by Hall, Marie
Alex is scanning the crowd, a second later a huge grin splits his face. I frown, he seems really excited. I don’t actually recall ever seeing him act like that about a woman.
He isn’t exactly a player, but he isn’t the domestic type either.
So I look around, following his gaze and it’s like someone just pulled the floor out from under me. A petite Hispanic woman is walking toward him with an equally large smile on her face.
Her hair is dark and silky, glinting under the dim red lights of the bar. It spills down her back in a graceful heap. Her body is toned and trim, legs a mile long and encased in a tight pair of red pants. A white top accentuates the bronze of her arms.
But her face is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Heart shaped, with a tiny cleft in the jaw, full lipped and a short button nose. She stops in front of us carrying the scent of flowers with her.
Which is amazing I can even smell that because the bar reeks of scotch and smoke and food.
Turning green eyes toward me, she smiles. “Hi, I’m Liliana.”
Chapter 4
Liliana
We slide into a corner booth. I’d gotten here thirty minutes earlier and was able to snag the choicest seats right next to the stage. My friends keep throwing looks at me, giving me the thumbs up sign as they walk by. They think this is a date.
It isn’t.
Still, I can’t help feeling a little frazzled when I’d laid eyes on Alex’s cousin.
Hot.
Not, like “oh he’s kinda cute”. But hot as in H.O.T. I want to strip off my clothes, and yours, lay you out and do things to you I haven’t done to anyone in years. The reaction had been so swift and violent it’d crippled me. So I’d mumbled a stupid hello and turned around before I could even give him a chance to respond.
But I can’t stop looking at him. Alex keeps smiling, rubbing his leg along mine good naturedly as we pack into the booth like a bunch of sardines. They have me in the middle. Which means I’m sitting tight to the cousin’s side.
What’s his name?
Why hasn’t Alex introduced him already?
“Looking good, Lili Bean,” Alex wiggles his brows, throwing an arm behind my shoulders.
I laugh, already feeling a million miles away from the stress and headache of home. “Does he always flirt like this?” I look at his cousin.
I don’t know why. Honestly, I’m not trying to be polite and include him in the conversation, I just really want to talk to him.
Something about him keeps nagging at the back of my mind, some familiarity, like I’ve seen him before.
His hair is short, but still long enough to see the wave in it. His jaw is razor sharp and square, a light dusting of stubble dots his cheeks. My heart is beating so fast it’s going to jump out of my throat soon.
It’s not so much what he’s wearing either. Just jeans and a white shirt, but the way the shirt clings to him... my stomach clenches. He’s way more muscular than Alex, definitely a weight lifter. Though he’s a little shorter. Which I kind of like. Alex is cute, but I don’t think I could ever date a guy almost two feet taller than me, I’d have to crawl up his body just to kiss him.
No, cousin is definitely more my speed.
Turning dark blue eyes on me, he shrugs only slightly. “I guess.”
Feeling like an idiot, recognizing immediately the signs that he wants to keep his distance, I give him a tight smile and shift in my seat. Enough to let him know I got the message.
Besides, I don’t flirt.
Right.
Not me.
Swallowing the thick knot in my throat I lift a hand.
Monique comes gliding up as if on cue. “Heya, chica.” Her dark mocha skin gleams like polished ebony. She likes to slather herself in cream and glitter before shift, her claim is it helps her get noticed and makes her more tips.
I haven’t been brave enough to try it, kind of always liking to blend into the background.
“What’ll you have? It’s Valentine’s Day. Gabe’s made NY strips and roasted fingerling potatoes,” she says.
“Mmm, sounds good.” My stomach grumbles at just the thought of Gabe’s food. Gabe is a master chef. Literally. He used to cook in some of the hippest steak houses in NY and San Francisco, but a born and bred Texan usually always wants to find their way home and he’d been no exception.
Alex nods. “Yeah. And whatever special’s on tap tonight.”
Monique smiles, giving Alex more than just a cursory glance, she’s mentally undressing him and why not, Alex isn’t hard on the eyes. Plus, he’s a helluva lot nicer than the wall of stone sitting beside me.
“What about you, sugar?” Monique drips southern saccharine sweet, laying it on so thick it’s almost embarrassing.
He never even looks up. “Screwdriver.”
Looking a little put out, Monique mouths at me ‘wow’ before saying out loud, “Sure, whatever you’d like.”
Feeling the need to apologize after that, I smile. “Who’s on tonight?”
“Asia.” Pursing her lips, she turns and heads back to the kitchen.
Alex has his eyes closed and is rubbing his forehead.
No wonder he hadn’t been looking forward to this night, not with the great big ball of happy sitting next to me killing the mood.
