His gaze darts from the emptiness in front of us to me. His voice shaky, he says, “This is all incredibly terrifying.”
My pulse races, the sound of my heartbeat thrashing in my ears. I don’t say anything back to him – what could I say? He turns his eyes back to the front of the truck, watching nothing but thinking everything. He moves his hands to grip the steering wheel and even in the darkness I can tell he’s having a difficult time.
Both August and I keep to ourselves, listening to what nature has to offer. Just me, him, the trees and moon. I rest my head against the back of the seat and August adjusts, bending his leg onto the bench seat. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares out of the window. The moon glistens off the hood of his truck and I can’t help but wonder what August would look like out in the open, the moon as his spotlight.
The swaying trees connected to rustling leaves provide a little sense of music. They bend and sway and move in the breeze. It’s a sound so unlike the city – I want to bottle it and keep it forever.
It’s comfortable, like it always is, and I hope it’s like this with us forever. Or, when the movie is over, he’ll leave and never talk to me again. That thought makes me sick to my stomach. It takes all my strength not to ask him – I’m sure I couldn’t handle it if my fear was confirmed.
“Why haven’t you visited the set yet?” he asks out of the blue, igniting the engine, letting the truck idle.
My head whips to him. “I…” I clear my throat. “Whitley only just invited me the last time I saw her. I’ve been busy with the museum’s reveal.”
August touches the back of his neck. “Is it because of me?”
“What?” I squeak. “No. Why would you think that?”
He settles in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “I know I screwed things up the last time we saw each other.” He screwed things up? Did he not see my wannabe Scarlett O’Hara impression? I practically fanned myself in front of him. I wanted him to kiss me. No. If anything, it was a mutual screw up. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just got you back and we’ve got this great groove going. Plus, I never thanked you for coming to check on me when those girls attacked us. I’m just…I’m screwed up right now. I broke up with Tomi a few days ago and dealing with that fallout has been a huge pain in the ass. My publicist is pissed. I’ve never seen her so angry.”
My stomach churns at the mention of this Tomi girl. This is the first time he’s ever mentioned her. Is that why he called me tonight? Well, slap my mama. “Why would your publicist care?”
August sits up, looking over his shoulder to turn the truck around. His hands grip the steering wheel and we exit the orchard, a trail of dust following behind us. “When Tomi and I started dating, it was because I genuinely liked her. We met at a party and hit it off. About six months ago, though, things started changing. Probably because she got representation from some big modeling agency.” He moves into the turning lane to get back onto the freeway, heading back to Bradshaw.
My nose wrinkles. “So, it was a career move to stay with her?”
He pushes up his glasses on his nose. “I tried to stay with her because I wanted to believe she was a good person. Not this stuck-up, spoiled brat.”
“But…” I urge.
“But she’s pretty much the worst person ever.”
I laugh, covering my mouth.
August chuckles. It’s throaty and full and wonderful. It’s one of my favorite sounds.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” he says with the shrug of his shoulders. “You know me. I have a hard time letting things go. Hell, I couldn’t let you go until…” he trails off, his eyes cutting to me, clearing his throat.
I feel my face grow hot and I turn away from him, stunned, unable to say a word. Until what?
We ride in silence the rest of the way back to my apartment. I’m too big of a chicken to ask him to elaborate. Mostly because I’m not sure where it will lead us. We’re both single and that could mean trouble. I could easily see myself falling into him the moment I’m able.
The smart part of my brain tells me I need to take it easy. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen organically. There’s nothing more unattractive than a girl ready to jump the gun. Although, the other part – the part that has loved August since he was thirteen – says, ‘To hell with all the bullcrap and kiss him already!’
For now, though, I’m going to listen to the smart side of my brain. I don’t think either of us are ready for any sort of relationship outside of being friends.
It takes us almost an hour to get back into Bradshaw. I think it’s because August was taking his time – not that I’m complaining. He took random back highways, flying down dirt roads I’ve never seen. Even with the awkwardness of his confession, I still felt comfortable with him.
When we pull up to my apartment complex, he parks in the back and shuts off the engine.
Pulling off his glasses, he gently sets them on the dash and rubs the skin between his eyes.
I unbuckle my seatbelt awkwardly and look to him, the darkness overwhelming my senses.
That’s where most secrets and truths hide – in the darkness. They sit in the corners, just waiting to be told. Darkness can mewl out hushed cries of resentment or can shine a limelight on reality. It offers so many possibilities, I sometimes find myself seeking out the darkness, no longer afraid of it. There’s clarity in the void.
“Where are you staying now? I thought the news anchor said the location of your hotel was leaked,” I ask. I’ve been meaning to bring it up all night, but with everything plus my stupid Truth game, it slipped my mind.
August trills his lips and the only bit of light in the cabin of the truck is from the streetlight above us. “We’ve been staying at some B and B just outside of the city. It’s hell. Most of the cast is there.”
I turn my nose up. “Doesn’t sound very fun.”
I can see the shadow of his head shake. “It’s not. I’ve been sleeping on the floor for two weeks.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah. Listen…”
I stop him. “You should stay with me. I have a spare room. You could use it.”
