by S. L. Scott
“Good. I didn’t want to have to say anything. Ugh! That hurt. You’ve got bony knuckles.”
“Strong ones, too.” I roll all of the way off the couch, shaking the pain away from my hand from hitting him so hard, and land on my feet. “Make yourself at home.” I walk toward the bedroom, leaving him there to relax.
He stretches out his legs while putting his hands behind his head. “Already am.”
For some reason, I feel weird getting undressed with Charlie in the next room. Memories of that drunken night fill my thoughts and the embarrassment returns. A warm feeling overcomes my mortification, and I smile stupidly to myself, remembering how he touched me, how he felt under my hands, and that look. I close my eyes and can see that look—the one that made me feel perfect and sexy and pretty all at once.
He has the ability to make everyone feel special. It’s a gift, really, but I don’t mention it to him because I need to keep his ego in check. I see the way women look at him when we’re out together. I also see how men compare themselves to him and stand a little straighter, as if that builds their own self-esteem.
Taking my shower, I feel hyperaware that he’s in the next room and I hurry. For a split second, though, I consider inviting him to join me. But that’s crazy thinking, because after giving my grand confession a second thought, I decided against telling him. I don’t want to lose what we have, what we are together. We’re just friends. That’s all. Friends. Who cares that he frosts and compliments me? Who cares if I haven’t been able to get his lower back dimples out of my head since I spied them at his apartment when his shirt rode up and his jeans hung down? Who cares, right?
“Right.”
I walk into my room after drying off with a fluffy towel. I wrap another one turban-style around my head to keep my hair from dripping on the floor. There’s a knock on the door as I’m digging through my drawer for undies. I jump, startled, a squeal escaping.
“Charlie?” he asks from the other side of the door.
“Yes?” I call, trying to sound normal and not like some paranoid girl in a horror movie.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Scrambling over to the closet, I grab my robe and speak too soon. “Ummm, all right. Jus—”
The door opens, and our eyes meet. It all happens so fast. His eyes dip down, taking me in. My arms fly to cover my body, knees knock together, one arm goes over my breasts, and the other hand covers my girly parts. A scream escapes.
His gaze drops to the ground as a hand goes to shield his eyes, and he retreats backward. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you say it was all right.”
The door shuts, but I’m frozen in place.
“Charlie?” he asks, tapping on the door. “Are you okay?”
I don’t know what to feel. I’m swarmed by emotions. “Hold on.” I need another few seconds to put my robe on. “One minute.” I grab sweatpants and a sweatshirt and pull those on over the robe. Am I dressed enough to hide the mortification I feel right now? No. I reach down and pull on my tall Uggs. Now I’m ready. “It’s safe now. You can come in.”
I rush to the far wall, farthest from the bathroom, and wait.
“Are you sure?”
The man has seen me naked, but now we’re just friends so things are different . . . for now. “Yes.”
“Okay, I’m coming in.” The doorknob turns slowly before he pushes the door open. He peeks inside before walking all the way in. “I’m sorry. You all right?” he asks, but can’t seem to look in my direction.
“Yeah, that was awkward.”
“Huh.” That’s all he says before walking into the bathroom and closing the door.
Huh? What is “huh” supposed to mean?
“I’m done in here. I’m coming into the bedroom now.”
“Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I’m dressed.”
When he looks up, he looks relieved before his expression turns confused. “Why are you way over there? And why so many clothes?”
I raise my chin into the air defensively. “I didn’t want to be caught off-guard again.”
He stops with the doorknob in his hand. “Why are you way over there then?”
I try to play it off by shrugging and moving toward the bed casually while debating if I should lounge on it instead. I choose to sit like I’m fine, like him seeing me naked again is no big deal.
He watches me before heading out of the room in silence. I think he sees right through my act.
Just after five, I go into the living room and sit on the couch next to him. I’ve been doing my hair in the next room, but I kind of missed him. Leaning into his side, I feel better just being near him. He maneuvers his arm over my shoulders, and we watch television for a few minutes.
“You can use my shower now if you’d like.” I offer without taking my eyes off the television.
“You sure?”
“Positive. Hey, Charlie?”
“Mmhm?”
“Are you ever gonna look at me again?”
He laughs, which makes me laugh, and it feels so damn good to let the earlier tension out like this.
Standing to walk toward the bedroom door, he stops to say, “To tell the truth, I can’t take my eyes off you.”
My heart soars, and everything feels normal again. He always makes me feel so good with his sweet words. I wish I could do the same for him, but lacking time and that ability these days, instead I ask, “Do you mind if I put on my makeup while you shower?”
“No, of course not.”
When he steps into the shower, he lets me know that it’s safe to come into the bathroom.
I’ve done my eyeliner by the time he speaks. “I kind of owe you a peep show now, don’t I?”
“I’ve think we’ve shared enough already.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, maybe.”
I move into the kitchen with my makeup bag and finish applying it in there so he can have the privacy of the bedroom to get ready. After I finish, all I’ll need to do is slip my dress and shoes on, and we can leave.
