by Nora Heat
I stepped aside, smiling with him. “She was adorable.”
“Still is,” he sighed.
Footsteps sounded seconds later, and the girl came rushing down. When she reached us, she put on a large grin, flashing pink braces. “You wanted to meet me!?” she practically shrieked.
“I—uh, yeah! I wanted to say hi and introduce myself to the new neighbors.”
“That’s so cool.” She extended her arm, holding her hand out. I did the same. “Isabelle Black, but you can call me Izzy.”
“Chloe Knight.” I beamed.
“So nice to meet you.”
“You too.” We shook hands, and instantly, I freaking loved Isabelle. “Hey, were you reading a Judy Blume book earlier?”
She let out a girly gasp. “Oh my gosh! Yes! I love her!”
“I do too!” I squealed. “I can spot that blue cover from anywhere!”
“No freakin’ way!”
“Your mom is gonna flip shit if she hears you talking like that,” Mr. Black said, putting the album on the table.
Isabelle put her hand on her hip. “I wonder where I get it from.”
He chuckled, and I laughed because he used a bad word right in front of us.
“Hey, how about I show you the rest of my books. I have almost all of Judy Blume!”
“Okay!” Isabelle grabbed my hand and led the way up the stairs, passing by her mother who was telling two of the movers how to set up the bed in the master bedroom.
“Oh!” Mrs. Black’s eyes expanded when she realized there were two girls instead of one. “Who’s this?” she asked, green eyes bright.
“Mom, this is Chloe. She lives across the street. I’m showing her my Judy Blume collection.”
“Oh really? A new friend already! See, I told you this neighborhood wouldn’t be so bad.” Mrs. Black smiled, revealing dimples. She was a really pretty woman. Strawberry blonde hair, full pink lips, and a body I hoped I would get once I finally blossomed. She didn’t even look like she’d had a child. It seemed she was still considering having babies.
“Hi,” I said, waving.
“Hello gorgeous girl.” She reached for one of my curls. “Your hair is beautiful. Did you do it?”
“I did!”
“You did a great job, sweetie. Maybe you can teach Izzy how to style her hair, huh?”
I shrugged, looking at Isabelle’s frizzy, black mane. “Hmm, maybe.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Can we go now, Mom?”
“Go on. But please be careful, Izzy. You have a lot of fragile stuff in your boxes.”
“I know, I know.” She reached for my hand again. “Come on!” We ran down the hallway, stepping into a room with a bunk bed. The walls were already painted a light shade of pink, the fuzzy white rug on the ground making the color pop.
Isabelle showed me her collection of books. A large box was filled to the brim, piled high with novels, and not just Judy Blume. That day, Isabelle became my best friend, and I didn’t even realize it. We connected and bonded, laughed and talked about books and Disney movies until the sun sank.
It was the most fun I’d had with anyone in a long time. I no longer felt lonely with Isabelle right across the street from me. Her room was the room on the second floor, only a few inches to the left of where my bay window was.
At night, if we couldn’t sleep, one of us would blink a flashlight to see if the other was awake, and if we both were, we’d turn on our night-lights, talk through the walkie-talkies we went half on, and giggle about silly things. Most times, it was books, but sometimes it was boys.
We grew up with each other. We were closer than I ever thought possible. She’d become a sister to me. We gossiped. We watched girly movies and listened to the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and TLC. We’d sing our hearts out, dancing in my bedroom or hers until we were exhausted.
We hardly ever fought, and if we did, it was about stupid things like what boy was hotter at school or which friendship bracelet we would buy from Claire’s. Izzy and I were inseparable. And somehow, Mr. Black became closer to me to, but not in an unconstructive way.
Mr. Black helped Izzy and me with our homework and even took us to softball practice whenever my mother couldn’t. Mrs. Black worked a lot at her bakery in Los Angeles, which left Mr. Black at home, caring for his daughter.
