by Autumn Grey
“I’m Megs!” she yells from across the street. “Great to meet you!”
Jesus. The girl will wake up the neighborhood.
She turns and talks to someone inside her house, and then tosses a braid over her shoulder again and walks toward me. I meet her in the middle, with our white little fence separating us.
“Eleanor. Nor. Whatever you want to call me.” I hold out my free hand toward her.
“Megan. But I prefer Megs.” She holds my gaze for a few heartbeats before shaking it. “You’re gonna give the boys a run for their money with that red hair of yours.” She winks at me causing a giggle to abruptly escape from my lips.
“The boys, huh?” I ask, my gaze automatically going to the Holloway’s house as though some kind of force is pulling me to it.
Megs chuckles. “So you’ve met the boys next door, yeah?” My cup is suddenly snatched from my hand.
“Tasty.” She smacks her lips together. “You and I will get along very well. There is this little cafe-book-nook that plays music from a jukebox I know you’ll just love and they serve really good coffee. You and me, yeah?”
Whoa. How did she do that without bursting a lung or something?
She hands me the cup.
“Are those real?” she asks, staring at my chest.
My cheeks heat up. I was a late bloomer, so when my boobs finally came in, they arrived with a bang. “Yeah. Want to give them a test drive?” I joke.
She laughs, then says, “Sure.” Her hands shoot forward without warning and latch on to my boobs. Before I can jump back, she’s squeezing them tentatively as if she’s choosing fruit at the market.
“Yep. Round and suckable.”
What? My cheeks heat up at her words. “What?”
“These are awesome. A guy could live on these alone. Mine are saggy tits.” She sighs. “I call dibs on yours if you ever get tired of them.”
I laugh. I just met this girl and she’s managed to make me laugh within five minutes of knowing her.
“So which one are you interested in?” she asks, nodding toward the Holloway house.
“Um. . .”
“Okay. Let me give you a run-down. So, the one with the blue eyes, football player body, wide shoulders, tall and sort of playful? That’s Josh. The one with the gray eyes, beanie, toned all over and hot? That’s Cole. Very intense. Not my type. . .but. . .give me Josh, and you and I will be best friends forever.” She grins.
I’m trying so hard not to grin. This girl is a ball of sunshine wrapped in light blue jean shorty shorts and a yellow top. “Okay. So, playful Josh and intense Cole. Got it. Which one is older?”
“Josh is twenty-one. He goes to Florida State, and Cole is eighteen. He will be attending Eastern Lake University in fall and wants to major in Architecture. I hear Architects are very creative.” She winks at me and grins.
I laugh. “I wouldn’t know that.”
“I bet you’re interested now, eh?”
I giggle. God, this girl is a hoot.
The sound of a door shutting pulls me away from Megs. I twist around toward the Holloway house and my jaw drops. My heart does its sprinting thing inside my chest. He’s wearing a pair of running shorts, shoes and. . .nothing. His abs flex with every swing of his arm.
Lord have mercy.
He shoots a glance our way and waves, and then he’s jogging down the street in determined steps.
“What do you think?” I can hear the smile in Megs’ voice. I drag my gaze from Cole’s enticing back and face Megs.
“Um. . .he is very thought provoking.”
Hah! As if I have any lingering thoughts after seeing Mr. Shirtless leave his house.
Someone shouts her name from across the street.
“That’s my mom. We’re going to the mall. Wanna join us?”
I shake my head. “You and I are going to get along quite well, Megs. And I wish I could join you, but we still have a lot of unpacking to do.”
Her gaze lowers to my wrists, up my forearms. She frowns. “Are those—” she cuts herself off and blinks at me nervously.
Shit.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business.” She leans forward, catching me off-guard and hugs me. Then pulls back just as fast as she’d snatched me.
“I could drop by later and help you out if you want.”
I nod, relieved she’s still standing across the fence and still wants to come and help us unpack. “I would love that.”
