Colton: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 2 (The Wordsmith Chronicles)

by Christopher Harlan

  He’s gone now, but like with all people who screw us up when we’re kids, the damage he did lives on. For Michael the genes passed on—he loves the bottle a little too much, and it brought him all sorts of drama. Me? I can have a drink without getting totally blitzed, but it’s the anger. . .the anger lingers still, deep inside me, waiting to be let out.

  Maybe I should save some of this shit for my therapist. I hope she’s cool. I called her and made an appointment for this Friday. But there’s really only one person that I want to make plans with—a woman who I don’t have to see because of a judge’s orders. I decided to do Mike the favor he asked. As soon as I get back to my place I text Harley.

  Me: Hey. Are you ghosting me? Gray thinks you might be. I guess if you are, you won’t answer, so I suppose any response is a good one.

  I leave my phone on my coffee table and grab a cold water bottle from the fridge. Before I take a second sip I hear a vibration. I’m surprised by how excited the sound makes me. I take the steps towards the table quickly and unlock my screen.

  Harley: My house burned down and I have third degree burns all over my body. I may not live through the night.

  Me: What???

  Harley: You said any message would be a good one. I was just testing your theory.

  This girl is something different.

  Me: Jesus, don’t scare me like that. I was about to. . .

  Harley: What? You were about to???

  Me: Run out of here and come find you to make sure you were okay.

  Harley: I don’t think if I really had third degree burns all over my body you could help me much. But that’s really sweet. You were worried about me.

  Me: Of course I was.

  Harley: I hate texting. Just FYI.

  Me: I think you hate calling me back also. I really thought you were ghosting me.

  Harley: I’d never do that. Not to anyone. Especially not to you. I was working, I apologize.

  Me: Right. Working. I forget that people out there have real jobs. I’m sorry. It’s all good.

  Harley: So I really do hate texting.

  Me: You want me to call you?

  Harley: I don’t like the phone in general.

  Me: So, what then?

  Harley: Take me to dinner. Someplace nice. Someplace different.

  Challenge accepted!

  Me: How about Indian and Pakistani food?

  Harley: Sounds amazing.

  Me: When are you free? You wanna do Saturday? Or how about Friday after my. . .

  I stop myself, realizing that I haven’t gotten a chance to tell her about my therapy or anything that happened in court.

  Harley: After your what?

  Me: Nothing. I was going to say my meeting with the guys. Like 8?

  Harley: We can go out Friday at 8, but I want Indian food like in a few hours. It’s kind of your fault. You tricked my tongue into wanting some spice.

  Me: I can meet you there in two hours.

  Harley: That’s better. I’ll see you in two hours.

  I’m on my way, Harley.

  I’m coming to get you.

  7

  Colton

  Why am I nervous to see her?

  It’s weird.

  I don’t remember feeling this way about a girl since my first girlfriend in high school. Usually I’m a cool customer when it comes to women, but Harley’s different in every way. It’s like we’ve been mentally intimate with one another but not physically. I feel like I’ve known her forever, but it’s only been a few weeks. What I do know for sure is that there’s a spark between us that we both feel, and there’s a deep level of trust that comes from some of the things we shared with one another that day she bailed me out of jail. But we’ve never kissed. We’ve never been out on a date that we both called a date. And we sure as hell haven’t slept together. Right now I’m not worried about any of that. I’m not going to overthink this one, I’m going to just enjoy the moment and see where this all goes.

  Pakwan is an Indian & Pakistani restaurant that’s really well reviewed and popular. Besides seeing Harley, I’m excited to eat here. I’m really adventurous, and I love trying new things, especially food that I’ve never tried before. I don’t know why I haven’t taken the plunge into Indian food before—I guess I’m a bad Queens kid—but now is as good a time as any, and with the perfect girl at the table with me.

  She texts me that she’s already inside at the table as I circle the block trying to find a spot. As soon as I know she’s waiting, I bite the bullet and just valet my car. A few seconds later I’m inside, walking towards the table she’s sitting at. She rises to greet me and I almost can’t believe how beautiful she looks. When I look at her, I understand where all of those old expressions came from, even though I’d never say them to her. Things you hear in old movies like, she’s a vision. Those sound corny as hell outside of a movie script, but I have those thoughts when she looks at me. I have all sorts of thoughts when she looks at me.

  “You look. . .” I stop, not knowing what to say all of a sudden.

  “An author at a loss for words, huh? Ironic.”

  “I know, right? I’m sorry, but you kind of inspire that.”

  “I inspire you to be a bad writer? What a terrible thing to say.”

  As we sit down and the waitress brings us water, I study her face for a second to see if she’s joking or not. Harley has kind of an awkward conversational style. She’s hyper sarcastic, but she vacillates between that sarcasm and being really serious. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up, but I suspect that’s what she’s going for. Nothing wrong with that, I like a woman who can keep me on my toes. When I see the grin creep across her face I smile back.

