Depths

by Liz Reinhardt

  Something has got to change with Dad. I love him, but our relationship is so unbalanced and one-sided. I can’t spend my entire life taking care of him like he’s an invalid.

  Cohen clears his throat and interrupts my thoughts of evicting my dad.

  “So, since you won’t be getting any ink for your birthday, why don’t you let me take you out tomorrow?”

  I suck in a quick, nervous breath. “I don’t know…”

  Cohen drags his eyebrows down and looks disappointed. “What makes you unsure? Like you just said, we know each other, so it’s not like going out with a stranger. You’ve been to my place; I’m not a crazy ax-murderer. It’s just me and you and some good food and wine. I know a place, or, my sister recommends a place, that’s supposed to be amazing.”

  “You talked to your sister about this?” A tingle of warmth travels through my limbs and fills me with bubbly hope.

  He shakes his head. “Not about you, just asked for some dinner recommendations. Just in case.”

  I cut my smile short by catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “If we didn’t run into each other today—”

  He doesn’t try to hide his smile. “It’s like you want to make me say it. Alright. The answer is ‘yes.’ Yes, I was still planning to track you down and ask you out. What do you say?”

  And then that awful saying, be careful what you wish for, singsongs through my brain. Is this not what I was hoping would happen? Isn’t this even better than what I was hoping for?

  But, the weird thing is, with Cohen I don’t mind telling him what scares me. So I do. No matter how terrifying it is.

  “I’m scared. I’m scared of how I feel for you now, and can’t imagine how much more I’ll feel if we go out-out.”

  Cohen nods like he understands, then reaches across the table and clutches my forearm. My heart skips and thuds at his fingers on my skin.

  “I’m taking chances here too, Maren. But you’ve got to give me one.”

  I could drown in those eyes, big and bold and dark. But, with Cohen, it’s like I’m okay with letting go and diving deep. Maybe because I sense that he’s going to show me how to swim out of the shallows and grab for something more.

  His voice coaxes me. “Come on, it’s your birthday. Let me take you out and show you a good time.”

  13 COHEN“This place is great.” Maren looks around at the brightly painted red walls of the little Thai place Lydia swears has the best pineapple fried rice she’s ever tasted. Plus they fresh make their own Panang sauce and rice noodles daily.

  I feel like maybe I got the vibe wrong. Maybe it’s too impressive. Maybe I should have just bummed out a little, the way I usually did with Kensley. But I realize this isn’t about my own damn comfort. It’s about effort.

  Awesome as I thought things were with Kensley, I never tried things that were new and different, and I think that might be because I was fine with just settling when it came to her and our relationship.

  But Maren makes me brave. She makes me want to try new things. With her. For her. And that’s gotta be a good thing.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  I’m glad she’s here with me, her skin glowing, her eyes shiny, like she’s got some kind of happiness running like sunlight under her skin. I’m glad she wore the dress she picked. It’s the same deep blue as her eyes, and the top dips a little low, letting a tiny bit of lace bra show every now and then when she leans toward me. One strap is looser than the other, and it keeps sliding down her shoulder. I don’t know what the hell it is about her outfit exactly, but she somehow looks sexy and innocent at the same time, and it’s a huge turn-on.

  We order too much food and wine that’s so expensive, I have to work hard to keep from looking panicked when I order it. But when the waiter pours a few deep red splashes into her glass and she takes a sip, I know it was worth every dollar. The face she makes is exactly the face I imagine she’ll make when we finally wind up in my bed together.

  It may be unromantic as hell, and I don’t mean to sound like a pig, because it’s not like that with Maren, but getting her in bed with me has definitely made it to position number one on my bucket list.

  “So, your sister was telling me you’ve got this big New Zealand surf trip planned?” she asks, adjusting the strap on her dress. I keep one eye on that creamy shoulder, just so I can enjoy watching the fabric slip down her skin again in a minute.

