by Hazel Kelly
“What’s that face for?” she asked. “Did I say something funny?”
“Not at all.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I just remembered that day we stole the canoe.”
She swallowed. “What about it?”
“Just the way the sunshine reflected off the water.”
The tension melted from her shoulders.
“And how you almost didn’t let me stick my tongue in your mouth.”
The red of her cheeks deepened as she reached for her wine.
“Not to change the subject.”
Her eyes met mine with tangible reluctance. “If you’re trying to embarrass me, it’s working a charm.”
“Why would you be embarrassed?”
“Is that what this whole night is about?” she asked. “Unfinished business?”
I shook my head.
“Here you go,” Lisa said, returning with the card machine.
I punched in my pin.
“I hope you’ll come back again soon,” she said, handing me my receipt. “And thanks again for being so cool about the picture,” she said to Gemma. “My sister is going to flip.”
“Thanks for getting that,” Gemma said after Lisa left. “I would’ve been happy going Dutch.”
“Absolutely not. I picked the place.”
“Still.”
“You can get the next one,” I lied, pushing my chair back.
“I see what you did there.”
I tucked a folded twenty under the pepper grinder. “Ready?”
“Is that your way of asking for a second date?”
“I thought this wasn’t a date?” I asked, following her towards the front of the restaurant.
She stepped inside the revolving door. “It’s not.”
“Interesting,” I said, taking small steps behind her. “Where I come from, if you formally invite a woman to dinner, pay for it, and then kiss her at the end of the night, we call it a date.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“Don’t pretend you’re not still thinking about what happened in that canoe.”
“Nothing happened in that canoe,” she said when we hit the sidewalk.
I stopped in my tracks.
“What?” she asked, turning when she realized I wasn’t beside her anymore.
I clutched my chest. “Are you telling me what happened in that canoe meant nothing to you?”
“Stop teasing me.”
“Seriously?”
She rolled her eyes. “I can tell you’re not being serious by your tone of voice.”
I hurried to catch up with her and changed the subject, though inside I continued to plot how I might pull her to me when I dropped her off.
“Sing Street is probably the best movie I’ve seen this year,” she was saying as I validated my parking card in the machine. “Pure feel-good. Like all my other favorite movies. Except—”
“Alex?”
I couldn’t place the voice behind me, but I could tell by the hair on the back of my neck that I wasn’t overjoyed at the sound. After pulling the stamped card out, I looked over my shoulder. “Libby.” I forced a smile.
She blinked at me like she wasn’t sure if she was pleased to see me or not.
“You never called,” she said, her eyes flicking over to Gemma.
“Neither did you.”
“Actually, I did.” She cocked her hip and folded her arms. Her friend did the same and eyed me with intense disapproval. “Twice.”
“What a shame I missed you,” I lied. “Can’t imagine how that happened.” I extended a palm towards Gemma. “Allow me to introduce my girlfriend, Gemma.”
Gemma’s face lifted in surprise.
“Gemma, this is my friend, Libby.”
Libby scowled at her extended hand and looked back at me. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I beg your pardon,” Gemma said, cocking her head as she stepped between us. “Are you calling my boyfriend a liar?”
My stomach twisted into a tight knot, my nausea at the truth of her comment overshadowing the joy I felt at her heroism.
Libby’s mouth pinched, and her face began to redden from the neck up.
“Is everything okay?” Gemma asked in the least sincere voice I’d ever heard. “It looks like your eye is twitching something fierce. Perhaps you should sit down?” She gestured towards the bench at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m fine,” Libby snapped, backing away with a look of disgust still twisting her mean face. “Come on,” she mumbled to her friend.
“Nice meeting you,” Gemma called, her voice like a song.
“You too,” Libby said, skulking away. “Congrats on nabbing the most eligible asshole in town.”
Fuck.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” Gemma asked, spinning on her heels to face me.
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
She shook her head. “I think the pressure’s on you to explain how I ended up dating the most eligible asshole in town without realizing it.”
“I figured it would be better if she thought it wasn’t personal that I never called.”
“But it was?”
I shrugged. “What can I say? Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am an asshole.”
“An asshole who owes me big.”
I grabbed Gemma’s wrist when she turned towards the stairs and pulled her to me. “Let me make it up to you.”
Her eyes flicked down to my lips as her breath grew shallow. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“Anything,” I said, my body crazed from seeing her gorgeous mouth so close.
“A ride home would be nice,” she said, stepping away to catch her breath.
“You don’t have to answer now,” I said, pissed I’d blown the first good opportunity I’d had to kiss her since Monday. “Think about it.”
“I will.”
I linked my arm in hers. “And I am sincerely sorry I put you in that situation.”
