by Jean Haus
Chapter 15
~April~
“She should dive into the shallow end of a pool,” Misha says, staring at me.
I keep my appearance void of anger, irritation, or even pity as I glance around the circle. No matter how mean she gets, I refuse to lower myself to Misha’s level. And though sometimes it’s hard for me to believe, I’m aware the girl is a witch because of whatever pain she is hiding.
Jason stares at the floor. Gabe sits with his arms crossed and wears a bored expression. Chad stares at Misha’s chest.
It’s the same old same old.
Though everyone in the group is aware that Gabe and I hang out—at least to conquer the bucket list—group has not gotten better. In fact, Misha is worse than ever, obviously hoping that being a monumental witch will get Gabe to join her side—the hate April for no apparent reason side.
Jeff clears his throat. “Misha, lashing out at others won’t help you, and breaks the respect inside our circle. If something has happened that recently hurt you, please share that with us instead.”
She lets out a huff then draws in a breath. “Something did happen.” She scans Gabe’s stretched out legs. “I met a man, an older man. He comes in every Thursday for a lap dance,” she says, dragging out the last two words.
Now that Misha’s stripping, there is no bounds to her ego. Sadly, I’m pretty sure her ego is a front. For what I haven’t totally figured out—though I’m guessing it’s connected to her lack of self-esteem. However, she definitely uses sex as not only a way to get attention, but also as a shield.
Chad practically drools. Jason keeps his eyes on the floor. Gabe looks bored. Jeff’s brow wrinkles in a scrunch.
“After, he waits for me until closing, takes me for a drive in his corvette, and I blow him off,” she says low and seductive, before she slams into the back of her chair. “But the asshole won’t tell me his name!”
“Well,” Jeff says slowly, as his hand curls tightly around his binder. “Perhaps—”
Gabe sits up and interrupts with, “Do you enjoy being slutty?”
Misha whips toward him, a snarl growing on her red mouth.
“Gabe!” Jeff says.
“No, really,” Gabe continues. “If you enjoy it, then more blow job power to you, and who gives a shit if he tells you his name? And who cares what people think? But if you’re looking for more from these guys, then you need to stop blowing men off in bathrooms, cars, parking lots, and walk in coolers, because they aren’t going to give you more. They’re just going to take from you without an ounce of respect.”
Misha’s hands clench around the edge of her seat, as if she’s ready to attack. “Fuck you. Maybe I’m a sex addict. Did you think of that, asshole?”
Gabe sits back, crossing his arms once more. “Then once again, you don’t need to know his name.”
“Sex addicts can feel guilty,” she huffs.
He nods. “Still don’t need to know his name.”
Chad glances between them, mostly likely deciding if his lust for Misha outweighs his fear of Gabe.
The air cracking with tension, Jason quietly says, “If you don’t respect yourself, no one will.”
“Fuck you too, freak.” Misha looks like she is going to jump across the room and throttle Jason.
I scoot to the front of my chair, ready to intercept her.
“Leave him alone,” Gabe says in a low tone.
“Okay, everyone,” Jeff says, attempting to take control. “I think Gabe is actually trying to help you, Misha, though he should have used kinder words.”
Misha’s top lip curls at Jeff before she points to me and spits out, “Just like her”—the girl never says my name—“what I do is my business.”
Gabe leans forward putting his elbows on his knees. “Then quit bragging about blo—”
“I think that is enough,” Jeff says quickly in a fake chirpy tone. “I’d like to share a positive story about…”
As Jeff drones, I tune him out, watching Gabe out of the corner of my eye. Though he should have been more polite, I’m impressed that he had the balls to call Misha out.
Soon my watching turns into admiring. He is dressed in his normal jeans and white T-shirt. The muscles of his arms appear tight and smooth. His long legs are stretched out to the middle of the circle. Sun streaked hair brushes the hard line of his jaw scruff. Studying him, I feel like one of the fan girls who swoon over Luminescent Juliet. I want to lean across the circle and touch him, see if all that sexy appeal is real or a figment of my imagination or newly awakened hormones.
