by J. A. Little
The doorbell rings again, and I run out of the bathroom toward the front door. I stop to compose myself before I pull it open, but the man standing in front of me still renders me speechless. He looks that good.
He’s wearing his regular baggy jeans, a white T-shirt covered by a flannel shirt and a black coat, and his Docs. On his head, of course, is his knit hat. His jaw is covered with light scruff, highlighting his full lips, which curve upward as I gaze at them. I flick my eyes up a little and meet his dark-green ones.
“Hi.”
I feel my cheeks flush. I’m sure he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking; it must be written all over my face. “Uh, hi. Come on in. I just need to put my coat and boots on.”
He steps into the foyer and shuts the door behind him. I grab my boots from the closet and pull them on. Lifting one foot up onto the storage bench, I lean over to tie the laces, and then do the same with the other. When I turn around, Dean’s expression looks like a boy expecting a scolding.
“Were you looking at my butt?” I tease. He shakes his head, but his lips are pressed together as if he’s trying not to smile.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.” He nods.
“Damn. I put on these jeans specifically so you would. Maybe I should go change.” I take a step toward my bedroom, but Dean grabs my arm.
“Come on, smartass.” He smirks. “You look good. Let’s get out of here.”
I laugh and let him lead me out.
When he turns on the car, I’m surprised to hear classical music come out of the speakers. This man will never cease to surprise me. He turns it down, glancing and smiling coyly at me before pulling away from the curb.
“So, I thought we could go to a coffee shop in Bloomington. Great little place. I know the owner.”
“Sure. I’m easy,” I answer without thinking. Dean snorts. “I mean…shut up. You know what I mean,” I groan, hitting his arm.
I’m a little anxious about what’s happening here. My heart wants to believe this is a date, but my head is telling me to get real. Despite our flirtatious banter, Dean has pushed me away again and again. No guy suggests being friends unless he’s really not interested in anything else. I can do friends, though. I just need to get over the physical attraction. And the emotional attraction. And the ache in my entire body every time he touches me. Shit, this is going to be hard.
We pull up in front of a corner coffee shop called The Jumping Bean. I can’t even get my seat belt off before Dean opens my door.
“Thank you.” I smile as he takes my hand and helps me out.
“My pleasure,” he says with a wink. And there it is—the ache. I jerk my hand away suddenly. He narrows his eyes, probably trying to figure out what the fuck my problem is. I try to recover by reaching for a nonexistent itch on my back.
“Sorry,” I laugh awkwardly. “Had to scratch.”
He nods slowly. I’m not sure he buys it, but it was the best I could come up with.
As I walk into the shop, the smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries overwhelms my senses. I inhale deeply.
“That’s so good,” I moan.
Dean chokes and then coughs a few times. I look at him, but his eyes are closed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “I just need something to drink. Come on.” I feel his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the register.
I order a large black coffee and a chocolate croissant while Dean orders a triple espresso and a blueberry muffin. I hand the woman behind the counter a ten, but she shakes her head. Her eyes flicker behind me.
I turn to face him. “No way, Dean. You bought lunch the other day. It’s only fair that I buy you a coffee and a muffin.” Because that’s what friends do. They share the responsibility of paying for things like lunch and coffee.
“Don’t look at me!” he laughs, holding his hands out in defense. I turn back around and look at the barista.
“His money’s no good here.” She smiles. “He knows that.”
“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and facing him again.
“I told you. I know the owner.”
At that moment, a stunning woman suddenly appears from the back room. “I thought I heard your voice,” she squeals, running around the counter and jumping into Dean’s arms. Is it irrational that I want to cut the bitch? She’s got dark hair with bright red streaks throughout, and I can see several tattoos peeking out from under the sleeve of her shirt. She definitely looks like someone Dean would be attracted to. A thought suddenly hits me in the gut like I’ve been sucker punched. Is this his ex-wife?
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve missed the shit out of you.”
Dean laughs. “I’ve been busy. The phone works two ways, you know.”
The woman pulls away slightly, but still holds on to him. “You look good, honey. Like…real good.” Her eyes flicker to me, and a mischievous grin spreads across her face.
“Mita,” she introduces herself.
“Kayla,” I respond. She looks back at Dean, her eyes widening. He shakes his head in some silent communication. My jealousy skyrockets—they clearly know each other well.
“Okay, well. I have to do the books, but come get me before you leave.”
Dean nods. The barista hands me both of our coffees. She walks away and then returns with our pastries.
I walk toward the sitting area. Dean follows. We pull off our coats and toss them in an empty chair. I’m still agitated as I sit down in the middle of a couch. Dean sits next to me, not across. We’re close, but not touching.
“Ex-girlfriend?” I ask, the snark in my voice betraying me.
Dean laughs. “No. Mita’s my cousin on my mother’s side. And she’s a lesbian.”
“Oh,” I say stupidly. I take a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide my embarrassment. “You couldn’t have told me that in the car?” I glare, but end up smiling at his guilty expression. He looks too damn cute. And sexy. Dean pulls off his knit hat, and I laugh.
