Save Me

by Brisa Starr

  I go back to thinking about Luke. I wonder if maybe I’d be willing to suffer the pain of him leaving, to have him in my bed just once. I would have the memory for the rest of my life. My toes tingle at the thought. I’ll bet he’s a master in bed, too. Heck, he could teach me a thing or two. My body is way overdue for that kind of oil change. Whoowee… I stomp my feet on the floor under my chair to dislodge the feeling.

  My dad looks up. “You OK?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I say and take my last bite of salad. When I’m done, I stand up and carry my plate to the sink.

  Before I can say anything, my dad says, “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll do the dishes. I know the rules.”

  I smile from behind him. Maybe he is doing better. I walk over and stand behind him, and bending down, I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “I love you so much, Dad.”

  I kiss the top of his head and go upstairs to get ready for my friend date with Luke. Despite reminding myself — multiple times — that we’re only friends, I select the perfect outfit. I grab my tight jeans that show off my curves, and a formfitting, V-neck, black T-shirt.

  I opt for my giant, thin, gold hoop earrings Reese bought me for my birthday last year. Then, I apply enough makeup appropriate for the evening. I add a few curls with a curling iron and spritz a bit of gloss on my hair for extra shine.

  I grab my favorite peach lip gloss and swipe some sassy shimmer on my lips. I smack my lips together to spread it around and stare at my reflection. My hazel eyes look back at me, the ones nobody has on my dad’s side of the family, and I wonder where my mother is.

  I wonder why she left us. I wonder why I wasn’t worthy enough for her to love. Why did she cut off all ties? Why did she never let us know she was OK?

  Because you aren’t worth it, Ash.

  I drop my head to my chest and stand, unmoving, as a feeling of self-loathing washes over me. Lance didn’t want me either. Luke just wants to be friends. It doesn’t matter if that’s better for me, the fact is, he only wants to be friends.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Why does everybody leave me?

  I raise my head and look at myself again in the mirror. I remind myself to be grateful for all the good in my life. I’m lucky to have the best dad in the world, and one who loves me. And my best friend, Reese, an impressive job, and I live in a town that I adore.

  And, anyway, I don’t have time for this self-pity B.S.

  I blink rapidly to deny the tears that are begging to drop. There’s no sense in wasting my fresh makeup. Besides, I’m excited about my not-date-movie-date with Luke. I thrust my chest out with attitude and step over to my closet to choose some shoes. Although I’m tempted to go with chunky, high-heeled sandals, I opt instead for friendly and casual Doc Martens. Lord knows, I should play it safe with my tripping track record.

  Time to go. I scruff Honey on the head and fluff my blanket for her. She appreciates the gesture and stretches, before curling up into a fur ball.

  At least Honey likes me. That’s one more on my side.

  14

  Ash

  The doorbell rings, and my heart trips over itself. I race down the stairs and jump off, skipping the last four stairs like I used to in high school. My landing is perfect, and I stand up straight, my arms in the air like I just finished my Olympic floor routine. You cannot do that in high-heels.

  I run to the door and yank it open, and Luke’s smile shines so bright, it takes my breath away. Lord, is he sexy. Maybe he’ll let me run my fingers through his thick, blond hair. As friends. Just once. That’s what friends do, right? I mean, growing up, my girlfriends and I braided each other’s hair, so it can’t be much different than that. I smirk.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he says, and my heart does another backflip… these are starting to become a regular thing when he’s around.

  Don’t think too much about my appearance, Mr. Hottie. We are just friends.

  “Thanks. You look pretty good yourself,” I say and wink, and then I slug him on the shoulder, because that’s what friends do, right? I’ve never had a guy friend, so this will be interesting.

  “Ow!” he pretends and plays along, chuckling. “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Absolutely. I’m excited to see this movie.” Then I tease, enjoying our playful banter, “Now, it might get scary, so if you need to grab onto my hand, you go ahead.”

  He busts out laughing. “I could say the same for you.”

  And, deep inside, I’m hoping it does scare me, so I can grab on to him.

