by Shealy James
I glanced around the room and noticed people from the floor above us were leaning over the balcony, staring. It was time to end the charade. “Fine. Get up, loser.”
“Thank you.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and pulled out a pack of Chewy SweeTARTs.
I laughed as I caught them mid-air. “You thought I was going to say no, didn’t you?”
“No, but I never know for sure what you’re going to do.”
Aaannnd, I’m ignoring that. “Leave your shit. I’m hungry. You’re buying me dinner first.”
“Can’t we study back at the dorm? This place gives me the creeps.”
Sit on the bed and study with him like we did in high school? Nope. Not going to happen. We were returning to the safety of the library. “No.” He groaned like an overgrown toddler but set his stuff down like a good little boy.
On our third night in a row at the library, I was happily chewing on my candy when he threw the book across the table. “How am I supposed to read this crap?”
I swallowed the sweet and tart candy too soon, making my eyes water. After I choked down some water, I sputtered, “It’s the Canterbury Tales, Brock,” as if that explained how to read Middle English. “This part’s about a drunk guy. You should enjoy it.”
“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious.”
“I think so,” I agreed with a shrug.
His hands dove into his hair, showing me just how much his arm muscles had changed. When did his biceps become so…hot?
“It’s impossible,” he groaned, forcing me to stop staring at his arms and focus again on his distress. “Why do I need to know this?”
“Because your professor said so.” I slid the book on the table right in front of his face. He quickly adjusted his stance so he could see what I was about to show him. I didn’t notice right away that I kept my arm looped my arm around his or that I rested my chin on his muscular arm. It was natural to lean on him like he was an extension of me, and his larger-than-the-average-bear biceps made excellent pillows. “It was written in the 14th century. It’s cool that we even have access to it.” The disgruntled look on his face made me laugh. “Remember when Mrs. Waverly made us read Beowulf?”
“Yeah. They killed the monster and its mom, then they all got drunk.”
“That was in Old English, and you understood that.”
“I had a great study partner.” He looked down at me with a sweet smile. That was the moment I realized how close we were to kissing. Our noses were almost touching. We were both smiling. It was another picturesque moment that was just as fleeting as all the other good times we had shared.
“Brock?”
We both looked up to see a familiar face in front of us of whom I only had bad memories. Her presence had me quickly pulling away from Brock and regretting the tinge of hope I had felt moments before. Candace Wood stood tall, looking like she had just finished a photo shoot. Seriously, who wore high heels to the library?
“I thought that was you.”
“Candace? What are you doing here?”
“UCLA didn’t work out.” She waved it off as if it was unimportant, giving me the distinct impression it was a story I would very much like to hear.
“Oh,” Brock responded in a way that indicated he was interested in her sudden appearance. That was enough for me. I didn’t need to hear or see anymore. They could have a reunion fuck on the library table for all I cared. I just didn’t want to witness to it.
“All righty. I’m out. Good luck on your paper, Brock.”
“Where are you going?”
“Work.” Brock knew I didn’t have to be at my part time job at a local bookstore until much later, but he didn’t challenge me. I waited a moment more for him to say something. Instead his eyes flicked between mine, then looked away, so I grabbed my stuff and walked out…again.
From that point on, our little tutoring sessions were bland and straightforward. He noticed. I noticed. I think everyone in the library noticed.
During a discussion of The Odyssey, he turned to look me in the eyes. “Why have you been acting weird?”
“I’m not acting weird!” I had totally been acting weird.
He raised his eyebrows, giving me a challenging look. I frowned back at him, annoyed that he caught on to me pouting since Candace, the slut, made her reappearance.
“Fine. If you don’t want to admit it now, you don’t have to, but eventually you’ll tell me what’s up.”
“Whatever,” I muttered before turning back to my books.
“Reagan, I’ve spent more time with you than any other human being in the world, and you still can’t just say what’s on your mind.”
“Says he who can’t say the word ‘feelings’ without cringing.”
“Oh, I can say it. I feel very strongly that if you don’t just tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to throw you down on this table and tickle you until you pee all over yourself.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He moved closer, so close that the only thing I could see were his brown eyes. “I would, and you know it.”
“This isn’t high school anymore. People actually come to the library because they care about their school work.”
He laughed then, went quiet with a faraway look in his eyes. When that smile reserved only for memories with me covered his face, I knew he was remembering the time Mrs. Waverly caught us doing naughty things in the back of our high school library.
“Poor Mrs. Waverly.” He grinned, and I knew that any attempt he had made at talking about what was on my mind was gone. We were just Brock and Reagan again.
I laughed then agreed. “Poor Mrs. Waverly.”
That was the moment, the turning point. We started hanging out again like the old days. Neal seemed to be busy. Ivy was working in a lab. Candace was noticeably and thankfully absent. The partying seemed to take a backseat unless the four of us went out, but more often than not, Brock and I were together. At night we fell asleep together watching movies, and during the day we would study or run or whatever we wanted to do. The world was our oyster…until it wasn’t.
