He smiles at me appreciatively, like I finally get it. “Exactly.”
Ross and Tommy say nothing, but they see it. I just did something Tommy can’t. It’s not in his makeup. Make ‘em laugh with his off-putting humor, yes. Make them genuinely feel good like Mark can? No.
I think maybe the tide has changed. I’m not the Brendan I used to be. Maybe I’m Keith Richards and Tommy is one of the other guys. And this is just the beginning. Tommy doesn’t look like he likes the new me. Not one bit. But who cares. Fuck him.
When the bill comes, I reach into my pants. “Shit.”
Mark asks, “What’s up?”
“I don’t have my wallet.”
“Smooth, B.” Tommy chides me.
“I’ve got you.” Marks pulls out some extra bills.
“Thanks, man. I’ll catch you next time.”
“No prob.”
14
Annie
On the couch. Blanket-wrapped feet tucked under me. Laptop opened to Expedia.com. Veins pounding with excitement and a shit-ton of fear.
________
I look around our living room, eyes blurring with salt-water and heart beating even in my hair follicles. Am I really going to do this? Go to Europe and not finish school? People don’t do things like this. This is crazy.
Or… brave?
Every three seconds I consider bailing on the escape-from-San-Francisco stratagem, but a sob catches in my throat immediately as I imagine seeing Brendan around town at parties with all the same people, at all the same places. He said he wanted to know my name so he could avoid me! He hates me. He’d never even noticed that I existed before last night. That is so terribly crushing to know.
There’s a whole world out there and I want to see what it’s like to not be hurting and alone all the time. Now I’ll be hurting and alone with pizza, gorgeous vistas, red wine, and Italian men to stare at. That can’t be bad!
C’mon Annie, you can do this.
And if I go, surely I’ll find someone – anyone! – who thinks American accents are sexy. Someone who likes shorthaired girls who don’t know how to talk to a guy without being sarcastic. Sigh. I’ve got a long way to grow.
I sure don’t want to do it here with everyone watching. Anonymity will be so much easier. I hope.
Typing in San Francisco to Italy, options for Rome or Verona spring onto the screen. I’m an adult and can legally go wherever I want to on the entire planet. So where do I want to go? The choice is remarkably simple. A smile creeps onto my face. I mean, if Verona was good enough for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, then it’s sure as hell good enough for Annie O’Brien, aspiring playwright.
Sold, bought and paid for! Thank you credit cards.
“Mom?”
I can almost see her worried face through the phone. “Annie? Are you crying?”
I sniffle. “Uh-huh.”
“What’s going on honey? Larry, turn that down. Annie’s crying!” I can practically see Dad jumping off the couch, abandoning the football game. They don’t understand me, but they love me. What are they going to say to my decision?
“Um… I’m uh…” I bite my lip, terrified to confess what I just did. Will they support this?
“What is it, baby love?” Daddy asks through the phone’s speaker.
Speech has forsaken me. I open my mouth but… zip-ola comes out of it.
“Annie! What is it?” Mom asks, more loudly and more concerned.
I need to say, I’m leaving college. I’m leaving the country, too. And I’m using my credit cards to do it. But I’ll pay it all back. I promise. Okay… here goes nothing! “Um, well, I just needed to tell you that I…”
“Yes, honey? You what?”
“I miss you guys. That’s it. Sorry… to freak you out. I had a nightmare, and it scared me.” And the nightmare was my life.
Mutual sighs. Daddy mutters to Mom, forgetting I can hear him, “Why are girls so emotional?” He trudges away, calling back to me as his volume fades with his reunion with the couch. “We miss you, too, baby love.”
Mom adds, “We do, honey. Come home and see us before college starts back up.”
“Um, no. I’ll stay here for the summer. Lots of things I want to do here in the city to get ready. Last year and all.” Lie lie lie.
I can hear her sweet smile in her voice, can see the grey-streaked red-hair giving way to her fingers as she nervously pushes some off her forehead, the way she always does when she’s unsure. “Okay, well, you call me if you need me, okay? I’m always here for you.”
