“I’d love that.”
“It’s gonna be late. Like, we’re talking past midnight?”
“I’ll be up. I’d love more time to hear your voice.”
My phone flashes eight twenty-two. Lucy dips her French fry in our malt and winks at me as she eats it. With that wink, my heart becomes heavier, knowing I have to leave soon. It shouldn’t hurt like this when she’s still so close.
I step out of my side of the booth and slide in next to her. As I wrap her in my arms, I take a whiff. Apples and cinnamon. The perfect apple pie. She rests her head on my shoulder and the ache ceases as the warmth of being with her takes over.
There. Perfect.
***
“Solid. Let’s make sure to mention the Pavlovian dogs in the conclusion, and we’re set,” Ian says as he tosses his pen in the air.
“Right, that woman has conditioned herself to salivate at the mere mention of Pavlov. What’s with her?”
“She’s devoted her entire career to teaching entry level psychology. How would anyone survive that plight? She’s bound to have fallen in love with at least one of those researchers.”
“Ha, too true. Here you go. Have at it.” I hand over the laptop, letting him finish typing up the final paragraph. Ian’s been fun to work with. Thoughtful, funny, and, thankfully, wicked smart. I totally lucked out in the random pairing for this project. We couldn’t be more different. A business-minded jock paired with an intellectual musician. But we work well together, complimenting one another’s weaknesses.
Ian types the last word and we both let out a breath of relief. “Finally.” He shrinks Microsoft Word and dives into iTunes. “Now, onto the important stuff.”
I yawn and my fingers itch to bolt and call Lucy.
“Dude, it’s like I wrote this playlist.” He turns on one of my favorite instrumental tracks from Lower Case Noises. “Nice.” He rocks forward with the music, continuing to browse. “So, that girl you brought to the September fundraiser? The one with the bacon-wrapped scallops, remember?”
“Yeah? What about her?”
“Just haven’t seen her around since you introduced her. Are you guys still a thing?”
My tongue nearly gets bitten off as I try to hold in my real reaction. Instead, I sit up a bit straighter. “Yeah, she’s still my girlfriend.”
“All right.” Ian turns back to the laptop, studying the list again.
“All right?” I laugh. If my blood could change colors, it just became green.
He looks back at me and shrugs. “Just thought it was worth asking. She seems cool.” He waves me off. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not the hit-on-your-friend’s-girl type of guy. I was just curious.” He closes my laptop, holding out a hand to haul me off his couch.
Peace.
I clasp it, allowing him to pull me up. I’m too tired for this. “You sure?” I ask. “Man, I’ve got no time to be friends with someone who’s gonna stab me in the back.” My blunt words bite, but I don’t care. I’m exhausted and, frick, he’s talking about Lucy!
He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m not that type of guy. Bros before hoes, right?” He chuckles. “You can’t really blame me for asking, right?”
My gut relaxes; I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know he’s good. Fishing out the creeps is my specialty. “No, I can’t blame you. She’s amazing. That’s why I’m with her.”
“And stunning. You’re lucky, man.” He walks me to the front door. “Let me know if it doesn’t work out, all right?” he says with a wicked smile.
“Tool.”
“Whatever.” We fist pump. “See you next week? I’ll email the project in tonight.”
“Sweet.”
Once I’m on the road, my finger hovers over Call Lucy. My gut pulls at me and I hesitate longer, as that green, sludge-like feeling creeps back through me. Why didn’t it occur to me that other guys might like Lucy? I’ve been living in a stupid bubble. She’s not mine. I don’t own her. Just because I’m not seeing her every day doesn’t mean other guys aren’t scoping her out.
My heart drops when I think of her waiting for my call. I owe her way more than that. A reason to keep being with me.
I nearly push CALL, but the ache from too much separation rips into me. If I hear her voice, the pain will kill me.
No, I need more than that.
A quick U-turn and my heart throttles.
Yes. I need to see Lucy.
Right now.
