by Abigail Boyd
He sets the plates back down and steps towards me. “You know, these dinners have become the highlight of my week.”
“Me too,” I admit quietly.
“You ready to eat?” he asks. I nod and we spend the next half-hour enjoying our food.
I help him clean the dishes, me washing and him drying, standing side by side. He bumps me gently with his hip and I laugh, bumping him back. Then I flick some bubbles at his bare chest.
“You better watch out, it’ll be the other night all over again,” he says. He holds up the towel and lifts his eyebrows. “And I have one of these.” He twirls it up and snaps me on the butt again.
I laugh at the tiny sting and scoop more bubbles in his direction.
“Don’t start if you can’t finish,” he taunts, swirling the towel and aiming it for me again.
“Oh, I can finish,” I say, splashing him with water that runs down his abs and soaks the waistband of his jeans.
He grabs me by the waist so fast that I let out a little shriek, wrapping my arms around his neck for support. He lifts me up on and sets me on the counter, pulling back so he can look at my face. Pushing my hair back, he leans my forehead against mine. Gently, with the utmost softness, he kisses the side of my cheek, right next to my mouth, making me dizzy.
“This is getting dangerous,” he whispers, his lips still so close that I feel them move. He steps away and helps me down, and I follow him into the living room.
We play a few hands of rummy, but every second I’m around him now, I just want him to kiss me. I keep touching the back of my fingers to the spot where his lips grazed my skin.
“You’re getting good,” he says, throwing his cards down.
“Or you’re getting rustier.”
“I don’t know about that. I play cards an awful lot.” Then his expression changes, and I get the sense he feels like he said too much.
My phone goes off and I pull it out of my pocket.
“Your boyfriend checking up on you?” he jokes casually.
“Hardly,” I say, wrinkling my nose at him. “It’s just this daily horoscope thing that Quinn set up for me.”
“Does she actually take that stuff seriously?”
“Kind of. She’s an Aries and thinks that it completely fits her personality. She’s dumped guys because their star signs were incompatible, but she usually looks past it. I’ve never been one to take them seriously, though. They could apply to anyone.”
“It just seems ridiculous to place your trust in something made up,” James says.
“I know. But I get it. People want something that’s bigger than them, something they can hold on to. But I follow my own stars.”
He tilts his head and looks at me, smiling with the corner of his mouth. Then he shuffles the cards again. “It always surprises me what people will put their faith in. I’ve never attended church much, either. I went through a pretty dark period a few years ago, and everyone thought I should find comfort in it.” His jaw tightens as he starts dealing the cards out. Now my curiosity is burning. “There’s nothing comforting in the fact that people can be there one day and dead the next. Nothing. And the stars just remind me how small and insignificant we are.”
He realizes that he’s getting serious, and looks up at me apologetically. “Sorry. I can get off on a tangent.”
Sensing he wants the subject changed, I oblige. But I feel like I’ve just gotten a glimpse at a damaged boy living inside of his confident shell. “What do your parents do for a living? I never asked you.”
But the question doesn’t produce the relief on his face I was hoping for, and his jaw stays tight. “My mother’s name is Ruth, and she was a homemaker when…” He swallowed thickly. “When we were younger. Then she went back to work as a teacher. She’s a great mom. She hated the idea of me coming here, but she was supportive about it.”
“She sounds wonderful.” I can’t help but think he’s come from a pretty perfect life, but instead of feeling jealous, I’m grateful that it’s made him the person that he is. Yet, I wonder about his father, and his previous comment.
“She is. She insisted on teaching all of her kids how to cook and take care of ourselves from the time we were teenagers. Especially me, because I was so bad at it at first, I burned everything and over-salted it.” He laughs gently at his private memory. “I’m still a work in progress. But I was lucky to have the life skills she taught me.”
“I wish I’d had that, honestly,” I tell him. “I had to learn a lot from trial and error, and like I said, I don’t spend time on things I’m bad at.”
“There isn’t much you’re bad at,” he says, and I feel myself blushing again.
“Of course there is. I’m bad at all kinds of things.”
“So, I told you about my tattoo, how about you, Shell?” he pretends to look me over, peeking at my legs under the table. That ridiculous nickname is sticking, even though it makes me want to grit my teeth. “Any tattoos, piercings? I don’t see any. Do you have anything hidden?”
“Why are you so sure I have something pierced?”
“Don’t most girls have at least one somewhere?”
I chuckle under my breath. “I don’t have any tattoos. I could never decide of a picture I would like long enough to have stuck on my body for the rest of my life. I pierced a couple of places, though.”
This new information makes a grin spread over his lips, and he sets the cards down. “Show me.”
“I’m not showing you.” But I’m already standing up so I can. I sigh and poke the center of my nose. “I used to have my septum pierced, but it was a booger catcher, so I took it out.” I push back my hair so I can show him my left ear. “I must have hated this ear, because I not only got three piercings in the lobe, I also had the cartilage pierced twice. I think the holes are still open but I never wear anything in them.”
