by Lux,Vivian
Me: Sorry. But it wasn't as bad as you think.
Pepper: It's always as bad as I think. Crowds, dancing, people yelling 'woo!' Ugh. Kill me.
Me: There was that. But...
I paused for a second. Should I tell her? It all depended on what kind of day Pepper was having. Was this one of her good ones? Or had today been one of those black ones where her demons ate her up from the inside out?
There was only one way to find out.
Me: But there was also this girl.
Pepper: Yeah?
She was interested. Today must have been one of the good days.
Me: Yeah. I got her number.
And I really want to use it now, Pep, so... wrap it up.
Pepper: Don't go falling in love with her, now.
I blinked at my phone. I had never been in love, what the fuck was she talking about?
Me: What???
Pepper: You fall in love like it's your fucking job, Woe. Don't get your heart broken.
I had literally no idea what she was talking about. If this had been a conversation with anyone else, I would have just turned off my messages and ignored this warning. But Pepper? Pepper knew me. Better than I knew myself sometimes. And if she was warning me about something, then I needed to find out what that something was.
Me: I do not fall in love like it's my job.
The little indicator dots blinked for about a century before she finally replied. I stared at my phone, wishing like hell that she'd hurry up. I was far more irritated than made sense.
Pepper: Okay well whatever, tough guy.
Pepper: Maybe you don't actually love them, but you want them to love you and isn't that kind of the same thing?
I sagged back against the bricks again. We'd had this conversation before. Or rather, I would have the one-sided version of it, protesting loudly, telling her that she was wrong, that the reason that the last chick didn't work out had nothing to do with what Pepper was insinuating. That I hadn't pushed that girl away at all, that she had gone willingly, mutual decision, ended things like adults...
And Pepper would sit there stone-faced, arms crossed, with one eyebrow raised to let me know that she didn't believe a word of t.
Me: It's not even close to the same thing.
Me: What you're saying isn't even close to being true.
Me: Just because
I swore when my finger slipped and I hit send instead of delete. I started typing, hoping to catch her before she replied, but she was way too fast.
Pepper: Just because what???
Fuck.
Me: Nothing.
Pepper: Bullshit.
Me: Well if you already assume you know....
Pepper: Just because I don't give a shit if people like me doesn't mean you have to be the same way? Is that what you're saying?
Me: It's beyond that, Pep.
Me: You tell yourself you don't give a shit if people like you as a defensive maneuver to protect yourself in case they actually don't.
Pepper: Oh look at you!
Pepper: You actually paid attention in therapy.
Pepper: Congratu
Pepper: fucking
Pepper: lations.
My heart tweaked. Old anger. Old regret. Old hurt that seemed like it would live inside of me always, no matter how many years went by. Regret was part of my DNA.
If we were talking in person I could say it gently. Fold her into a hug and reassure her. But over text message, there was no way to say it other than to just say it.
Me: Maybe you should have too.
Her reply was just as swift and brutal as I expected.
Pepper: Fuck OFF Lowell.
But I wouldn't and she knew it. I would never stop taking care of my sister. It was my job. Even when she refused to take care of herself.
Me: Have you been going?
Pepper: Fuck you. Seriously.
Me: You know I'm just going to keep bothering you.
Pepper: Yeah. You're annoying as hell.
I couldn't help but needle her.
Me: Yeah, I know. I just want you to love me.
Pepper: Too late, asshole. I officially hate you.
Me: Love you too, sis. Go to bed, you're a bitch when you don't get enough sleep.
Pepper: I'm always a bitch, Lowell. Have a good night. Don't stay up too late flirting with your mystery girl.
I sent her a poop emoji, just for the hell of it, and then shoved my phone back in my pocket. The time would come one day when Pepper could stand on her own two feet. When she wouldn't need her twin to act as her ambassador to the world. When that day came, I wasn't sure how I would feel. Relief, for sure.
But also adrift. Pepper was my anchor. And I was her sail. Not too many people understood us. They thought it was weird that I - a grown-ass man, living on his own - would drop everything when my sister needed me. Chicks, in particular, seemed to view Pepper with a mixture of pity and jealousy.
Had my sister messed up my past attempts at landing a steady chick? Sure. But she never meant to. Pepper wasn't malicious that way, though that was hard to keep in mind when she was screaming at you and flipping you off. More than one girl had given me an ultimatum. Said it was her or Pep. Demanded that I cut off all contact with my crazy sister. That was always my cue to end things.
With the girl.
And the funny thing was, they always seemed confused. And then they'd get offended that I'd choose my blood - the only family I had left, my fucking shared DNA - over steady pussy.
As if my loyalty made me less of a man.
If I wanted to start something with Zoe, and I did, here was no reason to think that things would end any differently. No one ever stayed in my fucked up life for long.
Pepper was the type of person to look at these odds and say why even try?
But me? I always tried. Because the allure of being happy with someone, even for just a little while, was just too much for me to resist.
I took my phone back out of my pocket. It was well past one AM, and she probably wouldn't even reply until the morning... if at all... but I had to reach out.
