Tryst

by Alex Rosa

  Chapter 18

  The party is dying down as I make it to where Tucker is standing , but the living room is still filled with a fair amount of people swaying to the vibrating beats. I let out a funny sigh, realizing I feel oddly calm, yet exhilarated. It’s actually an incredible feeling that I could easily get addicted to.

  Seeing me approach, Tucker gives me a dopey look, and I wrap an arm around his waist. He slouches in my grasp, his knees giving way to his weight. Perfect timing I think as I watch his features; his eyes drooping in need of slumber.

  I scour my reconstructed living room for a surface to lay him on, and I spot our fairly empty bright red couch against the opposite wall. Chuckling, I make the distance, feeling accomplished that I managed to guide Tucker’s tall build to the couch. He’s silent, as if his personal struggle of battling an oncoming blackout is taking everything he’s got. He’s gonna owe me a thank-you after all this.

  Tucker nods off the moment he’s seated.

  I rub at his face, wondering if I should get him some water. “Tuck, stay here and rest, okay? Do you need anything?”

  I get one singular nod before I have officially lost him to sleep. As I stand, I take in a deep breath, wondering what to do now. Water might be my best choice to avoid a hangover.

  I don’t know where Blake has gone, and I wonder if he’s outside doing whatever it is that Blake does with himself. Maybe a wandering blonde struck up a conversation with him.

  I shake the thought away and keep the kitchen as my goal. I cross the dance floor, distracted, until I feel an unfamiliar, dainty grasp at my elbow.

  “Skyler?”

  I stop to face the person speaking, and find only her strawberry blonde hair mildly familiar.

  “Yeah?” I reply, wondering how much patience I have for yet another happy birthday.

  “I just wanted to say happy birthday.”

  I force a grin, though I’m tired. “Thank y—”

  “I’m also supposed to pass on a happy birthday from Jason, too. He said he’s sorry he couldn’t make it.”

  Bile rises into my mouth, and I freeze. The lingering bliss I might have felt before evaporates.

  As another bout of speechlessness plagues me, my face must say it all as she giggles her response. “Isn’t Jason Vasquez your ex-boyfriend?”

  My face heats up, and an antagonizing burn rises in my cheeks as I try to comprehend what she’s asking me. I rub my face, urging myself to remain calm.

  “Y-yeah, we dated.”

  The girl looks a bit startled by my response. “I’m sorry for mentioning it. He gave me the impression you two ended things amicably.”

  My stomach gurgles and knots.

  I have to pull myself together, but the surface of my skin ripples with anxiety now, and I get the sinking feeling I want to cry. Yet the tears wait in the depths of my soul, I’m sure, anticipating a grand entrance.

  Trying to hold my smile, I lie. “Yes, of course. We’re fine. He told you to wish me a happy birthday?”

  She grins, as if happy she can continue this conversation.

  “I saw him last night. When I told him whose party I was going to, he wanted me to let you know that he’s sorry he couldn’t make it, and to wish you a good one. He only ever speaks fondly of you. I heard you two were cute together.”

  I have to take in another leveling breath, but as I exhale, it’s shaky as I combine it with speech. “O- oh, how kind of him. Did he mention anything else?”

  She chews over the question, ignorant to my pain.

  “No. We’ve only been dating a week or so, but he calls you his first love.” She laughs. “I guess I’ll have to get over that.”

  The dam holding back my tears is fracturing. I feel my body shake. I bring my hands closer to myself, rubbing against my core to calm the tremors that are creeping through my body.

  “You’re dating my ex?”

  Another nervous giggle erupts from her, and I can see in her eyes that she wishes she never mentioned it.

  I examine her features and realize that she’s incredibly pretty, which confirms that the scab to my deep wound has been officially ripped off. I brace myself, knowing she will certainly be pouring the proverbial salt into the open flesh of my heart.

  “Yeah. He’s a sweetheart. We aren’t serious or anything. Sometimes I worry he isn’t over you, though. I might be a fool.”