He doesn’t respond right away. I can practically feel the uncertainty in the silence. The indecision rolls off him in waves.
I can’t believe I just blurted it out. Ugh. Forehead, meet the palm of my hand.
“As friends,” I add, just to be safe.
August reaches for his glasses and puts them back on. “I don’t know…”
“Come on,” I entice, trying to let him see that it could be fun. Friends have fun – we can totally do this, right?
“My schedule is crazy, Belle. I come in late and am up super early. Some nights I might not even be able to make it back here.”
I shrug. “You can have a key. Come and go as you please. I’d just rather have you here, comfortable and safe, rather than there and miserable.”
He thinks for a few seconds. “I guess…I guess it might not be so bad.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
He laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, do we know how to be around each other in this capacity? As friends.”
My mouth turns down. No. “It won’t hurt to try. I’m here. My place is close to the studio. Do a trial run. If you don’t like it, you can figure out another option. No hard feelings.”
His nose twitches and I see it. His mouth thins and I see that, too. “Okay,” he finally says. “Let’s give it a go.”
I smile. “Yeah?”
“I gotta go get my stuff from the B and B, though.”
“Okay,” I say, shifting to get out of the truck. “Here.” I pull out my set of keys, taking one off the loop. “Keep this. I have my spare under the welcome mat.”
He takes the little gold key and clasps it in his hands. “That’s not safe, Belle,” he scolds and I wave him off. He chuckles and it’s not an I-find-you-funny laugh, it’s a this-conversat
ion-isn’t-over laugh. “I’ll be back in a bit. Twenty minutes, tops.”
I’m already out into the night. “Okay. Just let yourself in.”
“Don’t clean while I’m gone. I’m sure it’s fine.”
I groan. Damn, he knows me too well. “Yeah, yeah.” I slam the door and watch as he drives out of the parking lot.
When I’m back in my apartment, I grab a fresh set of sheets and blanket from the closet. Fitting them on the bed, I make sure the television still works – I’m never in here and I wouldn’t know if it was dead. When it powers on, I shut off the light and make my way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from above my sink.
I’m mid pour when the keys rattle in the door. August slides in, weekend bag on his shoulder and smiles when he sees the labeled bottle in my hands. “Bourbon?”
I nod, taking a swig.
“Good,” he says, dropping his stuff on the ground. He makes his way to the kitchen, standing next to me. His hand lightly brushes mine as he takes the glass from my hand to down the rest of the alcohol. He hisses after he sets the glass in the sink.
I laugh. “Big baby.”
This earns me a snort. “I haven’t had bourbon in a long time.” He turns around, his back to the counter. “I think I’ve actually kind of missed it.”
It was always my drink of choice. I got him into the habit of drinking it, too. It’s interesting that he hasn’t had it in a while.
His hands find the counter behind him and he clutches the granite.
“Let me show you to your room,” I say with a yawn, walking past him.
August chuckles behind me.
I open the door and he walks into the room, throwing his things on the bed. He checks out the room, his eyes dancing from thing to thing, a smile falling on his lips. He points. “That’s a good wall.”
Him and his brick wall obsession.
I laugh through my nose and turn from him. “The bathroom is the next door on the left and my room is at the end of the hall.” I look over my shoulder at him. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge, feel free to eat whatever you’d like and the cups and plates are above the sink.” I yawn, again. “I think I’m going to get to bed.”
August blinks. “Thank you for doing this,” he says. “I haven’t felt at home since I got here.”
Home? My heart flails, doing the jig against my ribs.
I try to blow it off. “You’re always welcome.” I step back to leave him alone when he takes a few steps toward me, halting me in my place.
Bringing my body into his with a tug, he squeezes my shoulders. Only, this hug feels different. It doesn’t feel like all the other ones we’ve shared since he came back into town. I’m baffled at first, my arms locked around his torso. He doesn’t let me free and I think he may need this. I think he might need me. He sighs, his face falling into the crook of my neck and I finally understand why it’s so different. I don’t know why it took me so long, but my heart soars and my grip tightens. I force my eyelids closed and I breathe him in, using every ounce of my ability to give him back what he’s offering me so willingly.
He doesn’t have to say the words, but I hear them loud and clear. He’s been looking for someone to care about him in this town. Not someone to fawn over him or tell him what he wants. I’ve shown him that even without the book, he’s still important and this gesture – his foreign and surprising hug – is his way of telling me he appreciates it.
He clutches the back of my neck, his signature grasp, and breathes me in as I cling to his sweater, willing my eyes to stay closed. If I look at him or our reflection in the mirror above the headboard, I’m going to lose it.
Sighing contently, he pulls back and I do the same, opening my eyes.
“Night,” he offers with a smile, bringing his lips to my forehead for a split second before turning around and sufficiently closing me out, unzipping his bag.
I blink a few times, speechless as I watch him pull his sweater up and over his head, tossing it on the bed. His muscles strain and the dimples just above his pant line are so pronounced, my fingers ache to touch them. I turn away, reminding myself that we’re just friends. Friends only, Cam. Hands off. No touching his back dimples. It’s inappropriate and…oh, God, he’s unbuckling his pants.
