I answer, “Hello?”

  “What do you mean who’s this? How many strapping, six-foot-two guys are you kissing these days?”

  I’d laugh but torturing him is more fun, so I hold my reaction steady. “Six foot two? Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive—”

  “I’ll pack a measuring tape in my backpack for the next time I see you—”

  Knock. Knock.

  I practically jump in giddiness that he’s come to see me until I realize that I’m in my pajamas without a stitch of makeup and a towel twisted around my wet head. I panic and run around the apartment, but there’s nothing to clean.

  Remembering how Ruby’s life is seen in her décor from the tiny bells above the window to the colorful cushions. I look around mine and it has no life. This is not the apartment of a co-ed who is fun and flirty, doing exciting things, and has stories to share.

  This place fits me to a T—boring. And Joshua is about to find that out firsthand. Doesn’t matter that he was here before. He was in the doorway, not spending enough time to psychoanalyze my neat freak tendencies.

  I pull the mug from the cabinet and leave it on the counter next to the olives. Inspired, I hurry under the sound of another rap on the door to my closet and pull a red scarf I’ve never worn and place it over my banker’s lamp in the living room. I don’t have time to overthink it, which is probably a good thing.

  There’s not enough time to continue panicking before he knocks again. Resolved, I straighten my cotton top and tug down my shorts, hoping they cover my ass, and go to the peephole. With him looking down the hall, I’m given a porthole view of that great jaw of his. The ticking muscle is a bonus. “Who is it?” I giggle, slightly out of breath.

  “Hi.”

  “I didn’t order any food.” The whole setup is the gift that keeps giving.

  He holds up a bag. “That’s too bad. I had a special delivery for Chloe Fox.”

  I don’t keep him waiting. I open the door and tilt my head sideways under the chain to see him. “You play dirty.”

  With one hand pressed to the doorframe, he leans in with a big juicy grin and says, “I play to win.”

  God, I want to kiss his face. Or smack the smirk right off, but kissing it is more fun. I undo the chain and step aside. "Entrez-vous?"

  “Oui. S’il vous plait.”

  I do a double take. “You know French?”

  “It’s shoddy at best.” I catch his arm and pull him back before he passes, welcoming him with a quick kiss. My lips tingle like little fires ignited beneath my skin. When I free him, I slide my tongue over my bottom lip to dampen the flame. Like he mentioned, I want to get to know him. It may be tough to resist those magnificent lips, but I have no doubt it will be worth the wait.

  Closing the door, I lock it and lean against the back of it. “For someone so cocky, sometimes you can be really self-deprecating. It’s pleasantly surprising.”

  “Glad you noticed, but more importantly, which side of me do you like best?”

  “Your backside. It doesn’t talk back.”

  “Good to know you noticed my ass.” He stands there shamelessly looking me over from head to toe.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I shrug. “But there might be some truth to that. Make yourself at home.”

  Moving closer to the couch, he scans the place like it could take all day. “Your place is so clean.”

  With his back to me, I shuffle a flip-flop into the walkway to add to the mess. “Eh.”

  Peeking back, he asks, “You live alone?”

  “Yep.”

  Giving himself permission, he glances around the room. “Nice building.”

  “I like the location. My friend Ruby found it.” And then because he doesn’t say anything, I keep rambling, “I can walk to school, and I’m close to shopping.”

  “It’s a great location.”

  “Ruby lives next door.”

  His interest is piqued when he turns back to me. “Oh, really? Why don’t you live together?”

  Now I’m searching the apartment for answers because I’m unsure what to say. “Never thought about it.”

  “It’d save some money.”

  “More importantly,” I start while picking up my phone and holding my phone screen so he can see it. “Can you explain this to me?” His whiskey-colored eyes can’t hide his inner thoughts. Neither can his smile. “I must have missed the part where you labeled yourself as Soulmate in my contacts.”

  Moving toward the window, he peers down one side of the street and then another. “Understandable. You were distracted by the potential of a happy ending.”

