by Sara Hubbard
“I have As in all my classes now, Charlie. I’m starting to feel good about myself again. I don’t even care about what people say about me, and a few weeks ago I couldn’t stop obsessing about it.”
“They don’t matter.”
“You’re right, they don’t. Few people matter to me. Just you and Michael.” I watch her, gauging her reaction. But she gives nothing away. “It’s getting really hard to keep my guard up with him. He’s too genuine. He says exactly what he thinks like I do. I feel safe with him.”
“Oh, no, Em.”
I roll my eyes, expecting another lecture. “What?”
“You’re falling for him.”
“What? No. He’s hot, and I would love to screw his brains out…but I’m not in love with him.”
“Em, I’ve seen this before. Many times. He might not be the same as the other guys, but you’re still you. You still want to love people and believe in forever. You’re into him. In a big way.”
When I frown at her, she wraps an arm around me. Realization hits me like a hammer. She’s right, and we both know it. I just can’t help myself. I’m falling for him. She might not see all the changes in me like I wish she would, but she certainly sees through me about this.
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
“Maybe not. Eventually the right guy will come along, and who’s to say he’s not the one? Right?”
“But I’m destructive. I’ll ruin it, and I value him so much as a friend. What if I lose him completely?”
She runs a hand through her auburn hair and plays with the ends. “No, you’re not. You’re intense. There’s a difference. I just want you to be careful so you don’t get your heart broken again, that’s all. This has the potential to be really, really good or really, really bad. I haven’t seen you guys together a lot. Maybe it’ll be amazing. And it’s not like you to give up before you even start trying. That alone speaks volumes.”
“You think?”
She nods encouragingly.
“So I should give us a chance?”
“Why not? Just don’t pick up a baseball bat if he disappoints you.”
We chuckle together and settle against the back of the couch. She turns up the volume as The Bachelorette starts hometown date number two.
“I think his dick is the size of my forearm,” I say to be funny, though I’m pretty sure it’s true.
Charlie opens her mouth to speak, but instead of words, she laughs hysterically. “I love you, Em.”
“You, too.”
Charlie and I watch a few shows. When she starts to yawn, I figure it’s time to leave.
“No, stay in the spare,” she says. “You’re not going home in the dark.”
“You people. This town is so safe. I don’t know why everyone is so worried about walking late at night.”
“That’s exactly what girls say before they get attacked.”
“Charlie,” I say with a frown.
“Then take my car.”
Reluctantly, I agree. It’s after eleven when I pull out of the driveway and head to campus. The moon is out and hanging low in the sky directly ahead of me. It’s a Wednesday night so few people are out and about. Some stray college students walk the streets, probably headed to Pilgrim’s. Wednesday is cheap night. All shots are a dollar ninety-nine from ten until twelve so they always have a good crowd. It surprised me to hear Ozzie was going there, though. He doesn’t drink much during hockey season.
As I’m about to pull into the main entrance of campus I get a text. Since someone is crossing the crosswalk, I pick up my phone and look at the message.
Michael: what are you doing right now?
Smiling, I tap out a response.
Me: Borrowed Charlie’s car. On my way home.
Michael: Take a detour.
I pause a beat.
Me: ?
Michael: Come over. 148 Dignity Drive
I don’t answer right away. I think about what he’s asking. He wants me to come over to his house. My willpower is dying, and after talking to Charlie, I’m starting to think I’m done with fighting my attraction to him. Maybe I should just let what’s going to happen, happen. Deep down, despite my logic and fears for our friendship, I knew we’d happen eventually. Giving in is hard, but it’s also exciting.
Michael: Pretty please.
Me: Since you asked so nicely…
I lack confidence in some areas, though I’m starting to get that back. But I’ve never lacked confidence when it comes to how I look. My body is thin and lean like my mother’s. My face is clear, and my hair falls in soft waves like I’ve spent the day at the beach. My eyes are blue, and they stand out. I’ve always liked my eyes best. Thing is, I know I’m not ugly. I’m not conceited, and I don’t think I’m better than other people, but I’m confident enough to know what I want, and I go for it when my mind’s made up. The first time I had sex with Brad, I practically jumped him. He liked that about me. He never had to ask or beg. I wasn’t just willing, I was willing to initiate. And often. But now as I debate going to Michael’s to have sex, which is likely what this is, my hands slip on the wheel from sweat and my heart is racing.
I don’t understand why I’m nervous. He’s not some guy I’m dating and trying to impress. He’s a friend, and I don’t need to impress him. Only, I feel like I do. Because deep down I know he matters more than any guy ever has.
I slow when I reach his street and turn left to creep down it. The street lights are dim, as if the bulbs need replacing, and most of the lights to the old Victorian homes are off except for a handful. I’ve partied on this street before. Most of the homes are student rentals. One-four-eight comes upon me quickly, and I apply pressure to the brakes and look up at the big house that he most definitely shares with several other people. Or not. Laura said he’s rich.
A couple of cars are parked one after another in the narrow driveway, so I park on the road. With the car still running, I tap my fingers on the wheel. It’s quiet tonight. Not a single person dots the short road except for a man walking a big Saint Bernard.
