I smirk at Rian, who’s still eyeing my buzzing pocket. “This is a date.”
“A man with manners.” She lifts an eyebrow and tugs on her collar. My pants weren’t the only casualty during dinner—her jacket has an unknown stain across her left side.
Theresa and I have a word for that, and I almost say it out loud, but I catch myself before it rolls off my tongue.
My pocket vibrates again, and Rian laughs at the sky. “Seriously. Someone could be dying.”
I shake my head, pulling my phone out and seeing that there were fifteen missed calls and nine new texts from Landon. I scroll to the most recent ones, really expecting horrible news.
You busy?
Only in town for a few days, man…
If you’re with a girl, bring her over. Liz and I don’t mind.
My brow furrows, and I check the name at the top. Yeah…from Landon. But it doesn’t sound like him. If he knew I was with a girl, he wouldn’t bug me. Bro code, est. 2005.
“See?” I tell her, showing my texts. “Alive and well, though maybe not for long if he keeps it up.” I laugh, expecting Rian to at least give me a pity laugh too, but she’s still looking at my screen, head tilted slightly to the side.
“Who’s Landon?”
“Friend.”
“And Liz?”
“His wife. Also my friend.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “I wouldn’t mind meeting them.” A slow grin forms on her lips. “If we have time.”
“Are we going to tag some more buildings?”
She does her one-shoulder shrug, then stops in front of a black building with paint sprayed across the front doors and neon lights in the windows. The bouncer fist-bumps her and then opens the door, letting the thumping music float out onto the street.
“You up for it?”
“Thought we were getting some clothes.” I point to my rice-covered crotch.
The wind ruffles her purple hair, and she slaps a hand on the collar of my shirt and tugs me in.
“We are.”
Okay, so this isn’t a club. Or just a club. First thing I see is a clothing section that looks like the airport souvenir shop, if the airport was in a punk town. Then there’s a tattoo parlor, a dance floor, a bar, and…
“You ever been to a paint club?” Rian shouts over the music, pointing to the painted bodies melding together on the dance floor. The sight triggers a memory that nearly knocks me over: flashes of neon paint, tangled limbs, hands sliding over pink and orange skin…that one night so long ago when Theresa gave me an in, and I didn’t take it.
“It’s been a while.” I tear my eyes away from the paint and look down at Rian’s empty hand dangling next to mine. She’s wearing a ring that rests on her thumb and hooks to another ring on her forefinger by a silver chain. I want to like this girl. I want to feel something with her. I want it so much I can practically taste the desperation.
Like ten-years-ago Alec would’ve done, I suck in a large breath and hold it before sliding my fingers down the inside of her arm. They get caught in the crease of her wrist, and I tickle the skin there lightly, playfully, wanting to feel something like victory or joy or just anything, but even when I lace our fingers together, the air feels the same around us.
Instead of letting her take the lead this time, I drag her across the room and into the punk shop.
“I’ll buy your pants, you buy my shirt?” she suggests with a cute bat of her eyes.
“You really like games, don’t you?”
“I like surprises.”
My eyebrows rise, and I make a daring move by pulling our linked hands up to my lips. I kiss every one of her knuckles, keeping eye contact, trying to chase away the feeling of not feeling anything. And Rian takes a step closer, drops our hands, and rises on her tiptoes.
That’s right. She wants her midnight kiss early. And I shouldn’t mind giving it to her. I’m available. A bachelor. She paid for a night with me.
Then why do I feel so damn guilty for even thinking about it?
My eyes break from hers for literally less than a second, but it’s enough to make her back away and just tap my nose with her finger.
“Let’s shop.” She plops her heels back down. “I don’t like brown.”
“And I’m cool with just blue jeans,” I say in front of a rack of brightly colored pants. She automatically reaches for a pair, but I tickle her until she detours to the much better pants choices.
Twenty minutes later I’m in a pair of brand-new jeans that have holes and frayed edges but are better than the construction-orange pair Rian tried to get me to put on. She only relented after I shoved an ugly-ass brown jacket at her.
