by Bijou Hunter
“Does Mallory skate everywhere?”
“Is that your way of segueing back to the original question of why I wear skates?”
“And I thought I was subtle.”
Junie takes this opportunity to pat my left hand before she returns to eating her sandwich.
“Like I was saying,” she says after swallowing, “my mom wasn’t doing well after the death of my father and sister. We needed groceries, and I got the bright idea that I’d do the shopping. The only problem was I couldn’t drive. Mallory had her license, but she wasn’t on Mom’s insurance and didn’t want to get in trouble. My solution was to dig through our garage for a bike and the skates. You can guess which one I used.”
“And that led to you wearing them out to eat?”
“And to the store and at work and pretty much everywhere anyone would wear shoes. They were Oona’s skates, so I could barely stay upright that first day. I held onto the back of the bike while Mallory dragged my clumsy tush to the store and then back again.”
I start to ask how she went from clumsy skater to wearing them daily before thinking of who owned the skates before her.
The answer is right in front of me. As much as I’d like to tug at that painful thread from her past, I remind myself how we’re on a first date, and I already know I want a second. No reason for me to be an ass as usual and scare off a woman I actually plan to keep around.
‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧
❁ Junie ❁
Asher doesn’t love Willie’s fries, but he eats the heck out of the French dip. I watch him, having finished my food in eight giant bites. A savvier woman would know to pig out in a dainty way on a date. I am not that woman, and I suffer from a raging crush on these sandwiches.
I’m crushing pretty hard on Asher too. Though reading him proves impossible. His dark eyes stare into mine, revealing nothing. Is he looking at something stuck in my teeth? Or does he find me the most astonishingly beautiful woman ever? The truth is probably somewhere in between.
“Do you want to see me again?” I ask once I tire of the suspense.
Staring hard into my eyes, he continues to remain a big sexy enigma. “I’ll see you at Flamingo Exit, won’t I?”
“Is that your way of blowing me off? If yes, be more obvious. I don’t pick up on subtleties.”
“I’d like to go on a date again, yes.”
“Of course, you do.”
Asher gives me a half-smile, no doubt relishing how I’m doing all the heavy lifting.
“We can see a movie,” I suggest while digging my wallet out of my bag. “The theater up the street from my place has weird movies, classics, and sometimes monster flicks. The popcorn is cheap and the butter plentiful.”
Asher likely knows I’m talking about The Jewel Theater. A high-rise guy like him shouldn’t slum it in such a low-rent place, but I suspect he has a soft spot for dumps. Why else would he eat at the Flamingo Exit Diner when he can afford a private chef to make his chicken and waffles?
“What’s showing now?” he asks, eyeing the cash in my hand.
“If you mean right this moment, I don’t know.”
“What about on Friday?”
“Mallory and I just show up and pick one of the two movies. I’ve never put more effort into it than that.”
“What a casual way to live.”
“How do you live? I only know where you work and that you eat at Flamingo Exit. How do you usually go to the movies if not casually?”
“I haven’t seen a movie in the theater in decades.”
“Does that mean you don’t really want to go to The Jewel, but you’ll pretend for my benefit?”
“Definitely.”
Smiling at his honesty, I’m curious about his real life. I don’t know how long he’ll keep up the Theo ruse, but I worry anything I find endearing about him—beyond his looks—is part of his façade.
My unease at his con might explain why I make such a show of paying the dinner.
“I can get that,” he says, reaching for the bill before I swipe it away.
“No. This place was my idea, and I’m sure I make more than you. It’s only fair that I pick up the check.”
Asher narrows his eyes and glares, but I smile as if blind to his irritation.
“Will you walk me to my car?” I ask and stand up.
A frown still plastered on his handsome face, Asher hesitates before standing too. He follows me out of the restaurant and into the breezy, hot evening.
“What are you thinking?” he asks when I only smile.
“That I’m an open book while you’re written in a dead language.”
“I guess you could say I’m an introvert.”
Watching Asher run his right hand through his thick black hair, I can’t help myself.
“I have to do something,” I announce, reaching for him.
Asher flinches as if so unaccustomed to physical affection that any attempt is viewed as a threat. I ignore his wariness and caress his face with both hands.
“I’ve never known a man with such pretty cheekbones.”
“Pretty?” he says, barely hiding his anxiety with a distaste for my wording.
“Since you know I’m Hungarian, why not share the ingredients in your melting pot?”
“Mom is white. My paternal grandfather was Cuban. Paternal grandmother was Chinese,” he explains and then clenches his jaw. “Are you almost done with that?”
I remove my hands and rest them on my hips. “You’re not such an affectionate fellow, are you, Theo?”
“I believe in boundaries.”
“Even on a date?”
“Especially on a date.”
“Why?” I ask, inching back on my skates.
“Attraction can distract from obvious problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“A lack of common interests.”
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “You know that’s dumb, right?”
“Dumb how?”
“Interests can change. People are capable of learning to enjoy new activities. Or you can have separate interests. None of that matters as much as chemistry. We meet people every day we can be friends with, but how many of them do you crave?”
