by Mandy Harbin
But oh how I'd fantasized about the possibilities. I'd had many a hot dream about him...and many a guilt-ridden morning for even considering embracing a happy life with anyone.
The monotone lady on the GPS announced another turn. "Jesus, when you said we were going to Arkansas, I assumed we'd still be around civilization. It is a state, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "Whine much? We're almost there, you big baby."
"Thank god, I've gotta piss like a racehorse."
"And you make fun of Arkansas talking like that? Pot...meet kettle."
He chuckled. "I never made fun of Arkansas."
"Ha! If I have to hear one more hillbilly joke, I'm gonna smack you."
"There's a difference between joking and genuine curiosity." He winked at me.
"But no difference between your genuine curiosity and sarcasm."
"Oh, score one for the firecracker." He nudged me, and I snickered.
"You'll take a left after we top the hill." No sooner had I said that then our digital guide uttered the same directions. "And you can turn her off now," I said, pointing to the GPS device.
"I don't like turning off women. Seems so unnatural." He shivered in mock disdain, but did as I'd said.
"Do you ever not think about sex?" I muttered, looking away. I didn't like thinking of him turning on any woman but me. I knew that would never see the light of day—well, not on purpose—but I hated thinking of him being intimate with other women. I knew that uncomfortable feeling would slowly turn into outright disgust one day. I needed to learn to deal with it now.
"You don't know how much I wish I didn't think about it sometimes," he mumbled. I looked at him but he was staring out the window, a slight glare on his face. What had he meant by that? Before I got a chance to ask, he cleared his throat. "This it up here?" He pointed to the right. I looked and couldn't help the smile that spread across my face, our immediate conversation all but forgotten.
"Yeah," I breathed. "I didn't realize how much I'd missed home."
He pulled into the driveway, but before he could turn off the truck, my mom came running out the front door, clapping and bouncing.
"Hmm, you'd think she could muster up just a little excitement to see you," he said dryly.
I snorted. "Smartass."
"You know it."
I got out of the truck just as my mom reached the passenger door. She pulled me into a tight hug.
"Oh, honey! I'm so glad you came home this weekend. I've missed you so much. How was your trip? You weren't speeding, were you? Are you guys hungry? Where's your friend? I want to meet him."
And I thought Killian talked too much.
As I pulled away from her, I looked to the side and saw Killian was standing at the front of the truck, watching us with an amused expression. I pointed to him. "Mom, this is Killian Ashley. Killian, this is my mom, Amy Torrence."
She walked over to him, and he stepped toward her with his hand out. "Oh no you don't." She knocked it away and hugged him. I bit my lip not to laugh out loud at his dumbfounded look. It was totally priceless. She could've told him we were having boiled kittens for dinner and he wouldn't have look more shocked. "It's so nice to meet you, Killian."
He gently untangled himself from my mother. "You, too, Ms. Torrence."
"Call me Amy." She shrugged, stealing a glance at me. "Or Mom. If you and Liv are that close."
"Mom!" My face was suddenly hot. I wanted to die right then. Or hide. But there was never a hole in the ground when it was needed.
"What?" she blinked innocently at me.
He chuckled. "How about we stick to Amy." He glanced at me and winked. "For now."
I glared daggers at him for egging my mom on, and he smirked, the bastard.
"C'mon, kids. Get your bags. It's too hot to be standing out here. We can chat inside."
Killian pulled our bags from behind the seats of his truck while my mom starting fussing over me. Apparently, I looked really good. I stood there and accepted her compliments and returned a few when she'd let me get a word in. When Kill had our things, we walked into the house.
"I wasn't sure how you'd want the sleeping arrangements to be," she started, darting looks between the two of us. "I have the bed made in the guest room, but you're adults. Y'all can both sleep in Liv's room if that's what you want."
"Mother." I was going to kill her!
"The guest room will be fine, Amy."
