by L.H. Cosway
“Yes. We’re doing that again.”
“No. We’re not. We’re not doing anything unless it involves measuring the composition of trace elements in surface water.”
“Parker-” his hand left my hair and slipped into my shirt again, spanning my side and stomach.
“Because we’re lab partners and lab partners do not kiss.”
“Then we’re not lab partners anymore.”
“You can’t switch lab partners in the middle of the semester.”
“I just did.”
My fingers moved to catch his wrists because his hands were on their way to second base; I successfully intercepted his northward progress. “Nope. I don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he nuzzled my neck and whispered against my skin. He must’ve known that nuzzling was going to cause my insides to melt. I imagined he’d conducted methodical experiments into the fastest way to female self-lubrication.
“I’m not one of your easy girls, or even difficult girls.” My voice wavered, so I cleared my throat. “I’m not even really a girl. I’m more like one of the boys. Think of me like a boy.”
“Not possible.”
“It’s true. Do you kiss boys? Because, if not, then I think you must have me confused with someone else.”
His movements stilled and a long moment passed. Then his hands fell away, he stepped away, and I slumped slightly forward—a weird mixture of bereft and relieved.
“You’re a lesbian.” He said the words as though they explained a mystery he’d been trying to solve for years.
My eyes shot to his. He was four feet away and I found him watching me with a dawning something. If I didn’t know any better it looked like disappointment and frustration.
I swallowed, successfully, and licked my lips, shook my head. The irony of his confusion not lost on me.
My first and only boyfriend had been gay. I just didn’t know it while we were dating through all of high school.
I was still trying to catch my breath when I responded. “No. I’m not gay. I’m just… not interested in you that way.”
This was true—because I’d witnessed his path of devastation with my own eyes.
This was also a lie—because I was most definitely interested in him that way, just not the after part where he would say it was meaningless sex, made me cry, and told me to get over it.
His eyebrows jumped a fraction of a centimeter at my softly spoken declaration.
“Not interested...” He repeated.
I stepped to the side, scaling the length of the table, and reached for my bag. I hefted it to my shoulder, escape now the only thing on my mind. His slightly narrowed eyes followed my movements.
“I know, right?” I tried to sound self-deprecating, which wasn’t difficult because I truly meant my next words. “Who am I? I’m nobody.”
“You’re not nobody.” He countered. “Your mother is a senator and your grandfather was an astronaut.”
I cringed. I hated it when people brought up my family. “Just because my family is famous, doesn’t mean I’m somebody.”
He shifted forward and said with a surprising amount of vehemence. “Exactly! That’s exactly right.”
“I know, right?” I readily agreed. “See, I’m ordinary. And you’re you and I’m sure you’re used to the deafening sound of underwear hitting the floor every time you enter a room. But I don’t do that kind of thing, even for Hercules. Sure, I’ll think about the possibility later when I’m safely alone in bed, but I never cross pollinate fantasy and reality.”
“When you’re alone in bed?”
I didn’t acknowledge his words because… mortification.
Instead I said, “I’m not a fast and loose girl. I’m a slow and steady girl. Who knows when or if I’ll ever cross the finish line.”
He blinked at me, at my deluge of words. I didn’t even try to read his expression because I was so focused on walking backward out of the room.
“You’re leaving?” He asked.
“Yep.” I threw my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to go now. And don’t worry about the experiment. I’ll come in over spring break and finish it up. And when I see you after the break, everything will be back to normal. We can forget that this ever happened. We shall never speak of it.” My voice cracked on the last word.
“Parker-”
“Have a really great spring break.”
“Kaitlyn-” He took two strides forward as though he were going to stop me; but he halted at the sound of crunching glass underfoot. He glanced at his feet, noticing for the first time the broken beaker on the floor. “What the hell?”
I seized the opportunity afforded by his split attention and bolted out of the room.
In fact, I ran down the hall like an insane person and slipped into the elevator just before it closed. I even jogged back to my dorm, didn’t begin to relax until I crossed the threshold of the keycard access area, climbed the three flights to my room, and locked the door behind me.
I tossed my bag to the corner of the tiny space, threw myself backwards on my bed, and rubbed my eyes with the base of my palms. The scene in the lab played over and over behind my closed eyelids—him touching me, kissing me, scratching the impossible itch.
It wasn’t until several minutes later that I realized I’d forgotten to tell him about the dastardly plot I’d overheard.
~END SNEAK PEEK~
Sneak Peek: Hearts of Fire
by L.H. Cosway, release date March 9, 2015
One
Jack and Lille met on a hill
I had a list.
I was trying to tick one thing off it, but I was having trouble convincing Shay to assist me. In the small Wexford town where I lived, there was only one tattoo parlour, and Shay Cosgrove owned and ran the place. He was several years older than me and I had a tiny crush on him, but that was another matter entirely.
Right now I was trying to convince him to give me a tattoo and he was having none of it.
“I’m sorry, Lille,” he said while crossing his tatted up, muscular arms across his chest and giving me a placid look, “but if I put ink on you your mother will have my guts for garters, and going up against Miranda Baker is not on my bucket list.”