  “Deo, he’s been my best friend since we were in diapers, he’s marrying this awesome girl. And he’s not into strippers or Vegas or any crap like that. We’ve surfed together since just after we learned to walk, pretty much, so I thought it would be cool to go to New Zealand and have one last major surf while he’s still a bachelor.” I move my feet under the table and love when my foot brushes hers. More than that, I love that she rubs her foot up and down along my calf in a slow, gentle motion. “It’s partly your fault.”

  “Really?” She squints at me. “I’m pretty sure I never told you to pack up and head to New Zealand.” The way she smiles behind her wine glass, kind of shy and sweet, yet so damn sexy? It makes my head go places it definitely shouldn’t.

  “You suggested I get a bucket list going. And you were right. I need to stop being so predictable. I need more adventure in my life.” I look at Maren, biting her lip and toying with her napkin across the table and feel a sense of pure determination. I want to keep her interested in me. I don’t need to make the same mistake I made with Kensley.

  “I know I said that.” She looks up, her blue eyes wide and serious. “But, you know that I meant you should do what you need to do for yourself, right Cohen? I mean, I think New Zealand is an amazing idea, and I love that you’re making these goals and lists. But you? You are perfect the way you are. You’re not predictable. You’re dependable. And, look, I get that I’m a huge nerd and I say things that only further prove it.” She grins and leans forward, and, like we’re connected by an invisible string, I move forward too. Her voice caresses my ear. “You are adventurous. You don’t need to be racing motorcycles and diving with sharks to prove that. Everything I do with you feels like an adventure.” She laughs to herself and ducks her head like she’s embarrassed. “So, do things that make you happy. No question. But don’t you dare change.” This time her expression looks ferocious and her voice matches it. “Don’t change.”

  I can’t help smiling at her when she gets all tough like that. “I don’t think you’d be so sure that I should never change if you got to know me better. Deo always says I’m the biggest tightwad. He might be exaggerating a little, but I do kind of worry. Maybe I over-worry.”

  She closes her eyes like she’s savoring my words.

  “Worry?” She shakes her head, her dark hair shining in the light of the flickering candles on the table. “Do you have any idea how perfect that word is? Do you know how incredible it would be for any girl to have someone like you worrying about her? I feel like my entire life is comprised of people who don’t worry about anything except themselves. And I feel like I’m left doing all the worrying for everyone. And it sucks. I’d love to worry with someone.”

  Our dinner arrives before I can say anything, and we sit in comfortable quiet for a few minutes while we ingest the most amazing food that’s ever hit my mouth. Damn, Lydia was right for once. In a big way.

  “This is amazing,” Maren moans, wrapping her lips around a forkful of gai pad king. I never imagined watching a girl take a bite out of her dinner could feel like foreplay, but I’m ready to push my plate away and take her home right now.

  “I’m so glad you like it. I was hoping you’d be happy with everything tonight.” I start to eat, but stop when I notice she’s laid her fork down and is just staring at her food like she has no idea what it is. “Maren? Are you okay?”

  She pushes her plate and the candle and wine to the side and leans over the table, grabbing my collar and yanking me close to her. I’m half out of my chair, her hands coming up soft on either side of my face.<
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  “I’m not ready for you, yet,” she whispers, her lips sometimes brushing mine. “I want to be. You have no idea how much I want to be.”

  I would worry over that cryptic message, but I don’t have time to think. Because her mouth presses against mine, hard and hot, sweet and soft, her tongue licking the seam of my lips and dipping into my mouth with possessive flicks that drive me fucking crazy.

  I’m about to rip the table cloth off and throw her on the tabletop without giving a damn who’s watching or what they’re thinking, but she pulls back, her cheeks pink and her lips so gorgeous, puffy and a deep red. She leans back against her chair and presses a hand to the place where her blue dress dips low, just over her heart, and tries to catch her breath.

  I sit back, too, not bothering to right anything because I like the fact that she roughed me up. That she wants me as much as I want her.

  “I just…” She rights the tablecloth with a dainty tug, rearranges her place setting, and shoots a sheepish smile at the other couples gawking from the surrounding tables. When she looks at me, there’s this complete satisfaction that, I swear, changes the color of her eyes and the shape of her mouth. “I just wanted to thank you. For an amazing date. For being so amazing. For being you.”

