by Calia Read
On my next turn, I hit the last pin. I’m tempted to gloat because I’m not too bad for a newbie.
“Are you ready for me to show you how to really bowl?” Macsen asks.
I sweep my hand toward the open lane. “Be my guest.”
He steps up to the platform, as I lovingly call it, and does the same thing as the woman next to us. He only hits one.
One measly pin.
Walking off the platform, he goes to the machine and waits for his ball. I watch his jaw clinch. “Are you mad?”
He gives me a brief nod. “I like to win.”
My fingers drum against the screen that holds our scores. “It’s just bowling.”
Macsen looks over at me thoughtfully. “I can be competitive.”
I feel like there is hidden meaning to his words. I’m willing to bet that it goes back to Severine.
On his next try, he gets a spare. When he walks back to our seats, he’s in a much better mood.
As I walk back up on the platform, Macsen stops me before I bowl in style. “If you didn’t bowl growing up, what did you do for fun?”
My cheeks are sucked in tight as I think how to answer him. “I played tennis, rode horses…” As an afterthought I add, “Swam a lot during the summer time…”
“So, rich kid stuff,” he says his words condescendingly.
“What did you do, besides reading?” I challenge.
The minute he puts his hand up, I know he’s getting ready to rub his neck. Whatever his answer is, it makes him nervous.
My childhood was fun. I was a typical, carefree child. The way Macsen speaks about his past is just depressing.
“You didn’t have any fun hobbies?” I ask.
“We moved around so much. My mom went through husbands like a pack of cigarettes.” He smiles over his confession, but I find nothing funny about it. “Just when I got settled, we moved.”
“How many times did you move?”
“I lost track. My favorite place was Virginia.” He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “That’s where I started swimming.”
I stop asking questions right there because I already know this story. Immediately, I offer something about myself. My plan doesn’t require that. I tell myself that I’m doing this to lighten the moment. “I used to go to concerts. Wait outside in the freezing cold, have the tent … you know, the whole nine yards.”
Macsen’s eyes widen and he turns his head slowly to look at me. “What kind of concerts?”
“You know … bands.” I shrug evasively and look at our lane. “Boy bands.”
His face is solemn but I see the mischief in his eyes. Macsen takes a step closer in interest. “Did you have t-shirts, and posters? Wait … did you have a favorite singer?”
His chest is right in front of my face. I look away. “Yes, yes, and no—they were all my favorite.”
“Wow…” He shakes his head. “Emilia likes boy bands. I can’t believe it.”
“Relax,” I shrug it off as nothing, but I’m smiling, “I was twelve.”
For the next hour we go back and forth. I talk to him like I don’t have a Burn List, like I’m after no one. And during that hour, I laugh more than I have in the longest time.
“I can’t bowl anymore,” I confess. I sit in the chair across from Macsen and relax my legs in front of me. “My arms ache.”
“The way you bowl, that doesn’t surprise me.” A sigh escapes him. “But I’m ready to go, too.”
Bending down, I slip out of the shoes and anxiously put my boots on. Macsen is already finished and has both of the bowling balls back where we found them.
I don’t want tonight to end, and I’m afraid it’s coming to a close. “Are we going somewhere else?” I ask nervously.
He rubs the back of his neck and finally gives me a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, but let’s get our shoes turned in.”
There’s no reason I should be so relieved that our night is continuing, but I am.
All for revenge, I remind myself.
A smile on my lips shouldn’t be a part of revenge. But as we drop our shoes off and walk toward the exit, there’s still one firmly planted on my lips. His hand rests against my lower back, guiding me out the door. That touch goes through my layers and burns my skin. I don’t pull away like I should.
We get to the passenger side of the truck and I lean against the door to look at him. “Where are we going?”
Tucking his hands into his jeans, he hunches his body closer. “My apartment.”
I stand taller because that wasn’t what I had in mind. When Macsen sees my alarm, he laughs and shakes his head. “My roommate has a party starting right now.”