She waves as she turns around and jogs toward her house, leaving me feeling as if a little hurricane just swept through me, leaving me reeling.
I gulp down the coffee and walk around the perimeter of the lawn, surveying the grounds.
I BOLT UPRIGHT ON THE BED. My eyes dart around my room. My heart races inside my chest as the sound of the rolling thunder fades in the distance. Lightning flashes across the sky several times outside my window, momentarily lighting up my room. All I want to do is bury myself under the covers and hide from the world. Dragging the sheets up to my chin, I shut my eyes tight and wrap my arms around my midriff to ward off the chills and shivers racking my body. My T-shirt is drenched with sweat and sticks to my body. Sweat that has nothing to do with the humidity and everything to do with memories from my past.
Lightning strikes again and I whimper, my eyes flying open. Closing them is never a good idea because all I end up seeing is my dad’s face, twisted in an ugly expression as he yells at Mom. I was five years old the first time I saw my father hit my mother. The sound of thunder, and my father’s angry voice, had woken me up. I tiptoed down the stairs and sat on the step with my hands clutched around the wooden bars, watching the horrible scene unfold. Lightning struck outside, illuminating my parents in the living room. Dad’s arm raised with his fist ready to strike. Mom’s body was curled up on the floor, her arms braced over her head to protect herself, right before Dad’s fist began landing on her back repeatedly. It was also the last time I saw him hit her. Either my mom learned how to hide the bruises well or my dad never did it again, but that moment was forever imprinted in my brain.
I take a long, shuddering breath and exhale, pushing the sheet off my body.
Damn Florida weather and its sudden thunderstorms. I hate feeling helpless and scared.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I climb to my feet, pull the T-shirt over my head, and toss it in the corner. I head to my dresser, grab a clean tank and scuttle out of the room before the next round of thunder. Right across the hall from mine is my mom’s room and the one at the furthest end of the hallway, near the bathroom, is my dad’s. Elise’s stands between a guest room and Elon’s.
I stop in front of Elon’s door, which is next to mine, turn the door knob and enter. The next roll of thunder has me sprinting in the dark toward Elon’s bed, stumbling and trying to right myself. My knee hits the side of the bed and I double over as pain stabs that spot repeatedly and mercilessly.
“Stupid son of a cross-eyed dragon!” I curse furiously while rubbing my knee.
“Nor?” Elon’s surprised voice, croaky from sleep, pulls me out of my stupor. I glance up but I’m only able to see the outline of her head in the dark. “What are you doing?”
I straighten and crawl on the bed. “Can I sleep with you? It’s raining outside. . .”
I don’t need to finish the sentence because she knows that storms scare me. She nods quickly, scoots toward the wall and pats the empty space beside her. Once I slip under the sheets, I whisper, “Thank you.”
I feel her hand move down my arm and stop when she finds my fingers.
“Always,” she whispers back, linking our fingers together.
Seconds later, her breathing steadies and my heart finally settles into its normal rhythm.
I probably should be embarrassed. I’m the older sister. I’m supposed to be the one offering refuge to my nine-year-old sister. I stopped feeling embarrassed when I realized that my sisters accepted me with all my oddities and scars.
Finally, I c
lose my eyes, feeling at peace.
The next time I wake up, it’s twenty minutes past eight in the morning. I clutch my chest, trying to breathe through the tightness trapped there, but I feel as though my lungs are dying from lack of oxygen. My body shutting down, every part of it turning numb.
Oh God.
I hate losing control over my own body. I hate that, years later, the memory of my dad’s angry face illuminated by lighting still triggers fear inside me, sending me into full panic mode.
With one last glance at Elon sprawled across the bed, softly snoring, I slip out of the bed, careful not to jostle it too much and tiptoe out of the room. When I reach mine, I change into my running shorts and head downstairs. The house is silent, so I assume my mother and Elise are still asleep. After shoving my feet inside a pair of tennis shoes, I rush out the front door, hungry to find the relief running gives me. Humid heat slams into me the moment I step outside. The ground is dry with no evidence of last night’s storm. As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, I’m off in a furious sprint, feeling the muscles in my legs snap into action.
