A Better Place

by Jennifer Van Wyk

  “I suppose.” I sigh. His words and all-around personality are puncturing more holes in my well-built walls every day, threatening to crumble them down to dust. I want to keep hearing those words, but I also don’t want to keep hearing them. I feel like I’m stuck in between two places, my heart being pulled in two different directions like an intense game of tug-of-war. I don’t know how to move on from my past, but I also don’t want it to continue to hinder me from having a future.

  “Can I come in?” he asks, still standing on my front porch under the soft glow of the porch light.

  “Oh! Yeah. Of course. Let me just let Jack know you’re here,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way back into the house.

  “Wait. Can I talk to you? Just for a quick second?” he asks, reaching out and touching my hand and stopping me.

  “Sure.” I nod my head. “What about?” I ask as I lean against the back of the couch in the living room. I reach over and grab one of the cream-colored throw pillows and hug it to my chest. It gives me a sense of comfort, and stops me from fidgeting — or reaching out and tugging him close to kiss the crap out of him. That might not give him the right idea for just staying friends.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he hedges but hastily continues, “and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really important, and it’s a strictly friendship favor. I promise.”

  “James. I know I’ve been a little… determined to keep it in the friend-zone, and you’ve never crossed the line. I can’t tell you how much your patience means to me. I trust you. I promise.”

  “Yeah? I’m not being too pushy?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Good. That’s good. I would never want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  There’s not a single molecule in my body that doesn’t believe that. “I know. And you haven’t.”

  “Would you go to a wedding with me?” he blurts out.

  “What?!” I ask, surprise evident in my voice.

  “I’m sorry. I just kind of blurted that out, huh? Let me start over. My niece, Emily, is getting married a few weeks after Christmas. It’s only about two hours from here, but I wondered if you would be my plus-one? And I’d love for you to meet Lily, and she’s been so swamped lately that she hasn’t had a chance to spend much time here. I guess she’ll be here for Christmas, so maybe you can meet then, but yeah. And, Tess will be there, obviously, so you would know someone.”

  “I don’t know, James. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m honored that you invited me, or thought of me…”

  “No one else I would think of,” he murmurs before I continue with my protest that I know will just fall flat anyway.

  “You don’t want to bring someone else?”

  “Like who?” he challenges, turning his head to the side.

  I shrug my shoulders and say the only name that comes to mind. “Christine?”

  They actually seem like a logical couple to me, both being in the food-service industry. Both being single parents of daughters. But even though there’s so much that seems right about those two together — and I love Christine dearly — the thought of it makes me physically ill.

  He’s shaking his head before I even finish saying her name.

  “There’s no one else I would rather bring with me to this wedding, Carly. Jack can come with us, if you’re worried about it being too date-like. I told you I would keep it in the friend-zone, and I don’t go back on my promises. But that doesn’t mean that I want to stop getting to know you better or spending time with you.”

  “Can I think about it?” I ask, already knowing that he’ll break me down, and my answer will be yes.

  His smile stretches across his scruff-covered face. I was never big on facial hair, but the way James does it makes shaving seem like it should be a crime. Apparently, anything James does makes me change my views. Tattoos? Used to make me turn the other direction. Now? Hot enough to lick. Facial hair? Used to make me think lazy and dingy. Now? I want to run my fingers through it and lick. Either I’m severely hard up, or James is getting burrowed deep under my skin.

  “Of course. But let me sweeten the pot. This way you can answer that question that you’ve been dying to have answered since the moment you met me.”

  I giggle quietly. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

  “Who’s the cooler uncle, Dean or myself?”

  I almost burst out laughing. He’s so lighthearted and full of life. He’s truly just a fun guy to be around — always a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He could have become a bitter and cynical man after being left to raise a daughter on his own. Instead he embraced it.

  “Oh, that question! I already figured it out!”

  “It’s not hard to realize, right?” he said as he puffed his chest out a bit, giving me an impish grin.

  “Nope. Dean is obviously the way cooler one between you two.” I press my lips together to stop the smile threatening to take over my face.

  “Carly,” he warns playfully as he takes a step toward me.

  “What? He’s probably not boring, and I’m sure way better looking.”

  “Oh really?”

  Two steps.

  I nod my head seriously. “And in way better shape,” I say, almost choking on the words.

  “You think so?”

  Another step.

  “I’m positive. And cooking? Pssshhh. Hands down, I bet he’s better in the…”

  I squeal and take off running through the house as James advances one step closer, a deep growl escaping his throat.

  I burst out laughing. Heavy footfalls follow me, making my heart race in anticipation. I round the kitchen island and spread my hands across it, breathless from laughing and running. “Maybe I had it wrong this whole time, and he’s Captain and you’re Private?”

  “Take it back,” he says, smiling, his own hands spread wide across the wooden countertop of the island.

  I turn my head to the side. “What? Take what back?” I ask innocently.

  “Carly,” he warns again.

  I tap my finger on my chin, feeling more playful and lighter than I have in years. “Hmmm, maybe I will have to come with you to the wedding. See what the younger Cole brother has to live up to.”

