Good Intentions (Welcome to Paradise) (Volume 2)

by S. L. Scott

  “I’m sure you do,” he says, turning to the side to face me, but disregarding my reasoning.

  “Well, thank you for the drinks.”

  “My pleasure.” His cocky smirk briefly reminds me of Evan, and our gaze connects a beat longer than I’m comfortable with.

  I turn to go, but suddenly I feel guilty for letting him buy our drinks and for walking away, so I stand there awkwardly debating between walking away and staying at the bar.

  Ryan laughs and asks, “Do I make you nervous, Mallory?”

  “Um.” I look up at him, and lie, “No. I should get Sarah her drink though. Thanks again… for the drinks.”

  He raises his beer into the air. “Anytime.”

  Fortunately, he doesn’t follow me back to the table where some unwelcome company has joined us. I hand Sarah her drink and slide back onto the barstool next to her. I ignore him. “Ryan bought our drinks,” I tell her as if no one else is around.

  “Really? That certainly was nice of him. I wonder…” she says, tapping her chin playfully “…why?”

  “I know what you’re doing or should I say inferring? I’m not interested in him, Sar. I’m off the market and Evan will be here in four months. I’m sure he’ll visit before then.”

  “I wasn’t saying you should date him. I just think he likes you, is all.”

  “You’re really just going to ignore me, Mallory?”

  I hear an annoying asshat saying my name like he still has a right to do so. I sip my drink and continue to ignore Will.

  He huffs in frustration, then whines, “Why do you hate me so much?”

  That comment gets my insides boiling instantly. “Are you serious? You’re fucking serious right now?” I stand, pointing my finger at him.

  His head moves back abruptly—a bit meek and a lot worried. “Yes.” At least he looks a little afraid.

  Just when I’m about to lay into him, Ryan steps between us, and says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why do you let this guy get to you?”

  I look up into Ryan’s eyes, which are about one foot higher than my own. I don’t understand what he’s trying to accomplish. He’s all mysterious and kind to me, but yet he’s friends with him. That makes no sense. But my brain finally catches on. This is a set-up. Will is probably trying to pull a trick, a ruse on me. He probably set this whole good cop, bad cop or in Will’s case, Stupid cop, act up. Well, I’m not falling for it!

  “I know what you two are up to and you can forget about it. I’m two steps ahead of you, which coincidentally looks a little something like this.” I walk toward the door while gulping the rest of my drink on the way. I set the glass down on a nearby table and push the door wide open.

  The chilly night air blasts me and I shiver, but I still move forward, stepping out onto the sidewalk. I pull my emergency cigarette from my back pocket and bum a light from some guy smoking against the brick building. I’ve been carrying it around, just in case, this entire past week. I thought I’d kicked the habit when I returned home since I couldn’t smoke for the week at my parents’ house, but with the stress of Will, and Ryan, and missing Evan, I greedily inhale, enjoying the feel of relief it gives me.

  I’m about a block away from The Sink when Ryan runs up from behind and grabs me by the arm. “Hey, Mallory, stop! I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

  Standing there with a hand on my hip and the other one holding my savior stick, I ask, “Really? Well, what’s the real deal here?”

  “Deal with what?”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  He looks confused, squinting his eyes until they are almost closed. “What? I can’t be nice to you without harboring ulterior motives?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” I cross my arms and tap my foot for added effect.

  His hands go up in surrender. “If you don’t want to be friends,” he says, but hesitates. “Okay. We won’t be friends, but it seems to make sense to me because we’re working on this project together and we have some friends in common—”

  “Will is no friend of mine. He’s an asshole!”

  “I stand corrected.” When he says stuff like that—a little formal and a little sarcastic—he also reminds me of Evan.

  I drop my head, looking down at my phone at the thought of Evan; the picture of us so prominently displayed.

  “I didn’t expect you to be a smoker.” Ryan is quieter, curious.

  “I don’t. Uh, well, I didn’t. Sometimes I smoke, usually when I’m stressed. You don’t know me well enough to know things like that about me.”

