by Dori Lavelle
Millie glances at her silver wristwatch and nods her head, her sharp black bob sweeping her high cheekbones. “That won’t be a problem at all. Go home and get some rest.”
“Thanks, Millie.” I sigh with relief. Guilt nudges me gently, but I ignore it. I didn’t lie to her—not really. Though I’m not actually tormented by physical pain, the emotional chaos racking my brain will make it hard to focus on work.
“Sure. See you next Friday.”
I pause outside the bookstore, the sunshine beating down on my head, neck, and shoulders. I take a few deep breaths and stroll down the street. The heaviness of Judson’s note weighs down my leather tote bag. I know what I should do. Instead of ignoring him, I should write him one last letter to make a clean break, to sever whatever twisted bond we have formed, and move on with my life. But as terrified as I am of a future with him, I’m terrified of one without him, too. What is it that ties me so tightly to him? Why can’t I walk away? We haven’t even kissed, touched, or made love. And yet I feel as though we have.
A blast of sea air manages to cut through the few shops, sweeping my hair clear off one shoulder. The wind is comforting and refreshing, invisible fingers that caress me when I’m down. My bike is parked at the corner of Sage and Ridge streets. I hope onto it, but instead of taking my normal route that would get me to the dorms in less than twenty minutes, I take the long one, cycling furiously past Jolene’s Diner, Faith Chapel, the Oaklow Homeless Shelter, and endless rows of cottages. Half an hour later, I reach the dorms.
The fresh air hasn’t helped. My nerves are more frazzled than ever.
I hop off my bike and walk it toward the gate. A royal blue Mercedes is parked to one side, and a stocky man with dark glasses and slicked-back hair is leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. Of course, behind the dark glasses, he could have been staring at anything. But my instincts tell me I’m the focus of his attention.
I look away and enter the gates. The hairs at the back of my neck bristle with each step. My already overworked heart slams against my chest.
I can’t help it: I take a glance back.
The man tosses his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. His eyes stay fixed in my direction. He folds his arms across his chest.
What the hell does he want? There’s no one else on this path. It has to be me he’s interested in. My knees are almost jelly as I force myself forward.
Don’t be a fool, Ivy. You’re not the center of the world. Maybe he’s waiting for someone.
Assuring myself doesn’t stop me from feeling creeped out. I hold my breath as I leave my bike in the shed, and approach the steps leading up to the dorm. At the top of the steps, I turn to look again. He’s no longer at his car, but has stepped inside the gates and is standing next to the pond, talking on his phone, as much with his hands as with his voice. He looks as though he’s having an argument. All the while his eyes stay on me.
Shit.
A sickening thought arrests me, and I find myself stumbling through the door of my room, my heart inside my throat. What if the man is working for Judson? What if Judson is having me watched? But that’s ridiculous. Why would he do that? And yet the thought refuses to let go of me all the way down the corridor to my room.
I burst into the room and lock the door behind me. Leaning my back against it, I shut my eyes. My right hand rests on my chest as I try to calm my breathing.
Feeling somewhat settled, I call out for Chelsea, in case she’s in the bathroom. No answer; only her vanilla and rose perfume lingers in the air.
I hurry to my computer and go online. The news sites reveal nothing new about Judson. He’s still behind bars. But does that mean anything? He managed to send me gifts from behind bars. He managed to get hold of a cell phone behind bars. He wanted to send me money. What else is he able to do?
I slump onto the couch and let out a breath.
Stop it. He’s not stalking you. You’re imagining things.
Except, Jennifer told me that when she cut off contact with Judson, she no longer felt safe. I wish I had asked for more details. Was she being stalked? Is history repeating itself?
I can’t let this go—I need my peace of mind back.
Reaching into my bag, I pull out my phone and write Judson a text message. I’m not sure if he still has the cell phone, but it’s worth a try. A letter will take too long to reach him. Waiting even a day is unbearable.
I don’t think as I type the words. I write what comes to mind.
