Cheyenne’s frown morphed into a small smile. She gestured with two fingers next to her eyes, and then aimed those fingers at Alex. “I’m watching you.” She walked away.
Alejandro stood up, all six-feet-two inches of him and leaned down toward me. “I won our bet. I claim my prize. Which is a kiss,” he said.
And that’s when he finally kissed me. Sweetly. Slowly. Surely.
On the top of my head.
A few folks applauded, but more then a few groaned.
“Pathetic,” Tyler said. “You change your mind, Sophie, and decide you want another Driver, or a better kisser, do consider me.” He winked.
“Shut up, Tyler,” Nathan said.
Alejandro leaned down and whispered into my ear, “And now, Bonita, I’m driving you home.”
* * *
This time Alejandro’s Jeep’s engine didn’t rumble at the curb. This time the Jeep was parked and he walked me to my door.
“Thanks for everything. Again.” I stuck my keys in the door. My hand trembled just a little. Hopefully he wouldn’t see that. I heard Napoleon’s meows coming from inside my place. “The new kitten calls. Need to give Napoleon food and attention. You were right about calming the crowd down. You seem to be right about almost everything.”
He put his hand on top of my hand that was on the doorknob. “I should probably come inside and help you with stuff.”
“You helped me a lot already. With the exception of my family and my best friend, you’ve helped me more than almost anyone else I know.”
“Go out with me, for real,” he said. “Not a yoga class or a walk on fire event, or a palm reading.”
I really wanted to say, yes. But, this would take us to a different place.
“We are so perfect right now,” I said. “I don’t want to screw up our relationship. I don’t want—”
He pulled me toward him and kissed me. One hand cradled the back of my head. He ran his fingers through my hair with his other hand. His lips were full and insistent. His tongue slipped inside my mouth like it was meant to be there. Tempting me. Claiming me. He tasted sweet.
And suddenly I felt like I was falling all over again. I leaned back against my front door as his lips moved from my mouth, trailing kisses down my face, down my neck.
“Sophie,” he breathed in my name. Then kissed me hard on the lips, his tongue exploring my mouth. One strong arm wrapped around my waist as he lifted me up a few inches off the ground toward him, my T-shirt scrunching up toward my breasts, my bared abdominal skin pressed tight against his thin T-shirt.
“Life is short, Sophie Marie Priebe. We are not perfect people. We don’t know how much time we will have together.”
He had no idea how scary prophetic he was being.
“But I will guarantee you this. We have something far more special than the majority of people. Consider this to be your official invitation—” His warm breath and the pressure of his full lips brought a flush to my skin. His hand traced down my neck toward the top of my T-shirt. He pulled the neckline back as he kissed my shoulder.
Shivers raced up and down my arms. “This is me. Officially asking you, Sophie, to, please, go out with me.” He tucked strands of my hair behind my ear. Kissed my ear. Kissed my hair. Kissed my shoulder.
“Yes, Alejandro. Yes, I will go out with you.” I tried to find my footing. Which was a little hard to do when he was still holding me six inches above the ground.
Gidget barked and I heard a kitchen window slam shut, muffling her yips.
“Voyeurs,” I said to Alejandro as his lips brushed mine.
He frowned. And slowly let me slide down his body. His gorgeous face. His dimpled chin. I closed my eyes because I just wanted to feel him: His muscular solid chest. His tight abs. His hardness. When my feet hit the ground, he backed away from me.
I swayed for a moment and wanted to say, “Fuck you, caution. Screw you, MS! You can’t own me. This is my time!”
“Gimme Shelter” blared from Alex’s phone. I opened my eyes and reached for him, but he was standing a couple feet away from me the sidewalk. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Someone needs a Driver. I can’t believe it. Not tonight.” He stared at his phone.
“You’re leaving?”
“Sorry, Bonita. It’s important. I made a promise. I’ve gotta go.” He jogged toward his Jeep.