Gabe looks up and I realize I’m not watching him from the corner of my eye anymore. I’m full out staring at him. He smirks at me as I snap away. I keep my eyes adverted for the rest of the session, through Jeff’s long story and through his assignment—sharing a happy time for the next session.
Outside in the parking lot, Gabe catches up with me. He’s still wearing that darn smirk.
“You busy tonight?”
I almost trip because it sounds like he’s asking me out. He can’t be asking me out. “Why?”
“During a break this week, my manager was talking about where he took his kids last weekend. It gave me an idea for the next item on the list.”
I hit unlock as I come to my car. “What item?”
His smirk expands. “Why not let it be a surprise?”
I open the car, trying to ignore his closeness. “Why not just tell me?”
“You busy?” he demands, grabbing hold of the top of my door.
I slip into the front seat. “Homework.”
“It’s a bit of a drive. You can do it on the way.”
Brows lowering, I wonder what he could possibly be planning.
He lets go of the door. “I’ll pick you up around six.” He steps away, but over his shoulder says, “Dress warm.”
As my brows lower more, I watch him walk across the lot and wish my heart hadn’t picked up speed at the thought of being alone with him.
Chapter 16
~April~
We’ve been in Gabe’s truck, rolling down the highway for almost forty minutes. I pretended to read and study most of the time, but so close to him, it’s a bit difficult to concentrate. The last time I felt this way—breathless and giddy and brainless—around someone was at the age of twelve with my college aged piano teacher. Infatuations are immature. I know this, yet I can’t stop the bubbling emotions he produces. Well, at least internally. Outwardly, I try to stay as cynical as possible.
Finally giving up on reading and closing my clinical psychology book, I ask, “Is this an overnight trip or something?”
Gabe nods toward the green sign we’re about to pass. “This is our exit.”
I search the signs on the side of the road as we come closer to the exit. None of the restaurants or ‘attractions’ makes sense with the items left on the bucket list. At the end of the ramp, he turns away from the businesses and we roll along a highway with farms on each side. Across the cab, he smirks again, as my anticipation laced with dread grows.
He slows, then turns, near a large sign titled Cross Historical Village.
I’m stumped as he parks in a half-filled parking lot, not only about why we’re here, but also about what here is exactly.
He hops out of the truck. “You coming?”
“Ah, yeah,” I absently say, releasing my seat belt.
At the entrance, he pays for our tickets while I peek across the gate. The sight of little old houses and barns and a church has me realizing we’re at a museum of sorts. He hands me the ticket and I ponder the remaining items on the bucket list: release a paper lantern, get a tattoo, get over stage fright, kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel, meet Michael Thomas, share a bottle of strawberry wine, and sleep under the stars.
As we pass a train depot, along with an antique train chugging steam into the orange streaked sky, I’m thinking that they must release paper lanterns here. Or maybe hoping because there better not be a stage where tour
ists can participate.
A lady wearing a long dress and bonnet, hands me a map from a basket on her arm, but before I can open it, Gabe snatches it out of my hand.
“The suspense won’t kill you.”
“It might.” I glare at him reading the map held out of my reach.
He scans it, then tucks it in his back pocket. “This way,” he says, gesturing toward the right. We walk the length of a narrow dirt road lined with houses, a barbershop, a blacksmith, and a windmill. Other people, mostly families, fill the path or wander into the buildings.
“Did you want to check anything out?” he asks, his tone purposely polite.
I glare. He knows the anticipation is killing me. “Maybe later.”
“Sure you don’t want to stop for some cider and donuts?” He nods toward a barn like structure as we round a corner.
“No thanks,” I say in a false light tone.
He chuckles. “I am a bit hungry.”
“You can wait for once.” My teeth grind as I imagine possibilities. Me on a stage with a guitar? Fearless. Even if I suck. Me on a stage without an instrument? Terrified.