I rub his arm and smile when he looks at me. “Asia’s really good. You’ll like her.”
Alex nods. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he understands I’m telling him it’s okay, and no matter what his cousin says or does, I’ll stick to him like glue.
Dinner comes and it’s better than I’d anticipated. The potatoes drip butter, the steak is tender, and the show is wild.
Asia’s really on it tonight.
A very trim, but surprisingly tall Asian, she wears a fiery orange feathered headdress. Her feather fan is red, and every time she moves, you almost feel like you’re watching a fire dancer.
The men are enraptured all around. Even Alex. His eyes are huge, pupil’s dilated, his mouth slightly ajar. The only one who seems unaffected by the naughty strip tease is muscles.
He barely glances up, doesn’t touch his food, just sits and drinks like an automaton. I’m not sure how many he’s had at this point, but I’m thinking a lot. I like to nurse my beers. I’m only on my second, Alex on his third.
We’ve been here almost two hours already. Muscles is chugging the screwdrivers down like they’re water. Normally the Pink Lady has a cut off. But he’s with me and maybe they assume I’ll be the one taking him home.
Not a chance in hell.
After tonight, I’m really liking Alex more and more. He’s fun and carefree and goofy. Just what I wanted, need in my life right now… but we both know it won’t work between us. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to laugh and talk with him.
Trying not to worry about how many drinks he’s had, I focus all my attention on Alex and eventually manage to forget about buzz kill.
After a while a redhead walks up to our table. Her smile’s as crooked as her steps. She wears a low black dress and high heels. Leaning in, smell of alcohol strong on her breath, she says, “I’ve seen you in Chai Time haven’t I?”
She isn’t looking at me.
Alex’s grin is lazy as he leans back. “Yup.”
Red hiccups and then turns to me. “You guys a thing?”
“A thing?”
Alex covers my hand with his large, warm one. “No. Though I keep trying, she keeps turning me down.”
I mock pout. “Oh, c’mon, Alex, you know my heart belongs to someone else.”
For the first time tonight I notice a reaction come out of his cousin. He looks at me. I pretend not to notice.
But it isn’t easy. Even though he hasn’t said more than three words to me, I’m aware of him. Too aware. Of the way his body moves, the way his large fingers curl around the glass in his hand. How his throat works as he swallows.
Finally I can’t stop myself, I look back. Briefly. Just a d
rive by, but his look makes my knees weak and I’m grateful to be sitting.
“I know, I know… but I’ll never stop trying,” Alex continues, completely oblivious to the sudden tension roiling between his cousin and I.
“Well then,” red hiccups again, “how’s about you come and dance with me cowboy?”
Frowning, Alex looks at me, as if seeking permission. Which is cute, but not necessary, I’m not under any illusions.
“Go.” I wave him on.
His cousin might be an ass, but I doubt he’s going to do anything to me.
“You’re a saint, Lily Bean.” He kisses my cheek and then scoots out, holding onto the girl’s waist.
Chuckling softly under my breath I lean back in my seat. His eyes are still on me.
Exhaling loudly, suddenly every cell in my body becomes intensely aware that I’m all alone with him.
Needing some space, I scoot further down, but the strange pull is still there in my chest and it’s reaching out to him. Flicking at the paper wrapper on my beer with a fingernail, I watch the crowd.
“He likes you.”
His voice is smooth. Rolling over my body like silk, reminding me of a good malt whiskey. Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat. “It’s not like that.”
“Funny,” he narrows his eyes, “that’s the same thing he said about you.”
He’s had a lot of vodka, I’m not sure how much, but it was enough-- enough to know that he sounds way too sober for someone so drunk.
I shrug. “Your point?”
Bringing the glass up to his full lips, it hovers along the bottom edge of it, making my pulse tremble in my throat. “Call it an observation.”
It’s weird. A part of me wants to keep talking to him, wants to learn more about him, another part is screaming at me to get up, run away, and never look back. Tapping my fingers on the table, I thin my lips.
I stay seated.
“What’s your name?” I finally ask, it’s been bothering me all night.
He smiles and I’m surprised to note he actually has a nice one. Not as open as Alex’s, or as pretty, but way more fascinating. His front teeth are slightly chipped and the action doesn’t seem like one he’s comfortable doing. There’s a hardness around his eyes that I wish I understood. But he has a wicked dimple and I’ve always been a sucker for those.
“Ryan.”
“That’s it, just Ryan?”
Looking at me, as if considering whether to take this further, he finally says, “Cosgrove.”
“Nice.”
