Wicked White

by Michelle A. Valentine

  It pains me that I took off in search of my own Broadway dream instead of spending more time with her while she was here. That’s something I’ll never get a do-over at, and more than anything I wish I could have one.

  The front door of the trailer opens and Birdie’s voice trails down the hall into the back bedroom where I am. “Iris?”

  “Back here,” I answer and then lay the dress I was just holding into the keep pile.

  When she steps into the room, her eyes give me a once-over. “You look good, considering how rough your night was.”

  I shake my head, shuddering at the memory of throwing up in front of Ace. “It definitely wasn’t my finest hour, but I’m feeling so much better.”

  Birdie sighs as she eyes the huge stacks of clothing I’ve strewn about the room. “Gee-Gee sure had a lot of stuff in this tiny place. How the hell did she fit all this stuff in here? This entire trailer can’t be more than one thousand square feet.”

  “It’s one thousand and thirty-nine, and Gran definitely knew how to pack every inch of this place full of stuff.” I wink at her and then toss another dress in the donation stack.

  She plops down on the bed and sighs. “I never realized how tiny these trailers were until I grew up. When we were little, there always seemed to be more than enough room.”

  I smile at her and nod, remembering clearly how we used to run through this place and Adele’s next door. We never complained of being cramped. We loved being here.

  Birdie watches me continue to sort through the clothing. “So what happened after I left last night? Did Sexy Trouble try anything funny with you?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No.”

  “Good. I was worried, you know.”

  I lay another dress down in the donations pile. “I seriously doubt you have anything to worry about when it comes to Ace. He was unbelievably helpful last night.”

  “Yes, he was. It takes a very special person to clean up someone else’s vomit like he did. The man either has a stomach of steel or he’s got it bad for you.” She pauses for a long moment. “Did he say why he was at the bar last night?”

  I frown, not wanting to repeat any of the intimate things that were said between Ace and me last night. “No, and I was too out of it to even think about asking him. Besides, he was being so helpful, I didn’t want to be rude and seem unappreciative.”

  She sighs. “Helpful or not, I think it was weird how he was there last night but didn’t bother to approach you. You need to get to the bottom of what’s going on with him.”

  As much as I hate to admit that my overly paranoid friend is right, it was odd that Ace came to Angel’s but never said a word to me, but later told me that I seem like I need him. I need to get to the bottom of all that.

  “You’re right. Now that I’m sober, I’ll ask him about that the next time I see him.”

  This seems to appease her, because she gives me a curt nod. “Good, because I saw how the two of you looked at each other last night, and I think it wouldn’t hurt to dig into his past before you go and do something crazy like fall for a man that you know absolutely nothing about.”

  “Who said anything about falling for him?” My stupid nose twitches, and I catch myself doing it.

  Birdie cuts me off with a this-is-me-you’re-talking-to look before I can say another word. “I know you, Iris. I know the look, plus your fucking nose is twitching again. Two words for you: Tanner Lawrence.”

  I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Oh, God. You know how I feel about mentioning him.”

  She grabs my elbows and pulls my hands away from my face. “I do, but I also remember how fast you fell for him back in high school only to find out what a rat bastard he really was right after graduation. I don’t want you to invest your heart into some other creep without knowing what he’s really like first.”

  I sigh. “Not every guy is going to screw every available woman within a ten-mile radius like Tanner did. Besides, relationships are built on trust—without that you have nothing.”

  “Still, promise me that you’ll check him out before you go falling in love with him.”

  Her concern for me is sweet, and I love her for it, but I don’t share her same suspicion of my sexy new neighbor.

  After Birdie leaves to head to work, the rest of the afternoon drags on. Digging through Gran’s closet both makes me smile and cry. On one hand it’s nice to remember her, but on the other it guts me knowing that she’s never coming back—that I’ll never have another moment with her on this earth. That’s what hurts the most, knowing that the one person who loved me more than anyone else is gone.

  I glance over at the alarm clock on Gran’s bedside table, and as if on cue, my stomach rumbles at the sight of it being almost two in the afternoon. I make my way into the kitchen and begin throwing ingredients into a pot to make myself some spaghetti. Just as the steam begins to waft through my tiny space, I notice Ace out front tinkering with his bike again.

  The memories of how he took care of me last night flood my brain. He was so tender. I never pictured that from him at all. He took remarkably good care of me. He did the kinds of things Gran did for me when I was sick, and it was comforting having someone do that for me. It shows he cares, and makes me like him even more.

  I owe him a huge thanks. Not many men would’ve done that.

  The large package of pasta sitting on my counter causes an idea to spark, and before I can talk myself out of it, I march out the door toward Ace.

  The noise from my door closing behind me draws Ace’s attention. His russet eyes travel slowly down the length of my body as I approach him. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the attraction I feel toward him is a mutual thing.

  A wry smile dances across his lips. “You look much better today.”

  I bite my lip and toy with a loose strand of my dark hair. “Yes. Thanks to you.”

