by R. M. Webb
I smile and shrug, totally mute, and sigh as Becca’s energy goes to work cleaning out all the echoes from the corners. She plops down on the couch and I start dragging her stuff towards her room.
“Just leave that stuff and sit with me, Zo. I’ve missed you muches.”
That’s all the invitation I need really. I smile big and sit down next to her. Now that she’s here, I’m already less irritated with her. Like her physical presence is different than the presence in my head. Or something. Whatever it is, I feel better ‘cause she’s here.
“So I’ve been thinking about what you said …? You know, about helping you learn how to actually talk to people.” Becca flicks off her heels and they clatter to the floor while I admire the color of her toenail polish. She glances at me and I nod and smile. I remember. Her face darkens and my stomach gets all icky sicky ‘cause I recognize that look. I’ve irritated her. She’s been home all of five minutes and she’s already upset with me. “You realize you haven’t said one word since I’ve been home, right?”
So much for a soft spot to lay my head. I feel my face crumble and tears prick at my eyes but I refuse to pay them any attention. “I’m sorry.”
Becca blinks and screws her face into a question. “What is it, Zo? Why are you so upset?”
There’s a long line of words caught behind the something in my throat that won’t let me speak them. I consider each of them, try on all the different things I could say in response to her question. I’m tired of being tied up in nervous knots. I’m tired of blushing and flushing. I don’t want to be invisible but I don’t know how to be seen. I want to see Noah again and speak without thinking, but not if it’ll be at the expense of my heart, and I seem to be missing some crucial element to who he is because I saw an angel and Becca saw a jerk.
Becca watches me think, her bright, sparkling eyes catching the emotions boiling under my surface. My senses hop into overdrive and I feel warm and golden and bruised and purple and so damned uncomfortable I don’t know what to do. “It just sucks being me. That’s all.”
Becca clenches her eyebrows together and I see genuine sympathy on her face. “I know. I’m sorry. I try to help but sometimes I think I make it harder on you.” There’s blatant honesty in her voice and she looks away, trying to hide the flash of guilt that I catch anyway but don’t understand. She holds out her arms, inviting me to curl up in her lap, to find that soft spot I’ve been in need of.
The invitation dries up my tears and I catch her eyes and smile as I snuggle in. She runs her hand through my hair and I swear I’d purr if I could. Maybe I’ve just spent too much time alone. Maybe things will be better after she’s been home for a few days and things get back to normal. Maybe all I needed was basic human interaction.
After a while, Becca shifts and I sit up, smiling my thanks. “So anyway,” she says, running her hands up into her hair and giving it a little shake, “I was thinking about what you said, about wanting help dealing with people.” There’s something super-secret and awesome glittering in her eyes, a smile creeping into her eyebrows, lifting them and making her look all playful and totally adorable. Why can’t I manage to look like that? I think if I tried, I’d end up looking like I smelled something rotten. After making sure I’m paying attention, Becca continues. “Well, I was thinking we go down to Flannigan’s …” I flinch at the suggestion but she doesn’t notice. “I ran into an old friend back home. Turns out he doesn’t live too far from here.”
“Who?” If there’s a bit of confrontation in my voice it totally belongs there. I’ve been friends with Becca since forever and I’m pretty sure I know the entire list of people she’s ever met. I don’t know of anyone else from back home who headed out this way.
She gets all dodgy and waves her hand as if flicking my question out of the way. “I doubt you remember him.” And while her tone says the topic is closed for discussion, I’m not sure I agree with her. “Anyway, he’s got this friend who you might really be interested in…”
I can’t go to Flannigan’s ‘cause that’s where Noah tends to find me and I refuse to believe that Becca has an old friend who meant enough to her that she’s willing to hang out with him and worse, set me up with a friend of said friend. Something’s fishy.