Quickly, I backpedal and move away from the truck. Macsen turns his body and steps with me. “No, thanks. I never go to parties.”
“You have also never bowled until tonight,” he points out. “Granted, you looked ridiculous, but you had fun, didn’t you?”
Because of the person I was with. I give him a quick nod. “Yeah.”
He smiles charmingly. “Great, then let’s go.”
I wasn’t going to the party. Watching people get drunk and making horrible decisions was meant for reality television. I’d be a buzz kill.
I walk cautiously back to the truck and try to reason with him. “Let’s go anywhere else.”
Macsen looks confused. “Why?”
“Parties are not my thing,” I confess.
“They’re not mine either,” he shakes his head.
I open my mouth to say more but his hands grip my hips tightly. I stop breathing and look down at his large hands. My blood suddenly feels warm, and I instantly look him in the eye. He’s staring down at his hands thoughtfully before he easily lifts me up and places me into the truck. It takes only a few seconds, but my skin is on fire. I want more.
Macsen looks unaffected. He leans against the truck and crosses his arms. His cheeks are red from the cold and his dark hair is tousled from the wind. When he smiles at me, I forget about my list.
“Tonight is our first for everything,” he tells me.
The door slams, and I watch him with my mouth parted as he jogs around the truck and hops into the driver side. I know that the main reason I don’t want to go is because I’m losing control. I’ve been having fun tonight when I should have been getting information on him.
We pull away from the bowling alley. Neither one of us speaks, and it’s not awkward. We’re two people who thrive on silence. But my nerves are filling the air around us with tension. A few times Macsen turns to look at me, but I keep my eyes focused on my leather bag.
Macsen starts to slow down. I look out the window as he pulls into an apartment complex. Four buildings sit next to each other and in front of them is a large parking lot.
Finally, we park. Macsen glances over at me. “It’s a party, Emilia. Just relax.”
I say nothing.
He unbuckles himself and shifts in his seat. “We can stay out here.”
That gets my attention. I look over at him curiously. “What?”
“Yeah, we can just read the whole time.” I smile at Macsen as he glances at the bag that I put in between us on the ride here. “What do you have in there for me to read?”
My seatbelt is unbuckled, and away from my body in seconds. Quickly, I snatch my bag. Macsen pulls it out of my grasp. I lurch forward.
“Give it back,” I say urgently.
Ignoring me, he unlatches the gold hook and grabs the first book, while dodging my slaps. “The Bronze Horseman...” Macsen turns on the overhead light and reads the words on the back of the book. I lean back in my seat. “Hmm ... so you like romance.”
I pretend to pick at a piece of lint on my cardigan. “Doesn’t every female?”
Macsen snorts and flips through the pages. That’s when I practically jump over the console for my book. Laughing, Macsen turns and presses himself against the window. “Who the hell is...” he squints, “Shura?”
Impatiently, I reach for the
book as I speak. “Shura is Alexander.” Macsen frowns at the pages and I continue, “It’s a Russian nickname for Alexander.”
When he starts to read more, I slap at his hands. “This Shura ... he’s the hero of the book?”
“Please,” I say devilishly, “I think he’s the hero of every...” I stop speaking.
Macsen is looking at me with a hot expression. I take a deep breath and realize there are only inches between our faces. His eyes drift from my face and down my body. They settle on my chest and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. When I glance down, I realize I’m leaning over him, with my bra in sight.
Staying perfectly still, my eyes veer back to his face. Macsen’s nose brushes against my own. His lips part and slowly his eyes drift down to my own lips. I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does. When he doesn’t make a move, I take that as my wake-up call.
I push away instantly and adjust my shirt. I stare out the window and count the leaves skittering across the parking lot.
One, two, three, four ... I lose count after five and just keep replaying the way Macsen just looked at me.