“Okay,” I said as my knees felt weak and I leaned against my door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He got into his Jeep and drove away.
* * *
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” The most commonly used words that meant, “Have a nice life. Because, there’s a good chance I’ll never see you again.”
I fed Napoleon and watched him devour his fancy wet cat food on a plate on the floor of my kitchen. I wiped tears away as I played with him. Dangled the string. Rubbed his fuzzy belly. Tore the cellophane off the cat scratcher pad and sprinkled a little nip on it. Watched him as he inhaled and scratched the cardboard pad with his front paws like he was the first fireman on the scene of a five-alarm fire. “You have nothing to worry about anymore you adorable opportunist.”
I sat down cross-legged on the living room floor, pulled him onto my lap, held him up to my face and cuddled him. He meowed. “You have landed in cush-land, buddy. Where everything will be good. And you will be loved and fed and comforted. And no one will kiss you then leave you.” And I thought about Alejandro. Our one magical kiss. I had let my guard down. Maybe this wasn’t such a good thing. I felt pretty awful right now.
Napoleon squirmed and meowed loudly, mouth wide open.
“What? More food? More attention? More nip? You are too…” the room suddenly went gray for a heartbeat. Then black. Then nothing.
* * *
I woke up to squeaky meows. My eyes fluttered open. I was lying on my side with a black kitten standing on top of my chest, staring into my face. I was collapsed on the living room floor. I felt like I’d just been through my own personal earthquake. What I’d actually just been through was another MS related seizure.
Dammit.
It was a gran mal, not a petit mal. The petit were the “pretty” types of seizures, where one would just stare off into space and forget where they were for a few seconds. Yes, they were still dangerous. But I’d just had the kind where you’d blank as your muscles spasmed uncontrollably, twitching, flailing. The kind where you could hit your head and die or cause an accident, which is why I didn’t drive.
Which is also why I didn’t date.
But why now? Nothing like this had happened in at least six months. Well before I landed in L.A. Were the stem cells turning dangerous? Was it my MS? Was it bad pixie dust raining down on me for whatever rotten karma from a past life I needed to burn?
I was already scheduled for an MRI at the hospital later tomorrow. I was not going to the ER. I didn’t want to call anyone to stay with me, including Alejandro. I decided to spend the rest of the night on my living room floor. It was low and safe. No place to fall. I grabbed some pillows and a blanket from the couch and settled in. I wondered if I’d have another seizure. Replayed how Alejandro’s lips felt on mine. How he tasted. Remembered how my heart felt like it was opening.
And felt it slowly tighten back up.
* * *
I told the doctors at the study about my seizure. So today’s MRI was a close up of my brain. I ignored the machine-gunfire-in-the-middle-of-a-thunderstorm noises as I lay in the imaging tube for forty-five minutes. I ignored the cage over my head that made feel like I was Hannibal Lecter behind his mask. I ignored the ache in my heart.
I exited the tiny room where I’d been examined, walked into the hallway and practically tripped over a wheelchair and the girl in it.
“Hey, Cheesehead,” Blue said. “Keep your eyes on the road.” She wheeled down the corridor.
“Sorry!” I said. “How are you doing?” I followed her.
She shrugged. “Do you know anyone in a wheelchair?”
&
nbsp; Nana had been in a chair for about five years now. I had watched as she deteriorated from walking with a cane, to using a walker and then the chair.
And now she was in Assisted Living. I nodded. “My grandmother. It’s not easy.”
“No. It’s not.” Blue’s eyes narrowed as she swiveled and eyed me. “You don’t look all that perky today.”
Seizure last night. Brain MRI today. Throbbing headache from deafening MRI. No phone call or text or email from Alex so far. “Far from perky, Detective Blue.”
“Hah! Are you headed out of here?”
“That would be a thank God, yes.”
“Got plans?”
“Other than tattooing an L on my forehead? Nope,” I said.