  I have to shake my head at that. I close my eyes, wondering when a white rabbit will run by with a pocket watch, because surely I have fallen asleep and this is a dream.

  “You are a fool.”

  She goes wide-eyed. “What?” she chirps.

  My eyes are brimming with tears now, and I blink a few times to keep them at bay. I feel the need to warn her of his anger problems, but I can’t seem to find the words.

  “Nothing, forgive me.”

  “No, I apologize. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I guess. All I wanted to say is that Jason and I wish you a happy birthday. Hopefully you two can say hello sometime.”

  A thick layer of tears blurs my vision, and I’m fisting the fabric of my shirt.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a good idea.” I know I need to run away. I need to get away from this awful, ignorantly innocent, terrible girl. “Do me a favor and please tell Jason to stay away from me.”

  She appears dumbfounded by my words and my new shift in attitude. I’m a wreck on the inside and I worry that my tormented soul will claw its way out. I’m haunted by the deep-seated fear I have of my woman-beating ex-boyfriend. I owe myself the truth. I owe the world the truth. I’ve had enough.

  The dam has collapsed and a silent tear streams down my cheek. I’m too scared to see if anyone is staring, but I know that because of this, I need to run and hide. I just have to say my piece.

  “I don’t know what Jason’s told you, but the breakup was brutal, and I have a restraining order against him. So do me a favor and make sure he stays far away from me.”

  I’m about to tell her she should run, too, when a firm grasp takes hold of my hip. Another tear drops down my cheek.

  I turn around, relieved to see concerned jade-green eyes engulf me like a security blanket.

  “Blake.”

  As if he’s a professional at it, he takes the lead, turning to face the girl. “Thanks for coming to the party. It was a pleasure meeting you. We gotta go.”

  He pushes me off toward the back of the house and whispers, “It’s gonna be okay, Skye.”

  That is when I lose it. I stop and let everything go, because things are simply not okay right now.

  Blake rubs my back. “Shhh, come on.” He presses against the small of my back, pushing me toward the stairs to my bedroom. I follow, eager to get away.

  As we stride up the steps, he wraps his arm around me, and I cradle myself against his hard torso, basking in his comforting warmth. I pull in a deep breath.

  When we make it to the top step, I free myself of his grasp, throw myself onto my bed, and begin crying into my pillow. I hear Blake rustling with the curtains, pulling them shut, giving us privacy.

  Still blinded by my pillow, I feel the bed sink as Blake takes a seat. His strong hands grab for my shoulders. I hiccup through my cries, silencing them for at least a moment as I succumb to his touch, my body craving any sense of comfort.

  I follow his leading hand. I sit up, and Blake scoots closer, wrapping both of his arms around me. My face finds its place in the crook of his neck. He rubs my back repeatedly, as if manifesting all the angst to seep out of me with every sob, making each cry more satisfying than it’s ever been.

  I don’t have the mental capacity to create an understanding of how Blake can transition from walking sex god to my most precious friend in the blink of an eye.

  “What happened?” His tone is gentle and cajoling.

  I sniff, trying to gather my words. “His girlfriend is here. She wished me a happy birthday.”


  “What a bitch.”

  A squeak of a laugh slips from my lips.

  “I’m sorry she’s here. This is most likely my fault.”

  My arms have been wrapped around his neck this entire time. I don’t budge as I peek through my eyelashes at him to find his expression sad. It’s his eyes. They’re no longer a bright emerald, but a seemingly dark forest-green, as if to represent his mood.

  “This isn’t your fault. I know why you think that, but how would you know? How would any of us know? It’s a party, so what?”

  His chuckle catches me off guard. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one comforting you?”

  My eyes water, but I smile weakly and shrug. I’m still sad—there’s no doubt about that—but with Blake around, it kind of feels bearable. I can breathe around him.

  Although I know he’s staring at me, I let my eyes close.