  We walk inside the theater and stand in line to buy our tickets. The place is packed with people for a new summer blockbuster, but we’re seeing a movie that’s already been out for two weeks. As we wait in line, a couple in front of us flips a coin on which movie to see. The woman wins the coin toss and does a twirl before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him. I sigh. Cute.

  We get our tickets and skip the concession stand, which has lines almost out the door. We find our seats in the movie theater, and we have about fifteen minutes before the previews start. I try to cross my legs, but as I lift my leg, my shoe sticks to the floor from years’ worth of spilled drinks and not enough cleaning. Ew.

  I settle for keeping my legs down and scoot back in my seat. Better for my posture, anyway. As I shift my butt to get more comfortable, a man with a giant bucket of popcorn walks by in the row ahead of us, and the smell of buttery popcorn overwhelms my nostrils. “Mmmm, that smells good.”

  “Want some popcorn?” Luke asks.

  “YES!” I blurt. “I rarely get popcorn, but it smells so good! Want to share one?”

  “You got it. Anything to drink?”

  “Sure. A bottle of water? We can share that, too, if you want.”

  “Coming right up!” He stands up, and I think about how my lips will share a bottle of water with his lips. That’s at least close to kissing him, right? Am I acting like I’m fourteen years old? Not really, sharing cooties is a sign of intimacy. I wonder if he’ll bring back one drink or two.

  I bend over to get my purse. “Here’s som…”

  “Don’t worry about it. My treat. Always.”

  “Oh. Well, um, thanks.” He smiles and heads to the concession stand. Hm. I bite my lip. The way he said “always” makes my insides quiver with delight. If he treats to the movies and the snacks, is that what just friends do? Wouldn’t friends go Dutch? At least sometimes? Or take turns paying?

  This feels like a date.

  The lights go down, and he arrives with the popcorn and water just in time. He only brings one bottle, and I wonder if he’ll drink from it. Sitting next to him is harder than I expected. Under the cover of darkness in the theater, I envy the tons of people who are here as couples, lovers, and dates, and probably none like us, where it’s a guy and a girl who are just friends.

  But I’ll take what I can get, because it’s only thirty minutes into our friend date, and I’m having some of the most fun I’ve had on any date. Which is to say, no dates. Not in a long time.

  He leans over and whispers, “Are you ready for this?”

  “Yes,” I breathe and inhale his scent.

  I see him smile, and it’s then that I notice some of the pressure is off us since we chose the friend route, in spite of the occasional glances we steal at one another. We can be ourselves, more relaxed, like there are no expectations. In the span of a day, with two separate dates with him, we’ve laughed, cried — even if it was only one tear on his part — and we’ve shared deeply. As every minute passes, I cherish our friendship even more.

  My face is looking to the screen as it plays advertisements and admonishes the moviegoers to turn off their cell phones, and I sense he’s looking at me. But I don’t want to turn my face to meet his because I don’t know what to say, and I can only handle full-on, close exposure to his gorgeous face in micro-doses.

  “You really are beautiful,” he whispers, super quietly, almost like he doesn’t care if I don’t hear it.<
br />
  But I do. My eyes wide, I whip my face over in his direction, shocked to hear those words. My eyes meet his, and I blink. I swallow hard and wonder where we’re going with this.

  He adds, leaning in, his voice tender, “Thanks for coming to the movies with me.”

  I wonder if he’s about to ditch the whole friend thing and take it to the next level. With a kiss. But instead, he nudges me with his elbow, knocking my elbow off the armrest and says, “You’re an excellent friend,” he says and winks.

  The mood lightens, and the thick air of tension that I felt a moment ago disappears, like a puff of smoke.

  At least I can breathe again.

  I put my elbow back on the armrest and bump his playfully back. We realize we’ll have to negotiate whose elbow goes where, and we settle on a position with mine in front, his in back. And they’re touching, and neither of us is pulling away, like you would with a stranger.

  Oh god, please still my beating heart that wants to fly out of my chest and flop on the floor like a fish, because our elbows are touching and will touch for the next two hours. And we’re just fucking friends?

