by Lia Riley
Those words strike me with a one-two punch.
“I should be the one thanking you.” I give his shoulder a playful push, playing it off like no big deal. I mean, this is what I do, the no-strings mess-around.
He catches hold of my hand. “Let’s warm you up.” If it were anyone else, I’d assume a dirty innuendo, but this is Tanner. He leads me into the house. It’s nice not to think for a second, just follow. When we get back in the studio, I blink at the light, abstractly aware my teeth chatter.
“Too bright.” He lets go of me and walks to the wall, turning down the dimmer, before heading to my bed and pulling back the covers. “Climb in.”
“Tanner, I…” I’m not sure what I want to ask. What is it that I want from him? Maybe it’s better if I just table the feelings and lie here until my head stops whirling.
“Tea?” he asks, walking toward my tiny kitchenette.
I yank my comforter to my chin. Part of me is still desperate to leave, but another part wants to linger. It’s as if the world started spinning counterclockwise. “You hate tea.” At least I can fake normal conversation. That has to count for something.
“I did at thirteen.”
“Guess you’re allowed to change.”
“I hope so.” He turns around, and that smile, it slays me. “I was a dumbass at thirteen.”
I burrow into my pillow, and even more strangely, my giggle is genuine. “You and your Lucky Charms cereal.”
“Well, some things never change.”
“You can’t still eat that crap.”
He pours hot water into a ceramic mug. “Magically delicious.”
This feels oddly comfortable, natural even, having him here, moving around my kitchen. His presence is steadying me, like someone’s holding my hand while I try and drunk walk across a balance beam.
That’s when truth strikes like a poisonous snake. Tanner’s sticking around because that’s what he does—looks after people. It’s a default setting. If he can care for me, he doesn’t have to deal with himself and his own messy shit. God, I almost went and thought I was special.
I roll out of bed and smooth my skirt. “Hey, you don’t have any obligation toward me.”
He turns, my teacup small in his huge hand. “What we just did—”
“It was good—great even—but it’s not a big deal.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I need a shower?”
He turns away, sets down the mug, and braces himself on the kitchen counter. “That’s what she used to do.” I barely hear his whisper.
“Who?” Oh, fuck. “Pippa?”
“She showered anytime I touched her.” He addresses the window. “You’re different.”
He’s right. I am. Pippa was this perfect, lovable, larger-than-life person. Me? I’m way too close to the memories that haunt him, what can’t ever be forgotten. “We had a good time tonight, and now it’s over and done with.” I force an easy smile and ignore the sharp stab in my stomach.
“No.” He turns around and holds up a warning hand. “You want to screw random guys like John Boy? Fine, do what you want. But don’t ask me to be that way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Doesn’t he know I’m a hookup girl, not a relationship girl? Big feelings are fine, in theory, but nothing I want to experience head-on.
“I won’t be a random booty call who leaves without a second thought.” He crosses his arms. “That’s not who I am. It’s not what I do.”
No, that’s my job description. My forced laughter is as sharp as a blade. “You know my reputation, Tanner. I exchange kisses, maybe some bodily fluids, and that’s it. Done and done. Keep it simple.”
“Are you serious?” He’s pissed now. My heart does this odd double beat as he storms toward me. “That’s messed up.”
“Hey, it’s my superpower, right? Making a mess?” I kick the pile of clothes beside my bed. Why can’t he just accept this isn’t going anywhere? “Go on. Say it.”
“I like your messes.” His bare foot is an inch from a zebra-print thong. “When you’re around, I never know what’s going to happen next.”
“But no one ever does. Not really. I mean, Kirk Cameron could get raptured tomorrow.”
He gives me a weird double take.
“Seriously, it could happen…maybe.”
“So what do we do with all this uncertainty?”
“I don’t know. Kick. Flounder. Keep our heads above water and try not to drown.” My voice wavers with desperation.
“Life according to Sunny Letman.” He tries to hold my hand.