I can’t say how long I sit and wait. But it’s long enough for Michael to push the curtain across from the door window and watch me. After he disappears, I feel like a moron and decide I need to get out, but he comes out of the house first. As if he recognized the car, he heads straight for me—in his bare feet. His jeans are slung low and there’s a chill to the air tonight, but you wouldn’t know it as he walks tall and unfettered in a black T-shirt.
He knocks on the passenger-side door without bending down. Charlie’s car is an old hatchback. She’s had it since she turned sixteen. I think her grandmother bought it for her, and it wasn’t new when it was given to her. Nothing about the car is automatic except the transmission. I lean over and pull the lock up so he can open the door and get in. In Charlie’s small car, he has to duck his head a little to fit.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He splays his hands on his knees and leans back. “Cool ride.”
“She’s practically family.”
“She?”
“Uh huh. Charlie got her when she was sixteen. She had a big, red bow on top and the remains of a million dogs on the upholstery inside.” I laugh at the memory. Charlie is allergic to dogs. Her gran hadn’t thought of that when she bought the car from a woman who walked dogs for a living and toted them to the park in this very car. Charlie spent her entire sixteenth year with puffy eyes and hives. I laugh because of her crazy gran, not Charlie suffering.
“You’ve been friends a long time.”
“Since kindergarten.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Through thick and thin.” I lean my head back and turn my head to face him. “Do you have any forever friends?”
His eyes twinkle when he smiles at me closed mouthed. “I don’t call them that, but yeah, I have a couple.”
“At university?”
“Nah. My forever friends ended up fishermen like our dad
s.”
“I like fishing.”
“Yeah? Maybe I’ll take you.”
I nod, and the thought of being out on the ocean relaxes me a little.
“What’s up, Em? You’re sitting out here like you’re afraid of me.”
My voice comes out soft and weak. “Maybe I am.”
I study his solemn face, and his eyes have me in a trance. I swear to God he could tell me fire was wet and I’d believe him if he looked at me like he is right now. Something about him makes me feel safe and also makes me forget how broken I feel when I’m alone with my thoughts.
“Did Charlie say something about us again?”
“No. Well, yes, but not like that. I think I want more.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”
I nod, staring at my hands on the wheel.
“Like how much more? All ten inches or…”
“Stop! I’m being serious.”
“Girls are so hard sometimes.” He mutters a curse. “You’re saying you want more, but it feels like you’re about to say good-bye.”
“Oh, Michael! The last thing I want to do is say good-bye to you.”
He quietly chuckles and, without warning, slowly reaches out to take my hand off the wheel. He holds it tight in his and, though he should be freezing, he runs warm like an electric blanket. “Don’t run away. Not now.” He heaves in a breath and releases it through his nose slowly. “Just come inside. We don’t have to do anything. Fuck, we can watch a movie or braid each other’s hair.”
I almost spit when I laugh at him. I wipe the slobber from my mouth with my sleeve. It doesn’t embarrass me, though. Not even a little.
“I don’t want to braid each other’s hair.”
“Well good, because I have no idea how.”
I squeeze his hand, and a shiver runs through me. Why is this so hard? Why can’t I just go for it?
“There’s something between us that I haven’t felt with anyone else, and I’m so scared of losing it.”
“I agree.” His voice is low and throaty. He lets got of my hand and leans forward. With his face inches from mine, my breath hitches. I’m not sure what’s next until he lowers his hand to my seat belt buckle and undoes it. He helps it across my shoulders, his arm brushing over my chest.
His lips curl at the corners as he tries to make things easier. “Don’t make me carry you.”
I lower my head, and my hair falls forward to hide my face. I know what I want, and so does he. I have to take a leap and hope I don’t fall. With him beside me, it isn’t so scary. Surprisingly. He tucks a lock behind my ear and leans away. I take a breath and turn off the ignition before pulling the key free. When I grab my purse from the back seat he gets out of the car. Though I open my own door, he holds it while I get out and stand.
While he walks me up the pathway to his house, he lightly presses his palm against my back. It’s all the support I need to stop me from running.
Chapter 15
The inside of his home surprises me. I assume he lives with some other guys so I expect it to be messy. It’s not like this at all. In fact, it’s way cleaner than I could ever imagine. Though I’m not a good point of reference. Charlie thinks I’m the definition of messy.
On one side of the entryway are neatly organized shoes on a shoe rack, and on the other side stands a bicycle. The sound of a television plays nearby, and I kick off my shoes and take a few steps inside. I chuckle when he picks up my shoes and puts them on the rack. It’s exactly the kind of thing Charlie does to me at her place. I don’t even notice her doing it anymore.
“How many people live here?” I ask, taking in the large living room. I peek around the corner at the renovated kitchen with granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and a long island with hanging pots above it on a metal rack.
“Four.”
“Do I know them?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. One’s on the swim team, one plays hockey with me, but the other one works full-time in the army reserves. He’s away a fair bit.”
“Neat.”
