Crazy Love

by Michelle Pace

  The mere thought of that nickname pummeled me. I shuddered, surprised by a wave of intense memories of my mom’s ex-boyfriend/my childhood monster. The hate in his voice…the foul stench of his whisky-laden breath…his unwelcome hands. My rational mind knew he was far back in my rearview mirror, but certain smells, sights, or even songs could reduce me to that awkward ‘tween he used to hurt in no time flat.

  The past threatened to tackle me, but I shook it off and forced my focus back onto Trip. Right then and there, I decided I wanted him to be my new escape. His soft smile felt gently seductive, and I was long overdue for some serious play. As he leaned on the table, I couldn’t resist a peek at his sculpted arms.

  “I’m doing alright. How’s that masterpiece coming along?” I’d run into him the week before at Jayse’s choir concert. Dale, Jayse’s boyfriend, had invited him. Apparently Trip was not only an enthusiastic supporter of the local art scene, he was also a big live music fan. That night, he’d told me he’d started a new project and having seen firsthand that he was an exceptional painter, curiosity was gnawing at me.

  “It’s desperately in need of a blonde muse. Know anyone who might pose for me?” he drawled, running a knuckle across his bottom lip in a way that made me envious of the knuckle. The color of his eyes reminded me of the water out at Tybee Island, and my dirty mind immediately imagined rolling around in the sand with him.

  I swallowed hard in an attempt to suppress the filthy smile threatening to surface on my face. Trip tilted his head ever so slightly, and his eyebrow twitched, a non-verbal acknowledgement that he saw my defenses crumbling.

  “Clothing optional, I assume?” I flipped my heavy hair over one shoulder as much to relieve my skyrocketing temperature as to flirt. Trip cracked a lopsided grin and pulled out a black cigarette with a gold filter. I hate smoking. Despise it. I silently added this to the KYPO list. I watched longingly as he placed the cigarette to his lips wondering how he made it look so hot.

  “Clothing is definitely not an option.” He smirked behind the cigarette.

  “You know they don’t allow smoking in here.” I murmured. He shrugged and flicked open his Zippo. Fittingly, it was adorned with Edvard Munch’s, The Scream.

  He cupped the flame, touching it to the tip of his cigarette. I watched as his gaze shifted above the flame to something or someone behind me. When I looked over my shoulder, I met the eyes of a man I’d never seen before.

  I immediately noticed this man’s uncanny resemblance to Trip. The devil on my shoulder shook her tassels exuberantly at the idea that they might be twins. Forcing my demon alter ego back into her cage, I took a long second look at the newcomer.

  Trip was slim and toned like a swimmer, but this new guy was bigger and broader through the upper body. He stood several inches taller than Trip, and had the same dark, nearly black hair. Unlike Trip, whose ivory skin gave him a vampiric quality, this man’s skin had a tanned healthy glow and he sported something somewhere between a beard and five o’clock shadow. His eyes were a vivid lavender-blue, bigger and more childlike than Trip’s. I would never have believed two sets of eyes that sexy could exist, but here before me stood living proof.

  “Sam.” A surprised smile transformed Trip, making him seem ten years younger. He strode to Sam and engaged him in one of those odd male hug/chest bump/ hand shake maneuvers that they must all teach each other in high school. Sam seemed to force a smile, but it was a gorgeous one that worked over my already fraying self-control.

  “How ya been, Trip?” Though his tone was pleasant, it seemed to me that Sam looked like he’d rather have been be just about anywhere else than engaging in this spontaneous reunion. KYPO.

  “Annie, this is my baby brother, Sam. Sam, this is Annabelle Clarke.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” I noticed his voice was deeper than Trip’s, as he leaned in and offered me his hand. I reciprocated, and he gently took my hand and shook it. I spotted a tiny butterfly bandage on his eyebrow, and wondered what he’d done to injure his handsome face. Trip’s brother seemed to search me, as if I was some sort of riddle and I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or uncomfortable. My skin felt sticky and flushed, and I realized it wasn’t just from the sultry weather. He held my hand and my gaze for a moment too long, and I felt my cheeks burn. Flustered, I pulled my eyes away from his as the smoke from Trip’s cigarette tickled my nose, reminding me of his presence. Trip exhaled through his nostrils and appeared completely unconcerned.