  The movie starts, and the sound booms through the speakers even louder than the previews. I sneak a glance over at him, without turning my head, so he can’t tell I’m looking. The light from the giant movie screen illuminates his handsome, chiseled face, and he’s clearly enjoying himself. My heart beams like a laser show.

  Then he looks over at me! No doubt, he sensed my gaze, and he winks at me. And, try as I might to deny it, desire rushes through my body, a burning fire that needs dousing. I grab the bottle of water and take a hearty swig, which dribbles down my chin. Good god, I hope he didn’t see that. I quickly dry my chin with the back of my hand. He looks over at me, and I offer him the bottle. He smiles and takes it, drinks a bit and hands it back to me, then looks back to the movie. Hmm. Hard to read. He didn’t do it suggestively or anything. What was I expecting, that he’d start licking the rim? Dudes on hikes will share a bottle, it means nothing either way. Cooties don’t equal romance.

  God, I’m really over-thinking this.

  I go back to watching the movie. Unfortunately, there are no moments where either of us get scared enough to grab hold of the other, but there are many occasions when both of our hands bump in the bucket of greasy popcorn, and each time, my heart gallops. I wonder if his does, too. I lick the buttery oil off my fingers, and my mind drifts, to thoughts about licking his… er, buttery fingers.

  After nearly two hours of torturous-delightful elbow touching and greasy finger bumping, the movie ends. It was good, I think. I honestly wasn’t totally focused on it. He stands up and grabs my hand to pull me up. Thinking he was just doing this to help me out of my chair, I smile at the brief touch. But he doesn’t let go of my hand, and we walk up the aisle to leave the theater holding hands, like the other couples.

  What is going on?

  There’s warmth shared between our hands, and electricity, and all kinds of crazy stuff that I’m positive you’re not supposed to feel when you’re holding your just friend’s hand. And, just then, he squeezes mine tighter.

  Does he feel it too?

  He would have to, because I don’t know if I could have this level of hunger and yearning if it were a one-way street. But we’re just friends, and that’s the way it has to be. He said so, and I agreed. We agreed. Even if we liked each other — which I’m pretty sure we do — I keep reminding myself, it wouldn’t matter. Even if we said we wanted to be more than friends, the reality is, I’m scared, and he’s leaving, and there’s nothing I can do about that.

  We’re walking through the lobby, and I’m about to casually pull my hand away so I can get better control of my emotions, when he asks, “Are you up for a piece of cheesecake at Sally’s Café?”

  “I would love that!” I say, a little too enthusiastically. So, I dial it down and shrug casually, adding, “I love going to Sally’s. I’ve been going there almost every day since she opened, and we’re actually good friends. She’s my library buddy.”

  He holds the door open for me to exit the theater. “Your library buddy?”

  “Yeah, we go to the library and load up on books every month, because we can’t bring ourselves to only read on tablets, if we can help it. We both appreciate our iPads, and use them, but when possible, we like a good old-fashioned book in our hands. Plus, it’s free!”

  He chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve read an actual, physical book in...” he purses his lips, trying to think. “Since college. I mean, I read, a lot, but I always do it on my phone.”

  We walk to his car, and he gets my door for me, which continues to confuse me. Either he’s, like, extra polite with his just friends, or he’s as confused as I am.

  He closes my door and walks around to the driver’s side. As he slides into his seat, he picks up where he left off. “So, you like to read a lot?”

  “I love it. It’s probably my second favorite thing to do.”

  He doesn’t start the car yet and turns to face me, his eyes narrowed in speculation. “What’s your first favorite?”

  “Definitely exercising outdoors,” I answer, turning to face him. Then I add, “I guess, now that I think about it, both things are tied for first, the exercise and the reading... I like how they make me feel. They make my mind and body both feel so good and healthy. I know. I’m a dork.”

  “No, you’re not, but I know of something else that makes the mind and body feel good, and it should be first on your list” he says, his voice low and husky.