“Hey, I’m not selling self-help books to Oprah over here.” I twist free and beeline to my open closet, throw on a sea-green button-down and grab the first outfits my fingers graze. I have to get out of here pronto. Otherwise he’s going to win me over with sweet words and I’ll let him stay the night. But the problem is that Tanner’s the guy I’ll want to stick around for breakfast, then maybe go to the beach for the day. Then it will be dark, and he’ll be here again, and suddenly, it could look a lot like a relationship. I’m a free spirit—dependency gives me cold feet.
It’s time to go. My arms are loaded with dresses, skirts, and a cardigan. I walk to the couch, shoving the contents inside my bag.
I turn and he’s staring. No hint to his thoughts.
“I’m off.” That’s when his face shifts. Blink and you’d miss it, but I hurt him. “It’s that call I took outside. It was important.”
“Okay.” His Adam’s apple bobs. I can’t tell if he buys it or not.
Irrational anger rushes through me. If I bailed because of what happened, he’d stand there and watch me go? This guy is a mystery. On one hand he’s almost ruthlessly determined with himself, with his own body. I grew up watching him skate, and there’s no doubt that he’s built a wildly successful career mastering his physicality. Yet on the other hand, he’s got this passivity. No, that’s the wrong word. It’s like he’s deadened in some way. Emotionally. And I don’t have any idea how to lurch him back to life.
You know what? It’s not my job.
We can only control what we can control. Right now I need to get the hell out of town, hit the road and clear my head. Driving settles me. I’ve got two days to make it to southern Nevada. That’s a lot of time for open-road thinking.
“Sorry I can’t finish you…this…whatever…” What am I even saying? I can’t have sex with Tanner Green. We’ve already crossed into dangerous territory.
The bridge of his nose wrinkles. “Sunny, we aren’t a Mortal Kombat death match.”
“Finish him.” I can’t hold back a desperate snicker. Tanner and I are such a fucking joke. It’s easier to address my closet rather than his face. “About this, me leaving…I’m not freaking out.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Sorry, who’s the one who went into bathroom lockdown again?”
“I panicked, but I’m here now, not running out the door. I’ll talk if you stay.”
A wave of dizziness slams me. I have given him all my crazy, all my ugly, and he’s still here. He hasn’t run away. How am I not scaring him straight out the door?
“I have to go.” I sling my bag on my shoulder. I don’t want to tell him about Delilah, how the way she sounded has me worried. I don’t want to be something he needs to clean up. He’ll get his life back on track better without me. His mom, Lydia, is so much happier without my mom. She has a cute wife now. They come into the natural-food grocery store where I work and stage mock debates over soy versus rice milk.
Delilah? She fled straight into the arms of Lydia’s polar opposite—beefy, hairy, tatted-up Hoss—and headed east, to where the sun rises, like she could reset her life, her decisions, her loneliness. Maybe she thought Mimsy would make me a better mom. At least on that point she was right.
Tanner has no idea my stepdad’s in jail or that my li
fe resembles a daytime television drama. No one does. That’s my shit, and I keep it under wraps.
Half-dried sweat cools on my palms. “I need to go, Green. It’s not about you. Like I said, this…this was nothing.”
His expression goes as flat as my bag. He doesn’t move. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“Look. I—you—me—there’s something there, okay? Who knows what? Probably just curiosity.” Great, now he has me babbling.
“I’m not curious,” he says flatly, lifting his gaze. The undisclosed longing in his expression hits me like high beams in the dark. I’m standing here like a stupid deer, frozen, waiting for impact.
“Great.” I throw up my hands. “Good for you.”
He’s silent, his eyes not leaving my face. “I’ve thought about you. A lot. More than I should. More than is okay. And did I plan on any of this happening tonight? No, but it did and I don’t regret a second. I’m not curious, because I know you, Sunny. And I like who you are.”
