Secondary Colors

by Aubrey Brenner

  Since I’m not expecting anyone, I assume Holt is until I see the surprise on his face.

  I reluctantly untwine my legs from his and crawl out from under him. When I switch on the porch light, Aidan is standing on the other side of the stain glass, the welcoming glow washing him in a pale yellow tinge. I wonder if he may have seen Holt and me through the living room window. He smiles at me, confirming he didn’t, and I open up.

  “Aidan, hey.” I brush my hand through my hair in case it’s wrecked. “Did we have plans?”

  “I thought I’d surprise you and see if you wanted to hang out tonight.”

  “I—” I trip on my words when his eyes target on something over my shoulder. Holt is hovering inches from me, hair wet and messy, wearing only his jeans. He’s so close, I’m surprised I didn’t sense him. It’s almost territorial.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Aidan’s eyes skip between the two of us.

  I’m about to tell him he isn’t when Holt replies for me, “Actually, you are. We were about to sit down to dinner, and there’s only enough for two.” By the tone of his voice, he clearly isn’t talking about food.

  “Of course you aren’t.” I attempt to salvage the situation. “There’s more than enough if you want to join.”

  “No, that’s fine.” Aidan focuses on Holt. “I really should’ve called first.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’d be happy to have you for dinner,” I insist, towing him into the house. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Um, sure,” he answers uncertainly.

  “The hard stuff?” I ask cheerfully, hoping to kill the stiff mood.

  “That’d be great.” His mouth twitches into a lazy half-smirk.

  “Why don’t you wait in the living room,” I suggest, patting him on the arm as he passes me. “I’ll bring it to you.”

  He acknowledges Holt with a testing gaze then walks into the room where we were getting cozy, taking a seat on the couch.

  I stroll toward the kitchen, ignoring Holt’s fiery stare. He follows me in and asks in a pissy tone, “What the fuck was that about?”

  “I’m not about to turn him away. He’s a really decent guy. Plus, he doesn’t exactly know about us. What was I supposed to do, alert him to it?”

  I check the seafood stew simmering on the stove. It’s a perfect mixture of fresh lobster, crab, and pieces of cod.

  “Wrap him a plate and send him on his way, but don’t invite him to a dinner that was supposed to be the two of us. Now I have to spend an evening with—” He pauses, too irritated to go on.

  “I don’t understand why you despise him so much.”

  I stir the stew around, churning it like my agitated stomach, making sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom.

  “Are you blind?”

  “I see you being a jerk,” I retort, tartly, “so no.”

  “Look,” he forces out a hard breath, “when you’re with him, there’s nothing I can do about it. When you’re with me, you’re with me. I’m not trying to marry you, Evie. But don’t you think it’s fucked up to screw around with me while you’re dating this guy?”

  I take the vodka out of the freezer, left over from the party, and pour it into a glass.

  He’s right—yet again. I’m terrible for keeping things from Aidan. He’s really sweet and respectful. I owe him more than this. I owe them both more than this. Aidan and I share a history and much more. But Holt turns my knees to rubber and my brain to oatmeal. There’s no thinking with him. I react. It’s instinctual.

  “I’m not exactly pleased with myself. But the only reason you want me to dump him is because then you win. It has nothing to do with me or his heart being broken.”

  “Of course you’d believe I wouldn’t have the capacity to empathize with another person.”

  “I know I don’t belong to either of you. He hasn’t talked to me about anything past going out as friends at this point. And when it comes to you, well, you’re everything he isn’t.”

  “Best of both worlds,” he says emotionlessly.

  “You know, I wouldn’t be so eager about my making a decision about you two. Hate to break your heart, but you may not be the one I pick.”

  That was harsh. But as usual, he pushed me.

  I stride out of the kitchen, done with this conversation, and down the hall toward my waiting guest. I’m rounding the stairs, Aidan’s back in view, when I’m stopped roughly, nearly spilling the drink in my hand. Shoving me against the wall, Holt kisses me deeply, hungrily. It makes me woozy with arousal.