  “Sam’s at Harvard. He’s going to practice law. ” Trip informed me, carelessly flicking the ash of his cigarette onto the bricks at his feet.

  “Not anymore. I quit.” Sam shrugged. I noticed a petulant twinkle in his eye that made him look like a mischievous little boy. Though nothing in me approved of anyone quitting school for any reason ever, I found my lips struggle against a grin. Trip choked on his smoke and hacked a raspy cough.

  “What?” Trip exclaimed, clearly mortified. Having never seen him look anything but cool and casual, I blinked in alarm. Trip seemed positively horrified at his brother’s announcement. Sam simply appeared amused. “I thought you were just on a break.”

  “I suppose I am. A very long one.”

  “Well…Cosmo must be thrilled.” Trip managed to have the last word just as the manager of the Market Place sternly approached him. As if on cue, he stamped out his cigarette.

  “Annie’s gonna be a pharmacist. Aren’t ya, Angel?” Trip ignored the manager, who gave him the hairy eye and stomped away.

  I must have looked like I was watching a tennis match as I listened to the exchange between the Beaumont brothers. They had a dry, comedic timing, and the rhythm of their banter reminded me of an old black and white movie. I smiled, unsure which of them I should focus on. They were like a matching set of sexy salt and pepper shakers. “That’s the plan.”

  Sam’s eyebrows shot skyward, and he seemed to give me another once over. It was as if he just found out the stripper who was giving him a lap dance was a Rhodes Scholar.

  “Well, you don’t have to look so surprised!” I snapped. My tone sounded sassy, and I immediately wanted to take it back. I’ve always had a serious impulse-control problem when it to comes to my smart mouth. There are times when I can’t even speak for fear of what might slip from my lips. But I briskly shrugged off all regrets. Why the hell should this stranger’s opinion mean dick to me?

  To my surprise, Sam responded with a smile so broad I could see his inviting pink tongue. All sorts of dirty thoughts trampled the imaginary KYPO list I was preparing to compose. Sam’s eyes narrowed at me, and the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Sorry. It’s just…I’ve never had a pharmacist that looked like you.” His tone sounded completely earnest, and Trip snickered. Sam looked contrite in retrospect and turned red all the way to the tips of his ears.

  “Sammy-boy. Always suave with the ladies.” Trip murmured, picking up one of my framed rubbings. I noticed Sam’s eyes resting on my low neckline and crossed my arms over my chest. Surprised at his blatant admiration, I shot Trip a scandalized look. True to form, Trip did a double take at my scowl and actually had the balls to wink at me.

  “Wanna do lunch?” Trip seemed to direct the question to both of us.

  “I was thinking Vic’s sounded good,“ Sam responded nonchalantly as he slid his hands into his pockets. Trip shrugged, and I tried to hide my disappointment. Vic’s was pretty swanky, and though I had fantasized about the view, I’d never been able to justify such a splurge.

  “You two have fun with that. I have money to earn.” I took my seat and reached for my textbook. Both brothers looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head.

  Trip appeared thoughtful and returned his gaze to the rubbing he was holding. After he gave it a casual once over, he asked “How many of these do I have to buy so you can close the booth down and join us? My treat.”

  “For lunch?” I glanced down at my jeans and sneakers, then at Sam as if for con
firmation that his brother was serious. His face was as expressionless as a Vegas poker champ, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “You should take off the rest of the day.” Trip’s tone was forceful and firm. I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs, as if this sort of thing happens all the time. I skimmed over my inventory, calculating what I needed for grocery money through the end of the month. Then I promptly doubled it.

  “Fifteen.” I waited for him to balk at me.

  He didn’t even blink. “Can you deliver? I didn’t drive.”

  “Sure.” I fought to appear casual at the amount of money he just dropped so that I could eat with him. I filed away the backhanded invitation to his place while I stood and gathered my things. Both of the brothers pitched in to help me close up shop, stacking frames and assisting while I packed up. As I glanced up from my cash box, they both shot me hot matching bookend smiles that pushed me even further toward the edge of my nympho cliff. My fingers rapidly flew over the screen of my phone as I texted Jayse an S.O.S. My body’s lusty response to Sam gave me pause, and I was starting to have second thoughts about letting Trip out of the friend zone, since the slope seemed to be a wee bit more slippery than I remembered.