“Lithuanian?” She wheeled down the hallway. “Lutheran? Lesbian? Longshoreman?”
“Loser.” I trailed behind her.
“Someone’s feeling sorry for herself.” She stopped in front of the elevator and punched the button. The doors opened in seconds. She rolled into the elevator but stopped midway and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’ve got a solution for you. It’s temporary, but so is everything in life.”
The doors started to close on her chair. I panicked and waved my arm between them scared they would bounce off the sides of her chair. They slid back open.
“What’s a little jolt? It’s nothing.” She snapped her fingers. “Try to keep up with me, okay?”
Chapter Fifteen
About fifteen minutes and ten blocks later, I sat next to Blue at Star Hair and Nail Salon. The outside of the storefront looked about five thousand years old. The inside only dated back to the 1980’s.
Photos of fancy women with big Early Madonna hair hung on the walls. There were advertisements for eyelash extensions, waxing services, as well as acrylic nails that would last one whole month if you never touched anything with your hands. Like—anything.
Blue spread her fingers on a white folded towel on top of a manicure stand while a female nail-tech applied a clear basecoat to Blue’s nails. Her feet were bare and resting in a basin of warm water. Her pants were rolled up her thin, muscle-atrophied legs to her knees so they wouldn’t get wet.
I was at the mani-pedi station next to her in exactly the same layout, except I sat in a regular spindly chair. I wasn’t in a wheelchair—yet.
“So basically he’s driven you all over L.A. for weeks, flirting the entire time,” Blue said. “He finally made this big to-do at the Grill last night and G-rated kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“And then he kissed you again but for real. Like a PG-13 kiss? Or an R kiss?”
“PG-13.”
“Decent smoocher?” Blue asked.
I nodded. “Beyond.”
“But then he left?”
“Yes.” I squirmed as a man scrubbed my feet with a pumice stone. “Why is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“Beautification, darling. Beautification generally helps a girl feel better.”
“You are indeed a wise woman.”
Blue watched as her nail tech carefully applied bright blue polish to her fingernails. “Does he know you’re in the stem cell program?”
“No,” I said.
“Did you tell him you had something stem cell worthy?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t planning on letting him get too close—”
“I know his type. These guys set their sights on you and lock in like you’re the prize in a video game. I’m surprised he didn’t make some kind of a bet with you to win you over.”
“Um…”
“I knew it! You come to L.A. for stem cell research, you hire a guy to drive you because you can’t drive, or you don’t want to. And you’re in the stem cell study because…” She peered at me. “You have an autoimmune disease. Something that makes driving difficult.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“Being that you’re not in a wheelchair, walking fine and just a little peaked, I’d say it’s in its early stages. You’re scared to drive, which is the original reason why you hired the hot guy.”
I inhaled deeply, reflexively, and my chest stretched.
Quite possibly another heart cracking open moment.
I exhaled. “I’ve got early onset Multiple Sclerosis.”
“MS. That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
Blue peered down at her feet as the nail tech expertly drew an elaborate flower on her big toe with nail polish. “So the guy you like.”
“I didn’t say I liked him.”
“Of course you like him or you wouldn’t be moping around imagining a capitalized L branded on your forehead. He hasn’t called, or texted, or emailed you yet today?”
I just dropped my biggest bomb on her. I had a freaking awful degenerative disease that left me with embarrassing symptoms that appeared out of nowhere. Yet, she was asking me about my love life.
I totally wanted this girl to be my friend.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t heard from him today.”
“You know what that means?” Blue asked.
I shuddered as my mind skipped over the dreaded possibilities. “Not really. Kind-of. Maybe. What do you think?”
“Means you need to get flowers on your big toes.”
“Um, why?” I gazed at my toenails: they were very pink.
“Because a flower on your freshly pedicured feet signifies you are alive, playful and super girly. Painting flowers on your big toes mean you embrace life and love and you are totally cool with whatever happens because of that.”
