OPEN YOUR HEART: Material Girls 1

by Henry, Sophia

  “Oh, I know. The big MD.” His fingers dance across the skin under my arm and crawl up. I curl into him and laugh at the sensation. “You’re ticklish, doctor? I would’ve thought you’d have tools to combat that.”

  “Oh, I do.” I push myself up and out from under his arm, kneel over him, and attack his sides. He immediately brings his knees up to his chest to prevent me from getting to sensitive places, but I don’t let up. “Tickle wars are known to combat situational depression after a one-night stand.”

  “Is there medical evidence supporting that claim?” Austin teases between laughing. “Can you point me to a journal article?”

  “I’ll write it,” I tell him, finally halting the attack.

  “I love your passion for life.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m completely taken aback. I’m hovering over the lowest point in my life right now. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to break down every day, wondering when the bottom will finally drop out.

  “Your smile. Your energy. The way you dance. The way you fuck. I can tell you put everything you have into everything you do. I could see your light the first time I saw you. Your heart is even more beautiful than your face.”

  “I think that’s a compliment.”

  “It is. I totally want to lick your heart.”

  “You’re very strange.”

  “Thank you.”

  I laugh. “You can lick other things.”

  “What kind of things can I lick?” He lifts his hand to my face and caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I need you to tell me. Out loud.” He bites his bottom lip as he traces mine with his thumb.

  The mirror effect. Those penetrating eyes. My heart hammers against my chest. Lust floods my core. It feels like he’s about to pounce on me in five, four, three, two…

  “My eyeball,” I deadpan. Now is not the time to get all hot and heavy again. I really do have to get home and get ready for work.

  “Who’s the strange one now, Liz?”

  “As my sister would say, I’m just trying to vibe on your level.”

  Austin laughs. “I don’t even know your other sister, but I can tell that’s an EmVee line.”

  “Yup.”

  Talking and laughing with Austin is so easy. The flow is there. I can say what I feel openly and honestly without having to think about forming the correct answers because I know he’s not waiting to challenge me or pounce on something he can use as a weakness. I haven’t had a conversation like this with a man. At least not in a relationship or with most of my colleagues.

  If I really think about it, the only men I’ve spoken with, who didn’t challenge me, were people who worked for our family. Erik, our landscaper, doesn’t challenge me. He’s a pretty chill guy. Then again, he’s being paid by my parents, and the client is always right, so why would he challenge the people who help keep his business running?

  Light rain pelts the window next to Austin’s bed, reminding me again that I need to leave, even though I don’t want to. “I should call my cab.”

  “I can give you a ride home.”

  The thought of getting back on Austin’s motorcycle terrifies me. Not only because I’m scared of motorcycles, but also because it’s raining and I’ve been extremely anxious about driving in the rain since my accident. It’s a fear I need to let go of, but I haven’t quite gotten there yet.

  “I have a truck,” Austin says, as if he can feel my apprehension. “I wouldn’t ruin your sex hair by taking you home on my bike in the rain.”

  “What?” My hand flies to the back of my head, where the thick locks seem to be only slightly matted. Still, not being presentable in the presence of others isn’t an option. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course.” Austin sits up, folds his pillow in half, then lays back down. “Wanna use my toothbrush, too?”

  “Oh gosh, no! That’s absolutely disgusting.”

  “I know. I’m so glad you didn’t say yes.”

  “Has anyone ever said yes?”

  “Yes.”

  I groan and roll off the bed. “I can’t hear this right now.”

  “I didn’t let him!” Austin calls behind me.

  Without turning around, I slip out the door and tiptoe to the shared bathroom at the end of the hall. Doesn’t seem like anyone else is up, but I don’t want to take any chances. Especially after the reaction Austin got bringing me home last night. It was apparent that his friends did not approve of his choice. All that pounding on the door last night was an over-the-top way to let me know that I was not welcome. Which is fitting, I suppose, since my family and friends wouldn’t approve of him either.

  Everyone has their prejudices. It’s not a one-way street. The animosity between classes runs both ways.

  It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable to know that his friends hate me already.

  Sure, I grew up wealthy, but I work with people from all walks of life. And I perform surgery on everyone. I don’t discriminate.

  Why am I even contemplating this? I’m going to walk out the door and never see this guy again—unless I go to another show. I’d definitely see them play again. Not only because I’d love to see Austin transform into that mesmerizing creature onstage, but also because I really felt the music.

  Boys’ bathrooms are gross in general, but I’m pretty sure Austin’s could win some kind of award. I hover as I use the toilet, because I honestly don’t want to touch the seat. Hair of all types and lengths surround my feet. Cut facial hair sticking to dried up toothpaste clumps sit in the sink. I don’t even feel clean after washing my hands.

  When I return, Austin opens one eye. “Why are we up this early again?”

  “I have to be at the hospital by eight,” I say as I grab my dress off the dresser. I don’t even know how it got there. I’m pretty sure I threw it on the floor when I whipped it off. Maybe he moved it when he got up to use the bathroom. Which is sweet.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t perform surgery right now?” He leans over, grabs his black boxer briefs off the floor, then sits up. “The accident…your hand?”