Before my mom could argue with him and plot ways to strap him to my bed, I grabbed his arm. "I'll show you where it is."
"I made meatloaf," Mom called from behind us as I tried to get away. "Should be ready in an hour." Thankfully she didn't add suggestions on how we could use that hour.
After opening the guest room door, I pulled him in.
"Well, Amy is sweet," he said with a chuckle.
"Amy will be lucky to survive the weekend if she keeps this up."
He pulled me into a hug, and I went willingly. "She means well, firecracker. I can tell how much she loves you. Be happy your mom's around to annoy you."
And just like that I felt like the biggest jerk. He'd watched his mother get killed, and I was mad that mine was embarrassing me in front of a guy I cared about. There was no comparison, not that he was making one...just putting things into perspective. "You're right."
"I'm always right." I pulled away and snorted at him.
"I'm not sure if there's enough room in here for you and your ego. You have a pretty big one."
"That's what she said," he muttered, wagging his eyebrows.
"God, I can't take you anywhere," I said playfully. "Anyway, this is the guest slash workout slash junk room. See all those lovely boxes in the corner? There's a treadmill hidden over there."
"Hell, it'd be a workout just to clear all of those off to get to it."
"Yeah, her get-fit phase didn't last long." I headed to the door and then looked over my shoulder at him. "I'll show you the rest of the house."
He dropped his bag but left mine on his shoulder, and he followed me out into the hall. I pointed out where the bathroom was, and he popped his head in to take a peek. Then we reached my bedroom. I was a little nervous all of a sudden. Instead of announcing the obvious, I just opened the door, turned on the light, and walked in.
"You can put my bag in the corner over there." I pointed to the area beside my closet.
He slowly walked over there and dropped it, but instead of turning back around, he was fixated on my walls. I hadn't thought about my decor ahead of time, so I hadn't prepared for this. Now the slight butterflies in my tummy waged a full-on attack. I shut my eyes and tried to breathe through it as quietly as I could.
"You make all these?" he asks without turning to face me.
"Yes," I breathed.
He walked over to one of my walls and gently traced the paper. "Isn't the idea to give them away? They're cards." He started pointing some of the more obvious ones out. "Birthday...get well...graduation."
I fell to my bed, sitting on the edge, looking into the room but not seeing anything. "They're for Sam. Some of them I gave her when we were little, but after she died, I never stopped making them for her."
He turned to me then. "Why?" he asked softly.
I blinked and looked into his eyes. "Because she deserves to have them. To have her birthdays celebrated. To acknowledge when she would have graduated. Just because she's not alive doesn't mean I have to let her go."
Killian walked over to my bed and sat beside me. "I can see that." He nodded. "But get well?"
I half-smiled. "She used to get strep throat every year. If she hadn't died, I figured it was a safe bet that she'd keep getting it. We later found out mom was a carrier of it."
He pulled my hands into his and my heart raced. I had to force my hands not to shake. I couldn't do anything about the suddenly sweaty palms. "You are such a beautiful person, you know that?"
Beautiful? "I—"
"Do you want to write greeting cards for a li
ving?" he asked suddenly.
Okay, what? From beautiful to my career choice. "Yeah, why?"
"No, Liv. I'm not asking if you want to write them because you feel like you owe it to your sister. Or even because you want to feel closer to her. Do you, Olivia Musgrave, want to turn your personal connection with your sister into a means of financial survival?"
I yanked my hands away and stood up. "I'm not trying to profit from her at all!"
"I didn't say that, firecracker," he said calmly, staring up at me from his perch.
"You implied it."
"No, baby, I didn't. I just mean that maybe you're so fixated on what you must do for her in some effort to validate her life that you could lose yours in the process. If writing greeting cards is your passion and what you want to do for the rest of your life, then great. Follow your dream." He stood up, and I felt small with him towering over me. "But you should spend your life doing what you want."
"I like making cards." But the words came out weak. Why? All I'd ever planned on doing with my life was writing cards.