A sob tightens and locks in my throat. “Okay, mom. Bye.”
Corinne walks out of her bedroom as I hang up. She’s got on sweats and a tank top now and her hand flies up to her mouth when she sees me. “Oh my God! Your hair!!”
My hand flies up to the mess in question, and I finger the homemade pixie cut. “I cut it.”
“No shit Sherlock. I can see that. But why??” She looks at me like I’m an endangered species that just went ballistic in a zoo cage.
“Use your imagination, genius.” Her mouth shuts and she stays silent. I get up and she follows me into my room.
“Where are you going? What’s the suitcase for?” Her scrubbed-clean faced is squished up with confusion.
“I’m going to Italy, Corinne. I’m moving there. Leaving tonight.”
Her eyeballs are in terrible danger of popping out and bouncing onto the floor. “You’re doing what?!! When?”
“Tonight,” I repeat. “Just booked a flight.”
Nervous laughter. She walks in and sits on my bed like she’s done a hundred times before. “You’re not really moving to Italy. You’re just being dramatic.”
“If you call charging a couple thousand dollars for a same-day flight ‘dramatic,’ then yes. I’m being dramatic.” I glare at her, and continue packing.
Stunned, she watches me roll up my favorite clothes and stuff them tightly into the only suitcase I own, a large forest-green roller. A denial snort bursts out of her nose. She jumps up and races into the kitchen throwing a show-me look over her shoulder just before she clears my doorway.
I chase her. “You’re not the only one who’s unpredictable, Corinne! You don’t believe me?” I grab the computer from the couch, still opened to the flight purchase. Following her into the kitchen, I say, “Oh, I’m going to Italy. Look!” I flip it around so she can see the digital receipt.
She leans forward, reads the flight information and drops the carton of orange juice back down on the counter. “You’re really doing this.”
The way she looks at me, like she knows she’s losing me for real, hits me hard and chokes me up. “I’m really doing this.”
“Oh Annie.” Her eyes tear up and she struggles to speak. It takes her a minute to think of what to say, and then, “I’m so sorry I hurt you this badly.”
I close the computer and hold it to my chest, a silver modern teddy bear. Collapsing my hip to the left, I lean all of my weight on the kitchen counter. “I wish I could blame you for everything, but frankly, that would be a cop out. It’s me. I need to change. I’m not who I want to be.”
“Why do you need to change, Squ…” She remembers I don’t want to be called that and stops herself. “Why do you need to change, Annie?”
I look down to the floor tile, embarrassed. “I feel unhappy most of the time.”
“Oh. What about your last year of college?”
“College will always be there. Look – I’m a playwright, right? What I need to learn, college can’t teach me. I need to see the world. Have new, wild and scary adventures! I can’t stay here, or stay like this,” I motion to my black sweats and baggy t-shirt, then flick my hand toward my newly-shorn hair, “anymore.”
I trudge back to my bedroom to shove my computer in my backpack. I’ll carry it on the plane. Maybe I can journal about the trip, about the changes and my leap of faith into a new life unencumbered by the opinions of those who think they know me. My passport goes in
it, too. Plus some gum, fuzzy socks, cash, and a book.
I hear her stand in the doorframe and watch as I pick up my straightening iron. “I guess I don’t need it anymore with this hair. Do you want this?” I raise my eyes to meet hers. “Don’t look like that. This is a good thing.”
“A good thing that’s all my fault.” We stare at each other, not speaking for what seems like forever. “I think you’re making a huge mistake.”
Drier than a desert in August, I mutter, “You should know.”
Her lips purse and she glares at me. “I didn’t know you really liked him – not this much! You always said you didn’t care.” Switching gears, she argues, “And what about all your stuff?” Her hand fans out, gesturing to my furniture, etc. “Am I supposed to get rid of this on my own?”
I walk up and stand very still. “That is such bullshit. You knew in your heart that I had feelings for Brendan. Give it all to Goodwill, Corinne. Except the portrait of us. You can keep that next to your bed so the next time you’re going down on a guy you know I like, but you don’t give a shit about, you’ll stop and ask him to leave.”
