Twisted In You_A Twisted Romance

by Rachel A. Marks

  As if I give a flying shit.

  Just seeing his stupid face, hearing his voice, I want to—

  “So,” Diego says, griping me a little tighter. “I’m going to steal Verity from you, is that all right?”

  Relief fills Max’s features. “Sure. Great to meet you.”

  And Diego is sweeping me into the den as I mumble under my breath mockingly, “Great to meet you.” And then I growl, “I should’ve kicked him in the nuts. I can’t believe you shook his hand. You may have the chlam now.”

  Diego sets me on the couch, laughing under his breath. “Clearly he’s not your favorite person.”

  I shake my head. “I’d have been happier seeing the Loch Ness monster.”

  “A lot of people would be happy to see that,” Diego says. “Several thousands would pay good money.”

  I glance up at him, irritated that he made a joke, but the look on his face is open and sweet. I smile in spite of myself. “Go to hell, idiot.”

  “Hey, I just saved your life.”

  “No, you saved his.”

  “You looked like you were about to claw his face off.” He sits beside me. “What the hell did he do?”

  I shake my head, definitely not wanting to talk about that nightmare from the past when my present is such a mess. Instead I hug the bottle of schnapps to my chest again. It feels a lot lighter. How much did I drink? “This is the worst party of all time. I need to get out of here.”

  Diego studies me, like he’s trying to figure me out.

  “But thanks for trying to help.” I lean over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. It becomes more of a nose touch, though, because my aim is bad, so I end up patting him on the chest. Well, hello, muscles.

  I pull away with a sigh, then stand and brush my dress off, ready to leave him alone. But he stands with me and holds out his elbow. “I’ll escort you home. Make sure you're safe from the ruffians. And that they’re safe from you.”

  I laugh and take his arm. “Yes, please, kind sir.” And we walk gracefully out the front door and into the night.

  Okay, so maybe I stumble a little. But Diego holds me up and I don’t even drop my drink.

  As we pass the cluster of willow trees in front of the house, I spot a familiar shape in the shadows, a casual cigarette between his lips. I’ll recognize that shape forever now—it’s ingrained in my memory, hunched over a woman who was begging for him to touch her.

  I squeeze closer to Diego as the memory of it all comes back to me, full throttle. And the sickest part is that I’m pissed off that a girl like that can find pleasure with a stranger and I can’t even find it with someone I thought I was starting to care about. It’s somehow unfair and I’m sure something’s wrong with my head for feeling sad that I’m not an easy mark. But I can’t help it.

  I’m disappointed that nothing like that has ever happened to me.

  FIVE

  I leave my car parked at the ‘rents house and Diego drives—I’m in no condition to operate heavy machinery.

  “Thanks,” I say, putting on my seatbelt.

  “You already thanked me six times, Verity. Let’s get you home.”

  “I don’t wanna go home.”

  He looks sideways at me as he pulls onto the main road. “Where do you want to go, then?”

  I shrug. “Just not home.” I look out the passenger window, watching the city lights. The night's events swirl around my head but one stands as representative of the rest. Showing me for who I am: an outsider, looking in. The embarrassing walk-in on Rocker Boy and my high school nemesis feels like a symbol for everything that’s wrong with my life.

  Because, apparently, I only meet life half way. I never feel that thing that all the songs are written about.

  “You know what’s really sad?” I say.

  Diego stops at a light and looks over at me. “What?”

  I shouldn’t say it out loud. I certainly shouldn’t be talking about it with my boss. But I need to get it off my chest and I’m kind of drunk. I also realize, he's the only one I feel like I can tell this to. I’m not going to pretend like it doesn’t eat me up anymore.

  “I’ve never had sex with a guy that actually liked it," I say. "Or that made me like it. Not one.”

  The light turns green and the car doesn’t move. I turn to look at him but he’s staring at me with this odd expression.

  I point at the road, not wanting to see that confounded look growing in his eyes. “The light’s green.”

  "I don’t care. There’s no one out here." He shifts to look more directly at me. "What's going on with you? Did something happen at the party?"

