by Cassia Leo
if that’s what you think.”
I purse my lips, unconvinced, as I lay my cheek against my knee. “You should take this opportunity to run as far away from me as you can.”
He lays his palm on the side of my face and strokes my cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You still owe me something.” He sweeps my hair over my shoulder then lightly traces a heart on my back.
I close my eyes as he slides over to sit behind me. His legs stretch out on either side of my hips as he rubs my shoulders. I keep my eyes tightly shut as I try to ignore the tingling between my legs when his hand touches my butt as he adjusts his crotch.
“I’m… I’m thirsty. It’s really hot in here.”
He kisses the back of my neck before he scoots off the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”
As he walks out of the bedroom, Jo pops into my head. I wouldn’t have the day off today if it weren’t for her willing to switch shifts with me. I should go thank her again. No, I’m just looking for an excuse to get out of this apartment.
I tap my foot on the mattress as I wait impatiently, but after ten minutes I begin to worry. Then the smell of smoke makes my nose perk up and my body tense.
I scramble off the bed and slip on my flip-flops before I head out to the kitchen. Adam is standing in the kitchen blowing smoke out through the window above the sink. He holds a plastic blue bong in his right hand and a lighter in his left. I walk into the kitchen and he smiles at me.
“Sorry, I should have brought the water first. It’s right there.” He nods toward a tall glass of ice water on the counter, but I don’t pick it up.
He’s a pothead. That’s what he smokes every night.
He sets the bong and the lighter down on the counter and I glimpse a tattoo on the left side of his chest: Ride it out. The letters are written in dripping block text beneath a tattoo of a compass. The inner part of the compass is filled with brilliant blue waves. The water is his compass. I want to touch it, but I’m too peeved by the fact that he’s a pothead.
“I should go,” I say as I turn toward the door and, as expected, he grabs my hand.
“Hey, are you pissed that I didn’t bring your water or that I’m smoking?”
“Neither,” I say, without looking at him.
He reaches up and turns my face toward him. Even through the haze of smoke in the kitchen, he still looks beautiful.
“Don’t go.”
I close my eyes to block out the sight of his perfect lips and the slight pinkness in the whites of his eyes.
“I’m sorry, this is going to sound totally lame, but I can’t date a pothead. My mom died of a drug overdose. And I know weed is nothing like heroin, but I promised myself a long time ago that I would never get involved with someone who does drugs. I’m sorry.”
I pull his hand off my face and turn to leave once more. He clambers around me and blocks the front door. His smile is gone and I can only imagine how I must be killing his high.
“I only smoke after work and sometimes on the weekend. It’s not a debilitating addiction, but I can understand why you might feel hesitant. What if I promise never to smoke around you?”
The smell of the smoke on his breath is starting to turn me off and I instantly shake my head.
“All right, come with me,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the bedroom. “Just go sit in there and I’ll be right back.”
I sigh as I trudge back into the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. The faucet turns on in the bathroom and I imagine he’s probably in there brushing his teeth and gargling some minty mouthwash. He finally comes back and I can smell the mouthwash as he sits next to me without saying anything.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He finally smiles and grabs my hand. “You wanted to know why I left Wilmington to come here.” He takes a deep breath and stretches his neck before he continues. “I almost killed someone three months ago.”
I want to pull my hand out of his, but now I’m afraid of what he’ll do. “What do you mean by almost?”
“I told you I have—had problems controlling my temper. It started after I quit competing two years ago. Instead of getting depressed, I got angry.”
He squeezes my hand tighter. Between this and the look Jo gave me when she offered to take my shift, I’m beginning to understand that we all must be walking around with secrets that eat away at us, driving us to do foolish things in the name of keeping those secrets buried.
“I caught my ex making out with some guy outside her apartment,” he continues. “I went there to surprise her when she thought I was in class and I saw her pinned against her front door with this guy’s hand in her crotch. I fucking flipped. I just kept pummeling the shit out of him. I couldn’t stop. I took court-ordered anger management classes then I moved here. Some crazy idea that being closer to the water would help.” He’s squeezing my hand too hard now and I wriggle my fingers to loosen his grip. He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses me as he looks up. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to lose your mom that way.”
