by Brill Harper
“No.”
“Then why... why is he so bent out of shape?”
Where to start? “I went to Florida for Spring Break with my cousin Sheila. She’s a lot wilder than I am. More free. She always has been. Alan asked me not to go to Florida with her, but it was my last single girl trip before the wedding—we’d planned a June wedding after college graduation. So I went against his wishes.” I never felt a sun like the Florida sun. So different from the Pacific Northwest. “One night, they were filming on the beach. We were curious, thinking maybe we could be extras in a movie or something. Turns out it was the crew for Wild and Crazy Girls and ...we flashed the camera our boobs in exchange for a trucker hat.” My face burns with shame. “It wasn’t even Sheila’s idea. It was mine. I wanted to do one thing that wasn’t expected before I got married. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
A tattoo would have been so much easier.
“I think that’s awesome. That’s not what this is about? Did Alan find out?”
To hell with sipping, I chug down the whiskey, enjoying the burn as it hollows me out. “The weekend before the wedding, my bachelorette party crashed Alan’s bachelor party. It wasn’t like he would get a stripper or anything... we just figured a mixed party would be more fun. And it was. At first. We were all at the pub, and one of Alan’s roommates put in a movie.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah. Instead of hardcore porn, they popped in Wild and Crazy Girls, and Sheila and I shot each other some freaked out looks. I mean, it would be too coincidental, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, mistletoe, it sure should have been.”
“But apparently, Alan had a subscription. He got a DVD every month. My entire family was there...my brothers, my cousins, my dad. Everything happened in slow motion. The hooting and hollering died down until the room was quiet as a tomb. Everyone turned to stare at Sheila and me. And then they turned their attention on Alan. He was furious. I’d never seen anyone so red. He just started spouting all these terrible things. Calling me names. Carter punched him once—he wanted to hit him more but my cousin the cop was also there, and he stopped him by threatening to take him to lockup. It was the worst night of my life, driving home with my father after that. But the next day wasn’t any better. Alan insisted that I was a slut. A whore. And he told anyone who would listen all about it.” I take a deep breath, pushing the pain back down as it balls up in my throat. “I held out hope that he would change his mind, but I finally canceled the wedding the day before we were supposed to get married.”
“He’s lower than a weasel.”
I shake my head. “No, he had every right to be mad.”
“The hell he did.” Charlie’s voice is low, his words sounding menacing. “That piece of garbage had no right to call you names that night, and he certainly had no right to them today. What the hell? It was his DVD. If he thought it was okay to watch girls flash their tits, then it shouldn’t have made him mad that you did it. That’s a fucking double standard.”
I shrug. “It’s different if it’s your girlfriend, I think.”
“Girlfriend? Yeah, it’s different. You’re supposed to love them unconditionally, not judge them for having the same feelings you do. Plus, he was ready to marry you. You were supposed to be his whole world, his life. You don’t treat the best thing that ever happened to you like that.”
My family told me the same thing, time and again. But it still feels raw. “You don’t think I’m a —”
“No. I think you did something wild and crazy. I think you weren’t taken advantage of—you knew what you were doing and it was your choice and good for you. I think the man who said he loved you should have stood by you. And I think tits are amazing. Nothing to be ashamed about, mistletoe.”
The way he keeps saying tits should offend me, but instead, mine are responding. Perking up as if he called them by name.
I hug the pillow tighter over my tank top and change the subject. “It’s your turn. Tell me something about you.”
“What do you want to know? My life is pretty boring.”
“I doubt that. But I want to know something personal. I mean, I just laid out some pretty embarrassing stuff. You need to give me something.”
“Something besides my first time?”
I nod.
Charlie is quiet for what seems like a long time, but is probably only a minute. He starts and then stops. “Nah. It’s silly.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze goes soft, like the lights are on, but Charlie isn’t there for a minute. When he comes back, he says very quietly, “I’ve never been hugged.”
Tagged: Chapter Six
Charlie
I’VE NEVER SAID IT out loud.
I never even gave it much thought.
