“Am I really doing this?” I asked myself.
“Yes, you are.”
I turned around again. “Why?”
It wasn’t a question he should know the answer to. But he did. “Because you hate and you love the way I make you feel.”
I was naked under his gaze. Skin was just that: skin. But to see your soul stripped, laid bare for the eyes of someone you barely knew – that was terrifying. I’d walk down the street naked a hundred times before I would let someone see what lay underneath.
I’d spent my life alone. Bounced from foster home to foster home. When my tastes outgrew my age as a teenager, I traded boys for men and found myself still alone. I reveled in the loneliness. No one could hurt me but me, and did I really care if I hurt me? Did I care? If I found pleasure in anything, it was my lack of feeling.
And that’s how I knew, when Everett told me not to fall in love with him, that I wouldn’t. I didn’t love myself. And wasn’t loving someone also loving yourself, the parts that saw the beauty in other people? I didn’t have that part. And I didn’t want it.
“I don’t love anything,” I said.
“I know.” His eyes were unsmiling.
Chapter Nine
Everett picked me up the following morning at seven. And then we were on the road without any fanfare, logging the miles to our first destination, a destination that Everett was silent on.
Silence existed in the space between the driver’s seat and mine and it didn’t bother me. Small talk was useless. There was enough talk in my head.
Everett turned on the music at some point. I didn’t know who was singing, not that that was surprising. I didn’t keep up on bands, ever. My world was a quiet place.
A few hours into the drive, Everett steered the Jeep off the freeway. Up ahead, there was a large monument and that’s where the vehicle ended up, parked right off the road in a small parking lot directly in front of it.
I climbed out and stared up at it against the sun. And then I looked at Everett.
“World’s Tallest Thermometer,” he said, answering my question. I looked back at the monument. “It won’t register your temperature.”
I looked at him again. “What are you talking about?”
“Ten below zero,” he said, hands tucked in the pocket of his black jeans.
I gritted my teeth. And then I gestured wildly at him. “It will probably register yours. Aren’t you hot, wearing all black all the time, in California of all places?”
Everett walked up next to me. “I don’t know, am I?”
I rolled my eyes. Nine in the morning and I was already annoyed. “We came all the way here to look at this?”
“Well, it’s on the way, and I need to fuel up.” Everett turned around and walked back to the car. I stared at the monument again before climbing into the vehicle.
“If this is how the rest of the trip is going to be, you can bring me back home now.”
“There’s only one World’s Tallest Thermometer, Parker,” he said blandly, driving down the street to the nearby gas station.
“What’s next, World’s Tallest Toothpick?”
“I don’t know where that is,” he replied, putting the car in park.
I sat back in the seat, fuming. “One thing’s for sure: I don’t need to travel to meet the world’s biggest asshole.”
“I knew you were obsessively practical in your thinking. That saves us a stop!” Everett grinned, climbing out of the car. He slung an arm over my shoulder when I left the car. “Thanks for looking out for this trip, Parker.”
I shrugged him off with a grunt and looked over my shoulder. Just down the road stood the thermometer, still in sight. It made me think of Everett’s words to me again. I knew I was cold. But no one had ever cared enough to point it out.
Not that Everett cared. He didn’t. He couldn’t. I was a shell. Hard on the outside, empty on the inside.
We ate at a small diner further down the road before continuing on. I was still angry, so angry from what Everett had said. But I didn’t eat my hate this time, not like I had eaten the pizza. I ate calmly. Slowly. Just to annoy him. I ordered three waters with limes and ate the flesh from each lime leisurely. But Everett saw through it, saw through my attempts to annoy him. And he just ignored me, writing in his notebook the entire time, before I gave up and we got back on the road.
An hour later, our stop for the day came into view. “Las Vegas?” I asked, unimpressed.
“For someone who doesn’t care about anything, you sure hate a lot of things.”
“I never said I hated anything.”
“Okay, supreme dislike.”
“I think you see what you want to believe, Everett.”
“Why do you think that?”
I unbuckled my seat belt. “I don’t hate anything. I don’t love anything. I do not care.”
Everett pulled off the road into a gas station. “Buckle up, Parker.”
I bristled. “No.”
His eyes cut to me. “We are in Vegas. Do you know how many people drive drunk in this city? Don’t be stupid. Wear your seatbelt.”
“No,” I said again, lifting my chin up.
“Fine,” he said before opening his door. I watched as he walked to my side of the car. My heart jumped and I reached frantically for the lock. I was too late.
He swung open the door. “Buckle up, Parker,” he said again.
We were staring at each other, fire in our eyes, anger in his voice and defiance in mine. “No.”
“You’re a shitty actress.”
“I’m not acting,” I protested.
Everett climbed up the step into the Jeep, so he was leaning right into me, his hands braced on the car and on my seat.
“You may not care about yourself, but you’re not an idiot. You don’t gamble with your life. That’s the smartest thing about you, to be honest.”
If his words could have color, they’d be red. He was mad. The maddest I’d ever seen him. “You don’t know me.” My words sounded weak in comparison. I was a mouse, like Mira said.
