by Skyla Madi
His expression changes in the blue, pink, and white neon lights above us. It softens. It’s complacent and warm.
“And you like it?” I ask, my voice quiet. “It makes you happy?”
I genuinely want to know. I want to know everything I possibly can about him. I shouldn’t, but he’s an enigma, one I started to solve a year ago and never finished. Caleb glances toward the kitchen again, his face cautious and guarded, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say. “Did I ever tell you I used to draw and paint before Penelope was taken?”
I shake my head.
“My parents didn’t like technology so we weren’t allowed to watch TV or play video games. I killed the time with a pencil and a sketchpad. Sometimes, I’d use dodgy little paints and a paintbrush with bristles that always seemed too stiff.” His lips quirk as he remembers. “Agnes and Bree helped me to remember how much I love painting. It was hard. I watched at first, but it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with it again. I didn’t think I could after my mom’s…” He clears his throat. “But I do. It helps me, you know?”
I nod, blinking back a thin pool of tears. If they fall, my makeup will stream along with them. I smile at Caleb, and he smiles back. I’m proud of him and how easy he expressed his thoughts and feelings with me. Once upon a time, it was like pulling teeth.
“Will you show me?” I ask before I can stop myself. “The studio? Your paintings?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “You’d want to see them?”
“Of course.” I shouldn’t. I have no business being up in his art space. It’s intimate…where he pours his thoughts and feelings onto a canvas. I’m almost afraid of what I might see. Almost. “As a friend…” I add, and my heart stutters when his gentle, curved smile falls and is swallowed up by a scowl.
“Maybe I don’t want to show you as a friend.”
I bristle. “Really?”
“Really.”
“So, what,” I bite out, “I break up with Nick, then you show me your workspace?”
Caleb slides his teeth together, working his jaw muscles. Though his expression is dark and stormy, his eyes are lively, their bright sparkle flickering like the core of a naked flame. “No. You break up with Nick, then I show you my bedroom, my living room, my kitchen, and then my workspace.”
I snort. He makes it sound so easy. What does he expect me to do? Walk into Nick’s apartment, declare I’m breaking up with him, then grab my stuff and move in next door? It doesn’t work like that. And what if Caleb decides he’s going to move back to Paradise Valley? I can’t go back there. I can’t show my face there. I can support myself eventually, I know I can, but right now? If I were to stand on my own two feet now, I’d be homeless. And it makes me a terrible fucking person to willingly entertain a relationship my heart’s not in just to survive. My whole life in New York is tied up with Nick. God knows I can’t afford to live the life I do here. Nick supports me a hell of a lot more than I’m comfortable with. Not to mention, he’s the reason I got the job at that shitty dive bar in the first place and he’s the reason I was able to leave it behind for a better place. Marissa, my manager, is his cousin. They don’t speak much, but she did him a favor for me.
Also, being an accountant means he earns more money than I do. He covers seventy percent of the bills, and I pay the rest. Every opportunity I’ve had in this monstrous city is because of him. To throw that in his face? I can’t. He’s Fiona’s friend. If she were here, I could use her as an excuse to move out, then sever the threads connecting me to him from a distance.
But she left.
And I’m trapped.
I don’t want to think of it like that, but I can’t help. Nick is the kindest man I’ve ever met, but he’s also the most aggressive. He’s pushy, overbearing. At times, he reminds me a lot of my father, and I slip into a stare of anxiety whenever he raises his voice at me. The first six months of our relationship were incredible. I was comfortable with him and we fooled around a little as I tried to get over Caleb. Every day I was building up the courage to let go and allow Nick complete access to my body, but things began to change the more comfortable we got. I still like him. He can be funny and chill, and I know he means well. Being in a relationship with me must be incredibly frustrating for him, and I know the best thing for the both of us is to go our separate ways, but I can’t just…just…leave. I can’t handle the confrontation that comes with it. My spine is brittle. Caleb is different. I feel like I’m on stable, even ground with him, but any other man intimidates me and I, well, I shut down and become compliant. Being weak is the reason I left the dive bar in the first place. Corey, the other bartender, was a nasty piece of work. He cornered me outside by the bins late one night, and I would’ve let him do whatever he wanted just to avoid the confrontation and getting hurt. Damon, my boss, saved me at the last second. Though it was all swept under the rug because Corey was his younger brother. Guilt made it hard for me to tell Nick what happened for three weeks. I was skipping shifts and dipping into my savings to cover my share. As my fingers scraped along the bottom of my once-full savings tin, I knew I had to come clean. What Nick did for me was…it was amazing. It didn’t take him long to plant me back on my feet. How can I throw that back in his face? How?