  “I was kind of hoping I’d get the chance to know you better.” He points down at my phone and asks, “Who’s that? Is that your boyfriend?”

  Looking back up, I nod. “Yeah, his name is Evan.”

  “Where does he go to school?”

  With that one question, he built a little trust with me, and that is how my relationship went from basically non-existent to friendly with Ryan.

  Sitting politely at the table, I wait for my dishes to be cleared before I squirm. I want out of here, but I promised my mother I would stay through the meal, especially a meal that cost fifteen hundred dollars a plate. At least it goes to support the arts, The Metropolitan Opera specifically, so it’s all good.

  I suffer, listening to two different speakers, and crave a fucking cigarette. I want one so bad that it’s becoming painful. I’m antsy and fidgeting with the tablecloth when Kate touches my hands to still them. I thought I kicked the bad habit in Hawaii, Mallory and I both did. Now, here I am with cravings again.

  Right before I stand up, I whisper to the other guests seated at the table, “Excuse me, please.” I hurry out the double doors in the corner and make my way toward the exit. I walk a block down and buy a box of my old favorites then head back to the hotel where the ball is being held. As soon as I find a protected spot from the wind, I light up.

  Closing my eyes, I enjoy the basic sensation of this small pleasure—inhaling deeply— and ignore the burn in my chest that reminds me of how long it has been since I smoked.

  “Mind if I bum one off you?” A female voice gets my attention.

  Turning to see, a woman is walking closer. She’s older than me, maybe ten years or more, but looks fantastic for any age. She’s wearing a bright purple dress that fits her curves like a second skin and is wearing heels that not only let you know she’s quite confident, but also lets you know exactly what she wants. I can bet money that she wears them to seduce men. I admit the woman is a knock-out.

  Leaving the cigarette between my lips, I reach into my pocket to retrieve the pack, but she takes the one from my mouth and brings to her lips. I watch, fascinated, as she takes it between her fingers and blows the smoke to the side of my face. “Thanks,” she says, almost purring. “Brrrr!” She shivers. “Do you mind if I borrow your jacket until we’re done here?”

  “Done? I didn’t know we’d started.” My eyes are focused on hers, my old confidence kicking in—a hunter and its prey. The only difference between the cliché and my life is the prey doesn’t usually invite you to attack, but my prey does. I’ve always had a hard time saying no, especially to a pretty lady in need of a non-committal good time.

  I take my jacket off and place it around her shoulders as she takes another drag. She brings the cigarette back to my mouth, her fingertip brushing against my bottom lip. Something tells me if I take her up on this one seemingly innocent gesture that it might lead to bigger offers and I can’t allow myself to be tempted. Not anymore. I respond by saying, “I’m done, are you ready to go back inside?”

  “Done?” She asks, “I thought we were just getting started?”

  “I need to get back.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Chills shiver down my spine as she tosses the cigarette onto the street and slips her arm around mine, though I hadn’t presented it to her. I need to get my jacket back from her anyway and it would be rude to demand it back on the street.

  When we
enter the reception area of the ball, the event photographer stops us, and quickly snaps a picture.

  She removes her arm from mine, and I ask for my jacket back by eyeing it. “I might, um, need that back.”

  “I was hoping you’d want it back in the morning, maybe say after a night at my place?”

  In the past, my body would have definitely reacted, but my brain knows that’s wrong, knowing I’ll lose Mallory if my body wins this battle.

  Just the thought of her name brings her face into focus in my mind—Mallory smiling, Mallory laughing, Mallory coming undone beneath me.

  “My apologies, but I’ll have to pass, though I appreciate the offer.” I don’t appreciate it. She doesn’t hesitate handing my jacket back to me either. She doesn’t even seem upset by the rejection, but I still feel awkward.

  I pull my jacket back on and Kate appears with her perfect timing. “I’ve been looking for you, baby bro.”

