I slowly twist the knob and am thankful the door stays silent as it opens. Padding through the room darkened by black-out curtains, I walk toward her bed and set the note on top of her phone. A place I know she will find it.
Before turning to leave, I stare down at her a moment. Although I should leave now, the selfish part of me stays to observe Cora without distraction. To take in the woman who has held my heart captive most of my life.
And for a moment, I study the lines of her face as she sleeps. How her brows arch up, not in the middle but closer to a lateral point. The way her long lashes fan across the purple half-moons beneath her eyes. How her black strands splay across the dark gray cotton pillowcase.
A red tank covers her chest, but rises up her midriff to unintentionally display her navel. A small locket rests atop her shirt, and I remember it as the one her mom gave her. The sheet bunches near the thick band of her underwear. Her body askew on the mattress, taking up half of the queen-size space like a giant starfish.
A contented sigh leaves my lips as I pivot to leave the room. As much as I would like to stay, now is not the day. After closing the door behind me, I retrieve my phone from the living room and head for the door. I lock the handle as I step out the back. Scanning the street, I try to orient myself and figure out where I am.
Across the street from Cora’s house is a large, open park. Honestly, doesn’t surprise me she purchased a home within fifty-feet of a park. I cross the street, land on a small paved path and wander through the greenery in the faint morning light.
It is peaceful here. Most of this side of the park is filled with lush oak trees and a pathway for leisurely strolls. No wonder it was so quiet in her house.
I stand near the edge of a pond in the center of the park and watch a raft of ducks as they splash and quack and say good morning to each other. Squirrels dig at the earth in search of hidden food. A gentle breeze blows off the water, cuts the morning heat and rustles the leaves. A few people pass by with dogs and wave as if I live in the neighborhood. Everything about this place is quaint and chill and absolutely perfect.
After fifteen minutes of wandering the park and collecting my thoughts, I locate a bench on the outskirts and request an Uber. I pluck a twig from the ground, twirl it between my fingers and zone out while I wait.
Thank God I have today to myself. After everything last night, I need the time. To think and map out what happens next. Because after last night, I won’t deny myself or Cora. Not again.
Chapter Seventeen
Cora
Something wet scrapes over my nose. My cheek. My eye. It stops after a minute, but starts up again. My eyebrow. The corner of my mouth. Then my ear. Argh! What the hell is that? I swat at the air and come in contact with a bulky body of fur.
Luna.
She paws my face, a sweet and pleading meow only inches from my ear. When I don’t respond, she paws me again and meows louder. It is a scratchy-whiny meow. One that tells me it is past time to wake up. One that tells me I need to pay her attention.
Grr… I shove her to the side and scoot to sit up. Luna rubs the side of her body against my arm, doing a figure eight and coming back for more, a noticeable purr echoing in the darkness. Giving her a light pat and a few pets, I creep out from under the sheet.
“Come on pretty girl. Let’s get you some breakfast.” As soon as the word breakfast is said, her cries morph into a frenzy as if I never feed her. Ridiculous, but adorable.
When she hops off the bed, I reach for my phone and pick up a piece of paper resting atop it. I pinch my eyes together in the darkness and see it is a note from Gavin.
C,
I didn’t want to wake you. Or disturb your morning. Or make things awkward when you woke up and I was still here.
See you tomorrow. Enjoy your day off.
G
I flip the paper over as if looking for more. Or him. But find neither. No more words. No Gavin.
After drinking far too much last night, things are a bit foggy. I walk to the kitchen and pour some food into Luna’s bowl before grabbing a glass of water. His note still in my hand, I walk over to the couch and plop down, a waft of his beachy pine scent hits my nose and I close my eyes as I inhale deeply.
I am so very fucked.
I reread the note a few times, trying to find some hidden meaning in his words. But nothing stands out. There is no hidden agenda. No secret meaning. It is just Gavin being Gavin.
I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling. Stare at the minor imperfections and connect them like constellations. Which makes me think of stars and night skies and sunsets. Ugh.
No way I can sit in this house all day. If I stare at the walls, my mind will keep venturing off into uncharted waters. Waters that always circle back to Gavin. I need to get out and do something. Anything. Maybe have a girl’s day with Shelly. Watch some memorable karaoke and eat fried foods with her and Jonas. Like we always do.
Rising from the couch, I go snag my phone from the charger and shoot a text to Shelly.
Cora: Got plans today?
Not sure what her work schedule is since it fluctuates week to week, but fingers crossed we can hang today. I just need to get out of my head. And in order to do that, I need distractions and meaningless conversation.
Shelly: Off work soon. What’s up?
Cora: Hang out when you’re done?
Shelly: I’m down. 2:00ish good?
Cora: I’ll be ready. See you soon.
Happy to have a planned distraction, I eat a yogurt with granola before heading to the shower. As I wash away everything that happened last night—professed feelings back out in the open and slapped across my friends’ faces—I make a vow to myself.
I will not fall in love with Gavin Hunt. Again. I will not. Or at least that is what I keep telling myself.
