by R.S. Grey
“I swear he has the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen,” Ellie says. “But it’s not too beautiful, y’know? There’s some ruggedness to it.”
I hadn’t realized she was looking at the photo over my shoulder, registering my reaction. I quickly pass the phone back to her and offer a weak excuse for why I need to leave immediately. I pedal back to the co-op faster than usual with the summer sun burning overhead, and then, because I can’t stand the idea of holing up in my room and moping, I keep pedaling past my street and continue my workout through the afternoon. By the time I make it home, my legs are jelly and Ellie’s stupid strawberry spray has mixed with my sweat to create an odor so foul I can barely breathe. I lock up my bike and head straight for a shower.
Later that night, when the co-op is quiet and my roommates are asleep, I look up the photo again. Yes, I memorized his date’s Instagram handle because I want to rub salt in this wound. The burn is better than nothing. At the country club, I didn’t read the caption, but now I do.
Having such a blast with my handsome date at the @AustinPetsAlive Summer Gala. This organization is one of a kind and one very close to my heart. It’s so important to give back and take care of Austin’s furry friends, y’all!
Her love of philanthropy sparks my memory. I knew I recognized her when I first looked at the photo at Twin Oaks, and when I scroll through her Instagram feed, I connect the dots. Her name is Lacy Nichols, and she’s as close to a society belle as Austin has. I mean, this isn’t the 1880s, but it is the south. She’s the (#youngest) vice president of the Women’s Philanthropic League of Austin in history, and there’s even a photo on her Instagram where she’s posed with my stepmom for a council meeting. This town is too damn small.
I remember now that she was at the tea Martha and Ellie dragged me to at the beginning of summer. She was tasked with giving a speech before we were allowed to stuff our faces with finger sandwiches. I can’t remember what she said, as I wasn’t listening, but now I wish I had been.
Further Instagram stalking (of which I am not proud) reveals that she’s everything James is looking for. At 31, she’s 6 years older than me, and in her prime. She’s been in a dozen weddings in the last year and always captions those posts with some adorable self-deprecating joke about always being a bridesmaid, never a bride. Her friends follow suit with ridiculously positive comments like, GIRL, you’ll be the next one walking down the aisle!!!!! Not to mention, she clearly adores kids. She posts photos with her nieces and nephews like four times a week. This girl’s ovaries are practically screaming at me through my iPhone screen.
She is, to quote her friend’s comment, total wifey material, and by contrast, I’m a loose cannon. Being in that many weddings and wearing that much chiffon would make me break out in hives. I don’t want to babysit tiny children. I want to hike to Macchu Picchu and swim in the Mediterranean. I want to spend a summer in the south of France, drinking my way from one vineyard to another. I want to miss my train in Germany and hop on the next one no matter where it’s headed.
I am not so delusional that I can’t see how precisely Lacy Nichols fits into James’ five-year plan, but I still don’t want them together because I am a selfish person with envy in my heart and melted chocolate on my fingers. The chocolate is from me attempting to eat my feelings, but it didn’t work; I’m just as annoyed by the fact that he took Lacy as his date as I was before I ate the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Lesson learned.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My mom and dad married really young, and it didn’t work out. I don’t quite know all the details, but I do remember my mom sitting Ellie and me down and explaining that she was shagging our neighbor, Jorge. He was a few years younger, and sexual in a way that awoke a yearning desire in her. I don’t know, it was all pretty gross, so I repressed most of the conversation. I do recall the moment a few years later when she told us she was moving, though. I think it went something like this: I’m in love like I’ve never been before, and sometimes love takes you to strange places. I’m moving to Africa. I think she even said it in a breezy, heart-struck tone, definitely not the way a mom should sound when telling her two daughters that, for all intents and purposes, she’d rather spend her time around civil war and famine than with them.
“What? Why?” I cried.
“Jorge is a member of the Peace Corps. He’s been stationed in Sudan, and I need to go with him. Those people need us.”
I’m paraphrasing, but you get the gist. None of it made sense at the time. Obviously she had to divorce our dad if she was going to continue having sex with our neighbor—even my adolescent brain could compute that—but why did she have to move? Didn’t she know we needed her too?
I’m almost embarrassed to admit that this whole episode in my life still bothers me. Being a teenager without a mom present changed me; I really haven’t felt normal since the day she waved goodbye to us from beyond the airport gate. I try not to dwell on those thoughts though. They aren’t healthy, and thankfully I’ve realized since then that I don’t have to fear love. Not every person I get close to in my life is going to abandon me just because my mom did. However, I have learned from her mistakes. Lesson 1: Don’t get married young. Lesson 2: Don’t have kids if you don’t really want them around.
Got it, loud and clear.
Thanks Mom.
It’s actually kind of a relief that James and I have five-year plans that don’t match up, because now I’m off the hook. I don’t have to process how I feel about him (MORE THAN I SHOULD). I don’t have to consider that it’s been weeks since we last spoke (AND I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM).