“It’s fine. You would’ve done the same for me.”
I turned to look at her as we climbed the stairs. “I would’ve.”
“I know.”
“Still, you went above and beyond there, and I appreciate it.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” she said. “I kind of enjoyed it.”
I furrowed my brow. “You did?”
“Of course,” she said. “Did you see the way she looked at me?”
When we reached the second floor, I opened the door to the garage and followed her into the dimly lit space. “How did she look at you?”
“Like I was trash,” she said. “Like she couldn’t believe you were standing so close to me, much less that you knew me.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“That’s because evolution has spared men the ability to pick up on advanced social cues.”
“That’s not true,” I said, the rear lights on my mom’s car flashing as I unlocked it from a few feet away.
“Of course it is.”
I opened the passenger door for her. “I pick up on advanced social cues.”
She laid a hand on top of the door and looked over it at me.
“When have I not picked up on—?”
“Just now,” she said, cocking her head. “When you didn’t kiss me back there.”
My mouth opened and closed again.
She kept her eyes on me as she slipped into the passenger seat. “And to think I was going to let your tongue in and everything.”
T W E L V E
- Gemma -
Alex’s company seemed to be provoking a flirtatious giddiness I didn’t think I had in me.
Perhaps his forwardness had finally worn me down, or maybe his commitment to making me feel like the most desirable woman in the Midwest had boosted my ego. Whatever it was, the fact that he would tell some size two bitch in heels that I was his girlfriend was actually a bigger compliment than any he’d given me all ni
ght.
“I love Lake Shore Drive at night,” I said, admiring the way the dark lake glimmered under the glow of the city lights. “Especially when everyone’s just cruising along like this.” I took a deep breath and glanced at Alex.
He was leaning back in his seat with one hand on the wheel.
“This is the best date that isn’t a date I’ve been on in years.”
He laughed. “I’m honored that you let me take you out.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked, cringing inside at how desperate I sounded.
“I’m taking a pottery class.”
“What?”
“I think it’s the last one,” he said. “Or at least it will be if the vase I made cracked in the kiln. Been kind of worried about it all week.”
“Pottery? With those hands? You are full of surprises.”
He lifted his free hand. “What’s wrong with my hands?”
“Aren’t they a little big to be sculpting delicate shapes?”
He smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just the thought of you over there obsessing over my big hands—”
“I’m not obsessing over your big hands.” At least, I wasn’t until thirty seconds ago. “Seriously, though. Why pottery?” And then it hit me. “Never mind. I figured it out.”
He raised his thick brows. “I’m not following.”
“Well, there are only two reasons a guy like you would take a pottery class.”
“A guy like me?” he asked. “What does that mean?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Fair enough.”
My neck retreated in surprise. “Really?”
He shrugged. “I understand that you might be more comfortable spacing out your compliments so I don’t get a big head.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Especially when I’m obviously still reeling about the fact that you weren’t offended by the idea that you could be my girlfriend.”
“So you’re not gay?”
He grabbed the wheel with both hands and straightened his arms. “What?!”
“It makes perfect sense,” I said. “Your body, your taste in clothes, your willingness to blow off supermodels.”
“You can’t be talking about Libby. I doubt she’s woman enough to shop outside the junior department, much less model.”
“It would explain the pottery, though.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
“How easy it was for you to offend both gay and straight men everywhere.”
“How is that offensive?”
“Besides the fact that interest in clay has nothing to do with sexual orientation?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “You’re the expert.”
He glanced at me with eyes full of disappointment before turning his attention back to the road. “I’m not gay, Gemma.”
“Sorry.”
“Do I detect disappointment in your voice?”
“I’ve always wanted a gay friend.”
I could tell by his expression I’d pushed too far.
“It’s not my only theory,” I said, trying to ease the situation.
“I can’t wait to hear the other,” he said sarcastically.
“Could it be that you take pottery classes to meet women?”
“Wrong again. Meeting women is the furthest thing from my mind.” His eyes swept up my body. “Most of the time.”
I swallowed.
“Which I realize makes me sound gay, but that’s not it. I just have more important things on my mind right now.”
“Like what?”
“Besides,” he said, ignoring my question. “All the women in the pottery class are in their sixties besides the teacher, and she’s as baked as her creations most of the time.”
“In that case, I’m all out of guesses,” I said. “Though I’m dying to know what a straight man who’s not interested in meeting women is doing spending his Sunday afternoons waiting in line for the kiln.”
“Taking a pottery class is on my mom’s bucket list, and, as an only child, it’s my responsibility to help her check things off.”
I scrunched my face. “Really? I feel like such an asshole.”
“Would it be a bad time to mention that she’s sick, too, so we’re under some time pressure?”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel bad.”