Not that Mrs. Black was a bad mother or wife, she just needed to be busy now. I’d heard from Izzy that her parents had struggled at one point in their lives, when she was seven and Mr. Black was in between jobs, trying to become a car technician, running his own business. They lived with Mrs. Black’s mom in Los Angeles for almost three years.
Mr. Black was a good man—better yet, a great man. He’d take us to the park and to the movies, buying us all the candy and buttery popcorn we wanted, but when Izzy and I felt we were too old to hang out with him at the park (because let’s face it, teenagers didn’t like to be seen with their parents), he’d have no problem dropping us off at the mall and even giving us money to spend.
Things were great. My life was great. I had someone I could call a friend, someone I could consider a sister, maybe not by blood but by spirit and character.
From how I described the Blacks, you probably wonder just how I fell for Izzy’s Dad. Let’s just say it was very… unpredictable. It was something that just… happened—perhaps a simple crush that soon blossomed into something full and real and unique. I had always tried denying my feelings for him. I never wanted anyone to see, but there were certain things he said and did. Things that drove my young mind and body crazy.
Like the night when Mrs. Black wasn’t home and he was drinking in his garage, listening to some R&B music. He moved his hips, dancing and twirling Izzy around playfully. She giggled, and I sat on top of a cooler in the corner, watching them bond. But then the song changed, and he flicked his fingers for me to join him.
I shook my head and waved my hands in a no way kind of gesture, but he insisted, marching forward and grabbing my hand. He tugged up, and I landed against his chest. He twirled me with a swift, charming effect, laughing as he held me close. I tried so hard not to fall victim to his touch. I tried hard to fight the chills he gave me, ignore the galloping of my heartbeat.
But his smile was too perfect.
And his natural scent was so comforting.
His lips were only a few inches away, and I’m not sure if he noticed, but my stomach was rubbing against his crotch. It was harmless. I was sure because he held Izzy the exact same way, but to me, it meant the fucking world to be so close… so intimate.
His laugh was hearty when he caught my embarrassed gaze, and I giggled when he finally released me and teased me about having two left feet. Izzy joined in on the laughter, telling Mr. Black that I’d always been a horrible dancer.
It was true.
I was glad they caused a distraction. I didn’t mind being teased as long as neither of them took notice of my true feelings. God, I could remember that day so clearly.
I can also recall the time when I was sixteen and had just gotten my car and license. Just like any other teen, it was one of the most exciting times of my life—that is until I blew my tire going into the second week of driving.
I was stranded on the freeway, and it was freezing that day. As I shivered inside my coupe with my cellphone glued to my ear, I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because my dad wasn't home and Mom wasn't answering her phone. Neither were there to help me, so with heavy tears, I called the one person I knew was always around and also happened to specialize in cars.—Mr. Black.
He answered, and after I sobbed into the phone, he told me to calm down. I mean, maybe I was being a bit dramatic, but only because it'd never happened to me and I hated the feeling of being stranded. Between sniffles and tears, a small glimmer of relief ignited as he told me he was on the way.
When he pulled up in the Tahoe, I felt my heart swell in my chest. He parked the truck and walked to my car. I sat in the driver’s seat, and he
tapped my window with his gloved knuckles, a faint smile playing on his lips as his head moved sideways.
His smile was comforting and silently whispered so many things, the main one being that everything was going to be okay and blowing a tire happened to people all the time. His smile gave me the reassurance I needed and the safety I longed for. He never failed to let me know that if I ever needed anything, he was only a phone call away.
Unlike my parents, Mr. Black made sure I was taken care of for the most part. However, I never considered him a parent. To me, he was a really, really great friend.
He opened my door as cars sped by, reaching beside my leg to pop my trunk. "Come on," he said, pulling away and going for the back.
Confused, I climbed out of the car and followed him, watching as he pulled out my spare tire. Propping it on the side of my car, he jogged to his truck and took out a wrench and a case of something, and then he came back in a quick pace, bending down to check out my tire.