A large building looms ahead of us, as we come closer, I read the plaque at the edge of the path. Dance Hall. My heart pounds a bit faster. The hall would be the perfect place to put on an impromptu play. I force my legs to keep moving, instead of turning and jogging away. Much to my relief, we pass the hall.
Gabe seems to be on a mission toward the back of the park. He walks so fast, I nearly do have to jog. Keeping his pace, I squint past a log cabin and a church steeple. I’m almost sure I glimpse water, but the sun is almost set. It might just be the reflection of light. However, a small lake would be a perfect place to release a paper lantern.
Please, please, please be a lake.
We turn another corner and a carousel comes into view. Beyond and above that is a—I stop cold at the sight—Ferris Wheel. Large and old looking with basket like cages, it looms above us. I peel my wide eyes from the sight of the wheel to see Gabe standing a few feet ahead of me. He is watching me, a smirk etching his face.
I back up. “You can’t be serious.”
His steps closer as the smirk grows. “Are you scared?”
“Just one month ago you couldn’t stand me.” Confusion fills my tone.
He stops moving closer and crosses his arms. “It’s just a kiss, April.”
My stomach does a back flip at the k-word. Funny, as much as I have been lusting after him, as much as I swoon over his lips, I’d never imagined us kissing. Until now. Hot images and sensations fill my brain.
He grabs my hand and tugs me inches from him. “Afraid you’ll find me more irresistible after just one peck?”
Yes, I am. My eyes narrow. “More?”
He nods and caresses the top of my hand with a thumb. “It’s a known fact. The first girl I kissed”—he pauses, tilting his head in contemplation—“back in junior high, wrote me… love letters, poems included, for the entire year.”
“Oh, please,” I say, laughing and yanking my hand from his grip. “I’m not scared of you or your magic lips. I just—you—well…I don’t want the list to make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“Ah, yeah, I think I can survive it somehow.” He gestures to the wheel. “Shall we?”
I march past him. Past the carousel, we join the line. A bright star twinkling in the center of the wheel casts shadows as people are slowly unloaded and loaded into the baskets. I’m trying to pay attention to the surroundings instead of the ridiculous anticipation running through me. Amid the lights and circus like music, I try to tell myself that Gabe is right, it’s just a kiss, and maybe it will be so lifeless that my newly awaked hormones will go back to sleep. But then maybe I will find him more irresistible than ever and pine for him like so many female fans of Luminescent Juliet. As we move up in the line, the spinning star feels like it has become a roulette wheel with my hormones at stake.
When we come to the front of the line, the attendant dressed in a striped red shirt and bow tie gestures for me to enter the basket. I almost smash myself into the corner, but with a deep breath decide that I’m going to face the inevitable and stop thinking like an idiot.
It’s just a kiss.
Gabe slides in beside me, his thigh pressing against mine.
“Still scared?” he asks, as the man locks the basket gate.
“Of heights? Yes, I am.”
“Do you want me to hold your hand?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.
My expression is forcefully wry. “I think I’ll be okay.”
The wheel moves and we’re soon a quarter of the way up. Are we doing this right away? As soon as we hit the top? My mouth is suddenly dry. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Stop thinking about it and it won’t be a big deal.
Though I do have a healthy fear of heights, I peek out over the edge and attempt —maybe pretend—to watch the people milling about below.
“You going to Riley’s gig this weekend?” Gabe asks.
The wheel shifts and we’re at the halfway point. I feel my skin whiten. Whether from the height or the upcoming liplock, I’m not sure. “Of course. You?”
“Yeah.” He shifts his weight so that his legs are stretched out to the far corner in front of me. “You know, there was a time that I almost hated Riley. Now she just worries the hell out of me.”
Surprised at the revelation, I turn to him. “Why would you hate Riley?”
He studies the people below like I had been. “She beat me out in auditions. She could come back at any time.”