Me: If you're already asleep, then I hope you have a good night. If this woke you up, then I'm sorry. And if you're waking up tomorrow morning to see this on your phone, then good morning. I hope you had as much fun tonight as I did.
I stared at my phone for a beat, then tucked it into my pocket, shoved my hat on my head and walked through the crowd back to Neal. As we pulled away, I saw my face on the banner at the front of the club reflected in the rearview. As it receded in the distance I sighed with relief and leaned my head back on the seat. The half-drunken adrenaline started to ebb, and the heaviness of sleep began to take its place.
Then my text message beeped and my adrenaline surged once more.
Zoe: Hi.
I scrambled to reply, suddenly all thumbs.
Me: Hi.
I was a fucking poet, that's for sure.
She sent a smile emoji. Then
Zoe: I like that picture you sent me.
I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my kneecaps. "Neal, drive around the block, would you?" I called to the front.
"Sure, Low," he replied. I grinned that we'd moved past 'sir'.
Me: Me too.
Zoe: Why'd you send it?
I licked my lips. The corner of my mouth still tingled where her lips had grazed it.
Me: So you could see how beautiful you look when I'm kissing you.
Me: I'd like to recreate it. But this time someplace we can be alone.
She sent a smiley face. Then a wink.
Zoe: You didn't want to save it for blackmail?
I leaned back in the seat. It had been a long time since a simple text conversation was enough to get me hard.
Me: I thought we established that clothes needed to be off for blackmail?
There was a long pause. I waited, hoping I hadn't offended her. Maybe now that the drunken high had worn off she was regretting le
tting things go as far as they had between us? Maybe she was realizing that the guy in the ad was nothing like the guy in real life?
A picture came through. Creamy skin rising in a soft curve. Holy shit. A dark cleft. Fuck me. I drank it in, my heart racing.
Me: What's this?
Zoe: It's whatever you think it is.
Me: I'm choosing to believe it's very naughty.
Zoe: Then it is.
Me: Naughty girl.
I inhaled sharply and looked more closely.
The cleft was wrong, the rise a sharper angle.
The picture finally sorted itself in my brain and I laughed out loud.
Me: Naughty girl sending me pictures of her naughty kneecap.
She sent a laughing emoji.
Zoe: Darn, I thought I fooled you.
Me: You had me going for a moment.
Me: What am I saying? You've had me going since I met you.
Me: Send me something else.
Another expanse of creamy skin. A slight rise....
This time, I was on to her.
Me: Wrong cheek.
She sent another laughing emoji.
Zoe: Your turn. Send me something.
Zoe: And not a dick pic or I swear to god I will never talk to you again.
I thought for a moment. I was hard as hell, but somehow that didn't seem sexy enough, intimate enough for a girl like her. I reversed the camera. And snapped the picture.
Me: How's that?
Chapter 9
Zoe
His eye. He sent me a close-up of his eye.
The warmest amber. The color of pinesap or burnished cherrywood. A slight turn at the edge making them catlike. The crinkle at the corner where it lifted with his lazy grin.
Fuck. Me.
In five hours, Max would be awake and be demanding his Froot Loops. If I had any sense at all, I would stop wasting precious sleep-time hours sexting with a guy I had only just met a few hours ago.
The opposite of your gut reaction.
Tonight I'd gotten this far by ignoring my better judgment. The shell was covered in tiny, hairline fractures. Now was not the time to crawl further back inside.
Fine. Fuck it. I'll sleep when I'm dead. I got up, switched on my light and sat down at the edge of my bed. I stared at the picture of Low's eye, studying it like an ancient tome. My finger went to the screen, delicately tracing its outline, and I accidentally swiped right.
Right back to the last picture he sent me.
The kiss that wasn't.
I stared at it for a moment, and my finger went to my lip, unbidden, wanting to feel him touch it again. The feeling still lurked under my skin, like an itch that still needed to me scratched. As I stared at the picture, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the screen.
And that gave me an idea.
I turned the camera on again and switched it to selfie mode. For once, the sight of myself in the camera didn't make me want to cringe. I pulled my phone in until my lip filled the whole frame. And then touched it again.
The flash went off.
Quickly, before I could second guess anything... before the warm feeling that spread across my stomach could dissipate... I sent it to Low.
Then I threw the phone across my bed and stared at the ceiling.
And smiled.
I was flirting with a rock star.
I resisted the urge to pump my fist.
Then I gave in.
I jumped to my feet and wiggled, shaking my ass in a circle, bouncing like a kid on her birthday. And as I did, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror that sat on top of my vanity that I'd had since I was six years old. I walked over and peered at my reflection.
I was smiling, flushed...pretty?
Yes.
Sadfat be damned, I looked on the outside like how I felt on the inside and that hadn't been true in a long time.
My phone buzzed and I smiled even wider, then dove across my bed.
Low: I'm saving these. You okay with that?
I thought for a moment.
Me: Why?
Low: Because if I never see you again, I want a record of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
I licked my lips again, feeling that heat in my belly spread outward to my limbs, heavy and languid.
