by Gina Azzi
I laugh, recalling a whole summer where I practiced being Aurora and Cinderella, all of the blonde Disney princesses. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
He nods, his eyes shining. “I remember, Claire. After that you were going to design wallpaper.”
“Oh my God!” I facepalm. “That was because of that one class I took.”
Easton nods, knowingly. “Introduction to Modern Design.”
“Yes!” I point at him in disbelief. “I forgot all about that crazy professor.”
“Dr. P,” we say at the same time.
Easton grins and I smile back. My chest warms from the memories and also from Easton recalling them, as if he cared all along.
“You never said anything about your own business,” he reminds me.
I sigh. “I guess I never did. It’s a newer idea since I’ve started designing band logos. It started more as a hobby. Mainly because of my fangirling but—”
“Hold up.” East lifts his hand. “Who are you fangirling over?”
My blush deepens. “I dated a musician over the summer.”
His eyebrows furrow for a moment but then realization sweeps over his expression and his eyes harden. “Derek.”
“Derek,” I agree.
Easton watches me for a second, his gaze intense. I shift under his scrutiny, desperate for him to say something. “Are you still a fan?”
I snort out a laugh, breaking some of the tension between us. “Absolutely not. But Derek’s introduced me to other bands and several of them have reached out over the past two months.”
He chews his chicken thoughtfully. “Any bands I’d know?”
I stall by taking a large gulp of water. There’s no way Easton hasn’t heard of Derek Reiner because The Burnt Clovers is the biggest indie band to come out of Boston in the last five years. Talking about dating or guys is uncharted territory for Easton and me and I suddenly feel nervous.
Across the table, he lifts his eyebrows, waiting.
“Well, Derek is the lead singer for The Burnt Clovers.”
Recognition flares in his eyes. “You dated Derek Reiner?”
I wave a hand again, trying for dismissive. “It was casual.”
“How casual?” he asks way too quickly.
I roll my eyes. “I’m still doing some work for them. But I’m also doing a new logo for Sanders Street—”
“The rock group?”
I nod. “And Kellman’s Kiss.”
Easton whistles, looking impressed.
“I met a few other guys at an open mic night,” I blurt out. “Come spring, I need to start hitting up the music festivals.”
“So, this is something you want to do for real?” Easton’s eyebrows snap together.
I bite my bottom lip. What am I even saying? Hopefully, by spring, I’ll be gainfully employed. Right? Isn’t that the goal? I shrug. “I guess, if I could, I would turn this into a full-time thing and start my own business.”
“Claire, those bands are heavy-hitters. Especially The Burnt Clovers. If you’ve managed all this in just a few months, why don’t you try? See where it goes?”
I take a sip of my water and clear my throat. “Um, have you met my dad?”
“Joe’s holding you back?”
“He just paid for me to go to college.”
“So? You’re using your degree. You’re applying it to something you love doing.”
“I don’t know…Dad is pretty insistent that I find a real job where I have a 401k and benefits.”
Easton tilts his head to the side. “There are more things to life than a retirement plan and benefits.”
“Says the person with a fat savings account and the best medical coverage.”
He snickers. “Fair enough. How ‘bout this? You keep doing your designs while applying to jobs. And I’ll keep grinding on the ice even though it feels like a losing battle. And we’ll prop each other up when one of us gets too low.” He raises his eyebrow with the scar and I hang onto the flicker of vulnerability in his blue eyes.
“Deal,” I say softly.
“Deal,” he repeats.
I point the tines of my fork at him. “So, just to be clear, you want to be real friends again?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really are a pain in the ass, Claire.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got a great ass so…” I joke.
Easton laughs again but it’s strained this time. His eyes are both amused and serious when they meet mine. “Stand up and turn around,” he dares. “I’ll let you know.”
I flip him the middle finger again and this time, we both laugh. The space between us hums with a familiarity I crave. Nostalgia washes over me and I beam at Easton, relieved that we’ve reconnected again. The tense, awkward exchanges I’ve danced around for the past year give way to a comfortable rapport that I’ve missed.
I eat another bite of chicken piccata, relived that I decided to put myself out there one last time. Because for the first time in over a year, it seems like I’ve found my footing with Easton again. Tonight feels like old times. He’s the man I remember, funny and engaging.
His grin is easy and his eyes are warm as they watch me from across the dining table. My heartbeat ticks up and I squirm as a rush of heat shoots through me. I’m not going to lie; I could get used to this.
But I always knew that Easton Scotch was it for me. Even if he has no clue.
7
Easton
I never thought I’d be nervous to go to dinner at my brother’s. But I am. It seems less like a casual dinner, back when Noah and I would shoot the shit with a beer in hand, and more like a test.
Noah and Indy are the real deal. They have something my brother never had with his ex-fiancée Courtney and it was evident the second I saw them together. He looks at Indy like she’s his forever and she hangs onto every word he says like it’s going to solve climate change.