"Can't blame yourself for this, Little Knight. Looks like this thing was about to give out way before you ever got the chance to drive it."
"Really?" I asked.
He gestured for me to bend down with him, and I did. "Yep. See that?” He pointed at a jagged piece on the tire. “The tear started right there. Something most likely stressed the rubber. Alright, come on," he grunted as he pushed the tire aside and picked up the wrench. "I'm gonna show you how to change a tire so we can make sure you're never left stranded again."
I nodded, but tears still hung at the edges of my eyes. Mr. Black took notice and sighed, reaching forward to cap my shoulders. Laughing, most likely at my overreaction, he said, "It's alright, Chloe. I'm here. Your car will be fine." Then he flashed me a crooked smile, one that made my heartbeat quicken.
"I feel stupid," I muttered as he used the wrench to unscrew the bolts.
"Don't worry. You'll live. Besides," he shrugged one shoulder, glancing my way, "I've been wanting an excuse to check out your car. A BMW? It's nice as hell, but what were your parents thinking giving you something this fancy for your first car?"
That made me laugh. I swiped my eyes. "I've always wanted one."
"Good taste, but I’d be damned if I ever gave Izzy something nicer than what I was driving."
I giggled at his remark and felt truly at ease as he laughed too.
Mr. Black did most of the work for me but told me to twist the wrench on the last bolt. Apparently, I was doing it wrong, not screwing it in enough, so without much thought, he reached over to help me. His hands wrapped around mine, and he held me in a sideways position, mixing in his strength to twist it. He made sure it was good and tight.
That day, I felt everything. I purposely smelled him, his scent making me want to curl into his chest on that lonely winter day and never move. And his arms, God, so large and welcoming. They were tight around me, tensing as he did one final spin around. The scruff along his jaw grazed my cheek, and my belly rolled, a fire replacing the chill I once endured. I could feel his body heat radiating, blending with mine, and for a split second, I considered us one.
I know he thought nothing of it because he was simply helping me, but I thought everything of the gesture. My heart danced in my chest, my mouth going dry, lacking full sentences as he told me how replacing a tire was supposed to be done.
That was the day I truly, honestly, fell hard for Mr. Black. That was the day he made me feel something I'd never felt before—a rush that was hard to describe. It was quick and sweet and whole. That rush made me lose all self-control, causing an ache within me when I realized he could never be mine and I shouldn't have wanted him to be anyway.
He was only helping, but I took his kindness as something more, falling and crushing hard on a married man. And he wasn't just any married man, he was a happily married man and the father to a girl I considered a sister to me.
So, I made sure my feelings for Mr. Black never showed and were never put on display. I slept on my love for him, burying it in a deep, safe place in my heart. I knew it would always linger and I would always feel my pulse go double speed when he was nearby, but my friendship was important, not only with Izzy, but with Mr. Black too.
In my mind, Mr. Black was a no-no. He was off limits. He wasn't mine. I could never have him. I wasn't even supposed to love him the way I did.
For the most part, I kept my feelings at bay, ignoring the racing of my heart, the fire, and the ache only his presence could conjure. It became manageable. I laid out restrictions for myself. I did it for his family. I did it for him. But most of all, I did it for Izzy.
Through the years, my set boundaries worked. I thought things between Izzy, Mr. Black, and me would remain perfect forever…
But then senior year happened.
Reality happened.
And it was far from gentle.
It hit the Blacks like a speeding monster-truck. It blind-sided them and even myself, ruining all happiness and blurring some of the bond I’d created with their family.
Chapter Two
CHLOE
Every student knew that when the final bell rang on the last day of school, it was the official start of summer break. My fellow peers hollered, boasted, and laughed, tunneling through the exits of Bradshaw Academy and racing for their cars like wild bulls. Even the teachers smiled, their shoulders un-stiffening and being replaced by a momentary touch of relief.
