by Anna Rezes
“You don’t let people? I thought . . . we all thought it was your parents who wouldn’t let us in.”
“I know. It’s easier to blame them.” Placing his hand on my back, he says, “Come on.” He ushers me to the next room across the hall. It’s just as tremendous with black glistening stone floors, wispy white curtains, and a wall of mirrors with a horizontal bar running down the middle.
“It’s my mom’s dance studio,” Ben explains. “Before she married my dad, she was a world-renowned ballet dancer.”
“Wow, I never knew,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I try to conceal my thoughts, afraid he won’t show me anymore.
We wander into the living room where the floors are made up of grey shining stone. In the center is a plush white area rug with a cluster of beautiful white furniture. Windows cover the entire length of the room with French doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the golf course. As impressive as this room is, there’s no way I could feel comfortable here. It’s too white, too cold, and everything is too expensive.
My eyes are drawn to the big brown fluff of fur on the floor in front of the fireplace. It’s the only dark object in the room. I wonder if it’s a bear skin rug until it moves. I jump, thinking my eyes are playing tricks on me.
“He’s more pleasant than Maggie,” Ben notes.
“That’s a dog?”
The brown beast lumbers toward us with his tail wagging, looking like an overgrown puppy. His pink tongue hangs from his mouth and drool is dripping, leaving puddles on the spotless floor.
“You knew I had a dog. Well, technically he’s my sister’s dog. This is Max.” The dog comes right up to me, his head at my waist. I rub his furry head as he licks me, drooling a huge gob of saliva down my arm.
“Awe, he’s a gentle giant,” I say, as I stroke his neck. “You’re just a giant teddy bear, aren’t you?”
“He’s a Newfoundland,” Ben explains. “One-hundred-eighty pounds. He drools and sheds, a lot. Come on; we can wipe that off.”
I’m not bothered by the drool, but I’m surprised his parents would allow such a slobbery, hairy mammoth in their immaculate white house.
The dog follows as we leave the room. Ben points to a stairway that leads to one of the kitchens. I wonder how many kitchens one house needs. We reach the bottom of a spiral staircase to find another spacious living room with a kitchenette at the far end.
Ben leads me through a door then closes it behind us. I’m greeted with grey carpet and old posters hanging randomly on the arctic blue walls. Ben’s scent wraps around me, and I grin knowing without a doubt this is his room. Navy curtains hang floor to ceiling along the back of the room most likely hiding the view of the golf course. Although it’s nothing compared to the rest of the house, his bedroom is still half the size of my house.
“This is your room, huh?”
“Yep. This is where I hide out whenever I’m home,” he says, looking embarrassed.
I turn to explore the spacious room while he walks through a half-open door and flips on the light.
“Of course, you have your own bathroom.” I enter behind him. “Wow, I stand corrected. You have your own spa! A walk-in shower, jacuzzi, and a separate room for your toilet! Ben, your bathroom is bigger than my bedroom!”
Ben laughs uncomfortably, as he pulls a towel off the rack and dampens it before wiping the drool off my arm. “See why I don’t let people in here?” He tosses the towel on the counter, and we leave the bathroom.
“What? You don’t want us to break your stuff?”
“Seriously, Em. Look at this place. People would look at me differently.”
“People already look at you differently.”
He scowls at me and walks over to the wall of curtains. “Down the hall, there’s a movie theater next to the heated indoor pool and sauna.” He’s not bragging as he shoves the curtains aside. “And right outside there is another pool and hot tub.”
The doors open up to a private retreat. A patio surrounds an in-ground pool complete with a diving board, spiral slide, and a waterfall. The pristine golf course makes for a perfect backdrop to this mini paradise.
“And don’t forget about that football stadium you call a foyer,” I tease.
Ben doesn’t smile. I know all of this makes him uncomfortable, so I switch tactics.
“Honestly, I’m not impressed. My private pool is at least twice as big as yours and you’ve been lucky enough to experience the extravagance of my personal movie theater.”
His eyes light up. “You got me there.”
I continue, “This place is a dollhouse compared to my digs.”
“This dollhouse is eleven thousand square feet with six bedrooms and nine bathrooms. Nine! Who the hell needs nine bathrooms?”
“Benjamin Isaac Cetrone, you only have nine bathrooms? You’re practically underprivileged.” I stride away from the doors pretending to be bored with the view and look around for any new surprises. That’s when I spot an acoustic guitar. Bingo.
“Do you play?” I pick up the guitar and spin around. “Don’t lie to me, now.”
He mumbles, “Yeah, I play.”
“Are you good?”
“I’m okay,” he admits.
“I hope that’s not the equivalent to the way you ‘tinker’ with cars. Come on. I want the truth.” I push, for some reason knowing he’s more than okay.
“I’m pretty good,” he concedes with a sly grin and coy eyes.
I take a breath and steady myself. It’s frustrating how attractive he is right now. “Will you play something for me?” I beg, “Please?”
He takes the guitar, but only because I’m shoving it at him.
“I’ve never played in front of anyone except my little sister. And she doesn’t count.”
I have never seen him look so shy. I lift the guitar into his arms, encouraging him. “I don’t count either. Just pretend I’m not here.”
