by Katie Ashley
Cade scratched his chin as he eyed the menu board above him. “Hmm, I think I’ll have two grilled cheeses with extra mayo, some BBQ chips, and a large Coke.”
“I’ll get right on it.” I jerked my chin toward his notebook. “We can brainstorm while I work.”
“If you say so, Miss Multitasker.”
I set a Coke down in front of Cade and then got busy working on his sandwiches. After he took a quick swig, he dug the instruction sheet out of his notebook. “Okay, so we have to take the themes of anti-romance and anti-love and apply them to at least one tragedy, one comedy, and one sonnet.” He held up one finger. “However, the more textual examples you use to prove your argument, the better your grade will be.”
“Knowing Dr. Paulson, that means exhaust every possible example,” I mused.
“Exactly. Course, it should be a no-brainer picking from some of the tragedies, like what idiots Romeo and Juliet were,” Cade said.
I laughed. “I guess that means we’re on the same page that two impetuous teenagers suffering from insta-love and hormones doesn’t truly make a great love story?”
Cade nodded emphatically. “Totally. Like when peeps are going on and on about what a great love story it is, I wonder sometimes if I even read the same story. I mean, you got Romeo who is a total player who spent the first act being all emo about this Rosaline chick, and then we’re to believe his heart hadn’t loved until that moment and his eyes hadn’t seen true beauty until that night.”
I couldn’t help being impressed at how well Cade remembered Romeo and Juliet. Oh man, there I went again; I was getting sidetracked by stereotyping Cade as an apathetic jock. He obviously packed brains along with his brawn. As much as I hated to admit it, that made him even more attractive.
“That’s definitely a point we should make in the paper,” I said.
“Putting it down now,” Cade said as he wrote in his notebook.
Placing my palms on the countertop, I leaned in to eye the project’s guidelines. “Do you think Paulson will consider Romeo and Juliet an easy out, or that we’re challenging stereotypes?”
“Good question. I say we devote two or three paragraphs to R and J but spend more time on some of the other tragedies.” Cade stroked his chin. “Which ones though?”
“How about Othello? It’s a pretty toxic love story. You have Othello, whose obsessive and jealous love for Desdemona eventually leads him to kill her after he’s been played by Iago into thinking she was cheating,” I suggested.
“Good one.” Cade scribbled in his notebook. “Speaking of jealousy, how about the love triangle in King Lear between Goneril and Regan?”
While I bobbed in agreement, I added, “Although we could probably argue that it was more of a ‘lust’ triangle, rather than love.”
A wicked gleam burned in Cade’s eyes. “Sounds like my kinda triangle. Edmund should have put his studliness to good use and just banged them both at the same time. A sisterly ménage à trois.”
“Gross,” I muttered as I ducked my head. I’d never had a guy talk so openly about sex in front of me. It was completely mortifying, especially considering what a noob I was when it came to those kinds of things.
“Which part? The sisters or the ménage?” Cade questioned.
“All of it, but especially the sister part.”
“I hear ya.”
I whipped my head up to stare at him. “You do?”
He smirked at me. “I might be into getting kinky, but being part of incest-type shit isn’t part of it.”
A nervous laugh bubbled from my lips. “It’s good to know you at least have some morality.”
“Just about the incest stuff. I would totally be down for a ménage, but only with another girl…not a dude.”
For the life of me, I didn’t know why I blurted out, “Why not with another guy?”
Cade’s expression soured. “With another dude, there’s the inevitability that his nutsack is going to brush up against me.” He shuddered. “That’s some sick shit.”
While I silently again willed the floor to open up and swallow me whole, I turned my attention to finishing up his sandwich. “Um, we really need a subject change.”
Cade chuckled. “How in the hell did we get off on this, Prescott?”
“I think the discussion took the horrifying turn somewhere at King Lear.”
After snapping his fingers, Cade blurted out, “Hamlet.”
“What about him?” I asked as I set the grilled cheese in front of Cade.
“We should totally talk about what an asshole he was to Ophelia.”
“I’m glad to see that we’re once again in agreement. The way he led her on and played mind games was deplorable.”
With a snicker, Cade said, “Did you actually just use the word deplorable?”
Although heat warmed my cheeks, I countered, “What would you call a guy who played hot and cold with his amorous emotions and accused an innocent girl of being a whore just because of his”—I paused to make air quotes with my fingers—“mother issues?”
“I’d call him an epic douche.”
“Exactly—not to mention, a murderer. He didn’t just break Ophelia’s heart; he shattered it when he killed her father.”
“Well, Polonius shouldn’t have been lurking around in the curtains, but that’s another story. Also he was an oppressive asshole who bossed her around all the time.” Cade took a huge bite of his sandwich. His eyes widened, and then he moaned in pleasure. “Holy shit. This is the best fucking grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
I laughed at his reaction. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Seriously though. What’s in this?”
“Um, cheese.”
Cade rolled his eyes. “Come on. Is it like some secret recipe?”