Finally, I can breathe.
STEPPING OUT OF THE FRONT door of my house, my attention is drawn toward the Blake’s house, like it has been since Nor moved in, automatically finding Nor’s room. There’s a white ladder on the side of the house that leads to her roof, which was built by the elderly couple who owned it previously. That room belonged to their son, who moved out almost ten years ago.
I’ve seen Nor climb out the window at exactly ten o’clock every night since she moved in next door. She settles in on the jutting roof and lies there, contemplating the night sky. Half an hour later, she clambers back inside her room and disappears from sight.
Waiting for her every night has become an addiction to me and I can’t shake it off. She fascinates me, this girl, for reasons I cannot explain. What does she see when she stares at the sky?
I stride toward my car, open the door and toss the sketch pad and pencil case on the passenger seat. Then I slide in the front seat, forcing my mind to stop obsessing over the girl next door. Dad is meeting a prospective client downtown, who is looking for a firm to do a complete overhaul on an old residential complex. He opted to go with my dad’s company, BH Architects & Builders, instead of contracting different firms to do the job. He founded his company ten years ago. It has come a long way from operating in the little room he’d built in our backyard, to renting a plush office in town. I’ve never seen anyone work so hard in my life. After many late, sleepless nights in the office, it finally paid off. BH Architects is now one of the top ten architectural firms in Florida. I hope to join him one day, which is why I will be attending Eastern Lake University, starting this fall to study architecture.
I pause when I see movement in my peripheral vision. I turn around just in time to see Nor, looking cute yet still sexy in a white T-shirt and bright pink running shorts, race out of her front door and sprint down the street as though Hell Hounds are after her ass.
I glance from the door and then back to her tiny frame moving farther away from me.
What’s going on?
Worried that something must be wrong, I start the car and peal out of the parking spot. Gripping the wheel with both hands, I duck my head, searching the road ahead for her red hair and pink running shorts.
Where the hell did she go?
I slow down the car to a cruising pace and look around for any signs of Nor. I pull up on the shoulder of the deserted road and hop out of the car, my gaze scouring the woods. I’m about to give up when I catch a glimpse of pink through the trees on the path that leads to St. Christopher’s Church on the other side of the street.
I can spare a few minutes to check on her so I get back inside the car, drive around the woods and pull up in front of the church. One of the brown wooden doors is slightly ajar.
What the hell am I doing? If Nor is in there, she definitely doesn’t need me invading her space.
Nevertheless, I find myself stepping out of the car. My feet lead the way toward the concrete path, flanked with shrubs and flowers on either side. I pause when I reach the top of the stairs, reading the notice behind the glass board.
Confessions are in session.
I remove the beanie from my head and duck through the door, squinting in the softly lit interior. The church is deserted, save for Nor. She’s sitting on the pew in the first row. Her head is arched back as if she’s focusing on the ceiling. My heart twists inside my chest as I watch her lonesome figure. Everything inside me tells me to go to her, overruling the promise I made to myself not so long ago to stay away from her. Her shoulders visibly loosen as if a weight has been lifted off of them. I give in to the urge to walk inside.
When I reach the front row, I sit down on the bench and scoot toward her. She doesn’t move. In fact, nothing about her indicates she knows I’m here. Her gaze is focused on the altar a few feet away. She blinks, lowers her head and I notice her lips moving but I can’t understand what she is saying. She turns her head to look at me and her eyes widen. I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Gone is the fire that momentarily flashed in her eyes when we first meet, it’s been replaced by a sadness so deep, I’m fighting hard to not look away. I just want to put my arms around her and comfort her. My fingers itch to trace the gentle curve of her jaw.
Shit. My emotions are all over the place, sitting next to this girl.