He shoots me a doubtful look, and I shrug, determined not to budge. We continue our staring match, but eventually, he wraps the strap around his shoulder, settles the guitar in his arms, and begins strumming. I watch his fingers caress the strings as the soothing sound turns into a mellow song. It’s something I recognize; one of the classics, but it melts into a different tune as he picks up the pace. His fingers pluck their way up the neck of the guitar so quickly I can’t possibly follow their movements. I hear him tapping the base of the guitar, using it as a drum. I’ve never heard anything like it before.
When he stops, I have to catch my breath. “What was that?”
“Music.”
“I’ve never heard the guitar sound that way!”
“It’s an integrated percussive technique.”
“It’s amazing! Where did you learn to play like that?”
“I’ve been playing since I was ten.” He raises an eyebrow. “It’s amazing what you can learn on the internet.”
“You’re really good!”
“Says the girl who knows nothing about guitars.”
It’s true, but I can’t imagine I’m wrong about his level of talent. He starts to lift the guitar strap from his shoulder, but I stop him.
“No! I want to hear more!”
“I’ll play as long as you don’t mention this to anyone.”
“Deal.”
He starts playing again and it appears effortless. His fingers speed across the strings, yet a gentle song comes to life. He sits on the corner of his bed as I lower myself to the floor. Max, the gargantuan dog, comes and lies his body next to me, resting his head in my lap.
I am enthralled by Ben’s talent and how relaxed he looks while playing. With his music, he creates a warm, soothing ambiance inside an otherwise cold empty mansion. I’ve seen a whole new side of him today. I try not to speculate on why he’s decided to reveal so much of himself to me because I’m grateful. I want to know everything about him.
five
During my hour break between classes on Tuesday,
I go to the campus café where I’m safe from the miserable heat.
“Emily.”
I stop before I reach the sliding glass door of the brick building. I turn to look for the person who called my name, but I see no one. I shrug it off and walk into the lobby to get lunch. I grab a pub table and hike myself up on the chair. I’m unwrapping my sandwich when I hear it again.
“Emily.”
I gaze around the room. Everyone is busy. People are coming and going, but no one is paying attention to me. I finish my sandwich and dig around inside my book bag.
“Emily,” the deep voice calls again.
I’m unnerved. I check my phone expecting to see I’ve pocket dialed someone, but no one is there. Emily is a fairly common name, and it’s obvious this Emily isn’t me, so I stave off my curiosity and ignore the voice.
I pull a crumpled yellow paper out of my bag and try to smooth out the accordion pleats so I can read about the performance I need to attend for my humanities class.
“Hey, Emily.”
I look up, surprised to find Morgan’s light blue eyes beaming at me. She’s smiling, and her summer freckles are already sprinkled across her suntanned cheeks. Her long dark hair has grown even longer since I’ve seen her last. She was my only girlfriend from school and the last I heard she was in Florida.
“Morgan, what are you doing here?”
“I came home this spring. Florida just wasn’t my thing.”
She’s never been good at hiding her emotions. Her facial expressions give her away and judging by the look on her face; whatever happened in Florida must have been terrible.
“So, are you here to stay?” I smile, selfishly hoping she’s not going anywhere.
“That’s what it looks like. I got into the nursing program at the university. I start this fall, but I scheduled some classes here to make sure I’m all caught up.” She looks hopeful. She’s wanted to be a nurse from the time she was five.
“That’s great!”
She looks down at my mess of crumpled papers on the table. “I’m glad I ran into you. Did you just start classes?”
“Yeah,” I say, clearing a spot for her. “Here, do you want to sit with me?”
“Actually,” she hesitates, looking behind me toward the café counter. “My cousin is with me. We’re having lunch together.” By her tone, she sounds as if she would rather sit down with me.
“We can catch up later,” I offer.
Just as I say this, someone walks up from behind to stand by Morgan’s side. My mouth gapes as I look into the face of the mysterious blond guy, the one I almost trampled running out of my humanities lecture. He’s the one with the perfect skin, stunning blue eyes, and a body belonging to a male model. And he’s Morgan’s cousin!
“Emily, this is my cousin, Patrick,” she introduces and then turns to her cousin, explaining, “Emily is my good friend from high school.”
So, this peculiar guy who had me so flustered last week has a name. Patrick. The guy whose gaze I could not escape, whose eyes pierced right into my soul and left me mesmerized. The guy I was so desperate to escape and stop thinking about is now standing in front of me doing it all over again.
Holding out his hand, he speaks in his deep silky voice, “Nice to meet you, Emily.”
I haven’t regained control of myself. I don’t want to be rude, but I hate him for having this power over me. I close my mouth in a frustrated grimace and place my hand in his. I look up and immediately regret it. I find his sapphire eyes and instantly drown in them. His skin is smooth around his iron jaw, and I stare at his round, supple lips wondering how they would feel on mine. Oh my God! What’s wrong with me?
His strong hand lets mine fall after we shake, and I regain a fraction of my footing on the situation. I cannot look away from him as I struggle to put my thoughts together, let alone a sentence.