Quit stalking me. It’s not funny. You’re scaring me.
I send the message and wipe the sweat off my phone. I drop it beside me, waiting. The beep comes less than two minutes later.
Scaring you was not my intention, my love. I only want you to know there will be consequences if you pull away from me.
My heart drops at the same time as my phone. Oh my God.
I rush to the window and yank back the curtain. I can see the gates, but the Mercedes is gone. No mysterious man there. I could have dreamed it.
Except Judson has just confirmed that I didn’t.
21
“Thank God you came to your senses. I was so worried about you. You never know what a man like that is capable of.” Chelsea digs into the popcorn bowl, releasing the smell of butter into the air.
I pull my feet up onto Chelsea’s bed and chew my popcorn silently. I haven’t responded to Judson’s threat, and haven’t told Chelsea about it. But in a way I still feel as though I’m being watched from the shadows.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I guess I was being a bit stupid.”
“Stupid? You were out of your mind.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you actually contacted a murderer.”
“You do know his guilt is yet to be proven, right? He hasn’t even gone to trial.” Why do I still feel the need to defend him?
“Well.” Chelsea shrugs and falls back onto her pillows. “It’s only a matter of time. Everyone knows he’s guilty.”
My throat is aching, urging me to say something more, but instead, the tips of my fingers flutter at the base of my throat. Each time Chelsea attacks Judson, she shoves me under an invisible bath of ice water. As much as I know getting involved with Judson was a dangerous mistake, my feelings for him haven’t dissipated. I wonder if they ever will. The thing that troubles me most is how I can feel so strongly for someone who terrifies the hell out of me. Judson raged into my life like a storm that shook me to the core of my being, and without him, I’m not sure I know who I am.
It’s been almost a week, and although Judson keeps writing me, making demands, I haven’t seen the strange guy with the Mercedes again.
I decide to change the subject. “So, how are things with you and Neil?”
“Couldn’t be better. And by that, I mean this.” Chelsea pulls her hand from under the pillow and wriggles her fingers between us.
I gasp at the glint that catches my eye. “No.” I grab her hand and bring it closer to my face. It’s a classic ring in white gold, set with a single round diamond that winks at me. “Tell me this is a promise ring and nothing else.”
Chelsea grins from ear to ear, eyes glinting like the diamond on her finger. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”
“I can’t believe it. When did this happen? And when did you change your mind about getting married? I thought you said you’re not ready.”
Chelsea pulls her hand away from mine and digs into the popcorn again. “Last night. I’ve had a lot of time to think. Turns out I do want to spend the rest of my life with Neil.” She studies her ring for a moment. “Getting engaged now doesn’t mean we have to get married immediately. We’ll be one of those couples who are engaged for a couple of years. We’re waiting until after graduation. But he’s coming home with me for Christmas.” She lets out a contented sigh. “The engagement certainly solved the sex guilt issue.”
“No more guilt on his end?”
Chelsea shrugs. “Last night, after I sai
d yes, he fucked me like a porn star on crack. I could barely walk this morning. And no tears after.”
We both burst out laughing.
“You’re crazy. But that’s what I love about you.” I pull her into a hug. Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.” I clear my throat. “You really are going to marry him, Chelsea?”
Chelsea nods and sighs. “I know I bitch about him a lot. That won’t stop.” She stares into space as though looking at something invisible to me. “This might sound corny, but he’s the only guy I want. I swear, I’ll never find anyone as good in bed as Neil.”
Laughter bubbles from my chest in waves. “Chelsea, you’re not only with him because of the sex, are you?”
“Me?” She places a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “What kind of girl do you think I am? Of course not. I love him. Seriously, I do. The sex is the cherry on top. And it is important in a relationship.” She makes a face. “But then again, you wouldn’t know that, since you still haven’t tasted the forbidden fruit.”