  We both look at the lady from outside, and Kate gives the complete head to toe onceover before saying, “Mother wants a family photo taken.”

  Relieved by the excuse to leave, I add sarcastically, “Oh, yes, we must get a family photo.” I look back to the lady in purple, and politely make my exit. “You’ll excuse me…” It should be a question, but I don’t want that option out there.

  “Stop by and see me before you leave. I’d love to formally introduce myself, Mr. Ashford, maybe for some future business.”

  I smile and nod politely, tucking my hands in my pockets and follow Kate across the room.

  We make it to the hall that leads to the restrooms before she turns on her heel and asks, “What the fuck was that and how does she know who you are?”

  I roll my eyes and take her by the arm. “It was nothing. And I have no idea how she knew my name, but she needed a cigarette and then got—”

  “That cougar was looking for more than a cigarette, Evan. That photo is gonna hit the Met’s website before this party is even over.” She stands on her tiptoes to look for my parents. When she spots them, she says, “Listen, you don’t have to fall into the old trappings of this place. Do what you have to do for the business, but don’t lose focus of your heart either.”

  I shake my head in understanding. Stay focused. Stay focused. Stay focused. I’ve been so wound up the last two weeks that I really need to relieve some stress when I get back to the apartment, but I usually relieve stress with sex. Before my sexcam time with Mallory, I hadn’t masturbated in a long time, maybe even years. I hadn’t had a need to, but I’m thinking I’m going to become very friendly with my right hand again.

  Looking down at my phone, I want so badly to press the button that brings me my salvation, but I shouldn’t. Kate is right. Mallory needs to enjoy her time in college and a night out with her friends.

  I tuck my phone back into my pocket and join my sister and parents across the room, posing for the fake happy family photos we’re so used to imitating.

  “You want to grab some coffee?” Ryan asks, pointing at the all-night coffee shop we’re currently standing in front of. “You can tell me all about your boyfriend. Trust me. I only want to be your friend, Mallory.”

  My dad always says, ‘Never trust anyone who says trust me.’ But like many things in life, sometimes you have to go off instinct. I think Ryan is being genuine and I’m willing to trust him because I don’t want to be one of those cynical girls who thinks every guy is only trying to have sex with them. He’s asking about Evan, for God’s sake. “All right.”

  Inside the cozy shop, I order a decaf caramel latte and he orders coffee, black. I note another thing he has in common with Evan. After getting our mugs, we find two leather chairs in the corner window and settle into them.

  We start with the usual talk about our majors and why he transferred his senior year. Ryan took two semester course loads this past summer. That’s where he met Will, and has a very full year scheduled to make up for lost credits. By transferring now, he’ll get preferential treatment when he applies for the Masters program here. He’s very driven, which is something I admire in a person.

  I tell him about growing up in Colorado and he asks me how I ended up in Hawaii this past summer. This conversation leads to Sunny, ending up on Evan. Through another cup of coffee, I tell Ryan about Evan working in New York for his family and how he’s coming here for the spring semester. His face doesn’t seem to give way to anything but sincerity. This relieves me because I’ve really enjoyed chatting with him. It’s been easy, which is something that seems opposite of what I’ve been through lately.

  He leans toward me, resting his forearms on his thighs, and asks, “So, it’s pretty serious with this surfer?”

  “Yes, and he’s more than just a surfer.”

  He sits back, crossing his ankle over his other knee. “That’s cool. I was in a serious relationship that ended last spring.”

  “What happened?”

  “The standard ‘It’s complicated’ applies here, but simplified. She had her own thing going on and I was moving here. It seemed like the best thing to do especially with the distance between us.”

  This makes me think of me and Evan. How can it not? I look down at my cup and swirl the coffee aimlessly around wondering how the ball is going. I’ve never been to a ball and I wonder if we have differences that might be more insurmountable than initially thought.

  “You know, I didn’t mean to imply anything about your relationship,” Ryan says. “I’m sure you and Evan will make it. I was telling you what happened to me, nothing more.”