Something about the way his eyebrows crinkle together makes me lose it. “I didn’t know she was dead. Well, I didn’t want to accept it. I convinced myself that she was just sleeping… for more than thirty hours. The neighbor, who my mother had led me to believe was my grandmother, came by to drop off some food and found my mom. The cops found me hiding in the nook between the refrigerator and the wall. That was where my mom always told me to hide whenever her dealer came over or when she left me home alone so she could score a fix. That was where I felt safe.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and I slump over, burying my face in my hands. I wish I could tell him everything that happened since that day; everything up until the day I moved into this apartment. Maybe he would understand. No, he couldn’t. It’s been months and even I don’t understand.
“Every night, when I go to sleep, there’s one memory I hold onto and relive in my mind—every single night.” I look up and into his face, willing myself not to cry. “The week before she died, she invited a man over—not to have sex or anything; he was just a friend she invited over once in a while. They were sitting on the sofa talking while I was watching cartoons, pretending not to listen to their conversation, and the man said something I’ll never forget. He said, ‘Life is only as hard as you make it, Kell. You have to let go of the past or keep carrying it on your back like a fucking pile of bricks.’” I take a deep breath as I remember how seven-year-old me had smiled when he cursed. “Redneck wisdom, but I took it to heart.”
“So that’s why you moved here? To let go of your past?” I nod and he smiles at me. “I guess we both had to lose something to find each other.”
I stare at the sweet smile on his face for a moment before my gaze falls to the tattoo on his chest. Then I glance at the glass of ice water on the nightstand and back to his face. He followed the direction of his compass to the water and it brought him to me.
I don’t want to feel this way about Adam. I don’t want to move on from what happened so quickly. I’m supposed to wallow in self-pity or denial for a long time. That’s how these things work. This feels wrong and fast, like I’m barreling down a hill in a car with no brakes. I’m going to crash and body parts are going to fly—in particular, hearts. I can feel it.
But I don’t care.
I grab handfuls of his hair and pull his face toward me, mashing his lips against mine as I climb onto his lap. His tongue searches my mouth as his arms wrap around my waist pulling me against him. I reach down to pull my dress up and he grabs my hands.
“Wait,” he whispers as he rests his forehead against mine and pulls my hands together in front of his chest. “I don’t want you to do this if you’re not ready.”
“I’m ready,” I respond quickly, but he doesn’t let go of my hands.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Claire, I’m stone
d and even I can see that you’re not ready.”
He lets go of my hands and my fists fall softly against his chest. He kisses the tip of my nose and I press my lips together to hide my smile.
“This is pretty,” I say as I bring my fingertip to the top of his tattoo and trace the circular compass.
He draws in a sharp breath as his skin prickles with goose bumps. “That’s what I was going for. I told the tattoo artist, ‘Give me your prettiest tattoo,’ and it was either this or a pink butterfly. The butterfly’s on my ass.”
“I want one.”
“You want a tattoo or a tattoo artist?”
I rake my fingers over his chest and up to his collarbone before I wrap my arms around neck. “Can you take me to get one?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ve already been a bad enough influence on you.”
“Please. You have this cool little mantra right over your heart. I have a mantra, too.”
He cocks an eyebrow as he leans in to kiss my jaw. “What’s your mantra?”
“You’re not going to like it. Nobody likes it. I got it from a book on Buddhism. Not that I’m Buddhist, I just read a couple of books and this one sentence sort of stuck with me.”
His lips trace a light trail down to my neck and I have to stop myself from grinding against him. “Just spit it out.”
I draw in a sharp breath as his tongue slides across my collarbone and he lays a soft kiss on my shoulder. “I am in training to be nobody special,” I whisper.
He freezes for a moment then looks up at me. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not fighting the tide trying to be something great or memorable. I am in training to be nobody special. I go with the flow or, as you might say, I’m riding it out.”
He chuckles as he shakes his head. “You’re right. I hate it.”
“Hey! I didn’t talk trash about your mantra.”
“That’s because mine’s awesome,” he says as his fingers roam over my back.
“Ride it out? Oh, how profound.”