I’ve never been consumed by so much turmoil in my life.
A clash of cutlery hitting the floor demands my attention, and I glance up, staring right up the skirt of a waitress. Her white panties cling to her ass, exposing the lower portion of her cheeks. I glance sideways at Caleb, who’s watching me closely, like he heard every thought I just had. I feel naked. I always feel naked in front of him.
Quirking my lips, I hide the chaos running amuck inside me. “Wow. You’re not even going to look?”
Life springs into his clear green irises, and he nudges me with his shoulder. “Why bother? You know I think you’re the prettiest thing in New York City.”
I laugh it off, but it doesn’t stop heat from swirling in my cheeks. “Smooth.”
The red-haired waitress picks up the spilled cutlery and rushes them off to the kitchen, then returns to wipe down tables and close booths. Benny’s restaurant closes in an hour. The bar is open until two a.m., the bowling alley too. The arcade closed at nine. Soon, they’ll be rushing us out of the restaurant. We wait in silence, side by side, not saying a word as we watch the bowlers do their thing. You know I think you’re the prettiest thing in New York City. His voice echoes in my head, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles as tingles surge through me. I’ve never felt less than perfect in Caleb’s presence. Nick makes me feel beautiful too, but occasional underhanded comments make me question whether I’ve overdressed or underdressed. With him, something is always too short, too long, too tight, not tight enough. Makeup wise, I can get away with maybe some foundation and mascara. If I wear too much, he drags me for it. I know I’ve worn too much tonight, but here’s Caleb, telling me I’m the prettiest girl in New York even though I’m in a tight winter dress Nick would never approve of, full smoky eyes, and a pink-nude lipstick.
I shake my head. I can’t keep comparing them like this. It’s sick and gross. I’ve never been so disappointed in myself. Maybe there is something wrong with me, like my parents have always claimed. Exhaling, I slide around the booth and slip out. I tug my dress down by the hem and smooth my hands over my tummy. I look at Caleb, and he rakes an overt gaze up my body to my face. My tummy flips.
“I’m going to need a cocktail to get through dinner with you,” I tell him. “Do you want a beer or something?”
He shakes his head and slips out of the booth, straightening his black hoodie. “I’ll get it for you. You sit and relax.”
“Oh, okay.” I sit down. “I’ll have a Mai Tai, please.”
I love being twenty-one. It’s hard to think I was nearly twenty when I met Caleb. I’m an adult now, and adults face their problems head on, right? My life changed when my birthday came. It was the last thing I needed in ord
er to shed my “girlhood” and appreciate my teenage years for what they were. Regulated.
Caleb walks off, and I fish my phone out of my handbag. I press the middle button, the screen lights up, and I’m bombarded by missed calls and text messages from Nick. There’s a few from Fiona too, demanding I call her when I can. I quickly type out a message to Nick, telling him I’ll call tomorrow when I’m in a better mood and I say goodnight. I cannot play twenty-one questions tonight. I don’t have the energy. Dumping my phone back into my bag, I look over to the bar and watch as Caleb chats to Jeanette, the tall, black-haired bartender.
Blood drains from my face a little. I come here often enough with Nick that we’re on a first name basis with her. It’s a no-brainer. I have to tell him I had dinner with Caleb before anyone else can. If I’m upfront and honest, it won’t come back to bite me in the ass.