  “Ok, you had me there for a minute,” I joke. “But you’re right. I should do better than that if I’m going to call myself a Wordsmith. What I was trying to say was that you look heartbreakingly beautiful.”

  “Well,” she answers. “That’s much better. And thank you. You look damn fine yourself.”

  “Stop lying. You don’t have to say that back to me to be polite.”

  “Colton, if there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I don’t do anything just to be polite. If I thought you were an ugly little troll who wrote terrible books I’d tell you. You’re the hottest guy in this room, and half the women who read your books want your dick.”

  I literally spit out my water. The people at the other table look over at me because I look like I’m choking, only I’m not. “Wow,” I say to her. “I’m not used to someone being so blunt.”

  “Hi, I’m Harley,” she jokes, sticking out her arm for a fake handshake. “I’m painfully honest. Nice to meet you. Aren’t you an author?”

  “Yes,” I joke back, keeping my sarcasm game strong. “I’m an author.”

  “Oh, cool,” she says, staying in character. “Might I have read any of your stuff?”

  “That depends,” I say. “On a scale of 1-10, 10 being right here, right now, and 1 being not at all, how badly do you want my dick?”

  This time it’s Harley who almost spits out her water. Almost. She’s a cool customer when it comes to shock value, I see, but I definitely got her a little.

  “That’s a loaded question, Colt, you sure you want me to answer it?”

  I don’t know why, but as we’re having this witty little banter I start to get rock hard. I can feel my cock starting to stiffen underneath the table. Thank God I’m sitting so no one can see, but the way we’re joking around about wanting my dick is making me want to bend her over this table.

  “I really, really do.”

  “I will,” she says. “But not now. We’ll see where the night takes us. Call me old fashioned, but I think taking a strong position on how badly I want your dick before we’ve even had appetizers is a little uncouth, don’t you think?”

  I start laughing. Not just a polite, forced giggle, but a full-out belly laugh. “I love your sense of humor.”

  She looks up at me w
hen I pay her that compliment, and for the first time I see surprise on her face. “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised, you’re hilarious, on top of being beautiful.”

  Without her even saying anything I can tell that I’ve finally paid her a compliment that she doesn’t get much. I’m sure she’s been called beautiful her entire life, but I don’t think she’s received too much praise for her quirky sense of humor. All I get is a smile, but I understand what that smile means. She quickly changes the subject. “Have you been here before? It’s really crowded.”

  “Nope, I’ve wanted to but haven’t had anyone to go with.”

  “You mean to tell me Mike and Grayson aren’t as adventurous as you when it comes to cuisines of the world? I don’t think I can read their books anymore.”

  “Hardly. They’re more meat-and-potatoes kind of dudes. They like their food simple and American. Me? I like to dabble.”

  “Well then help me dabble, I’m an Indian food virgin.”

  “Me, too!”

  “Oh, shit, I thought you had some experience. You mean to tell me that we’re both virgins doing it for the first time?”

  “I guess so,” I tell her.

  “Oh this is going to be terrible, then. I guess we just have to order everything. You down?”

  “I’m down. Let’s flag the waiter down before we get lost in the crowd.”

  I do the flagging and the ordering. Harley lets me take charge and I order a few things that look good to me. I know this is going to be spicy as hell, but I’ve never been afraid of a little heat. Something tells me that she feels the same way. After I order God-knows-what from this menu I get the question I’ve been waiting for since I walked in.

  “So tell me about what happened in court. And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you the other day, my phone died. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it really did. You can ask Ro and Everleigh. But I really want to know. I assume this isn’t a farewell dinner before you go upstate for 25 to life.”

  “I managed to dodge that bullet,” I tell her. “Using only my power of persuasion. I’m lying, I have no idea how I pulled that one off. I had a nice judge and I talked some bullshit until he took pity on me. But it’s not like I got off scott free.”

  “So what do you have to do? Pay a fine or something?”

  “I wish. I’d gladly write a check instead of what he gave me.”

  “Which you still haven’t told me yet. Come on, stop beating around the bush. What’s your penance?”

  Penance. That’s exactly what it feels like now that she says it. It doesn’t feel like a legal judgement, it feels like an absolution that was handed down from the bench. “I have to do some community service hours.”

  “Okay, that’s not so bad.”

  “I’m not there yet, the bad part’s coming.”

  “Oh.”

  “I have to do the community service and I have to go to a few months of court appointed therapy for my anger.”

  “Seriously? They can make you see a therapist?”

  “I guess. They can’t really make you do anything, but if I refuse he can send me to prison. And I’m not going back to anywhere like I was when you bailed me out.”

  “That place wasn’t even that bad,” she says.

  “Not that bad! You should have smelled it in there, Harley. Everyone in there smelled like some weird combination of body odor, piss, and cheap booze.”

  “Right, and that’s just a local jail. Imagine what people smell like in a prison upstate. There are levels to the game. You got off easy. And why is therapy so bad, anyhow?”