He called me a few days ago, totally out of the blue. My heart raced when I saw his name flash across my screen, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. It eventually went to voicemail, and he didn’t leave a message. For all I know, it was a butt dial. I need it to have been a butt dial, in fact, because if we’re going to stay away from each other, no communication is probably the way to go. A platonic friendship won’t work for us. James has only been in my life for a few months, and already he’s consuming too much of me.
What would an older, wiser version of myself say? Walk away—no, run as fast as you can. James is going to eat you alive if you let him. Stay focused on what’s important. Double your efforts to find a new tutoring position so you can quit your dead-end job. Accept that date from the nice guy who works at the cafe down the block and revel in the lack of chemistry. Thoughts about cafe guy won’t keep you up at night.
It sounds like a solid plan, right up until I leave for work the next morning and nearly trip over three massive bouquets of peonies sitting outside my door. I search for a card and find one tucked into the middle bunch.
From Harry.
…
I’m sitting in Ellie’s car as we head back to the co-op. We’ve just stuffed our faces at Madam Mam’s, a Thai restaurant near UT campus that I’ve been craving for the last few days. The chicken pad thai temporarily distracted me from all the thoughts about James swirling around my mind, but as we turn another corner closer to home, I dread the moment when she drops me off.
I’m growing weaker by the day when it comes to staying away from him. He called again last night, and I didn’t answer. One call can be written off as a mistake, but not two. His toned behind isn’t that clumsy.
I’m not sure why he’s calling. It could be about something innocuous (Where did you buy Harry’s fish food?), but I know better.
Ellie turns and the seatbelt rubs against my chest. I pre-wince, expecting pain, but nothing comes. The burn from the crash has healed and now there’s one less thing tethering me to James.
“Should we stop at Amy’s?” Ellie asks, and my heart sinks.
She’s not a big ice cream fan. If she’s going to pig out, it’s going to be on cake or pie, so the fact that she’s suggesting Amy’s tells me she can tell I’m upset.
“I don’t need ice cream. I’m fine,” I say with forced cheer.
“You’ve been quiet all night. What’s going on?”
I turn to look out the window so she can’t read my emotions. I’ve been told I have a terrible poker face.
“I’ve just been thinking about job prospects,” I offer, because it’s a half-truth, and it’s easier than delving into the whole truth.
“Are you sure that’s all?”
“Positive.”
When Ellie drops me off at home, I’m surprised to find a black Porsche sitting by the curb. The doors are open, but the driver is missing. A few of my roommates are there though, kicking the tires and checking out the interior. They don’t even notice me until I’m beside the car, asking what they’re doing.
They nod their head toward the house. “James Bond’s inside waiting for you.”
My heart soars.
I want to twirl and skip up the front path, but I take my time and gather my wits as much as possible. With the flowers and the phone calls, I knew something like this was bound to happen. James might have been the one to initiate this forced separation, but he’s also the one who’s been pushing the boundaries. I wonder if he regrets his decision, and I suppose I’m about to find out because he’s here now, in the co-op living room, chatting with my roommate Maggie.
I have no clue how this tableau came about exactly, but Maggie and James are side by side on the ground, making posters, open paint cans and used brushes scattered all around them. The man is wearing designer clothes. Sure, it’s just jeans and a t-shirt, but the thread count on that cotton is probably higher than my bed sheets, and now it’s speckled with paint.
There are already a dozen signs completed and drying in one corner of the room.
CAPTIVITY IS NOT CONSERVATION!
EMPTY THE TANKS!
ORCAS ARE DYING TO ENTERTAIN YOU!
Maggie is in the middle of a passionate speech: “They can’t claim they’re capturing these animals and breeding them in glorified swimming pools for educational purposes, not anymore. That notion is absolutely ridiculous. Did you know that in the wild, orcas usually swim over a hundred miles in one day?!”
James shakes his head with a thoughtful frown, unaware that I’m standing in the doorway, watching. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”
Maggie sits back on her heels and surveys her handiwork. “That’s why my friends and I are staging a protest. I can’t sit idly by any longer.”
“The signs look really good, Maggie,” I say, announcing my presence.
James’ attention sweeps to me and I meet his dark gaze. A timid smile spreads across his lips.
“Oh, well there’s your girl,” Maggie says, taking the paintbrush out of his hand. “I can take it from here. Thanks for your help. Glad to know you’re not just some suit.”
I tip back on my heels, nodding my head toward the stairs. He follows without a word and once we’re both in my room, I close the door and slowly turn back to face him. He’s near my bed, eclipsing everything around him as he tugs a hand through his hair. He’s nervous, an odd emotion to see on a man as self-assured as James.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says with a frown.
I focus my attention just over his shoulder, appreciating the reprieve. I haven’t seen him this close in weeks, and maybe I forgot just how much he affects me. Now I certainly remember, and my heart is racing. My hands feel clammy, and if I were smart, I would have taken Ellie up on her offer for ice cream.
“Brooke?”
I chew on my bottom lip and look away. “Yeah, it was sort of a self-preservation thing.”
“So you weren’t ignoring me because you aren’t interested anymore?”
A chuckle tumbles out of me.
“Can you look at me?”
I swallow and glance down. “No, actually, I can’t.”
“Why?”
