I didn’t want her fear, or my presence, to keep her from returning. I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.
That night, before I could talk myself out of it, I texted her, asking if she still wanted to see the charcoal. She answered yes, so I told her to pull her hair back and wear something warm, and then I hopped on my Harley and went to get her.
Outside her dorm, I leaned on the bike and watched the door. People were coming and going all around me, but I couldn’t pay attention to any of them. When she emerged, I was struck again at our differences. I made enough money now to buy non-thrift-shop threads, but my style hadn’t changed much. This girl was a blend of classic and trendy but expensive clothes – they were a second skin she wore comfortably. She slowed, looking for me while buttoning a little black coat that could have come right out of a definitive 1960s film, the type my mother had loved.
It didn’t take her long to spot me.
Her step faltered and I wondered why. I wanted to sweep her up and kiss her as if there’d been no break since the last time I held her. I wanted to erase her friends’ designation for me – her bad-boy phase – an inconsequential segment of time between two sensible, valid stages: Kennedy Moore and whoever came next.
‘I guess this is the reason for the hair guidelines,’ she said, inspecting the helmet I handed her as if it was a complex, alien thing. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, a fact that sort of turned me on. Like I needed help with that.
She gazed up at me as I settled the helmet on her head, adjusting and fastening the straps. I lingered over the process, mentally devouring the sweet lips I could still taste and staring into her eyes, deep and blue as the open ocean.
The care I took on the drive over escaped her, I figured, since she buried her face in the middle of my back and held on to me round corners as if she’d be flung to Oklahoma otherwise – not that I’d ever complain.
By the time we arrived, her hands were freezing, so I took one and then the other between mine, gradually rubbing warmth back into them. I wondered how she played an instrument the size of an upright bass with such small hands, but I bit my lip just before voicing this aloud.
She’d only told Landon about the instrument she played.
Prolonging my guilt trip, she asked if my parents lived in the house on the other side of the yard. ‘No. I rent the apartment,’ I told her as we climbed the steps and I unlocked the door.
Francis didn’t appear impressed or concerned that I’d brought someone home with me. He merely stalked from the sofa to the door and out, as if giving me a few moments of privacy. Jacqueline laughed at what I’d named him, musing that he looked more like a Max or a King. I explained that my cat had enough of a superiority complex without me giving him a macho name.
‘Names are important,’ she said, unbuttoning her coat slowly.
A chill ran down my spine at her words and the possible dual meaning behind them, but it disappeared with the hypnotic draw of her small fingers, slipping buttons through buttonholes at a pace that mercifully drove everything else from my mind and affected my heart rate directly. When she finally released the lowest button, my patience was going up in flames. I slid my thumbs inside and along her shoulders, tugging the jacket gently down her arms.
‘Soft,’ I whispered.
‘It’s cashmere,’ she whispered back, as though I’d asked.
I wanted to pull her close, run my hands over that sweater and kiss her breathless. I wanted to stroke my tongue along the tapered arch of her ear, frame her pretty face with my hands and taste her plum-ripe mouth. Her eyes dilated slightly in the dimly lit room, and she stared up at me, waiting. Every muscle in my body strained towards her, wanting her. But I had something more important to tell her, and I blurted it out before I lost my nerve and reached for her instead, noble intentions be damned.
‘I had an ulterior motive for bringing you here.’
16
Landon
Those of us who dislike crowds were spoiled after the last few months of mild winter weather and fewer tourists. But during spring break, there’s no such thing as a deserted beach here.
After barely graduating last year, Thompson senior started getting into more extreme shit – selling and using – while Rick slowly took over the weed, gelcaps and little purple pills arm of his big brother’s enterprise. His livelihood depended on buyers, so crowds were good.
‘Dumbass smokes through half his profits, though, man,’ Boyce said. From one of the rocks overlooking the beach, we watched Rick circle through the crush of bodies. He was selling a good time in a baggie, and business was thriving.