  She takes a long, thirsty sip of her wine, and I try to collect my thoughts, but I’m so rock-hard and turned on, I don’t know what the hell to do. She gestures for me to eat, so I do that, breathing slow and focused to try to get my body back under control. The problem is, every time I look at her, I start to feel wild again.

  I mean, I guess it’s a problem. Or maybe it’s just a problem I don’t want to find a solution to any time soon.

  I’ve never experienced anything like this. I’m overwhelmed by incredible food, but I don’t want another bite. I want her. I love that there’s this elegant atmosphere here, the good music underlying all the chattering conversation, the smiling people making everything feel at ease, but I want her.

  She’s all I want, and I want her now.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asks, breaking through my thoughts.

  Part of me wants to tell her. Why the hell not?

  Because I’m not a complete dick.

  “Just thinking about what you said, about going away with Deo. About life changing so fast, I feel like I can’t even keep up.” It’s an improvised answer, but it’s not all that far from the truth.

  “It must be hard.” She scoops up every last scrumptious bite of food on her bone-white plate. “Since you and Deo were so tight for so long. It must be hard to suddenly have to get used to someone else in his life.”

  Her eyes are heavy-lidded and sad with that obvious remorse that comes from knowing how it feels to constantly not be included. I hate that she spends so much of her life on the outside looking in. I hope I can start making that change.

  “Not at all,” I correct her gently. “Deo and Whit…they make so much sense together. She loves him exactly the way he is and, it’s like, if I could have picked a girl from all the girls in the world to be Deo’s soul mate, I would have picked Whit.” And I admit the thing I’ve never really told anyone else, because it’s half-embarrassing. “Plus, I kind of love being around her. When I broke up with Kensley, I had a pretty shitty opinion of girls in general, but being around Whit gave me hope I’d find someone amazing. Someone who I click with the way she clicks with Deo.”

  Maren runs a fingertip over the scroll pattern on her fork. “Mmm. So you have a crush on her?”

  I laugh and rub my neck. “Wow. Way to make it awkward, Maren.” She looks up, surprised, but I wave off her shock. “I’m joking. But maybe not totally joking. Because I guess I did kind of have a crush on her. Or, maybe not her exactly. It was more like I had a crush on what she and Deo had together. And…I know this sounds stupid, but it made me embarrassed to be with Kensley when I saw how right they were together. Like I was the world’s biggest fraud.”

  Maren leans forward so far, I can see all the lace edging the top of her bra, her eyes big with excitement, her lips parted to spill her eager agreement. “Not stupid at all. I used to watch other couples who were so nice to each other, so in love, and I’d point them out to Jason, like maybe he’d be…I don’t really know? Inspired maybe? It’s like I could see what I wanted, but, even though I knew damn well I didn’t have it, I was so sure I could just make him be that way. Because I was scared out of my mind to let him go.” She clamps her mouth shut and blinks too fast.

  I wonder if she misses him, and I hate myself for hating him so much, I want to break something.

  “Why were you so scared to let him go?” I demand. “He was pretty much a douchebag to you in every way imaginable.”

  When she looks up at me, the sadness in her eyes knifes me directly through my heart. “I guess Jason was fucked-up enough to never really notice my fucked-upness. And I’ve been lonely. My dad isn’t exactly the best company, and I dropped out of college, so I had no friends after I moved into this new apartment. Jason was just a warm body, but sometimes you need that. I mean, I’m human. I can’t go without other humans, even kind of shitty ones.”

  I push back from my nearly empty plate and wish we’d never started down this path. But, fuck it. Maybe first dates didn’t have to be all schmooze and romance. Maybe it’s better if they get real fast, because then you can see if the person you think you might want to make forever happen with will even be able to handle your shitty past and present.

