by Caisey Quinn
Skylar was right and I was wrong. Damn his arrogant ass.
Most likely because I stay on campus and work over Christmas break, Valentine’s Day weekend sneaks up on me. Of course Skylar didn’t forget our bet. He hands me a plane ticket as soon as I step out of my last class on Friday and off we go, on the trip of ill-fated doom.
“So this is it,” I tell him once we arrive at my mom’s. “Try not to be overwhelmed.”
I don’t watch him put our bags down because I don’t want to see the look of pity on his face. The apartment is a five-floor walk up with a tiny kitchen and dining table shoved into one corner across from a secondhand sectional. There’s no television because she’s never here to watch it. Her bedroom is on one side of the apartment and mine is a remodeled closet on the other. There’s a note on the table and Skylar nods to it as he lowers my overnight bag into one of the weathered wooden chairs.
Sorry I couldn’t be here when you came home. Had a date. Help yourself to the leftover lasagna in the fridge. Ms. Adele from next door made it last week but it should still be good. Have a great weekend. Love, Mom.
And that pretty much sums up my childhood.
Technically I haven’t lived here in nearly two years, since the day I moved out to move in with Eddie. Back when he seemed like Prince Charming rescuing me from my tower of doom. I wouldn’t even recognize the stupid girl I used to be if I passed her on the street.
Skylar’s face is stoic but I know him well enough that I can nearly read his thoughts.
“What’s your political stance on week old lasagna?”
He scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I think I’m probably for it.”
I step over to the fridge and survey the contents. Half a head of brown lettuce, a bottle of cheap wine, some individual bottles of off-brand ginger ale, a plastic container half full of moldy strawberries, a pack of cheese slices, and a container of plain yogurt from who knows when. The aforementioned pan of lasagna is covered with aluminum foil and is pretty much the only edible thing in sight. Lifting the foil, I’m hit with the potent aroma of entirely too much garlic. And I just remembered Ms. Adele next door has approximately sixteen cats that she lets roam all over the countertops.
I can practically taste the cat hair now.
I give Skylar the best grin I can manage. “On second thought, what’s your stance on greasy diner food?”
He appears pensive and his dramatic attempt almost makes me smile. “Will there be pie?”
I nod. “There will absolutely be pie.”
“In that case, I’m definitely for it. Hard core supporter.”
Dominic’s Diner is down the street a few blocks and has changed names and owners so many times the front window just says DINER in faded red letters. Mel’s would be slightly closer but there’s too much likelihood that I’d run into Eddie or one of his buddies there. I don’t know exactly how he was handled the day I left for California but I can imagine. I wouldn’t put it past him to retaliate if he saw me again.
Skylar keeps waiting for the walk signs to change. I try hard not to laugh at him. Taking his hand I pull him through the next few intersections while doing my best not to allow my brain to acknowledge how well my hand fits into his.
When a cab nearly takes us out and blares his horn in complaint, I don’t even flinch. Skylar squeezes my hand and pales as if he’s just seen his life flash before his eyes.
“So every day is like a giant game of Frogger, then?”
I release him to open the door to Dom’s. “Something like that. You get used to it.” God help the boy if he ever went to Midtown.
Before he can mumble something under his breath, I grab two menus and slide into a well-worn red vinyl booth.
“Don’t get the tuna melt, unless you have a death wish. Burgers are good, cheesesteak is fantastic, and the onion rings are ten times better than the fries.”
Skylar raises an eyebrow as he takes his menu from my hand. “Come here often?”
I shrug. “I don’t cook. My mom didn’t cook. Pizza gets old after a while.”
I want to leave it at that. But I can’t.
“Not all of us grew up with personal chefs. It’s a hard life, but we survive.” I clench my fists under the table, nearly wincing at the wounded look on his face. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s not being judgmental and he’s never once rubbed his money in mine or anyone else’s face—not that I’ve seen anyway. But I don’t want anyone’s pity and there’s maybe a tiny chip on my shoulder about it. Apparently I still have that strike first before you get hurt thing going for me.