‘Or gives them away.’ As if to illustrate my point, Brittney Loper circled her arms round him from behind, pressing her chest into his back and speaking into his ear. Without stopping his conversation with a couple of potential clients, he brought her round front with one arm and transferred a small baggie from his hoodie pocket to the front pocket of her jeans with the other.
She leaned into him and kissed him while the two guys glanced at each other. One of them said something, Rick shook his head and turned Brittney round, snaking an arm round her rib cage. The guys stared at her ample cleavage. She stuck a hand out and each of them shook it. Cash and baggies swapped hands, and Brittney walked off down the beach between the two out-of-towners.
‘Man, that girl lives dangerously,’ Boyce said, taking one last drag on his cigarette.
‘Seriously.’ I tossed back the rest of my beer and chewed the corner of my lip. After a minute, I added, ‘I’m thinking about getting my tongue pierced.’
He made a pretence of shivering. ‘Damn, Maxfield, why the hell would you do that?’
Boyce had no piercings and only one tattoo – Semper Fi above an Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblem on his shoulder, in memory of his only sibling, a Marine who’d died in Iraq. ‘I didn’t know how much I hated needles until then. Burned like a motherfucker,’ he’d told me once. ‘If I hadn’t been doing it for Brent, I’da told Arianna to quit with the damned bird’s head.’
‘I heard a tongue stud makes it better for the girl when you go down on her,’ I answered.
He crooked an eyebrow, his beer halfway to his mouth. ‘That so?’ He took a swallow. ‘Even still. Maybe if it made it better for me …’
I shrugged, smirking. ‘If it’s better for her, it’s better for me.’
He peered at me. ‘That sounds suspiciously like you’re fuckin’ someone you care about, Maxfield.’ I said nothing, and after a few seconds, he groaned, head falling back. ‘Oh, man – for real? Shit. Why don’t you ever listen to the Boyce of reason?’ I grunted at his pun and shook my head as he sighed. ‘You know when I’m the one talkin’ sense, you’re in deep shit.’ He scanned the crowd. ‘So where is she?’
‘Houston for a couple nights. She and her mom go shopping every year during spring break.’
Boyce dropped his cigarette butt into his empty bottle. ‘Watch your back. You know Richards is a grade-A dickhole.’
‘I don’t think he gives a shit.’
‘About her? Probably not. But he gives a shit about appearances, and he doesn’t like to lose.’
‘Neither do I.’ My phone vibrated and I pulled up a text from Melody, along with two dressing-room-mirror selfies of lacy nothings – one black, one red. I lay back on the rock, staring. ‘Holy, holy shit.’
Melody: Lingerie shopping. This? Or this?
Me: BOTH. EITHER. Is this a trick question??
Melody: I’ll be wearing one of them Friday, if you still want to go out.
Me: A. Of course I want to go out. B. You can’t go out in that, unless you want me to kill the first guy who touches you.
Melody: Under my clothes, silly. You’ll know, but no one else will.;)
Me: I’ll never make it through dinner.
‘What? Is she sexting you?’ Boyce asked, reaching for my phone. ‘Lemme see.’
I shoved it in my pocket. ‘Nope. That’s all mine.’
r />
‘Lucky bastard.’
I shook my head, sitting up. ‘I thought you guys couldn’t stand each other?’
Spreading his arms, he asked, ‘Who’s gotta stand her to appreciate her naked?’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You’d better hope that never happens.’
He put his hands up. ‘All right, all right – keep your shorts on.’
I took a deep breath, hand on my phone inside my pocket. My fingers itched to pull up those photos and study every detail. Meticulously. ‘I need a beer or five.’
Boyce hopped down to the sand. ‘On it, bro. Let’s go.’
Melody’s parents were less than thrilled to see me at the door Friday to pick her up, or the old blue-and-white Ford F-100 at the end of their curving pebbled walk. I’d worn boots, jeans and a snap-front western shirt I’d taken from Grandpa’s stuff before Dad gave the rest of it away. The shirt was faded blue, soft as hell, and way older than me. There was a tear by the cuff, so I rolled the sleeves and pushed them up to my elbows. I forgot about my tattoos until her mom focused on them two seconds after opening the door – once her eyes unfocused from my truck.