And clearly I can’t shop for a girl, because I kept picking the first thing I saw and handing it over, and the responses I got were “That’s insanely big” or “I’m not a fifteen-year-old” or “That’s a skirt, Alex with a c.”
She finally approved the jacket she’s wearing now. It’s deep red and black plaid that really showcases all the ink across her chest when she leaves it unbuttoned.
“Are you staring at my breasts, Magic Mike?”
“The tattoos.” With a grin I tear my eyes away and look out at the dance floor.
“Yeah…I believe you,” she teases, then grabs my shirt and pulls me into the crowd. Rian sure likes to tug me around. I wonder if she’s got a dog.
“So this one here—” she says, pointing at her collarbone before putting her hand on my ass and slamming us together. I gulp, clear my throat, and start moving with her to the beat. I’m not nervous, which is something I usually am when I’m dancing with a near stranger. It’s more like a guilty pang, something I’ve been trying to ignore all night.
“—I designed it myself,” she continues. It’s too dark for me to see the tattoo properly, so I set my hands on her hips and gently pull her closer. The dancing lights run across her skin, and I get a good look at a bleeding flower. No, wait…it’s not bleeding.
“I like to incorporate water into everything.” She reaches for my hand, laces our fingers, and brings them to her chest. She covers my hand, pushing with gentle pressure so my fingertips skim her skin. “The China lily…it’s crying,” she says, pushing up again on her tiptoes to whisper it in my ear. “Do you like it?”
I raise an eyebrow. Honestly, I don’t get it. But I should probably say that I like it, or kiss her, or something. She’s obviously trying with me, while I’m…I’m still numb.
What in the hell is wrong with me? I have a girl grinding against me, whispering in my ear, willing to help me get over someone else, and I just can’t feel anything.
Scratch that. I feel something. It wraps around my heart, encases it in rock-hard cement, and seals it closed with a lock and chain. And a big fat stamp slams onto the hard shell, the words PROPERTY OF THERESA marked there in bright red ink.
My heart is afraid to feel.
I stare down at Rian. She’s a beautiful woman. As far as I can tell, she’s fun and confident—two things I’m highly attracted to. Maybe attraction will be enough right now.
My hand moves up, and even though she doesn’t have hair long enough to push back, I smooth my palm over her cheek as if it is.
That’s what all this is about, right? Not big moves, but little ones. It’s the little ones that pull people together. I don’t feel a pull yet, but with enough little moves, it’ll happen. It has before.
Rian drops her gaze and laughs. I quickly move my hand back to her hip.
“Am I really that bad at this?” I tease. Her eyes flick up to mine.
“You’re being so serious. Relax. I’m feeling this.” She wiggles her finger between the two of us, and I wonder if what she’s feeling is contagious, because I’d like to catch it. “So in case I haven’t been obvious, you can kiss me whenever you want.” She tugs me down with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Even in the middle of a sen—”
And my vision completely disappears. I don’t mean that she gives me a
kiss so staggering it makes the lights metaphorically go out. I mean the lights actually go out. The music cuts off, and now the only noise is all the dancers and clubbers and shoppers and tattooists hollering and whooping. I let out a laugh, not realizing how equally frustrated and relieved it would sound.
Rian’s chin rests on my shoulder, and I feel her lip-glossed lips against my ear.
“Guess this means we’re ready for stop number three.”
I chuckle against her. “You know the way out?”
“Not knowing makes it fun.”
“Unless you run into one of those tattoo guns.”
“Shush.” She laughs, and I let her do her tugging thing.
“Sorry,” I say as I ram into some unknown dancer. I feel a soft brush of hair against my wrist, and that tiny bit of contact sends an unexplained sensation through my chest. My imagination must be running wild for a random woman in the dark crowd to remind me of Theresa.
I’m yanked forward and run into another dancer, this one definitely male. “Oh, shit…dude, sorry.”