  “Deo hated Kensley,” I admit. I’ve never told anyone that, though anyone who knew the both of them would have guessed it in a second. “He thought she was shallow and a user. He thought she had no sense of humor. That’s pretty much the kiss of death, right? No sense of humor? What could possibly be worse?” Maren opens her mouth, all sweet pink lips and eager eyes, but I don’t give her a chance to answer. “You know the craziest part? If Deo gave me his opinion about a taco stand or a wave or a shirt or a band, I’d listen to him no question, because he’s pretty much the best person I’ve ever met in my entire life. But I never listened to him about Kensley, the girl I planned to marry and spend my life with, and he wound up being totally right.”

  She reaches across the table, but there’re too many plates and glasses in the way, and she never quite connects her fingers with mine.

  “I get that. I lost a lot of friends because they just couldn’t stand Jason. And worse than all that?” She takes a deep breath and lets it leak out in a wobbly whoosh of breath. “I knew for myself, in my own gut, that Jason was no good. I knew that. So why the hell was I with him as long as I was? When did I become the kind of girl who just stayed with a guy because it was easy?”

  Her face has so much self-hatred plastered on it, it makes me pissed.

  “Hey. Hey. Look at me.” When she looks up, I don’t let her look away again. “You don’t have a fucking thing to be embarrassed about. He was an asshole, you got caught up with him, and now you ditched him. Good for you.”

  She doesn’t seem like she took my rousing speech to heart, and I follow her eyes when they get wide and take on a forlorn look, all orphan-like.

  “Speak of the devil.” She puts a hand to her throat and gulps the last few sips of her wine quickly.

  Jason comes in with Ally at his side, looking pissed as hell.

  Fuck! I should have known if Lydia recommended a place it would wind up being douchebag central. But why this particular douchebag on tonight of all nights?

  Much as I hate his damn guts and would love to let him know it, I’m hoping he just moves on to his table and leaves us the hell alone. I want tonight to be special for Maren, and having Jason here is not going to accomplish that.

  But it’s like his hate is looking for a target, and when his eyes scan the trendy crowd and come to rest on Maren, there’s a little gleam of glee in them.

  Despite my Jedi command for him to back the hell off, he heads to our table, bumping a few people in their chairs on the way over. By the
time he gets close to us, his heavy breath gives away what his uneven steps had me guessing: he’s drunk as hell.

  “Maren,” he says, drawing her name out like a forbidden word. “Fancy meeting you here. I always thought you were more an obscure taco stand type girl. I actually remember inviting you here and you said, and I quote, ‘Fuck you and your show-off hipster bullshit.’”

  Maren’s eyes meet mine, and she begs me to forgive her as she flicks her gaze to Jason.

  “I’ve been dying to eat here. I said that because you had zero interest in taking me until you read some stupid blog about that ridiculous foodie event, which was the same night as Rowan’s birthday,” she says, her voice so cold it could frost the wine in the glasses.

  Jason sways a little on his feet and grips the back of her chair with white-knuckled fingers, his hand almost touching her back.

  “Well, whatever-the-fuck the reason was, you never wanted to come here with me, but now you’ll slum it with Carlos? Is that why you weren’t into it when I was down to fuck the other night? Your taste got darker?” She gasps and bites her lip, and he seems excited to see her uncomfortable. “Aw, did I hit a nerve? You know what’s funny? That’s half the reason I was so into you. Being with you felt like slumming it a little, and that was exciting as fuck. All these uptight professional women, they don’t let me do the shit to them you begged for, Maren. I miss all those nasty little—”

  They both jump when I topple my chair back standing up. It’s probably not fair that Jason is as drunk as he is, but any sympathy I may have had for his incapacity went out a smashed window when I heard what he said to Maren.

  “Shut your fucking mouth and leave this table right now.”

  I know he’s not going to back down, so I cuff my sleeves up as he opens his mouth to say something I just know is going to give me good reason to land a punch on his pretty boy face.

  “I can talk to Maren anywhere, anytime I please, asshole. I’ve got first fuck claim on her. Here’s an idea? Why don’t you stop sniffing around my leftovers and find some nice Mexi—”