voice was razor sharp, cutting me from a distance. If I hadn’t been for the fact that I was already in a bad headspace, I’d be tempted to grovel because of that voice.
"But I am. I am sorry.” I slid over to her end of the couch and took one of her hands in my own. She must not have been as mad at me as I thought, since she willingly turned just enough for me to grab the other one as well. “I didn't mean to scare you." The look that earned me was more hostile than her voice had been. "Or laugh at you." I amended so quickly the words kind of ran together.
"Or...?" She prompted, but I was at a loss.
What else could she possibly want me to apologize for? Unless…
My heart stopped.
Did she?
She didn't...
She couldn't possibly have figured out how I felt about her.
Could she?
And she certainly wouldn’t be expecting an apology for it.
Right?
"Or trying to use your puppy dog eyes on me.” I had used puppy dog eyes? When had I used puppy dog eyes? “Seriously, Drew, you know I don't like puppy dog eyes.” Maybe when I was fondling her cheek? Did she mistake that for puppy dog eyes? “Especially yours." All thoughts of puppies and eyes fled as that seemingly innocent comment made its way into my consciousness. An ice pick to my chest would've hurt less.
"I'm sorry you hate my eyes." As quickly as possible, I walked over to the mini fridge and I took a gander inside. Not to find anything there, but to look for what wasn't there. "Looks like I'm out of..." I tried to come up with something plausible, but I'd stocked up on everything Tori might have wanted for the weekend. And since I was an utterly hopeless lovesick fool bordering on stalker-status, those happened to be all the things I'd learned to love over the years as well.
I was going to have to come up with something on the fly. Then defend myself against the inquisition that would follow as Tori demanded to know when I started liking X product instead of Y.
God, this was going to be a headache.
Arms wrapped around my waist as I felt Tori bury her face between my shoulder blades. “Drew, don’t,” she pleaded.
It was very nearly too much to bare. In fact, I had to lean forward and brace myself on the shelf above the fridge to keep from doing something moronic. “Don’t what?”
“Run away.” I snorted out a laugh. Running away from Tori was something I didn't think I'd ever find myself capable of.
Tactical retreats, however, were a different matter.
“I’m not running--"
“You are though. You’re not out of anything. You’re never out of anything.” I was chronically out of everything, actually, except for when Tori was around. Or coming around. Or had alluded to the fact that she might show up. “You’re my rock Drew.”
That kind of thing was dangerous to me. A simple statement that was so full of meaning.
Just never the meaning I wanted.
I had to stop her, had to stop this, before I ended up seriously hurt. “So now I’m a rock with ugly eyes?” I was trying to be playful, but I must have missed the mark since she pinched my arm.
“You know that’s not what I mean, moron. You’re my Drew.” Another of those blasted comments. Despite myself I nearly swallowed my own tongue as my heart started racing.
It was like I was the antithesis of Pavlov's dogs. Every time she'd go down this path, it would lead nowhere and I'd be crushed. Yet the next time I had the same stimulus, there I was getting my hopes up all over again.
Would I ever learn that the stick meant pain?
It was only a matter of time before Tori started talking about some boy at school. Or that pretty boy douche from the center. Or...
Or...
Or I could nip this in the bud right now, avoid her talking about anything that might hurt me. Avoid me talking about anything that might hurt me. And maybe, just maybe, finally get out of the friend zone.
“How about we make a deal? For the rest of the weekend no more talk about cute boys,” please for the love of God no more talking about cute boys, “or classes or parents or working or not working or--“ Soft warm hands covered my mouth.
I managed to avoid licking them.
Barely.
“I get it Drew. No talking about the heavy stuff. Just you and me." She sashayed back to the couch. Watching her, I couldn't help but marvel at the way she moved so seductively without even realizing it.
And as much as I hated to admit it, she really didn't realize it. I'd long ago given up the hope that she was covertly trying to seduce me.
At least consciously.