  Did something happen? What a question. I sigh and lean back against the headrest, my head spinning on the peppermint schnapps merry-go-round. “This is completely embarrassing. But what the hell—it can't get any worse. I walked in on a couple in the middle of . . . you know. And I’m just . . .” I turn my head and try to swallow the hurricane of emotions that wells up. “I’m unsatisfied. Nothing ever feels . . . right. Nothing ever feels real. I can’t seem to connect with the guys I date. Or my parents. My friends. I'm broken or something, Diego. What's wrong with me?”

  He squints at me. “What are you talking about? You're being ridiculous.”

  His words hurt but I raise the bottle of schnapps to him. “You’re right. I’m ridiculous to think I could pretend my life would eventually fix itself; that leaving my mother’s house would be the answer to all my problems. But it’s clear now, the trouble is me.”

  The light turns red but he speeds through the intersection and pulls off the road.

  I motion behind us as he puts the car in park. “That was red. You really need to work on your color recognition.”

  He turns the engine off, pulls the liquor bottle from my hand, and tosses it into the back seat.

  “Hey!” I pout at him.

  "You don't understand. The reason you’re ridiculous is because you think some boy like Phoenix will make you happy. You’re too young to understand how—”

  I wave in his face, stopping his words. “Oh, no you don’t, Old Man. You aren’t about to pull the age card on me like everyone else. Just because I’m young doesn’t make me dumb.”

  “I didn’t say you were dumb. I said you were being ridiculous. Stop trying to connect with loser assholes, Verity, thinking that'll solve all your problems, that they'll fulfill you, that you giving yourself to them will make you feel better. They don’t deserve you. Because the problem isn’t with you, it’s with them.”

  My schnapps brain tries to sort out his words. “So, I should be a lesbian, is that what you’re saying? What are you, a recruiter like my mother?” My words slur and I wonder if I should shut up.

  He frowns at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  I try to clarify, "Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean I want to be gay."

  He shakes his head. “You’re drunk.” He turns the key in the ignition, starting the car again. “Time to go home.”

  I don't like him when he's bossy. He's not the boss of me. Well, he is, but— “Are you sending me to my room, Grandpa?”

  “I’m doing just that.”

  “Am I gonna get a spanking too?” I'm not sure where that came from.

  His nostrils flare. “That may not be a bad idea.” His fingers grip the wheel but he doesn’t pull back onto the road.

  A giggle emerges as a rhyme slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. "A fuck that doesn’t suck would do it, I think." I giggle harder, hearing myself say it. "Maybe I should go back and ask the tattooed rocker guy. He seemed to know what he was doing; Lindsay was gasping like she was being smothered to death."

  Diego stares out the windshield at the city lights, his jaw working.

  My laughter fades as I study him, a very different emotion rising up. The way the streetlight casts gold into his chocolate hair, the shape of his shoulders in that sweater. He’s . . . captivating. His profile is steady, brow strong, cheekbone
s perfectly angled, and his skin is smooth and warm . . .

  I notice a small birthmark on his nape that I hadn’t seen before. I find myself wanting to touch it. To reach out and slide my finger down his tense neck muscles.

  His beauty is stunning. Inside and out. Like a dream just out of reach.

  I hear myself whispering, “Or maybe you should do the honors.” Oh my god, I am so drunk.

  He blinks and looks over at me, features tense. I want to swallow the words back but . . . they're real.

  Maybe my sudden urgency propels me. Or the alcohol. But I lean in, grab him by the front of his sweater. Pull him into me. And kiss him.

  Our lips smash together. And for a moment I tuck away the thought of why this is so very, very wrong, needing to feel what I've wanted to feel for three torturous years: Diego. Beautiful, lovely, Diego.

  Instead I feel his shock, his tense jaw, the small sound that comes from his throat, like an argument. The smell of him fills my head, clean cotton and aftershave and warmth, and the taste of him grips me, sugar and salt all at once.