Then I pop the button on the front of my jeans and open them just enough so that he can see my stomach. I feel too comfortable and suddenly bold not to do it, and he asked.
I finger the two rhinestone piercings dangling there. “And I have the top and bottom of my belly button pierced. I know it hasn’t really been popular since Britney Spears had her breakdown, but I still like the way they look.”
His eyes are still glued on my stomach and I bite the inside of my cheek. I button my fly back up and sit down.
“I like the way they look, too,” he says, and I watch his throat move as he swallows. “Promise me you won’t take them out.”
I grin and pick my cards back up.
“Come on, how do you expect me to play rummy now?” he complains.
“One card at a time.” I feel a little triumphant knowing that I turned him on.
“Just give me a minute to…readjust myself,” he mutters. He moves the crotch of his sweatpants forward and shifts his hips. Now I’m definitely blushing as he settles back in.
“Why do you want to know so much about me?” he asks unexpectedly.
“Why wouldn’t I want to know about you?” I counter, surprised at the question.
“I was just surprised that you wanted to know. Usually, girls don’t ask about my past. They’re mostly interested in how much I work out, how much I make, and when we’re going to hook up.”
“Well, I’m not your average girl.”
He walks me back to the apartment at the end of the night, and this time, he reaches forward to grab hold of my hand. I look back at him, and he drops his head so that he’s staring at the floor. When his eyes finally meet mine, I feel him gently squeeze my hand.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” he says.
“I know.”
“I’m going to be busy for a few nights. I have plans with some friends of mine.”
I feel my heart sink, wondering if he’s breaking this off. “Does that mean you don’t want to do this anymore?”
“No, not at all,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. It feels far too safe and perfect
being in his arms, our bodies molding together like they were made to fit each other. “But I think we both need a little time to cool down, if being buddies is really what you want from me.”
I want to tell him that I’ve changed my mind, but I know that I’m far too raw and vulnerable. Every time I’m around him, I feel more emotion than I remember ever feeling before. So instead, I press my head to his chest, and savor the few minutes before he’s gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE DAYS HE spends with his friends pass slowly, and I make up for it by keeping busy with work and with Quinn, tagging along shopping for her next semester. James knocks on my door about a week later, inviting me over for a new recipe. We continue to meet up and cook dinner together as July passes. Our break didn’t lessen the chemistry between us, but it made me think a little more clearly.
My Saturdays are still reserved for Quinn, although she comments on how distracted I seem. I update her on some of what’s been happening between James and me. I feel like I’m coming alive around him, like I don’t need to escape anymore.
But my work is definitely suffering. I can’t concentrate worth a shit anymore, and Russell gives me a long lecture on my performance. I don’t care enough about the job to be truly upset, but I try to do better. The voice that had been whispering for me to leave town comes back, but all I have to do is think of James’ name, and the voice shuts up.
###
On Friday, James and I go back out to the sports bar on the corner. It’s trivia night, and we laugh at a table of frat guys who keep randomly blurting out the wrong answers. One shouts out an answer and shoots up his hand, tumbling off his chair. James and I huddle together and snicker.
“Should we order just appetizers?” he asks, perusing the menu. “Just an entire meal full of appetizers, because that’s what a bar seems to do best?”
“I am definitely game for buffalo wings and onion rings,” I agree. “I don’t think their cooking could measure up to yours, anyway. You’ve spoiled me for anyone else.”
He seems pleased with my comment. “Are we drinking?”
We’ve never actually drank together, other than the few beers we’ve shared. I wave to the room around us. “This is a bar. We have to drink.”
He leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Can you even legally drink? I don’t think I ever asked you how old you are. Are you even twenty-one yet?”
“I’ll be twenty-one in October,” I whisper back. “And yes, my ID is boss.” I pull it out of my wallet and show it to him. He nods approvingly as he holds it between both hands.
“Nice.” He hands it back to me.
“But I warn you, I have a really hard time getting drunk, even on an empty stomach. So if you’re expecting that this is the gateway to getting into my panties, you might be disappointed.”
“I can think of better ways to get into your panties,” he says softly, looking at me through his lashes. He grins and I slap his shoulder gently.
“I have a high tolerance, too,” he says, leaning back against his chair. “Impressed the shit out of my teammates on prom night. I was the only one left standing at the after party.”
“I bet your mom wasn’t too happy about that.”
“Nope, not at all.” He runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “You know what this means, don’t you? I’m now obligated to challenge you to a drinking contest.”
“Of course you do.” I grin at him. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself in to. This is going to be fun. “Bring it on.”
He waves our waitress over, then looks at me. “Do you want a beer, maybe five?” The waitress is clutching her little round tray and staring at James so hard I think her eyeballs might pop out and attach themselves to his face.
“I’ll start with Vodka. Straight.”
He whistles at me. “I’ll have the same. And keep them coming.”
We go shot for shot with each other, and soon I genuinely feel a buzz. He actually seems to be keeping up with me. We down our appetizers, deciding that the wings are passable but the onion rings are awesome and even have their own spicy mustard.