When Charlie opens the door and walks out, my jaw drops. Damn!
“I’ll take that face as a sign of approval. I look appropriate for the night’s festivities?”
My throat is dry, so I swallow repeatedly to wet it before speaking. “Yeah, guess it’ll have to do,” I say, aiming for nonchalance.
I’ve seen him in a suit before, a couple of times, once at the funeral and again at the club. He looked good both times, but my mind was focused on other things. Tonight, though, with him dressed like this, he receives my full attention. He’s wearing a fitted navy blue suit with white shirt and black tie, and he’s killing me with his gorgeousness.
One side of his mouth quirks up in tandem with an eyebrow. “Okay, glad it’s barely acceptable.” He teases.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I say. I then laugh as I pat him on the chest and walk back into the bedroom. “You look good, Charlie. There! You happy?”
“Sure am.”
Shutting the door behind me, I make my way to the closet and pull my dress from the hanger. Stylish and fitted, professional, yet perfect for a cocktail party, I drop my emerald green dress on over my head, and then step into my favorite heels.
Moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror, I tug at the zipper on the back of my dress. I suck in my stomach and tug a little harder. “Huh!” It feels snugger than usual. It’s got to be that heavy beer. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling with it. After many more tries, my arm hurts from being twisted back, so I open the door to my last resort—Charlie. “Do you mind helping me with this zipper?”
“Sure.” He stands and moves behind me. “Lift your hair. I don’t want it to get snagged.”
As the zipper rides up my back, I can feel his breath and knuckles sliding with it, lingering a bit as he goes. He releases the pull, and the palm of his hand slides to my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. “You’re all zipped up.”
“Thank you.” I turn for him. “
How do I look?”
With a playful smirk, he replies, “It’ll do.”
I snort, then laugh because I snorted, covering my nose and mouth with my hand. Yeah, I deserved that response.
I grab my clutch and toss in my lipstick, ID, keys, and my phone. “You ready to hit this party?”
“As much as I can be.”
We don’t talk on the way down to the street. I can tell he’s thinking of the what-might-happens, the what-ifs, and every other possible scenario to prepare himself. I take his hand and try to reassure him, hoping it helps. “It’ll be all right, and if it’s not, we’ll leave. You and I are a team here.”
I see a black Town Car parked out front, and he says, “I ordered a car.”
The chauffeur holds the door open for me as we approach. “At least we can get sloshed like we talked about earlier, since we don’t have to drive.”
That brings a smile to his face.
I start to duck down to scoot into the car, but he stops me. “Charlie, wait.”
Standing back up, he takes both of my hands in his. “You look really beautiful.”
Putting a hand on my hip, I tilt my head to the side. “There you go being all charming again.” His heart is pounding under my hand that now rests on his chest. Dropping my head in surprise, I watch how my hand lies over his heart and like how it looks there even more.
My eyes lift to meet his again, and for one brief second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
If we were a normal couple, I know he would. But we aren’t. He comes from Jim’s world, and as much as I want to trust the differences between them, I can’t help but remember the similarity of their backgrounds. The Town Car is just another reminder of that. I’m probably reading too much into this moment. It’s just us all dressed up and the anticipation and tension of the unknown. It’s the situation that makes us feel this close and makes us rely on each other like we do, like we have from the beginning. My mind races with thoughts of him and me, us, once lovers, now friends. It’s all so confusing.
One thing I definitely know is that if he did kiss me, I would welcome it and kiss him back with passion. This would be me, being a romantic, and him, getting caught up in a moment. That’s all.
We’re just friends on the verge of something more. Two people who bonded from a bizarre situation. Although, I often wonder if we’d met under different circumstances, like on the street or in a bookstore, or if we’d hooked up that first night at the club, if we’d be where we are now. I already know the answer to that. We wouldn’t. We’d be more already. We’d be a couple who are about to kiss.
Chapter 26
Rubbing my thumb back and forth over my bottom lip, I continue to stare out the car window. I’ve been doing this for the last twenty minutes, and Charlie lets me be. She’s sitting next to me looking out her window, giving me the time, the quiet she must know I need.
Tension is building, so I break the silence. “This doesn’t have to be overly dramatic. It’s my family, right? I mean, I love them. They love me. We’re family.”
Looking at me, the truth reflects back, but she remains silent, patient.
“My family.” I don’t know why I repeat this, but I do.
Her hand covers mine, and she agrees. “Family.”
The next twenty minutes go by faster than I’d like. I felt like I had covered every angle of this dinner, played each scenario out in my head, but now I’m not so sure. I feel my nerves just under my skin itching to get out. I don’t want to worry Charlie, though. It’s my family. This shouldn’t be a big deal. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and lean back against the seat.
Warmth covers my left side as she scoots next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, and says, “We’re a team, okay?”
“Yeah, we’re a team.”
It’s evening on a Saturday, so the drive to Bedford doesn’t take long. We pass through the small hamlet and by the historic oak and the shops I grew up visiting almost every weekend when I was too young to stay in the city on my own.
