by Mary Frame
“Schemes?” Dean asks.
“Oh yes, she decided one day that poor Mickey who runs the animal control center was abusing the animals and she convinced one of her friends to help her sneak in and set them all free.” She makes a tsking sound. “Took poor Mickey and the shelter volunteers two days to round all of them up again.”
“Well, they were keeping them in little cages,” I attempt to defend myself.
“It’s a no-kill shelter. Those animals would die out in the woods on their own.”
“I was six! I didn’t understand those things.”
She pats me on the hand. “You’ve always been a lover. Animal lover, people lover. Always wanting to help others. It’s why your name is so fitting.”
“Her name?” Dean asks.
“Freya. The Norse goddess of love,” Mom tells him.
“Ah.”
“She’s also associated with war and death,” I add.
“Now that makes sense,” Dean says with a grin.
“Ha, ha, very funny.” I stick out my tongue at him.
“I think you guys are a good match,” Mom says suddenly.
“Really?” Dean asks.
“You both have an innate need to help others. A doctor and a lawyer.” She smacks the table again and smiles at us. “I think it’s kismet.”
I meet Dean’s eyes across the table and have to look away, feeling a moment of embarrassment and guilt. I should tell her the truth.
“Anyone want dessert? I made cupcakes!” Mom says, getting up to clear the table.
Vegan cupcakes, I mouth at Dean behind her back and then I make a puke face.
He ignores me.
“Do you need help?” Dean asks, starting to stand.
“Of course not, you sweet boy. You guys just relax, I know how exhausting being in the car all day can be.” She pats his hand before disappearing into the kitchen.
“She is kinda crazy, but she’s nice,” Dean says once she’s out of earshot. I hear water running, the clatter of dishes, and her singing. He looks around the cluttered and eclectic dining room and leans back a little in his seat. “I like it here.”
Our eyes meet again. Dean’s smiling and I can’t look away. His eyes look lighter. They’re always the same blue, but for some reason they normally seem darker, deeper…more troubled. Right now, they’re bright, as if a light is shining from behind them.
We stare at each other for a few long moments and tension seeps into the space between us, wrapping its tingling fingers around my body. The table is small and his knee brushes mine. My eyes are drawn from his eyes to his lips.
I’m not sure I can handle it. I have to say something to cut the taut wire of awareness that’s compelling me towards him like a tractor beam.
“You look different,” I say.
“I do?”
“Yeah. You look relaxed. Not as tense as you usually are. You’re not frowning or bossing me around or anything. It’s a good look for you.”
He laughs. “Maybe it’s because we’re off the grid.”
I nod. It’s almost a relief to have no cell service. Don’t have to worry about anyone finding us or shooting at us. We’re not trying to solve a mystery, and it feels good.
I’m about to say something embarrassing about how I have free reign to take advantage of him, but I’m interrupted by my mom’s voice escalating.
Dean’s expression shifts and he looks perturbed.
“What is she singing?”
I focus on the words and then sigh. “NWA.”
“The rap group? The totally inappropriate, full-of-expletives, parental-advisory-included, rap group?”
“Yeah. She’s got a real thing for Ice Cube.”
He laughs. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
We laugh and the tension shifts away, hovering around the edges while we make small talk. Mom comes back out with her cupcakes and we eat and drink chamomile tea and play gin rummy until bedtime.
When I lose the last hand, I leave them to finish the game and go into my old room to get ready for bed.
I wash my face and I’m working on brushing my teeth when I hear the door to the bedroom open and close. I spit my toothpaste into the sink, run the water, and then stick my head out the door in time to see Dean pulling his shirt over his head.
Dang it, why am I constantly being barraged with his naked body? This is ridiculous! He’s doing it on purpose. He wants me to crack and make out with him. But I’m not going to let it affect me.
I sneak another peek around the open doorway and this time he’s fully clothed and facing my direction.
“Oh, hey,” I say, surprised to be caught in the act.
He smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking and I yank my head back into the bathroom.
“I’m almost done,” I call out.
“No worries,” he calls back. I hear the shifting of the mattress like he’s sitting on the bed.
I quickly finish, cleaning up my mess before heading into the bedroom. The room is fairly dark, just one small lamp on a side table setting a soft glow over everything.
Dean’s lying back on the bed with his arms behind his head, eyes closed. At some point, he also changed his pants from jeans to flannel PJ bottoms. How did I miss that show?
I step to his side of the bed and clear my throat. He opens his eyes and looks at me.
“The bathroom’s all yours,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says. He doesn’t move. The awareness between us that never really left starts building again.
He rolls to his feet suddenly, getting too close, and I instinctively move back, running into the dresser.
He steps closer, putting his arms on either side of my body, resting his hands on the furniture behind me. I have nowhere to go. His face is right in front of mine. This is it. He’s going to kiss me. I know it. I can practically feel it already. His hands will be everywhere, sliding all over my body, he’ll rip my clothes off, and then we’ll take his clothes off—
My daydream is interrupted when he reaches a hand up, cupping it against my cheek. His thumb moves against the corner of my mouth. “You have a little toothpaste, here,” he whispers.