“Do you want to go inside?” Macsen asks deeply.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
Crisp autumn air meets my lungs as I shut the door behind me. I hug my cardigan tightly to my body and look over at Macsen. He’s staring at me thoughtfully. As we walk together, I flick my eye over each building. “Which one do you live in?”
I should’ve just followed the music. He points to his apartment on the first floor. Music is blaring from the windows and the door is wide open. Spilling out of the door and onto the patio, are a couple dozen people, smoking and laughing loudly.
“How many people are at this party?” I ask him suspiciously.
Macsen scans the crowd. “I was going to tell you about twenty people, but I think that’s how many people are standing outside right now.”
I was skeptical. The people in front of me were seasoned partiers. Most held clear cups in their hands while they smoked and talked loudly. Naturally, a few girls are dressed for Halloween. I see a naughty nurse, one playboy bunny, and of course, a slutty police officer.
My body presses closer to Macsen when it shouldn’t, but these people make me uncomfortable. I’m tempted to turn around. Macsen’s hand settles on my back as we walk closer to his front door, and I feel relief.
I rub my fingers against the dark polish of my nails. It’s a nervous habit that will never die. His hand pauses on the door and he looks at me gently. “No one will mess with you here,” he says with conviction. “It’s not a fucking frat party.”
“So those are the dangerous parties?” I ask with my brows raised.
He gives me a dull expression and momentarily leans against the side of the building. “Every party is dangerous. Just stick with me or Chris.” Quickly, he shakes his head. “I take that back. Don’t hang out with him.”
Nerves are dancing in my belly. I’ve spoken to Chris once. He was a flirt, but seemed harmless. But that was one time, and sometimes, first impressions can be wrong. “Is he bad news?”
“Everything with Chris is bad, but he’s a harmless asshole.”
My smile is nervous, but I give him a brief nod.
Gently, Macsen wraps his finger around my wrist. “Come on,” he says gently. “Don’t be afraid.”
I think I have every reason to be afraid. Quickly, I rush out my words, making one last attempt to get out of this. “I never go to parties. I’ll ruin tonight for everyone.”
“How can you ruin it?” His lips curve up in that shy, sweet smile of his. “I just got done watching you kick ass at bowling.
I give him a weak smile. “I’m normally not that fun.”
His smile fades away and he looks at me seriously. “I always have fun with you, Emilia.”
It’s really hard to think straight when he says things like that. “No one does,” I admit to him.
“No one knows you,” he states confidently.
“And you do?” I question.
Macsen’s head tilts to the side in a way I’m becoming familiar with. “I think I do.”
I don’t get a chance to respond. The minute he opens the door, music blasts all around us, and I’m assaulted by a thick fog of smoke. I wave a hand in front of my face and try to adjust my eyes. When I do, I squeeze Macsen’s hand tightly.
There’s not an open space in the entire apartment. Bodies are tightly pressed together. Some talk in groups, but most gyrate against the nearest body. Nerves multiply by a thousand. I don’t belong here at all.
We stand at the front entrance staring at everyone. When he leans closer to me, I meet him in the middle. “Chris was supposed to keep this small,” he yells. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“This is crazy,” I shout back.
Macsen nods and walks forward.
I bump into bodies and would have bounced around like a ping-pong ball if it weren’t for Macsen. He guides us toward the kitchen island and loudly slaps Chris on the shoulder.
A beer is halfway to Chris’s mouth. He lowers it and gives Macsen a loose smile. “Hey, you made it!” He looks in my direction and his smile is instantly charming. “Oh, you brought Rapunzel with ya.”
Someone bumps into me. Instantly, I press my back against the kitchen counter and give Chris a weary smile. Dressing like a slut obviously doesn’t only apply to the females. Chris is dressed in a full police officer uniform with most of the buttons undone, letting everyone see his muscular chest. Aviators cover his eyes and his dark blue police hat is slanted low over his forehead.
Chris gives me a cocky grin. “You like what you see?”
I dodge the question and point at his outfit. “You take Halloween seriously.”