"Did you make one for Sam on her birthday this year? That day I came over to your dorm?"
I nodded. Why wouldn't I?
"Do you make them for your mom?"
"Sure." I started shaking.
He nodded. "Do you always make your mom a card on every special occasion?"
"No," I breathed. I'd only focused on making them for my sister. I had made some for my mom, but not always. Oh god. What did this mean?
He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my hair. "Maybe making cards is your way to deal with your sister's death. That's okay. Keep making her cards. But maybe you should take a look at your life and decide what career would make you happy."
He'd just turned my world upside down, making the connection to the greeting cards that no therapist had ever made. I knew I felt guilty for living when Sam didn't. These cards were my way of apologizing to her over and over.
"My happiness doesn't matter," I muttered into his chest.
Killian grasped my cheeks and pulled my face away to stare into my eyes. "It matters to me."
The intensity of his gaze could not be denied. He truly felt that way. I mattered to him. Only, "I'm not sure what I want to do."
His lips lifted into his breathtakingly gorgeous smile. "You have plenty of time to decide, and I'll help you every step of the way."
I nodded slowly. I wasn't sure how I'd be able to let go of the career I'd always assumed I'd pursue, but with Killian beside me, I could at least acknowledge the need to find something that pleased me. Killian cared enough about me to want to see me live my life for myself and not for anyone else. I could try. For me. For him. He was the best friend I never had. Jewel was one to me, too, but Killian was different. Our friendship was on a completely different level. Not better, just different.
But not altogether good for my sanity because my feelings for him kept getting stronger.
I was falling in love with him.
* * *
I laughed as Killian set up a travel easel while talking animatedly about his conversation with my mother this morning. As if I hadn't heard it firsthand. But his retelling was cracking me up. She'd given him a reprieve last night at dinner, only asking a few questions about his grades and goals, but this morning the gloves had come off. No topic was left untouched. When she'd learned of his parents’ deaths after asking about his family, she'd asked for details. When she'd asked about his medical issues, she'd wanted to know what kinds of medication he was taking and how often. She'd asked about therapy, jobs, and even girlfriends he'd had. She hadn't liked his answer about not having any girlfriends, thinking he was evading the question, but she let it slide. As soon as breakfast was over, Killian said he wanted me to take him somewhere scenic to draw. He was trying to get away from the inquisition. I knew that. I almost didn't let him, but when Mom asked me if any guy had stayed in my dorm room with me, I latched onto his idea, and we bolted.
"...Just couldn't believe it when she asked that. Jesus, I'm surprised she didn't ask me what kind of condoms I buy." He flipped open a sketchpad and propped it on the stand. "Sit on that rock over there."
I gaped at him. "Why? I want to sit right here."
"The light's better over there."
"Oh, no. You're not drawing me. You said someplace scenic." Why the hell would he want to draw me? "You don't do people." He opened his mouth and lifted my hand to stop him. "And before you make some sexual innuendo about only doing chicks, not people, you know what I mean."
He chuckled. "Quit being a baby and get over there. And I do too do people. I've just been working on more abstract things lately." I shook my head. I was a mess. No makeup, hair in a ponytail. No way was I letting him draw me. "Get your pretty little ass on that rock or I'm going to pick you up and put you there myself." He raised an eyebrow.
I didn't budge.
He took a step.
I leaped over to the rock. "Let the record show, I'm not happy about this."
"Let the record show, you'll get over it."
I glared at him.
"If you smile, the picture will be so much prettier." He looked down and picked up his pencil, muttering, "But the scowl is more accurate."
"I heard that."
He gave me a wink before he started sketching. Within five minutes, he seemed as if he was in the zone, totally focused on his drawing and darting glances at me, steeped in concentration. At ten minutes, I finally felt relaxed. At thirty minutes I was startled when he smiled at me and spoke. "You can take a break."
"A break? How long does it take to draw? It's not like you're painting a mural."