“But getting a tattoo is on my bucket list, and I adore your work, and I don’t want to have to drive all the way into the city to get it done, and…”
He cut me off when he placed two fingers on my lips to shut me up. I swallowed and blinked, momentarily forgetting everything I was about to say because as I mentioned, I had a crush on him and his fingers were on my lips.
Gulp.
My eyes got all big and round and my breathing accelerated. Shay smirked knowingly as he withdrew his hand from my mouth. Smug bastard. The sad thing was, he was well aware of my crush but he found me about as attractive as a flat, lifeless piece of cardboard. All of the girls in this town fancied Shay, but he only went for the sexy, sassy hot chicks who were no doubt wild in the sack.
I was not sexy or sassy, and my clothing was as plain Jane as you could get (thank you, Mother), ergo, not hot.
I was the arty girl with her head in the clouds and it was not considered cool to be seen with me. In fact, it was considered the complete opposite of cool.
But I was an artist, just like him, so I thought we could bond over our shared loved of canvas and paint. That never happened. At best, Shay tolerated me. At worst, he wished I’d bugger off and quit pestering him with questions about tattoos.
How does the gun work?
What kind of ink do you use?
How often does the skin get infected?
Can I have a go of the gun?
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever tattooed on someone?
Is there such a thing as a degree in tattoo artistry?
So yeah, I was a question asker. Most evenings I’d find a reason to stop by the parlour and admire his drawings that were hung up all over the walls. I’d try to show him my own stuff, but he w
as disinterested.
Shay was into dark art, like Giger and Kalmakov.
I was into Pop art, like Warhol and Lichtenstein. I was all about colour.
Anyway, back to my list. It only contained ten items so far, and getting a tattoo was one of them. I’d designed it myself. It was a multi-coloured, paint splashed hot air balloon. I’d wanted to get the tattoo first, because most of the other items on my list were about having an adventure and breaking free. For me, nothing symbolised an adventure more than a hot air balloon.
Where would it bring you?
What would you do when you got there?
Who would you meet?
And since hot air balloon rides also had a chance of ending in disaster, I thought it was all the more appropriate. After all, there’s no point of an adventure if safety is guaranteed. The whole purpose is the unknown, the danger.
I craved it more than anything.
Shay went back to his sketching table, his back turned to me when he said, “I’m not doing the tattoo, Lille, so you might as well get going.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and headed for the door. Just before I stepped outside, I turned around and said, “If you’re afraid of someone as ridiculous as my mother, then you must work so hard on all those muscles to hide the fact that you’re a massive wimp, Shay Cosgrove.”
I sounded like a petulant child. Plus, I was being hypocritical, because if anyone was afraid of my mother it was me. Still, I felt the need to put Shay in his place. He thought he was so hip and cool, but really he was just a pretentious small town arsehole.
Wow, I think my crush just disappeared. Cowardice was a surprisingly big turn off.
“Lille,” he began in an annoyed tone, but I left before he could get the last word in. I had to get to work anyway. I muttered my annoyance to myself as I struggled up the hill to the restaurant. Everywhere in this town you were either going up a hill or down a hill. It was like whoever built it was having a good old joke on behalf of all future inhabitants.
While I was on my summer break from college, where I was studying for a degree in Business (at my mother’s behest), I was working part-time at a small restaurant in town. I was scheduled for the Sunday afternoon shift and the place would be packed with families having dinner. I liked this shift best because my boss, Nelly, let me do face painting for the kids while the parents enjoyed their meals.
On a normal day I was a waitress, but on Sundays I got to be an artist. Well, as much as turning little boys into Spiderman and little girls into fairies counted as being an artist. I especially liked it when the girls wanted to be Spiderman and the boys wanted to be fairies.
I was all for breaking the mould.
And I loved kids. In fact, I felt far more comfortable talking to five year-olds than I did talking to adults. Kids told you exactly what they were thinking. Adults said one thing when they really meant another entirely. It was confusing.
I had a hard time connecting with most people. My curiosity and endless questions tended to turn them off. Mum said I came across too eager, and that I had to work on being more aloof and unattainable, whatever that means. I thought on this as I went inside the restaurant and began to set up my face paints at an empty table by the door. I smiled as I heard several little girls squeal in delight when they saw me. I was known as the face painting lady around these parts and elicited much excitement in children.
I waved hello to Nelly who was standing by the service counter and then let my eyes drift over the patrons. I recognised all of the regulars, but two tables down sat an old woman and a young man I’d noticed a couple of days ago. They’d been in every day since, and caught my interest mainly because the woman must have been in her sixties and her hair was as red as a Coca-Cola can. She also wore about a hundred necklaces all tangled around her neck.
The man had long, wavy dark brown hair and brown eyes. His skin was tanned and he wore a battered old t-shirt. His equal battered brown fedora hat sat on the table in front of him. He reminded me a little of a sexy gypsy, though less of a My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding gypsy, and more of a Johnny Depp in Chocolat gypsy. He was tall, and his muscles made Shay’s look like puppy fat in comparison.
