by Abigail Boyd
We keep dancing under the stars while the music plays and the crowd illuminate the air with lighters. Getting intoxicated from him is more than enough for me, because I can escape into a world where it’s just us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WE DON’T SAY much as we’re driving back in the dark. He shifts lanes on the highway, cruising steadily through light traffic. He slips his hand into mine and holds it across the center console.
“Did you enjoy the bands?” he finally asks, like he just wants to make conversation to break the tension.
“Yeah, I had a great time.” That seems like too bland of a statement, and doesn’t express how much I enjoy being around him.
He rests the palm of his right hand on the top of the steering wheel as we cruise. “Maybe we can make a weekend trip and go to the beach. Do you have any days coming up off work? Maybe—”
“Do you believe in supernatural things?” I ask suddenly. He’s silent for a moment, so I add, “I mean like witches and ghosts and monsters?” I swallow against a lump in my throat. “Like magic?”
He stares out into the night, passing a semi and changing lanes again. “I told you, I think anything’s possible. I just don’t have faith in it.”
“So when are you going to tell me? This research that you’re doing?” I ask. There is so much more I want to ask him—things I’ve never been able to ask another person. Can he perform magic to? But our relationship is too new for me to drop something like that on him, on the off chance that the two things aren’t related.
“When I find something concrete out. So far, all I know is that there is an underground in Ocela that knows more information. And your creepy friends and that flash are all involved. It’s all connected.”
“You’re still being cryptic.”
“I don’t want to get yours or my hopes up. And my hopes are already up, regardless,” he says, getting off the exit for Ocela.
He can sense that I’m irritated, and relaxes his expression. His hand comes to rest on my thigh again. “You look amazing in that outfit.”
His hand’s position on my thigh stirs the ache between my legs to life again. Watching the road, he runs the one hand purposefully up my bare thigh and then back, until he reaches the edge of my shorts. A moan escapes my parted lips.
“That’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard,” he murmurs.
That makes me chuckle a little, surprising him. “You said you’ve watched porn, what about all the dirty talk and screaming?”
“Well, I definitely wouldn’t mind if you start dirty talking to me,” he admits. “But porn is fake, it’s just a show. And so many people are fake in real life, putting on their own show, acting like they think you want them to act. There isn’t anything fake about you or the way you react when I touch you.”
Oh God, he’s noticed? I felt like I had myself under control, but apparently not. I blush a little with embarrassment, and his hand settles in one place on my knee.
He senses my distress and smiles at me. “Relax. It’s just the little things. It’s like you melt when I put my arms around you. When we kiss, you flutter your eyelashes. That kind of thing. It’s your body really responding to me, not just an act to make me feel like some hard-ass sex god.”
“Well, you already know you’re a hard-ass sex god.” I say, and stick my tongue out at him.
“Well, yeah.” He rolls his eyes at me and gently taps his fist to my shoulder. “They don’t call me buttface for nothing.”
I laugh. “I like your car, by the way,” I say, running my hand over the Mustang’s old-fashioned dashboard. “It rides really smoothly for an older car.”
“Thank you. It’s my baby. My sisters—Dani especially—tease me about spending so much time on it, but it’s another one of my ‘good’ hobbies.”
“When did you buy it? Did it cost a fortune?”
He shook his head. “You’d be surprised, actually. I got lucky. I used to do body work back in Arizona, too, and one guy kept coming in with this car—only it was a beast. I don’t think it liked him much, because he had one trouble after the other. Finally he said he was just going to junk it, since he kept it mostly in his garage, so I offered him double what the junk yard would give me. I thought he was talking out his ass, but I gave him the cash and he signed the title over to me right on the hood.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. The real money went to repairs, but those I got a discount on. I rebuilt the engine and the suspension, and then did a bunch of work to the frame.”
“At least you don’t call it by a girl’s name,” I tease, impressed by the work and the time.
He smiles mischievously. “I just don’t say it around you. I don’t want you two to be jealous of one another.”
I narrow my eyes at him, pretending to be offended. He pulls into the parking structure and shuts off the car, and we sit in the darkened garage. “Do you mind if I ask you a question that sounds really rude in my head?” I ask. “I mean, is there a line I shouldn’t cross?”
“No, not at all,” he says benignly. Then he thinks about the question and frowns thoughtfully. “Is it sex-related?”
I roll my eyes and a snort of laughter comes out. “No, not at all. Why doesn’t it surprise me that that’s the first place your mind would go?”
“You’re not the only one with a dirty mind, Remy,” he says through half-lidded eyes.
“You’re the one that said I had a dirty mind in the first place.”
“What was your rude question?” he presses.
I stare down at my hands, which are twisting together in my lap. I’m suddenly more nervous around him than I’ve been in a while, and I don’t know why. He’s told me a ton about his mom and sisters, but never mentioned his father. Ask him about his father, a voice that doesn’t sound like my own whispers in my head.
I don’t know how to ask the question directly, so I take a side route. “Is your family pretty well off? I mean, it seems like you have good taste and the money to support it. What does your dad do?”