Because I’m crumbling. Because your face hurts—HURTS—to look at. Because I think you’re going to break my heart. Because there are a dozen solid reasons for why we should steer clear of one another, some of which you’ve already admitted yourself.
I settle on giving him the reason that bothers me the most.
“Because you’re seeing someone else, and you shouldn’t be here.”
“Seeing someone else?” he says, his tone hard and unyielding. “What are you talking about?”
My focus is on my shoes, but he steps forward and captures my chin, raising it gently until I’m forced to meet his eyes. Desire ripples through me.
“Lacy Nichols.”
“Was a friend who invited me to a fundraiser.”
“Nothing else?”
He takes another step toward me. I step back and my heels hit my bedroom door. There’s nowhere to go, no way to escape the fact that James is crushing me against the door with his body, not enough to hurt me, but enough to make my breathing erratic. My chest brushes against his and my heart leaps as if trying to reach him. His hand still holds my chin, and slowly he tips it up, up, so when his head bends and he captures my mouth, our lips are perfectly in sync.
The kiss is so unexpected that at first, I freeze from the initial shock of contact. For seconds, I don’t do much more than stand there. He increases the pressure and slips his hand from my chin to the nape of my neck. His fingers stroke and soothe, making it too easy to give in to him. I tilt my head and my hands find his waist. I grip the bottom of his shirt and tug him closer until our hips meet. His hard thigh presses against mine. He shifts us closer to the door, and a heavy need starts to build between us. My lungs don’t have room to inflate as he continues to kiss me endlessly, teasing and coaxing out soft moans.
By the time his hand starts to slide up from my waist, my body is a mess of sensations. He skims along my ribs and then brushes his fingers just below my breast, testing the limits. When I don’t protest, his hand moves higher until he’s cupping it in his palm, rolling his hand back and forth. His kiss is nearly punishing, but his touch is so gentle I want to melt.
He’s playing a game with me, seeing how long I can endure the sweet torture before I break down and openly beg him for more. A fire is building within me, burning hotter by the second. Soon he’ll get exactly what he wants. I’ll have turned to putty in his hands.
I grip his shirt tighter and our hips grind together as if the friction will help dispel some of the pressure mounting between us.
Out of nowhere, a knock pounds against my bedroom door behind me and we leap apart.
“Hey dude! Is it cool if we take your car around the block?”
I press the back of my hand to my lips to hide my laugh.
My roommates have impeccable timing.
James’ hand rests against the door beside my head and he pinches his eyes closed, obviously annoyed at being interrupted.
“I know it’s an expensive car,” Jerry says. “But you probably have some pretty good insurance, huh?”
“Go! I don’t care,” James replies, his voice booming so loud that I jump.
“Thanks man!”
The sound of receding footsteps echoes down the hall and neither one of us speaks. It feels just like the aftermath of our car crash. The pieces of the scene filter back to me slowly and then, with embarrassment, I realize I’m still gripping his shirt. I let go and step aside to put space between us.
“Don’t,” he says, turning to me.
“What?”
“Don’t do the thing where you regret what just happened.”
I laugh. “Believe me, I don’t regret that.”
He nods and pushes off the door, straightening back to his full height. “Good, because that wasn’t a mistake. I came here with clear intentions.”
A lazy grin spreads across my lips. “Of ravishing me?”
He shakes his head and steps back to assess me. “Of asking you to accompany me on a trip I need to take for work.”
“What?”
“There’s a conference in Vegas. I go every year, alone, but this year I’d like you to come with me.”
&nbs
p; He’s making it sound extremely simple, but it’s not.
I shake my head. “It’s not a good idea. It would only make this more confusing.”
“I don’t care.”
I narrow my eyes at him, angry at having to be the responsible one all of a sudden. “Come on, James. This has been the weirdest friendship, non-friendship, relationship thing I’ve ever dealt with. Normal people go on dates. We get in car accidents and then ignore each other for weeks.”
He steps closer and I hold out my hands to block him. I need my wits about me if I’m going to make important decisions.
“Maybe I don’t know what to do with you,” he says, capturing my wrists and gently tugging me closer. “Maybe I’ve been wondering if it’s really best to leave you alone.”
His gaze falls to my lips, and I think he’s going to kiss me again.
“You shouldn’t be showing up here unexpectedly,” I say with a weak voice. “You shouldn’t be inviting me on a trip, and you definitely shouldn’t be sending me flowers!”
He grins, and it’s like I’m looking at the devil incarnate. “So they arrived?”
I nod to where they sit on my nightstand. I’ve cut them and changed the water every day. They’re in full bloom now and I know if I stepped a little closer, their fragrance would hit me in full force.
He turns to look at them, and I wonder if it’s apparent just how much care and attention I’ve given the flowers over the last few days. I’m slightly embarrassed until he glances back and says confidently, “Come to Vegas with me.”
“The last time you invited me to be your date, I didn’t like it,” I point out.
“This will be different, I promise.”
His voice sounds so earnest that I believe him. Still, I throw my last measly excuse at him. “I’d have to get off work.”
He levels me with an amused glare. “Have someone cover your shifts. If not, I’ll work it out with Brian.”
