Trouble From the Start

by Rachel Hawthorne

  “How many times did you think about him during the movie?”

  He didn’t have to clarify who the he was. “A dozen, maybe more. I wasn’t really counting.”

  “However many minutes long the movie was, that’s how many times I thought of Katie.”

  Reaching across, I placed my hand over his. “I’m so sorry. I know you like her so much.”

  “I do, but the odd thing is, I just want her to be happy. I hope Colorado makes her happy, that he’s good to her.”

  “You’re really a good guy, Marc.”

  “What else can I do, you know?” He held up a finger. “But I’ll tell you . . . the first video game I create and program . . . you can bet it’s going to have a character named Colorado who is a lousy mercenary and gets his butt kicked all the time.”

  I laughed. “You can have some fun programming characters.”

  “You bet.”

  It was a couple of minutes before midnight when Marc pulled into the driveway. “Is that Fletcher?” he asked.

  He was sitting on the top steps just outside his apartment. “Yes.”

  “He’s not going to attack me, is he?”

  “No. He doesn’t care that I had a date.”

  “Like I said, his expression earlier said different.”

  “Trust me. You misread it.”

  Marc got out, came around, and opened the door for me. Taking my hand, he began walking toward the door. Just before we reached the shadows, before we were out of Fletcher’s line of sight, I stopped. Marc faced me.

  I nibbled on my lower lip, knew I had no right to ask, but heard myself say, “Will you do me a favor? Will you kiss me?”

  He was perfectly still, only his eyes shifting to the stairs. “You mean where he’ll see?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure he won’t come down and rip me apart?”

  I smiled. “I’m sure.”

  As Marc cupped my face in his hands and leaned in, I realized for the first time that he was my height. His lips touched mine. I moved in and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. The kiss was nice, pleasant. No fire, passion, or hunger. It was better than the one I’d experienced at band camp. Not as good as the ones Fletcher gave me.

  I thought it probably had nothing to do with technique. It had everything to do with chemistry—that unidentifiable element that wasn’t on any periodic table but made two people sitting in a movie theater together think about someone else.

  Marc drew back, smiled. “Thanks for tonight, Avery. I needed it. I had fun.”

  “Me too.” He walked me to the door. I slipped inside, peered into the dining room. No homework papers on the table for me to check.

  Mom popped out of the den. “How was it?”

  “Fun.”

  “He seemed really nice.”

  “He is. Listen, Fletcher is still up. I’m going to pop over and make sure he doesn’t have questions about his homework.”

  “Okay, I’m going to bed now that you’re home.” She gave me a hug. “See you tomorrow.”

  I went outside, crossed the driveway, and started up the stairs. Something about Fletcher seemed different, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

  I’d almost reached him when he said, “Forty-five seconds, not bad.”

  “What?”

  “The kiss. Forty-five seconds.”

  “You were timing it?”

  “Yep.”

  Leaning forward a little bit, I could smell yeast, hops, barley. “Are you drunk?”

  “Yep.”

  Near the door, I could see two six-packs with empty bottles in every slot except one.

  “I cared about the environment,” he said. “For you.”

  I looked over just as he lifted a brown bottle to his mouth. I snatched it from his grasp, looked at the label, sniffed the contents. “How did you get this?”

  “Fake ID. Had it since I was sixteen, for clubs and stuff.”

  I noticed now that his words were slightly slurred. He was sprawled on the steps more than sitting on them. “My dad will explode if he finds out about this.”

  “He’s not the boss of me.”

  “He is if you’re living under his roof.”

  He pointed to the house. “That’s his roof.” He pointed to his apartment. “That’s . . . mine.”

  “Not really, no. Come on, you need to get inside.” Dropping the bottle into its designated slot, I picked up the six-packs, opened the door, and walked in. I set them on the small table and turned around. Fletcher hadn’t followed me in.

  I marched back out onto the landing. “Fletcher.”

  He swiveled his head around. “I should have known. You were dressed so nice. I should have figured you had a date.”

  “Fletcher, you need to get up and come inside.”

  “Don’t think I can walk. Need my bike.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to haul your bike up here so you can ride it into your apartment.” I crouched in front of him.

  “I like you in red,” he said, and touched the shoulder of my red lacy top. “And blue and puple . . . pup . . .”

  “Purple?”

  He gave me a goofy grin and nodded. “Yep. Every color.”

  “You are so drunk.”

  His head wobbled, which I took to be a yes. “Every . . . thing moves funny.”

  “It’s spinning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to help you up and get you inside. Come on now.”

  I locked my arms around his chest. I pulled, he pushed. He grabbed the railing and pulled, too. Eventually he was standing, a lot of his weight on me. God, he was heavy.

  “I like that you’re tall,” he said.

  “I’m a giant.”

  “You’re willowy.” He grinned. “I bet you didn’t think I knew that word. I am not a novice at vocabulary.”

  I almost laughed. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say exactly.

  We shuffled inside. I thought about depositing him on the couch, but we’d worked up enough momentum that I was able to get him to the bed. He flopped down on it.