  His eyes flash, and I know I’m in trouble, but I can’t seem to stop. “Oh, you think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

  I giggle and shrug my shoulders as I start to take steps toward him. He turns and saunters my way, flipping his ball cap backward, our eyes never leaving each other’s. “I think I’m a little funny,” I say as I continue walking toward him, holding my finger and thumb up with only a little space apart.

  “Funny or delusional?”

  Saunter.

  Step.

  I guffaw and press my hand to my chest. “Delusional? Who’s the delusional one here?”

  Saunter.

  Step.

  “You’ll see.”

  Saunter.

  Step.

  “I’ll see the awesomeness of Dean? I have no doubts.”

  Saunter.

  Step.

  And I’m suddenly hanging upside down over James’s shoulder being carried back into the living room.

  “Aggghhh! James! Put me dow…” I laugh. “I’ll pee! James! Seriously!” I’m laughing so hard that tears are already forming in my eyes.

  He tosses me on the couch and pounces, his large body covering mine in a very non-friendly way, but I don’t say a thing. I can’t say a thing. While we have not been overly touchy in the weeks that we’ve known each other, we also haven’t refrained from showing each other small amounts of affection. He always puts his hand on the small of my back when we’re walking, and he’s held my hand when we were crossing the street to go for supper. This, though? This is by far the most affection and feeling we have shown each other.

  “Take it back,” he repeats, his eyes heated and voice husky, his arms pinning my hands above me, our fingers threaded together so perfectly it felt like they were mad
e for each other.

  “Hmm? What was that?”

  “I said…” He lowers his face so we’re nose to nose. “…take…” His nose skims the length of my neck. “…it…” Deep inhale. “…back.”

  Heart flutters.

  Flips.

  Flops.

  Kaboom!

  My breathing picks up, and I know in this moment that I have two choices:

  1. Melt into a pile of goo. Which I’m basically well on my way to doing.

  2. Take matters into my own hands.

  I choose option two.

  I pull my hands free, frame his face, and pull him down closer. His eyes heat and flit over mine questioningly. And I do something I’ve been wanting to do for what feels like ever.

  I lick him, from jawline to temple.

  I lay my head back down on the pillow and watch as his face transforms from lust-filled to incredulous.

  “Did you just… lick me?”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t know what to do with that,” he admits.

  He pushes himself into sitting position, and I shimmy up the couch, crossing my legs and tucking my hair behind my ears. He’s facing forward. Slowly he turns his face toward me. “You licked me,” he says like he still can’t believe it.

  “Yup,” I say. I have no clue why I did it, other than I just wanted to, so giving an explanation isn’t even an option at this point.

  “First time your tongue was on me…” He trails off, looking away again.

  A giggle bursts out of me, and I quickly put my hand up to my mouth to hold it in.

  James shakes his head at me, stands up, and places his hands on his hips. He narrows his eyes and points at me. “Now you have to go to the wedding with me.”

  “For the lick?”

  “Wedding for the lick.” My eyes widen, and he continues. “That’s right. I said it. You licked me. Therefore, we wedding.”

  “That’s not even grammatically correct!” Stupid argument? Probably.

  “That’s your defense against going?”

  “Hey! It’s true!”

  “Be that as it may, doesn’t change the fact that you licked me. And we’re now going to a wedding. Together. Hi, Plus-One.”

  I hear a deep snort from the other side of the room and gasp when I see Jack standing in the doorway to the living room, his broad shoulder leaning against the opening, an amused expression on his face.

  “You guys are so weird,” he says, pointing to the two of us.

  “You say weird. I say awesome,” James says. “Just wait and see who the best Cole man is when you both join me for Emily’s wedding.”

  “Why am I being sucked in to this thing?” he asks. “I hate weddings. I don’t wedding.”

  “Maggie will be there. In a dress. She’s a bridesmaid.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  James snorts and looks my way, winks, and my entire body goes up in flames. Bye-bye wall I built so strongly.

  James huffed and puffed, and it blew right down.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  James

  “What’s up?” I ask Jack, hoping he ignores the fact that I’m pretty sure he saw me almost mounting up on his mama on the couch. I have no idea what came over me, but the playful glint in her eye when she was running through her house, her tinkling laughter washing over me along the way made me feel alive.

  I couldn’t stop myself, and when she was teasing me about Dean being the better brother, which, obviously he isn’t, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted her to keep up the act. Because in that moment? Her guard was down. She was being herself and finally giving me a piece of what I’ve been longing for. A hint of who she was before whatever changed her, whatever spooked her.

  Something happened in her past. Something that caused a shift in her, and created this hard-edged barbed-wire fence that she built around her heart. Tess says she turtles herself for protection. But from what, I don’t know. I’ll find out, though. And every day, every chance encounter, every text I send her removes a barb and opens her up to me. I don’t think she realizes how much she’s letting me in.