“How’s it look?” Shelly asks through the fitting room door.
I stare at myself in the wide, full-length mirror and wonder what the hell I am doing. Being a goddamn idiot is what I’m doing.
My fingers toy with the black lacy boy short underwear, my eyes glued to the bra—also lacy, but resembling that of a leather cage. If I really want to, I can snap a few clips and the two undergarments connect and resemble a vixen-like leotard.
“Uh… I like it. I think.”
Actually, I love it. Shelly doesn’t need to know that, though. But why the hell would I need to buy lingerie like this? Not as if I have someone to wear it for. And I haven’t stepped foot in a club in years—the only other place I might wear something like this.
I stare at myself in the mirror as I fiddle with the lace under my fingertips.
Not as if I need clarity to strike, but let’s be honest. I know why I want to buy this. Want to wear it. The exact reason. The one person who has infiltrated my thoughts since the beginning of the week is said reason. Gavin. I picked up this sexy-as-hell lingerie set because I was thinking about him when we walked past the table. Part of me snatched it because it is black and punk and risqué. Another part of me is optimistic I will have a reason to wear it.
Many women wear sexy lingerie because it provides an air of power. Even if no one else sees it, they come alive with the provocative attire on their skin.
“You think? How can you not know? Let me see,” Shelly insists. And before I realize what is happening, the fitting room door opens and she steps in.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.
“If you didn’t want me coming in, you should’ve locked the door.”
“Lesson learned,” I mumble.
Shelly’s eyes sweep over the racy ensemble before a low whistle leaves her lips.
Her scrutiny isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. Neither is the fact that she stands in a five-by-five dressing room with me while I wear next to nothing and she ogles my semi-naked body. We have been friends long enough to have more of a sister bond than anything else. That is not to say we didn’t share the curiosity phase in our younger years. But t
hat was all it was for both of us, curiosity.
“He’ll love it.” She claps her hands together, a wicked gleam dancing on her face.
“Who?” Confusion laces my tone as I cock my head and stare at my best friend.
“Gavin,” she says, looking at me as if I have two heads for questioning her comment. “He is the reason you’re trying this on. Right? I mean, I know you’re unique in many ways, but no woman tries on lingerie like this unless she has a reason.”
Of course she is right, but I will not admit it. Not to her and not aloud. Geez. When did I become such a hot mess of confusion? Oh, I know. Since the moment I heard his voice drift into that banquet room. The logical side of me gets up in my face and screams. She tells me to finish this shoot and act as if he never stepped foot back in Florida.
But the rest of me… she is off traipsing along the beach, holding hands with the only person she has ever loved. The only person who stripped her bare and shattered her to pieces.
No, I refuse to be that lost, melancholy girl again. Downright refuse.
“Get out,” I mutter. “I need to change.”
Shelly registers the shift in my demeanor and steps out of the fitting room. When the door clicks shut, I take one last look at the siren lingerie on my body before stripping it off and tossing it to the side. After I redress, I leave the room and hand the lingerie to the attendant, thanking her.
“Not buying it?” Shelly asks, a sorrowful look aimed my way.
“No. I have no reason to.”
And that sad, lonely truth hits me harder with each step as we exit the store.
Chapter Eighteen
Cora
Fifteen years ago
Three weeks have passed since the first time Gavin sat next to me under the oak tree at school. Three weeks and we had become friends. Good friends. So good, we spend time together outside of school.
Gavin has even become a close runner up in the best friend department. Shelly will always take the lead. But after the first day, after he saw me adding his frame to my loner girl drawing, it had been nothing except uphill.
Besides hanging at lunch, we saw each other in art and English. Our conversations started off basic, discussing our family life and what we liked doing outside of school. Gavin seems to love art as much as I do, but swears his talents are nowhere as amazing as mine. Only time will tell that truth. We also like similar genres of movies.
By the end of the first week of school, I learned about his love for fish tacos, the beach, music, and sunsets. He told me a great day involved all four and the thought makes me smile at how easily they could be done together.
I lean against the wide trunk of the oak tree. Our tree. Retrieving the baby carrots and hummus from my bag, I start snacking as I flip through my book and wait for Gavin to join me. A page and a half later, he sits beside me and grumbles under his breath.
“You okay?” I ask and pause reading my book when I notice the firm pout on his face. His pouty face is kind of cute.
“Yeah. Just a little turned off by this tuna noodle casserole they’re serving today. It’s gnarly looking.” His pouty face resumes and I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
“News flash, Gavin. All the cafeteria food is gnarly looking. Why do you think I bring my own food?”
He pokes his fork at the pale, goopy casserole and pushes it to all corners of the tray. As if spreading it out will magically make it more appealing.
“I might have to start waking up ten minutes earlier, so I can make something. Or…” He peeks over at me with a shit-eating grin. “You could always make lunch for both of us. I’ll pay you instead of the school.”
I toss a carrot at him. “I’m not your mama, boy,” I tease.