There will be time to reflect on everything he’s saying after I’ve put a hundred miles between us. I’ll pull over at a rest stop, light a joint, listen to some music, and play “I like who you are” on repeat in my mind.
But not now. Not yet. I’m in pure survival mode.
I flee to the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, and come out. My heart is beating way too fast. I’m not used to this skittish, jump-out-of-my-skin feeling. Usually getting off is a sedative to me. Post-orgasm naps are my jam.
Tanner’s eyes match the fog; veiled in his gaze are hints of all that’s going unsaid.
“Come outside?” My voice is unfamiliar, pleading even. “I want to lock up.”
“No, you don’t,” he says flatly.
“Yes, I do.” What’s up with the whole he says/she says?
“You’ve locked me out since that summer, but I don’t think it’s ever been what you’ve wanted.”
My mind blanks, all words running for cover.
“You don’t know the first thing about what I want, Green.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve got a good idea what you need.”
I spin on my heel and storm around the side of my house, cursing under my breath, because the fucked-up thing of it is, maybe he’s right.
Chapter Ten
Sunny
I get to the front yard and I’m all alone. Why, when I want to go, get the fuck out of Dodge, am I annoyed Tanner doesn’t try to stop me? If he really wants this, why doesn’t he fight?
God, I’m like the girl who’s all, “I hate drama,” and keeps shoveling the shit on my soap-opera flame. It’s disgusting. I get to my rusty black truck, purchased for eight hundred bucks. It’s a total piece of shit, but I adore my big hulking baby. I call it Batman, because if a vehicle could brood, this one would take the cake. Plus, I love superheroes. I’m normally Team Marvel, but I’ll make an exception for Bruce Wayne. He’s my forever favorite.
“Where are you going?” Tanner dodges the driver’s side door as I throw it open.
“Away.” I jump into the cab and toss my bag on the seat. Does he really want to play twenty questions?
“You’re acting crazy.” He grips the handle, won’t let me shut it.
I shove my key in the ignition, turn, and nothing. Oh, come the fuck on. I do it again and same reaction. You have got to be kidding me. Batman is going to hell if he lets me down.
Hear that, old friend? Sell me out and it’s straight to the salvage lot with you.
One more try and the engine bangs, a less-than-optimal smoke cloud mushrooming from under the hood. Apparently, Batman has a “do not resuscitate” directive. He’s lived a long, full life, but to die now? I’m tempted to stick him in neutral and push him down the street for a sea burial.
“That didn’t sound good,” he says.
No shit, Sherlock. I bang my head against the headrest, and once more for good measure.
“Want me to take a look?”
I roll my head in his direction. “You know much about cars?”
“No.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Not sure why I asked. Guess it made me sound manly.”
I punch the wheel. It feels good, so I do it again. Harder. Faster. I drill into the thing like I’m a mixed-martial-arts fighter on a ’roid-rage bender. I can’t stop even though I’m officially losing my shit. When Tanner puts his hand on my knee, I jump.
“I’ve lost it,” I mumble. “I’ve officially fucking lost it.” No point trying to be anything but brutally honest.
“It’s okay.”
“I know,” I snap. I’m not an apologizer. What’s done is done. I can’t change things. “Why are you still here?” I’m spoiling for a fight. A big, knockdown, dukes-up rager, and right now Tanner makes a worthy adversary.
“You need help.”
“And that’s your role right? The big helper? Look how well that turned out for Pippa.”
The silence shocks even me.
Too far. Way too far.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He’s quiet, mumbles so I can hardly hear him, and my anger evaporates.
“No.” I turn and grab his hand before he can pull it away. “I’m not right. I’m an asshole. That was the meanest thing I’ve ever said, and I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but something about you brings out the worst in me. You push all my buttons and…” I break off, because tonight he literally pushed my button. While now I’m at my worst, for those few seconds, with him, I was at my best.
“Ever wish we could meet again for the first time?” he whispers.