Before I can apologize for the unnecessary jab, a middle-aged brunette waitress named Faye comes to take our order.
“Cheesesteak, no green peppers. With onion rings and a cherry coke, please.”
I hand her my menu and she turns to Skylar who’s still looking at his like it’s in French.
“Same, I guess,” he finally says.
I giggle when she walks away.
Skylar frowns. “What?”
“You really wanted to order a grilled chicken salad and a water, admit it.”
His mouth lifts at one corner. “You don’t think I can blend in with the city folk?”
I glance pointedly at his Polo shirt, designer sunglasses, and California tan. Truthfully, the only place he’d blend in would be a room full of GQ cover models. Not that he needs his ego inflated any further.
“You don’t have to destroy your perfect athlete diet to fit in, soccer boy.”
Our food arrives quickly and Skylar eyes it appreciatively. “My diet and I will be just fine. But thank you for your concern.”
I take my first greasy, cheesy bite and moan. “God, I almost forgot that there were things about New York that I missed.”
Skylar chews carefully before swallowing. “This is all you miss? The food?”
I hear what he doesn’t say. What about your mom? Your friends?
“Pretty much.” I grab the ketchup bottle from the table behind us since we don’t have one.
“I guess there’s a reason you’re attending college on the other side of the country. Any plans to tell me what that reason is?”
I keep my mouth purposely full for several minutes.
“Nope.”
Skylar’s eyes narrow. “As in there’s not a specific reason or you don’t plan to tell me what it is?”
“Take your pick.”
“I pick whichever option means you tell me what you’re running from,” Skylar says quietly. “Not that I’m complaining but I can’t imagine many New Yorkers ditch the city for Cali. Unless you’re taking up surfing and just haven’t told me yet.”
I take a long sip of my fizzy, overly sweetened soda. “Look, you won the bet. Layla and Landen forever. And yeah, I missed you and couldn’t just blow you off after they were gone. But the deal was that I bring you to my hometown. We’re here.” I wave my hand in a half-circle gesture at our surroundings. “At no time did I agree to a grand inquisition the moment we arrived. Or ever.”
My cell phone buzzes in my back pocket. Saved by the buzz. I forgot I was sitting on the damn thing. I retrieve it and see a message from Layla saying they are all settled in and asking me how I am.
If only she knew. I haven’t told her that I’m in New York or that Skylar is with me. Which is such a weird world-colliding concept I don’t even think I’ve fully accepted it yet myself.
“Layla,” I tell him while I text back telling her I’m glad they arrived safely and that I’m good. I’m so jet lagged and exhausted I don’t even know if I’m lying or being honest.
Skylar continues eating while I wrap up my texting. Just as I set my phone aside, I hear it. My past coming back to haunt me.
“Corin?” A female voice shrieks from behind Skylar. “Corin Connelly? Is that you, girl?”
Jesus Christ.
The waitress waiting on the table behind us is Amber or Amberly or something like that. She worked at Mel’s with me for a whil
e and she was one of Eddie’s girls for a little while too.
The half of my sandwich I’d actually eaten turns to lead in my stomach. I set the onion ring I’m holding back on my plate and force a smile.
“Hey,” I say, trying to glance at her nametag. “Kimber.” I was close.
“I thought that was you when you came in. I’d heard you moved to Kansas or something.” She pops her gum while completely blowing off the customers behind her. She’s prettier than I remembered. Busty. Blonde. Somehow she even makes the grease-stained pink T-Shirt and black skirt uniform look sexy.
Skylar isn’t watching her like I expect him to be. He’s watching me. Closely enough to make me squirm in my seat.
“California,” I correct her. “Same difference, I suppose.” New Yorkers know one universal truth to be true. There’s New York and then there’s everywhere else—also known as not New York.
“Cool,” she says as if she barely heard me. “And who’s your friend?” Her wide brown doe eyes rake over Skylar and her pouty pink lips curl upward.