“Riley, even Romeo, wouldn’t do that to you, especially since you guys have signed with a label.”
“But what if I fuck up?”
“How would you screw up that bad?”
He shrugs, his shoulder brushing mine. “Lose my temper. End up in jail. Maybe even prison.”
I almost say, Well then don’t f-up, but that’s not easy for someone raised like he was. “I could…I mean I know some breathing techniques and imagery exercises that can help you learn to keep control.”
“My psychologist has probably shown, taught, explained, you name it, everything possible. Yet when I get angry like that, I snap. The last time I got in trouble, I saw Allie’s ex smack her and I lost it. It took the entire rest of the band to peel me off him.”
Gabe is so intense that scenario isn’t too hard to imagine. “Well, maybe—”
He nods his head toward outside. “We’re at the top.”
I look around to find that we are indeed at the top. Our basket precariously swings in the breeze. I hadn’t even noticed us moving. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“What?”
“Steer my attention from the…height?” I refuse to refer to why we’re up here.
“Maybe,” he says, his gaze on my face.
Gabe shifts closer, and my heart starts hammering all over again, and it’s definitely not because we’re in a little basket at the top of a high wheel.
He leans forward, his eyes intense. “You ready for this?”
At the touch of his palms on my jaw, anticipation pounds through me, so much that a wild bubbly laugh escapes me. I feel like I could jump out of my skin. “Sure. Lay those magic lips on mine.”
He smiles, authentically for once before he lowers his lashes and head.
Those lovely lips cover mine, and I’m frozen at the feel of him. The press of his firm, soft mouth. The slight scrape of the scruff on his chin. The tip of his nose brushing my cheek. His lips caressing mine, back and forth, nipping and almost sucking, drumming up desire from the storm in my stomach, making me remember all of these sensations from my teenage years, but not like this. They were never like this. So sharp, so acute, so bone melting that I may dissolve onto the antique seat and drip into the autumn night.
Magic lips. The man really does have them.
He presses closer, both his body and mouth.
The desire that had been slowly building in my stomach exp
lodes as a gasp from my mouth into his, and that sound changes everything. The hands that were clasped in my lap grip his shoulders and pull him closer. Instead of just experiencing, I’m all in, moving my lips over his, touching his tongue with mine, and grasping that hair in my hands.
He changes too, from gentle and coaxing to demanding and forceful, pushing me back against the metal basket weave, crushing my mouth under his, digging his fingers into my jaw.
We become a tangle of mouths and hands and lust until the basket lurches forward and shifts downward.
Gabe gradually draws away and sits back.
Smashed in the corner, I stare at him, trying to get my brain back. I’m a blob of pulsating hormones. He stares back at me. Now dark, the lone light illuminating our little world is the star on the wheel. It’s hard to read, nearly impossible, his face in the shadows.
“Um…” I say desperate to break the silence, specifically break the spell of lust that hangs inside the cart before I jump on him, since my entire body pulsates with the need he invoked.
“Relax, April. It was just a kiss,” Gabe says in an oddly light but tight tone. “One more check off the list.”
The list. I almost bang my head on the metal weave of the basket. I should be thinking of Rachel, maybe imagining her in this situation. Instead, I’m thinking of attacking Gabe and going for round two. I’m sure Rachel would have imagined something like part one of the kiss, but I liked part two much better. Maybe being with Misha once a week is rubbing off on me. One kiss and I’m on my way to becoming a wannabe sex addict. Or probably since it’s Gabe, a real one, but just for him.
“Bit quiet over there,” Gabe says. “Still in shock? Don’t tell me you’re going to become obsessed with me. If so, try not to write any shitty poems.”
The wheel starts turning without stopping to load. We head toward the top again.
Determined not to appear like the lust sick teenager I feel like, I say, “If they’re about you, they’re bound to be crappy.”
He lets out a laugh that turns into a bright, sexy smile that shines through the shadows, and I swear my heart lurches.
For a magic lipped ass.