Asher doesn’t respond immediately. He considers my words, working them out in his big brain. I hope he never stops pondering my question, so I can stare into his dark chocolate colored eyes forever.
Moving leisurely, Asher cups my face with both of his hands and holds me still for his incoming lips. I immediately lean into the embrace. Our mouths meet tentatively, tasting and testing before Asher deepens the kiss.
I can’t keep my arms from wrapping possessively around him. First, they trap his neck before my hands grip his waist and tug him closer. More and then a little bit more, I want the heat of his body to spread into mine, and not only to the fun spot between my legs.
Asher feels powerful in my arms. Hungry too. When his lips leave mine, I stare into the confused eyes of a man who doesn’t know what’s in his heart any better than I do. This is where we leave things before saying goodbye with plans to meet Friday at The Jewel Theater—with Asher confused and me hoping he buys a clue.
CH 6
❁ Junie ❁
What I avoid telling Asher on our first date is how my mom hasn’t left her apartment in four years. Before then, she hadn’t gone out more than once or twice a month. While Pollyanna Voss was never the life of the party, agoraphobia took hold of her after Dad and Oona died. Now she views stepping outside of her home in the same way as someone facing a hellscape.
Others might call her a shut-in, but Mom will never star in an episode of Hoarders. She keeps her place extremely tidy and loathes clutter.
I knock before entering Mom’s main floor apartment. Her papillon, Puffer, barks at me long after realizing I’m not a threat. Little dogs are the worst, but Mom needs the company.
“Mom?” I call while Puffer barks at my skates.
“I’m doing
laundry. Be out in a minute.”
Worried she’s doing something a little more private, I don’t dare look for her. Instead, I roll into her galley-style kitchen and check for crackers. Finding none, I add it to my grocery list for the week.
“Sorry,” Mom says, emerging from her bedroom.
“Puffer still hates me.”
“He’s protective.”
I glare at the dog, which only has eyes for Mom.
“How was your date?” she asks, gesturing for me to join her on the couch.
“Pretty awesome despite him lying to me and having issues with getting touchy-feely.”
“Why date him if he’s so messed up?”
I lift an eyebrow and consider pointing out how we should refrain from throwing stones while we’re so completely encased in our glass house. I don’t, though, because Mom seems tired and I suspect she hasn’t been sleeping well. My stunt with the coffee pot weighs heavily on her damaged mind.
“He’s sexy, and I’m curious about him.”
“Curious about what exactly?” she asks and wraps a lock of her dark hair behind her ear.
“He’s rich but eats at the Flamingo Exit Diner. For months, he checked me out but didn’t have the man marbles to make his move. I’m curious what’s behind his mysterious exterior.”
“Men who are hard on the outside tend to be hard on the inside.”
“Tend to be, but I won’t know until I chip away a few of his hard layers.”
“And if he’s a cruel man?”
“I dump him and move on.”
“And if he won’t let you?”
Rolling my eyes, I stand up. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“You aren’t the worldly woman you think you are.”
Mom seems determined to force my hand by making me use her life choices against her. She’s dated two men, and one of them was my dork father whose wildest choice was to ride in an airplane flown by his not-quite-licensed pilot brother.
“I know how to drive to the police station and get a restraining order. And if that doesn’t work, I’ve been thinking about getting a gun for a while.”
“Please don’t get a gun.”
“Are you afraid I’ll shoot you on accident?” I ask, fighting laughter.
“More like you’ll shoot Puffer on purpose and claim it was an accident.”
We share a smile, but I do give the dog a little wink. He better never cross me, or I’ll sic my fat cat on him.
“I know you worry,” I say, returning to her kitchen to check on what else she might be missing, “but I don’t keep secrets or hide my pain. If things turn sour with Asher, I’ll come to you for advice.”
Mom watches me from the living room, her blue eyes doing nothing to mask her pent-up concern for her last remaining family.
The cruel irony is we weren’t close before losing Dad and Oona. My mom and I rarely fought, but we never naturally craved each other’s company. I lived in my head a lot while Oona was a big mama’s girl. Another cruel irony was my sister rarely hung out with our father but made an exception on the day of the flight.
These days, I act more as a friend than a daughter. Mallory is her only other friend. Everyone else stopped coming to visit when they realized her agoraphobia wasn’t a phase. They still send emails and occasionally call, but mostly out of pity or guilt than genuine interest.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, adding to my list a few other items she needs at the store. “I still have the card from the cop that drove me home from the diner. If Asher gets weird, I’ll call the police and make a stink.”
Smiling now, Mom walks to the kitchen where I finish up. I think she might hug me, but instead, she grabs a piece of paper from the top of the fridge.
“I made you a list.”
“How archaic. Why not send me an email?”
“Mallory said she preferred paper.”
“Of course, she did.”
Sensing Mom wants to hug me but fears making a move, I wrap my arms around her. She rests against me, relaxing in my embrace. Like with Asher, I’m forced to make the first move. Unlike with Asher, I know where things stand between Mom and me.