Walking out of the door with embarrassed haste, I close it behind me.
My skin, tingling and hot, I trace my forehead with my fingertips. The prickle of his kiss still evident. Eager to erase the aftereffect of his touch, I scrub my head like a moron, accidentally creating a deep red spot. It doesn’t help. My skin scorches for long minutes.
After changing into pajamas, I climb into bed and wrap myself in the comforter. I need to sleep and forget the last three hours happened.
Just as I’m about to shut my eyes, my phone goes off with a text message.
August: Tonight was exactly what I needed.
Another one comes in.
August: You’re still so important to me. Please don’t ever forget that.
I chew on my lip and study the words until they become indecipherable. Turning on my side, I plug my phone into the charger and close my eyes.
I’m in so much trouble.
Tits On A Bull
August: Chinese for dinner?
I’m lounging on the couch, it’s almost midnight and I text back quickly, my stomach grumbling at the prospect of greasy food.
Me: Sounds delicious. I’m over pizza.
August: Be there in thirty. We just got done.
Me: See you soon!
It’s almost an hour by the time he comes stumbling in the door.
“Lord have mercy, August!” I chide with a giggle as he tries to fit through the entryway. He’s got at least four bags of food in his arms and another dangling from his teeth. “Did you bring home the entire restaurant?”
Moving from the couch, I take the bag in his mouth.
He laughs, a little winded. “Just about. It was closed when I got there so I started walking back to the truck, but the owner recognized me and opened the door.”
My eyes light up a bit because usually if someone recognizes him it stresses him out, but he seems happy about it. “Oh? Where did you go? Dragon Palace?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “So the owner…”
“Chang,” I offer.
“Chang, yes, he saw me walking to my truck and said he’d be okay with opening up the restaurant if I wanted.” He sets the bags down in the kitchen with a thud. “I told him it was okay. At that point, I was willing to stop and eat at McDonald’s if it meant I could get here and go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
The sounds of wrinkled plastic and paper plates soon fill the air and I take a wonton from one of the cartons. “Right, you’re tired, then what happened?”
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer!” he yells animatedly. “I told him I didn’t want to put him out, that it was very kind but I understood it was late and he needed to be home.” Taking out five containers from the plastic sack in front of him, he goes on, “After a few minutes of thankful appreciation, Chang led me inside and cooked all of this.” He spans his hands out in front of him.
My eyes grow wide.
“I know,” he agrees. “And, of course, because he might be the nicest man I’ve ever met, he gave it to me all for free.”
“What?!” I screech. This must be at least a hundred dollars’ worth of food. “That’s crazy.”
“Right? So…”
“So,” I continue, “we have to eat all of this or we’re total assholes.”
August sputters, dropping his chopsticks on the ground. “Exactly.”
Tossing another wonton in my mouth, we fill our plates to the brim and make our way to the living room. Just like every other night since he’s been here, August sits on one side of the couch while I sit on the other. We happily keep our distance, but it doesn’t feel like there’s any space between us. It’s relaxed, but I have a feeling that’s because we haven’t talked about the p
ast and everything that’s happened since then. I know once we get it all out in the open, all hell will break loose. I like where we are right now. So, here is where I’ll stay.
I hit play to resume the movie I had been watching and sit back, grabbing a pillow to set on my lap.
I’m about to take my first bite of sweet and sour chicken when August tips his head back and laughs. “The Goonies?”
I feel like he might be judging me a little. “It’s a classic, Wyatt. Shush.”
He doesn’t reply, picking up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks.
We finish the movie along with our food and by the time the credits roll, my eyes are heavy with sleep. Before the credits finish, I unintentionally lay my head down on the middle of the couch, my legs dangling off the end. I hear August click off the TV and he taps my shoulder. “Come on, Belle. Let me help you to bed.”
I mumble something unintelligible, my eyes far too tired to open. With that, he slides his arms under the crook of my neck and behind my knees and picks me up. Unable to stop myself, I wrap my arms around his neck, nuzzling against his chest. I’m, once again, even in my slumbered haze, transported back to a place I consider home. Inhaling his scent, like the sleepy creeper I am, I hold him tighter. His smooth footsteps don’t disturb me as he makes his way to my room. Gently, he pulls back the covers on my bed and puts me down. I whine just the smallest sound when I’m no longer in his arms, which makes him chuckle a bit. He slides off my glasses and the small ping on my nightstand tells me that’s where they’ll be in the morning.
Then, because he basically knows everything about me, he pulls off my socks, knowing I hate sleeping in them, and covers me up with my comforter. I desperately try to open my eyes, to see his mussed hair and tired eyes behind his glasses, but I can’t. My body won’t allow me.
I turn on my side, pulling the blanket up to my neck, and smile to myself. “Thank you, August.”
I hear him breathe out of his nose, and then feel the touch of his fingertips against my forehead, pushing my hair out of my face. “Always, Belle.”
Who Needs Air Page 10