“What?” He scowls.
Leaning forward, I reach out. He jumps a little, but relaxes quickly when he realizes what I’m doing. I notice he does that a lot—startles and tenses when people make unexpected moves. From what he’s told me about his time in prison, I guess it only makes sense, but I don’t like it.
I run my hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tame his wild locks. They’re sticking up all over the place. His hair is soft and silky. Most people wear hats when they haven’t had a chance to wash their hair. That’s not the case with Dean. In fact, his hair is still slightly damp. He probably put on the hat after he got out of the shower. I have to redirect my mind when it drifts to thoughts of Dean in the shower.
I continue to comb my fingers through his hair until I feel his hand around my wrist. It’s not a grip or a grasp. In fact, he’s barely touching me, but it’s enough to make me realize what I’m doing. I look down and get lost in his gorgeous green eyes. I’m pretty sure my heart stops and time stands still as we stare at each other. But then he lets go of my wrist and I sit back.
“Is it better now?” he asks. His eyes are dark and intense, his head slightly bowed.
I shrug and smile. “It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
My phone, which is sitting between us, chimes, and a text pops up on the screen. Dean and I both look down.
Just got home. Where are you, buttercup?
“Buttercup?”
“It’s Andy,” I chuckle.
“He calls you buttercup?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum, quickly typing out my response.
Having coffee. Be back later.
“Why?”
“That has the potential to be a very long story.”
“Go for it. I’ve got plenty of time.” His voice is soft, but demanding. I’m not sure I have the ability to say no to him when he uses a voice like that.
I shake my head. “It’s stupid, rea
lly.”
“I don’t care,” he says quietly. “I want to know.”
I take a moment to collect my thoughts. How much do I want to tell him about my childhood? About my rebellion? About my breakdown?
“Okay. Uh, you know my parents are divorced, right?”
Dean nods.
“I think it kind of hit my dad out of nowhere. The divorce, I mean. Growing up, it always seemed like my parents were happy. We had dinner together almost every night. We went on family vacations, and my parents were always pretty affectionate.” I look down at my hands, which are wrapped around my coffee cup. “I don’t remember when things began to change. I sort of remember my mom starting to work more nights. We barely saw her because, by the time she got off shift, Dad had to go to work and I had to go to school. And then one day, just after my tenth birthday, it all seemed to fall apart. They fought—screamed, yelled, cried. My dad cried. I’d never seen or heard my dad cry before, but my mom packed up some of her shit and left, slamming every door she could. When she was gone, I could hear him in his room.”
I take a sip of my coffee and continue. “So my dad tried to keep things as normal as possible for me. He went to work; I went to school. I figured that’s the way things were going to go. About a month later, my mom showed up at school and pulled me out. I never had a choice. I was suddenly living with her and her new boyfriend, Richard, in a fancy apartment and going to a private school where I had to wear a uniform. My dad sold the house and moved. At the time, I thought he just didn’t want to fight for me.”
“You didn’t see him?”
“I saw him almost every weekend at first, but he was always so sad. He just sat around drinking beer and watching TV. After a few weeks, I stopped asking to go and he stopped insisting I come. I’ve never asked him why. I think he regrets it now, but back then it was just too painful for him to see me. About three months after my parents separated, I found out my mom was five months pregnant with Richard’s baby.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. I was only ten, but I was smart enough to figure out the timing on that one.” I roll my eyes. “I was so unhappy. Richard hated everything about me from the moment I stepped foot in his house, and I think the fact that I look like my dad made it even worse.”
“But he’s the fucker who stole someone else’s wife.”
“Yeah, well. Richard doesn’t see it like that. He says that my mother came to him because she was unhappy in her marriage. He says she always deserved better than what a washed-up security guard could give her.”
“No wonder you hate him.”
“That’s not even the worst of it,” I mutter. “Once Claire was born, I was pretty much a sidenote.”
A scowl appears on Dean’s face, which makes him look intimidating.
“That’s a shitty way to feel at such a young age,” he grumbles.
“It was very…disheartening,” I agree. “I rebelled like you wouldn’t believe. Yelling, swearing, stealing money, sneaking out, sex, drugs, alcohol.” His eyes widen like he doesn’t believe me. I continue, knowing the worst is yet to come. I’m already this far in—might as well get it all out at once. “I was a huge pain in the ass. Richard was constantly yelling at me, calling me names. The more he did it, the more brazen I got. I’d come home from school shit-faced with hickeys all over my neck. I lost my virginity at fifteen. I just wanted to feel wanted—loved.” I look down when I feel Dean’s fingertips graze my hand. It’s almost like he’s asking permission to touch me. I open my palm and feel his hand slip into mine. It’s comforting. “When I was sixteen, my mom walked in on me screwing my boyfriend, Jimmy.” I stop and let out a humorless laugh. “That was it. She was done with me. Completely. She practically threw me out the second I was dressed.”
“So, you went to live with your dad?”
