by Megan Hart
guy about my age comes out. He's got a sheaf of blond
hair, fuck, like Austin, and the same build. But I lift my chin
and act like I don't care. I don't care. I don't.
He's not alone. He has another guy with him. And
believe me, they are not the Chippendales. The music
starts, the heavy bass thumpa-thumpa of some club
song I don't really know. The boys, dressed in dark
slacks and white shirts, ties, start to dance.
Holy fucking shit.
I glance at Nat, whose eyes are wide. I look at Tori,
who's grinning from ear to ear. Laurie puts her hand
over her face and peeks through her fingers.
They dance.
I've never seen anything like it. I was expecting some sort
of choreographed dance routine, some cheesy costumes.
But not this. This is…I am…
Wow.
The taler, dark-haired guy strips out of his white shirt,
takes off his cap and shakes his hair over one eye. He
grins, fingers going to the white tie and slipping it loose
from its knot. The blond's made his way around the room,
which has filed with curious, giggling and hooting women
and a few silent men. The dark-haired one, though, he
turns on one foot and tosses his tie directly at me.
I know him.
Oh, shit, I know him. It's Jack, that guy Kira was so
fucking crazy for. He's taler now, and his hair's longer,
and oh, shit, shit, he's coming over to me with a look on
his face that says he knows me, too. His fingers tug the
buttons free on his white shirt and he slides it open to show
off a lean chest and bely.
He's got his nipple pierced and tattoos al over his arm. He
tilts his head and gives me a grin that sends a lightning bolt
right to my pussy, and I wish I could pretend it didn't, but
there's no hiding it. He has to see it, the way my mouth
opens and my tongue slides over my lips.
More guys come out of the back and dolar bils are flying
left and right, but al I can see is this one guy. This one
grinding in front of me, taking off his shirt, undoing his belt,
sliding the pants down over his thighs. I want to cover my
face, afraid he's bare assed, but he clearly knows the
benefit of anticipation and puls his pants up again, leaving
the zipper undone to show dark briefs beneath.
He's got a nice body, nothing like Austin's. He's lean and
hard, though, and he smels like sex when he puts a hand
on the back of the couch I didn't want to sit on but did.
His face is close to my ear when he sings along with the
lyrics of the song I'l never be able to forget now. He
makes kissing the sky sound dirty and delicious.
When he nudges a knee between my thighs I open for him.
He rubs his body along mine, but fast, not lingering. Then
he turns. Gives me a sly-ass grin over one shoulder and
toys with the waistband of his pants.
Other women are screaming, "Take it off!," but I can't do
anything except stare. The song ends and slides into
another and I'm sure he's done. He'l take the dolars and
go into the back room.
But he does something else, instead. He gets on his knees,
sliding across the floor on them until he ends up at my feet.
And for that one moment, that instant, everything freezes
for me.
I can't breathe. I can't blink. I stare at him on that dirty
floor and our eyes lock. I've never wanted anything as
much as I want to put my hand in the long silken darkness
of his hair and pul.
And in the next moment he's up again, this time shaking his
ass at the woman waving a five-dolar bil like she might fly
away with it. The moment passed, but not the feeling. Not
the memory.
Later, after the club closed, I fucked Jack in the backseat
of his car while he whispered dirty, filthy things in my ear.
We fucked a lot, but not for long.
He never got on his knees for me again.
The rap on my window startled me so much my hands
flew up and knocked against my key ring. I stabbed at the
radio, switching it off. Heart pounding, I turned to the
window, expecting a gun.
I was shot al the same by the sight of the man's face
beyond the glass. My neighbor, my workout buddy, Mr.
Mystery. He frowned and leaned closer.
"Are you al right?"
I puled my keys from the ignition and grabbed my purse,
then waited until he'd stepped aside before I opened the
door. "Yeah. Fine. I was just…spacing out for a minute."
"Decompressing? Yeah. I do that, too. Sorry I scared
you."
I could breathe again, but every nerve ending stil tingled.
This guy looked nothing like Jack aside from dark hair, but
even that was nothing alike. I swalowed hard and fought
not to smooth my hair, though I had a sudden fear of how
messy it probably looked.
"It's okay. It's probably not smart to sit in the parking
garage."
His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "No, probably
not. You never know just who might be watching you."
Funny how that was supposed to sound like a warning but
Funny how that was supposed to sound like a warning but
came off as a temptation. He shifted his bag over his
shoulder and looked me over, seeming as though he might
say something else, but satisfied himself instead with
another smile. With a little wave he backed off and got in a
car across the aisle. It was newer than mine, a dark blue
hybrid, which told me that at least he was environmentaly
responsible as wel as hot.