But now it’s out there and I can’t take it back and something squeezes around the emptiness where my heart is supposed to be.
“It’s no big deal,” I add quickly. But not quickly enough to stop the wave of pity that flashes over her face. Not quickly enough to erase the crinkle between her eyes. “Really. I don’t even know why I said that.”
“Charlie—”
I pull away. “Do. Not. Pity me.”
She picks up my hand. Hers are small and soft. Mine are weathered and tough, probably causing abrasions on her delicate skin. “I don’t pity you.”
“Yes, you do. I can see it. You’re looking at me like I’m some kind of puppy you just found out in the rain. I don’t need to be saved.”
“Of course, you don’t. You’re a good man.”
I should get up. Leave her alone. Instead, I chuff out a breath and concentrate on the way her skin feels against my hand. “I’m just a man, mistletoe. Nothing particularly good about me.”
She twines her fingers with mine. “I could go into the way you saved my brother’s life, but you would say you were just doing your job. I could mention that your job was serving your country and that you’ve been honored and decorated for merit and service, but you would probably just say the Army was the only thing open to you anyway. So, I’ll just ask you to tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me how you got this far in life without...”
I close my eyes because looking straight at her is not an option. Not now that she can see right into me all the way to my damn soul. Because she can and what if there is nothing there for her to see? “I haven’t lacked for human touch. We’ve established that I’m not a monk.”
Her voice comes from far away, even though she is right next to me. Touching me. “Sex isn’t what we’re talking about, is it?”
I shake my head, swallowing the pride that urges me up and out of this room. This house. “I was three when they took me away from my mom. I had a lot of issues, but she had more. She hadn’t been clean since before I was born, I guess. And it’s possible that she hugged me and held me, but I don’t remember it. And I suppose the first few foster families may have, but I don’t remember them either. From the time I do remember, there was no hugging. There were some really nice people in and out of my life occasionally—they just didn’t hold me. Which is fine. I’m fine. I don’t even know why I told you.”
“No girlfriend has just hugged you?”
She really doesn’t get it. Get me. “Emily, I’m not the kind of guy who has girlfriends. I have sex with women I’m attracted to. Once or twice and then we move on. I don’t stick. I don’t know how to stick. I’m the kind of guy your brother should have known better than to let hang around his little sister.”
She laughs a lyrical tinkle I’d like to hear again and again. “He’s only ten minutes older than me. Ten minutes. And he thinks you walk on water. He’s probably hoping you’ll hang around me. He thinks I’m pathetic.”
I open my eyes at that. “He doesn’t. Not at all. He thinks you’re amazing. You are amazing.”
She slants her eyes away. “He wishes I was stronger. That I could let go of what happened.”
I
reach my free hand to her chin, gently inching her back to me. “You will. When you’re ready.”
Sitting on the floor of her childhood room, her chin in my hand, my other wrapped up in hers, is the most intimate I’ve ever been with anyone. It isn’t like sex. Sex is bodies.
This, on her floor, is pulling me from someplace new. Someplace vulnerable and scary.
She is scarier than anything I ever faced in the sandbox.
Those eyes laser in on me. “You’ve never been hugged.” I shake my head. “I can give you that.”
The shock of absolute stillness anchors me to the impossible moment. To this impossible woman. Her words echo in my head, reaching for dark corners and soothing the abandoned dreams of a young boy.
It shouldn’t matter now. It didn’t. I long ago came to terms with my childhood. Time made me a man. The Army made me a better one.
But I’m not good enough for her. For this.
I can give you that.
It is too late to leave. Too late to turn her away. Because God help me, I wonder if she can give me that.
She pulls me down, anchoring my head to her chest. It is awkward. Like I am a child-giant and she is a too-small mother. I don’t know where to put my hands. I don’t know how to respond or how to relax.
This isn’t my choice, but turning away now would hurt her pride more than it helps mine. I would do anything not to hurt her. Emily shushes me as if quieting my mind, pressing me further into her until her heartbeat begins to lull me. The rhythm steady, true. My hands find a place to rest on her body that doesn’t make me feel like a creeper. I will the rest of my body to chill.