“Yeah, I didn’t really have a choice. I had nowhere else to go. He had a new wife and a new life, including a stepson I hadn’t even met. The only things that really changed were my address and my school, though. I still hung out with my rich friends. They had access to everything I needed to get fucked up.”
“Wait. You’d never met Andy?”
I shake my head. “My dad and Karen got married in a really small ceremony at the courthouse. Andy was in school on the East Coast. I didn’t meet him until he came home for the summer after I moved in.” Dean is still holding my hand, his thumb stroking mine.
“Anyway, the nickname. You asked about the nickname.” I sigh and take another drink and then a bite of my croissant.
“It’s fine. I’m listening to whatever you want to talk about.”
“Um…uh…” I stutter, trying to figure out where to pick back up. “So, my dad and Karen have a field by their house and in the spring it’s covered in flowers—mostly buttercups and wild daisies. The day Andy came home from school, I was there. I don’t know how he found me, but he did and the first thing out of his mouth was, ‘What’s up, Buttercup?’ I remember thinking, ‘Who is this asshole and why is he killing my high?’ I was such a bitch.” I laugh at the memory. Andy was such a dork back then. “The name just kind of stuck.”
“So, he wasn’t such an asshole after all?”
“He could be. We slipped into big-brother, little-sister roles really easily, like we’d grown up together.”
“You obviously straightened yourself out, though. The move to your dad’s must have been a good one.”
I smile sadly and shake my head. “No, I didn’t. Not right away.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrow. I shove my thumbnail into my mouth. This is the part I don’t like to talk about. The part I don’t like to remember. I should stop—he doesn’t need to know this about me. I’ve answered his question. But…it’s part of who I am. Dean and I are in the getting-to-know-you stage of our friendship. This is part of getting to know me. He’s had his own issues. He works with at risk youth. He’ll understand.
“So much happened at once. Andy went back to school in the fall, and Jimmy and I broke up. He wanted a girlfriend he could parade through school and screw around with under the stairs. Since Richard cut me off and I wasn’t going to the same school anymore, I didn’t qualify. He told me one night right after we were…together.” I sniff, remembering the hurt. “I was depressed. I guess I lost my way. I didn’t have to try at school because the public system was two years behind my private school, so I aced my classes without any effort. I was still partying every weekend. I think my dad just didn’t know what to do, so he didn’t do anything. Christmas break came around, and Andy came home to find me completely out of control. About a week before Christmas, I went to a party in the city. It was a pill-popping party.”
I look up at Dean. He nods, understanding what I’m talking about. His face is tense, though—he knows what’s coming. “Andy says I called him, but I don’t remember doing it. I sort of remember fighting him as he dragged my ass out of there, kicking and screaming.” The next words out of my mouth have to come fast before I chicken out. “I nearly OD’d. I would have if he hadn’t force-fed me Ipecac. I was so fucked up. I spent an hour throwing up everything in my stomach, and then curled up in his lap and cried all night.”
Dean’s face is pale and pained. I know he was found with meth in his car. Drugs are probably a touchy subject for him. I’ve definitely said too much.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling my hand away and standing up.
Dean’s arm shoots forward and grips my elbow. “Jesus Christ, Kayla. Sit the fuck back down.”
He pulls me down so that I’m practically in his lap, but he’s not looking me in the eye.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I say, taking a deep breath to maintain my composure.
“Yes, you should have.” His voice is doing that soft but forceful thing again. “I’m glad you did.”
I hate feeling vulnerable. I close my eyes and try to regroup, but I can’t when I’m so close to him.
“I need to use the restroom,” I
mumble.
He lets me up this time. When I get back, Dean is standing up, talking to Mita. He doesn’t look happy. I’m such an idiot.
She spots me, and they both stop talking. She kisses his cheek and smiles at me before walking away. Dean motions for me to sit back down. There’s a fresh cup of to-go coffee on the table, and I’m appreciative that I have something to fidget with.
“You ready to head out?” he asks flatly.
I nod. I don’t really want to talk anymore. I know he said he’s glad I told him, but I still think I shouldn’t have. I’m evidenced by how quickly he gathers his stuff and ushers me out. I barely get a chance to wave at Mita.
“I’ll, um, I guess I’ll talk to you later?” I say as he pulls up in front of my house.
He looks in my general direction but again refuses eye contact. “Yeah. I’ve got to start training the new guy this week, but I should be around.” A noncommittal response. Great.
“Right. Bye then.” I open the door and step out. In that moment our eyes meet. His green ones are full of what looks like remorse—or pity.
“Bye, Kayla.”
Chapter 20
Dean
Lost in thought, I’m halfway home before I even realize what my silence must have looked like to Kayla. Part of me wants to turn back around, but what would I do? What would I say? I didn’t mean to be such a despondent prick. I was just caught off guard. I was expecting her to tell me about drinking, maybe even slight promiscuity. But then she started talking about drugging it up and stealing. I started having flashbacks to my junkie wife and all the bullshit she put me through—the lying and cheating, doing anything to get her next fix. My mind started reeling. The last time I cared about a woman with a history of drug use, I ended up in jail, alone and nursing a broken heart like a fucking pussy.