  Me: I need a chastity belt, STAT.

  Jayse’s response was swift and 100% in character.

  You just need to get laid, Miss Thang!

  After stuffing the trunk and nearly half of the back seat of my car with the frames, the three of us crossed the street and made our way to Vic’s. As we weaved through the crowded sidewalks, a startling feeling of foreboding crept over me. I assumed I was reacting to the weird vibes that the brothers were exuding. It was obvious listening to them attempt small talk that though Trip was ecstatic to see Sam, the brothers had issues. It wasn’t anything that either of them verbalized per se, but more what they didn’t say. Sam seemed to avoid all eye contact with Trip. Conversely, Trip seemed to be working extra hard to engage Sam in conversation. Sam’s answers were brusque, and the conversation seemed obnoxiously one sided. The whole scene was stupendously awkward for me, and it wasn’t long before I began to feel sorry for Trip.

  By the time we entered the restaurant, I was incredibly fidgety and edgy. I struggled to understand the sudden shift in my mood. Until that morning, I’d felt really relaxed with Trip and was on the brink of asking him out. But now, in the company of both Sam and Trip, I felt all twisty and confused. There was something about their body language that jostled my instincts like tiny rumblings that might barely register on the Richter scale. As I watched Sam’s poorly disguised apprehension as they walked side by side, I had a premonition that my appetite would be ruined long before the entrees came.

  As we entered Vic’s, a pretty brunette hostess glanced up from her schedule. Her metamorphosis from harsh and businesslike to dumbstruck when she saw my two companions was undeniably entertaining. She seemed especially flustered when her eyes rested on Trip. She pointedly turned away from him and zeroed in on Sam.

  “Sa….Mr. Beaumont. It’s been a while! Your usual table?” Her panicked eyes flit from Sam to Trip, and then back to her schedule. She pushed up her designer glasses and set her jaw, as if determined to get them seated before retreating to the ladies room to hide in a stall and cry.

  “We’ll take whatever works for you, Jen.” Sam dismissively looked away, running a hand over his stubble. Had it not been obvious that there was some sordid story behind the exchange, I would have jumped down his throat. Having busted my ass in the industry for years, his condescension to the girl instinctively made me want to slap him in the back of the head.

  “Right this way.” She nearly tripped over her own feet, but somehow pulled herself together and led us into the main dining room, seating us by the windows. Peering around at the clientele confirmed that I was indeed underdressed. I consoled myself with the fact that Trip and Sam were also in jeans. I picked up the menu and nearly choked on my water when I saw the prices, which were pretty steep for a student. Trip glanced up from his menu, his eyes soft like a caress from gentle fingertips.

  “It’s about time you let me take you out.” He smiled knowingly at me. Then he turned to Sam. “So what’s the story with the hostess, bro? Did ya love her and leave her?”

  Sam blinked blankly at Trip over his menu then narrowed his startling eyes. “Something like that.”

  “My brother is a bit of a ladies man, Annie. Consider yourself warned.” Trip shot me a good natured smile. I was having a hard time understanding Trip’s signals. Was this or was this not a date? Unsure how to respond to the loaded statement, I awkwardly shifted my gaze to the wall behind him, which consisted of floor to ceiling wine racks.

  I sure could use one of those bottles about now…

  I glanced at Sam, whose jaw clenched. His eye flicked to mine apologetically, and he quickly vanished behind his menu.

  “I saw Randall last week.” Trip continued after taking a sip of his water. “He says you got lazy up north and that he’s had to kick your ass a couple of times to properly motivate you.”

  Sam scoffed at the obvious bait tactic, but the corner of his mouth twitched despite his best efforts. He tossed down his menu and glanced at me. Trip snorted with a sly grin. Registering the confusion on my face, Sam sighed.

  “I box. Randall’s my trainer. And he loves to exaggerate. He got in a lucky shot, that’s all.” Sam blushed and seemed to have trouble maintaining eye contact with either of us. Boxing explained the bandage on his eyebrow. I tried not to fidget as I willed my face not to reflect my renewed interest in his muscular shoulders and arms.