“That’s not rude to ask,” he says, but he’s staring off at the other cars in the dark garage. “My dad saved up a lot of money when he was working but my mom still went back to work so as not to spend it. We’re not rich, but I guess you could call the Cains comfortably upper middle class.”
“Is your dad on disability or something?”
He looks back at me, and his eyes are curiously blank. “He’s dead.”
I bite my bottom lip, realizing now that the anxious tension in the car has grown thick, almost palpable. “Oh.” I undo my seat belt with a click, but don’t get out, and neither does he.
“I should tell you something, Shell. Right now, so that it’s out of the way,” he says. His tone is so serious, and I prepare myself for bad news as I turn toward him. “I don’t talk about my father. Not ever. So if we’re going to be together, you need to get comfortable with that. Things got much better when that fucker passed.”
He kisses his fist and slams into the roof above his head. I look up and see a St. Christopher’s Medal pinned on the visor.
“Okay,” I say softly, not knowing how to react.
He notices my distress and pulls me into an awkward hug across the seat. I put one hand on his back as he squeezes me gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I apologize if I freaked you out. I get a little intense on the subject, which is why I avoid it.”
He pulls back and plants a kiss on my forehead, then another one on each of my eyelids. “Let’s go inside and make something to eat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“LISTEN UP, IT’S time for a company meeting,” Russell says the next afternoon, clapping his hands as the employees gather around him.
Quinn stands beside me, her hand still covered in bandage. She didn’t take any work off because she can’t afford it, but I know it’s still hurting her because she can’t juggle her trays anymore. She’s wearing her bronzer again, though, because
, she told me with a smile, that she saw an unmistakable increase in tips.
Beth is standing on my other side, and I can just tell by both of their body language that they’re sending hate rays toward each other. I don’t like being in the middle, but I can’t blame Quinn for thinking Beth sabotaged her.
“There have been a number of issues lately, between injuries and accidents,” Russell begins, staring pointedly at Quinn, and the instant he looks away she scowls at him. “Now it’s come to my attention that there have been several shortages when counting down the drawers at the end of the night. So from now on, the waitresses are not allowed to cash out their tables. You are to give them to the hostess of the night, who in this case is Jo, or to myself or Tasha, whoever is the active manager. Is that clear?”
There are murmurs throughout the crowd and he dismisses us.
Quinn pulls me aside, as Beth steps forward to talk with one of the cooks. “Tell me it’s not just paranoia.”
“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder and then back at her.
“All of these accidents and problems began when Beth started working here.”
“You’re not wrong. But what motive would she have? You’ve never done anything to her, she’s Russell’s pet, and she seems genuinely sweet,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s what she wants you to think until you turn your back so she can stab you in it.” She says, gesturing pointedly to her bandaged hand.
We both stare at Beth as she goes to a table and smiles at the customer there.
“Do you have tonight free, by the way?” Quinn asks. “Since James took my Saturday, and last week you were too hungover to go out?”
I smile at her. “Yeah, I think so.” I think about the fact that we haven’t spent much time together lately. For a good portion of the last year we’ve been attached at the hip. I wrap her into a hug and rest my chin on her shoulder. She always smells like bubblegum and peppermint, and the familiar scent makes me smile and give her a little squeeze just for being her.
“I’m sorry, Quinn, I don’t mean for it to be that way. I’ve never been this serious with anyone before. You know how it was for me. I’m not used to this kind of…” I pull back and search for the right word, the one that convey how it is with James. “Intensity. But I have missed you.”
“I know, and I’m not trying to rain on your parade,” she says. “I was happy for you when it was going well, and I genuinely feel bad that you’ve hit a rough patch. I told you I wanted you to find someone, so I’m not trying to be an ass.” But then she sticks her red bottom lip out in a pretend pout. “I just didn’t think that when you got a boyfriend you’d stop hanging out with your wife.”
“So, then, what are we doing tonight?” I ask as we head to the employee room to get our uniforms on. We both set a rule a long time ago, sealed with a pinkie swear, that the only time we’d don these hideous polyester getups was at work, so we don’t ever dress in them before arriving.
She grins at me, that playful grin that I love. “My boyfriend—which by the way, sounds like junior high, but I kind of like it—is throwing a bash at his apartment and I want you to come.”
“Leo’s throwing a party?” For some reason, the hairs on my arm shoot up. I try to think back to the last time we spoke, when he visited the diner, but all that’s left is a smudge, like the memories been wiped away. I just remember something about a TV and the Amish and a cold feeling that makes me touch my wrist now. Strange.
“Yep. And he wants you to come. I didn’t know you hit it off so well.”
“Yeah.” Me neither.
###
The highlight of the evening is when Tom finds a man getting high by snorting some of our spray cleaner in the men’s bathroom. Russell drags the stoner up with his pants around his ankles, and practically lobs him on the street. He’s still clutching the nozzle from the cleaner bottle. Since we just so happened to have a few patrons there, it did not help business.