Chapter Nine
Lucy
All right. The Fascinating Life of Whales is only adding to the weight on my eyelids. I click off the National Geographic Channel, glancing again at the clock for what’s probably the one thousandth time. Twenty-eight past midnight. I pull up Facebook on my laptop. Anything to distract me from that piece of plastic on the table called a phone.
Eighty-two notifications. Wow, it’s only been a week since I logged on. As I scroll through, the notifications are mostly about comments on photos or wall posts about my games. My wall is plastered with pics of Justin and I together that other people have tagged. There are the ones I remember having taken, but there are a lot of quick shots of us holding hands down the hallway or chatting in the parking lot. I scroll through the comments on each photo, gut tense, looking for the vulgar change that we saw before.
The comments are all friendly though. I let out a breath, relaxing. Justin would hate if I found more crude comments.
With a click, I enlarge a photo of Justin and me from the end of the summer. A selfie, white paint on each of our cheeks. That’d make an awesome profile pic.
But…the phone sits idle in front of me. I sigh, rubbing my eyes as they start to tingle. Crap. Only three more days. Right?
I glance back at the photo, allowing Justin’s green eyes to penetrate my soul. Then I’m a goner. The dark of the basement overcomes me, exposing everything I’ve worked so hard to calm.
I miss him so much. There’s no way he can miss me this way. It’s ripping me apart.
Is Justin so distant because of his schedule? Or, maybe he’d rather just be doing other things than hang out with me?
What if I’m wrong about us?
No, there’s that deep glow in me that feels so right with him. When we’re together, everything feels perfect. But since we are rarely together, I can’t help but wonder if this is meant to be at all.
This love thing is so overwhelming. The strength of it scares me and the risks, terrifying.
What if he doesn’t feel as deeply as me? That’s totally plausible and would explain how easy it is for him to be away from me. It’s not fair that when I’m out with Laura or playing basketball he’s always on my mind. I can’t escape him. Not that I want to. God, what I wouldn’t do to be in his arms. But, thinking of him all the time has become extra painful.
I never imagined that dating Justin Marshall would be so hard.
My eyes catch the clock. Twelve forty-two and still no call.
I take a deep breath, pulling myself together, rubbing the tears off my cheeks. It’s time to stop waiting. I can’t let myself think he forgot. Being forgotten again… after everything with Zach…
No. I won’t go there. Justin’s not like that.
In all of his business and exhaustion, he probably accidently fell asleep. Blaming him for that won’t help anything.
I shut the laptop and drag myself off the couch. Time to move on and sleep myself. I glance down at my phone, debating whether I have the strength to leave it down here so I won’t check it all night long.
My heart aches with the thought of cutting off the possibility of communication and I immediately reach for it. Partially hating myself. But there’s no way I want to miss his call in case he does.
The moment I touch the phone it vibrates.
Justin: You still awake?
I take a deep breath as I digest that his first text isn’t an apology for not calling. No. Another deep breath. I refuse to be a bitchy girlfriend. This is Justin. He has
a reason.
Me: I am. Was about to head to bed.
Justin: Where are you?
Me: Basement. Why?
I wait a few minutes and he doesn’t respond.
Me: Where are you?
Justin: For real. You’re gorgeous.
I wipe under my eye, black mascara returns on my finger.
Me: Ha, if you could only see me now.
Justin: I do.
What? I spin around, dropping my phone at the site of Justin tapping lightly on my back sliding door. Holy. My heart spins then throws itself, out of control, raging through my chest. Justin’s the only person in the world who can do that.
I bound over the couch, softly sliding open the door. Justin reaches out as he steps in from the night air, taking my hand in his. His dark hair holds a slight curl and he looks like he stepped out of a freaking magazine with his dark-washed jeans and a light gray sweater that he wasn’t wearing before.
“Hey.” Justin says and he steps close, cupping my chin in his palm.