  “I can’t, but I’m still responsible for all sorts of other procedures. I still make rounds and take care of critically ill patients. Operating is only one aspect of the job.”

  “Well, that’s good, right? You’re not completely out of the game.”

  I think about it for a moment. He’s right. I am still in the game. I may not be able to operate, but everything I’ve learned up to this point can be used in treating patients and giving them the highest level of care.

  “I like that way of thinking. I am still in the game. If I weren’t, I’d be swept away quicker than all the hair on your bathroom floor.”

  “We’re gross. I know.” He stands up and pulls up his underwear, covering his perfect ass.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not trying to be judgy, but—how hard is it to sweep?”

  “It’s not!” Austin says. “It started as an experiment. I stopped cleaning, because I was the only one who did anything. That room is what happens when you wait for two other dudes to clean.”

  “I see how well that’s working out for you guys.”

  “Uggh! I know!” He stands up. “Next time you come over you’ll be able to eat on that floor.”

  Next time I come over? Does that mean he wants a next time? Or is it a line that accidentally slipped out? Insecurity and confusion have my heart skipping and my thoughts jumbled.

  “Maybe you can eat me on that floor,” I say in a rush of words that come out completely wrong.

  Austin stares at me with wide eyes and a half-smile.

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  “That’s not what I meant. I was trying to say you can eat off that floor, not me. Geez. I—I’m so sorry.” The words rush out of my mouth without a pause.

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands, hoping that will make me invisible. The door is behind me. All I have to do is turn around and run
out. At least he’ll have a great story for how it all ended.

  Within a second, he’s in front of me, placing his hands over mine and moving them so he can see my face. “You are nothing like I expected you to be. So many surprises.”

  “Well, surgeon isn’t a personality type. We all have our own quirks.”

  He laughs. “You’re more than that. I haven’t met anyone like you, Liz.”

  “Good. I like being an—”

  Without letting me finish, Austin presses his lips on mine. He moves his hands to my hips and pulls me into him. I automatically grip his shoulders to stop my knees from buckling. Everything about him overwhelms me, yet calms me at the same time. His kiss is soft, yet aggressive. His body is rock-hard muscle, yet smooth and warm under my hands. He touches the parts of my heart no one has ever opened up before.

  “I really like doing that,” he says when he pulls away. His face is still so close, his lips brush mine as he speaks. “I really like everything about you, Liz.”

  “Even my awkwardness?” I ask, looking at him through thick lashes, clumped with last night’s mascara.

  “There’s nothing awkward about you.”

  My phone is already opened to an app that will find me a ride within minutes. I hold it up. “How about the fact that I’m about to call a ride and slip out of here at 5 a.m.?”

  “Well, that I actually expected. You probably don’t want to be seen with me.” He looks down, a rare flash of insecurity from a man who seems so self-assured.

  “Exact opposite, actually. I do want to be seen with you.” Austin lifts his eyes back to mine. “I want to parade you around the hospital and say, ‘look at this phenomenal guy who likes me!’”

  “You gonna make me wear a collar and leash?” Mischief flashes in his eyes and I wonder if that type of stuff is a kink for him. It’s not one I want to explore.

  “You’re not a pet. You’re completely different than the type of guy everyone expects me to be with.”

  He slides his hands through my hair and gazes into my eyes. A yellow ring circles his pupils, like a sunflower against the backdrop of a crystal-blue sky. “I want to be more than the bad boy you fuck to show people you aren’t what they think you are.”

  “Are you even a bad boy?” I ask, avoiding the other things his statement implies. That he wants to see me again. That this is more than a one-night stand. Despite the intense feelings, I’m not sure if I’m ready for more. While I have full confidence in my abilities to handle any situation that arises in the hospital, I don’t trust my ability to handle the personal drama of losing my career and dating Austin simultaneously.

  Neither is easy. Both have their own repercussions.

  He releases me and takes a step back. “I don’t think so, but you seem to think I am. Let me prove you wrong.”

  “Maybe some other time,” I say as I press the screen to request my ride. It’ll be here in two minutes. “I’ve gotta get downstairs.”

  “Can I call you?”

  “You don’t have my number.”

  Another step back. “Damn. That’s cold.”

  With my hand still on the doorknob, I turn around. “Thank you, Austin. You made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in months. I really appreciate that.”

  “Happy I could help,” he says, but he’s not looking at me. “You have my number. Call me if you want to hang.”

  His words bring an immediate smile to my face and butterflies to my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I felt true excitement about being with someone.

  There’s nothing wrong with stopping to enjoy the moment, but I can’t let it get to my head. Two very different worlds. Very different goals.

  He’s not what I need right now. Not when I need to refocus and refigure my entire future.

  5

  Austin

  “Why’d you bring the Becky home. You lose a bet?” Fozzie asks as I trudge down the stairs later that morning. I crashed so hard after Liz left, it’s almost as if spending the night with her was a dream.

