Cole looks down and examines the garlic knot that he’s holding between his fingers. “In some ways it was.” He pauses and I see his jaw working. “The thing is that when I look back, I realize that my mom was probably just screwing around with the guy—the coach. She didn’t want to help or make me better. That woman never gave a flying fuck about me or whether or not I was okay. Even back then she was only interested in one thing. Herself.”
I suck in my breath and Cole’s eyes flick to mine. “I—I—”
“You don’t have to say anything. Please don’t tell me how sorry you are. That’s the worst thing that people can say.” He clears his throat. “I don’t really like to talk about my mom because it makes people weird. And I wanted tonight to—” He stops himself and closes his eyes for a moment. “Let’s just eat, yeah?”
So that’s what I do. I don’t let Cole know that the hitch in his voice has turned me inside out. I sit on my side of the booth and obediently eat a few of the garlic knots and way too much pizza. And somehow I wind up telling him about the time that Jillian and I ordered pizza to her car. He looks confused, so I explain. “I was seeing this guy and he was in a band—a very bad one, I might add. Anyway, one night we had to wait for him in a parking lot after a show to give him a ride. It took longer than it should have and eventually Jilly got sick of it so she ordered a pizza to her car.”
Cole laughs and shakes his head. “That answers one of my questions.”
“What’s that?”
“Obviously you used to date,” he concludes. “And he was a musician? I didn’t take you as the type to fall for a guy with a guitar. It’s so cliché.”
I feel my skin flush. “Yeah, well… I was a bit different back then.” Cole isn’t asking but I can see the questions all over his face. I know that I have the words. They’re broken, but they’re in my head. “You know that Daniel’s little sister was my best friend, right?”
He nods.
“After she died, I made promises to myself. That night I—I made a mistake… one that I can’t take back. Not ever. And I don’t expect people to understand, but it changed me forever. I might not ever be okay again and I don’t want to weigh down someone else with all of that baggage.” I let out my breath. “I know that makes me sound like a crazy person but it’s complicated.”
He stares at me for a while. “I don’t think that you sound crazy. I think that you sound scared.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “You know, I agreed to answer questions in return for the interview. Fair is fair. So if you want to ask me about Jillian and that night, just do it. I know that you’re curious about it. You have to be.”
Cole’s quiet for a long time. “That’s true, Aimee.” His green eyes reach into mine and electrify all of my nerve endings. “I am curious about what happened. But that’s not the kind of story I want you to answer. It’s the kind I want you to tell.”
Cole
You don’t win races by going balls to the wall right off the starting block. You win by running smart—pacing your breaths, relaxing your body into the steps, and powering through the recovery.
I wasn’t lying when I told Daniel that I wasn’t playing a game with Aimee but that doesn’t mean that I’m not working out a strategy.
I like her. Plain and simple. And, yeah, it’s fucking with my brain and tying me up in knots, but I’m going to stay smart.
Aimee’s skittish. She’s like one of those wild animals that you see documentaries about on TV. And I’m the scientist who’s got to stay patient and move slow. I’ve got to leave out a trail of food and gain her trust by getting a centimeter closer each day. I’ve seen how this shit goes down—if I move too fast, she’ll bolt and I’ll have to start all of the way back at the beginning.
Tonight it feels like maybe something’s changed between us. There have been some moments that have felt, I don’t know, like they’re somehow more than all the others and it’s giving me hope. Or maybe I’m just growing a vagina and all of it is a product of my imagination. Either way—Aimee is talking to me about more than the weather so I’ll take it.
It’s dark when we leave the restaurant. Under the frail silver moonlight, she stops and pulls her phone out of that huge purse that she carries around with her all of the time. I watch her bite her bottom lip and one-handed twist her hair over her shoulder. I realize that it’s a nervous habit to try to cover up the scar on her neck. I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to bother—that she’s fucking gorgeous, but I’m afraid to push her too far. I don’t want to rock the uneasy balance that’s leveled out between us.
“I’m texting my sister for a ride home,” she tells me even though I haven’t asked.
My heart amps up but I stay cool. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take you in my truck.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
This time, when we walk to my truck, I hold the door for her while she climbs in. Aimee has to brace her weight against the doorframe, and as she does, the fingertips on her hand brush against my forearm, light as smoke. Her eyes meet mine in the half-light and it takes everything in me not to lean in and press my body up against hers. It would be so easy. She’d probably even let me.
Before I can do something stupid, I slam her door and walk to the driver’s side. I swallow hard and then we’re headed east of campus, and I’m starting to think that offering her a ride was a giant mistake. In the tight confines of the truck cab, I can smell her lotion and her shampoo and I’m intensely aware of every single breath that she drags into her lungs. My body is so jacked up that I can’t think of a single thing to talk about and I want to touch her so badly that I’m starting to get jealous of the goddamn truck seat.
She makes a little sound and I glance over. Aimee’s got her arms wrapped around her chest and she’s almost shivering despite how warm it is tonight. Wordlessly, I adjust the air conditioning and point one of the vents away from her. I catch a quick smile before she turns her face toward the darkened passenger window.