Neal started showing up more and more when Brock and I were together. Our bliss was first interrupted with the comment, “Why don’t you just fuck her?” Brock’s head snapped up, and his expression looked like he was going to climb over the table and choke Neal, but he did nothing. He didn’t say a word or make any violent threats. Honestly, I was hoping for the latter. I couldn’t say I didn’t consider punching him myself, but I was too busy feeling disappointed in Brock for not standing up for us.
Neal’s comments didn’t stop. It was either something crude or constant questions about how we could possibly be “just” friends. It was all very reminiscent of the way Ivy used to challenge me about Brock back in high school. Ivy used to at least ask questions in private. Now Neal had jumped on the bandwagon without any discretion, and I didn’t like it one bit. Brock eventually started to tell Neal to fuck off, but the more Neal showed up, the more Brock pulled away from me. It was the first time that had happened.
To make matters worse, I was a little hurt…okay, a lot hurt…that Brock’s partying picked up shortly after Neal’s comments started. I knew it was my fault. I pushed him away again, but did he have to take it out on every poor unsuspecting blonde girl on campus? It was made worse by the fact that he wanted me to meet all of his charming concubines. After the third time he introduced me as “the girl you’ve got to impress,” I was done.
Girl number three was a pretty blonde. She wore a lot of mascara and little clothing. I didn’t fault her for her choice in attire. She had a kickin’ body, so why not? She was tall enough to kiss him on the cheek without him having to bend over. Basically, she was the opposite of me. I had long, curly brown hair, only hit five and a half feet in heels, and didn’t feel the need to glam out to hang out at someone’s apartment and drink beer. Blondies one, two, and three were all glam girls. They were three more versions of Candace.
“This is my be
st friend and the girl you need to impress,” Brock told her. “She says no, then you’re a no go.”
She giggled and slapped his chest, probably thinking he was kidding. He sounded like he was joking, but his eyes told me he wasn’t. Part of me wondered if this was his way of challenging me. These girls were harmless. They weren’t what Brock would want in the long run. He knew it too. That’s why he picked them. The one thing I wasn’t sure about was whether or not he wanted me to say no to her. Was it wishful thinking that it appeared he wanted me to stop him? It had to be. Even though I felt him trying to silently communicate to me, for the first time ever, I couldn’t figure out what it was.
I went with not looking like the jealous harpy. “She’s pretty. Have fun, Brock.” I patted his shoulder as I walked by and didn’t look back. Ivy and I were at our dorm with ice cream and movies within twenty minutes. If you asked Ivy, she would say nothing Brock did affected me. We played “would you rather” until I distracted her with gummy bears and Richard Gere. I laughed and joked while we analyzed the merits of Pretty Woman as the premise for a reality TV show. Not even my own mother would have known that all I could think about was what Brock was doing with Blondie.
Brock showed up the next morning with orange juice and donut holes. He knew it was my favorite breakfast combination. As she headed out to class, Ivy gave me a look that indicated she figured more was going on the night before than I had let on. As soon as the door closed, Brock was climbing onto my bed and handing me chocolate donuts.
“What’s this for?” I asked with my mouth full and not even an ounce of regret at being so unladylike.
“Just wanted to hang out.” He shrugged and threw a blueberry donut hole into his mouth.
“How was your night last night?”
He turned his head to stare at me for a moment. I shoved another donut hole in my mouth and refused to acknowledge him. I didn’t want him to see the hurt that lingered underneath the surface. He must have anyway—and here I thought sugar made everything better. Silly me.
“You know she meant nothing, right?”
“Yeah…sure,” I replied brightly and hid the lie with more food. At this rate I was going to eat all of them by myself. “Nothing but a warm body, right?” I joked with a wink, trying too hard to joke. I felt like an ass.
Brock wasn’t in a playful mood this fine morning. “You can always say no if you don’t like a girl I meet.” Did he seriously want to talk about this?
“Pssh. It’s not like I had a chance to get to know her. You didn’t know her.”
“Yeah. I didn’t really need to know her.”
I waited for him to elaborate. Of course he didn’t. I guess I didn’t really want him to tell me more anyway. Seconds passed where I could practically hear him say the words that rested on the tip of his tongue, so I finally had to ask, “What do you mean?”
He swallowed some juice and stared into space. “We can’t always get what we want,” he muttered cryptically.
“Seems that way,” I agreed, feeling confused as to what we were really talking about and a little broken because he was oh-so-right.
Chapter Nine
Now
“Reagan. So not cool,” Damien called out as he and his girlfriend, Kira, plopped onto stools at the front desk of my store. It was almost closing time, almost time for Brock to meet me for dinner, and I was a nervous wreck. Damien and Kira were the perfect distraction.
Last year, when I first met Damien Rush, he hadn’t read a book since elementary school. Even then I was sure that the only books he had read were actually read aloud to him. Now he read anything and everything I could give him and his writing was inspiring in its own regard. This kid, who I met picking up trash outside my store as part of his community service, had not only come a long way, but he was insightful and creative. I enjoyed having him as my friend and reading buddy.