"Never rush an artist, firecracker." He stretched, put his pencil behind his ear and stepped over to the rock to sit beside me. "I have a very complicated subject," he said, only partly smiling.
"Well, your subject is starting to sweat out here in the sun." He looked up at the sky and I got a better look at the pencil in his hair. It was the one he'd given me. Okay, the one I'd taken, but it was mine all the same. "Hey," I said, pulling it out from his mussed locks. He turned to look at me. "Did you take this out of my bag?"
"No." He snatched it away before I could put it in my pocket for safe keeping. "This one is mine."
What? I didn't think so. I loved that pencil. I wasn't sure why I liked it so much, but I did. When I wasn't using it for an assignment, I often found myself twirling it around in my fingers or doodling with it. That sucker was mine, and he wasn't getting it back. I dove for it, but he held it out of reach. I grabbed his arm, and he laughed as he did his best to keep it way from me. Screw that. I lunged, knocking us both off the rock and onto the grass. We rolled, tussling for the pencil.
"Give. It. Back," I panted, partly draped over him as I struggled for it.
"I gave you one already," he said, laughing as he deflected my grabs for it. "You don't have the only one in existence."
I stopped fighting and relaxed a little as his words sunk in. Oh god, he probably bought another one after I took his. He hadn't taken my special sketching pencil. Special, because it had belonged to him. I scrambled for a response as I chanced a glance at him. He looked highly amused. "I know that. I was just goofing around."
"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly not believing me.
I bustled to get off of him before I put my foot further in my mouth. What had possessed me to just attack him? I swung my leg around to free myself of him, but as I did that he leaned forward in an attempt to dislodge as well.
And my knee connected with his groin.
He howled, falling onto his back and clutching his thighs in a partial fetal position.
"Shit! I'm sorry!" I reached down without thinking and rubbed where I'd hurt him.
It was instinct, to soothe the injury, but what had been an innocent move resulted in my hand now touching his penis.
His very hard penis.
He groaned, and I snatched my hand away as if he'd burned me. My gaze f
lew to his, and his eyes were scorching. His mouth was open as he took in shallow breaths. I realized then the sound he'd made when I'd touched him there hadn't been one of misery. He'd liked it.
And that made me very hot all of a sudden. I swallowed. "I-I'm sorry."
He sat up slowly and shook his head, a wry smile playing with his lips. "Don't be." Then he frowned, his brows knitting. "We should go."
The walls. I'd almost forgotten about them, and I hated seeing them being erected again. He didn't make a move to get up, and an idea came to me. I told myself it was now or never. Granted, I really didn't believe that, but this was an opportunity I needed to grab, or whatever Jewel had said to me before when giving advice. I was tired of those walls.
I licked my lips as I gathered my strength to spill this secret. "I know you want to forget about that kiss we had," I started and he stiffened. I had to hurry or the walls would be too thick to penetrate. "But that was the first time I've ever been kissed."
That stunned him. "What?" Then he blinked. "I didn't know."
"No one does." I laughed at my own life. "I may not be a virgin, but that doesn't mean I've experienced everything." I watched as he gritted his teeth. He seemed angry now, but I wasn't sure why. I considered stopping, but I held onto this restless bull's horns and didn't let go. "I know we're just friends, but I care about you. I trust you," I added quickly. Saying we were just friends didn't feel right, but it was the safe way to explain it. I looked down and watched as I twisted my fingers together. "I liked it," I breathed.
I didn't dare look at him.
His breathing accelerated.
Seconds stretched on.
"I did, too."
I looked up then. I had to see his expression when I went on. "So not only do I not want to forget it, but I want to do it again. Can we?"
The blood drained from his face. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." He didn't sound very convincing though.
"I'm not asking you to make out with me." Yet, I added silently. "I just want to experience a kiss, from start to finish, without the fighting or drama." He seemed unable to speak. His mouth moved but no words came out. I bit my lip nervously, waiting.