His five o’clock shadow has grown into scruff. I reach out, touching the pricks along his jaw. We lock eyes for a second before he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close. His lips find mine, greeting me in a passionate kiss. My knees weaken as I move up against the wall. Warmth spreads through me, my insides again glowing gold. He pulls out of the kiss for a breath, sweeping my bangs out of my face.
“Lucy, I’ve missed you so much.” Carefully, he wipes the area under my eyes. “Were you crying?”
So unarmed from his surprise and kiss, I nod.
“I did this?” he asks.
“No.” I wipe away the new tears that have formed. “I’m tired and missing you.”
He pulls me into a hug and his fresh scent takes over, relaxing my crazy heart. “What’s going on, Lucy?” His voice warms my ear.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” He pulls out of the hug, cupping my chin again. His beautiful green eyes hold me captive. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I miss you, Lucy. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every moment, you’re in my heart and the pain is killing me. I’m sorry I didn’t call.” He leans down, softly kissing my upper lip. “I needed to have you in my arms.”
My soul sighs as his words erase all my doubt.
“That’s exactly what I was crying about. I need to be near you more. These last two months…”
“They’ve sucked. I know. Don’t worry. It’s over now.”
“But there’s still three more days until the election.”
“Yeah, that means three more days of campaign appearances. You like shrimp right?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t?”
“Good. Because that’s pretty much all I’ve been eating this month. Please, come to these stupid fundraisers with me?”
“Will your parents mind?”
“I don’t care.”
“What about studying for your midterms?”
“Lucy,” he says as he runs his fingers through my hair. “If I have to chain myself to the wall to study, I will. But I want you to be there, in the same room.”
My heart swells. Yes. “I want to be there too.”
“Okay. This schedule of mine is nonsense. We’ll make it work.” His head touches mine. “We’re together, okay?”
“Right.” I smile easily then and I realize it’s the first one I haven’t forced out in a while.
“Beautiful,” he says, running his finger over my lips.
Goosebumps fly over my body, chased by my racing heart. He leans in, pressing me up against the wall as he takes my hips in his hands. He kisses me softly, until I part my mouth.
I need him. Everything he’ll give me.
He responds passionately, understanding this need. His hand travels up my side as he explores my mouth. He pulls my hips, directing us off the wall. I push him towards the couch, crawling on his lap. There’s urgency behind each kiss, needing to recover our lost time.
A soft sigh escapes from the back of his throat. I shift, noticing the bulge in his pants. I pull out of his kiss and bite my lip, trying not to grin. He smirks back at me. I blush, never having noticed this sort of reaction before. He pulls me close, kissing me softer now. But with that under me, I know it’s too far. It’s not what we want. Not now. I slide off to give him a bit of space. I won’t tease him. That’s just mean.
“No, I need you close,” he whispers, pulling me back, repositioning me so I’m across his lap, with my arms wrapped around his neck. I try not to think about the pressure below.
“You’re addictive, worse than the rush of sinking a winning shot.” Justin sweeps my bangs out of my eyes. “I didn’t think anything could feel more powerful than that.”
“It’s scary, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have to be scared with me. I’m not letting this go.”
I snuggle closer toward his rock solid chest and relax in the calm of his scent. “Being in your arms is like the perfect burrito.”
“Steak, barbecoa, rice, black beans, hot salsa, sour cream, corn, and cheese,” he says while kissing me between each ingredient. “Delicious.” His lips find mine again, and we lose one another to our lips, tongues, and necks. Eventually, his kisses slow and he slides over, arms wrapped around me while lying next to me on the couch.
“Lucy,” he whispers as he tries to stifle a yawn that only triggers my own. He puts his finger in my mouth, a running joke that he knows I hate.
I pinch him with a growl. “Seems like it’s time for you to go,” I tease. Which sucks, because it’s true. It’s almost two.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning? I want you to meet my family. For real, at my home.”
“What time?”
“Is nine thirty too early?”
“Nope.”
“Awesome. We’re having Sunday brunch.”