“Come on, Zo. I can see fear and worry written all over your face. You asked me for help, I found help. You still have to be the one to overcome whatever it is you have to overcome.” Her eyes are more guarded than I’m used to seeing and instead of sparkling in that impossibly adorable way of hers, they glitter with something cold and calculating. Or maybe I’m imagining that. Who knows?
“I don’t want to go to Flannigan’s. Noah might be there.” And I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing him and wanting him and not being near him because he might be bad for me and I might be too broken to know.
“You’re still hung up on that guy?”
He monopolizes nearly every waking thought, but saying that will only set her off. I just nod my agreement and leave it at that.
“Of all the guys you could fall for, you find the one who’s only interested in ruining you.”
I almost blurt out my instant reaction, something indignant and defensive but I manage to swallow it back down before it even manages to flicker across my face.
Becca doesn’t notice. “That’s all the more reason we need to go to Flannigan’s and meet these guys, my friend. If Sir Jerk is there, then he’ll get to see that you didn’t fall for his bullshit. You’re no broken bird.”
That’s right. I’m a tiger.
But that doesn’t matter because I hate the thought of hurting Noah’s feelings. I hate the thought of trying to rehabilitate myself, the awkwardness of a date with a stranger, the stress of conversation, all while ignoring the one person I actually want to get to know better. It sounds decidedly not fun. In fact, it sounds awful.
“Come on. Get up.” Becca slips off the couch and pulls on my hand. “Let’s do this right. Get you in the shower. Do up your hair. Maybe we’ll even go shopping.”
Protests kinda bubble up and trip over my tongue, coming out all garbled up and goofy. I pull my hand from Becca’s and take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts so I can clearly and concisely tell her that a double date is enough of a stretch for me without adding in the noise and distraction of Flannigan’s. Add in the fact that I’ll just melt into a little pile of awkward if I see Noah and it’s just bad idea on top of bad idea on top of awful. I mean the tiger’s roaring, demanding that I put a stop to this nonsense.
Before I can speak, Becca puts a finger to my forearm, just the gentlest of touches, and her eyes go all focused and meaningful for a fraction of a second. I swear, there’s this little … nudge. I don’t know how else to describe it. This pulse of power that pushes against me, but even that’s too strong of a description. It’s just this tiny little … nudge. What is it with me and being touched lately?
Whatever. It’s useless to fight. Becca will get her way one way or another. It’s really best if I just give in now. Which is exactly what I do. I lose the rest of my day in a flurry of hair and makeup and shopping and even though I feel nothing like myself, I’m finally feeling more relaxed. No pacing tigers. No roaring in my head. No worries about Noah and my overwhelming shyness. It’s just me and my best friend, laughing and joking and enjoying each other’s company.
Earrings dart in and out of my hair, flashing when I toss my head. Bracelets clink on my wrists. She’s got me teetering around in high heels and jeans. And honestly, because I’m tall, I’ve never liked wearing heels. Put me in heels and I’m suddenly gigantic. But tonight I feel beautiful. Gigantically beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless. I’d say I looked like a mini-Becca but that’s just silly ‘cause I’m way bigger than her. It’s always seemed so unfair that I got this big old body and this tiny little personality. I’m mismatched in the worst way
Of course, since Becca’s home and calling all the shots, we don’t even discuss walking and we
hop right into the Jeep, which is more than fine with me. I mean, I know how to walk in heels. Just ‘cause I’m tall and don’t like to wear them doesn’t mean that I didn’t practice wearing them in the privacy of my own house, but the couple blocks it’ll take to get to Flannigan’s seems much longer than it would if I were wearing my flats. Plus, the top’s off the Jeep and the wind’s in my hair and the air’s all soft like velvet and it all adds up to one big ball of good.
It’s that awesome time just after the sun sets in the summer and it’s still warm but the breeze is cool and the horizon glows all warm and bronze-like. We pass a bunch of guys and they call out to us, whistles and cat calls. I think I’m supposed to be offended, but I’m going to be honest, it feels really good. Becca smiles and tosses her hair and she’ll complain about those guys and all the things they said when we get to Flannigan’s, but I can tell she likes the way it feels, too.