Fingering the necklace at her throat as though I might snatch it off and run out the door, she spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Landon. Hello. Melody will be down in a minute.’
Her father was less subtle. One glance at me, and he turned to his wife. ‘Barb, may I see you in the kitchen?’
‘Wait here, please,’ she told me. I nodded.
Melody came down the stairs a moment later wearing a short red sundress with boots, and my mouth went dry, immediately imagining those red lacy things she’d promised to wear underneath. I knew every detail of them except how they’d feel to the touch, because I’d stared at those photos for so many hours that they were all but burned into my retinas.
‘Ooh, cool vintage shirt,’ Melody said, running a hand down my chest. My whole body responded to her touch, everything constricting at once. I was in deep shit with this girl.
We could hear her parents arguing in the kitchen. ‘Did you approve her going out with that Maxfield boy?’ her father said.
‘Of course not –’
‘What the hell were you thinking? What happened to Clark?’
Her mother’s answer was inaudible.
Melody rolled her eyes. ‘God. Let’s get out of here.’
She got no argument from me.
We took the ferry and drove to a Peruvian seafood joint for ceviche and fish tacos.
‘So you like working on cars?’ Melody asked, sipping her iced tea.
I’d hung around Boyce a few times when he was working at his dad’s garage. He liked the grease under his nails, the smell of the exhaust, and getting his hands dirty while diving into the bowels of the machine under a hood. That wasn’t me. ‘Kinda, but not really. It might be cool to design cars. I mean, I like figuring out how mechanical things work, but only so I can use that knowledge to build something else. Once I know how it all connects, it’s not that fascinating any more. When I was a kid, I took stuff apart all the time – radios, clocks, toasters, a doorbell chime …’
She laughed. ‘A doorbell?’
‘Yeah. I made my mom nuts with that one. I got it back together, but she said it always sounded like a wounded moose after that.’
She smiled. ‘So that’s what some of those drawings on your wall were. The mechanical stuff. I thought maybe you were like, into steampunk or something.’
‘That’s cool in fiction.’ I shrugged. ‘But I’m more into sketching new technologies.’
She took my hand and traced the tattoo across my right wrist. ‘What about your tattoos? What do they mean?’ When she started to turn my hand over, I threaded my fingers through hers instead. I wasn’t ready for her to discover those camouflaged scars.
‘Enough questions about me. What about you? What do you like to do?’ I arched a brow and leaned closer. ‘Besides sending me pics that drive me crazy for two days straight.’
Lips pressed together, she grinned and then stared at the table, shrugging one mostly bare shoulder and swirling a fingernail in a pool of condensation. ‘I dunno. I like fashion. I like being a part of the dance squad.’ She peered up at me and chewed her lower lip. ‘I kind of like history? Like, art history?’
I nodded. ‘That’s cool.’
She looked dubious. ‘You think?’
‘Yeah – but it shouldn’t matter what I think.’ I squeezed the hand I held. ‘If you like it, you like it. Is that what you want to major in when you go to college?’
She sighed. ‘Maybe. But my parents expect me to do something like be an accountant or a doctor. They got all excited when Pearl and me got to be best friends, because Pearl wants to go to medical school. But I’m not like her.’
I couldn’t help the smirk that stole across my face.
‘What?’ She frowned and started to withdraw her hand.
I clenched my fingers tighter and smiled. ‘Nothing! I was only remembering how super-excited you were to do that frog autopsy. Not. I’m thinking medical school might not be in your future.’
She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Seriously. I couldn’t have given two shits to slice that thing open, and Pearl was pissed off she was out sick that day because she missed it. You did okay with it, though.’
I shrugged. ‘I was only interested how the stuff inside worked.’
‘Like the doorbell and the radio?’