Caleb and Jeanette talk and laugh for a few minutes longer than it takes to make a Mai Tai and, after she hands him my drink, she lifts the bar’s partition and walks him over to our table. She looks killer in a tiny, tight black romper—much too cold for a night like this. I follow the clingy fabric from the tops of her thighs, over her subtle hips, and up her flat tummy. The fabric splits above her navel and opens, exposing a huge slice of her bare flesh and the shape of her nice, fake breasts. The fabric turns halter, as it wraps around her neck like a collar. Laughing at whatever Caleb says, she flicks her long black hair over one shoulder and sets her wicked, almond-shaped eyes on me. I gulp. Jeanette is easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen. She knows it too. It’s in the way she smiles, the way she swings her hips as she walks. Men catcalled and whistled at her all the time, and she’d lap it up for the tips, but those who knew her—really knew her—were aware she bats for the same team. When I first met her, she tried to take me home. Not that Nick minded. Over time, Jeanette and I have become more than acquaintances but not quite friends yet, I guess.
Setting my drink down on the table a few inches from my chest, Caleb slips into the booth opposite me with a sly smile on his mischievous face, and I arch a brow. What’s he so smug about?
Jeanette plants a hand on the booth behind my head and leans against it. I glance at her tan, flat stomach, then her obvious mounds before I clear my throat and grab my drink. They both watch me, and I look between them as I suck a huge mouthful of my drink up the straw.
“Cassia,” Jeanette says, the word drawn out and teasing.
Why is she talking like that? Like I’ve been keeping a huge secret from her? I swallow. “Yes?”
Her full lips pull wide into a knowing smile. “Where’ve you been hiding this one? I like him a lot more than your last.”
“Um.” I look at Caleb, and his eyes flare with devilish amusement as he sits back against his seat. His blond hair is wild and unkempt, his hoodie clinging to his broad chest. I frown, peering back at Jeanette. “I’m confused.”
She pushes off the booth to stand on Caleb’s side, folding her arms over her chest. How does she move without slipping a nipple? I’ve tried double-sided tape and it doesn’t work that great.
“Caleb. I like this boyfriend more than the last.” She shudders, recalling Nick, and I scowl at her. He’s not that bad. “He was so boring and controlling. You looked miserable every time you came in here—drank more cocktails than your little body could handle, more than I should’ve served you.”
Caleb tilts his head on an angle with a look that screams I told you so. I lift my eyebrows. She thinks he’s my boyfriend? What did he tell her? The nerve of this as—wait. Miserable? I’m not miserable with Nick. I mean, I could be happier, but can’t everyone? Who’s one hundred percent happy with their lives these days? No one.
“I’ve never been miserable,” I tell her. “And Caleb isn’t my—”
“You look happy,” she cuts in, stepping toward me again, planting her hand on my shoulder, “and it’s nice. You’re even more beautiful when you smile. I’ll get your drinks.”
She releases me and stalks off like she’s not wearing thin, six-inch heels. Did she say drinks? As in, plural?
I turn my attention to Caleb and scowl at him. “You told her you were my boyfriend?”
He grins at me. “She was hitting on me. I used you as a scapegoat. I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
I scoff, yanking the straw out of my drink and throwing it at him. He swats it away, his grin unwavering. “Jeanette wasn’t hitting on you. She’s a lesbian.”
Caleb’s grin splits as he opens his mouth and laughs, the sound sending a delicious lightning zipping down my spine. What’d I say that was so funny?
“Well, she doesn’t want to be a lesbian tonight.”
I pull the umbrella out of my drink and cock it over my shoulder. He holds his hands up in surrender. I see red and white approaching our table from my peripherals, then I smell the fries.
“I can’t believe you! Now I can’t come here with…” I bite my tongue against saying his name to Caleb. “I can’t come here to eat.”
He cuts his eyes at me, his laugh dissolving in his chest. “Good. This is our place from now on.”