  “Oh, I know. Evan and I are solid,” I say, backing what I want to believe is true.

  Ryan stands, offering me his hand and help up from the well worn leather chair. “We should probably get going. Believe it or not, I have to work on a paper tonight.”

  Now this surprises me. “You’re going to do homework after drinking?”

  “I only had one beer and that was hours ago. It’s just past midnight. Still early.”

  “Time flew.” I accept his assistance and take him by the hand.

  “Because we were having fun.” He pulls me up, putting us face to face, our bodies close.

  His hand still holds mine. Finally, something tangible that isn’t similar to Evan—no intensity, or tingles, no feeling, but friendship. Evan and I share a spark that can’t be replicated.

  I drop his hand and say, “Yeah, I guess we did.” I cradle my arms across my chest as a breeze blows down the street.

  “I’ll walk you home…for safety and all,” he says, chuckling.

  We talk about his paper and a little about the project due for our class.

  Outside my apartment, I turn to face him, and say, “This is me.” I pause, recognizing this situation as eerily close to the end of a first date. Guilt washes over me as I unlock my door, ready for the awkwardness to be over. “Thanks. I had a good time. Good luck with that paper and I’ll see you on Monday.” I hurry inside.

  I’m about to close the door when I hear him say, “Goodnight, Mal—” I shut the door and stand on my tiptoes to peek out the peephole. His face is scrunched in confusion, but then he smiles directly at me, giving me a little wave before walking away.

  The embarrassment would normally send me sliding down the door into a pool of humiliation for being busted peeking, but I’m on a mission, so after locking the door, I rush to my room. I fire up my laptop and change into my night clothes. As soon as the programs load, I press the chat icon to see if Evan’s online, but he’s not. Should I call him? It’s late there, almost three in the morning. What if he’s sleeping? I don’t want to wake him. I huff and rest my head in my hands and stare at the blank text screen.

  I really want to talk or see him, to hear how his night was, and to tell him about mine. I make an on the spot decision—a decision that I shouldn’t follow through with and that will probably haunt me the rest of the semester. I do something I have never done to someone I know. I do an online search for Evan Ashford. Seeme
d innocent enough when I came up with the idea, but when page after page of results appear on the screen about him and his family, I can’t help feeling like I’ve opened Pandora’s Box.

  Despite my regrets, the top link catches my immediate attention. I click on the image and there’s a picture of Evan from tonight in his tuxedo with some woman draped on his arm like she belongs there. My heart sinks as I stare at the photo, analyzing every detail of it—the way she’s wearing his tux jacket and how her arm is interlaced with his. Her head is angled toward him and the look in her eyes is like they just shared something private.

  I can use the anger, the hurt, and the pain that’s invading my body to help protect my heart and attempt to be strong, but there is no logic to be found in the moment, so I cry instead.

  Through my tears, I see his face staring back at mine, frozen on the screen. I can’t read his expression and that makes me feel worse. And though I know I shouldn’t, I call him anyway. My heart hurts and I miss him so much. This photo sends me over the edge. I need to hear his voice and right now have lost all respect for the late hour.

  Taking my phone in hand, I push his number, waiting for him to answer while I slip under my covers, burrowing in for protection from the outside world.

  “Hi, baby,” he whispers.

  I attempt to stop the tears, but fail. “Evan, I miss you so fucking much.”

  “What’s wrong?” His voice is louder this time and he sounds worried.

  “So much is wrong. I don’t know if I’m strong enough—”

  “Strong enough for what, Mallory? You’re freaking me out.”

  “I need to be with you. I need you here.”

  I hear his breath intake, loud and deep. “I want to be with you, too.”

  “This isn’t a want situation, babe. It’s a need. This is all wrong. Everything is wrong without you. I thought being back to my routine here in Colorado would make things easier, but when I was talking to Ryan, he said him and his girlfriend broke up because—”

  “Who’s Ryan?” He asks as a question, but I could swear it more of an exclamation.