“Yeah.”
“Okay, another question. If you could teleport anywhere right now, where would you go?”
She sits up, our eyes connecting before she turns her head away. “I wouldn’t.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because I don’t know what she means by it. “Okay. Ten years from now. Where are you?”
Her knees draw up to her chest, her head craning around to me. “Happy, I hope. I have this vision that loops through my head every time I feel alone. A couple of kids running to the car because we’re late to soccer or baseball or gymnastics. Going to sleep next to someone who looks at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever seen.”
She lies back again, my words lost. As she described it, I saw it play out before me, the man she spoke of in her vision having my face.
We sit in silence, neither of us apparently knowing how to speak again. I spit out the first question I can think of—a stupid one, but one that has been nagging at me. “So, how was your date?”
Her icy eyes cut to mine, as she says, “Don’t ask me about that.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t.” She lies back, turning away from me.
I shake my head, wondering how I could have asked such a stupid question. “I’ll leave you alone then,” I say as I hop out of the bed. I bend down to pick up my shirt and grab my shoes, then walk to another bedroom down the hall, “Landslide” flowing from her room as I fall asleep.
I woke the other day at the farm to the sound of Brooks’s engine roaring, and haven’t heard from him since. I blew it, but I was half-drunk, and I’d worried I had been revealing too much—things he could connect to Ivy. So, I guess he’s reverted to playing hard to get, and, once again, we’re at an impasse.
I crack my window and blast the AC, the sticky air quickly flooding into the car. Looking into the rear-view mirror, I check my upper lip, grab a tissue, blot the fine sweat that dots it. Fucking Georgia. Why couldn’t my parents have moved elsewhere—somewhere without the wet heat? Without bitches like Eliza and guys like Brooks—guys who make you fall in love and carve up your body just to catch their eye again. Boys with mouths that make lifelong promises who grow into men with fingers like gods. But also with hearts of pure gold that are now simply covered in a bit of dust and begging to be brushed off.
My eyes watch the woman on the porch—her bare feet propped on the railing, hand on that admittedly cute baby belly of hers. Her hair is in a loose pony, her languidness getting to me like an itch I can’t reach. Her house is surprisingly nice for Mark having a social worker’s salary. They must have gotten help from her parents. The two-story brick for sale next door had a price tag of $338,000, which can buy a hell of a lot in this suburb. It enrages me, my anger reaching every edge of my body—every tiny, miniscule cell.
She shouldn’t be living here. She doesn’t even deserve this brick-front counterfeit version of utopia, where women secretly shop the Goodwill racks, drive five-year-old luxury SUVs, and charge all their vacations.
But she’s a suspect, even with that baby bump of hers.
I’d followed Jared after he left lunch last week. He did pull into the barber shop, and I’d breathed a huge sigh of relief that he wasn’t lying to me, but I resolved to distance myself from him anyway.
Trust no one. I’m too close to my goal to let anyone fuck this up for me. There’s a rat out there, and I’m betting on this bitch, but until I know for sure, I can’t take any chances. Brooks’s fingers were in my pussy. Next thing, they’ll be sliding a ring onto my own. I can’t fucking wait.
I’m parked several houses down, my dark sunglasses and black scarf all the disguise I figured I’d need after doing research on her neighborhood. If this were the ghetto, I’d definitely have had to rent a car, but there are enough nicer cars around to not draw attention. Eliza would never guess I’d be sitting here as she pulls out a … a cigarette and lights it up.
She takes a long drag and closes her eyes. Drops her head as the smoke is pushed back into the air. I hold my own breath, unable to comprehend why or how she could do that. What kind of mother disregards her baby’s health? Maybe the same kind of monster who would break into someone’s house and smash their dead parents onto the floor? Maybe the same kind of monster who gets knocked up by someone else when they’re engaged to be married?
My knuckles turn paper white as I grip the steering wheel. She sits up, leans over the railing, and flicks her ash into the bushes. Smoke. Flick. Repeat.