“For real, Reagan,” Kira agreed. “That is, like, the saddest book. Why in the world would you have us read that?”
“Did you take anything away from it?”
“You know we did.” Damien grinned and patted his well-loved copy of Tuesdays with Morrie.
“Then let’s discuss.”
By the time Brock arrived to pick me up, the three of us had tears in our eyes, even Damien. I loved these moments. A lot of high school kids hung out in my store. So many of them had never appreciated the love of a good book until someone showed them the one that hooked them. I enjoyed being the crazy bookstore lady that introduced them to a passion for reading. I was supposed to be closing up but allowed myself to enjoy the distraction only Damien and Kira provided. He took in the three of us, perplexed by the way we were wiping our eyes and laughing.
“Damien, Kira, this is an old friend, Brock.” They greeted him when he offered his hand to shake.
“You guys okay?” he asked us, and Kira explained about the book. When Brock saw the cover, he understood. I had once made him read it as well.
“Great book,” he commented, then remained quiet while Kira and Damien finished telling me their favorite quotes.
Once they had left us alone, Brock watched me close out the register and prepare the deposit before he said, “I never pictured you running your own business, but a bookstore suits you.”
I thought about all the trouble I had finding a career. Brock had always teased me about majoring in “reading,” but there was nothing else I wanted to do forever. It turned out there really were very few jobs for an English major. “It was Jordan’s idea. I guess you were right. There was really nothing out there for me. I couldn’t commit to anything.”
“Or anyone?” I would have thought it was an insult had it not been phrased like a question.
“Or anyone,” I confirmed quietly.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “Come on. Let’s feed you. You can even get dessert if you want.”
I gave him a look that said, “Are you crazy?” making him throw his head back and laugh out loud. “I see sugar is still your favorite.”
“The only reason I eat anything else is so I can have more sweets.”
His laughter didn’t fade as he followed me out of the store. I locked up, then turned to him. It was then that I noticed how nice he looked in black pants and a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Blue was a good color on him, and seeing him dressed like this made me realize he was a grown up now. When did we grow up? I still felt like a kid most of the time. I looked down at my casual tea dress and matching Converse shoes and squirmed a bit. I suddenly felt embarrassed by my immaturity.
“You okay?” he asked.
I ignored his question because I didn’t know the answer. “Where to?”
“There’s a place right down here that I heard is pretty good.” He pointed to Restaurant Guy’s place, and I frowned. I didn’t want to show up at Restaurant Guy’s with Brock. I didn’t want to go there with anyone. Restaurant Guy was still the highlight of my day. No need to ruin it.
“Or not,” Brock added when he saw my face. “You know this area better than I do.”
I smiled. “I have just the spot.”
I led him down the boardwalk past the parking lot to a place that I usually avoided. It was a family-owned joint decorated with antiques from all over the US. They served fresh seafood and the best crab soup I had ever tasted. It reminded me of this dive Brock and I used to go whenever we went to the beach for cheap seafood. He was the reason I never ate at the place, but since I would be sitting across the table from him, I figured no sense in skipping out on the delicious crab soup tonight. I’d had it once before and always wanted to come back for it, but the atmosphere brought back too many memories. I settled for avoiding the place instead. But since I was here…
“This looks just like—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “I figured you’d like it. The crab soup is the best in the world. Really. They should advertise it as such.”
He was awestruck taking everything in. “It’
s uncanny how similar it is. Are you sure it isn’t the same owners?”
A young girl seated us, then took our drink order before scurrying away.
“A guy named Darryl and his wife Barbara own this place. She reads erotic romances, and he likes to read books on how to fix things even though Barbara refuses to let him ‘handyman’ in her house. Her words.”
“You know these people?”
When the waitress returned with our drinks, she took our order for the soup and a platter Brock thought looked good for us to share. I didn’t mind him ordering for us. Even after all this time he still knew what I liked—but I couldn’t think about that right then.
“I know almost everyone who works around here. This is a pretty small town.”
“Yeah, I know. I like it. Good surf, nice people. I was lucky to find a job here.”
“How did you? Specifically, how did you end up working with Jordan?”
“Truth?”
I nodded. “It’s too much of a coincidence for you to simply land there, so yes, I would like the truth.”
“Okay, but you have to promise to stick around after I tell you, so we can have some of the world’s best soup.”
“Fine.”
“And you have to give me something in return.”
“What?”
“A truth of your own.”
I sunk back in my chair and asked, “What do you want to know?” I had an idea, but you never could never be sure with Brock.
“Just agree, then we’ll truth it up.”
The waitress delivered the soup and the platter all at the same time, and I took a moment to think while she set it in front on us. Did I want to know how he came to work with Jordan? Couldn’t I just ask Jordan? He hadn’t told me anything so far.
“No. Jordan won’t tell you.”
I glanced up with the question written on my face.
“I can read your mind. You’re trying to find a way out of the deal. It won’t work. Jordan won’t tell you anything.”
“How do you know?”
“He agreed not to. He wants you to talk to me just as much as I do.”