We all just want to be seen, I think.
Nerves should be flitting around all helter-skelter in my belly. Hands should be sweating. Chest should feel tight. Maybe it’s the time with Becca, maybe it’s ‘cause I’m all done up, wearing a Becca costume, or maybe it’s because I just haven’t had time to think about what I’m walking into, but I don’t feel even a little bit nervous. I tilt my head back and throw my arms up. Life is good.
She parks and we hop out of the Jeep. The clink and clank of bracelets on my wrist and earrings in my hair and heels on the pavement all feel like body armor. They make me feel good, like maybe I can face whatever it is that’s gonna happen when I walk through this door. I can face Noah if he’s here. I can handle this double date. I can smile and ask questions and participate in conversations. I can do this.
I hope.
My hands are sweaty and I rub them against the back of my thighs as we push through the front door. Oh, boy. The place is filled. Even the corner with the dartboards has people crammed in, filling up all the empty space with sound and energy. Whatever false hope I had in myself goes flying out the window. Senses in overdrive. Guy laughing. Thunk of a dart. Click, click, click of my heels and the tinkling of my earrings screaming in my ears. Smells of food and buzzing of lights and all the bricks want to be seen. Red shirt, corner of my vision. Bump against my hip. Turn sideways through the crowd. Follow Becca to the bar.
“Well, hey!” The bartender leans on the bar and smiles. “You’ve been MIA for a while. Where you been?”
“Not here,” Becca says with a lift of her eyebrows as she sits back on her heel, jutting a hip.
“I noticed. It wasn’t the same around here without you guys.” He flips a glance in my direction before handing his attention back to Becca.
“Zo was here last week. That had to count for something.”
It counted for nothing. The guy was annoyed by my presence from start to finish.
“Oh. Ya.” The bartender gets all awkward and straightens up off the bar. “Sure it did. Just not the same without the dynamic duo. You know.” He’s floundering, trying not to offend Becca. Who cares about me? You know. The one he’s actually offending.
We order our drinks and once they’re in our hands, Becca turns her back and leans on the bar while she scans the crowd. “We should claim a booth before they get here if we can.”
Perfect, now I have an excuse to look around the room for any sign of Noah. If I have any kind of luck at all, he won’t be here. He’ll have found a better place to hang out and I won’t have to deal with the double awkward of dealing with both a double date and the guy I kissed last week in the same room at the same time. Luck holds up and not only do I not see Noah, but I also find a booth in what appears to be the only quiet corner of the bar.
“Good eyes!” Becca nods in appreciation as we work our way through the crowd to claim our table.
With the sound and commotion kind of calmed down around us, I’m able to concentrate a little bit, at least enough to ask a question. Enough to start to really worry about what’s about to happen. “So, what’s this guy’s name? Both guys actually, since I somehow don’t know either one even though, as your best friend, I should at least know the guy you’re meeting.” That’s right. I actually managed to say exactly what I was thinking. That’s what she gets for dressing me up and making me feel confident.
I’m not sure if I imagined it or not, but I think I just saw her flinch. “Luke and Carter.” She takes a long drink and watches the door over my shoulder. Or she could be avoiding meeting my eyes. I’m not sure which.
“Which one is mine?”
Becca smiles and bites her bottom lip. “Luke.”
“And where did you meet this Carter?”
Becca’s face gets all dodgy again and then lights up. With a flick of her hair and a wiggle of her finger, she beckons to someone behind me. Two someones I bet. “Oh, they’re here and you’re going to love Luke. He looks amazing!” She leans in and whispers: “He’s super hot!” She straightens and a smile darts across her face just as the guys show up at our table.
She’s busy greeting them, flipping her flirt mode into high gear, all hair tossing and neck touching, smiles, and twinkling eyes. Me? I’ve got my beer in a vice grip and my legs crossed so tight you’d think my feet would go numb.
