“Where’s the race?” Carter asks, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the trunk. His dark eyes are trained on me as I walk the same line over and over.
“Ha,” I say. I change the subject as fast as I possibly can. “Aren’t you almost finished with school? What are you doing after?” I ask in between sips from the flask. The warm liquid bubbles down my throat, heating my blood in a way the walk just couldn’t.
“I’ve got a job lined up, thanks to my dad,” he says, the words grinding out. He tips his head back to look at the sky and pulls his mouth into a tight line.
I pause to watch him, his long body so damn tense. I should offer him my flask because, even though he seemed so damn sure that talking would solve things, I happen to know something harder can take the edge right off. Even if it is a Band-Aid fix.
“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask, watching the way his eyes narrow at my question.
“It is… and it isn’t. My dad’s connections already got me my internship, they’re basically handing me the job because of him, too. Who wants to get their first job because someone handed it to them, you know?” Carter rubs his palm along his stubbly cheek. Something I find myself wanting to do for him. To feel that roughness on my skin. “I want to prove to everyone who doubted me that I can do this. That I’m not just some screw-up with connections.”
“Right,” I agree. Though I have no idea how that feels. I’ve never really done anything on my own. My parents do everything for me, they’re good to me and provide for all my needs. Any problems I have in my life are byproducts of my own little stereotypical acts of rebellion.
Sadly, I’m a cliché and I know it. I don’t love thinking about that, so I keep walking a trench into the gravel-pitted dirt.
If Carter would just kiss me, I wouldn’t have to fill my need to move with pacing.
“How long have you and Quinn been friends?” Carter asks, subject hopping again. “I haven’t heard her talk about you before.”
I take a sip from the flask, then offer it to Carter before I answer. “Are you sure you don’t want some? We can talk and drink. And you were right. It really does help with the cold.”
“No thanks.” He sticks his hands deep in his pockets. I might be edgy, but I get the vibe he seriously disapproves of me and my liquor guzzling habits. I take an exaggerated sip and he raises an eyebrow before saying, “I’m driving.”
I feel a little blush on my face. Of course. Designated driver and all that. I try to jump back into our stilted conversation. “Friends? Quinn and I… I guess we’re new friends,” I say, unable to articulate the weirdness of our relationship.
“Really? That’s surprising. You guys were pretty rough on each other back there in the car. I usually only get away with talking crap like that with my oldest friends.” The way he looks at me shifts suddenly, like he’s waiting impatiently on my answer, like he actually gives a crap about what I’m going to say.
I remind myself it’s just more of the protective brother vibe on his part. Of course he wants to know more about his sister’s bad influence ‘friend.’
“I wasn’t serious about anything I said to her… I mean, the mean stuff—that was just a joke. It’s what we do.” I stop pacing and lean on the trunk of my car, a few inches away from him. I’m so close to him, I can smell the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave. “The truth is—”
I stop and stare up at the sky. The rain clouds have moved on, revealing a sprinkling of stars. It’s got to officially be Christmas by now. And the fact that we’re both here—relative strangers together on what is supposed to be a night shared with the people closest to you—makes my throat pinch tight and my eyes water.
“The truth is what?” Carter asks, but his voice is different. I can’t pretend this has to do with his obligation to Quinn as her brother, because the way he asks, the way he looks at me, lets me know I’m the one he’s thinking about right now. He reaches over and brushes the hair from my face. “Hey, what is it?” He tips my chin so that I’m looking at him.
I swallow hard and close my eyes, not wanting to untie the neat bow I have tied tight around my life and show any ounce of vulnerability. But, even though I know it’s a bad idea, I tell him anyway.
“The truth is that I wish I were more like Quinn.”
His lips curl into a slow smile that builds as I hold my breath, waiting on his next words. When he finally says them, my heart stops along with my lungs.
“I don’t.”
I shake my off the fluttery, warm feeling that floods me. I’m obviously in a weird place, reading too much into everything tonight. I’m totally blaming this on watching Quinn follow her heart and all that crap.
I stumble over words trying to explain myself and ignore the way his simple statement undid me.
“I mean how unapologetic she is about who she is. What she stands for. There’s no gray area with Quinn. There’s no pretense,” I say, breathing normally and even managing a nonchalant eyeroll.
Carter moves dangerously close to me and says, “Eh, I think we’ve all got our secrets.”
I shrug, because I’ve always been happy enough to keep mine wrapped in shiny paper for no one else to see. “I guess.”
“What’s your plan after graduation?” Carter’s looking at me like he can see right through my cool and casual front, so I lock down tighter.
Before I confess more crap I don’t need to tell a guy a hardly know.
“I’m not sure,” I say, and that’s all I say.
The truth is, my parents plan on shipping me off to a nice Christian university in some god-awful place like Idaho or something. I have no clue what I actually want to do, and haven’t had the nerve to break that to them yet. Next year—next year will be the year I stand up for myself.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Carter asks. His sturdy arms are crossed over his chest again, and he has this sexy/annoying look on his face, like he’s waiting to hear an honest answer from me.