  Blake seems to be okay with the silence as he squeezes me close once more, and I take this as my cue to nuzzle into his neck again, no longer sobbing.

  I breathe in another a deep breath, and Blake’s musky, heady scent calms my internal storm.

  “I almost said too much to her. She told me Jason was sad he couldn’t come to the party. It killed me and it scared me.”

  The silence lingers longer than I anticipated, but eventually Blake speaks. “There would be one hell of a scene if that guy showed up.”

  I smile again as I release another large exhale.

  “Thank you.”

  I feel a heavy, tingle-inducing stroke against my back. “Thank you for what?”

  “Just . . . For everything.”

  Not missing a beat, and heaven forbid, not forgetting himself, he responds with, “The sex, or the post-cry cuddle?”

  My eyes flicker open in comical shock as I nuzzle into his chest, stifling a series of laughs rather than cries, which is another liberating moment for me.

  “Both.”

  He laughs, too.

  I feel his soft, tender lips against my forehead, and he pulls away. “Time for bed, Skye. Why don’t you get some sleep while I kick all these assholes out of our house?”

  With a muffled grunt, I agree. “Mmm.”

  He chuckles as he lays me down on my pillow, rubbing my back until he feels my body find a comfortable position. I hear his footsteps heading downstairs, and I know he’s gone.

  My consciousness is going in and out now.

  The last thing I hear before sleep is, “Dude, Blake, what are you doing?”

  “I’m not doing anything, Josh.”

  “Someone said you went upstairs with my sister.”

  “I did. She was crying.”

  “Crying?”

  “Yeah, and where were you?”

  Then it goes dark as I slip into sleep, no matter how hard I fight it.

  Chapter 19

  My eyes flicker open as I turn over on my side, away from the looming sunshine coming in from the window above. I gulp, finding my stomach gurgle at the movement, but as I mentally go through my body checks, it seems I’m in better shape than I anticipated.

  My head doesn’t ache, and I don’t feel like I’ll throw up, at least not at this very moment. Sometimes a hangover needs time to ferment and fester before it fully reveals its horrible self. However, right now I feel like a party miracle.

  I stretch in bed, at least finding that movement satisfying. I turn to my right to see my alarm clock read 9:00 a.m. I can’t help my audible huff.

  I’ve never been one to sleep in. It isn’t in my nature to sleep past nine, and I don’t know if that’s because of my life habits in general, when you combine working at a twenty-four-hour coffee shop with mandatory study sessions when time permits.

  Sleeping is for the dead.

  Regardless of my stretch, my gut resists its untightening. I urge it to relax, and I try to understand why I feel so anxious.

  Without missing a beat, a grin emerges at the memory that comes first. Blake and I had broken the rule, and it was so worth it. Although the feeling causes the butterflies to flutter in the cage of my gut, it only seems to tighten the uneasy knot.

  That is when I remember.

  That girl. That awful girl.

  Jason is sorry he couldn’t make it rings in my ears, and I want nothing more than to forget it.

  Then I remember how I ended up back in bed. I cried again.

  The feeling of utter embarrassment swallows me whole. I don’t want Blake to see me at the whim of my emotions. It does nothing but make me look weak.

  Choosing to shift gears, I peer down at my clothes, realizing I’m still wearing last night’s outfit. I change into black shorts and a white tank top, thinking a run before work might do me good, but first some food. My stomach lurches. I can tell it’s not asking for anything too heavy considering my emotional and physical state last night.

  I jog downstairs to see a terrible aftermath. The red couch is still far off from its normal place, and a good amount of cups, napkins, and periodic puddles of spilled beverages are strewn about the open space. I am just happy we have wood floors.

  I debate tending to the cleanup, but I know I have to tend to myself first.

  The silence in the room is comforting as I enter the kitchen in hope of finding some essentials. I open the cabinet and grab for a loaf of bread. Toast sounds like my best option. It can absorb the toxins. That’s when I decide drinking water might be the best neutralizer, too, and the thought makes the corner of my mouth twitch. I reach into the adjacent cabinet for a glass.