I’ve known Indy for years but other than a handful of conversations, I’ve never really kicked it with her. Now, I want her to like me. I want her to want me as part of the family she’s growing with my brother.
“You clean up nice.” Claire bounds down the steps, meeting me in the foyer.
My mouth dries as I get a good look at her. Damn, she’s gorgeous. She looks like she’s gearing up to walk down a runway instead of heading to her cousin’s house for dinner. She’s dressed in skintight black leather leggings that leave nothing to the imagination and an off-the-shoulder sweater. Her ass is round and pert, the leather stretching as she bends to retrieve her boots. I swallow back my groan, my hands desperate to palm the sweet globes of her ass. Her sweater slips down her shoulder as she turns, offering her smooth skin up like a present I can never have. She straightened her hair, golden strands that fall to the center of her back, and her makeup makes her eyes pop.
Shit. I shift my weight, trying to readjust myself as I harden just checking her out. What the hell is wrong with me? This is Claire Merrick, Austin’s kid sister. My new friend.
I can’t think of her this way. And yet, when she stands with her heeled boots strapped to her feet, adding nearly three inches to her height, I want nothing more than to pull her against my chest and drag my mouth over hers.
Oblivious to my thoughts, she pulls on her winter coat, tying the sash around her waist. Then she picks up a box of pastries. “You all ready?”
I clear my throat, hot and uncomfortable. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I keep a close eye on Claire as we walk down the icy path to my car. It wouldn’t take much for her to fall flat on her back in those boots. “Careful in those shoes.”
She smirks at me over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Showing your age, Scotch.”
“What? I’m only twenty-nine.”
“Almost the big three-oh,” she reminds me just as she wobbles, throwing her arm out to find balance.
I grip her arm before she falls and pull her body against mine. My arm wraps around her waist, my hand settling on her
hip. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, a flare of nerves from her near fall. “You almost wiped out there, Clairebear.”
Her lips curl at the old nickname I haven’t used in years. Maybe even a decade. “Almost being the operative word there.”
“You would have bit it if I wasn’t here. Messed up this hot look you’re rocking.”
Her mouth purses, wisps of smoke appearing in the cold. “You think I’m hot, Easton?”
Shit. I’m playing with fire and I know it. But instead of letting the flames turn to embers, I’m fanning them to swell into an inferno. “You don’t need compliments from me, Claire. You know you’re beautiful.”
She drops her gaze, her eyes staring at the hollow of my throat. Can she tell that just being this close to her makes my heart pump faster? I should drop my arm. I don’t.
Claire steps out of my hold and offers a small smile. “Still nice to hear it every now and then.”
I smile back. “You look beautiful tonight, Claire.”
“Thank you.” She opens the car door and slips into the passenger seat.
Jesus, Scotch, pull your shit together. You’ve barely been out of rehab two weeks and you’re already blurring lines.
I climb into my car, flip the ignition, and pull out toward my brother and Indy’s place.
“Did you miss driving? When you were in rehab?” Claire asks me.
Palming the steering wheel, I glance at her. “Yeah. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t take my license away. Of all the fuckups I made, a DUI was never one of them.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she quips sarcastically.
“Why don’t you have a car?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously? My parents are still paying my cell phone bill.”
I shake my head. “What about the money you saved? The money you offered to pay rent with.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I was kind of banking on you and Noah not asking me for rent money.”
I laugh, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. “You know we would never.” I pause, a new thought coming to mind. “Do you even have a savings account?”
“I do but I’m new to the saving game,” she admits quietly.
I bite back the urge to laugh. “Meaning?”
“I’m a fuckup too, East. I blew it all on booze and nights out.”
My head whips toward her. “Seriously?”
She wiggles her eyebrows but her eyes have a haunted look that pisses me off. “Yeah. It was stupid.” She turns to glance out the window. “Summer was…summer. Reality came crashing down in September.”
From her dismissal, I feel like there’s more to the story. For an entire city block, we’re quiet, lost in our thoughts. But the more seconds that tick by, the more my curiosity eats at me like a bulldog until I blurt out, “Who was the guy?” Please don’t say Reiner.
“Hm?”
“Who was the guy you were trying to impress?” I bite out, pissed off that she blew through her savings account to get some douchebag’s attention. Even more pissed off because I already know who he is. A musician with rock star appeal.
She rolls her eyes. “What if I just went out to enjoy myself and have a bunch of girls’ nights?”
“I don’t buy it. That’s not the full story.”
She huffs, “Fine. It was Derek and it was stupid.” She shrugs but I see the way her shoulders dip closer, as if she’s protecting herself. Is that because of something he did? Or her embarrassment over the situation?
“What happened, Claire?” I bite out, clenching the steering wheel tighter.
She huffs out a deep breath. “There were a few instances but the one that really sticks out is when he stuck me with a dinner bill for about nine people.”
I work a swallow and turn to glare at her.
“At Carters,” she whispers.