My mind is all over the place. I’m remembering that last run at practice today and how I fucked up and let Brady overtake me at the end. And then I’m silently going through baseball statistics to try to get my mind off how incredible Aimee smells right now. Shit. And I can’t believe that I talked about my mom tonight. I never talk about my mom and somehow she’s managed to slip into my conversations with Aimee twice now. She probably thinks… Fuck. I don’t have a clue what she thinks about me.
She’s still looking out the window. Her profile is shadowed, but I can see the tiny hairs curling around the delicate skin of her face. I want to push them back behind her ear so that I can see her more clearly. I want to cup my hand on the back of her neck and pull her mouth to mine so that I can open up her lips with my tongue. I want to trace the dips and curves of her body with my fingertips and I want to memorize every single inch of her.
But that’s not happening.
Not tonight.
Tonight is about pacing.
Tonight is not about my dick. It’s about being smart.
“So,” I say as I pull up to the curb in front of her place. She lives smack-dab in the middle of a small row of upscale townhomes a few miles from campus. Each unit is protected from the street by a curved stucco wall. The exterior of the entire complex is painted an obnoxious color that seems to only exist in Florida. I would describe it as the evil offspring of pink and peach. I’m guessing that a girl like Aimee would call it coral. “Did you get everything that you need from me for the interview?”
Aimee frowns slightly. “I think so.”
I try not to be obvious about the disappointment storming around in my head. I’m about to tell her good night, but then Aimee starts talking. “I think it’ll be enough, but I probably should have asked you some more general stuff—you know, for background.”
“Like what?” I prompt.
Aimee’s shoulders rise up around her neck. She’s biting her bottom lip a
gain. “Like your favorite color, and the three movies you would take to a deserted island with you, and what kind of music you listen to when you’re getting ready for a race.” Her eyes dart to mine. “I guess you can come inside if you want and we can finish up…”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
“No,” I say, shaking my head decisively. “I’m actually kind of tired. Can we do the rest of the interview tomorrow?”
Aimee seems a bit surprised, but I’ll give her this—she rallies. She opens the passenger door and hops down from the truck. “Do you want to try to meet on campus sometime during the day? It shouldn’t take me very long.”
“Nah.” I let my eyes rest on hers. “I don’t have practice tomorrow so that means I’m free at night.”
Aimee’s face pinches together. She runs a finger through her long hair and bounces the open truck door against her hipbone. “And? What does that mean, Cole?”
“And, that means that I’ll pick you up at seven.” I lift my eyebrows suggestively. “So be ready.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aimee
“You’re acting like this a date.”
I turn my body away from the full-length mirror to look at Mara. “But it’s not a date. Cole and I are friends or at least something sort of like friends. I honestly don’t know how to explain it—it’s weird.”
It is weird, whatever it is we’re doing. I know that it’s just an interview for an assignment, but that’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy myself last night.
I like Cole. I do. I’ve discovered that contrary to popular belief, he’s not an asshole. And even though I can’t go there with him, I like the idea of being around him. I just wish that I didn’t enjoy looking at him so much.
“Okaaaay…” Mara leans back against my headboard. Her arms are loosely crossed above her head. “But once again, you just seem really concerned about what you’re wearing. And let’s be clear: the dress that you’ve got on right now is definitely a date kind of dress.”
I glance at the pile of discarded clothes on my bedroom floor and back to my reflection in the mirror. Seeing myself through my sister’s eyes is a major reality check. I look like… well, she’s right. I look like I’m going on a date. I’ve got on a white sundress that my mother bought for me last year but that I haven’t been brave enough to wear yet. It’s strapless with stitching laced across the bust and a scalloped hem that swishes femininely around my knees. I know that even taking into account the scar running down my neck and collarbone, the dress makes my shoulders look dainty. The starch white of the material is nice against my coloring, but it’s too much. Way too much.
“Freaking craptastic.”
Mara laughs. “I’ve got to say that aside from the fact that he’s slept with half the girls on campus, I think that you could do a lot worse than Cole if you did want to, you know, try.”
She’s teasing, but her words are edged with a hopefulness that sucks everything in and spits it back out. The truth is that a part of me—the part that decided to put on this dress and apply an extra coat of mascara to my eyelashes—is trying. And that’s not just unsettling… It’s terrifying.
I sigh and trace my fingers along the visible line of my scar.
“Stop it, Aimee,” Mara says. “You make too big a deal out of it.”
I stare at the mirror. And this strange feeling makes my stomach slip uneasily. It’s like nothing about the girl looking back at me makes any sense.
Mara’s probably right and I do make too big a deal out of it. Dramatic is what our mother calls it. That’s what she said to me when I told her that I couldn’t go back to my high school for my senior year and that I wanted to go live with my grandparents in Portland.
Don’t be so dramatic, Aimee.
My best friend had just died and I had the stitches in my skin to prove that I was there to watch it happen, and she thought I was being dramatic.
I reach for the hem of the dress and pull.
“What are you doing?” Mara asks. She pushes herself forward.
“Changing,” I say, bending down to search through the pile of clothes at my feet.