  “Good morning.”

  The glass tumbles out of my hand as I hear the cool, crisp words come out of Blake’s mouth as he appears in the kitchen, wearing practically nothing.

  “Whoa, there.” He leaps forward to catch the glass, but I get it before it meets his hands.

  I spring backward, clutching the glass close to me.

  “Thank you,” I blurt out. The memory of crying into Blake’s neck flashes through my mind, and I know I must be turning scarlet. I want so badly to cling on to a far more naughty memory, but it’s hard to get a grip.

  “No worries. Are you okay?” He tilts his head to the side.

  My partial smile disappears, but my eyes drag down to Blake’s half-dressed figure, and I know they linger too long on the waistband of the only item he’s wearing—boxer briefs.

  “I’m fine.” I make it a point to step around him to fill the glass with water.

  “I’m not asking you about the glass. I’m asking you if you’re okay in reference to last night.”

  I want to mirror his words from last night—“Do you mean okay with the sex, or the embarrassing crying fit?”—but I refrain. I know what he’s asking about, and it isn’t sex.

  I wish he would wear clothes for conversations like this. I try my damnedest to not stare at his chiseled abs or beautifully narrow hips, and instead look him directly in the eye. Even that becomes a mistake. Like last night, his eyes are now torn between concern and desire, but concern is winning.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat.

  His face hardens, and I know he doesn’t deserve my general answer. I let my shoulders slump as I put down the glass.

  “I’m sorry. You have a right to ask. I just . . . I just . . . I don’t want you to see me like that all the time. I must be a joke to you.”

  His face flashes unrestrained confusion. “Skyler, do me a favor and quit thinking like that. If you want to know the truth, this thing you’re doing, feeling ashamed of your emotions, is what’s getting old, not your tears. For heaven’s sake, you’re human!”

  His words feel like a slap to my face.

  I exhale, finding that I was holding my breath.

  “My drunken, emotional breakdown didn’t change anything?”

  He bites his bottom lip, obviously taking my meaning differently than I intended. He shakes his head.

  I try my hardest to strive for normality and hold back a lingering smile as I reintroduce sarcasm to our friendship
.

  “Do you ever wear clothes?” I make it a point to turn around and tend to my food as I place two pieces of bread in the toaster. I can only stare at him so long, but at least the mood has shifted to being bearable. I worry the sexual tension is on the rise. I don’t need to be staring at him to know what kind of smile he has on right now.

  “So you’re telling me you’d prefer me clothed?”

  I make the dire mistake of turning around to see him awaiting a response. His eyes are back to a glowing emerald as they heat when we make eye contact. That familiar tug rolls through my lower half.

  The toaster springs my toast free, and I grab for it, eager for a distraction. My blood feels like fire as it courses through my veins, pooling with a desire that I’ve only been able to identify recently. I have to try and not turn around again just so I can get another view of his distracting V. It would end me.

  With my regained sense of self, the memory of my tears is gone, and I get a flashing image of Blake’s body against mine as I butter my toast.

  A warm chuckle erupts from him. “One of these days, Skye, I’m going to get you to say what’s on your mind.”

  I don’t turn around, but halt my movements as I stand up straighter.

  “I say what’s on my mind.” I know my words are not as convincing as I would like.

  “Oh no, you don’t, but one of these days you will, with me. We’ll break that barrier. It might be good for you.”

  I turn around to shoot him a glare. “Blake, I don’t think you have any idea what’s good for me.”

  That dimple appears as we make eye contact. “I beg to differ.”

  Deep breaths.

  “I know you aren’t good for me.”

  His face softens, “Is that so?”

  The temperature in the room is rising to sauna status, but then again, it could just be my erratic hormones. I have to gulp down an empty bit of air in order to hold my ground.

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Blake takes a step forward. I tense, turning around to focus on my food. It’s the only way I can calm my nerves.