I waved, too, and watched him drive away. For a second
or two the memory of Jack's face shimmered and merged
with my mystery man's. It made me shiver and I put the
thought from my mind. Jack had been a long time ago, and
a different time. I was a different me back then.
Or so I thought.
Chapter 11
Though I'd checked my mail that morning, I couldn't resist
peeking into my mailbox when I got home. Through the
smal glass window I expected to see nothing, so at first,
that's al I saw. Then the black sliver of shadow on the
mailbox's metal floor caught my gaze and my breath
razored my throat as I sucked it in. I hid my cough behind
my hand. There was something in my mailbox.
A Tenant Association flyer, probably. The T.A. was
notorious for its enthusiasm for memos. But they usualy
came on half slips of cheap computer paper, the message
printed multiple times on one sheet and torn in halves or
thirds. This was not a memo from the T.A.
I puled out the card, stil not addressed to me, and looked
around with sudden suspicion. I have never liked surprises.
Not in parties, not in relationships, not in practical jokes.
I saw other tenants in the lobby and standing by the
elevators. Some with unfamiliar faces moved past me
toward the stairs to the basement. Nobody looked at me.
If anyone was watching to see what I'd do, they were
being
very shy about it.
being very shy about it.
And why should anyone be watching? I'd passed the other
notes along to the rightful recipient. Chances were good
the person putting them in the wrong box didn't even know
they'd gone through a different one first. Yet something
about it seemed off. Who would keep making the same
mistake over and over?
Unless it wasn't a mistake?
But I could think of no reason why anyone would be
slipping me sexy little instructions. I looked around again. I
tapped the card against my palm. I looked at the mailbox
for 114. I peeked through its glass window, saw the
magazines and letters inside and held the card to the slot.
I wouldn't read it. I shouldn't read it. I didn't dare read it.
I couldn't help it, I swear. I was thirsty and it was a drink
of cold water; I was hungry and it was a loaf of bread. I
had PMS and it was a bar of chocolate and a bowl of ice
cream with peanuts and fudge sauce on top. It was the
cherry on that sundae.
With a quick glance from side to side, certain no one was
With a quick glance from side to side, certain no one was
watching, I tucked the card into my bag and hightailed it to
the elevator. My phone was ringing when I got to my
apartment. The answering machine had just clicked on
when I grabbed up the portable handset from the end
table. My mom had already started talking.
"Paige. It's Mom. Cal me—"
"Mom. Hi." The note, unopened and unread, burned my
palm.
"Are you screening your cals?" She sounded amused.
I took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the number
on the front of the paper. "I'm not screening my cals. I just
got in."
This perked her ears. "Oh? Were you out?"
"Yes, Mother," I said. "Hence the just-getting-in part."
"Where were you?"
"Not on a date, if that's what you're hoping," I told her, just to poke.
"Too bad for you."
"Too bad for you."
"Yeah, yeah. What's up?" I put the note in the center of the kitchen table where it could watch me and I it. I circled it,
only half my mind on the conversation with my mother, so
distracted by this new note I'd forgotten I needed to be
angry at her.
"Does something have to be up for me to cal my favorite
daughter?"
My mom has always been almost more like an aunt or
older sister than a mom. She was only nineteen when she
had me, about the same age I'd been when she'd had
Arthur. I'm not saying she didn't do her best. I'm just
saying that now, when I'm in my twenties and she's in her
forties, the age difference seems even less than it did when
I was growing up and she was the only mom I knew who
cared as much about the Backstreet Boys as I did.
"No, I guess not. But there usualy is. Usualy you just hit
me up on e-mail."
Since I moved "so far away," anyway, and phoning me
had become a long-distance cal.
"Wel, I don't have to do that anymore." She paused and I
could hear the grin in her voice. "Guess where I'm caling
from."
"Paris."
"No, Paige," my mom said as though I'd been serious. "My car! I'm driving to the mal!"
"You're talking and driving? Mom, you do know that's
ilegal in the city of Lebanon. You'd better hang up. You'l
get a ticket!" Not to mention my mom's driving was
haphazard even when she wasn't distracted by a phone.
"You're missing the point, Paige. The point is, I'm caling
you from my own cel phone!"
"Ah." I should've guessed it was something bright and
shiny that she'd caled to tel me. "Congratulations.
Welcome to the milennium."
She ignored my far-from-subtle sarcasm. "Leo bought it
for me. Isn't he the sweetest?"
As boyfriends went, Leo was one of the better ones.