Me: You're gonna see me again.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Another picture.
The curve of his lips in a wide, beautiful smile.
*****
Max was far too big for the seat in the shopping cart, but the only other option was to set him down and pray he wasn't going to bolt down the aisle of the grocery store and slam into something.
I'd played that game before.
"Get your legs in, bud," I grunted, heaving his fifty- pound-body into a space meant for a two-year-old.
Once he sat down, he smiled at me. I smiled back, pressing my lips together to hide my yawn. He knew the drill. Grocery shopping was one of our things. I pushed the cart, he pulled things down from the shelves. He knew exactly where everything was. We had this down to a science.
Which meant I could let my mind wander.
I reached into my purse, my fingers closing around my cell phone, wanting to scroll through the pictures from last night for the billionth time.
At the last minute, I pulled my hand away. If Max saw my phone, he'd want it and I'd never get it back.
"Okay bud," I smiled instead. "Let's go get some avocados."
"Let's go get some 'cados," he echoed, pointing in the direction of the produce section. I pushed the cart, humming a little. I was wearing a maxi skirt, instead of sweatpants, and even though it was the same kind of stretchy material, I still felt more dressed up, more put together. The way it swished around my ankles made me smile.
Everything was making me smile today. I didn't even mind that an old man was standing in front of the avocados, staring into space like he had never seen a fruit before.
"'Cados," Max said impatiently.
The old man turned and looked surprised, then smiled at me.
It was only then that I realized I had just been grinning away in the produce section like some kind of loon.
"Hey there, sport," he called to Max. "You're a big boy. How old are you?"
In an instant, my happy little haze cleared up. Interactions with strangers. Never a good thing. "How old are you?" I prompted Max.
Max twisted his body completely around, turning his back on the old man.
I smiled apologetically. "He's shy. He's five."
The old man stepped around into Max's field of vision. Max immediately twisted away. His face was starting to scrunch up, and my blood pressure began to rise. "What's your name, son?" the old man pressed.
"Max, say hi," I prompted.
"No!" my brother bellowed, slamming his hands over his ears. "No hi! Don' wanna say hi!"
The old man stepped back and then gave me such a withering look of disapproval that I wanted to deck him. Instead, I jumped to the side, snatched up four avocados without checking them for ripeness and threw three in the cart. "Here Max," I said brightly. "How many avocados?"
"No!" Max shouted, and smacked the avocado out of my hand. It hit the floor with a dull, wet, smacking sound and exploded overripe green goo all over the hem of my skirt.
"Oh for fuck's sake," I whispered.
"Fuck!" Max picked up. "Oh fuck sake! Oh fuck sake!"
The old man looked like he was ready to dial Child Protective Services. I stepped over the avocado, cheeks flaming, and resisted the urge to flee to the door. Instead, I held my head high and chanted soothing nonsense to Max as he rocked violently side to side in his seat. "Okay buddy. We're fine. We're good. We're just going to go. It's okay. I know. I know buddy. You're fine. You're okay. Everything's okay."
Once inside the car, Max allowed me to placate him with a pack of fruit snacks and some water. I strapped him into his seat and slipped into the driver's seat feeling like I had a hangover.
My fingers closed around my phone again and this time, I didn't resist the compulsion. I flipped through the pictures, and my pulse started racing for a different reason.
Then my phone buzzed.
Scarlett: Embarrassing, yeah. But also, kind of cool too, right?
I clicked on the attachment and my heart stopped.
It was the ad. Low stared out at me, with those eyes, those lips, that jaw. I didn't even see the half-naked girl writhing on top of him. All I saw was the look...the look he gave her.
The one he'd given me.
I had a record of that look now saved in my photo album and I could see it any time I wanted.
I could see him any time I wanted.
And suddenly, meltdown be damned, I was smiling again. I threw the car into drive, nearly crashing into the cart I had left sitting in the space next to us. I looked over at the cart and realized I had pretty much stolen the three avocados. Blushing all the harder, I drove my brother home.
Chapter 10
Low
The wired drummer...
...restlessly tapping....
...twitchy and high-strung...
Whenever the band was profiled, I'd only warrant a line or two about my inability to sit still. If the writer even bothered to mention me at all.
On the morning after a party like that, if my bandmates were even awake at all, they'd be moving carefully, glacially, fearful of stirring up their raging hangovers.
I woke up, popped three Advil and went for a run.
The only concession I made to my aching head was to go only six miles instead of the usual ten. And as usual, I did this without coffee.
I always swore my body produced caffeine naturally.
Once I was back in the one-bedroom condo I'd called home for the last six months, I took my usual ice-cold three-minute shower, then wolfed down some leftover Chinese for breakfast.
I then folded my long body onto my too short couch, turned on my gaming console, cranked my sound system up to blaring and prepared myself for a long session of high-octane zombie ass-kicking.
This was my version of relaxing.
I'd played this game a million times before, so I knew exactly where the zombies were hiding. I could probably make these headshots in my sleep, which was practically what I was doing. My lids kept closing, heavier and heavier...