Charlie sits up and moves toward the window again. I can see her taking it all in—the postcard beauty of the landscape, the quaint and historic downtown area, the look of money in the cars along the street and the people walking around. Her eyes are wide, the streetlamps reflecting in them as we drive underneath.
“It’s visually idyllic.”
She turns to look at me. “Very much.”
Questions fill her eyes, and I hear them in her tone. I respond without being asked. “I didn’t know the rest of the world existed. I grew up going to private schools in the city, returning to an apartment that took up an entire floor in one of the best neighborhoods of Manhattan. We’d come here on the weekends. Other family members or friends of my parents would visit.” I smile at the memory. “It was always a full house filled with laughter.”
I stop to pick some lint off my pants, a good momentary distraction. Those are good memories, and I haven’t thought about them in years. I don’t understand the sentimental feeling that’s come over me.
“What happened, Charlie? Tell me.” Her hand rests on top of mine again.
I turn my hand palm side up under hers and lace our fingers together.
“I grew up.”
I hear a breath of disappointment escape her, and she turns back toward the window. When she looks at me again, we’re pulling into the drive. I guess she realizes our time for this kind of privacy is ending.
“One day, Charlie Adams, I hope you trust me enough to let me in here,” she says, tapping my temple, “and here.” She places her hand flat over my heart.
I take that hand and cover it with mine. “You already are in here.”
She slowly slides her hand up and rests it on my cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
The door swings open, startling us both right out of our moment, and the valet greets me. “Welcome home, Mr. Adams.”
“Thank you,” I reply, stepping out and offering Charlie a hand out of the vehicle.
As the car pulls away, I remain standing on the gravel driveway, staring at the mansion before me. I’m still holding her hand for no other reason than I feel the need to be close to her right now.
She tugs gently and says, “Come on. Let’s go get this over with. I have four more Guinness and eleven cupcakes with our names on them at home.”
I notice how she refers to her apartment as if it’s both of ours, a space we share. It is when I think about it. I love any time I get to spend with her, but our Saturday afternoons mean everything to me.
We walk forward, and as the front door opens, I release her hand. I don’t want to give my family any ammo. It will be hard enough that’s she here witnessing my dysfunctional family first hand, so I don’t want their attentions on her. She’s here for me, not for their entertainment.
Hearing the clacking of her heels on the polished marble floors before I even lay eyes on her, my mother rounds the corner, arms outreached with that all-too-familiar party smile firmly in place. “Charles,” she says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She opens her arms to me, and I step into her embrace, returning the hug. The hugs she gave me when she arrived home from her many trips were always my favorite thing growing up. It felt like she loved me when she embraced me that tight. “Mother, it’s good to see you.”
She steps back and admires me. “You’re looking healthy, happy these days.” With her hands still on me, she faces Charlie. “Welcome to our home. I’m happy you could join us tonight.” She sounds sincere. I’ll have to stay on my toes tonight.
“Charlie, you remember my mother, Emeline Adams.”
“Yes, it’s good to see you again, and thank you for having me. Your home is stunning.”
“Well, maybe Charles can show you the rest of it while we wait for the other members of the family to arrive. What do you say, Charles?”
A server walks by with a tray of champagne, and all three of us accept a glass. “Yes, of course. You’ll
call us when dinner is ready to be served?”
“Yes, yes. Now run along. I’ve got some last-minute details to attend to.”
“We should start upstairs,” I say, directing Charlie to join me.
“Yes, yes, we should run along upstairs.”
I’m halfway up the stairs when she says this. I turn around, crossing my arms over my chest. “Did you just mock my mother, Charlotte?”
She cocks her head to the side with a smirk and replies, “Yep, I sure did, Charles.”
“I knew there was a reason we were friends.” I laugh and continue up the stairs.
I give her the short tour and take her straight to my room since it’s mainly guest bedrooms up here. It’s weird facing the door to my past. I don’t know what to expect as I stand there with my hand on the doorknob. I don’t know if my parents changed it or if it’s the same. So when I open the door, I’m surprised to see it just how I left it. It’s a little cleaner than before, but my stuff is all here.
Charlie follows me in and shuts the door behind us, though I’m not sure why. It feels forbidden to do so, and yet necessary, just like in high school, to give me peace of mind.
“I like it,” she says, walking across the room to the window and peeking out. “The gardens are pretty.” She lets the drapes slide through her fingers as she walks away to explore the entertainment center. “I think this room is larger than my entire apartment.”
I smile, not because it is a strange thought that a kid had a bedroom larger than an adult’s home, but more that I like having her in here around my stuff.
“You have a lot of movies,” she notes.
“I spent much of my teenage years holed up in here listening to music, watching movies, or playing video games.” I join her and slide one of the cabinet doors open to reveal five gaming consoles and at least three hundred games.
“Wow! My friends would’ve loved you in high school.” She works her way around the couch and to the bed. “A king-sized bed?” She laughs. “Guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, considering the house I’m standing in.” She sits on the bed, resting her back against the headboard, and crosses her ankles. “You were one spoiled kid, Charles. What happened?”