Suddenly, her head rotates to the front door, which is now ajar. A man steps onto the porch. Pulls the door closed. His skin is a delicate mocha, leaving no doubt in my mind that he is Mark. His hair is cut short, and the fabric of his shirt stretches across his chest. He mumbles something to her, but doesn’t try to meet her eyes. Her head straightens again toward the street. In one swift movement, he snatches the cigarette from her hand. Tosses it out into the yard before jogging down the steps—the shake of his head one of agitation.
The turn of his head back toward the porch as Eliza plucks another cigarette from the box, coupled with the subsequent scream of the tires as he backs out of the driveway, paint a picture of anger. Is it over the smoking … or something else?
I decide to leave, go get lunch, come back when it’s dark out and the view is less limited. After eating at a little Tex-Mex place nestled in a strip mall, and browsing Target, I head back just as the sun takes its last lick.
This time, I park closer, but detect no movement in the house for a good while. Mark hasn’t come back yet—not that I know of anyway.
I grow bored. Browse Facebook. Decide to make a status that will make Brooks sweat, make him squirm—a little bait to see if he’ll reach out. I remember him saying his family has property in Myrtle Beach, so it’ll be so perfect. He won’t be able to ignore it.
Anyone up for Myrtle this weekend? Friend backed out, and need someone else to drive. LMK. :)
I chuckle as I proceed to log in to several dummy accounts I made featuring hot dudes. Hit me up, one says. With you? Of course! Pick me. We can take the boat, others say. I laugh, impressed with my ingenuity. Brooks had texted me yesterday to ask how I was feeling, and I was a good, restrained girl. I waited a few hours, though they were extremely painful hours spent staring at the phone, biting my fingers to keep from losing control. When I finally responded, I said I was feeling mostly better, and thanked him for asking. He said to let him know if I needed anything, and it absolutely killed me, but I didn’t say anything else. I keep reading the book, keep treating it as gospel, and I’m sending positive energy out into the universe that the strategies will work. Make him realize how much he needs me by his side.
My eyes turn to the house again as some headlights sweep from the street to the driveway. Mark is back. The garage lifts, and he pulls in. What follows next is enough to make me worry for my future. Emboldened and running on adrenaline, I exit my car, scarf tucked hard around me, sunglasses pulled down in the dark. Lingering on the sidewalk at the edge of their lawn, I become immersed in their argument. Yelling, so much yelling, taking place in an upstairs room painted a powdery blue with a large cloud on the wall.
This isn’t good. They’re supposed to be happy. They’re supposed to be in love, enjoying the most amazing time of their lives. Instead, they look to as if they’re skating the edge of their relationship, and I can’t help but wonder ... who will be the first to fall? It’s terrifying, the thought of them splitting. I’m afraid they’ll fall apart and she’ll come running back to Brooks, her bastard son in tow. I’m even more afraid to admit I’m not entirely certain he wouldn’t take her back. Time heals all wounds, and he’s had four-and-a-half-months to get over what she did.
Is it likely? No. But stranger things happen every day.
I make a note on my phone to send Eliza flowers from Mark.
I am a sucker. A sucker who doesn’t know his head from his ass. One minute I want to say fuck it and brace for the nuclear bomb
that would drop after fessing up to Deacon about my house-hunting partner being Emily. The next, I’m leaving the farm without saying goodbye and texting Kate, taking comfort in knowing there is no potential drama and we are on the same page.
I don’t have to see Emily again.
But fuck, I want to.
Even if she doesn’t desire anything from me other than another orgasm, we both clearly enjoyed what happened between us. But it was more than kissing and touching for me. It felt natural, like I had been with her for years. That is what I am afraid of. That is what gives me the most pause, because what comes fast goes even faster, and I don’t want to risk my friendship with Deacon over what could be only a passionate fling.
Kate rolls from her back to her stomach on the lounge chair, folding her arms beneath her face. “Will you?” She motions with her head.