“Not really. It’s just a mixture of American, Colby, and Monterey.”
“Well, it’s fucking amazing. I need to do like a Yelp review or some shit.”
“Thank you. That would be really nice.” I tapped my finger on the instruction sheet. “Well, I think we pretty much have the plays down. Now we need to focus on the poetry.”
Cade grinned. “That’s an easy one. The ultimate diss in the form of a sonnet: ‘My Mistress’s Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun’. The dude nails her for bad breath, brownish-gray tits, and a shitty face.”
“Well, the brownish-gray…” I swallowed hard; I just couldn’t bring myself to say the word tits. It was one of those words that felt like nails on a chalkboard.
“Tits?” Cade suggested.
“Yes, those. It’s dun-colored in the text, and it isn’t actually a diss because he was writing it to the Dark Lady. Her skin would be darker than snow no matter what.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s still a diss. You know, like how back then you could tell a person’s wealth and social standing by how pasty they were? He could be dissing her social standing.”
“But he goes on to say that in spite of it all, he loves her. I think that’s showing true love, rather than anti-love.”
Cade cocked his head at me. “Would you want some douchebag who says shitty things about you but then says he love you in spite of all that?”
Hmm, he had a point there. “No, I wouldn’t, but maybe what he was trying to get across was that love transcends the physical surface to be about what’s inside a person?”
With a smirk, Cade said, “If I have to put a bag over a chick’s head, it’s not going to be love. It’s going to be that she’s a butta face.”
“A what?”
“You know, a butter face?” At my still blank expression, Cade added, “Everything is hot but her face. A butta face.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Just telling it like it is. Shakespeare was a man, and men are about the physical. I highly doubt he was going to be able to get it up for some chick he didn’t find attractive.”
“Ugh, you’re disgusting.”
“For being honest?”
“No, f
or feeling that way. What if you were in love and got into an accident where you were disfigured? Wouldn’t you hope that you would be able to find someone who would love you for what was on the inside?”
“Just how bad are we talking here? Like do I have a gnarly scar on my face like Tyrion Lannister in Game of Thrones, or I got so fucked up I look like Sloth from The Goonies?”
I rolled my eyes. “What does it matter?”
“Trust me, it matters.”
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“Yeah, well, there really isn’t a point because I’ve never been in love before.”
“And why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Uh, maybe because I’m an eighteen-year-old dude.”
“Age shouldn’t have anything to do with it. My grandparents fell in love when they were fourteen.”
“More power to them. It just hasn’t happened like that for me.”
“Even if it hasn’t happened, can’t you at least imagine being in love?”
Cade pinched his eyes shut and appeared to be concentrating really hard. “I’m imagining being in love.”
“Okay.”
“First thing I see is monogamy, which epically blows.”
I huffed out a frustrated breath. “What could possibly be so wrong with loving one person for the rest of your life?”
“Hmm…being limited to the same woman for years and years and years. More specifically, that’s being limited to the same pussy for years and years and years.” His eyes popped open to stare at me. “It’s like a prison sentence.”
I shook my head as I shot him a disgusted look. “That’s a pretty negative view of love.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“And now I wish I hadn’t.”
“Sorry. Just callin’ it as I see it.”
“Guess your parents must’ve gone through a pretty bitter divorce,” I remarked.
Cade smirked at me. “My parents aren’t divorced. They’re going on twenty-five years of marriage.”
“Oh.”
“But just because they’re married doesn’t mean they’re in love.”
“Then why stay together?”
“Because my father needs the seemingly perfect family to stay an elected representative, and my mother needs my father’s money because she has no marketable skills besides running a household and looking pretty.”
I leaned back against the counter, taking in everything he had just said. I drew in a few breaths because it had been a harsh portrait of his family, a jagged puzzle piece of what made him who he was. Cade had never experienced romantic love because he’d never been around any form of love. My heart went out to him.
He grunted. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me and wanna give me a hug to make it all better.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
“Sure you were.”
I huffed out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t know you were such a mind reader.”
Cade laughed. “I don’t have to read minds; it’s written all over your face. You were staring at me like I was a lost puppy.”
“I’m sorry. I just felt bad for you because of your family.”
After swiping his mouth with his napkin, he tossed it onto his now empty plate. “It’s okay, Prescott. Save your pity for starving children.”
“It wasn’t pity. I can’t help having a tender heart and caring about people. It’s just who I am.”
“Fine. I guess you can care about me.”
“As a friend,” I quickly corrected.
Cade laughed. “Don’t worry, Prescott. I didn’t think you meant anything more.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Although you did a pretty good job of staring at my bod earlier.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Whatever.”
When Cade’s phone dinged, he dug it out of his pocket. “I gotta go.”
“Oh. Okay.” I didn’t know why, but I felt a little bereft that he was leaving. If I was honest with myself, it was because I had enjoyed spending time with him. It was nice having a guy I could talk intellectually with. Of course, he had to throw some crudeness in there as well.