  It seems really cliché to roll my eyes, but that’s exactly what I do as I pass by and head straight to the kitchen. I open the cabinet to grab a coffee cup. Empty. Of course it is. Every cup or glass we have is all on the counter or on the table, or scattered all over the house, because the guys had people over last night. I’d dragged Liz past them without stopping to respond to any questions or dickhead comments. But I knew I’d have to face it.

  My roommates are good guys, but they have annoyingly strong opinions of “Becky’s and Chad’s” which is what they call girls who only care about their appearance and keeping up with the latest trends and guys who are stereotypical frat-boy types. Otherwise known as basic people who look down on people who aren’t like them. Classism at its finest. But, as long as there are such huge gaps in wealth, there will always be the haves and the have-nots.

  When I was a kid, my mom made me watch some of the classic John Hughes films that she grew up on. I really connected with The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink. They’re different stories, but classism is the common link in those classic films from the 80’s, and is still relevant today.

  I feel like the place I work, The Usual Market, is the “poor kids” courtyard outside of the high school. But it’s not necessarily about finances. It’s about a different way of thinking and way of life. I hang out with a ton of creatives—artists, writers, musicians. Some of them have day jobs. Some of them make ends meet however they can. They don’t care about a big house or expensive cars. Not saying none of them dream of a time when they don’t live paycheck to paycheck, but they’d still keep the same mindset. Non-conformist.

  “You’re drooling,” I say, swiping my fingers at my mouth and my chin. “Take care of that.”

  “You never answered my question.”

  “I saw a girl at the show I wanted to fuck. I brought her home. We fucked.” My chest tightens, as if warning me that I shouldn’t be throwing shit like that into the universe when I know there’s much more to my connection with Liz.

  “Bull fucking shit.” He chuckles. “I’ve known you for seven years and you’ve never brought home a girl like that.”

  “A girl like what?”

  “Like she was spit out of a Brooks Brothers catalog.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean?” I ask with a laugh, forgetting to defend Liz for a second, because the random comment is funny as shit. But only partly true. Sure, Liz is perfectly put together, but that dress she had on last night was super sexy, light-years away from the bougie-casual Brooks Brothers attire.

  My mind flashes back to the very first thing she did on my bed—flip around so we could go down on each other simultaneously—and that solidifies the fact that she’s no model for an over-priced vanilla clothing line. She’s got a wild side. I just need to figure out how to get her to let it out more often.

  “She must’ve been good, bro, ’cuz you’re licking your fucking lips,” Fozzie says, his voice shaking me out of my memory. “Ahhh! I get it now!”

  “Huh?” I say wiping my mouth, unaware of my subconscious response. “Get what?”

  “This isn’t just random pussy. She must be your new muse.”

  “I wouldn’t say new.”

  “Old flame?”

  “She’s the girl from the accident.”

  “Wait? What?” Fozzie stops grinding his weed and leans closer to me.

  “Yeah. When I saw her in the crowd, she caught my eye, but not in the normal way. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place how. Then I saw her profile on IG and figured it out.”

  He swipes his hand across the table and sweeps the herb off the edge into the open palm of his other hand. “Fuuuuuuck! Does she know you wrote a song about her?”

  “No! You want me to creep her out?”

  “I can’t believe it. That’s random as fuck.”

  “Yeah, I know. And even more random—it’s EmVee’s sister.”

  “Oh. My. God. You’re in love
with like, the Queen of Beckys.”

  “I’m not in love.”

  It can’t be love—it’s just a crush and lust. A lusty crush and an intense connection that tricks my brain into feeling like love.

  Jesus.

  The only thing I can think about is the next time I can be with her—which we didn’t even discuss. I don’t even have her number, but I gave her mine. That means she has to make the next move. Unless I beg EmVee for her digits.

  When I look up, Fozzie’s staring at me. I fucking hate him.

  “It’s not love! It’s infatuation.” I lean back and stretch out, resting my feet on the coffee table.

  “You sound like a fucking girl.” He lifts his eyes quickly as he sprinkles weed onto rolling paper.

  “I refuse to accept your ignorant gender-stereotypical comment. Having feelings for someone doesn’t make me any less of a man.”

  “Oh my God. Get a grip.”

  “Did you know Liz was EmVee’s sister?”

  “Nope. I don’t know Em’s family.”

  Fozzie and EmVee have been friends for years, so I’m slightly surprised he doesn’t know her family. Then again, he’s got this way of never getting too close to people, yet knowing everything about them. He must be soaking up every piece of information people put into the world when he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

  “Did you know they’re rich?”

  “Yup.” He lifts the paper up, rolling it in his fingers expertly.

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “One, it’s never come up before. Two, it’s not my place to say anything.” Fozzie brings the joint to his mouth, licks the edge, then seals it. “And three, Em has been out of their house and off that money for years. So it’s not an issue.”

  I shrug. “It’s not an issue at all. I was just wondering.”

  “Have you heard from Nelson?” Fozzie changes the subject abruptly. Which isn’t even odd. He never talks about his relationship with Em. I don’t even know if I should call it a relationship. They’re more than friends, but not together as a couple.