  “I was not.” I sound petulant even to me.

  With a raised brown, he looks back at me. “You sure about that?”

  “Honestly, no,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’m not.”

  Laughter rumbles through his chest. “At least you’re honest.”

  Most of the time, I think, thinking about the lie I told about my age.

  Kneeling, he prods the dirt in the pot. “Frankie looks good in her new home. She likes the window.”

  I sit on the couch and watch him stare at this plant like it’s a patient of his. The sweetness isn’t lost on me. Neither is the fact that Mom told me to do the same thing. “She’s a diva. She’s been preening for you all week.”

  Standing back up, he’s smiling, and I just flat-out like it. “You’re funny, you know that?”

  “Eh,” I say, waving him off. “What’s in the bag?”

  “It was a ploy to gain entrance because I didn’t think you’d appreciate me as the special delivery.” Slamming his hands together, he bursts the paper bag.

  “That’s disappointing.”

  Concern weaves its way into his expression as he sits on the couch. “Why? Are you hungry?”

  “No. That you’d think I wouldn’t appreciate you.”

  Eyeing my bare legs, he says, “C’mere, Fox.”

  I push off the wood and go because it benefits me as well. As much as it’s been fun to make out all over campus these past few days, tonight feels different. It’s not about the physical, but the emotional connection. I sit on his lap, and his arms come around me so easily. I rest my hand on his cheek, noticing how my heart skips a beat.

  Even in the low light, his pupils widen as he takes me in.

  I give him a hard time about all the teasing, but I swear I can hear his heart beating like mine. The quieter time between us is unique, and I savor the silence as we stare into each other’s eyes. Two breaths later, I whisper, “What do you want, Evans?”

  The pressure of his fingertips on my hip has my body on high alert. My breathing lags as I feel the buildup of those kisses setting in.

  Nuzzling my ear, his breath warming my neck, he asks, “Why do you smell like olives?”

  Like the bag, I burst, laughing and rolling closer against him. “I was just digging into a jar before I was rudely interrupted by a thread of texts and a Trojan horse food bag.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. Since I tricked you into letting me invade your night,
how about I make you something?”

  “Make me what?”

  Chuckling, he kisses my cheek. “Food. I’ll cook something, and you don’t have to do a thing but lounge here and appreciate the view.”

  “I’ll be gold medal worthy with this assignment. Get to it. I’m hungry.”

  “On it.” When he flips me onto my back on the couch, my feet fly into the air and the towel unravels, falling to the floor.

  Looped into a fit of giggles, I flop my legs down and rest back on my hands. The distance between us gives me the breathing room I need. “What are you going to cook for me?”

  Opening the fridge, he replies, “Depends on what I find in here.” He glances back over his shoulder while bent toward the open fridge. “You want to cook with me?”

  “For your safety and Frankie’s, it’s best if I stay here . . . on the couch, appreciating the view.” A smile that he doesn’t want to give me can’t hide from his eyes. I grin, big and free. “Your words. Fair game. Anyway, I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll let you off the hook tonight, but I have a feeling that you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

  “My dad could argue otherwise, but we don’t need to get into my issues.”

  He goes quiet for a moment and then shuffles through the cabinets, eventually returning to the fridge to retrieve the eggs and cheese. I didn’t even know I had cherry tomatoes, but the container is set on the counter. “I haven’t shopped in a few days.”

  “It’s okay,” he replies with his back to me. The muscles under the T-shirt raise and lower like the bones of a keyboard as he works through his tasks, focusing on the food.

  As much fun as it is to watch a hot guy cook for me, I want to know what’s going on in his head. I pad across the floor and angle against the counter. My wet hair is a mess, but he hasn’t made me feel less than beautiful in his glances and blatant stares. “What do you want to do with economics?”

  His eyes remain on the pan in front of him as he scrambles the eggs. “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking about the restaurant side of business, some aspect of hospitality, but I’d rather be cooking than pushing pens across a desk.”