“Not really.” He points at his outfit with the baton in his other hand, eventually settling it on his shoulder like a baseball bat. “This is for the ladies. Females flipped out for that Magic Mike movie.”
I try to keep my lips in a straight line, but they keep curving up. I finally give in and smile widely. Chris wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Ah! Rapunzel is blushing.” He nudges Macsen. “Take notes, my friend.”
Macsen doesn’t look convinced until he looks over at me. His jaw drops. “Seriously, you like his outfit?”
I shrug. “It’s kind of ... funny.”
Chris shoves his face close to ours. “What she’s trying to say is that my outfit is turning her on.”
Macsen ignores his comment, but he does step closer to me. He gestures toward the living room filled with moving bodies. “Chris, what is this? A few friends don’t equal a fucking rave.”
“Yeah...” He looks at the people around us. “More people showed up than I thought.” His attention shifts back to me. “Do you want anything to drink?”
Macsen gives him a bland look. “She’s good.”
Chris and I are from different circles. He is wildly self-confident and I am wildly paranoid.
Maybe he has the same train of thought because he glances between Macsen and me, and crosses his arms. “You are a different kind of a girl. You know that, Rapunzel? Nothing like Severine.”
I glance over at Macsen and watch his jaw clinch tightly. He leans back against the island, and his forearm presses firmly against my stomach. My lips flatten in a thin line as I stare at his arm. I could push him off, but I like the feeling it gives me. I’m not a handsy kind of person. I become as stiff as a board the minute someone hugs me.
Maybe that’s why his arm pressed close feels like a punch to the gut. The touch makes me feel something.
While I’m ready to combust right there, Macsen is glaring at Chris. His drunk roommate doesn’t care, and slings an arm around Macsen’s shoulder. “Macsen’s pissed off now.” He snickers and looks at me. “Did I offend you?”
I back away from the whiskey on his breath. “No, you didn’t. What the hell have you been drinking?”
“Jim Beam.” He points to a bottle behind me. “You’re in Ke
ntucky … need to get used to it.”
Chris gives Macsen a slap on the back. He stumbles away for a second, but then turns around and shouts. “Don’t toy with him! I’m just now getting that little fucker in a better mood!”
I turn my body back to Macsen. He stares down at the carpet in thought, clearly thinking about Severine. I want to know what’s running through his mind.
Ask him something and use it against him, my conscience whispers to me, but my mouth remains shut.
He rubs his neck and slaps a hand on the counter, as if his mind is made up. “I need a drink. Do you want one?”
I feel like I’m going to need one. “Yeah, why not.”
Macsen is gone for only a few seconds before he comes back with two beers. I take it hesitantly. I’m not a beer drinker, or a drinker, period. If I’m going to get drunk, I want something that tastes semi-good going down. I look over at Macsen, and he silently toasts with his beer before chugging half of it down.
I take a small sip. It’s just as gross as the first time I tried it with my sister and Aniston when I was sixteen. Now, I’m just a voluntary idiot. I still keep taking small sips and watch the people in front of me dancing to the beat.
“Is tonight ruined because Chris brought up Severine?” I ask him.
Suddenly, he leans forward. With his elbow leaning against the counter, his face is inches from mine. Through the haze of smoke I can still smell that fresh scent of his. I move my face toward his cheek, just barely. He’s not drunk, not even close. But his eyes brighten as he looks closely at my face. My heart is thundering and my skin tingles, because I want more from him. I don’t know what, I just need more. “No, it’s not ruined,” he says deeply. “It’s in the past.”
I know from experience that it doesn’t really matter if something is in the past, it can still chase you wherever you go. With shaking hands, I grab my beer and take a larger sip. I envy his ability to store the past where it belongs and move on.
Chris comes back with a girl dressed in a barely-there outfit. I think she’s supposed to be a hippy, but half of her outfit is missing. Macsen doesn’t even blink in her direction, and I store that away in my mind.