Our place? He says it like it’s a cubbyhouse we built together. It doesn’t sound right. Nick showed me this place. It’s his favorite too, and it’ll be ruined if he finds out I brought Caleb here. I shake my head, a nervous-angry-kind-of-happy giggle bubbling up my throat. “You’re something else.”
The cheery waitress places our wooden plates down in front of us, complete with a little deep fryer basket of curly fries and big cups of Coke. She asks us if we want anything else, like a drink from the bar, but then Jeanette shows up, setting a tray of six Mai Tais on our table. My eyes go wide. What the hell is this? The waitress leaves, whipping her apron off as she glides toward the kitchen, and Jeanette winks at me before returning to the bar.
“Caleb…” I say cautiously. “What are you doing?”
He pinches a fry from his basket. “I figured this might be the only night we get to hang out for a while. Might as well make the most of it.”
He slips the fry into his mouth and chews it while I study him, curiously. “No amount of Mai Tais will get me to sleep with you.”
“Don’t insult me,” he states, pinning me with an irritated glare, and swallows. “Like I’d do that to you.”
“The first time we had sex, you gave me shots of whiskey beforehand.”
Caleb bristles, pinching his face. “It was two shots—just two—and, if I recall correctly, it was you who wanted sex from me.”
“I remember it differently.” No, I didn’t. It was me. I instigated the whole thing. “Sort of.”
“Put your hands on me,” he says, doing his best to mimic my voice and tone.
Heat flares into my cheeks, and I lift my drink, taking a huge mouthful. The citrus garnishes fall off the side and hit my wooden plate, but I ignore them and swallow, gritting my teeth against the cold. “Stop it.”
“Then you took your shirt off.”
Caleb slams forward, crashing into me. I don’t know what happened. One minute he’s placid and the next he’s out of control—a rabid beast who has been starved for too long.
Air is sucked from my lungs as his mouth devours mine. His hands are in my hair, on my face, squeezing my ass. They’re everywhere at once, overwhelming my senses. I lose my bra in the desperate fumble.
“Shoes,” he demands, “now.”
My heart pounds, thrumming like the bass in a club beat. Pushing on each heel, I kick my shoes off and barely manage to regain my footing as Caleb snags the hem of my leggings in his hands.
“Anyone ever tell you leggings aren’t pants?”
I shake my head, pushing the memory to the back of my mind. “Jesus.”
“Yeah, you need him.”
Caleb grabs his burger, giving me a pointed look, and lifts it up. I can’t help it, I laugh, despite the warm flush of irritation still ripping through my body. He laughs too, setting his burger down be
fore he can take a bite, and reaches out, touching my hand.
“I miss you, Cass,” he says. “I miss having you around, even as a friend.”
I feel my lips pull into a small smile. “I miss you too.”
We enjoy our dinner, even though Caleb wasn’t impressed with the egg, pineapple, and beet in his burger. He left them on the side of his plate, and I ate them at the end. Then we started on the cocktails. Caleb refused to drink, but it wasn’t hard to get him on board. I mean, I sure as hell can’t drink six cocktails. He admitted he only bought three and that the rest must be a gift from Jeanette. It’s clear to me she thinks I’m an alcoholic, but I rarely drink. When I do, I go for ridiculous cocktails that are filled with sugars and syrups, masking the taste of the alcohol.
At some point after dinner, Caleb ends up on my side of the booth. His shoulder vibrates against mine as he laughs and drags his cherry through the remaining half of his third cocktail. I lift my gaze from his strong hands to his thick, exposed forearms. A light covering of blond hair spreads from his wrist to his elbows where it disappears underneath his black hoodie.
I can’t remember what I said, but I think it was funny. Otherwise, why’s he laughing?
“Wait.” I swallow the remaining giggles. “What’d I say?”
“You said…” He glances across the almost empty space, frowning, before dragging his attention back to me. “I forgot.”
“Damn.” I lift my drink and tip it back, finishing it off.
Caleb does the same, then swipes at his tired face. “The fact I’m buzzed off these ridiculous cocktails stays between us, right?”