She flips around and storms into her own room, slamming the door.
I walk to it, compelled to apologize and feeling a little ashamed. But I’m not the one who started this. This isn’t how friends are supposed to be – at least not the ones I want.
I pull out the handle of my suitcase and roll it to the door. I’ll stay at the airport until my flight leaves at nine thirty, even though that’s many hours from now. I need to get through the international security checks and all that anyway, and they take much longer than domestic. Plus, it’s better than staying here for a second longer.
Turning to look at the small, cozy apartment that has been my home, I feel tears rise from an aching chest, and breaking through to fall down my cheeks. So many memories here. So many nights staying up late with her talking, cramming for finals, eating Rocky Road ice cream and laughing about stupid stuff. I wipe away the fresh tears, along with all the memories. Opening the front door, I walk right into Brendan Clark.
“Oof!” We slam into each other and pull back as if we’re both lethally contagious. He rubs his stomach where my hand and suitcase handle slammed into it hard.
“Sorry!” I reach out and touch his hand. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore last night, a light blue short-sleeved button-up shirt over a white T-shirt and our fingers are tucked under the button-up so that I can’t see the tips. It’s almost like I’ve got my hand inside his clothes. I stare, not moving my hand. “You okay? I’m so sorry!”
Flustered, he looks at my hand on his and raises his eyes to meet mine. His eyelashes are so long, I want to reach up with my cheek and brush them against it to see if they tickle. I’m so close to him I can smell his scent. I take a discreet sniff and pull my hand back as he narrows his eyes in thought.
“Were you crying?” he asks, glancing to my cheeks.
Mortified, I scrub away tears and mascara and rapidly shake my head. “Me? No way. No. Crying? Don’t be stupid.”
He doesn’t believe me. But he nods anyway. “And I guess you didn’t fall into a wood chipper, either.”
I squint at him, trying to understand his meaning. My hand flies to my hair as I realize he means the black crow’s nest I used to call my hair. “Ha ha. Very funny.”
He grins, eyes dancing with amusement, dazzling me right out of my body. I feel like I’m rising up and watching us from up above, so surreal to see him. Like I’m astral-projecting. “Corinne home?”
I slam back into my skin with all the aches to prove it. He came to see her. I didn’t think to wonder why he’s here; I was just so happy that he was.
So he wants to see her again, and came all the way over to do it.
Great. Yay them.
Resolved to the reality of Corinne and Brendan dating, I turn away. “Yeah. She’s inside. See ya.”
The pain in my heart hurts so bad I can’t think. I pull my suitcase past him and adjust the heavy backpack on my shoulder. I wish someone would lift me up and take me forward to a time where I no longer remember this. But I’m not that lucky. Chugging my baggage down the stairs, I sneak one more look at him. He’s standing on my welcome mat looking over his shoulder at me, frowning. He hates me. And now, I hate him, too.
“Bye.” I mutter, and vanish out of sight. Forever.
15
Brendan
Standing in the doorway. Totally confused. Balls itching. I really should have showered.
________
“Bye,” I mumble, staring at Cruella DeHaircut, the odd little creature that has drifted into my head more than is understandable. As I watch her descend the stairs, my hand travels to my stomach even though it no longer hurts where she ran into it. But still, I can feel where she touched it. What the fuck is wrong with me? How can a little ghoul-chick throw me like this?
Shaking my head like a dog after a bath, I knock on the door and wait.
A gust of wind almost blows me back. “I’m not saying sorry again!” Corinne stops cold when she sees me. “Oh… uh, hi.” She cranes her head out and looks down the empty hallway. Eyeballing me, she mutters, “Are you wearing the same clothes you wore last night?”
I look down, again kicking myself for being a douche. “No. I have more than one set of these.” Changing the subject, I smile, “Hey.”
She crosses her arms, hiking up her tits. “Listen, I can’t see you anymore.” She peeks out the door again.