He catches the carrot, sets his tray on the ground, and pops the snack in his mouth. But what I don’t expect is when he starts reaching for more of my food, play fighting with me as I try to push him away. This happens for a couple minutes—him trying to steal my food, me defending my territory. We both laugh and taunt each other.
But then something shifts.
His playfulness stops when he knocks me to the ground and hovers inches above me. Carrots forgotten. Steely-gray eyes pierce mine and my breath hitches. If he lowers himself a few more inches, his lips would touch mine. And this fact heats parts of me I didn’t know existed. Like I have a new organ named Gavin.
I want him to kiss me.
Only two boys have kissed me before. Greg Barton and Jeremy Ashford. Greg, two years ago. And Jeremy last school year.
Greg Barton is a year older than me and I thought kissing him would be life-altering. And it was, just not in the way I had hoped. It actually grossed me out. He had kissed me sloppily, his saliva-coated lips and tongue painting my mouth like they had no idea where my mouth was. I never kissed him back because the thought terrified me.
Jeremy Ashford went to middle school with me and was the most popular boy in the school. I was so nervous just before we kissed. Probably because we were at a friend’s party playing truth or dare. He was dared to kiss me. Poor guy. I still feel bad for him and the bite I’d given his tongue when he pushed it between my lips.
Needless to say, after my most recent experience, rumors spread about how I didn’t know how to kiss or make out. And everyone consoled Jeremy and his marred tongue. Whatever. He was a douche. Besides, I always did better on my own. Loner girl and all.
But looking into Gavin’s eyes above mine, his lips separated just enough for him to draw in breath, I know kissing him would be different. Not another awkward kiss to add to the list of strange life experiences. But maybe on another list. One where you write down all the things you never want to forget because nothing else will compare.
We may have only met three weeks ago, but Gavin is not like every other guy. And I don’t know how that makes me feel.
His body presses heavier into my belly and chest, his lips a breath from mine. I close my eyes, sending a message to the gods above and thanking them for whatever is happening. My breath hitches again in anticipation and then he is gone. His weight removed from my body and the warm breeze blowing my hair in my face.
My eyes fly open and glance over to where he sits up, a gleam of pure joy smeared across his face as he pops a carrot in his mouth.
Did he only want the stupid carrot? Or did he want to kiss me too?
Rising up from the ground, I tackle him and reach for my stolen lunch. It’s not long before we share my food and his tray of scary casserole is long forgotten. We munch on veggies and hummus, and I share half of my cashew butter and banana sandwich with him. We share jokes and laugh. And I promise to make him lunch every day, as long as he foots the cost.
But when we walk away from our tree today, a new sensation flutters inside me. A new wish to be fulfilled. A desire to be kissed by the boy walking beside me.
Chapter Nineteen
Cora
Present
“Another round?” the server asks as she deposits loaded fries, onion rings, and our specified burgers on the table.
“Please,” I tell her as I stuff the veggie burger between my lips.
I glance over at the stage and wish karaoke grandpa was doing his number up there. Could really use the laugh. Instead, I am forced to watch some fifty-something guy going through a midlife crisis. He practically makes out with the microphone—I hope someone sanitizes that thing before anyone else uses it—while he sings “Every Rose Has Its Thorns” by Poison.
...and I think his tongue just grazed the mic. Ew!
Our table is momentarily quiet as the four of us scarf down our burgers, occasionally snatching an onion ring or fry. When I come up for air, I notice I have three sets of eyes on me. Erin, Shelly, and Jonas each drill their own hole into my skull, mining for details of why I am acting off. Their weighted stares like an unannounced party in my head. Shelly and I spent the afternoon together, so her matched stares can take a pill.
Personally, I always thin
k I’m strange. So, I don’t know what their deal is.
“I wish you would’ve invited me shopping earlier,” Erin speaks up, bringing conversation back to the table.
“Sorry,” I confess. “I didn’t purposely exclude you. Just wasn’t thinking straight. Guess my brain was still a little foggy from drinking too much last night.” Amongst other things. But I am not announcing that to the table.
To be honest, my day out with Shelly didn’t clear any of the fog either. Not like I hoped it would. Every store we passed, something caught my eye and sent my thought train Gavin’s direction. It’s only been a matter of days, yet he consumes every part of my day. Even now, while I sit with three of my friends and try to have a night of fun.
“It’s okay. Next time,” she indicates.
“Next time,” I promise.
Another round of silence ensues as the woe-is-me guy leaves the karaoke stage. I cross my fingers under the table, hoping the next person is better and more upbeat. And as I watch a pair of ladies walk up to the stage, each grabbing a mic and whispering to each other before the music kicks in, I hope my prayers will be answered.
Seconds later, “Bootylicious” by Destiny’s Child crackles in the air and the two begin singing. They aren’t horrible, but also not great. But at least the way they are shaking their asses onstage is entertaining. I laugh lightly and keep my eyes on the stage.
“You make it home okay last night?” Jonas’s voice breaks my trance on the singing duo. And when I peer over at him to speak, guilt riddles me at the concern stretched over his face. Normal me would have let him know I made it home safely. Normal me was absent last night.
Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) Page 11