“You ran from me the night we met. Don’t you remember? You run away from situations you feel threatened in. You’re cautious. But you’re not even sure why, because you don’t care about yourself. Nothing about you makes sense. But I still know you.”
“You know nothing.” My jaw was clenched. I was mad. Mad at him, mad at myself for letting him get to me. Mad because he called to me on a deeper level, a level I didn’t understand.
“Shut up, Parker. Just shut. Up. Stop talking. You sound like a petulant child.” He leaned further in, so close I felt the brush of his hair on my face. “Grow up. Unbuckling your seat belt was a stupid idea. Against the rules.”
“Whose rules?” I asked, anger making my cheeks warm and my voice loud.
Everett shook his head, exasperated. “Well let’s see, besides the law,” he said, his voice stating the obvious. “My rules. Wear your damn seatbelt.”
“If you get to make rules, I want to make some of my own too.”
Everett leaned back, leaving room for me to breathe. He laughed without humor. “Yeah, sure Parker. What are your rules?” He didn’t sound like he cared.
“Stop invading my space, first of all.”
Everett stepped of the step, and was now standing on the ground outside the car, arm braced on the door. “Sorry, can’t promise that.” But he wasn’t really sorry.
I crossed my arms across my chest, annoyed. I let my eyes drift over the Las Vegas strip ahead of us and a thought occurred to me. “Okay, one rule. No drinking of any alcohol.”
I could tell Everett wasn’t expecting that. His eyes grew wide. “You can’t tell me not to drink, Parker.” His voice had lowered.
“You can’t force me to use a seatbelt.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, you can’t!”
Everett leaned back in the car. “You could die, Parker.” His voice was just above a whisper.
“Alcoh
ol can be deadly too.”
He shook his head. “Do I need to say it again?” he asked. “I am dying, Parker. Every second could be my last.”
“Yeah, so let’s speed it up by drinking until you’re obliterated. You want to say I’m stupid? Well you’re stupid too!” I put a hand on his chest and pushed. I couldn’t breathe. Not with him in my space, his scent invading my nostrils.
Everett stood outside the car and watched me for a minute, seemingly in thought. “Okay, rules. Let’s make some. Each rule I make, you get one too.”
I sat back in the seat, relaxing. “What if one of us breaks the rules?”
“We’ll come up with a punishment.” His eyes glittered, and the side of his mouth lifted. It sent a jolt of desire through my body. I repressed the shudder I felt and nodded, swallowing.
“Okay.”
“Let’s get to the hotel and make the rules. Then we’ll go out.”
The hotel turned out to be a room at one of the nicer hotels right on the strip. It was a suite, thankfully, with two separate bedrooms. I needed to be alone, to have the space to think away from him, away from everything he brought out in me.
Everett had refused my offer to help pay and it bothered me deeply. Something to add to the rules, I supposed.
I was sitting on the deck just off the living area of the suite, eating limes that I’d brought along in the cooler. The sliding glass door opened and Everett stepped out, wearing his usual all black. In his hands were his notebook and a pen. He took the seat across from me before flipping open the notebook. He flipped past the first several pages until he reached a blank page. I tried to keep my eyes disinterested, but Everett was right; I was a terrible actress. Everett looked up at me from beneath dark brows, catching me eyeing the pages filled with his scribble. He closed the notebook and put his hand on the cover, pulling it towards him.
He put down the single piece of paper before uncapping the pen.
“Rules,” he said as he wrote the word at the top of the page. “Ladies first?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No drinking.”
“Do the rules we make apply to both or just one of us?”
“Both.”
“Okay,” he said before writing, “No drinking” on the first line. “Seatbelts,” he said, adding it next.
“We split the costs for this trip,” I started before Everett held up a hand.
“No.” It was one word, but it was said firmly with no room for argument.
But I was all about arguing, especially today. “Yes,” I replied. “I’m not your girlfriend, not even your friend. I don’t want you paying for me on this trip.” I shifted in my seat. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Maybe I want you to be uncomfortable,” he said, his voice low.
I set my mouth in a line. “Well you’re an asshole. I want that added to the list, Everett.”
“Everett is an asshole,” he repeated, writing the words underneath “Seatbelts.”
I huffed, annoyed. “You know that’s not what I meant,” I said, yanking the pen from his hand and grabbing the paper. I crossed off the last line and wrote, “We both pay.”
Everett sat back in the chair and pulled out a gold lighter. It was the same lighter I’d seen him fiddling with the first night we met. I was momentarily distracted, watching him flick the lighter over and over.
“What next?” I asked, when I’d snapped out of my daze.
Everett closed the lighter and put it in his front pocket. “No falling in love.”
I rolled my eyes, something I was beginning to realize was second nature in response to much of what he said. But I added it. “That goes for both parties,” I said, reminding him of our agreement.
“I’ll be dead before I could ever fall in love,” he said, nonchalantly.
“That’s my next rule. No talking about dying, Everett. It’s obvious. You’re not letting it be the white elephant in the room. It’s the main attraction. So, just stop. I don’t need to hear it every five minutes.”
“Fine, then no lying. Add that next,” he insisted. He leaned forward on the table, bringing himself closer to me. “That’ll be easy for me, hard for you.”