  “Me?” He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t do much.”

  I smile shyly as his gaze fixes on me. “I’d like to repay you. I want you to join me for a late lunch.”

  “I don’t know—”

  I hold my hands up, palm out to cut him off before he has the chance to refuse me. “Nothing fancy, I promise. I’m making spaghetti, and I always make enough for an army.”

  I see the hesitation in his eyes, so I add, “Please.”

  His eyes flick down to his grease-covered hands from working on his bike before he looks back up at me. “Okay, give me time to shower and I’ll be over.”

  “Great!” I say a little too enthusiastically and immediately want to kick myself for being one of those overly excited girls. “It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  I turn and practically skip back to my place, still enthralled by the fact that Ace is no longer being a major asshole to me. Last night was a total turning point for us for some reason. I’m not sure what I did or said from the time he came out to fix my lawn mower to when he helped me into the house last night, but I’m glad he’s warming up to me.

  Once I’ve prepared the food, I busy myself with setting two places just like I used to do for me and Gran. The small metal table with a yellow flowered top appears to be straight from the sixties, and knowing Gran, she’d probably had it since then too. It’s so out-of-date, but I could never bear to get rid of it because this table is where we sat and had so many of our heart-to-heart talks.

  A couple quick raps on the door cause butterflies to erupt in my stomach. The thought of being alone with Ace does something to my body physically.

  I open the door, and there stands Ace, looking as mouthwatering as ever, freshly showered, in a clean T-shirt and jeans while his hair has been styled into a sexy mess on the top of his head. Just looking at that thick head of hair makes me want to tangle my fingers into it.

  “Hi! Come in!”

  Damn, Iris, tone it down, I mentally scold myself.

  A crooked smile fixes on his face as he steps inside and then holds up a
six-pack of beer with two of the bottles missing. “I think it’s customary to bring something. This was the best I could do.”

  “It’s perfect.” I laugh as I take the cardboard container from him. I immediately hand him a beer and then pull one out for myself before putting the other two in the refrigerator.

  Ace pops the cap off my beer and then his and tosses them in the nearby garbage can before he puts the bottle to his lips, taking a long pull from it. “This is really nice—a lot better than my place next door.”

  I smile at his approval of my childhood home as I sip my beer. “Thanks. My gran didn’t have much, but she sure took pride in her home, making it look the best she could with what she could afford.”

  Ace steps toward the couch to get a closer look at the family photos hanging on the wall above it. I stir the spaghetti to busy myself with something so I don’t just stand there staring at him. Never in all my life did I ever picture someone as hot as Ace Johnson would be standing in my living room.

  He smiles as he points to my second grade school photo, where I’m smiling proudly without my two front teeth. “Cute.”

  I blush and let a small giggle escape. “That was Gran’s favorite picture of me when I was little. She said that was my sweet phase.”

  His lips twist. “I don’t know if I agree with that. I think you’re still pretty damn sweet.”

  I feel more heat rise to my cheeks and instantly know that my blush has deepened at the sound of his complimentary words. Quickly, I try to change the topic, because if he keeps saying things like that, I might not be able to stop myself from jumping his bones. “I think Gran may have argued with you on that. She says the older I got, the more sassy I became.”

  He smiles at me, but it’s not a happy smile exactly—more like one of those sad smiles someone gives you when they feel bad for someone. “Your gran sounds like she was a lot of fun. I can tell you loved her a lot. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I swallow hard, trying not to cry yet again over the death of the one person I loved most in my life, so instead of elaborating, I simply reply with a faint, “Thank you.”

  I give the pot one last stir and try to change the subject. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starving.”

  After we fix our plates, we sit across from each other at the table.

  Ace sprinkles some powdered cheese on top of the heaping mound of noodles, sauce, and meat that’s on his plate. He moans and closes his eyes as he chews his first bite. “Iris, this is amazing. God, it’s been so long since I’ve had a home-cooked meal. I forgot how good they are.”

  I bite my bottom lip, trying to reel in the huge, goofy grin that I know is blooming on my face. “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “Do you always cook this well? Because if you do, I might be tempted to hold you hostage at my place and make you cook for me.”

  I laugh. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

  Ace’s jovial expression almost immediately disappears, and the smile drops off my face as well while I wonder what’s going through that brain of his. “This is dangerous.”

  My pulse quickens at the sound of his words. “What is?”

  His brow furrows. “Us—you and me. This won’t end well, Iris, and you don’t deserve that. You’re too nice of a person—way too good for the likes of me.”

  “You can’t possibly know that about me. Maybe you’re too good for me. We don’t even know each other that well to make those kinds of judgments.” I sigh, utterly confused on why he keeps pushing me away. When he lets his guard down, we seem to get along so well together.

  He shakes his head. “Everything I’m running from . . . it’s not a life I would wish on anyone. It’s selfish of me to hang around you. You being around me could disrupt everything you’ve ever known if people associate you with me. I just feel like I need to look out for you.”