  Finally, our waiter arrived. Sam wasted no time ordering a vodka tonic and I asked for a glass of chardonnay. Trip asked a couple of questions about appetizers, and then ordered the Oysters Rockefeller, fried green tomatoes and an iced tea.

  After the waiter vanished, Sam turned doubtful eyes at Trip. “Didn’t you mean to order a Long Island Iced Tea?”

  “You’re not the only quitter in this family, Sam.” Trip proudly pulled out his cigarettes and an emerald token, which he tossed to Sam. Sam caught it out of the air. I recognized it immediately, and my stomach sank to the floor. This new item instantly catapulted to number one on my KYPO list, and his club soda orders at the piano bar certainly made a lot more sense.

  “Three month sobriety chip.” Sam read emotionlessly as he flipped the medallion over. He wore no discernable expression. His apathy seemed cruel, and I felt like I was invading what should have been a private conversation.

  “Yep.” Trip’s earnest smile seemed wasted on Sam, but it tugged at my heartstrings.

  “90 days. Is this a joke?” When Sam finally looked Trip in the eye, it wasn’t pride or love I saw on his face, but outright disbelief. The way Trip’s eyes flickered with thinly disguised pain at Sam’s belligerent tone made me want to throw my drink in Sam’s face. Under the circumstances doing so seemed highly inappropriate.

  “Five months, actually. I got this one a while back.” Trip instantly recovered from Sam’s lack of enthusiasm. He was trying so hard to win Sam’s approval it made me feel sorry for him. Trip stood and began to pack his cigarettes. “I’ll be right back. I need a breath of fresh air.”

  Sam shook his head and huffed. I waited for Trip to be out of earshot before tossing down my menu.

  “Well, for someone who doesn’t say a whole lot, you sure choose your words for shit.” I snapped, and if I offended him, you’d never know if from the blank expression he wore.

  “Excuse me?” This wasn’t so much a question as a filler line that he seemed to deliver on autopilot.

  “That was mighty supportive of you, Bro.” I waved after Trip while glaring daggers at Sam. As I reached for the stem of my wineglass, the irony of my momentary need for liquid courage was not lost on me. Sam’s unapologetic nature annoyed me. He came off to me as the polar opposite of his brother: rude, antisocial, and judgmental.

  “It’s a bold-faced lie.” Sam shrugged casuall
y and took a long swallow of his drink. He set down his glass and folded his hands, fixing me with a look that dared me to challenge him. I frowned at him and shook my head.

  “What on earth makes you think that?”

  “I know Trip. He can’t go a day without a drink.”

  “Is that so? ‘Cause I’ve known him for months and I’ve never seen him drinking, let alone drunk.”

  His eyes narrowed and though he seemed to be staring at me, I was pretty sure he didn’t really see me. It was as if he were miles away.

  I pressed on. “What’s the deal with the two of you? It must be pretty bad if you can’t even pretend to be excited for him.”

  Sam leaned his elbows on the table. His perfectly etched jaw and raw energy was distracting, but the intensity of his stare almost made me flinch. “Listen carefully, Annabelle. Don’t be fooled by the act. Prince Charming is a toxic monster.”

  I can’t really say if it was the harsh cadence of his voice or the overwhelming sadness I saw brimming under the surface of his cool facade, but I swear he curdled my blood. I searched his features for signs of malice and found nothing. What I did find was that I felt uncomfortable with the way his eyes penetrated mine, and I turned away and took a sip of my wine.

  “Don’t you think he deserves a second chance?” I forced myself to look at him. I was so fascinated by his beautiful features that it stung when he threw his head back and chuckled at me in a conciliatory manner.

  “Do you think he deserves a seventh or eighth chance? Because if you plan to spend any amount of time with Trip, you’ll have to ask yourself that question…and soon.” He delivered this speech without emotion, as if he were stating that he took his coffee with cream and two sugars. He seemed practiced at the art of shutting down, stuffing his emotions in a trunk and locking them away for later examination. Unfortunately, I’d met his type many times before. Most friends and family of addicts wore a similar expression when their wounds were fresh. I was pretty sure I wore that exact expression when I was in a room with my mom. But Trip was nothing like my mom. I could feel it. Since Sam was a virtual stranger, I grasped for something insightful to say, but the usual platitudes seemed too cheesy to bother with.