  I tugged off his boots and his socks. He had such large feet. I didn’t know why I was surprised or why it seemed like such a personal thing to know. Something hit me in the face. His T-shirt. Somehow he’d managed to get it off, which left me staring at a very fine chest. I’d seen it before when he was playing in the pool with Tyler. But like his feet, it just seemed more intimate to see it now, when he was sprawled across the bed.

  He was struggling with his belt.

  “I’ll get the belt,” I told him. “The jeans stay on.”

  “’Kay.”

  I worked the belt through the loops and tossed it aside. I put a pillow beneath his head before flicking a sheet over him. I grabbed a glass, then went to the bathroom and filled it. When I came back out, I set it on the bedside table.

  “Come on, you need to sit up. You need to drink some water before I go.”

  I got him sitting up with a pillow behind his back. I handed him the water. “Drink it. All of it.”

  He drank half of it. I decided to give him a couple of minutes before I made him finish it. “Have you ever been drunk before?” I asked.

  Slowly he shook his head. “Never had beer before tonight.” He leaned toward me. “It’s not that good.”

  “Yet you kept drinking it.”

  He smiled, nodded. “Do you like him?”

  My stomach tightened. “You mean Marc? I do like him.”

  He nodded, shook his head, finished off the water. I got him some more. “He’s just a friend,” I felt compelled to say. Besides, he probably wasn’t going to remember any of this in the morning.

  “You kissed him,” he said.

  “You and I are friends. We kiss . . . kissed.”

  “Yeah. I like kissing you.”

  “I like kissing you, too.”

  He grinned again.

  “I think you’re going to feel terrible in the morning,�
� I told him.

  “Yeah.”

  I helped him lie back down, tucked him in.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “So what did you hit tonight?” I asked.

  He looked at me blankly. “Huh?”

  “You’re drunk, like your father. So what did you hit?”

  He shook his head, furrowed his brow. “Didn’t hit anything.”

  “So you’re not like him.” Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered near his ear, “Think about that.”

  Chapter 32

  FLETCHER

  I woke up. Wished I hadn’t.

  My head was so heavy that I didn’t know if I’d be able to lift it off the pillow and it hurt. I was queasy. It would probably be a month before I could eat anything. And there was this persistent beeping in my ears, a tremor near my hip—

  My alarm.

  I dug my phone out of my jeans pocket and shut it off. I squinted at the time. Who was the idiot who thought it was a good idea to register for a class that started before most people had their coffee? Oh, yeah, me.

  I hadn’t wanted to be a loser. I sure felt like one now. Why had I started drinking last night? I squeezed my eyes shut. Because of Avery’s date. I couldn’t be mad about it. I’d had a date earlier in the week. But I had been . . .

  I’d been mad. I’d thought about following them. Instead I’d ridden to the next town over, where no one knew me, stopped at a convenience store, flashed my fake ID, and walked out with the beer. Having dark stubble helped make me look older. Then I’d returned here and started the guzzle-fest.

  Marc looked exactly like the kind of guy Avery should date. So clean-cut, he probably squeaked when he walked. Her parents had been impressed with him, despite his stupid idiotic joke. After Avery left, they’d carried on about what a nice guy he was. I’d almost barfed.

  With a groan, I dropped my legs off the bed and rolled to a sitting position. Class was definitely out today. Burying my face in my hands, I pressed my fingers to my temples. How did I even get to the bed?

  Avery. She’d helped me. She’d also kissed computer whiz. I couldn’t get upset about that either, but I was. Why did it matter so much? Because I liked her. I liked her a lot.

  I had a vague memory of her helping me undress. I smiled. Had to keep the jeans on, though. I remembered the light brush of her lips on my cheek, the words she’d whispered.

  I lifted my head, stared around the room. I’d gotten drunk but I hadn’t broken anything, torn anything up, hurt anyone. I wasn’t my dad.

  My dad wouldn’t have finished his algebra assignment before getting drunk. I shoved myself to my feet. I needed to get that turned in. Hard-assed Turner did not accept late homework. Turn it in on time or get a zero.

  I needed a hot shower first. I’d be late to class, but it was better than not showing up at all.

  I wasn’t my dad, I thought again. I didn’t have to be a loser.

  Chapter 33

  AVERY

  I’d been not only surprised but impressed Friday morning when I spotted Fletcher leaving for school at an ungodly hour. The last thing I’d expected was for him to make the effort when he had to be feeling rotten.

  I didn’t get a chance to see him before I left for work either Friday or Saturday. I was hoping I might see him Sunday, although maybe he’d be hooking up with someone else. At least I’d see him when I tutored him Monday.

  At the Shrimp Hut, summer was in full swing and Saturday night work was crazy busy. It was always the night when we had the most customers. People came to the beach, stayed late, didn’t have to get up and go to work the next morning. Or at least most of them didn’t. Plus a lot of people rented houses or condos or stayed in the nearby hotels, so the population on Saturday exploded.

  “You have a hot guy at table sixteen,” Jenny told me when she came into the kitchen to get her order.

  Along my arm I was balancing plates for a family of four. “Thanks.”

  “If you don’t have time, I’ll be happy to take care of him, although I hear he asked specifically to be seated in your section.”