Nodding, I said, ‘Speaking of radios – do you wanna go park somewhere and listen to music?’
Leaving the windows rolled down so we could hear the radio, I pulled two sleeping bags, a quilt and a pillow out of the toolbox in the truck bed.
‘The cemetery, huh?’ Melody peered around as our eyes adjusted to the meagre light cast by the moon and a sky full of stars. ‘It’s kinda spooky here. Like maybe all the ghosts are spying on us.’
I watched her through the fringe of my hair. ‘The beaches are full of drunk tourists. No one in here is going to bother us. Unless you mind those ghosts watching me kiss you.’
She twisted her lips and smiled. ‘Guess I don’t mind that so much.’ She pulled her boots off and climbed into the truck bed, and I followed suit.
Five minutes later, I sat back on my heels, regretting the fact that I didn’t dry-run this at home first. The truck bed’s ridges cut through the meagre layers of cloth. It was made for hauling stuff, not making out. ‘Not the most comfortable surface …’ There was no way I could lay her down on this. Dammit.
‘It’s fine.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s not.’
Pushing my chest until I lay back, she scooted up beside me, on her knees. ‘It is.’
I decided not to argue, especially when she unsnapped my shirt – not all at once, but one maddening click at a time, her hands smoothing over my pecs, tracing the rose tattoo before moving down over my abs, which hardened – like every other part of my body.
She untied the shoulder straps of her dress. The fabric slipped down to reveal the red lace I’d dreamed about, asleep and awake, ever since she messaged me those pics. As the dress fell to her waist, I was thankful for a full moon and cloudless sky. I rose to one elbow and reached a finger to the shadowed crease of flesh barely covered by the lace.
‘Can I touch you here?’ I asked, staring into her eyes. She nodded. ‘And here?’ I sat back up, moving both hands to her waist and gently pressing the dress down over her hips when she nodded again, her breathing becoming erratic.
She stood and let the dress drop to her feet. My mouth went dry as she kicked it behind her. Her sheer red push-up bra and panties hid absolutely nothing. Even in the semi-darkness, it was better than the pictures on my phone. Going to her knees, she pressed me flat again, straddling me. My hands gripped her thighs.
‘Still think it’s too uncomfortable?’ she asked.
‘Um. No. I think I could pretty much lie on hot coals right now and not notice. A bit of bumpy sheet metal is nothi
ng.’
One of her bra straps fell of its own accord, and I reached to pull the other one down. Her tits were close to spilling from the barely-there cups. ‘Holy fuck,’ I said.
She leaned close and unzipped my jeans. ‘Yes.’
We left the lacy things on. I felt the soft scuff of it against my chest as she leaned to kiss me. I felt it against my palms on her ass, my fingertips touching the bare skin just below it. And then I couldn’t feel anything but where we joined. She gasped my name minutes later as I angled my hips up to meet her and it was like there were fireworks all around us.
‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Melody,’ I whispered when she’d fallen asleep, her ear pressed to the rose tattoo above my heart.
LUCAS
My ulterior motive terrified Jacqueline as much as I feared it would. I wanted to show her the ground-defence move here, where no one was watching – the one she’d not been able to do without quaking this morning – and teach her to do it without a second thought.
Knowing she could do this would bring her power. If she’d have been able to do this move that night and escape that truck, he might have been too drunk to chase her down. If I hadn’t been there, it would have given her a chance to get away from him.
I still couldn’t think about seeing him on top of her without red edging my vision, followed by crushing guilt for not immediately following him out the door the second he left the party. I’d allowed my insecurity over my desire for her to blunt my perception that something was off about him. Monumental mistake. I swore I would not make it again.
Focus.
‘Trust me, Jacqueline. It works. Will you let me show you?’ I held her hands in mine – they’d gone cold again – and watched a swarm of emotions hurtle across her face. Fear was foremost, and I prayed that her fear stemmed from those memories and not from me. If she couldn’t trust me with this, I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t help her. Trust me.