“I’m really not,” he said. “I just don’t want you to laugh when I tell you I have to leave early next Thursday for ballroom dancing.”
“Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. I had no idea.”
“How would you?”
“That’s really sweet what you’re doing,” I said. “I hope she knows how lucky she is to have such an awesome son.”
“Believe it or not, I’m the lucky one.”
I turned to look out my window and stayed quiet for a few minutes. No matter how many times it happened, it always surprised me when I discovered that people who seemed to have it all together were actually fighting battles as trying as my own. “Can I ask what her prognosis is?”
“Her doctor said she has three years.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Starting five years ago.”
“Wow.” I clasped my hands in my lap. “I can see why dating men isn’t a priority for you.”
He smiled. “Well, that’s progress.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, turning onto a side street when he noticed some traffic up ahead. “Life’s too short.”
Maybe he was the same guy I’d known all those years ago…despite the striking change in his outward appearance.
“What about you?” he asked. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m working nine to four, and then I’m hoping my friend will go look at a few apartments with me.”
“You don’t like where you are now?”
“I love it,” I said. “It’s just not my place.”
“Whose place is it?”
“My friend Jeanie’s.”
“Oh.”
I wondered if he thought I might invite him in, wondered if I wanted to. But while I was curious to see what our chemistry might be like behind closed doors, my feelings for him were already more complicated than I would’ve liked.
He pulled up beside the curb and put the car in park. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, as if he detected my heightened sense of anticipation.
I stepped onto the sidewalk, suddenly sad that the night had to end. It went too fast, and it was too fun. What if we never went out again, and I had to skulk around work, fretting about owing him a meal? “Think about where you’d like to go next time,” I said as I walked to the door as slowly as possible. “Since next time’s on me.”
“I will,” he said, squaring up to me outside the lobby’s glass door.
“And thanks again for the lovely meal. I had a great time.”
“Me too. You’re even more fun than I remembered.”
I smiled, my body burning up inside at the hope that he would kiss me goodnight.
His eyes dropped to my mouth as he stepped into my personal space.
“Careful now,” I said, unable to quiet my nerves. “There’s a lot riding on this.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Don’t do it if you don’t think you can top the first one.”
“I thought you said that meant nothing to you?”
I searched his dark eyes. “I lied.”
He leaned forward and kissed me, holding his soft lips against mine until my whole body sighed into his arms. And when he parted his lips to taste me, I let him, my tongue bending with his will until I was dizzy with lust.
I opened my eyes after he pulled away, my lips buzzing from the attention and my t
ipsy tongue useless in my mouth.
“Goodnight, Gemma,” he said, pulling the door open for me. “Sweet dreams.”
F L A S H B A C K
- Gemma -
There was no way I was getting back to sleep now.
I rolled over in my sleeping bag and curled into a ball, hoping my pee would evaporate from the inside if I could make myself warm enough.
Across the bunk-filled cabin, another camper’s face lit up with an eerie glow when she checked her phone. Then it went dark again.
Why did I always do this? I knew full well that if I drank juice boxes after eight, I’d have to pee in the night, and yet time and time again I failed to take my own advice. They weren’t even that good!
And now, here I was, bursting for a pee in the dark with nothing but a frightening walk through the woods to look forward to. Not that I was afraid of the woods. The woods were fine during the day. It was the dark woods that creeped me out.
As soon as my sandals hit the woodchips, every tweaked branch, every rustle of pine, every whisper of wind would have me more paranoid than my dad when he used to drive home from the bar after one too many drinks.
He didn’t do that anymore, thank God. Not since I asked him to stop for my eighth birthday after I learned it was wrong at school. Boy, did he have to pee a lot when he used to drink too much.
Shit. Maybe it was genetic. I’d heard the theory before.
And it would certainly explain my juice box problem.
I groaned on the inside so as not to wake anyone, uncurled my legs, and slipped the zipper down on the side of my sleeping bag so I could slip out into the night.
The air was fresh and cool, and I tucked my hands up into the sleeves of my pajamas as my eyes darted around nervously. Every now and then the older boys would scare kids on their way to the bathroom at night, and the last thing I needed on top of being the resident fatty was to pee my pajamas in front of a bunch of bullies.
When I reached the glowing bathroom, I went in tentatively, trying to steer my mind away from what a perfect setting it would be for a horror movie. My eyes scanned the stall doors, each one slightly ajar and looking hideously yellow under the buzzing fluorescent lights.
I pushed three open and stepped back, satisfied at that point that the middle one was safe to pee in and did so as quickly as I could. Then I rinsed my hands and stared in the mirror, wishing for a moment that everything about my appearance were different before leaving a moment later when the lights flickered overhead.