Being older might have been part of it, though with his big
Being older might have been part of it, though with his big
beer bely and long beard there was no question he was as
rough a biker as any guy my mom had ever dated. He stil
rode his Harley to work and sported a line of faded
tattoos on each arm, but he was melower than some of
the younger guys she'd dated.
"That was nice of him."
"So now I can cal you al the time! And text. I can text
you, too, if I can figure out how."
"Oh, joy." I dug into the junk drawer for a pen and some
paper and paused when I puled out the yelow legal pad.
My scant list of flaws and strengths stared out at me, and I
forgot to speak.
"Paige?"
"What's your number?" I put that list aside and poised to
take down the number.
"I.D.K.," my mom said airily.
"Huh?"
"I.D.K.," she repeated. "Geez, Paige. Don't you know
"I.D.K.," she repeated. "Geez, Paige. Don't you know
what I.D.K. means? It means ‘I don't know.'"
"I know what it means. I just didn't think you did. Besides,
Mom, nobody talks like that out loud. It's just textspeak."
"L.O.L.," my mom said.
"M.O.M.," I said.
We both laughed.
"Also, listen," she said, but didn't say anything else.
"I'm listening."
"Guess who I ran into the other day."
"With your car?"
"You," my mom said, "are a smart-ass."
"I.D.K., who'd you run into?"
She paused. I waited for the sound of crunching glass and
metal, but she must've just been puling into a slot rather
than ramming into a phone pole.
than ramming into a phone pole.
"Austin's mother."
Serendipity. It's not just the name of a mildly entertaining
John Cusack movie. "Oh?" I couldn't manage a different
response.
"She said to say hi."
"Uh-huh." As far as I knew, when her son and I had
broken up, Mrs. Miler had been happy to see me go.
"Don't make that face at me, Paige."
"You don't know what face I'm making."
"I'm your mother, I don't need to see your face to know
you're crunching your nose. You're going to get horrible
crow's-feet that way."
"Around my nose?"
"And guess what she said?"
I waited while she dangled further information in front of
me like cheese in front of a rat.
"She says he's moved up there. Where you are."
Wel, at least I'd forgotten to keep staring at the note with
hungry eyes. "Harrisburg isn't a foreign country, you know.
It's only forty minutes away." I tried not to sound sharp,
but failed.
My mother didn't care. When "going away" in the
vernacular of the area means you're taking a trip to the
store, forty minutes was an eternity. I was gone. Anyway,
I'd already known about Austin.
Harrisburg was my place. Not his. He didn't belong here.
He should've stayed in Lebanon, where his family lived
and had always lived and would always live. He should've
stayed there where every street could remind him of
me
and he could weep bitter, salty tears at the loss.
"Lemoyne," she said as though I hadn't spoken. "His mom said he got a new job with some big heating-and-cooling
company. He's not doing construction with his dad
anymore."
"Good for him."
"I'm sure I could get his number for you."
"I have his number." She was silent to that, because as far as she knew, Austin and I hadn't spoken since the day I'd
walked out of our apartment.
"Fine. Be that way. I just thought you might like to know,
that's al. He's got a good job."
"Depends on what you consider good."
This time, her silence was longer. "Wel. When did you
become such a snob?"
I sighed. "I'm not a snob. I'm just…trying to change things
for myself. That's al."
There realy was no better way to put it, and no way not to
say it without offending her. My mother had everything I
never wanted. Most parents want better for their kids, and
I know my mom wasn't different. But there's always that
sting when you realize what you gave someone hasn't been
enough, even though it was your best.
"I just thought maybe you might…"
"What?"
My mom cleared her throat, a sure sign she was getting
ready to pretend she hadn't done something to piss me off
when she knew she had. "I just thought maybe he'd seen
you. That's al. Been in touch."
"Stalked me, you mean?" Angry again, I paced the length
of my living room and then around my kitchen table, and
finaly into my bedroom, where I stopped so I didn't have
to make another round. "How could you tel him where I
lived, Mom? You know I don't want to see him!"
"You know, Paige, once upon a time you'd have been mad
at me for keeping him from you."
"Once upon a time was a long time ago," I said.
"I'm sorry," my mother said stiffly. "He caled and asked if I could tel him where you were living. I didn't think you'd
mind. You said yourself you had his number."
"Mom…" I sighed and pressed my fingers between my
eyes to keep myself from completely losing my temper. "If
I wanted him to know where I lived I'd have sent him a
card."
card."
"I'm sorry, Paige." She sounded sincere, but I knew her
wel enough to know she was sorry I was angry. Not sorry
because she thought she was wrong. "I have to go. I'm at
the mal."
"Okay. Fine."
"You know," she said suddenly, "it wouldn't kil you to come back home every once in a while. Arty misses you.
Me, too."