“And aiming to be nobody special is profound? It’s not profound, it’s depressing. Besides, you could never be nobody special.”
Chapter Ten
Relentless Laughter
Adam stops by the café every single day this week on his way to work, as if to prove that ignoring me all last week was just a fluke and that he’s taking his stalker gig seriously. The best part of his visits is how much Linda and my coworkers like him. He actually convinced Linda to let him give her a lesson in how to dance Gangnam Style in front of six other customers. Watching Adam and my boss groovin’ out in the middle of the café caused major swoonage. Despite these picture perfect morning meetings, I have yet to see Adam after work.
“I’m telling you, he’s a male stripper and he doesn’t want you to see him come home covered in kiss marks and the stench of cheap perfume,” Senia says, twisting open a bottle of Coke for us to drink with the pizza we ordered.
“He’s not a stripper. He works for his dad’s construction company,” I say as I grab a slice of cheese pizza and the glass of soda Senia just poured for me. I lean back on the sofa and take a sip before I continue. “Then again, he does seem to be a good dancer.”
“You know what they say about good dancers.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I try not to blush.
“I may never know if that’s true.”
“You should ask him to go on a double date with us,” she says before taking a gigantic bite of her pizza. “We should go to that new hookah bar.”
“Hey, skank. No talking with your mouthful.” I take a few gulps of soda as I consider her offer.
The last time I went on a double date with Senia was when she and her freshman boyfriend, Tar Heel point guard Kevin Brown, took her, Chris, and me, to a frat party where she got so drunk she pissed in Kevin’s lap. They broke up five minutes later and I’m not allowed to speak of that night.
I would love to see Adam charm the pants off Senia and Eddie, but I’m also nervous about taking him out in public with that temper of his. Especially since something tells me he still hasn’t told me the whole story behind it. Somehow, I doubt that quitting surfing was the reason he developed anger issues. And if I don’t know what really triggered it, I don’t know if I’ll be leading him into a potentially volatile situation.
“Claaaaaaire!” Senia whines, and I set down my pizza and soda on the coffee table. “Please come with us. I promise I won’t make fun of his dance moves or how he hasn’t gone Gangnam Style on you yet.”
“I don’t know if a hookah bar is the best place for him,” I reply, thinking of how lame he’ll probably think it is to smoke flavored tobacco compared to his normal greenery.
“Why?”
I shrug and purse my lips and make a few more skeptical faces before I finally answer. “Adam’s a pothead.”
“Big fuckin’ deal, so is Eddie. At least now we know they’ll get along.”
“Eddie smokes pot?”
“Yeah, I just always tell him to do it before he comes over so you don’t get pissed.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten pissed.”
“Well, I was just trying to be sensitive to… you know.”
I shake my head then kiss her cheek. “I don’t deserve a friend like you.”
“You’re damn right,” she says, pushing me away. “You deserve better.”
“You’re right, but I’ll settle for you any day.”
“God damn, you know just what to say to get my panties wet.”
The knock at the door startles both of us and Senia splashes Coke all over the sage-green sofa we went halves on last month.
“Shit!” she yelps as she slams her glass on the coffee table and races to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.
I haven’t checked on Cora yet today, but she rarely ever knocks on our door. She doesn’t like leaving Bigfoot unattended for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Maybe Adam is finally going to make an appearance. It is Thursday, after all. It’s almost the weekend.
I answer the door and stare at the guy standing in front of me for far too long. He finally clears his throat and I chuckle awkwardly.
“Sorry. Can I help you?”
He holds a simple bouquet of wildflowers tied with a lavender ribbon. “Are you Claire Nixon?”
“Yes.”
“Sign here.”
He hands me a clipboard and I sign next to the X. He hands me the flowers then mutters something about having a good night before he jogs away toward a white van.
I shut the front door and find Senia spraying Windex on the sofa and sopping up the Coke spill with gobs of wadded up paper towels.
“Are those from him?” she asks as she sprays more Windex on the expensive sofa.
I’m a bit dazed as I pull the card out of the bouquet and open it.
These flowers are nothing special, unlike you.
It’s like the guy has radar. He can sense when he’s moving up my shit list. And he knows just what to say to get back in my good graces.