Like he’s not buying my bullshit avoidance tactics.
“Want?” I pause my steps for the briefest of seconds because the thought of what I want is as exciting as it is terrifying. “I haven’t been asked that question in a long time.”
“Okay then, I’m asking you now. Shayna—” He pauses, because he doesn’t even know my last name.
“Gillan,” I offer feeling like sharing this one totally normal detail is revealing more than I’m comfortable with. Carter’s convincing me to go way outside my comfort zone tonight.
“Shayna Gillan,” he says, and I really dig the way my name rolls off his tongue, “what is your five year plan?”
“Wait, five years?” A laugh bubbles up from my throat. Five years? I don’t know where the hell I’ll be in five weeks. “I thought you just wanted to know where I was going to school?”
His grin is slow and hypnotizing. “No one said anything about school, doll. What do you want?”
“I want…” I swallow hard and bite my bottom lip to keep it from wobbling before I start again. “I want to find my own place. Not the place where my parents live, or the place where I go to college—I want to find my own place. Where I belong, you know?” It comes out rushed and leaves me feeling embarrassed before all the words are even out of my mouth.
Carter looks away and I think he whispers, “I do know…”
“Like, we moved around a ton when I was growing up,” I blurt out.
I should stop, I know I should stop, but I don’t. I just keep bulldozing all this information on top of a guy who didn’t know my last name three minutes ago.
“My dad is a minister and we did these mission trips all over the world before he became head of the mega church on Ninth. I never felt like I had settled in my real place. Something’s always gnawed at me, this feeling like I didn’t belong, you know? I want that more than anything. To belong, I guess. Not just to live somewhere or move somewhere. There’s probably a word for it, but the best way I can describe i
t is that I feel…”
“Almost like you’re homesick for a place you’ve never even been?” he finishes for me.
This time he’s speaking clearly—making a connection because we both feel it. Because we both know what it’s like to feel a way there isn’t even a word for.
And it feels so good to have someone understand, but it also scares the shit out of me. I want to tell him to stop looking so closely.
I want him to wrap me back up and retie the bow.
Instead I nod, and let the words keep tumbling out. Let all the layers of pretty paper crumple in his hand and fall to the floor, leaving me exposed. “For the longest time, I’ve felt like I needed to be different—better—not this—”
Carter reaches over and touches my lips with his thumb. “Don’t.” He shakes his head and his eyes are so intense, I have to look away. “Don’t let anyone feel like they can change you… or tame you. The wild spirit you have—that inability to sit still—that’s you.”
He says it with such fervor, I almost believe him.
“It’s exhausting,” I say, slumping against the car. “I’m just tired.”
Carter takes a step forward and leans into me, his weight pressing on my hip bones in the most delicious way. It’s what I’ve wanted him to do all night. Physical stuff I can handle. What throws me is the way he’s looking at me from under that thick row of lashes, the way that his mouth twitches—conflicted, like he’s fighting something inside of him, debating whether or not this closeness is the right thing.
I make the decision for him by pulling his face toward mine, crushing my mouth onto his, and then nipping at his bottom lip. He pushes his hands up my back and tangles them into my messy, blonde hair, tugging at it and pressing me closer into him. His mouth moves to my throat, where he kisses and licks before returning to my lips. I can’t help the tiny moan that escapes from my mouth into his.
And, for a moment, it feels the way it should: full of passion and free of thought. Free of all the underlying truth locked into that intense stare Carter was giving me. I let my hand drop to the button of his collared shirt and start working on loosening it, unwilling to pull my mouth from his.
But Carter’s willing to end it.
He jerks away from me, then shakes his head like he’s clearing a fog and says, “Wait.”
The space where he was just seconds before is now empty—it’s like seeing the sunshine from your window and dressing in your favorite cut-offs and tank top… only to walk outside and find that it’s actually thirty degrees.
Disappointing and frigid cold.
“Wait, what? Why? What’s wrong?” I ask, my mind still reeling. It’s embarrassing how much I want to be back in his arms.
Carter rubs his palm on his cheek, “We can’t do this. You and I—”
Oh. So, it’s me. All the warmth my body built up when we were grinding against each other seeps out, and I’m left feeling like I was carved from solid ice.
“Okay, I get it.” I nod, but I don’t understand at all.
How could someone who looked at me the way he has been looking at me all night shut down what was just happening between us?
I tip my flask, but it’s empty, furthering the disappointment that defines this night. I round the car, sobriety scratching at the edges of my brain like an annoying friend you run into and can’t claw away from fast enough.
Carter grasps at my arm just as I reach for the door handle. “It’s not… I’m not…”
“It’s fine. Really.” I wave him off.
It’s not fine. It’s humiliating.
“I’m not rejecting you, Shayna. I just…” He pinches at the bridge of his nose. “I can’t do this with you… right now,” he says. His eyes betray his words, though, as they linger on my neck. I can almost feel his mouth on my skin again, right at the place where my pulse is thumping wildly in my throat, like it’s begging him to come back to finish what he started.
Carter rips his eyes away from me and scrubs his hands over his face. When he looks my way, I expect more awkward explaining that I’m going to have to grit my teeth through. Instead he says, “We should get home.”