The warmth disappears from my face and he’s gone, the bathroom door shutting gently behind him.
“Toothpaste?” I mutter. “Toothpaste! Goddamn him.”
“Did you say something?” The words are muffled from behind the door.
“Nope. Nothing!”
I pull my suitcase out from under the bed and start rifling through the clothes I brought. Two can play this game.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dean
Law is reason free from passion.
–Aristotle
I brush my teeth in record time. Anxious to return to Freya and continue driving her slowly mad with lust. This is the most fun I’ve had…ever.
When I step out of the bathroom, the lamp is still on, casting a soft glow over the bed and Freya.
She’s lying with her back to me and she’s wearing…holy hell, almost nothing. A flimsy little pink tank top and a pair of matching barely-there shorts.
I stop next to the bed, the opposite side of where she’s lying, and take off my shirt, letting it plop to the ground.
I know she hears me because she tenses slightly.
I don’t move, choosing to wait her out. I have the advantage because I can see her, but she can’t see me.
It doesn’t take long. Less than a minute passes in silence before she rolls over and looks up at me, her gaze travelling over my body.
“It’s really not fair,” she says.
“What’s not fair?” I ask, and my brain short circuits for a moment when I see her from the front. That top really is flimsy.
“You.” She gestures towards me. “You’re so much hotter than I am. There’s no way I can win our bet.”
It takes me a moment to register her words. I’m too busy imagining what she looks like under the clothes, and w
hat I want to do to her right now, but once they hit my foggy brain I propel myself into the bed next to her, as close as I can get, and run a hand down her arm.
“That’s ridiculous,” I say forcefully, willing her to believe it.
“Not ridiculous.”
“What do I have to do to prove to you that you’re beautiful?” I ask.
She blinds me with a smile. “Kiss me.”
I smile back, and for a split second, I want to comply. My mouth finds its own trajectory towards hers, but I remember the big picture at the last minute and instead brush my lips across her jaw. I move down her neck and over to her ear where I tug the lobe gently between my teeth.
“Oh, God,” she whispers.
“You’re always getting my name wrong,” I mutter against her neck.
That makes her giggle. “Oh, Mob guy,” she says.
“If you’re laughing, I’m doing something wrong. And you know I hate that moniker.”
“Oh, Thor.”
I lift my head to look down at her. “You really think that’s better?” And then I dig my fingers into her sides, tickling her and making her jerk and squeak and laugh. I’m really enjoying the movement of her body as it shakes with laughter, but after a minute, when she starts trying to kick me in the head, I give her a break and rest my head on her stomach.
We’re quiet for a moment, catching our breath, and I start thinking about everything we did today.
“I really like your mom,” I say.
“Aaand my libido just tanked.”
I lift my head to smile at her. “I’m serious. I feel bad lying to her.”
“Well, you don’t have to say anything. I’ll do the lying for you, so your conscience is clear.”
“Actually, I was thinking…” I have to look away. I sit up so we are no longer touching. I’m nervous about how she’s going to take what I have to say next. I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page, but I have to know for sure.
“A dangerous pastime,” she says, trying to lighten the nervous tension that seems to have suddenly filled the small space.
I smile and try to figure out the best way to put what’s in my head into words. “I was thinking, maybe we don’t have to lie to her.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, sitting up next to me.
“Come on,” I say. “You have to have thought about it, at some point in the last month. We’ve spent a lot of time together, we get along—most of the time—we keep making out…there’s something here.” I gesture into the space between us.
She says nothing, just stares at me, expression blank and I start to sweat.
But then, she leans towards me, pausing for just a moment when our lips are only a hairsbreadth apart. I intake a sharp puff of breath and then her mouth is pressing against mine.
I’m not sure what to do, or what this means. The kiss is soft and gentle, and I keep it that way even though my body is screaming to take it further, letting her have all of the control. But after a minute I have to touch her. I gently run my fingertips along her jaw and chin.
She pulls away and looks at me.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
She flops back onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.
“It means I concede. You win the bet.” She tilts her head to look up at me. “I’m going to tell you everything, and then you may or may not wish to change your mind about being my—”
She stops suddenly and a look of panic flashes over her face. She sits up on her elbows and meets my eyes. “Wait, you’re saying you want us to be, like, together right? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Please tell me I didn’t misinterpret your whole spiel just now, because that’s totally something I would do.” She bites her lip.
I take her hand and link it with mine, shifting a little closer to her on the bed. “Yes, that’s what I meant,” I say. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Freya. You never let anyone or anything scare you. You don’t judge. You’re funny and smart and you put up with a lot of my shit and yet you still want to help me. You continually take me by surprise. Plus, you’re pretty hot.”
She flushes at the compliments and looks away.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says with a small smile.
I bring her fingers to my mouth and kiss her knuckles lightly.
“Okay.” She breathes out a sigh and flops back onto the bed, her hand still entwined with mine, her gaze on the ceiling. “I’m not really sure where to start.”
“Take your time. Start at the beginning,” I suggest.