“What if he has a double-life?” I say as I sit back on my side of the sofa and inhale a large whiff of the sweetly scented flowers. “Maybe he has a girlfriend back in Wilmington who he visits during the week.”
“Now you’re just being paranoid,” she says as she gathers the used up paper towels and heads back to the kitchen. “What does the card say?”
“These flowers are nothing special, unlike you.”
“Ugh!” she groans. “You told him your mantra!”
I’m not in the mood to have my mantra crapped on again so I ignore her while I continue sniffing my flowers. They’re wild and beautiful and so much classier than a dozen roses. He knows me better than I would expect.
“Maybe he is a stalker!” I shout back at her just as she comes out of the kitchen.
She plops down next to me and grabs the TV remote off the coffee table. “Maybe you should stop overanalyzing this.”
When I text
Adam to thank him for the flowers and ask if he wants to go to a hookah bar with us Friday night, he responds with what could possibly be the hottest text message I’ve ever received.
Adam:
I wouldn’t miss the chance to see your sexy lips wrapped around my hookah.
After Senia introduces Adam to Eddie and they make a few dumb jokes about going to get some hookahs (pronouncing it like hook-uhs), the four of us walk to the hookah lounge from the apartment. The lounge is less than half a mile away, but Eddie cannot keep his hands off Senia the entire way there. Adam and I walk a few paces behind them, watching as Eddie’s hand slides underneath the back of her T-shirt and she pushes him away when she realizes he’s trying to undo her bra.
I glance sideways at Adam just as he glances at me and I smile. “You’ll get used to it. Senia and Eddie are PDA Central.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” he says as he laces his fingers through mine and brings my hand to his lips. “It’s nice to see two people who aren’t afraid to make their feelings known.”
I’m not sure if he’s implying that I’m afraid of sharing my feelings with him, but I try to follow Senia’s advice and not overanalyze his words or actions. I focus instead on the beautiful beach houses and quaint shops we pass as we walk down Lumina. He squeezes my hand and I look away from the scenery to find him pointing toward a small house with blue shutters and a Jeep parked in the driveway.
“I have a meeting with the guy who lives there tomorrow, Jason Wicker. He’s a surf instructor on Shell Island and he wants me to work with him on weekends. I told him my weekends belong to you, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Your weekends don’t belong to me,” I reply quickly, ignoring the pang of disappointment at the thought of spending even less time with him. “You should work with him. You need to get back out there.”
“It’s not like I don’t still surf. What do you think I’m doing every night when you don’t see me?”
My eyes widen as I realize I’ve been a complete dope, cooking up all these unsavory scenarios in my head for the ways he spends his free hours. When I don’t answer he shakes my hand to prompt a response.
“What did you think I was doing?”
I shrug as my ears burn with embarrassment. “Senia and I considered a few different scenarios.”
“Such as?”
“Such as… a stripper.”
He laughs so hard he has a coughing fit. Senia and Eddie turn around to see what the fuss is about and I wave at them to let them know everything’s okay.
“You thought I was a stripper?”
“That was Senia’s suggestion.”
“Tell her I said thank you. What was your suggestion?”
“It’s not important.”
“Aw, come on.” He steps in front of me and busts out the puppy dog eyes as he walks backward. “Please. I’ll give you a free lap dance.”
I push him hard in the chest and he grabs my wrist. His other arm hooks around my waist and he yanks me flush against him.
“What you think of me is very important,” he says in a harsh whisper that frightens and thrills me all at once. He leans in closer and smiles against my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me.
My heart thumps against my chest as I smile, waiting for him to kiss me because I know he’s waiting for me to give in. He lets go of my wrist and his fingertips brush my jaw as he plants a soft kiss on the corner of my lips.
He pulls away and squints at me as if he’s trying to figure me out. “You’re going to be my downfall.”
He grabs my hand and we pick up our pace to catch up with Senia and Eddie.
“I suggested that you might be a stalker,” I admit, and from the corner of my eye I glimpse him shaking his head.
“You’re testing my patience, Claire.”
“I’m just being honest. You’ve known more about me than I’ve known about you