  Snapping out of his influence, I jostle him away, not wanting Aidan to accidently discover us sucking face in the entryway.

  “That’s what you want from me, isn’t it, Evie? You want me to give you everything he won’t, everything he can’t.”

  He gives me exactly what I need, but I don’t want Aidan to discover me pinned to the wall by Holt’s hard body.

  “Keep it in your pants, Turner,” I scold him.

  He sets his hands on the wall behind me, sandwiching me between them, and leans his mouth right up against mine. My lips part on an exhale. He smirks into my open mouth. He has me all screwed up on him, and he knows it.

  “You didn’t say that the other night,” he whispers and then nips at my bottom lip. Pushing himself back, he stares me down.

  “Do you think this is easy for me?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low enough so Aid doesn’t hear.

  “You have only yourself to blame for that one, peaches.”

  I scowl at him, running my fingers through my hair to fix any mussed strands, and rejoin my guest. Holt doesn’t tag along. Instead, he stomps upstairs with unignorably hard footsteps, letting us know what he thinks of the evening’s turn of events, making each step count.

  the portrayal of people, objects, and landscapes with minimum alteration

  Little by little, Aid and I flow into a conversation about college and our degrees. He studied economics at Northwestern with plans to move to New York where he could put it to good use.

  “I had no idea you were moving there,” I comment, surprised he didn’t mention it when I informed him of my plans.

  “I wasn’t really sure until recently.”

  Was this because of me?

  The rest of the conversation is forced and awkward. Holt wasn’t a help when he chose the low road. I think most of the discomfort comes from me, though. I’ve been anxious about keeping things from Aid. But I can’t bring myself to hurt him.

  Thirty minutes later, with the stew about ready to serve, there’s a light rapping on the front door.

  “Another surprise guest?” I mumble to myself.

  Unable to see past the wall, I listen to Holt’s heavy footsteps stomping back down the stairs, bound for the source of the knocking. He opens it with a grin. I stretch my neck to see who it is, but my view is obstructed.

  Suddenly, Makayla comes through the door, wearing a short floral dress and a jean jacket. I think it’s called country slut chic.

  “You’re a knockout.” Holt admires her for an unpleasantly long time.

  She smiles shyly (fake) and flips her red hair stereotypically. Fake, fake, fake! The only thing she doesn’t do is giggle like a twit.

  “Thanks.” She turns around for him to take her jacket. He removes it painstakingly slow, his hands brushing her arms, and then hangs it on the coatrack. He guides her into the living room with a hand on her back and states, “I believe everyone knows each other.”

  When Kayla’s eyes rest on me, her grinning face drops. She’s as unhappy about this as I am. The only thing that makes this encounter worse—than the fact she’s my mortal enemy—she’s Aidan’s ex and Holt’s current. This should be an interesting evening, and not in a good way.

  Being the gentleman, Aidan rises when she enters with a phony cheerfulness. “How are you, Kayla?”

  “Marvelous,” she lies, wrapping her arms about Holt’s, “you?”

  “Terrific,” he answers, m
imicking her tone.

  The tension multiplies tenfold.

  My hands clench to the edge of the couch cushion, and my teeth grind when I glance down at their arms entangled. When my eyes coast up to his, a wicked fire flickering in their ochre depths, I unclench my hands and relax my jaw.

  “I think dinner’s ready,” I comment edgily, jumping up and fleeing from the room to avoid a freak out.

  I move the pots off the fire and scoop the lemon rice onto a large serving dish, pouring the seafood stew on top. I take the platter outside to the wicker table on the porch. It’s a mild night, decent for a meal outside. Really, I refuse to be trapped in closed spaces with little Miss Fake.

  When I reenter the kitchen for the plates, Holt is taking them out of the cabinet.