Cade put his notebook back into his messenger bag. “I don’t know about you, but I think we have a hell of a start on blowing Paulson’s mind.”
I laughed. “I think so, too.”
“How much for the sandwiches?”
Holding up my hands, I said, “It’s on the house.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. My treat.”
Cade dug a twenty out of his pocket before leaning over to toss it into the tip jar. He grinned at me as he stood up. “For your excellent service.”
My heart fluttered at his extreme kindness. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See ya back at Harlington, aka hell.”
I laughed. “Yeah. See you in hell.”
Cade threw up his hand before breezing out the door. Although I should have been happy at how well we were working together, an anxious feeling pricked its way down my spine.
“This is going to be trouble. He is going to be trouble,” I murmured.
CADE
Two Weeks Later
On Saturday morning, I had planned to sleep in like usual, but then my phone started ringing at the ass crack of dawn. Well, it was only eight, but considering I’d been partying late into the night, it felt way earlier. I groaned at the realization that it was the Imperial March from Star Wars, aka my father’s ringtone. Since he never just called to shoot the shit or see what was up in my life, I wasn’t too stoked to answer it. “Hey Dad, what’s up?”
“I need you to come home tonight. I have a photographer coming to the house tomorrow morning to do new family pictures for my campaign brochures.”
I rubbed my eyes. “If the pictures aren’t until tomorrow, why do you need me tonight?”
My father gave an exasperated sigh. “Because you’re not exactly trustworthy when it comes to being punctual, Cade. If you’re here tonight, then I know you will be ready in the morning.”
“I’m supposed to be working on a school project tonight.”
“So reschedule it.”
Ugh, that was so like Daddy Dearest to just automatically assume the world revolved around him. “Whatever,” I grunted.
“Your mother has sent your black suit out to be cleaned, so you don’t have to worry about what you’re going to wear.”
“Peachy.”
I could practically feel my father’s irritation seeping through the phone. “I’ll see you tonight, Cade.” Then he hung up.
“And goodbye to you, too,” I mumbled.
I scrolled through my contacts for Avery’s number. We were supposed to meet up at Harlington’s library that afternoon to start piecing our research together into an outline of what would become our research paper. I was feeling pretty stoked about the information we’d collected so far. I’m sure it’s shocking that a guy like me gave two shits about Shakespeare or doing research, but don’t forget that I’ve got beauty, brains, and brawn.
Getting Avery for a research partner was like a dream come true. Since she was a total nerd, I could count on her to take the project seriously. If I had been assigned to one of the girls in my crowd, I would’ve had to push for the paper to be a priority over all the social shit they were involved in.
With Avery, I didn’t have to worry about her wasting study time flirting. Any other girl would be adjusting her shirt so I’d notice her tits while we read a musty tome on Shakespeare or leaning over me so her tits could rub against my shoulder while we did research on the computer. Trust me, I’ve experienced almost every trick in the book used by chicks trying to get my attention, and they never worked.
“Shit,” I muttered when her phone went straight to voicemail. She was probably working. Throwing back the blanket, I hopped out of bed and started for the showers. If I couldn’t get Avery on the phone,
I would just drive into town and hook up with her there.
When I stopped in at Rose’s Garden, I found Avery’s cousin working instead of her. She gave me Avery’s home address along with a few eye-fucks. Even though she was pushing thirty, the fact that I was jailbait didn’t seem to concern her too much when it came to hitting on me.
After she offered me a free drink on the house, I quickly made a run for my car. Once I plugged the address into my phone, I headed over to Avery’s. The closer I got to her house, the farther away from civilization I got. I turned off the main highway onto a gravel road and it ended at a two-story farmhouse that looked like something out of one of the reruns of The Andy Griffith Show our cook Sandra used to love to watch.
I parked my car, but I didn’t immediately get out. Instead, I stayed in my seat looking around the farm. I tried to imagine Avery living there. It was no wonder she seemed so different from the other kids at Harlington. I doubted there was anyone there who had ever actually been on a farm, least of all lived on one.
I grabbed my phone and messenger bag. After throwing open the car door, I started across the yard. I snorted when I expected to see Aunt Bea sitting in the swing at the end of the porch. The wooden front door was open, and I could see the inside of the living room through the glass door.
My knuckles rapped against the glass, causing it to rattle loudly. After a few seconds, an older lady with white hair tucked back in a bun came down the hallway, wiping her hands on an apron. With a smile, she unlocked the door and opened it. “Yes?”
“Hello. I’m Cade Hall. I’m here to see Avery.”
“Well, come on in, son. Don’t want to let out any more bought air.”
I squeezed past her through the doorway and into the living room. My nose perked up at the smell of what I imagined was a fresh apple pie coming from the kitchen. The woman extended her hand with the same warm smile. “I’m Margie Perkins, Avery’s grandmother.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice meeting you as well.” She motioned to the kitchen. “Just give me a minute. I’ll have to go call for Avery.”
“Yeah, I already tried her but it went to voicemail.”