“That’s not why I’m here.” I follow her look down the hallway. “She took off.”
“Oh.” She frowns deeply, staring down the hall, biting the inside of her cheek. “Then what are you here for?” She couldn’t be more irritated.
Wow. When you bone a chick, you expect her to be a little nicer than this. Or at least a little needy for your attention or something. This is wild. And very attractive.
“My wallet. It must have dropped out of my pants last night. I checked my jacket. It’s not there. I didn’t have your phone number.” She stares at me. “This is awkward.”
“Well, come on in then, I guess.” She turns and I watch her ass bounce in the sweatpants. Boom boom boom, like a clock ticking from side to side. We go search her bedroom and find my wallet under the bed. She bends down and reaches deep under there. Her ass is pushed up and all I can think about is riding it. She pokes her head out, my wallet in between two fingers. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks.” I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the growing tent. “So, where’s the Wicked Witch of the West headed? Home to see the ‘rents?”
Without batting an eyelash, Blondie plops down on the bed, boobs bouncing a couple times. She stares off. “Can you believe it? She left for Europe. Bought a ticket today. Out of the blue! To Italy! She’s going to fucking Italy.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe it.”
I cross one leg over the other, leaning against a poster of The Ramones. “Wow. Cool graduation present.”
“She’s not graduated! We both have a year left still! But no – she just bailed on all of it! Said fuck it! Bought a ticket to Italy and off she goes. I have to pack all of her stuff and give it to charity. Who does that?”
This piece of news is surprising. Mistress of The Full Moon bought a ticket to Europe and is bailing on the path we all have to walk? I know for a fact I wouldn’t have the balls to do something like that. It’s pretty impressive. “She just did that today?”
“Yes! Packed a bag, heading to the airport now.” She shakes her hair out with her hand.
“Huh. Wow.” I think about it a moment. We’re both silently considering it. Maybe we’re both even picturing Señorita Shadow on the plane, flying all by herself, showing up in a foreign country, looking around and wondering where to go now.
“Does she have family in Italy? Or know anyone there?”
“Nope! No one!”
“That’s pretty brave.”
“Or stupid.”
&nbs
p; I lock eyes with her. She doesn’t like that I said it. But who cares – it’s what I believe, so I say it again, “I think it’s really brave.”
“Or stupid.” Blondie repeats, annoyed. “You don’t know her. She’s horrible with people. Completely over the moon shy. She’s just a sheltered kid playing grown up. What is she going to do over there?”
“Get a job? Eat pizza? She’ll figure it out.”
Blondie glares at me and stands up. “You’re an idiot.”
I snort. “Okay then.”
“You wanna fuck?”
My head nearly whips off my head from the double take I give her. “Uh… yes?”
“Great.” She pulls off her top. “Let’s fuck. See if I care what she thinks.”
I have no idea what that means, but I fuck the shit out of her anyway. She commands all of my moves until I shut her up by grabbing her and carrying her into the bathroom where I take her from behind, in front of the mirror. She won’t look at the reflection, though. Keeps her head down. “Do you want to…” I begin to say, to see if we should move into the bedroom, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. I only brought her in here because I thought it would be hot.
“No. This is fine. Just fuck me,” she says in almost a grunt of anger, like she’s got a vendetta she’s working out through my cock. I comply and thrust into her, touch her with a reach around, noticing she’s not cumming as quickly as she did last night. She still won’t look in the mirror. But I can’t help but look. I stare at her sexy naked body, her sweet perky size C breasts bouncing back and forth. It doesn’t take me long to get to the edge of the cliff. I tell her, holding off my fire, “I can wait.”
“It’s not going to happen for me. It’s fine. You can cum whenever you’re ready.”
There’s something wrong with what’s happening and I can feel it, but guys are visual and this mirror image of us, my hands on her hips and traveling up to hold her breasts, her eyelids hooded and sultry – it’s not hard for me to pass through the gates. I give myself over to it; feel the surge of release, wishing she were feeling it with me.
Hearts Series Bundle: Books 1-6 Page 6