“This is Skylar,” I say without clarifying any further.
“Kimber,” she says, shaking his hand.
“Skylar Martin,” he says in a deep voice that grates on my voice. “Kimber, can I ask you something?”
My entire body tenses and I can’t breathe. If he asks how she knows me, there’s no telling what she’ll say.
This is why I don’t want to be here. One of the many reasons.
In California, I can just be me. The version of me I am now. Not haunted by the mistakes I made here.
“Sure,” she says, looking entirely too eager to have his attention. I force myself to sit back and drink my soda as if their conversation is of no interest to me.
“Well I know we just met, but can you tell me honestly, if I look like a New Yorker to you?”
Kimber’s smile spreads across her face. “Um, well, I mean…you look…good. But I’m guessing you’re not from here.”
She looks to me for confirmation and I just shrug and focus on my drink.
“Well, damn,” Skylar says with mock dejection. “And here I thought I was blending in so well. Guess I can wear that ‘I love NYC’ T-shirt after all since I’m so obvious.”
“So where are you from, handsome?”
Oh Kimber. Don’t do this to yourself. Have some self-respect, girl. I’m pretty sure I snort out loud.
“Kansas,” Skylar tells her completely straight-faced.
“Oh.” Kimber scribbles something on a napkin and hands it to him. “Well that’s my number if you want an extensive tour.”
She has the decency to check if I’m offended by her offer. I’m not so I smile at her.
“I’ll do that,” Skylar says before she returns to her now thoroughly neglected customers.
“I’m full,” I tell him once she’s gone. “And beat. So I’m going to head to my mom’s and shower and pass out. You’re welcome to go enjoy your extensive tour of Kimber’s vagina if that’s what you want to do.”
I’m half out of the booth when Skylar grabs my wrist. “Slow your roll, Connelly.”
He drains his soda and places a few twenties on the table before following me outside.
“So you and Kimber go way back, huh?”
The evening air is cool and less stifling than the inside of the diner. I focus on breathing but still can’t quite appease my lungs.
I can only imagine Skylar’s face if I said “Yeah, we had the same pimp for a while—only she knew the score and I thought that pimp actually loved me.” So I say nothing.
“She seemed lovely,” he carries on. “Down to Earth. Wholesome. A little shy, though.”
I laugh. “And since when is that your type, Martin?”
He looks affronted but something is hitting me and it’s hitting me all wrong.
“I saw the girl you were with the night we met. Massive cleavage on display, ass cheeks hanging out of her skirt, practically panting by your side. You have a type.”
And that type is easy.
And that’s why he came after me. Because I seemed easy.
But I fucked up his plan so he tricked me into bringing him here so he could figure out why the easy girl wasn’t giving it up for him.
How could I have been so stupid? This is still just cat and mouse for him, part of the chase.
I want to hail the nearest cab to the airport and fly as far from here and from him as I can. But the only other place I have to go is exactly where he’ll be.
“Is that right? Tell me more about my type, Corin. Because you might be right but I sure as hell don’t remember mouthy redheads with no interest in me being on the list.”
“It’s long list. Mostly just the naughty half of Santa’s. You might’ve overlooked me.”
“And you’d be on the naughty side?”
I shake my head, afraid of how my voice will sound if I speak. I’m not in the mood for anymore verbal sparring. Not tonight.
We reach my building and Skylar follows me up the stairs. His arm snakes my waist and turns me to face him before we enter the apartment.
“Skylar, I can’t keep—”
“I’m not asking you to do anything, Corin. Breathe.” He stares intently at my face while waiting for me to comply. “Look at me, Red.” He tilts my chin up with his free hand so I have no choice but to comply.
“Please don’t, Sky. Not tonight. Okay? I’m tired. And being here is…”
“Being here is what? Tell me. Because I swear to God, Corin, if I’d known it would affect you like this, I would’ve never made that bet.”
“Affected me like what?”
He sighs and takes a step back. “You’re on edge. Even touchier and snarkier than usual. You look like you’re expecting an enemy around every corner.”