Rian’s laughter filters through the chaotic sounds of the blacked-out club, and as my face goes right into something that feels a lot like a pole, I curse and tug her back to me.
“You’re fired.”
“Think you can do better?”
“Stand behind me.” I swing her around and hook her fingers in my back belt loops. Another small thing, I realize. I only did it to free my hands up. If she asks, though, I’ll pretend I did it on purpose.
The place is pitch-black, but the best part about being a singer is that you know the space around you by the sounds, the echoes. Back when I was a teenager I did one of those glow-light performances. Sure, we could see stuff the audience couldn’t, but not much.
“Hold on,” I tell Rian, then stick my hands out and listen to the crowd around us. Two steps forward. Three. Four. Ten. Twenty. And neither of us has kissed a pole.
I think we’re out of the dance floor. It’s more open, with less sweaty air around us. Rian’s fingers unhook from my belt loops and wrap around my waist, her face pressing into my spine. My cement heart thuds into my stomach.
I like this, I hear in my head. Rian’s hand runs over my abs, but it’s Theresa’s voice I’m hearing. I like the feel of you.
My breath gets caught in my throat. I can feel her nails along my skin, over my shoulders, along my jaw. Here in the dark, I can feel it as if it’s really happening, though the logical part of my brain knows it’s not. That it’s just a memory.
“Redo,” I whisper, realizing too late that I’ve spoken the word out loud. My lucky stars are working, though, ’cause Rian doesn’t hear. Or if she does, she doesn’t say anything.
Without another thought, I race toward where I think the door is. I’ve gotta get out of the darkness—get away from where I can hear her so clearly in my head that she’s here. And if she’s here, I can’t do what I’m supposed to do.
“Whoa!” Rian laughs behind me as I drag us through. I bump people out of my way, push us through, get us into an opening where I don’t feel or hear much of anyone, then—
Bam!
The front door flies open from the force of my face. A throbbing pain shoots through my nose, making my eyes tear up, but I push that back immediately. Rian swivels around on my waist as I bring my hands up.
“You almost had me thinking you had night vision goggles hidden in your pocket.” She tentatively taps the back of my knuckles. “How’s the damage?”
I drop my hand, and she doesn’t look too rattled by what she sees.
“Am I broken?”
“Not on the outside.” She winks, then takes out her phone. “I think it’s time for some TLC.”
I prod at the bridge of my nose while she talks to someone named Jackson. It’s not a long conversation, but I notice that there’s a different tone in her voice when she says, “I’ll…see you soon.”
She breathes in deep as she hangs up, then puts on a wide smile when she looks at me.
“Uh, you ditching me already?” I ask.
She slowly shakes her head, giving me that mysterious and slightly evil grin I’ve seen several times tonight already. I like that, usually; it’s confident and sexy. But I’m missing it on the set of lips I’m used to seeing it on.
She places her hand on my arm and turns me toward the corner of the street. “Wait for it,” she says.
Three seconds later a guy stumbles around the corner and pukes in the gutter. I give Rian a highly arched eyebrow.
“Not that.” She laughs, then nods at the corner. “That.”
17 MONTHS, 29 DAYS AGO: 8:59 P.M.
I’ve gotta hand it to her—Theresa sure knows how to pull a party out of thin air. My only job is to keep my mouth shut about it all day while Lizzie’s at work, and trust me, it’s not that difficult. I think even if I do let something slip, Lizzie wouldn’t notice. She’s off kissing broom handles and falling on top of the display mattresses and lost in some newly-engaged-girl world every time she stares at her hand. After I catch her using a Sharpie to graffiti the boxes in the back, I send her home with a laugh and close up shop myself.
When I walk through the club doors, I’m not expecting to be immediately bombarded by the girl who unknowingly shattered my heart, but I am. And all I can see is the shiny white of her teeth and her glowing bracelet that says OVER 21.