  “I hope you don’t mind me inviting a guest over for dinner,” he says, doing his worst imitation of someone who gives a crap. “I figured you’d be preoccupied with your boyfriend.”

  I stomp out to the patio with Holt hot on my heels. I snatch a plate from the pile in his hands.

  “Oh, I think it’s swell.” I toss the sturdy dishware down on the spot intended for Kayla, far from me. “You could’ve been understanding of Aidan. Instead, you turn this evening into a circus.”

  “I don’t do third wheel. And I’m no one’s second best.”

  “You’re a jealous ass.”

  “You’re a hypocrite.” He sets the final plate, Aidan’s plate, on the floor like a dog dish.

  “Pick it up,” I snap.

  “Pick it up, what?”

  “Now.”

  He steps into me. “Make me.” It isn’t a threat. It’s a dare.

  “It’s not as if I deliberately invited Aidan here. I was looking forward to a night of only you. I’m not happy about it. However, you decide to make this worse by purposely inviting Kayla, knowing I wouldn’t want her here. Why are you making this harder than it needs to be?”

  He deflates, exhaling a drawn out breath.

  “Because—”

  “Yummy,” Makayla’s sultry voice hums from the back door. “This looks scrumptious, Holt.”

  I take a step back from him, avoiding eye contact with her.

  “Evie made it,” he mumbles, annoyed.

  Is it because of me or her?

  No worries about avoiding uneasy pauses. Makayla took care of that. She talked and talked and talked, about the celebrities she met, the movies she auditioned for, and how fabulous her life was in Hollywood. I’m ready to shove a dinner roll in her mouth to get a second of peace and quiet. Holt and Aid smile and nod at the right places to appease Kayla during her self-indulged blathering. Every now and then, I catch them glaring at one another.

  I bet he regrets inviting her now.

  Holt chose to make this a competition. I’m more than happy to contend.

  After eons of her one-sided conversation, I’m surprised when Aidan mans up and subtly moves it elsewhere. “This stew is absolutely amazing, Evie. You are a tremendous cook.”

  “Thank you.”

  We both know I’m not thanking him for the compliment.

  He nods humbly.

  “Yes,” Holt interrupts our visual lock, “it would be a perfect meal for two.”

  With an emotionless expression on his face, he shoves a big piece of crab in his pie hole and chews with slack rotations of his jaw. He’s deliberately trying to make this more painful than it already is.

  Aid clears his throat. “So,” he says, “what are your plans, Turner?” His provoking tone is cloaked in pleasant.

  “After traveling this half of the globe, I’d like to stay put for a while.” He looks at me. “I really like it here.”

  Kayla, who’s been sulking since the focus was taken off her, mentally murders me with her death stare.

  She isn’t used to being second to me.

  I stand up and gather the dishes around the table, piling the dirty silverware and cups atop those. I announce we’ve made dessert. This evening is a big mess. But at least there’s sugar. Sugar makes everything better.

  “Let me help you,” Kayla offers.

  This worries me.

  She isn’t the type to give a hand. This means she wants a moment alone with me.

  Picking up the serving dish, she follows me into the kitchen. I set the plates into the sink, and she places it on the counter next to it, standing intimidatingly close.

  “What do you think you’re doing with my date?”

  She expects me to cower like in grade school. Instead, I laugh her off, sliding the strawberry pie out from under the window where I set it to cool.

  “I’m not doing anything, Makayla. You’re seeing things.”

  “Don’t make me out to be crazy,” she says in a voice so nauseatingly sweet it makes the pie seem tart. “You have the whole town fooled, not me.”

  “What are you bitching about?”

  “Like you don’t know you’re the damn darling of Aurora. Everyone kisses the ground you walk on.”

  “They do not—”

  “Why do you think so many folks came to your barbeque, because of your mother?”

  “What the hell do you mean by that, Kayla?”

  She laughs like I’m the butt of a joke.