“Really?” He finishes the last of his drink and then lifts his finger for another. Monique scurries back to the bar. “Because I think it’s a fucking ugly one. In fact, I think I like yours better.”
Now he sounds drunk. I roll my eyes. “You don’t know my last name.”
“Exactly.”
Monique returns with a fresh drink. I look at her, and gave a slight jerk of my head. Hoping she understands my meaning.
Cut. Him. Off.
I’m not sure how much he’s had to drink but it’s too much, his eyes are bloodshot and his fingers unsteady.
“Anything’s better than mine.” He picks his glass up again.
“What about Alex’s? Is his better?”
His head whips up, eyes as sharp as cut glass glare at me, full with hate and violence. “His is worse.”
In that second I’m scared. No point lying to myself. Something violent lurks behind the mask he wears. Something ugly, and I’m not sure I want any part of it.
But still, I don’t leave.
“What do you do for a living, Ryan?”
Blinking, as if coming back to himself, he shakes his head. “Fighter. I fight.”
“For money? Like MMA?”
Staring at me while he drinks, I feel helpless. Like a rat caught in a snake’s sights. How could Alex live with someone like this? He’s too good, too nice. Ryan is wrong in the head. I’m not sure how, but I sense it. This huge yawning chasm of wrongness that swallows up anything it comes in touch with.
Leaning forward, he shows me his fist. My immediate response is to pull away, scared for a split second that he intends to crash it into my nose. He doesn’t blink or act surprised, just stares at me while he holds out his fist.
It’s his stillness that finally causes me to look down.
A silvery network of scars crisscrosses each knuckle bone.
Some are really thick and jagged. I touch one with the tip of my finger. He slams his eyelids shut as if he doesn’t know what to do or how to respond to me.
“They look like they hurt,” I breathe, suddenly feeling a ridiculous need to kiss it and tell him it’ll be all right.
I’m in my junior year of nursing school. I know these injuries would have been devastating when he’d received them.
He pulls his hand back, and I feel a strange sense of loss. Like he’s opened himself to me in a way he never has with another.
“They didn’t.”
Swallowing hard, I start looking for Alex. “How many of those have you had to drink?”
Looking at his glass, he scrunches his forehead. “Not enough.”
“Maybe you should stop.” I’m not used to telling people what to do, it isn’t something I’m comfortable doing, but my gut is telling me that Ryan is headed down a bad path-- one that leads to rancid livers if you’re lucky and death if you aren’t.
“Don’t worry, angel, I only drink once a year.” He taps the table forcefully with his finger, startling me and making me jerk in response. “I fucking hate Valentine’s Day,” he snarls.
My mouth pulls down into a frown, empathy for him chokes me. “What girl screwed you up, Ryan?”
His lips twitch until finally he busts out in a deep belly laugh, knuckling tears out of his eyes.
“Girl!?” He laughs harder, but never explains himself.
***
Ryan
Fuck me.
I meet a girl and terrify her out of her mind.
I see it in her eyes. The way she’d looked at me in the bar.
God she smelled so good.
So I drank and drank, trying to drown out the demons, the voices that singsonged in my head. So good, so good, so fucking good.
I hate myself.
Hate everything about me. I want to hit something. Hurt something.
Alex and Liliana are sitting in the living room. My living room. I hear them whispering low. They think I don’t know what’s going on, and maybe I don’t.
I feel so out of it. My brain is fuzzy, fried-- like I’ve been sitting out in the sun too long. In the bathtub, the water’s running on high heat, and my clothes are still on.
The water hurts. Hurts so bad, it’s so damn hot and I know I shouldn’t be sitting here like this. I’ll burn. But it’s not taking the dirty off.
So I keep turning it hotter, my fingers are blistered.
Why isn’t it working?
This is the night, fifteen years ago, my entire world changed.
When will it stop?
At this point, I don’t think it ever will.
Everything inside me is like an exposed nerve. Fucking breathe on me and it brings it all back. They had no idea when I enlisted into the Marines what a nutcase I already was. Because I can lie.
I can smile and pretend and say all the right things.
No one knows. Not really.
Alex knows more than most, but even he doesn’t know everything.
And when I’d gotten a gun in my hand, and was told to kill… it was like breathing again. At first.
When I could pretend that each man I shot was him.
But they weren’t him.
That day, when I’d turned eighteen and had gone to the hospital, I thought I’d finally buried it. But I hadn’t. Not really. I’d only thrown a little dirt on it.
Closing my eyes I start to shiver. Not from cold, but from the sweat pouring through my skin, the panic laying siege to my heart. Running through
artillery had been easy. Seeing R.P.G.’s blow up beside me, cake… why couldn’t I stop this?