I eyed him, annoyed. I watched him look at me, as if this conversation didn’t bother him in the least. He wasn’t nearly uncomfortable yet.
“No black clothes.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“No black clothing.”
He shook his head. “No way in hell,” he growled. There it was: the anger. Finally.
“Yes.”
“All my clothing is black.”
“What you wore to breakfast with Charlotte wasn’t.”
The question I’d had on the back of my mind since meeting Charlotte, seeing him wearing a color other than black.
“Because Charlotte is a work colleague. Or was. If I wore all black to work, people would assume I was depressed.”
“Are you?” I asked pointedly.
He narrowed his eyes. “No. I wear black because it’s comfortable. It’s me. I work with depressed middle school kids. I try to project happiness when I’m at work, hence the color.”
“You’re essentially saying that black is unhappiness then.”
Everett stood up then, signaling he was done talking about it. “That rule isn’t going to happen, Parker. What do you know about happiness, anyway?”
He walked back into the suite through the sliding glass door. A second later I was on my feet, following him.
“Hey!” I shouted. He turned around, weary-eyed.
“I told you, that rule is not going to happen.”
“Then talk to me like a normal, rational human being. Tell me why.”
He shook his head, his anger still simmering. “Because I like black.”
“That’s not all it is. You said you always tell the truth,” I protested.
Everett stalked toward me. The power in his stride, the fire in his eyes, caused me to step back. “I haven’t lied. We said no lies. Not full disclosure. Unless you want me to add that as one of my rules? Because then I can push you, push you until you break.” He was inches from me, yet again invading my personal space. “Until you’re a hundred little pieces. Do you want that, Parker?” he breathed, the warmth from his lips fluttering over my face. And then he kissed me.
It took just a second for my brain to catch up. And then I was clutching him by the front of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of his tee as I tried to pull him as close as possible.
Everett was devouring me. Absolutely devouring me. His lips were bruising, crushing against me. His tongue whipped in and out of my mouth, a gesture that mimicked what I wanted to happen between us.
Be brave, Parker, I thought to myself.
My hands found his shoulders and I lifted myself up. His arms moved to wrap tightly around my waist, bringing us so close that I could feel every ridge of muscle from his body to mine. His hands slid down, over my backside, cupping my bottom. My entire body ached to be closer. The next thing I knew, he was lifting me up, and so I wrapped my legs around his waist.
He carried me through the living room into his room. My heart picked up, thrumming hard in my chest. His hand slid down one leg, stopping at the skin behind my knee. I was wearing shorts, which allowed for his hand to travel up and down the back of my thigh, his fingers pressing into skin. I wanted to feel his hands everywhere, all at once. I wanted the pressure of his hands all over me. I wanted to be buried in his touch.
His hands snaked back up to my back, where the waistband of my shorts met my skin. He hooked his fingers into the waist band and yanked, muttering a curse in my mouth. I reached between us, unsnapped the button there and a second later, he set me on the ground, yanking my shorts down to my ankles. I shook them off, kicking them away. When I looked back up, he was whipping his shirt off his head. My eyes greedily took in the side of his torso, all lines and ridges and ink. My eyes caught on the words on his ribs, under his heart.
; “This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us,” I whispered. The words were vaguely familiar, and though the words weren’t extraordinary by themselves, when strung together in a sentence, they resonated with me. I looked up at Everett and saw him staring intensely at me. He brought his hands up to frame my face.
“No talking,” he whispered back.
“Okay.”
He grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. It was then that I noticed how bright the room was. It was the middle of the day, and the sun streamed through the curtains, lighting up the entire room. My eyes darted to the window, but Everett grabbed my chin firmly in his hand and turned his face to me. “Just you and me, Parker.” His voice brought me back to the moment. I nodded, swallowing hard.
He moved his hands to my waist and bunched up the fabric of my top. “Off,” he said, slipping his hands underneath the bottom hem of the shirt. The moment the pads of his fingertips grazed over my torso, my stomach muscles clenched. He grinned, moving his hands up over my ribcage, pulling the tank with him. When he was up over my bra, I lifted my arms and allowed him to pull the tank top off. When I was free of the shirt, his hands came down to my shoulders, rubbing the tension from them. I closed my eyes and let out a breath through my mouth. And then his hands moved, down my arms. When his hand reached the scar along my left arm, I opened my eyes and held my breath.
His thumb ran along the raised skin, but his eyes were locked to mine. When he reached my wrist, he pulled up my hand and placed a kiss in the center of my palm, all the while keeping his eyes on me, with me. I suppressed a shudder, scared. I wanted to get back to the heat of the moment before. This more than sex. All I wanted was sex, not intimacy.
I slipped my fingers in the top of his jeans and pulled him close. With my thumb and forefinger, I unsnapped the top of his jeans. I moved my hand to the top of my zipper before I felt Everett picking me up and tossing me onto his bed. A second later he covered my body with his. “I’m in control.”
“No talking,” I replied, repeating his earlier demand. He smiled softly again before sitting up, straddling me.
[2014] Ten Below Zero Page 10