We hop to another bar, walking a block to get there. I hold my arms out, pretending I’m balancing on a tightrope. He takes one of my hands and twirls me around, then accidentally bumps into me and we break into laughter.
“Told you, terrible dancer,” he grins.
At the next place, which is more crowded around the bar but has seating further in, we have the host seat us in a quiet corner so we can hear each other. My voice is hoarse from having to talk over the trivia callers. I toss back a shot of Cuervo—his idea, not mine—and grimace as I suck on a wedge of lime. I’m definitely drunk, my head swirling pleasantly.
James’ rests his hand on my thigh, and slides it toward my knee to join my hand.
“How do you feel?” I ask him, licking the side of my glass. He’s watching my every move again, his blue eyes filled with unmistakable lust, and I like it. The crotch of my panties is damp and pressing against me in my jeans.
“I feel pretty good,” he admits. He leans back against the seat and stretches his long arms up, exposing a thin band of his stomach. My fingers shoot out and run across his abs, every bit as hard as they look. He grins at me, his eyes lidded and slightly red.
“And now she’s touching me,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “Even better.”
“How do we decide who wins?” I ask, tipping the rest of my drink back.
“Whomever falls down first.”
“Then I’m definitely going to beat you.” I put the wedge of lime back between my teeth and suck out the remaining juice. He clasps his hand in mine again, and his face goes serious.
“I think starting off as friends was a good idea,” he says slowly, like he’s seeing how much each word will weigh. “I’ve never talked to anyone the way I’ve talked to you. Never felt like I could be that honest.”
He catches my open-mouthed expression and laughs, running his hand through his hair. “You think I’m full of shit, don’t you?”
“I think that’s the tequila talking,” I joke lightly. “But I agree with you.”
He unclasps his hand from mine and runs the back of his fingers against my cheek. “So, do I get to touch your stomach? It’s only fair.”
I roll my eyes, smiling, and lean back, pulling my shirt up. He glides his hand across my skin and I shiver, leaning against him. His lips graze my shoulder, planting slow, small kisses, and move up to my neck. I tilt my head so he has more access and moan as he sucks the skin there gently, my eyelids fluttering.
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel this,” he murmurs into my ear, turning me on even more than I knew was possible. “This insane connection when I touch your skin.”
His tongue traces a line behind my ear, while his hand moves back and forth across the top of my pants, inching lower each time. I’m ready for him to fuck me right here in the middle of this bar, virginity be damned, but the tiny part of my brain that isn’t drunk tells me that isn’t a good idea.
“Okay, time for a breather,” I say, sitting up, although I find it hard to stop panting.
“You ready to call it a night?” he asks, and I wonder what he means.
“I—” I look out across the bar, and feel a shock. The goth couple, the one who had harassed me over a month ago, is standing motionless against the far wall. Glaring at James and me, their dark eyes are full of malice.
I nudge James and point over to where I’m looking. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”
“Who are they?” he asks, squinting.
“They’re the ones from Lucky’s, the ones who were bugging me at the pharmacy. I think they’re names are Tag and Tess.”
He shuffles through his pocket, the alcohol making him fumble, and he pulls out his phone. Shifting to the camera app, he trains it on them. They must have noticed that we’ve seen them by now, but they aren’t making a move, standing together like dark wax statues.
&n
bsp; He zooms and focuses with his unsteady hands, and snaps a few pictures. Both of us peer at the results as he flips through them. They’re clearer than I expected, although a bit hazy.
“I wish I had my Canon,” he grumbles, and it comes out I wisth. “This lighting doesn’t help.”
When we look up again, the two of them are heading out of the exit, their dark clothes masking them in the crowd. James flags our waiter and hands him the money for the bill. I’d wanted to split it, since he also covered our tab at the sports bar, but I don’t protest because I know he’d insist and get his way anyway. He would get his way with anything he wanted right now.
“Come on, let’s follow them,” he says, and grasps my arm as we scoot ungracefully out of the booth. Outside, I catch the couple stalking into an alley across the road, and we dodge in. I don’t see any sign of them inside, though. We jog down the alley, seeing nothing but bare walls.
“Do you think they’re vampires?” I ask quietly. “The real kind, the kind that isn’t friendly and glittery but wants to suck our blood?”
“Anything’s possible,” he says.
“Aren’t you supposed to assure me that it’s not possible?”
He presses his lips together, looking oddly grim. “I’m not going to do that.”
We stop short and I stumble into him. He helps me up, and I follow him as we loop back around into the parking lot, but there’s no sign of my real stalkers. We stand out in the night and look at each other. It’s still warm, and I’m sweating through my top and jeans. There’s a payphone booth across the street with a cracked pane of glass. I think I see something black fluttering around it, and take a step forward, but I trip over my feet again.
“Looks like those drinks are finally getting to you,” he murmurs, supporting my weight by wrapping his other arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. I breathe in the warm scent clinging to his clothes, and suddenly didn’t care about the mysterious couple. Being this close to him, all I can think about is the way he touched me, his mouth on my skin, and how I want him to do it again.