“You!” It comes out harsher than I planned, and I try to correct myself, but like projectile vomit, I spew without grace. “You laughed at me and called me clumsy!”
Teeth show through his parted lips. “I see you remember me,” he coos.
“Yeah, I remember.”
His smile grows as he suppresses a laugh. Relieved our eye contact is broken, I look to a perplexed Morgan. Her scrutinizing gaze settles on Patrick.
“Well, that’s new,” Morgan mumbles.
“We have a class together,” Patrick says. “To a degree, we met last week.”
Morgan’s worried eyes land on me before she glares at Patrick. “Go on outside. I’ll meet you in a minute.”
“Emily, it’s so nice to see you again.” Patrick’s hand grazes my arm, but I’m afraid to look at him. Still, I watch as he saunters to the door where he turns to wink at me before leaving the building.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone openly upset with him.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
Morgan interrupts, “You don’t need to apologize, Emily.” Her eyes fill with concern. “Can I ask what happened?”
“I just told you. He laughed at me!”
“Did he hurt you?”
“What? No! He watched me eat and laughed. He stared me down, told me I’m clumsy and almost made me run into him . . .” I stop when I realize how stupid it all sounds. I’m being irrational, and now I’ve made it uncomfortable. I look down trying to remember why I was so angry with him.
Morgan laughs to herself. “You’ve gotta come to our Fourth of July cookout. We can celebrate your birthday and catch up. I’ve really missed you.” I can tell she wants to hug me, but she resists, knowing I am not a hugger.
“Is he gonna be there?” I say, sounding like a petulant child.
“Yeah,” she says with a smile.
“You just saw how well we get along, right?”
“I mean it when I say you are the first person I’ve ever seen angry with him. And for nothing,” she laughs. “It’s refreshing. Patrick has a way with people. Even when I want to be mad at him, I can’t.”
“Morgan, I’d love to spend time with you. I just—”
“Just consider it.”
“Okay.”
“Great, I’ll call you. I have to go catch up to him. I thought he . . .” She stops herself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
What? I’m reeling on the inside! What did she think he did to me? She’s glad I’m okay. What would he have done? What has he done? If he’s capable of terrible things, why is she having lunch with him? And why would she invite me to spend more time with him?
“Hope to see you at the cookout, Emily,” she says, breaking my train of thought.
“It was great to see you, Morgan.”
During my next two classes, my mind keeps wandering back to Patrick. I feel little relief in knowing his name. Every time I think about his beautiful eyes and perfect lips, I remind myself even his cousin thinks something is wrong with him. I refuse to be a girl smitten by a guy based on his looks. I’ve seen the way girls look at Ben; the way Ashley eyed him up and down and her reasons for liking him were superficial. All she saw was a hot car and a hot body when she knows nothing about him. This makes me angry. Isn’t it the small things about someone that makes them who they are? And still, I sit through class daydreaming about Patrick, who is shattering everything I thought strong about myself—everything separating me from becoming a shallow teenage girl.
Still, I can’t help but feel there is something special about him—not just his looks, but something deeper, something mysterious, something familiar. I put my head down on my desk in frustration. I had forgotten about him over the weekend. And here I am back to where I was last Thursday. I don’t want to see him again. I can’t allow myself to flounder in his gaze ever again.
I call Ben when I get out of class.
“Hey, Em.”
“Hey, wanna hang out?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Are you busy now?” I ask, desperate to find a di
straction from Patrick.
“I’m just at my house working on my car. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”
On my drive, I blast the music to drown out my lingering thoughts. I am exhausted with myself by the time I arrive at Ben’s house. He’s in the driveway “tinkering” with his car when I pull up. He meets me at the end of the driveway.
“Are you kidding me? As hot as it is and you’re outside working on your car?”
He laughs and looks me over. “Well, Em, at least I’m dressed for summer.” He motions to his shorts and what’s left of his t-shirt. His sleeves have been cut off so drastically the shirt barely covers any of his chest.
I gesture to his homemade muscle shirt. “Really?”
He points at me. “It’s ninety-eight degrees out, and you decide to wear jeans and long sleeves?”
“I’m not wearing long sleeves! It’s a t-shirt, just like yours was before you mutilated it.”
“Okay, but my sleeves never came to my elbows,” he defends.
“So, it’s a big t-shirt.”
I roll up my sleeves and follow him back to his car.
“We don’t have to stay out here anyway,” he says. “Come on; get in the car.”
He pulls off what’s left of his shirt as he walks to his side of the car. His body has a slight sheen from working in the heat, and I can’t take my eyes off his defined muscles glistening in the sun. He grabs a fresh shirt from behind the seat and pulls it over his head before getting in.
He’s already backing out of the driveway before I think to ask, “Where are we going?”
“To a movie.”
“I thought you had a built-in movie theater here?”
“I do,” he answers, looking at me like I’m missing something. “I don’t want to spend my evening with Renee and Everett.” He speaks his parent’s names like they are curse words.
“Okay, but—”
He puts his finger up to stop me. “Look at you. You’re hot, and you get cranky when you’re hot.” I open my mouth to argue and again he cuts me off. “You’ll be happier once we’re in air conditioning.”