  She’s asking a rational question, but I don’t have a good answer. She’s right. Therapy isn’t really a punishment. Hell, some people go to therapy just to keep a level head on their shoulders. But I have this resistance to the whole idea. I think it goes back to my dad. I think a lot of the things wrong with me point back to him.

  “It’s not bad, I know that. It’s probably good. Maybe I’m just a little. . .”

  “Afraid?”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “Afraid of what I might find out about myself. I’m not used to pouring my heart out, especially to a stranger.”

  “You shouldn’t be afraid to be vulnerable, Colton. Why don’t you make an exercise out of it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a writer. Disassociate a little bit and pretend that you’re a character in one of your books—the brooding writer with the dark past.”

  “Sounds sexy.”

  “It is, trust me.” She stops dispensing advice to give me a look that’s unmistakeable, and then she goes right back to her advice. “But besides it being sexy, imagine that you need to write about him—this character. You need material. You need to be open and use this as an opportunity to grow and get better. Maybe thinking of it like that might help.”

  “That’s interesting.” It really is. I’d never think to make myself into a character so I could open up about my issues more, but Harley changes how I see the therapy almost instantly. Doing it might be another thing altogether, but at least I’ll try to have a more positive attitude going into it. The waiter brings our food and we start our South Asian adventure. The smells of this food are overwhelming, filling my nose with the flavors of far away places. As soon as the plate is in front of me, I inhale deeply and the steam carries with it hints of cardamom, chilis, turmeric, and a bunch of flavors that I can’t even identify. Food is a sensual experience, kind of like sex itself. The experience is better when all of the senses are stimulated. And right now everything on this date is stimulating to me.

  “Holy shitballs, this is hot!”

  Harley’s eyes are watering, and there are small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She starts fanning her hand at her mouth as she takes another fork full of her food, and she starts laughing simultaneously.

  “You’re crying,” I say, pointing at her and laughing.

  “I know. It’s fucking hot. But it might be the best food I’ve had, like ever.”

  “I wanted to ask you something.” I blurt this out without any context at all. There is something I’ve been wanting to ask her since that day at the diner. I think now’s my chance.

  “What is it?” She swallows the mouthful she was working on, and looks like she just finished the last leg of the New York City Marathon. She’s panting, drinking water like it’s her job, and still finishing what’s left in her mouth.

  “Are you okay? Jesus.”

  “I’m not sure,” she answers. “I might be dying. Not sure. Keep you posted. But ask me what you wanted to ask.”

  “Should I wait until the heat wears off?”

  “I think you might be waiting a while. Fuck, I think I bit right into one of those red chilis that are on the plate. They should come with a warning sign.”

  I flag the waiter over, who luckily is only two tables away. He smiles at me and then looks at Harley, concerned. I know what will fix this. I saw it on a travel cooking show. “The lady needs. . .”

  “One tall glass of milk, coming up, sir. I’ll be right back.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” I saw that there’s a special enzyme in milk that helps cut the heat of chilis. Harley’s chugging as much water as she can, but that’s not going to help her at all.

  “Milk?” she asks, still sweating. “Are you sure?”

  “Watch. Trust me.”

  The waiter is back within thirty seconds with a huge glass. He must have seen how much the heat was getting to her and made it his first priority to get back to us. He places it on the table and before his hand leaves the glass Harley grabs it and starts chugging. It’s kind of a funny thing to look at. I try not to laugh because I’m worried that if I do, I might catch that glass of milk in the face. After she chugs we sit in silence for a minute while she seems to recover from whatever she bit into a minute ago.

  “I’m better now. You’re a genius.”

  “I wish
that was true,” I say laughing. “I just heard it somewhere.”

  “Well then you’re good at remembering random stuff.”

  “That I am.”

  “So what’s going on? You wanted to ask me something?”

  This is the moment. I feel like I’m about to propose or something. My heart starts beating fast like what I’m about to ask her is any harder than asking her out. Here it goes.

  “I did,” I tell her, stalling for time in my own futile way. “I. . .I’d really like if you. . .” I stop myself. I don’t know why I’m stammering—like she said it’s ironic for me of all people to be at a loss for words, but I am. I take a deep breath to compose myself. “I was wondering if you’d like to help me at RAAC.”

  “Help you?”

  “Yeah,” I say, wondering if she understands what I’m asking. “At my table. At the Wordsmith table.”

  When I finish she smiles. I’m all ready to elaborate—to give a million details about exactly what I mean by help, but I can see from her smile that she understands every one without another word needing to be spoken. It’s a special kind of smile, and I take a mental picture so that I’ll remember it. She gets up from her seat and walks to my side of the table to wrap her arms around me so tightly that I can barely breathe.

  “Of course I will, Colton. I’d love to.”

  All I expect her to do is pull away and go back to her chair, but she only pulls away partially. She stops an inch from my face and looks me straight in the eye. All of a sudden all other stimuli isn’t perceptible, and I’m fixed on her. She leans in and kisses me, and I kiss her back. Before I even know it, the kiss is over and she’s back in her chair, facing me and still smiling.

  “I guess I should have asked you to to help me sooner, huh?”