My eyes meet Beth’s, who just so happens to be standing beside me, and we both start giggling. Russell stomps by us, and we can’t help but double over, laughing in earnest. She pats me on the shoulder, and I think again of how I can’t imagine this girl rigging the slicer to hurt my friend.
Quinn and I, despite not touching the drawer, have to stand there and wait for Russell to count the entire thing down. We’re in the clear, exactly one cent over.
I’m thinking about you, James texts me as we’re leaving. Just that text makes my heart beat faster in anticipation. I’ve already let him know that I won’t be home tonight, but he seemed excited for me that I was spending time with my friend.
The summer is moving on, racing by while I’m not paying attention. It will be August soon, and though the sun is just starting to go down, but I can already tell the shadows are longer. Quinn and I chat on the way to Leo’s. School was going to be back in session in a couple of weeks for her, and she’s not looking forward to the schedule change with our boss acting how he is.
###
Leo’s swanky apartment building rises five stories, with a doorman with gold-fringed shoulders keeping watch. His apartment is all monochromatic, just like he dresses—black and white furniture, a black rug, and paintings of gray and black shapes on the walls. There aren’t many personal touches, and it almost looks more like a trendy doctor’s office, but it’s certainly interesting. The gigantic new TV is mounted to the wall, currently set on a music player displaying a swirling pink line that twists as the volume changes.
“Isn’t this nice?” Quinn gushes, and pulls me into the kitchen. Beer and different brands of vodka and rum sit in steel basins filled with ice cubes. Black marble cabinets and counters compliment the steel appliances.
“How’s my best girl doing?” Leo asks, sweeping into the room and putting his hands on Quinn’s bare shoulders. She leans into him as he kisses her cheek.
“Your best girl had a rough night,” she says, and smiles at him. “The booze fest, therefore, is much appreciated.” She’s trying to be glib, but I can tell by the way that she looks at him and wipes off a spot on his collar that she really likes him.
But why is my hair still standing on end? I rub my arms and try to relax my shoulders, telling myself that there’s nothing wrong.
Leo is dressed in a black silk shirt and jeans, his hair gelled back. A gold Gucci watch gleams on his wrist. “Remy, nice of you to make it. What do you think of the place?”
“It’s beautiful. And very spacious.” I look up at the high ceiling. “I feel like my voice is echoing.”
He chuckles loudly. “Well, help yourself to anything, and if you feel like testing out the acoustics, you’re welcome to.” He uses a bottle opener on a couple of beers. “If you excuse us, I get the feeling my girlfriend needs to tell me about her night.” Quinn takes a beer, her expression grateful as he leads her out into the living room.
I think my last drinking episode really has turned me off of alcohol for the rest of my life. But I take a Coke can from one of the tubs and join the rest of the party. I recognize a few people from work, including Tom, standing around and chatting. Several couples are dancing to the music from the TV, a melodious, haunting techno song.
I join Quinn and Leo, who are standing apart from the others by a fireplace. “Quinn was just telling me about your work troubles. Your boss sounds like a jerk.”
“He’s mostly just clueless,” I admit, being careful not to speak loud enough to carry over to our coworkers. “He doesn’t see what’s right in front of his face.”
I’m looking at Leo then, and his eyes seem to glint—one minute they’re yellow, then change to lime green. “Isn’t that annoying? When people don’t realize what they’re seeing?” he asks casually.
I blink, thinking I must have imagined it. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. I wish that James was here, because he has a way of grounding me that I miss. Now that he’s not here, I realize how adrift I am, and I resent myself for letting my own sturdine
ss crumble.
The doorbell rings. “Sounds like more guests. I’ll be right back, babe,” he says to Quinn, and goes to answer the door as it rings again.
A girl bursts into the room, her face as red as the tight, short red dress she’s wearing.
“Oh my God, what is Beth doing here?” Quinn moans. I look closer and realize in shock that it is Beth, and she looks pissed, panting as she stumbles into the room.
She pokes her bony finger into Leo’s chest. “What are you doing?” she demands.
Leo looks embarrassed, glancing around at his guests who have stopped what they’re doing to watch the show.
“I’m having a party,” he says coolly, glaring down at her. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?” she asks, pushing her way into the room. I’ve never seen meek little Beth act like this before, showing such strong emotions.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Quinn. She had a tense, anxious look on her face.
“Leo just told me that they used to date. That’s why she had it out for me,” Quinn whispers back. “He told me it wasn’t a big deal, but she took it pretty serious.”
Beth stumbles further into the room, the strap of her dress falling down, and stands in front of the TV where music is still playing. She kicks off her high heels and starts to wiggle around, contorting her body in awkward dance moves.
Quinn starts laughing, but Beth whips her head in our direction and glares at her. The smile falls off of Quinn’s face, and she stares down at the floor.
Beth keeps shaking her shoulders, looking like she’s going to tumble any second. “Is this what you want to do, huh? Dance to this awful noise? Is that why you’re here, acting like you don’t even know where you came from?”
“You’re drunk,” Leo hisses, stalking closer. “How? Why?”
Beth reaches up and touches his face tenderly, her eyes going sad. “Leonos, please…”