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, shutting her eyes before she speaks. “I met Cameron the first week of junior year. The first two years of college, I stayed here and went to a nearby community college. I’ve always lived here, so when I transferred, I was the typical stupid girl, going to college in the big city—well bigger city—just a small town girl.”
“Living in a lonely world?”
She laughs. “Totally. And Cameron was…charming. Worldly. One of those people that when they talk to you, it’s like you’re the only person in the room. He made me feel important, valued, cherished. I didn’t date much in high school. Despite my wild mom, I was a late bloomer when it came to guys. I just never met anyone that made me feel…anything. So when I met Cameron and I started having feelings for him, it was so new and exciting. When he started to pull away, it only made me want to hold on to those feelings even harder. It was weird. He was still super sweet to me when we were alone, or when it suited him, I guess. But when other people were around or whatever, he would practically ignore me and like the dumbass I was, I let him do it. It just made me work harder to gain his attention.”
She stops and takes another breath before continuing. “He had been pressuring me for sex, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. I was a virgin. I know, it’s weird right?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer, and she’s still got her eyes shut. “So, when he started to withdraw, I gave that to him, thinking it would fix everything. But instead of it bringing us closer, he pulled farther away.
“I hate this part, because it’s where I start to do things even stupider than losing my virginity to an asshole. So, one day class was cancelled and I went to his dorm, knowing he would be free. Instead I caught him banging Liz the slut. That was it, I thought. That was the push I needed to forget about him and move on with my life. I was hurt, frustrated, everything made me cry. It was pathetic. That’s when I got the idea to take some control back and have someone pummel the living shit out of him.”
“That’s when you came to me,” I say, squeezing her hand gently.
“Yeah,” she scoffs. She opens her eyes and tilts her head towards mine. “Making one bad decision after another.”
“Well, I’m glad for that bad decision now. At the time, I was pretty ticked.”
“You were. Grumpy pants.”
“The night we met, one of the guys who was supposed to fight pulled out at the last second and I had no one to step in. I hate fighting. Being in charge of the bets is bad enough.”
“I’m glad you were there,” she says. “Even though I wasn’t so sure at the time.” She smiles at me and then she averts her gaze again, her eyes moving around the room and back up to the ceiling. “After someone else beat him up.” She tries to flash me a sideways glare, but it’s about as effective as an angry puppy, before she continues. “I did the dumbest thing yet. I got back together with him.”
This is new information for me. “You got back together with that asshole?”
“Yes. I know, I realize now it was stupid, but unfortunately as much as I wish a loud booming voice had echoed through the sky BAD DECISION FREYA that has yet to happen. Although it would have been useful on more than one occasion. He came crawling back and begging for forgiveness, promising he would change, it would be different, I would change him and you know, what dumb girl doesn’t want to hear that? And it was okay, for a while. Even better than it was when we first met. But, I told him, I didn’t
want to have sex with him. We fooled around still, a little, but I didn’t want to take that step until I was sure I could completely trust him. He seemed to understand, and things went along for a couple of weeks.
“Then, one night, we were fooling around…” she breaks off and looks over at me. I stare back, waiting. I almost want to stop her. I’m not sure I can handle hearing it—even though I’m not one-hundred percent sure what it is—without wanting to kill the asshole. All I know is he hurt her somehow, and even though I’m not sure I can take it, I need to take it for Freya. She needs to get this out of her, it’s the only way to move forward.
“This is the hardest part. I’ve never shared the details with anyone—only Lucy knows the highlights—but I need to share them with you. You need to know how broken I am before you decide to tie yourself to me.”
I agree that she needs to share it, but I don’t agree with the broken part and at this point, there isn’t anything in this world that could prevent me from tying myself to her. I want to tell her this, but I don’t want to get her off track and I don’t want to totally freak her out. We aren’t even officially together yet, so I just nod and squeeze her hand again, saying nothing.
“We were fooling around,” she says. “Just making out and stuff, and he started popping the button on my jeans. I told him no, moved his hands away, and we went back to just kissing. But then he did it again. This time, I didn’t say anything. Within minutes, my pants were off. But we just kept kissing, nothing more. A little while later, I realized his pants were off, too, and that’s when I tried to put a stop to it, but then he was on top of me.”
She stops for a second, her breath coming out a little faster. “I said no, I tried to push him away, but he just yanked my underwear to the side and pushed himself inside me. I didn’t know what to do. I was kind of shocked when it happened, and it was like it wasn’t happening to me but to someone else. We were in his dorm, and his roommate had this poster—one of those motivational posters with a waterfall and some lame saying—and all I could do was stare at it and pretend like I was somewhere else. Afterwards, he acted like nothing had happened. No big deal. When I tried to bring it up the next day, he got super defensive and said if I thought he was a rapist then maybe we shouldn’t be together. He was using that as a way to control me, threatening to break up, thinking that would be enough to make me forget about it and stay with him. It almost worked. He stopped returning my calls, and I heard he was seeing someone else. But instead of being upset, all I felt was relief. He tried to talk to me and chat me up a few weeks later when I ran into him, but by then I was completely over it.” She shakes her head at the memory. “I told him to fuck off. He was shocked, like no one had ever rejected him before.”