A moment of quiet passes between us as I think of the erotic dreams I’ve had about Judson. A jolt of excitement trails down my spine, followed by an ache. Those dreams, each one of them, always left me feeling as though the sex was real, that he really was inside me. Each time they left me feeling less of a virgin. But I can’t tell Chelsea about that.
I draw in a breath and avert my gaze, staring out the window. The branches of distant trees sway back and forth in the wind. They seem to be mocking me. “Yeah, go ahead and rub it in.”
“I’m sorry. I only think you’re wasting your time, waiting for Mr. Perfect. Sometimes Mr. Perfect is right around the corner. You need to put in the leg work. You could even have found him by now, if you actually put aside some time for having fun. All you do is work and study.”
I twist a lock of hair around my forefinger. “I guess you’re right.” What I don’t tell her is that the only things that keep me going are work or my studies. And when I’m not working or studying, I sleep, because that’s the only way I can still my thoughts about Judson. Though that doesn’t always work. Often I still meet him in my dreams, where I find myself making love to him over and over again.
“I know what would be good for you. Do something crazy and unpredictable. Seriously, go out and have a one-night stand or something.”
I reach for a DVD—Secrets and Lace, a thriller—and pop the case open. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“How would you know you won’t like it unless you give it a try?”
I drop the DVD case back on the bed but hold on to the disc. “Chelsea, if I ever decide to have sex with someone, it has to be someone who means something to me. Come on—it would be my first time.”
“What if that guy doesn’t come along till you’re eighty?”
“You’re impossible.” I pull my legs underneath me on the bed and gaze at her seriously. “So, what do you suggest I do?”
“I think you should find someone you think is hot and have fun. For the first time in your life, live in the moment, not in the future. There are so many guys on campus who follow you like lovesick puppies. Surely you must find one of them attractive.” Chelsea places a finger on her chin. Her eyes light up. “How about that Milton?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not a huge fan of his, but that’s mostly because I think he only wants to get you into bed. If that’s what you’re looking for in the first place, then I don’t see the big deal. He isn’t bad-looking.”
I slap Chelsea on the arm. “You’re totally unbelievable.”
“Yep, unbelievably serious. Fine, if not Milton, then someone else. You walk around looking so sad all the time. A distraction is exactly what you need.”
“Let me think about it.” I stand and head for the TV.
Chelsea doesn’t bring up the subject of me having sex again for the rest of the evening. We watch two films, stuff ourselves with junk food, and talk about her engagement. Through it all, I do consider what she said. She’s right, in a way. Just because I can’t find love doesn’t mean I can’t have sex and enjoy it. Lying in my bed later, I find myself thinking more about Milton. Maybe I should let the poor guy take me to dinner—then I can decide whether I like him enough to take things further.
22
I stack Judson’s unopened letters on top of each other and lower them into an empty shoebox. I place the box inside one of my desk drawers. After slamming the drawer shut, I close my eyes.
“It’s over, Judson,” I whisper. “I’m not opening your letters ever again.” Chelsea urged me to get rid of them, but I can’t. Not yet.
Feeling as though I’m wading through water, I rise from the chair and head for my wardrobe. I smile as my fingers touch the soft fabric of the freshly ironed coral mini dress with the crochet neckline. No jeans and t-shirt tonight. Chelsea and Neil have been engaged for two weeks, and tonight they’re having an engagement party on the beach. Chelsea made me promise I’d wear something sexy, and I agreed. It’s her night, but it’s also my fresh start. Tonight, I’ll leave Judson behind and have some fun.
As I stand there with my dress draped over my arm, Chelsea walks out of the bathroom, breathtaking in a sassy, flowing magenta dress with fabric gathered in the back and layered in the front. It shows just a hint of cleavage. Her teased curly locks rest seductively on her shoulders. And she looks happy, her dark eyes sparkling with joy.
She eyes me with suspicion and waves the brush she’s holding in the air. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of wearing something else. That dress is perfect for you. Or are you thinking of not coming?”