He lifts me with him without any strain as he rises from the couch. His lips are on mine as he walks back to the sliding door. “I don’t know if I can make it seven more hours.”
“Me either.”
“Okay. New plan. I’m picking you up at eight o’clock.” He kisses me softly before setting my feet to the floor. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say as he slides out quietly through the back door.
***
Whoa. Talk about a pendulum shift. Mr. Marshall waves at me as he flips pancakes wearing flannel pants, a T-shirt, and a blue dress robe. Mrs. Marshall’s pouring orange juice in yoga pants and a workout tank, glowing after her morning run. The last time I saw them they were all suit and ball gown.
“Lucy, we’re so pleased Justin invited you for brunch.”
“Me too. Thanks for having me.” I keep my hands folded as Justin leads me to sit on the bar stool across from his mom. My kitchen island usually has some soil experiment on it. Here? I can see my reflection in the countertop.
I clasp my hands tight. Do not smudge the granite countertop.
“You want to fry up the bacon, Justin?”
“Sure,” he says, sliding from beside me with a confident nod.
“Lucy, I hope you don’t think it’s rude if I ask you to help?” Mrs. Marshall asks with a look that’s so much like Justin’s. That smile wasn’t at the fundraiser dinner. Seeing it now helps.
“Please do! What can I do?” Yes, helping is way easier. Better than just sitting and staring.
“There’s a spiral ham in the fridge. Do you mind cutting it up?”
“Absolutely, no problem.”
I scoot off the stool and open the stainless steel vault they call a fridge. On the bottom shelf, I find the ham in a netted bag. Nine pounds. Whoa. This is a family-only brunch, right?
“There’s a cutting board in the lower left drawer. You’ll find the serving platter and knife over on the back counter.”
“Thanks.” I slide my fingers through the netting, lifting the ham up on the countertop.
Okay, cutting a pre-sliced spiral ham? No pro
blem. I easily pull open the netting, thankful for the rebuilt muscles from my summer of painting. I’ll slice up and arrange the most impressive spiral ham Justin’s folks have ever seen.
I dig the knife in, slicing quick to release the plastic wrap. Water squirts back at me, spraying my sweater and pooling over the cutting board. Towel-less, I try scooping the water into the middle of the board. Without any edges to the board, the battle turns on me. I bite my tongue as it oozes out, spilling over the countertop and onto the floor. Crap. Crap. Crap.
I clear my throat and force my voice to be steady. “Justin, where can I get a towel?”
“Use the one hanging on the oven, dear,” his mom replies instead. Thankfully, she doesn’t look over.
Oven door. Okay, that’s five steps away, max. I abandon the ham to walk across the kitchen, super-calm-like. Three steps away, then suddenly, SPLAT!
My gut tightens as I turn around. No, please no.
Like a top, the ham spins on the floor.
“Oh my gosh.” I lunge for the ham. Five-second rule!
My foot doesn’t land though. Instead it slides on the puddle of ham juice. I gasp as my back hits Justin’s kitchen floor. A cool wetness slides under my head and neck. Ham juice. Nasty.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasp as I roll, grabbing the ham from the ground. I hold it over my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. Is this really happening?
A moment passes before Justin leans over me and I peek upward. “You okay down there?” he asks, biting back a gorgeous smirk.
“Oh, give her room.” Mrs. Marshall pushes him aside and helps me up.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Marshall. I didn’t mean to ruin your ham.” I ring out juice from the back of my sweater, debating how I can save face. As the juice drips out of my hair, the smell of ham overcomes me. Screw it. There’s no way I can make this okay.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry. Listen, that girl you met at the fundraiser in that pretty lace dress? That’s not me. This,” I twist my hair, squeezing the rest of the water from it, “is me.”
Then Mr. Marshall begins to laugh. “Well, that guy in the suit who’s politically correct, also not me.”
“Same with that woman in the red dress.” Mrs. Marshall smiles and nudges me.
Perfectly Messy Page 7