I take a deep breath. Big mistake. Her scent—a mixture of sweat, a subtle hint of vanilla and sweet almonds—seduces my senses, causing a growl to rise up my throat.
Nor jerks a little, her gaze moving to my mouth.
Shit. I need to learn to control myself around her.
I clear my throat, and her eyes find mine again.
“Sorry,” she says. “I asked you something. I forgot about your. . .” she trails off, a flush spreading across her cheeks, and points to her ears. She takes a deep breath and exhales. When she bites her bottom lip between her teeth, that little dimple on her cheek appears.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her fingers clenched around the Bible, the sharp corner pressed with force on her thigh, given the indent on her skin.
Isn’t she feeling any pain?
“You left your house running like a bat from hell and I got curious.”
“So you followed me?”
“Yes,” I say, my gaze wandering to the book in her hands and then back to her, starting to feel worried. Maybe she has that condition where people are immune to pain? I nod to her lap. “I think the Bible needs a breather,” I tease, hoping to invoke a smile from her and hopefully see that little dimple again.
Her gaze drops to her lap and her jaw tightens as if in pain. Did she just wince?
Raising my hand, I curl it on top of hers and the second our skin touches something like fire charges through my veins and down my spine, jolting me upright. I snatch my hand away from hers at the same time Nor startles and swings her gaze back to mine, her eyes wider than before and her mouth parts. The Bible slips from her hand and drops to the floor.
Holy shit! What was that?
She shoots to her feet and tugs the edge of her T-shirt down, looking everywhere but at me. Confused as fuck, I stand and walk out in the aisle before turning to face her. She leans down, grabs the Bible from the floor and places it on the pew in front of her.
“Hey. Would you like me to drop you somewhere?” I ask.
Her fingers stop fidgeting with her T-shirt and her head snaps up in my direction. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to. . .um. . .wherever you go every morning?”
My eyebrows shoot up and my gaze sharpens on her, taking in every little detail of her face.
“It’s just a passing observation,” she says, raising her chin defiantly, which is cute as shit.
My lips twitch, fighting a smile. Oh, little Miss Freckled Nose has been watching me just like I’ve been watching her.
“It’s not important.” The lie slips fro
m my mouth so easily it gives me pause.
The look in her eyes fades a little, replaced by a spark I can’t put my finger on, until I see her lips quirk in a soft smile. “I’m low on energy, considering I was running like a bat from hell. I could use a lift.”
Her smile. . .Jesus. If that smile makes me feel like I’m high, I wonder what seeing her laugh would do to me. Oh wait. I already did. But she was laughing with Josh. I kind of want her to laugh with me, no matter how lame the joke might be.
Dude, cool it. Take her home and stop all this sappiness.
Taking my own advice, I shove the beanie back on my head once we walk out of St. Christopher’s and lead the way to my car. I open the passenger door, grab the sketches, toss them in the back seat, and then move aside for her to settle on the passenger seat.
The atmosphere in the car is filled with that same energy I’ve felt every time I’m close to Nor. It rolls over my skin, causing the hair on my arms and neck to rise in awareness. Every time I sneak a look at Nor, her face is trained out the window.
Can she feel it? Maybe this is all in my head. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I promised to stay out of her hair and not tangle with her emotionally.
Then why do I feel disappointed? Why do I crave for her to turn and look at me with those vibrant green eyes?
Shaking my head, confused by my own feelings, I pull up in front of her house, and literally run to her side to open her door.
Jesus, Cole. Couldn’t you be any more subtle?
Nor steps out of the car and tips up to look at me, one eye slightly squinted against the glare from the sun.
She licks her lips, looking nervous. Then she lifts her right hand to her chin and moves it forward in my direction, smiling shyly. “Thank you.” She bites her bottom lip, rocking on her feet. “Thanks for the lift. And for checking on me at the church.”
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear which has escaped the bun on her head.