“No.” I laugh. “I wouldn’t think of crossing you tonight. And nothing will keep me from celebrating my lovely friend’s special day.”
Chelsea closes the distance between us and folds me into a hug. “I want you to come out for you. You’ve been holed up in this place, and on campus, for far too long.” She pulls back, but her hands remain on my shoulders. “You deserve to have a little fun for a change.”
“I fully agree.”
Chelsea inspects her makeup while I get dressed. I go for my usual natural look, wearing no makeup but a bit of nude lip gloss. There is one change from my usual look, though. Tonight, instead of in a ponytail or braid, I give my long hair permission to tumble down my back.
Once we’re both ready, we pick up our purses and hook arms.
“Let’s go paint the beach red,” Chelsea says as she locks the door behind us.
I wrinkle my nose. “I never liked that expression. It sounds as if we’re going to spill blood.”
“You might.” Chelsea grins. “Given how many hearts you’ll break tonight.”
“If you say so.”
Ten minutes later, we sink our feet into the soft, cool sand. As the waves break on the shore, some of the weight slides off my shoulders. In the soft night, I promise myself that I’ll make more time to come to the beach.
We’re still arm in arm as we make our way toward the bonfire set up in front of the Misty Beach Club, a place many of the university students hang out on weekends. Tonight it’s reserved for Chelsea and Neil’s party. Romantic music is already spilling out into the night. My stomach rumbles at the aroma of steaks, hotdogs, and hamburgers on the grill.
Cheers, laughter, and congratulations reach us before we get there. As we come closer, Neil pushes his way through their bikini-clad friends and comes over to meet us. To meet Chelsea, actually. He’s tall, with an athletic body and sandy blond hair. He doesn’t look like a guy who sometimes cries after sex—or used to.
“My gorgeous fiancée.” Neil scoops Chelsea up into his arms and lifts her off the ground. As everyone claps, Chelsea throws her head back and laughs out loud, teeth glinting in the night. She really does love him. It’s easy to see they’re meant for each other. I have no doubt they will make it to the altar after graduation.
After a long kiss, Neil finally puts her down. Taking her hand, they head over to the long, white table covered with f
ood, champagne, and flowers.
The party was supposed to be a surprise for Chelsea from Neil, but Chelsea found an invitation card in Neil’s pocket that let the cat out of the bag. Still, it didn’t take away from the joy she clearly feels tonight. She smiles brightly as people hug them, wishing them well. And then her eyes rest on the two layered, white cake in the center of the table, surrounded by white roses I bought this morning. I catch a tear glinting on her cheek.
All eyes are on Neil and Chelsea, but someone is watching me as well. I turn to my right to find Milton smiling at me, his teeth illuminated by the moon and firelight. His eyes are fixed on my face. He, too, looks different, wearing a crisp, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black jeans. His hair is shorter and neater as well. The punk guy is nowhere to be seen. For the first time, I find myself thinking he really is handsome.
An unexpected glow flows through me at the open delight in his eyes when he sees me. I smile back and pick up a glass of champagne from a tray that passes by in the hands of a server.
I make my way through the guests, greeting them as I go. A lot of the guys are watching me, but I focus on Milton. It’s clear he’s made an effort.
“Wow.” He breathes out and takes a swig of his cider. “You look amazing. I can’t take my eyes off you.”
“You’re making me blush.” As my face heats up, I avert my gaze for a moment, looking out at sea.
He kisses me on the cheek. “I’m just telling the truth. No girl here is as beautiful as you.”
“You better not say that any louder.” I grin. Since the night he met me with the umbrella, I’ve shared a few coffees with Milton in the university snack bar. I still haven’t agreed to dinner with him, but I’ve also stopped brushing him aside as though he’s a nuisance. I’ve come to appreciate his company; he’s actually a really funny guy. I keep thinking if he didn’t keep hinting at wanting more, we could be really good friends. But once or twice, I’ve also found myself wondering how he might be in bed.