In other words, he was hot…and I was staring. I’d found myself staring at him a lot this past week, but never caught him staring back (much to my disappointment.) The woman he was sitting with caught my eye and gave me a mischievous wink. I smiled to myself and looked away. There was a queue of kids lining up to have their faces painted, so I tried to focus on my job rather than the odd couple sitting two tables down.
A little while later as I went to grab a glass of water, Nelly took me aside and asked, “See those two in there?”
I nodded.
“They’re from the circus, the one set up just outside of town. I think the woman is the owner. She’s a strange looking character altogether.”
I absorbed this information with another nod. I was well aware of the circus. In fact, tonight was its last show before it moved on, and I’d been saving up a little cash to go see it. My mind was awash with possibilities. I wanted to see clowns, elephants, lions and acrobats. I wanted to see it all. I’d asked my sometimes friend Delia if she wanted to come but she’d given me the brush off. I say “sometimes friend” because sometimes she ignores me, especially if her other friends are around. I think she really only tolerates me because my mum runs this big important tech company and she wants to get in good with the local highflying business woman.
I also think Delia has designs on my brother, Benjamin, which is why she hangs out with me. Really, I should be offended, but when you live in a small town in the south-east of Ireland, you kind of have to take what you can get in terms of friends.
As the evening wore on, most of the diners trickled out and the odd couple, as I’d started to refer to them in my head, were the only ones left in the restaurant. I was passing through the kitchen when John the cook had to run to the bathroom and asked me to keep an eye some eggs. I nodded and he hurried off. It was my own fault that I wasn’t paying proper attention, because I went to grab the handle and instead burned my hand on the side of the pan.
“Ouch!” I screeched loud enough to wake the dead. I held my hand to my chest, wincing at the pain. Half the inside of my palm was burned raw. A moment later both Nelly and the odd couple came rushing into the kitchen to see what the racket was about.
“What happened?” Nelly asked breathlessly.
I bit on my lip. “Burned my hand. Sorry about, uh, the screaming.”
“I thought an axe murderer had broken into the place,” Nelly said. “Come here and let me see.”
Taking a step toward her, I glanced at the dark haired man and his deep, almost black eyes were fixated on my hand. His face was unreadable.
“It’s okay, I’ll take care of this,” Nelly said, waving them both back outside. Now the man was staring into my eyes, and I got a little shiver down my spine, though it wasn’t unpleasant. They both went back to their table and Nelly put some burn cream onto my hand and wrapped it up. A few minutes later the restaurant door opened and a mother and daughter walked in. The little girl was eager to know if the face painting lady was still around. I mustered a smile and went to ask her what she wanted to be.
“A pirate,” she declared as she pulled herself up onto a seat in front of me.
“Oh, good choice!” I replied. Now I was thinking about Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. I had old Johnny on the brain today.
I drew a fake goatee onto the little girl, complete with an eye-patch and a red bandana. Then I took things a step further when I did a skull and crossbones on her cheek. When her mother came to get her, she didn’t look too pleased that I’d transformed her child into a hairy faced marauder, but I just shrugged. It was what she’d asked for.
“She looks like she wants to make you walk the plank,” a voice said just behind me. I turned to see the Coca-Cola haired lady standing there. Her accent was London cockney
at its finest and when she smiled she had a million wrinkles around her eyes. They weren’t ugly, though. They were beautiful, full of character and experience. I wanted to colour them in with every shade of the rainbow.
“Hmm, well, I am in the mood for a swim,” I replied humorously and her smile widened. A shadow fell behind her as she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a flyer for the circus before setting it down on the table in front of me. The shadow belonged to Mr Tall, Dark and Exotic. He stood there, unfathomable eyes on me, causing me to blush. All at once I felt sweaty, hot and strangely self-conscious. It was like his eyes were taking the sum total of my parts but I had no clue of the result he’d settled on.
The woman continued, “You should come see the show tonight, girly, it’s our last one.”
“I’d already planned to. I can’t wait,” I exclaimed, picking up the flyer and folding it into a neat square.
“I’ll wait for you outside, Marina,” said the man gruffly, his eyes meeting mine once more before he moved by us and walked outside. I watched him as he stopped, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up. His grey t-shirt showed the muscles in his arms and his tanned skin. Quite like Marina, I’d like to paint him, too, but for very different reasons.
I’d been surprised to hear his deep Dublin accent. I was expecting something…I don’t know, foreign. I heard Marina laughing and brought my attention back to her.
“If I were from the American south, I’d say he was a mighty ornery bastard,” she chuckled. “Never did manage to learn any social niceties, that one.”
I swallowed and couldn’t help but to ask, “Is he a part of the circus?”
“Oh yes, Jack’s a fire eater. He’s a big attraction with the ladies as you might guess. A pity he never mastered the art of charming them.”
Her words made me imagine Jack sitting at a dinner table, knife and fork in hand, ready to dig into a plate of fire.
“Oh, well, I suppose when you look like that, you don’t really need charm.” The words were out of my mouth before I had the chance to censor them, and Marina let out a loud guffaw of a laugh.