“Neat?” he parrots, as if my choice of words is somehow unusual.
“Man, I’ve been in some rental houses before, and none of them looked like this. I could lick cereal milk off your floors.”
“Please don’t.”
I grin at him. “You’re a neat freak. Wow. I didn’t expect that, but then, you’re full of surprises.”
“How’s that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You just are.” I glance at the old, dark-stained wooden staircase. “Are your roommates home?”
“Jeff—he’s the corporal in the reserves—is on a course in Borden, and Greg and Tate are at Pilgrim’s.”
“Ozzie’s there tonight, too.”
He nods. “I ran in to him earlier after practice.”
“Are you going to show me around?” Because I’m nosy as hell and want to see everything.
“Follow me.”
He guides me through the house. It’s bigger than my dad’s, and he earns a really good living. We start on the main floor, ignore the basement since it’s not finished, and head to the bedrooms upstairs last. There are five, though the fifth is empty. They had a hard time filling it because the rent is pretty expensive. I assume that means the guys living here come from money, rather than living on student loans or scholarships. Except maybe the corporal, but he’d have his own money since he’s not a student. We don’t enter the first four he shows me. He opens the doors so I can look in and that’s all. Every single one is clean except for maybe some clothes on a chair or an unmade bed.
“Frig, remind me never to show you my dorm room.”
“Why’s that?”
I shake my head. “I’ll let you see for yourself one day if you’re lucky.”
“Promises, promises.” He pushes open a door near the back of the house. I look down into the backyard through an adjacent window. A fire pit catches my attention, and then the big deck with patio furniture.
He steps aside and waits for me to enter his space. While I walk around his room, he stays by the door, watching me with his back leaned against the frame and his arms folded over his chest. His bent arms strain the thin fabric around his biceps. I swallow and duck my head, focusing on the space and not his sculpted body.
His bed is made with a thick blue duvet and striped throw pillows. His solid wood desk is clear except for some papers neatly stacked in the corner. I approach it and notice the one on top. A big A+ in red stares back at me from the top of the page.
“A plus,” I ask, raising an eyebrow in question.
He hitches a shoulder. “I do okay.”
I lack shame. And I’m not one to apologize for it. I pick it up and read a few lines and see another paper underneath it, also an A+. Smart cookie. I set the paper back down and pull open a drawer. I snap my head back in his direction and wait for him to chastise me. He gives me a smile instead. With a single finger, I lift a pencil case and find a Lego man. Chuckling, I hold it up. “Does this have sentimental value? Or do you still build with Legos?”
“I’m guessing you’re not good with boundaries.” He pushes off the wall with his foot and approaches me. He’s not annoyed with me because his expression is too light and playful. When he holds out his hand, I give him the Lego.
“One of my brothers has a kid named Sulley. He gave it to me.”
“Oh.” Cute. “How many of you are there?”
“Three. Me, Sulley’s dad, Seth, and Andrew.
“Older or younger?” I take the Lego man back and move his legs into a sitting position. There’s also a small Lego bike in the drawer, and I put him on it.
“Seth is older by two years. Andrew is older by six. What about you?”
“Just me. My dad said I broke the mold.”
He laughs without holding back, his shoulders shaking. “I can see that.”
I set the Lego man on the bike down on his desk near the papers and leave it there. Micha
el closes his desk drawer and sits on the plush cushion at the window seat. I rifle through some books on his book shelves and pick up and read the engraved plaques on some of his trophies—all for hockey. He just lets me explore, not asking me to stop or even seeming to care. In fact, he actually seems entertained by it. An open book. I like it. I did this to Brad when we started dating, and I didn’t even get a single drawer open before he gently closed it shut and listed some ground rules. He told me he liked his privacy, and we wouldn’t work if I didn’t trust him. I should have known it was because he had something to hide.
After I’ve bounced on his bed and determined he likes a soft mattress and a hard pillow, I join him on the window seat. He leans against the wall of the bumped-out window behind him and I lean against my side. I pull up my feet and hug them close to my chest.
“You might be neater than Charlie,” I say, scanning the room again.
He shrugs. “I like control.”
“Well, you and I might have some issues. I’m hard to control.”
“Maybe that’s why I like you.”
I smile like an idiot. Everything he does and says has me feeling like I’m a girl with a crush. And I absolutely love it. “You say that now. You might change your mind.”
“Maybe. But I’m sure you’ll let me know if I cross a line. Not that it’ll stop me.” He flashes me a wink.
“Oh, Michael. What are you doing to me?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
He stretches out his legs and so do I. They lay parallel to each other. Mine barely reach his thigh but his toes are near my bum. I hate feet. But, damn, if his toes aren’t fucking pretty, too. I don’t even see a single hair and they’re perfectly clipped. “Do you get pedicures?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Uhhh…no. Should I?”
Sigh. “No.”
He takes a long, hard look at my toes so I tuck them under this thigh, but he forces them out, gripping my instep so he can take a better look.
“Don’t. I hate my feet.”
He sets them down and starts to massage one of them. “Girls always hate something about themselves.”