Bounding over to the couch myself, I plopped back down on my side and pulled her back into my arms.
Yeah, it hurt like a bitch, but it was the good kind if pain.
Well, better than the alternative at any rate.
With that thought swirling around in my head I didn't manage to censor myself before something stupid came tumbling out. "This is just what I need. Good food, good flicks…”
Or worse, before I trailed off obviously.
Maybe she just wouldn't catch it?
"If you call me a good friend, Drew, I will maim you." Of course she noticed. She was way too smart not to. All I could do then was try and play it off.
"So we're not good friends?"
“Nah… best friends.” As if burrowing into a nest, she snuggled down into her seat. Which just happened to be me. “Seriously, Drew, I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life.”
And there was the anti-Pavlov's dog response again, right on cue. Though this time the heart palpitations were laced with an undercurrent of pain. Still, I was proud that it didn't cause my voice to shake even the tiniest bit when I told her, “well then, it’s a good thing you’ll never have to find out.”
Any further conversation was halted by Tori leaning forward to un-pause the movie. The one that she had paused to tell me all about the pretty boy. And yet she was still insisting we had to start over because you just couldn't put down and pick up a film of this caliber willy nilly.
Even after I pointed out that it was "Hello, Dolly!" and we'd watched it at least one hundred times this year alone.
All that earned me was a raised eyebrow as she hit "back chapter" even though the opening image was still frozen.
As a result, by the time shutters got around to being painted forest green, Tori was in that happy not-quite-asleep state. The one where she tended to admit to things she'd never admit to while fully awake. Which was probably the only reason I hadn't just given up and moved on yet.
The epiphany was so sudden and intense, that I almost missed it. That one little thing that kept my heart racing even when all reason told me it was fruitless. A comment whispered in that beautifully sleepy voice. The one that I could pretend sounded sated. And I could pretend was all because of me.
"For the record, Drew, you actually have very pretty eyes. Combined with the glasses your puppy dog look could be a lethal weapon. Always makes me melt.”
Jesus, why couldn't she say those kinds of things while she was awake?
“I love you, Victoria Elizabeth Reeve.” And why couldn't I say those kinds of things when she was awake either.
“Hmm?” I used to stiffen when she'd mumble out "hmm" like that just after my admission. Not anymore though. Now I just kissed her head and told that it was nothing, and to get some sleep.
Because in the end, I was just a coward.
One that wasn't good enough for Tori, and probably never would be.
And one that would never, ever, give her up.
End
About the Author
Ginny Lurcock lives in New Hampshire with her long suffering husband and their wonderful, if a little crazy, daughter. Who cannot (or will not) write about herself in third person.
Because it feels weird.
And I'm weird enough without that little eccentricity.
Basically, I'm sort of an odd duck who reads too much, writes too litt
le, tries to create art in visual mediums (and fails miserably), sings off key, loves movies, and television, and gaming of all kind while trying to juggle a full time job and my family.
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Bad Blood
High school senior Victoria “Tori” Reeve has it pretty good. She’s rich, she’s smart, and she’s popular. What more could a girl ask for? Sure, she’s a little lonely, what with being single and her best friend going off to college and all, but she’s got her work at the Spaulding Crisis Center to keep her busy. When she gets a new boss in the very easy on the eyes form of Isaac Larsen, suddenly her volunteer work feels a lot less like work. Even if he does seem to cause Tori to break out into spontaneous fits of foot in mouth disease. Somehow in spite of her blunderitis, Isaac still seems to be interested in her in a more-than-employer or even more-than-friends kind of way.
So really she should have known that things would go sideways.
Trouble comes to Spaulding, and that trouble seems to be centered on Tori and the Crisis Center. Is she really the focus? Or does this all have to do with the new mysterious man in her life? In her efforts to find out, Tori stumbles across some secrets. Skeletons that might have been better off left in the closet. As it turns out, Spaulding is a hot spot for bad blood…
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