I stared at the flowers that the nail tech was perfecting on Blue’s feet. Her toes couldn’t even move on their own and yet they sported splendiferous flowers.
“You want flower?” my opportunistic nail tech asked. “Only five dollar. Five dollar extra for flowers on big toes. Very pretty.”
“Yes,” I said. “I want flowers, please. Daisies on my big toes.” I smiled and looked at Blue. Who watched the nail tech gently place her feet back on the foot pads attached to her wheelchair. My smile evaporated. “What stem cell study are you in?”
“Spinal cord injury. Paraplegic, obviously.”
“What happened? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”
“Riding accident,” Blue said. “I was jumping a thoroughbred that I’d never ridden before. He was big and beautiful and I’d seen him with other riders. Watching people ride him was like watching a painting come to life. I wanted to be part of that. Feel it. Be in it. At first everything seemed fine. We were walking. Then trotting. I encouraged him to step up the pace. He moved from a smooth canter to stopping on a dime. I wasn’t expecting it. My foot twisted and I lost my grip on the reins.”
She re-lived the moment on her face. It morphed from excitement dancing in her eyes to apprehension, followed by terror.
“I flew through the air and the next thing I knew I landed hard and twisted on the ground. Blacked out. Came to in ICU. Couldn’t move my legs.” She blinked and her face registered shock.
“Oh, Jesus. When?” I asked.
“Nine months ago. My parents and my doctor lobbied their insurance program and got me into the USCLA program. Apparently the stem cells work better for cord damage if you haven’t been injured for all that long. Although I know other people who’ve been paralyzed for years and they’re still trying it.”
“How do you even deal with it? Are you pissed?”
“Of course I’m pissed. I’m also sad and freaked and worried and scared that people won’t want to be with me because of this stupid chair. That people won’t love me because they’ll think I won’t fit in. My parents make me see a therapist to vent my feelings.”
I nodded. My mom made me go to a therapist after my MS diagnosis.
“On the flip side? I get to do a lot of fun things they wouldn’t let me do before the accident,” Blue said. “Parental guilt totally works in the favor of teenage accident victims. One of the few majorly awesome perks. You should make note
of that. It would probably work for teens with shitty degenerative diseases too.”
I nodded and thought of Mom who didn’t want me to be out here. But yet, here I was. Perk noted.
“I can’t be pissed at the horse,” Blue said. “He’s just a horse. It’s still somewhat confusing that one day I was moving at the speed of light and the day after? I was dreaming of baby steps.”
I nodded. “We need to toast to baby steps.”
Blue held up an imaginary glass toward me. “Here, here.”
I clinked her imaginary glass with mine. And I wondered, Maybe I should confide in her? Maybe it would be okay to tell her the real reason I was here. All the healers. All of my baby steps.
My phone buzzed and my eyes widened.
Blue said, “I don’t care if it’s him. Don’t ruin your manicure.”
I plucked it gingerly out of my purse. By the time I finagled the phone the message had already gone to voicemail. I jumped when I saw Alex’s number.
Blue cast a knowing look at me. “It’s your guy, right?”
I nodded.
She pointed to her feet. “Witness the flower power.”
I clicked the button on my phone and listened.
“Sophie. I’m so sorry I took off like that. I apologize. Like one hundred percent, get down on my knees—again—and apologize. I have a good reason. You must forgive me! My folks are having a last-minute BBQ tonight. I really want you to come. Hang out, it’s casual, have some great food. But I promised my mom I’d stay home and help her get ready. So it’s going to be tough to pick you up. But it’s close to your apartment. Maybe you could talk Cole into driving you here. He’s welcome as well. But not Gidget. My mom has her own version of Gidget. We’re at 212 Copa de Oro in Bel Air, about a quarter mile from the gates. Let me know that you can make it? Thinking of you. Dreaming of you. Alejandro.”
I clicked off. “Want to go to a BBQ tonight at his family’s house?”
The Story of You and Me Page 13