“Shit.” I shake my head. I didn’t like Derek the second she mentioned him. Now, I can’t stand the guy. Anger rushes through me at the thought of her getting played by a freaking singer. And then again at the realization that they still talk, that she’s working for him. “Sounds like a real winner, Claire.” My tone is hard. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles popping.
“I said it was stupid,” she whispers.
“Austin know?” I ask, barely containing my anger.
She whips her head around. “No. And don’t tell him. He’ll be so pissed at me. Same with my parents. I had to tell them that I spent the money on an extra course.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, turning over these details. On the one hand, I’m glad she’s confiding in me. Giving me the truth when she clearly glossed over the details with her family. She’s allowing herself to be real with me, even if she’s embarrassed, and I like that she trusts me. On the other hand, I want to throttle Derek for taking advantage of her kindness and scold her for falling for his play.
I blow out a breath. “Derek contacts you again, outside of a professional capacity, you tell me.”
“What? Why?”
“Because.”
In my peripheral vision, I see that she widens her eyes at me but I don’t turn to meet them.
“Anyway,” she sighs, “that’s why I don’t have a car. Trust me, after graduation and one sick summer, I’ve been slapped in the face with a brutal reality check.”
I sigh, letting my temper cool. I hear the undercurrent of dejection in Claire’s tone and relate to it. To her. “I hear you, kid. It’s been the same for me since getting out of rehab the first time. The past year has been tough.”
Claire is quiet for a moment and I can taste the intensity of her curiosity. “What’s it like, East?”
“What’s what like?”
“Having an addiction? Do you feel it all the time?”
My throat burns at her words and I nod once. “It’s like choking on sand. In the beginning, it fills your throat so quickly that you’re panicked, nearly out of your mind with need for oxygen, for alcohol. With each passing day, it gets a little easier, a little less intense. You learn to breathe around it, to cope, to distract yourself.” I shrug, peering over at her. “But there are always triggers.”
She’s solemn as she stares at me. “What are your triggers?”
I blow out a laugh, shaking my head, as I pull in front of my brother’s new place, Indy’s tenement apartment building. Dad’s voice blares in my head and I shake him away. “That’s a story for another day, Clairebear. We’re here.” I park and turn off the car.
For several moments, we sit in silence, looking at each other. In the past two days, Claire and I have shared a lot. Truths, embarrassments, denials. We’ve spoken them aloud, knowing the other person would pluck them from the air and tuck them away for safekeeping.
It’s strange because for an entire year, I barely saw Claire. Now, in the matter of two weeks, I can’t imagine this period of my life without her. She’s a lightness, a breath of fresh air, a flicker of hope, in a void of darkness. A look of understanding passes between us, and Claire smiles at me, sweet and sincere.
I tip my head toward the apartment. “You ready?”
She nods, picking up the box of pastries she bought for dessert. It’s sweet, considering she barely has two nickels to rub together. But that’s the thing with Claire; even though she pretends otherwise, she’s always putting everyone before herself.
“Let’s go, Scotch.” She climbs from the car.
I hold back a minute so I can enjoy the view of her ass all the way to Indy and Noah’s apartment door.
8
Claire
“You and Broody seem to be getting along great.” Indy wags her eyebrows at me. “He even seems less broody.”
“I hate to tell you this but I don’t think Broody as a nickname is going to stick.”
Indy snorts. “Tell me everything.” My cousin pinches my side as I step around her and duck behind the refrigerator door, searching for the sparkling water Indy bought.
“It’s
fine,” I whisper.
“How fine?” Her eyes glitter.
“Fine, fine.”
“How was the dinner you made him?”
I narrow my eyes and stand from my crouched position, sparkling water in hand. “How do you know about that?”
“Your mom called me.”
“Of course she did.”
“And Noah told me.”
“Noah?” I ask, surprised. Does that mean Easton told his brother that I—
“Easton called him last night and they talked. That was really nice of you, Claire. Noah said it meant a lot to East.” At her words, warmth rolls through my chest. Sure, Easton and I are getting along now—we’re friends—but it’s still nice to know that my olive branch meant something.
“Good. That’s good.”
“I’d say that’s great. Besides, he hasn’t stopped looking over here since you came into the kitchen. Don’t look.” Indy throws out a hand to stop me from turning.
“He probably thinks we’re talking about him.”
She shrugs. “We are talking about him.”
Indy and I both start laughing.
“See, I really am a genius.” She pokes at me and I roll my eyes.
“Fine, I’m going to give you this one. It was a good idea, Indiana.”
“Please, it was better than good.” My cousin takes the sparkling water from my hand. “Now go sit down. Dinner is served.”
I slide into a chair at the kitchen table as Easton sits beside me. Noah helps Indy bring dinner to the table and I watch as Easton tracks every movement, his expression thoughtful.
Once we’re all seated, Indy springs into action by fixing our plates, piling them with turkey, mashed potatoes, and cauliflower and carrots. Something I don’t understand crosses Easton’s expression, similar to the look he gave me yesterday at dinner. It’s a mix between gratitude and longing.