I unhook it with the pull of two fingers. She throws a lazy smile at me before closing her eyes again. Out of the side of her mouth, she asks if I will put tanning oil on her back, so I do. Sitting on the edge of her chair, I spray the oil liberally over her skin, and use my hands to massage her and rub it in. She moans softly with pleasure, and compliments me on my skills. I hate it, but her response excites me a little, because I need to get laid. The closest I have come to sex was Emily jerking me off.
I drop the oil onto the concrete and settle back into my own chair again. I worry about using Kate—not for sex, since it was already understood that would be the extent of our relationship. I am worried I am using her to pass the time—a distraction from Emily. It is difficult to remain distant when I see things like men offering to accompany her to the beach, but instead of coming off as crazy and clingy and asking her what she’s thinking, does she even know those men, I had texted Kate instead.
And Kate is hungry.
What she wants from me, I have not given her yet. I have made excuses, told her how hot it will be to torture ourselves by not giving in to fucking each other until we simply can’t stand it anymore. And it has been hard. It isn’t easy to resist sex when it is right there and it has been so long. But I am hung up on Emily. So, I would rather hold off with Kate. I don’t want to drag her along like Eliza dragged me, even if it is only sexual. Why start sleeping with her if I think there is even a remote possibility of things escalating with Emily?
After another half hour or so, Kate’s shoulders have begun to crisp.
“Think you’re getting a little burnt. Should probably call it a day.”
Her head lifts. She cranes it around to inspect her skin and then groans. “Ugh. I wish I had skin like yours. Have you ever even had a sunburn, Mr. Jansen?”
The way my name rolls off her tongue tells me it is time for her to go home. “Not that I can remember.” I laugh, then toss her one of the folded towels. “You’d better get changed. I have to head out soon.” It was weird of her to suggest sunbathing in the spring when I asked if she wanted to hang out today. She supported her suggestion by stating it was nearing ninety degrees, but the tight smile she just gave me has disappointment written all over it. She must have really thought she could seduce me today.
Inside, she comes out of the bathroom pulling down her shirt and ruffling her hair—fresh perfume on her skin and gloss on her lips, puckering them as if she’s waiting for me to make a move. We haven’t kissed yet, and I have no intentions to change that today.
Sliding my feet into my sneakers, I pull my keys from the tray in the hall like I am about to leave behind her, and she grabs her purse.
“Thanks for coming over.”
Her eyes flit to the ground before she chews on her lip. “How long can we hold out, Brooks?”
I stare at her, unable to respond. She takes a finger and traces it over my skin above the top of my jeans.
“I want it … so bad,” she whispers against my lips, her mouth dangerously close to mine. “But I like this game. Who will win?” Quickly, she runs her tongue across my lips. Briefly, I wonder how to react. My cock wants me to tell her to get on her knees, but my heart says no. She winks at me before I come up with an answer and is bounding down the steps, hair flipping in the wind.
My breath floods from me as I close the door. What am I doing? A beautiful woman who wants no-strings sex just licked my mouth. I should open the door again and call out to her. I should carry her to my bed and fuck her so hard she can’t drive home.
But I don’t. Instead, I do the opposite of what is right. Instead, I go after something else that isn’t supposed to be mine.
August 2002
“Finish your juice,” my mother commands.
I spin on my heel and jerk up the glass, downing it in one gulp. “Done,” I say, slamming the glass on the table in my anxiousness to get to school.
With a skip to the hall, I pull my backpack from the coat hook and open the door. I’m halfway down the front porch steps, feet stomping against the brick, when the front door opens behind me.
“Brooks?” my mother says, surprise thick in her voice. “I thought I’d drive you.”
I turn when I hit the last step, and meet her eyes. “Uh … Mom, I’m not a baby. It’s just around the corner.”
Her lips purse together, her Adam’s apple moving in a slow bob as she shrugs. “Okay. Just … be careful, okay? And remember what we talked about.”
I smile at her and dart for the sidewalk, running the full length to school. I’m so nervous, my body is shaking. I’ve waited forever for this, and barely slept last night.