  I press closer, unfazed by his surprise, and my fingers do what they’ve been itching to do for years—they slide into his thick curls, and I sigh with relief. Then I push further into the unknown, running my tongue along his bottom lip.

  He seems confused, lost. But, he doesn’t pull away. And hesitantly, magically, he gives in. His lips relax, opening, and my tongue meets his.

  A surge of heat washes through me as the warmth of his mouth fills mine.

  So soft, so mesmerizing, every nerve in my body tingles. My breath catches. My heart stops. And my groan of satisfaction fills the cab of the car as my insides melt and he returns the kiss, his hands moving to my neck. And I want more. I want all of it. I want him to hold me like this forever . . .

  Instead he cups my face in his hands and pulls back slowly. His eyes are wide. His breath quick.

  We stare at each other, both of us suddenly caught in a storm of confusion as we try to find air. It's impossible to form a coherent thought. My lips burn. My hands ache. I want to touch him again. Kiss him again. And again.

  I start to reach out.

  But he moves his palm to my shoulder, stopping me.

  “You definitely drank too much,” he mutters, clearly irritated.

  Oh God, he's mad? Shit, Verity. Wake the hell up. You just threw yourself at a gay man, you huge asshole.

  I lean back, giving him space, feeling guilt fall on me like a lead blanket. What did I just do? What Pandora’s Box did I just open? Every part of my body is buzzing. Every molecule I’m made of wants more.

  It's crazy. He's my boss. And it's obvious from that look on his face that I definitely crossed a line.

  I’ve reached a new, epic level of pathetic.

  I somehow manage to say, “I drank enough to know you’re way too sober.” I try not to die on the spot from the explosion of embarrassment filling my chest.

  “That kiss was about forty proof,” he says. “You taste like a drunk candy cane.”

  I release a surprised breath of laughter and slide my shoes off, attempting to look casual while my brain starts spinning with a million crazy thoughts; the need, the horror. Panic. It's horrible. I don't know how to process it all.

  This is Diego. I kissed Diego.

  I know how he tastes . . .

  God, shut up, brain.

  A tiny bit of relief fills me when he finally puts his hands on the steering wheel and pulls back out onto the road, taking us back into the city, to reality, where I can be my usual ridiculous, unlovable Verity again. To where I thought I knew the rules.

  WHEN WE PULL UP TO my apartment building Diego gets out to open the car door for me.

  “You’re such a gentleman.” My throat is so tight, I barely get the words out.

  He doesn’t respond. He hasn’t spoken a word the whole way here.

  I slip from the car, but I pause before I walk away. I can’t leave this mess between us.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage to whisper. I’m having a tough time looking at him now. I'm becoming way too sober for the moment and I’m not sure I can process what I just did. What was I thinking? “That was so dumb. Epic douchery. I am really sorry. I'm just . . . No, there's no excuse. I'm a huge mess.”

  He shakes his head. “It was a bad move, but I’m . . . flattered.” He looks away.

  “No, you’re not,” I say, a bit annoyed that he’s trying to cover his real feelings. “You’re totally pissed.”

  He smirks at the ground. And then he glances up, catching my gaze, saying, “I’m mildly confused.”

  I swallow the rock in my throat. “That’s better than pissed, I guess.”

  His eyes lighten a little and he gives me a tired smile. “Much.”

  “You’ll probably fire me now,” I say, choking a little. Hoping I’m wrong.

  His features turn serious as he studies my face. “I probably should.”

  My lungs stop working. I'm not sure how to reply to that.

  “But you’re not ready to fly from the nest just yet,” he says. He pauses, then he adds, “Hopefully you’ll find what you're searching for, Verity.”

  “I wish I knew what it was.”

  He watches me for a second, then says, “Well, I may be able to help.” He turns and starts to walk back to his car, then says over his shoulder. “I need one more piece for my show because the New York artist backed out. I think you should do it. Do you have time?”

  Tingles blossom in my skin and work their way to my toes. “Are you kidding me?”

  His laughter is soft, genuine, as opens the car door. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Hell, yes!” I suddenly feel loads better.