  “The slut doesn’t fall far from the tree. You couldn’t steal Aidan from me when we were kids, and you aren’t getting Holt now. Back off.”

  “Firstly, I never attempted to steal Aidan from you. Secondly, you should tell Holt. Not me. I hold no influence over what he does. No more than you do anyway.”

  “I’ve learned ways to make men do what I want,” she hisses. “I wouldn’t misjudge my ability.”

  “What do you want from me, Kayla? I’m not involved with whatever twisted relationship you two share. Sleep with him. What do I care?”

  I’m lying. I’m lying straight through my teeth. I care more than I’d admit out loud. She, however, isn’t lying. She does have ways of making men do what she says. Three, actually. And I stupidly challenged her to use them.

  “Maybe I will,” she says bitchily. She dips her finger into the center of the pie and pulls it out covered in red jelly. “You don’t need to serve us dessert.” She sticks the tip into her mouth (manhole) and demonstrates one of her many talents. “We’ll be having ours out in the woods.”

  I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

  She saunters out with a confident swing in her hips, knowing she got under my crawling skin. I glance out the window and spy Makayla leading Holt toward the woods, my woods, our woods. A sharp ache writhes inside.

  How can I compete with that?

  I pick up the tainted pie and dump it into the trash with an irritated growl, slamming the lid shut. I lean back against the edge of the counter, running my hands through my hair.

  What do I care if he sleeps with her?

  He doesn’t belong to me.

  And I certainly don’t belong to him.

  I could try to convince myself this doesn’t bother me, but it does, to the bone.

  “Evie?” Aidan’s voice whispers from the doorway. I straighten up and throw on a hallow smile. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

  At this point, I want to forget about Holt and Makayla. Maybe time with Aidan is what the doctor ordered.

  “Please.”

  We wander down the shoreline, the small waves beating the soft sand and washing across our bare feet. The blue moon is full, casting a bluish tint over everything. The sky is black and crowded with stars. It’s the perfect setting to further whatever’s happening between Aidan and me, but he doesn’t attempt to make a move, hold my hand, or wrap his arm around my neck. Nada. He’s silent, his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders slumped, as if a mental boulder were weighing down on him.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you like to tell me?”

  “That’s what’s on my mind,” he says, looking off onto the blackish blue water. “I’ve d
one a lot of thinking lately.” He pauses thoughtfully. “I love spending time with you.”

  Is this it?

  Is this the talk?

  Why does that make my stomach flip?

  “But something’s kept me at a distance from you—from this town. I had a purpose for coming over tonight. Besides wanting to see you.” He pulls his hands out of his pockets and rubs them together. “Jesus, this is harder than I thought it’d be.”

  “You know you can tell me anything, Aid.”

  “I lied about my father cheating on my mom with an unknown woman.”

  “Your father didn’t have an affair?”

  “No, he’s been having an affair. I wasn’t honest about knowing who the woman was.”

  “How would that keep you from me?”

  “It was your mother, Evie.” His words are quick and sharp, slashing through my brain.

  My mother?

  It pieces itself together, her weird behavior, the phone calls, the leaving for days at a time.

  “You didn’t say had an affair.”

  “No.”

  “They’re still—”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s where she is right now, isn’t it?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Does your mother know?”

  “If she does, she hides it. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. She enjoys the perks of the Channing name. It opens a lot of doors in this community.”

  That’s Christina. Vain and uncaring.

  A side of me is thrilled. I want her to hurt, the way she hurt me. But what if she decides to retaliate? She isn’t one to take things lying down.

  “Does everyone know?”

  “No one comes right out and says they do, but you sense it.”

  I jump back to the incident in the market, the peculiar looks and whispers. Everything starts to make sense.

  I’m going to be sick.

  Without excusing myself, I sprint toward the house in a mad dash to outrun what I just heard.

  “Evie!” he calls after me.

  My name echoes across the lake, skimming the surface like a pebble.