“Home,” I laugh. “To my God fearing parents who look at me like I’m a pariah? Fantastic.”
“I doubt that,” he says, and claps his mouth shut tight like he’s done, and I accept that. I watch for a few seconds, expecting him to walk back to the car. But he shakes his head and stomps toward me, all that crazy fire from before lighting his eyes back up. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re searching for something that doesn’t exist, Shayna?”
He asks it as a question directed at me, but the way he says it, he could just as easily be asking himself the same question—like maybe he’s hoping I have the answer to solve the puzzle for the both of us.
“Maybe we could just stay out here a little longer,” I say, carefully controlling my voice so I don’t sound as pathetic as I feel. I’m trying to deflect the serious tone of his voice, the eyes that stare into me in a way that sends goose bumps up my arms and onto the nape of my neck.
A look that’s far more intimate than anything I signed up for tonight.
“Shayna—” he starts.
“Maybe we could find something to do—”
Carter shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He leans in and his lips touch mine softly. It’s just a whisper of a kiss before he pulls away.
“Come on,” he says, never raising his eyes to meet mine. “I’m taking you home.”
When Carter drops me off, we have another awkward moment where he half pauses like he might say something else or maybe he’s thinking about kissing me—but he does neither.
Instead, after the weird moment has passed, I bolt from the car and up the walkway to my front door. I may as well be wearing those godforsaken black heels of Quinn’s, based on how well this evening turned out. A couple of hours ago I thought she was the stupidest girl alive for feeling so insecure, but now I find myself walking the same walk.
There are a few cars in the driveway that I recognize from my parents’ Bible study group. They always meet at midnight on Christmas Eve. I don’t want to go in. But I can’t go back out, with Carter or without him. I’m too drunk to drive.
“Wait!” I spin around, holding one finger up. My voice is too loud for the holy quiet of this night, and Carter rushes over with a half-panicked look in his eyes. “That’s my car. You take it home, and I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“No that’s okay. My parents’ place isn’t far. Besides, a little walking sounds good about now.” He’s trying to make eye contact with me, but I won’t give in. I feel too humiliated.
“Okay,” I say. My muscles tense up, and I hold in a breath as he reaches for me.
Carter gently takes my clenched hand from my side, pries my fingers open, and presses my keys into my palm.
“Thanks for spending Christmas Eve with me, Shayna,” he says, and his voice clips my name short. I think for a second he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead he dips his head low and kisses me lightly on the forehead.
I want to thank him back. I want to tell him how nice it was to spend time with someone who feels so many of the same things as I do for once in my life. I want to tell him how trapped I’ve been feeling and ask if he ever feels alone even in a room full of people he knows love him. I want to whisper every secret worry I brush off around everyone else, the worries that keep my stomach in knots and rob me of sleep every night.
“Yeah,” is all I can manage.
I feel stupid. I feel like I let my guard down and gave Carter a glimpse of the naive little girl inside, and now I’ll never hear from him again.
I know that and know my own vow to never come off as one of those desperate types: so why am I already trying to devise a stalkerish plan to get his number from Quinn so that I can text him to apologize for tonight? Since when do I care if I get a phone call the next day or ever hear from a guy again?
Besides that,
nothing even happened.
But there’s a question that won’t stop gnawing at me. How can one night where so little happened turn into this much distraction?
I sure as hell don’t feel like going into the house and playing nice with my parents’ church friends.
All I want to do is forget tonight happened.
And I know just how to disconnect from it all.
I sneak around back and slip into the pool house, where I pull down the bottle of Fernet my parents keep in the liquor cabinet for guests. I take a few sips of the cough-syrup-like blend. It nearly chokes me up, but I manage to keep it down because it’s for such a good cause.
All by myself I lift the bottle, toasting the holiday, the beauty of being an independent woman instead of some lovesick ass, and try to ignore how incredibly sad the whole thing really is.
After a few more swigs, I spend a few minutes looking for slippers to replace my high heels, then flip through magazines and comb the place for snacks. My eyelids are heavy, and my body aches with that kind of exhaustion that leaves your eyes gritty and your body feeling hollow. The day has been too long, but there are still lights on in the house. To get to my room, or even the guest room, I have to pass through my parents’ get together. I glance down at my padded, white cotton slippers and decide I can do it. I just have to be quiet.
Two steps into the house and I fail at my mission by tripping over our dog’s food bowl. The bowl that has been in the same place since we got Trixie eight years ago.
The stainless steel dish flips three times before crashing down and sending bits of dog food to every corner of the port stone floor.
“Christ,” I mumble under my breath.
“Shayna?” My mom’s voice echoes down the hall.
I pull myself upright and try to decide what the likelihood is that I can make it past my parents and their guests and then up to my room without anyone seeing me. Maybe I could hide out in the coat closet until they’ve all left.
Instead, my alcohol-fuzzy brain tells me that I’ve totally got this, and I stumble into the living room in my party dress and terry cloth slippers.
Friend Is a Four Letter Word Page 2