CH 7
❁ Asher ❁
On my wall, I tack up pictures of Junie from the private investigator’s file. Since our date, I can’t stop thinking of her smile, but the photos remind me of how serious she normally looks. Despite her roller skates, she is a woman on guard for trouble. In most of the pictures, she possesses a deliberate gait and defiant expression.
Every waking hour, I’m lost in my thoughts of Junie. They follow me into my dreams, and I can’t shake my desire to see her face, hear her voice, and taste her lips again.
Addicted, I barely eat or sleep Thursday night or Friday morning. I stare at her photos in between checking my watch. All night, I pace while bouncing a basketball on my stained concrete floors. The echo from the ball mocks my insomnia until I turn on music as a distraction.
Years ago, I discovered a band called Daughter. Listening to their melancholy tunes relaxes me in almost every situation, though I still struggle to erase Junie from my thoughts long enough to sleep.
Instead, I find myself speculating about what kind of music Junie enjoys. Before I ask the private investigator to find the answer, I question whether knowing will make her even more of a fixture in my already obsessed mind.
On Friday evening, she stands outside of The Jewel Theater, listening to music on her phone. I watch her head gently bob. Resting against the wall near the box office, she casually waits for me, yet her body language changes whenever someone approaches her. Junie isn’t oblivious. Not now, not ever.
The two movies currently showing at The Jewel Theater are Robocop 2 and Gone with the Wind. I highly doubt the owner has the rights to show either one, but there are different rules on this side of town. No wonder my roller skate wearing obsession prefers it.
Sitting in my silver Range Rover, I watch her long past when we’re supposed to meet. Junie grows annoyed by my absence and texts me twice before calling me and leaving a grumpy message.
I don’t answer, and I never leave the SUV. I don’t know why I can’t get out. My head tells me to go, but my body won’t budge. I’m stuck in the same way as when I attempted to give a presentation in front of an auditorium of people.
Frozen, I watch Junie and wonder how long she’ll wait before leaving. To my surprise, she doesn’t go home once I’m clearly a no show. Skating to the box office, she buys a ticket and rolls into the theater to watch one of the movies alone.
I sit in the Range Rover for nearly two hours, waiting for her to emerge. A few times, I open the door and start to climb out, but my foot never touches the asphalt. Each attempt ends with me shutting the door and waiting for her to reappear.
Six people leave the theater when Junie does. Based on the length of the movie, I assume she watched Robocop 2. I notice two men following Junie as she skates to the parking lot. She peers back at them, and they share a few words. I watch her smile brightly while opening her purse and retrieving something.
Despite my inability to leave the car, I tense at the thought of her sharing her phone number with these losers. She’s beyond anything they deserve. If I weren’t still frozen in my car, I’d storm over and tell them to fuck off.
Junie points something at the men and they back off. During the entire exchange, she smiles as if they’re old friends. I don’t know what she says or what she points at them, but they hurry away.
My fingers press against the smile I wear at how she handled them. Junie knows this neighborhood. Quirky and free living, yet resistant to change, she’s as much a part of it as The Jewel Theater. In twenty years, I can imagine her still eating at the same dives, watching bootleg movies at this run-down theater, and skating down the unyielding streets of West Dietrich.
How can I hope to keep up—let alone tame—a woman like Junie when I need coaxing just to leave my home?
The answer is I can’t
, which is why I don’t answer her text after the movie ends. I do follow her home to ensure she’s safe.
Junie parks her small, red SUV next to her colorful home and runs upstairs on only socked feet. I wait until she’s locked inside before I drive home to where I belong.
‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧
❁ Junie ❁
Mallory is wearing her pink one-piece footed pajamas when she answers the door. I dump my skates on the inside walkway before entering her place. With her comfy couch that looks comfier than ever, I drop dramatically onto one end.
“Asher stood me up.”
“I know,” she says, shutting and locking the door. “You texted me ten times from the theater.”
Fighting a grin, I rest my head on the back of the couch. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten.”
“Good riddance I say.”
Mallory joins me on the couch, sets her feet on the coffee table, and possessively holds the remote control.
“What’s with the hoodie?” I ask, glancing up at her still covered head.
“I’m cold.”
“Oh.”
“Shut up.”
“Aren’t you going to make me feel better?”
“I told you ‘good riddance.’ What more is there to say?”
“You could tell me that it’s his loss.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“And I’m a treasure any man would, you know, treasure.”
“You so are.”
“That you’ll baby me this entire weekend, so I won’t feel abandoned in the way he abandoned me at the theater.”
“Yeah, I can’t do that. You know I picked up a shift tomorrow.”
“My heart is broken, and now my best friend in the world is smashing the poor thing into the asphalt.”
Mallory narrows her gaze until her brown eyes are no more than slits. “I’m not giving you the remote.”
“Selfish.”
“I warned you romance was overrated.”
Leaning toward her, I bat my eyes at her. “Yes, but Asher is so very handsome, and I would very much like the remote.”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Do you have any snacks around?”
“Not much. I need to go shopping Sunday.”