“But…”
I know that she’s disappointed. I can tell that she’s going to try to get me to keep the dress on but it’s too late. I’m already zipping up the baggy jeans I wore to class today.
Cole
“You can’t play worth a shit.” I stand to the side and watch her throw.
Aimee laughs. “You’re right,” she shoots back. “I wish I had a real excuse, like, ‘I’ve got a cramp in my arm,’ or ‘I’m out of practice,’ but the truth is that I just suck.”
“Yep. You suck.” I smile wickedly. “Aimee Spencer, you have a lot to look forward to in this lifetime, but I don’t think that a Skee-Ball championship is anywhere in your future.”
She laughs again. It’s a good sound. A great one actually.
I throw the last of the balls from the side channel and reach down to break off the stream of paper tickets that the machine spews out. I turn to her and ask, “You tapped out yet?”
She casts her head thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m kind of hungry.”
“Well, then you’re in luck because I’ve heard that this arcade offers a wide array of culinary masterpieces. There’s your standard cheddar and caramel popcorn, a variety of artificially flavored tootsie pops, an exquisite selection of braised corndogs, and the cotton candy…” I pinch my thumb and fingers to my lips and kiss them. “Let’s just say that it’s supposed to be divine.”
“Cotton candy? You pull out all the stops, don’t you?”
I like the look on Aimee’s face too much for my own good—the easy way that she’s watching me and how the arcade lights scatter across her long hair. Without thinking, I reach out and run my fingers over her forearm. “For you—anything goes.”
She sucks in a shaky breath and bows her head quickly, but not before I see the ghost of something move across her features.
“Umm…” A flush creeps up her neck. She pulls on her hair and nods at the arcade tickets we’ve both won over the last hour. “What should we do with those?”
I step back and look around. “Follow me,” I say, sliding in between the machines and dodging a couple of waist-high kids.
I know that it’s probably strange that I dragged Aimee to an arcade, but I wanted to do something with her, and dinner and a movie is played out and reeks of a dating cliché. I was about to break down and ask Daniel, of all people, for advice when it hit me.
My mom left when I was seventeen. I was young, but I was still old enough have my own life—one that was busy and kept me distracted. I was able to lose myself in winning races and getting laid and being pissed off most of the time.
Things were different for my little sister, Sophie. I don’t think anyone should have to wake up one day with a mom and go to bed that night without one. Especially not a ten-year-old girl.
She started to do badly in school. She stopped bringing friends home. One night in a bout of frustration because no one was around to help her with her hair, Sophie chopped it off to her ears with a pair of kitchen scissors.
I was a goddamn teenager. I didn’t have the first clue how to talk to a messed-up little kid, and it didn’t help that our dad was completely checked out. Things were bad—really bad. And then one afternoon, four months after our mother left, I picked Sophie up from school and we got a flat tire on the way home. That’s how we wound up at an arcade. It started as a way to waste time while my tire was being patched, but it turned into something more.
For the first time in four months, I saw Sophie laughing. She was lost in the spinning yellow and red lights from the machines and acting like a kid. And it was one good afternoon in the middle of the pile of shit that had become our lives. I started taking Sophie every week. It was a way for her to get out of her own head and have a slice of normalcy—even for just that single hour.
And glancing over at Aimee, I think that’s probably why I sear
ched online for the best arcade near campus and drove us here.
We stop near the ticket exchange counter and I point out a scrawny boy with an unfortunate overbite and a bad case of acne. Understanding my intention, Aimee smiles and takes the tickets from me. She walks over to the kid and taps him gently on the shoulder. From where I’m standing, I can’t hear the exchange but I see the way his mouth falls open and his eyes widen—first at the tickets and then at the beautiful girl handing them over.
I’m laughing when she returns to me.
“What?” Her blue eyes are amplified.
I shake my head. “You do realize that you just gave that kid a year of wet dreams?”
Two little frown lines pull between her eyebrows making her look unbelievably cute. “What do you mean?”
I don’t try to hide the fact that I’m looking at her—all of her. She’s got on a pair of loose jeans rolled up to mid-calf and this vintage looking shirt that hangs off her shoulder exposing her collarbone and the thin scar that climbs up her skin like a vine. Her hair is loose and snakes around her arms like it’s moving to music. Jesus. Who is this girl?
I smile when our eyes catch. “You don’t see yourself clearly at all, do you?”
Aimee
Cole and I end up getting gyros from a food cart that’s set up outside the arcade.
He hands the guy money and I want to argue and pay for my own food, but something about his face keeps my lips closed and my hand from going to my purse. Instead of a thank you, I simply take the aluminum-wrapped gyro and follow him over to a nearby wooden bench that’s been worn to a dingy grey from the wind and the sun. About fifty feet in front of us the parking lot gives way to sand. Sighing, I lean against the bench and let myself look out at the water.
I’ve been back in Florida for weeks, but this is the first time I’ve been anywhere near the beach, and, God, I’ve missed it. Our townhouse is only fifteen minutes away and I’ve thought about asking Mara to drive me almost every day since the start of school, but something has kept the words shoved inside my mouth. Now that I’m here, I don’t understand why I waited so long.