My feet skid into the hall of the school. It’s empty, because I’m late. I rush to the office, sign in, and get my printed schedule. Once I find the door to my second period class, which has already been in session for twelve minutes, I take in a huge breath and blow it out. My head shakes at how crazy I’m acting. Why am I so nervous? What’s the big deal? I punch myself in the arm, then ease open the door.
The teacher stands from her desk after I poke my head in. She takes the schedule from me, introduces herself as Mrs. Blake, and directs me to an empty seat in the second row. While I cross the room to the desk, it’s hard to ignore all the whispering. I recognize most of these kids. Some say my name and wave excitedly when I look at them, and I wave back. But I don’t see the person I’m looking for.
After I settle into my chair, I tap the girl next to me on the arm. “Hey, do you, uh … know a girl named Ivy?”
Her eyes narrow as she contemplates my question. “Um, yeah. Why?”
“Is she here today?”
“Yeah. I had first period with her. Why do you care?”
I don’t remember this chick from fifth grade, so I decide it isn’t worth my time to explain. “Oh, nothing. I owe her five bucks. I’m Brooks, by the way.”
The girl’s face relaxes into a cautious smile as she smooths her hair behind her ears. “I’m Kate.”
Kate must have been talking about another Ivy. I haven’t seen her all day. She hasn’t been in any of my classes, and I scoured the cafeteria for her. But I didn’t ask anyone else if they’d seen her. I want her to be completely surprised when we see each other again. I just hope she still goes here and that she hasn’t forgotten about me.
Other than not seeing Ivy, I’m happy to be back. It’s been cool catching up with some of my buddies from fifth grade. It’s kind of like I never even left. Everyone seems to remember me. I’m at my locker talking to some guys about football tryouts when one of them elbows me and jerks his head to the left. My eyes flash to a girl standing alone, staring at me. She looks confused or mad or some other emotion I can’t read. I don’t want to embarrass her by staring back, so I quickly turn my eyes back to the guys and keep talking until that chick from class walks up.
“Hey, Brooks,” Kate says.
“Uh, hey. What’s up?”
Logan gives me a thumbs-up behind her, and I cringe inwardly. This girl is really pretty, but I saw tons of cute girls in France before we moved from Paris to the country. And anyway, I want to see Ivy.
&
nbsp; She flips her hair again, her brown eyes dark and mysterious, contrasting with her honey-blonde hair. “Some friends and I are starting a study group for chemistry. I was wondering if you’d be interested. We plan to meet at the Starbucks every Wednesday.”
My eyes drag toward the girl again, but she’s gone. Whew. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Starbucks. Wednesdays. Study group. You in?”
I laugh. I don’t want to get tangled up with this girl yet. I want to talk to Ivy first. “Can I let you know another day?”
Her shoulders slump, but her eyes gleam—a mix of disappointment and hope. “Yeah. Of course.”
Logan pulls me along, but I look back at Kate. “But no Starbucks if I decide to join. You know who my parents are, right?”
She narrows her eyes at me, but I’m around the corner before she can respond.
World History drags slowly, and English drags even slower. When the bell finally rings for release, a sense of dread climbs my throat. I pee, and then head for the front of the school, hoping I find Ivy outside somewhere, but losing faith that I will. I wonder if her dad is the janitor in this building? Maybe he isn’t. He was working the elementary building before, and maybe if he didn’t move to this building, she couldn’t go to the high school.
When I come around the corner, I see a girl push another girl’s head into the water fountain.
“Hey!” I shout.
The perp spins around, her eyes widening. I know her. Eliza. She was never nice, so it’s no surprise she’s gone rogue. “Oh! You’re finally back. Did you bring me any souvenirs?”
I rush to her victim, placing my hand on her arm and pulling her up, my eyes still on who did this to her. “You’re such a bitch, Eliza.”
“Lighten up, Brookster. She was thirsty.”
Laughter echoes through the halls as the girl runs her hands over her eyes and twists her hair to get the water out. It’s the girl who was staring at me in the hall this morning. As her eyes open, the dread I felt moments ago nearly lurches from my stomach, but for a different reason.
The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) Page 13