“Hey!” Theresa says like I haven’t been ignoring her for over a week, then throws her arms around my shoulders. I breathe in and can’t help the sudden takeoff in my chest from her scent. My arms and fingers twitch, and again, I just can’t help the way they glide over her upper back, squeezing with gentle pressure to feel all of her toned and not-so-toned skin just under this thin piece of fabric. It’s an aching reminder of how much I love this girl, and how much she doesn’t love me. I jerk back as if my gut has been punched by an iron fist.
“So, I’ve got an extra shirt if you need it.” She grins when she pulls away. “Wasn’t sure if you got my text about it being a paint party, since you never responded.” She laughs like it’s not a big deal, and the fact that it isn’t a big deal sends that iron fist hurling back into my stomach.
“I’m good,” I tell her, then scan the club for something, someone, other than her. The room is full of painted bodies and tangled couples. Jace is over at the bar, and I nod like an idiot, pretending he’s waving me over. “I’ll catch you later.”
Her eyebrows pull together slightly, but she shakes it off as more people float in.
I ignore her. It sucks.
“Here, dude,” Jace says when I flump onto the barstool next to him. Being the good friend that he is, he pushes some numbing juice in my direction. He’s the only one who knows about the night I had a massive brain fart and told Theresa I loved her. It’s good of him, and normally I’d take it. But I push the glass back, the neon light dancing off the bar top. Not tonight. I want to feel something tonight: excitement for Lizzie and Landon (Landon’s been carrying that ring around for weeks now); joy from getting off work; having a good time dancing; pain. Yeah, I’d even take feeling pain tonight. Maybe the sooner I let myself feel it, the faster it’ll go away.
I push myself off the barstool and head over to the paint drums. A pretty girl with a nice smile hands me a drumstick and pours some neon blue and green on top of the taut fabric. I twirl the drumstick in my hand before crashing it into the paint. The thud of the bass drum rumbles up through my arm as the paint splatters all over my gray shirt. A laugh picks up from my gut, and I hit the drum again and again and again, until I’m covered, and the girl next to me is covered, and the guy next to her is covered, and I decide this is just as good as getting drunk.
“The engaged couple’s here!” a voice calls out. I pull the paint goggles from my face and watch as Theresa points us all to the front door.
My best friend and his fiancée are unmistakable, dressed in white from top to bottom, and when congratulations are yelled from every dire
ction in the club, Lizzie jumps back with a large surprised grin on her face, bumping into Landon.
I’ve known Landon nearly my whole life. He was my best bro growing up, and we’ve gone through different girls and relationships. But the way he looks at Liz as he catches her and kisses her cheek, and even when she gets pulled into the crowd by all the girls in the place to ogle the ring he gave her, I just…I’ve never seen that look on him for anyone else. Makes me think that maybe there is that one person for each of us. Just have to find her.
My eyes subconsciously drift to Theresa, who’s admiring Lizzie’s ring, cheek painted with a pink streak. I wonder if I have “the look” when I gaze at Theresa, or if I haven’t found the girl to give “the look” to yet.
After a good internal scolding and a shake of my head, I hand the drumsticks over to the pretty paint girl and make my way to Landon. Tonight is not about me.
“Hey, finally did it,” I tell him with a pat on the shoulder, staining his blindingly white T-shirt with blue paint. He downs what I assume is the first of many congratulatory shots, then wipes his lips with the back of his hand and throws me a smile.
“Accidentally.”
“How do you mean?”
“It sorta came out when we were in the shower.”
I bolt out a laugh. “And she still said yes?”
He shrugs and gives knuckles to one of his buddies from his movie set as he passes. “Guess I didn’t need to drop a paycheck for a suit.”
I shake my head, remembering the day when Landon said he was going to propose to Lizzie at an outdoor restaurant (what is it about those places?) and he needed a suit. The cheapest one we found was in the back of Jace’s closet—but the legs didn’t cover Landon’s socks, and the shoulders on the jacket were so bulky it looked like he didn’t have a neck.