  In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’ve learned that she’s an only child. After her dad died before she was born, her mom was never the same, turning to the bottle to cope. I learned this one night when she let it slip that she has never once been drunk in her life. Not even in college. I wasn’t a big drinker, by any means, but I can’t say that I’ve never had a few too many.

  I learned that she was originally from the Southwest, although I’m unsure of exactly where. She divulged this little bit of information when we were talking about loving white Christmases as I was helping her hang Christmas lights. She didn’t grow up with snow, and it’s snowed every year she’s lived here.

  At one of the playoff football games, she let it slip that she used to hate tattoos on men, which leads me to believe that she now likes them. My ego tells me it’s because she likes my tattoos. When I teased her and asked what changed her mind, she quickly looked back toward the field and avoided answering that question, confirming my suspicion.

  Her favorite meal is beef and broccoli with Asian noodles. Her second favorite meal? Bacon cheeseburger with real potato fries. The fact that she knows how to enjoy food and not live off salads is one of the many things that attracts me to her.

  Her favorite dessert is chocolate. When I laughed at her response, she just said, “Literally anything chocolate. I’m not picky. Just give me all the chocolate.”

  I immediately went home and started going through every recipe I could find that included chocolate.

  Even though I’ve learned things, there’s still so much I want to know. I may know how she takes her coffee, and that she doesn’t drink soda because the bubbles make her squeamish, she hates sweet tea but loves iced tea, used to run but doesn’t anymore because she hurt her knee. But those are things that are easy to find out. I want to know more. I want to know it all. From finding out what her dreams are, to the real reason she doesn’t run anymore (because she plays tennis, so… the knee thing? BS) to what kind of toothpaste she prefers. I soak up every single thing she tells me and hope to God that she continues to open up, to trust me.

  “You’re so transparent,” Jack says, laughing, bringing me back to the fact that I’m standing in his bedroom.

  I take a moment to look around. One wall is jet black with lime green squares and rectangles painted in random locations. The other three walls are a deep charcoal color. The comforter that covers his unmade bed is black, and ’lime-green pillows are strewn about. In one corner, there’s what looks like an old set of lockers. It kind of looks like Pinterest threw up in here, and I wonder if his mom decorated it or if he designed it. And yeah, I know Pinterest. I use it for recipes.

  “Transparent? What do you mean?” I ask, still looking around the room. Every time I walk into Carly’s house, my eyes don’t stop moving around, soaking it all in, trying to get more glimpses of who she is.

  “Oh it’s like that, huh?”

  “Like what?”

  “Listen. I see how you look at my mom. And even though it makes me wanna puke to think about my mom being hot or whatever, I still want her to have that, you know? She deserves that. After—” he starts to say then looks away from me. “Let’s just leave it at that she deserves it.”

  “I agree with you. She does. But what exactly are you getting at, Jack?”

  He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and leans over, clasping his hands together. I sit down in the chair by his desk and mimic his position. “Didn’t I say?”

  “Not really.”

  He fidgets, running his hands through his dark hair, making it stand on end. “Oh. Dating. I mean, you and her. It’s obvious to me. But you want to, right?”

  “I do. But she’s made it pretty clear that she just wants to stay friends.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I am. If my other option is to
not have y’all around? It’s no question.”

  He nods his head, seeming to soak in what I’m saying.

  “And you’re okay with always only being her friend, if that’s what she wants? You would never push her to be something she’s not? Never make her feel like she’s… I don’t know… less or something?”

  I remember again that Jack is very protective of her. More than what a typical son is of his mother. But this questioning gives me even more insight. I’m dying to ask where this is coming from, to get the details of their past that I so desperately want. But I won’t. I don’t want to make either of them feel like I’m not willing to fulfill my promise of being okay with friendship.

  “Jack. Listen to me and look me in the eye so you can see the truth there, alright?” He stares right at me, and I continue, “Getting to know the both of you over these past weeks, it’s been really great. Am I attracted to your mom? I am. She’s gorgeous. More beautiful than any other woman I’ve ever met or seen. You’ve got a hot mom, dude, deal with it,” I say with a grin when he fake gags.

  “You can’t tell me your friends haven’t said…”

  “Gross. Shut up. Shut up now,” he says, growling, his whole body shuddering, making me laugh.

  “Alright. I get it. Just know this, okay, bud? When I say that I am okay with it, I am. I don’t know what happened to bring you guys here to Liberty. But I do know it was something big. Something that shook y’all up enough to relocate and never look back. I also know that’s your story to tell, and if you guys want to share? I’m all ears. If she wants something more with me someday down the road, I’m not going anywhere. But if neither of you want to share, and she just wants to stay friends, I’m okay with that. I mean that,” I tell him and roll the chair closer to the bed and spit in my hand and stick it out to him.

  “Seriously?” he asks with a disgusted look on his face.

  This kid. He cracks me up. He can be so strong and tough when he’s in the boxing ring, but something as simple as a spit-shake that I mastered when I was ten? He’s about ready to throw up on my shoes.

  I shrug. “Why not?”

  “Uh, because that’s nasty.”