Yeah, that about covers it.
“I’m just tired. Jet lag. I need a shower and sleep, that’s all.” The moment I open the door, I’m reminded why I moved out in the first place. My mom made it home after all and she’s currently entertaining a client in the living room. I’ve seen worse, but her sheer black blouse is almost completely unbuttoned and the middle-aged businessman mauling her on the couch barely stops what he’s doing as we pass.
“Hey, babe,” my mom calls out as if there is nothing wrong or humiliating about this scenario. “Who’s your friend?”
“Carry on,” is all I say before pulling Skylar into my bedroom and closing the door behind us.
To my surprise, he doesn’t look horrified at all. He looks…amused.
“So that’s your mom?”
I busy myself pulling clothes out of my overnight back. No go on the shower after all.
“Yep. That’s her. In all her half-naked glory.”
“I see,” Skylar says, lowering himself awkwardly into a rickety old desk chair in the corner of my room. “She seems nice.”
Without looking at him, I yank off my faded thrift store Yankees tee and pull on a gray tank top. I take my bra off out from under my shirt and toss it back in my overnight bag. I have no intentions of leaving anything here because I am sure as hell not coming back.
Skylar swallows hard as I change out of jeans into black yoga pants but I’m not trying to tease or entice him or play any games. I just want to go to sleep and forget this entire day before I do something even more embarrassing like fucking cry.
“Yeah. She’s swell. A real June Cleaver. Can we go to sleep now?”
We can sight see tomorrow.
I flop onto my bed and bundle under my covers. Technically we’ve never slept in the same bed before but we’ve had enough overnights as Jax’s place that I don’t feel even a tiny amount of sexual tension.
Well, okay, maybe a tiny fraction of tension.
But not as much as usual.
Skylar stands and removes everything but his boxer briefs.
Okay, damn. Now there’s a little more tension. His chest his hard and firm and so well defined he looks inhuman. My tong
ue does a little dance behind my teeth at the thought of rolling over his six-pack abs. I bite it, hard, to let it know that will not be happening.
I feel like I could explode, or maybe implode. I don’t even know. But everything—being here, Skylar, Kimber at the diner, my mom, all of it—is twisting around painfully inside of me. I wish I could throw it all up, empty the emotional contents of my body and just feel…nothing.
Skylar remains sitting on the bed for several silent moments before turning to me. “So your mom had a date? I’m trying to put the pieces together here, but I can’t see what’s so bad about it. I think it’s awesome she’s getting some at her age. And she looked hot, so good news for you in twenty or so years.”
He has no clue how much even the mildest comparison between us hurts me.
“I’m nothing like her,” I whisper to into the covers I’ve pulled up near my chin.
“Hey,” Skylar reaches for me but I flinch back. “What’s so bad about—”
“She’s getting paid for that little ‘date’ out there. Still sure there’s nothing so bad about it?”
It takes a split second for comprehension to register on his face. I can’t tear my eyes away. I need to know how repulsive he finds it. How repulsive he’d find me if he knew the truth. It’s bubbling inside of me like undigested food threatening to spill out like vomit all over us both.
“Oh. Well, I mean, gotta do what you gotta do.” Skylar’s face is strangely free of repulsion or even much shock. “It’s not like she’s hooking on the streets. So she’s an escort or something. I mean, she’s safe, right? She’d never bring anyone up here with you here that was dangerous, would she?”
Concern creases his features and the rawness of it breaks me wide open. He just found out my mom is basically a prostitute and all he’s worried about is whether or not I’m safe.
“I-I don’t honestly know. She has a handler. His name is Tony. He vets most of the guys, handles the money. Once when I was little some drunk guy lost his cool and slapped her, but Tony hangs close by and he hustled him out before it went any further.”
Go back in, words. I want to shove them back in my mouth and swallow them down. He doesn’t need to know about these parts of my life, of my childhood. I keep the darkest parts of myself hidden where they belong.