  His revelation causes my pulse to quicken beneath my skin. While he exposed his feelings for me, he still keeps the reasons he’s dangerous all to himself. This causes my curious brain to go into overdrive as it starts developing theories on what exactly he’s running from.

  A long few beats of silence pass between us, and when I’m sure he’s not going to divulge any additional tidbits of information, I ask in a soft whisper, “What are you running from, Ace?”

  He picks up the bottle, his eyes never leaving mine as he finishes off its contents and sets it back down on the table. “I’ve got to go.”

  The moment he pushes back, I stand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  He stands and holds his hand up, cutting me off. “It’s fine, Iris, but I’ve got to go.”

  When he opens the door, I begin to panic, knowing that the connection we’ve been feeling is slowly slipping away. I stand in the open doorway as he makes his way down my front steps. “Ace, please.”

  “Thanks for dinner,” he calls over his shoulder.

  Those are the last words he says to me before he disappears around the corner and heads to his own trailer, leaving me to wonder exactly what this man is running from.

  ACE

  It’s been two weeks since I spoke to Iris—nearly three since I walked off stage—and the dark-paneled walls of this trailer feel like they are about to close in on me. The two books I brought with me, I’ve already read at least five times each, and for the past two days I’ve done nothing but stare at the guitar I brought. It’s been sitting there, taunting me to play again, so I finally give in and pick it up, enjoying the peace that strumming a familiar tune brings me.

  Music has always been my one emotional release. It wasn’t always easy talking about my feelings or how things were going in my life, and my mother understood that about me. She reached out to the broken little twelve-year-old the state dumped on her doorstep and encouraged my love of music.

  While I would love to say that music instantly straightened me out and made me the reasonable man I am today, that’s not exactly how it happened. It took a long time for me to mellow out. When I was younger, I had a lot of anger built up inside toward my biological mother, who left me stranded in a hotel room when I was just six so that she could run off with her pimp boyfriend. I used that aggression to lash out physically every chance I got to help ease the pain from the loss of the only existence I had ever known. Even though life with my biological mother kept me frightened most of the time, I was scared to be without her. She was the only constant in my ever-changing surroundings as we moved from place to place with whoever would take my mother and me in.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but my real mother leaving me in that room was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. Sure, it was rough bouncing from home to home until Sarah took me in, but at least I got fed and finally got the chance to go to school.

  My fingers pluck at the strings as I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to drift, and I’ll be damned if the very first thing that pops into my head isn’t a vision of Iris. Her soft, smooth skin and flowing, thick brown hair only heighten her exquisite face. The green of her eyes and the natural pink pout of her plump lips draw me in every time, along with her long, toned legs. That body of hers is simply banging, and I’d give anything to be able to touch her the way I want.

  She’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about finding in my perfect woman, because coupled with her unbelievable beauty, she actually acts like she gives a shit about me—not my stardom¸ but about me as a person.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to whisk her into my world anyway.

  Just as I begin to hum a melody that’s flowing through my brain as I’m picturing Iris, I hear the unmistakable crank of an engine that’s struggling to turn over. The racket is coming from outside, next to my trailer, which strikes me as odd because I didn’t think Iris owned a vehicle that actually ran. Every time I’ve ever seen her leave, Birdie has been driving them somewhere in her little white Corolla.

  Curiosity wins out
and I set my guitar down and push up off the couch. Through the small window over the kitchen sink I spot Iris’s sexy little ass as she leans over, checking the engine under the hood of what looks like a late-nineties Cavalier.

  Without hesitation I take my opportunity to rescue her yet again in my lame-ass attempt to apologize for being a major asshole the last time we spoke. I’ve wanted to apologize but haven’t been able to work up an excuse to talk to her again.

  I have to stop turning into a complete fucking nutcase every time the girl starts asking questions. If I were her, I’d be curious as hell about me too. After all, I did come into this small little town, where everyone seems to know everyone, as a complete stranger. I guess I’m lucky that no one other than Iris has taken an interest in getting to know me better.

  The gravel crunches under the soles of my black boots as I approach her. “You need a hand?”

  She turns toward me. While I expect her to point a nasty scowl that I rightly deserve in my direction, I’m surprised by a sweet smile instead. “Do you know anything about cars?”

  The tension I’m carrying in my shoulders releases and they instantly relax as I take another few steps to stand beside her in front of the car. “I do. For instance, to me it sounds like you’ve got a dead battery.”

  Iris rests her hip against the car as she stares up at me. “You could tell that from just listening to me try and start it?”

  I smile at her and hold back a chuckle. Her lackluster knowledge of engines apparently extends to cars as well. “I could.” I glance over at my bike and then flick my gaze back to Iris’s face. “Do you have any jumper cables?”

  She frowns. “I’m not sure. If Gran had any, they would be in the shed.”

  Iris pulls a set of keys from her pocket and singles out one from the ring before handing it to me.