“Zoe?” Becca catches my eyes and raises her eyes, clearly sending me a ‘don’t be weird’ message. “This is Luke. Luke, this my best friend, Zoe.”
The guy she indicates is a beast. A big, sexy beast. All biceps and black shirt and dark eyes that flash with intelligence.
“Zoe,” he says, his voice every bit as beastly as his body. In a good way. I think. He extends his hand out to me. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Chapter 8
I offer Luke my hand, totally aware of the mixture of condensation and sweat on my palm. Thankfully, instead of taking my hand and shaking it as if I were a man, Luke grasps my fingers between his and gives me a slight dip of his head in greeting. My eyes drop to the table. Apparently, I do have a thing with being touched because there’s this rush of something. It’s deep and rich, and worms its way from my fingers to my chest and I don’t feel afraid. I lift my eyes to meet Luke’s and can’t help but compare him to Noah.
If Noah was warm, then Luke is … cold is the wrong word, because sultry has heat to it. And if Noah’s touch was golden, then Luke’s is … dark is also wrong because electricity has sparks. But despite all that, Luke is somehow the polar opposite of Noah and everything I loved about Noah all wrapped into one mouthwatering package.
“Mind if I sit down?” asks Luke.
I smile, shake my head, and scoot over, making as much room for Luke as I can — which isn’t much because the booth is small and Luke fills the space. Becca’s made room for Carter, but not all that much room because they’re practically touching, shoulders and elbows making little whispering moments of contact as they speak. I listen for the roar of the tiger, wait for her to start pacing, thumping her tail in consternation. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
Strange. As much as I’d like to think it’s because of the time I spent practicing my people skills this afternoon, I’m fully aware that practice amounted to me buying a cup of coffee and sitting alone under a tree. Not much happening on the whole practice front. Maybe even the tiger has given up on me?
Becca’s been tossing the conversational ball back and forth between the two guys, flirting enough for the both of us. I listen and smile and take small sips of my drink, laughing when it’s appropriate. This I can do. This isn’t so bad at all. I’m surrounded by people and energy and we’re laughing and joking … well, they’re joking and I’m just laughing with them, but whatever, it’s still nice. With all the people crammed into Flannigan’s tonight, I’m tucked all nice and safe into the corner protected by a brick wall on one side and a brick wall of a man on the other.
“What do you think, Zoe?”
Oh, shit. I have no idea what they’ve been talking about.
“Oh, you’ll have to excuse her.” Becca sighs
and giggles. “She tends to zone out.”
Luke hits me with a smile that glitters in his eyes like diamonds in coal or sequins on a black dress or something like that. He runs his thumb over the top of my hand and there it is again. This warm, purple, oozing wash of … comfort isn’t the right word, but it’s close. Comfort is a fire and a glass of wine and warm place to lay your head. This feels way more exotic than that. Dangerous. Can you be dangerously comfortable?
“It’s ok, Zoe,” Luke says, and his voice and his words command my attention. They stretch out in front of me like a big neon sign. They’re all I can hear. All I can see. “You’re safe with me. You can relax.”
There’s a woompf and a pop and gold mixing with purple and I take a big breath. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my chest and I take the first full breath I’ve taken in all twenty-three years of my life. I have to figure out what’s going on with me, why I’m freaking out like that when people touch me, but I’ll do that later, because right now, I feel comfortable in my skin for the first time in my life.
Safe.
Relaxed.
We chat, all four of us. That’s right. I’m a participant, not a spectator. Carter isn’t really Becca’s type — more punk rock than gym rat with odd hair that stands out from his head in little tufts and a swirling tattoo working its way down his arm to his wrist. It’s like he’s determined to rough up his delicate features, to hide his soft good looks under anything spikey he can get his hands on.
Luke isn’t satisfied when I fall silent. He isn’t gonna just let me be me and fill in the blanks for me when I run out of things to say. He asks me questions and plays with me until I answer.