  I swallow, and my heart is pounding so hard in my ears, I can hardly hear.

  “And what is that, Luke?”

  “Sex,” he says, and turns to start the car, leaving my mouth hanging open.

  I blush.

  “Well, friend, that’s not really a priority for me these days.” I admit, making light of his comment. “Heck, it’s been so long, I’m not even sure I’d know what to do anymore,” I say, turning my face toward him.

  We’re driving to Sally’s, and I see his Adam’s apple bob after my comment, and we both know this conversation is going in a direction that is anything but just friends, so I reroute us to avoid that minefield.

  “So, friend,” I say. “What are some of your favorite things to do?”

  “Well, I like the outdoors as well, and things that get my adrenaline going, as you know.”

  I’m reminded of why he’s addicted to thrill-seeking activities, but this time, when he talks about it, it doesn’t seem as difficult. He continues. “I love surfing... and running, too. Hey, speaking of running, I’ve seen you leave for runs early in the morning.”

  A buzzing sensation flowers inside me. He knows I run in the morning!

  Does he have an I Spy Ash spot?

  God, I am a dork. Of course he doesn’t.

  We arrive at Sally’s and walk inside. The smell of coffee hits us, and I wish it were morning, so I could have a cup. I hate decaf. On principle. Sally comes out from the kitchen and sees us. “Hey Ash! How are ya, beautiful?” She radiates bubbling energy as her sassy, high ponytail bobs with every step she takes.

  I blush at her compliment. “Doing great! Luke and I came for a piece of your cheesecake.”

  I turn to Luke, “I’ll definitely be running tomorrow after eating this, even if Sally makes it without sugar.”

  I turn back to her. “So, Sally, I’m going to start bringing my dad around every day. We can stop in for coffee in the morning, or I’ll meet him here on my work break. It might change from day to day, but my goal is to get him out of the house, and I figured coming here would be a nice change from his recliner. Heck, maybe you can even put his butt to work — volunteer, of course.”

  “That would be great! I’d be happy to see your handsome dad in here every day,” she says, and I think her eyes are even twinkling a little. Hmm.

  “Make my dad wash some dishes or bus some tables. He needs to do something.”

  Sally
loves the idea, and we discuss the details. After Luke and I get a piece of cheesecake to share, we find a small coffee table in the back, surrounded by two plaid, wingback chairs and a brown leather couch. We both sit on the couch, our knees bumping. It’s cozy back here, and we have a little privacy, which dampens the sound of coffee beans grinding.

  I eye the cheesecake on the table, and Luke loads up his fork with a piece of it. He lifts his fork and presents the delicious-looking bite to my mouth. I open my mouth tentatively, and he gently puts the bite of cheesecake in. I close my lips around it, and he slowly drags the fork out of my mouth, never taking his suggestive eyes off me.

  Is he seducing me?

  And am I supposed to return the favor and feed him?

  I get the answer to my question when he takes a bite of the cheesecake on his own.

  OK, so I didn’t get to seductively feed him. But he did use the same gloppy fork. Like lovers do. Dudes on hikes don’t eat cheesecake off the same fork, right?

  “It’s good, isn’t it?” I ask him, smiling, as the delicious flavors coat my mouth.

  “Yes, very,” he says.

  Flustered a bit, I tap my foot and resume our conversation. “I run awfully early in the morning. How do you know I do that?”

  “Sometimes I can’t sleep, and I see you when you leave.”

  My heart goes out to him. It’s sad he has trouble sleeping. “Well, I’d welcome a running partner, if you ever want to join me,” I say.

  His eyes light up. “Really? I’d be totally down with that. I’m just lying around anyway when I can’t sleep. I’d love to run.”

  “Great,” I say, and I moan when I take another bite of creamy cheesecake. “Well, now that your groin is healed, we can start tomorrow morning.”

  I’m pleased that, even though our friend date will end tonight, we’ll resume it tomorrow morning with a run.

  He frowns. “Oh, wait a minute. I can’t start tomorrow. How about Wednesday?”

  “Oh? Sure. Wednesday.”