That’s when I notice how he touches me. Not with any intent. He’s not sliding up my inner thigh or giving me an insinuating squeeze. He’s just letting me know he’s here.
“I don’t want to fight you, Tanner.”
“So don’t.”
“I need to get out of town. Not just because of you. Fine, maybe you helped spark the sense of urgency. But I…My mom…”
“Delilah?”
“She called while you were in the bathroom. She invited me to meet my brothers. The boys, Tanner.”
He plants his other hand against the truck and leans in. “You have to go.”
“I know, but Batman’s toast. I don’t have cash for a new car. Everything extra went to pay for stupid Comic-Con. Mimsy’s gone for the week with her Toyota.” I’m trapped. “Maybe I could call Beth, but she lives in San Jose and…”
He tilts his head. “I’ve got a car, remember? Let me drive.”
I blink. “But you have stuff to do.”
“Not really.”
“What about skating?”
“What about it?”
“Aren’t you on tour?” He’s always on tour or going on tour.
“No.” Something’s final to his tone. There’s hurt there, a pain he doesn’t want me to poke.
How am I even considering this? I can’t bring Tanner Green to Nevada.
“My mom’s mixed up in heavy-duty stuff with people who aren’t really the sort to welcome strangers.”
“I know.”
Of course he does, because Pippa would have told him. She, Talia, and Beth didn’t know everything about Hoss, but they were at least peripherally aware of my mom’s new lifestyle.
“Can I drive you as far as Vegas? You can drop me with a buddy there and pick me up after.”
“For real?” I mean, that could almost work in theory.
“Yeah.” He frowns, his features tight. “I need to talk to my friend Ford.”
“Ford Koster?” Another skater god.
“Yeah.”
I don’t need a degree in rocket science to tell there’s unfinished business there. “Doesn’t sound like you want to.”
“What I want and what I need aren’t always the same.”
“Preach.”
“So grab your bag. Let’s go.” He steps back and makes room for me to come out.
“Now?”
He rubs his hands over his arms. “You wanted to hit the road, right?”
“It’s late.”
He gives me a long look. “Wasn’t stopping you before.”
I drag my bag onto my lap and fiddle with the handle. “I wanted to get away from Santa Cruz—get away from…”
“Me.”
“Truth circle?” I tuck my chin against my chest. “Yeah.”
“Look. Nothing needs to happen. I can control myself.”
Of course he can. That’s half the problem.
He talks fast now. “My aunt has a property up in the foothills near Tahoe. We’ll stop tonight. There won’t be any traffic, so I can make good driving time.”
“That’s kind of the long way around, but is also a terrible, awesome idea.” My kind of duality.
“So it’s your turn, Sunshine. In or out?”
“All in.” I refuse his hand, jump down on my own, and slam the door. The look he’s giving suggests maybe I’ve agreed to more than just a trip. Who does he think he is? The answer sparks inside me, an angry little flame, sucking all the oxygen in my brain.
Everything isn’t a big fancy word, neither unusual nor interesting. Maybe it can just sit there on the side, out of trouble, able to be ignored.
Chapter Eleven
Tanner
We wind along Highway 17, through the redwoods, over the mountains that separate Santa Cruz from the South Bay. I keep my gaze fixed on the red brake lights ahead, drivers slowing on the hairpin corners. Good, because my inclination is to hit the gas hard, surge the engine to match the energy revving inside me. The college radio station loses reception as we dip down over the summit, and the song grows scratchy, starts to cut in and out.
Sunny switches off the volume without a word, and the silence grows and grows. We haven’t said a word since getting on the road. Does she regret this?
Do I?
I’m the opposite of impulsive. Even my skating suffers from that. It’s my Achilles’ heel. I overthink, mentally rehearse every move before I start. When we shoot videos, all the choreography works well. I can nail moves in fewer takes than anyone else. But in competitions, it can mess with my head. I’m not organic or spontaneous. Ford is different. When he gets in there, he’s all animal instinct.