Izzy was eighteen, and due to starting school a year late, I was nineteen. We were excited to finally be done with high school, ready to tackle college. Sadly, we were going to different universities, but they were only two hours apart, so we planned on seeing each other often.
I drove home from school that day.
Before I could back out of my parking spot, Riley, my ex-boyfriend, banged his hands on the hood of my car with an annoying grin on his face. We gasped, our attention averting from each other to him, and I slammed on the brakes.
“What the fuck are you doing, dipshit!?” Izzy shouted, her upper half now through the sunroof.
Riley busted out in a laugh. I rolled my eyes, lowering my window. “Get out of the way!”
“Not until you answer my question from earlier!” Riley walked around the car and to my window. He bent down, placing his elbows on the top of the door.
“I already told you I would think about it.” I looked back at Izzy as she sat down and folded her arms. “We have plans. Your little pool party doesn’t seem like much fun.”
“Oh yeah?” He flashed a crooked smile. It used to make me drool. I quickly got over it when I realized how much of a cocky jock he was. “And just what in the hell will you two be doing?”
“We’ll be celebrating the start of summer elsewhere.”
“Oh fuck. Don’t tell me you’re going to Joseph’s party instead of mine.”
“Well, his party doesn’t involve a ton of whores soaked in water. His will be inside, with more drinks and louder music. Joseph’s house is huge. No one will complain because he doesn’t have neighbors close by.”
“You, on the other hand,” Izzy said, pointing at him and laughing, “…live next door to Kimmy who has a mother that nags and bitches for no fucking reason.”
Riley shook his head. “You are both idiots. My party is going to be the shit. Everyone is coming.” He stood up straight. “If you aren’t there, consider yourself lame.”
I shrugged and gave Izzy a knowing look. She laughed, and I said, “We’ll take our chances.” When he stepped back, I pulled off, swerving as he yelled something rude after us.
“What a dickhead!” Izzy chimed, lowering the visor mirror and checking her glossed lips. She fluffed her black hair and then looked at me with bright, green eyes. “So, what are we really doing? Joseph’s last party was totally fucking lame.” She clapped her hands, suddenly having a bright idea. “Oh! I know! Let’s go to L.A. Frankie’s mom has an apartment there. We can invite some friends, and I can get Marco to buy us some drinks. We can get wasted and then do
the same again tomorrow night.”
I glanced at her before focusing on the road again. Izzy was still my best friend, but I don’t know what made her want to drink and smoke more often. She was becoming this untamed party animal, thirsty for attention. I guess I couldn’t blame her for it, though.
It all started when she lost her virginity to Justin, this preppy rugby player that was a class higher than us. To make a long story short, Justin dumped Izzy when he realized he only had two weeks left before going off to college. My guess is he figured college pussy would be better and more convenient for him than a twelfth grader’s.
I felt for Izzy, and I wanted to kick Justin’s balls up to his throat, but like a champ, she recovered, moving on to Marco. She met him at a bar in L.A. when she was supposed to be helping her mom bake.
“That doesn’t sound like a fun start of the summer.” I scrunched my nose with disinterest. “Didn’t your dad say your mom was throwing a cupcake party tonight anyway?”
She scoffed. “Yeah, but no thank you! I’m not in the mood to taste every cake she bakes.” Her eyes rolled again.
“Your mom makes the best cupcakes! Are you kidding?”
“I’m pretty sure she’d rather me not show up. She knows I don’t participate. My dad talks too much. I don’t know why he even brought it up the other night. He just did it to make conversation with you. He knows I never show to Mom’s baking parties.” She looked me over through the corner of her eye when I stopped at a stoplight. “It’s like he can never shut up when you’re around. He goes on and on and on.”
I blinked fast, unsure of what to say. There were times when Mr. Black could never shut up. Like when I turned seventeen and finally grew boobs big enough to have all the guys stare at. My hips had rounded out, and softball helped me maintain a slender waist and a flat stomach. My thighs had filled out as well, toned from workouts. Even my face had become smoother, free of acne and blemishes.