  “I’ll email you the trim size, you already know the theme. I'll be looking forward to seeing what you come up with.” He slides behind the wheel, then winks at me before putting the car in gear and driving away. And I'm left with a feeling I’m not really used to.

  Hope.

  SIX

  “I don’t get why she’s so keen on that scruffy criminal,” Jade says, watching the TV with a frown.

  Willow rolls her eyes and tosses a kernel of popcorn into her mouth. “Please, he’s totally hot. And the doctor is so dull—the man is about as thrilling as watching paint dry.”

  “The doctor is cute!” Jade turns and chucks an organic cheese puff at Willow in protest. “I love how he cares about the people. He’s a hero.”

  “He’s completely lame.” Willow sticks her tongue out at Jade and throws her own projectile of popcorn.

  “You two are hilarious.” I say. They never seem to tire of picking apart Lost reruns. “It’s only a TV show. One you’ve watched a gazillion and ten times, by the way.”

  “I just want to know what the black smoky monster is,” Willow says. “It’s completely random and it ate all my favorite people.”

  Jade shrugs like it should be obvious. “It only ate the people who finally crossed over to . . . wherever.”

  Willow and I look at her.

  “Okay, Obi Wan,” I say. “You’ve definitely thought about this.”

  Jade blushes. “What? I just watched the show!”

  “We know,” Willow and I say in unison. Jade is totally addicted to it. But it’s kinda cute when you know it’s because she’s trying to figure it all out due to her minor case of OCD.

  “Don’t forget, my sister’s coming to stay in a week or so,” Jade says, looking back to the TV.

  Willow and I glance at each other. Did Jade mention this before? I feel like I’d remember.

  “Is the visitor the Amber or the Ruby?” Willow asks.

  All of the kids in Jade’s family are named after gemstones; Emerald, Amber, Jade, Ruby, Jasper, and because they’d given up on the tradition the youngest boy became Josh. Jade’s mom said it was because they were all so precious, but it’s pretty well understood among the kids that it was actually because their mom was attempting to convince one of th
e saints to drop a fortune into her lap.

  “Emerald,” Jade says. She pauses the TV and turns to us. “But she’ll freak if you call her that. She’s Emma now. And remember, she’s not feeling good because of the chemo, so she’s supposed to be getting a break from our mom and all the chaos at the house with the other kids. I’ll set her up in my room and bunk up on the couch if she needs privacy, since she won’t be here long. And we’re going to leave her be. With no partying.” She eyes Willow.

  “I’ll be good,” Willow says, lifting her hands in surrender. “Promise.”

  I smirk at her. “You’re never good.”

  “It probably won’t matter anyway,” Willow says. “I’ll be jetting off for a RomWeek any day now. I think I have Rob on the hook for his parent’s vineyard.” Her brow moves up and down. “If I snag this one, you can use my room while I’m gone.”

  A RomWeek is what Willow calls one of her weekends away with whichever guy she’s currently pretending to be exclusive with. She’s constantly trying to work out picking up the dudes with the vacation houses, juggling them like client appointments. Because she loves to travel, not because she likes the men. She’s been to Vale, Tahoe, Big Basin, and even Paris. Each with a different guy. I don’t really know how she does it. I wouldn’t be able to keep track of all the boyfriends.

  We watch another episode of Lost, and Willow and I start a commentary on the changing hair styles through the seasons. People run through the jungle with lots of doom music and Jade falls asleep, curled up in the green chair. When Willow turns off the TV and stands to collect the snacks, I follow her into the kitchen.

  After that ridiculously stupid drunk-kiss with Diego I decided I need to do something about my lame ability to Human. So, I’ve kind of come up with this crazy (read: totally insane!) plan to fix my love life. Or the desperate lack of it. Because, I’m pretty sure this famine is the reason I jumped all over Diego like a starved harpy. But I may have had an epiphany while I’ve been chewing on that mess over the last few days.

  The thing is, I need to take more direct action. This moping around and lazily dating and hoping needs to end.