  Picking up the plate, I smiled at her. “First crush of summer, you think?” It wasn’t unusual for guys to come in and flirt with us, and then request our section the next time they dropped by. Or girls for that matter. Marc had quite a following.

  “First crush for me this summer,” she said. “Seriously, if you don’t have time, I’ve got your back and will break the news to him gently. I’ll even offer comfort after we close tonight.”

  “Down, girl, down!” I teased. “I’ve got it.”

  Intrigued, I pushed my way through the swinging doors and my gaze skipped over to table sixteen. It was the last table in the corner by the window. Sitting there was Fletcher. My heart gave a little thud, but I didn’t have time to examine it. I focused my attention on my other customers first. I delivered the order of broiled flounder to the mom, fried shrimp to each of the kids, shrimp étouffée to the dad. Grabbed ketchup, extra tartar sauce, refilled glasses.

  “Can I get you anything else?” I asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, ready to turn to table sixteen.

  “Looks good,” the dad said, and I left them to enjoy their meal.

  I wended my way between the tables, checking quickly on my customers as I went, making sure no one needed anything, making mental notes of glasses that would soon need to be refilled. I stopped beside Fletcher’s table. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifted a shoulder casually like it was no big deal. “You came to see me at work. Thought I should return the favor.”

  “You working is way more interesting than me working.”

  “I don’t know. You have to juggle a lot of balls.”

  “More like plates and glasses. It’s Saturday night. Shouldn’t you be out partying somewhere?” I thought I succeeded at not saying it cattily.

  “Need to eat.” He obviously hadn’t taken offense. He tapped the menu. “I’ll take the large fried shrimp platter.”

  I pulled out my order pad. “That’s two dozen shrimp. It’s a lot.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Fries or baked potato?”

  “Fries.”

  “Salad or coleslaw?”

  He shook his head. “You know I don’t eat things that are green.”

  I did know. It made me feel all warm and soft inside to realize that I did know things about him. Intimate things that others probably didn’t know. Then I shoved those cozy feelings down because we were back to being friends. “How about some extra fries then?”

  “That’ll work. I’ll have sweet tea.”

  “Okay, I’ll get some cheese biscuits out to you.”

  “Don’t suppose you get a break.”

  “Not right now, not while we’re this busy.”

  He peered out at the surf in the waning light. “I’ll be here for a while.”

  It seemed an odd statement for a guy who earlier in the week had told me that he was seeing girls. Seemed like there would be plenty available on a Saturday night, but it was a riddle I’d have to consider later. I couldn’t afford a distraction right then. I had customers who needed my attention and hot food waiting to be served. I returned to the kitchen.

  Jenny wiggled her brows at me. “Told you.”

  “Told her what?” Katie asked.

  “Hot dude at table sixteen.”

  “Oh, yeah, I noticed him,” Katie said, reaching for her latest order. “I’d give up my boyfriend in Colorado for him.”

  “Thought he was your true love.” I hooked Fletcher’s order on the pin and grabbed a basket of biscuits.

  “A girl can change her mind.”

  “Not when it comes to true love,” I said.

  “So did you catch his name?” Jenny asked.

  I winked at her. “Fletcher.” Then I headed out to deliver his biscuits.

  I felt badly that he was eating alone, wished that I could have joined him. I always won
dered about the stories that revolved around the diners who came alone: were they widows, still hurting from a recent breakup; loners, seeking solitude? Were they bothered to be sitting at a table with no one to talk with? Some brought books. Some punched away at their tablets. Some gazed out on the surf.

  Fletcher just watched me. Every now and then I’d look over at him, and he’d meet my gaze, maybe give me a nod. I wasn’t self-conscious about him observing me. I figured he’d get bored after a while and leave.

  The crowd began to thin out around ten. We were open until midnight, but we would begin closing sections off so we could start all the prep needed to close up for the night. I grabbed a slice of key lime pie from the fridge, walked out into the dining area, and set it in front of Fletcher. “On the house.”

  He arched a brow. “Really?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, on me. It’s one of the perks. Unlimited pie so I can give you one, no problem. Want some coffee or something else?”

  “This is great.”

  “And your tab is on me, too. Well, not really on me. I’m not going to actually pay for it, but I get some free meals so I’m crediting one to you. Whenever you’re ready to leave, you can just go.”

  “I’ll stay until you close.”

  I shifted my stance. “It’ll take us about an hour to clean up after we lock up.”

  “I’ll sit out on the deck and wait. Since I’m here, I might as well follow you home.”

  “Did something happen?” I asked. “You know with your dad or work or—”

  “Nope.”

  Okay, so he was going to be his usual communicative self. With a smile, I told him I’d see him later. Then I went back to serving my few remaining tables and doing what I could to finish up early.

  I was wiping down a table when Marc came over to help me. “Looks like the kiss got his attention,” he said with satisfaction in his voice.

  I slammed my eyes closed. “I’m so sorry for using you like that.”

  “As far as ways to get used, that ranks near the top of my favorites list.”

  I laughed. I wished I could be crazy about him. He was a nice guy.

  “I don’t know about it getting his attention, though. I’m pretty sure he’s here as a friend,” I said.