Emily smells good. Not like perfume. Not like a club or a bar, which often carry their scent onto the women I picked up in them. It isn’t even a scent I can place. It is just her skin.
In my life, women like me for my body. I like women for their bodies. I like Emily, and I admit I like her body as much as if she were any other woman. But she isn’t. This is different. What she is giving me, measured by heartbeats, is unlike anything I’ve ever been offered before.
If Jones came in right now, he’d misunderstand. He’d think I am taking advantage—and maybe I am—but not like that. He wouldn’t see that what his sister is giving me is more than a place to rest my head, more than skin and sensation.
It is connection.
And it is more dangerous to both of us than if we were naked in the bed above us.
Tagged: Chapter Seven
Emily
THE DAY IS BRIGHT—SUNSHINE lights the kitchen in cheerful rays. I slather jam on my bread in short jabby strokes. My mood not so cheerful.
Charlie skipped breakfast in order to go for a run, which simply means he didn’t want to deal with looking at me over the cereal box. Because today is cereal and toast instead of the spread from yesterday. Mom is fighting a cold and went back to bed to get some rest. No big over-the-top breakfast today.
It wasn’t like I necessarily wanted to face him either. But at least I’m not a coward about it.
Last night had been...hooboy. Like nothing I have words for.
What kind of woman offers to hug a man like Charlie Warner? It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now in the light of day, the super bright light of day, I wonder if I was childish.
If Sheila had a man like Charlie in her arms, she would have hugged him, yes. But the evening would have ended naked.
Shame burns my face in splotches. Shame that I embarrassed us both. Shame that I’m not woman enough to make love to a handsome man literally in my arms. Shame that I wanted to make love to him as much as I didn’t.
“Today is bike day,” my oldest brother says, reading from the itinerary on the fridge door, interrupting my thoughts.
Carter groans.
“It’ll be fun.” I like bike day. It’s one of my favorite family traditions. And it will give me something to do to stay busy.
After cleaning the kitchen, the four of us Jones siblings and my dad trek out to the detached shop. As the hum of fluorescent lighting starts, I feel the jitter in my tummy. “How many this year, Dad?”
“Only ten,” he answers and smacks a kiss on the top of my head.
“Ten?” Amy asks. “I only have an hour.” She points to her chest. “The baby might not sleep on a schedule yet, but he sure does eat on one.”
“So, you’ll work for an hour. I think the rest of us can pick up your slack.” This from Carter, who hates putting together bikes, but loves holding his nephew. Everyone does. The baby is three months old and already the sun of my entire family’s universe.
We all go to work at our usual stations like elves in Santa’s Workshop. And we pretty much are. Every year, we put together bikes for Toys for Tots. When we were younger, we each built one with help from our dad, taking a break midway for cocoa or a snowball fight. As we grew up, we got better and needed less supervision, but took more breaks—which led to the cell phone rule—not allowed in the shop—and adding more bikes.
At the hour shift change, my sister goes inside to feed the baby, my dad goes inside to check on Mom, and Carter asks our other brother to go give Charlie a ride to Stone Jones to check on the Camaro so Carter can hang out with me alone.
“What?” I ask as soon as everyone leaves. Surely it isn’t about Charlie. He wouldn’t have told Carter about last night.
“I just wanted to tell you that Nickelodeon is having a Rugrats marathon this afternoon.”
I spin the wheel of the bike to make sure it doesn’t wobble while squinting at my brother. “You’re a dork, but even you aren’t that dorky. Why’d you get rid of Mal?” It’s not like he wouldn’t watch Rugrats with us. At Christmas, we are all kids again.
“I just miss you.”
I put down the WD-40. “I miss you too.”
He pretends to be super interested in the bike chain in front of him because he is still a dude, and dudes don’t let their sisters see them tear up. Even dudes who are twins and their sisters already know they are tearing up.
We don’t need words either, and for a few minutes, none are shared.
Carter breaks the silence first. “So what do you think of Sarge?”
“He’s nice.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Carter, stop it. Your friend has no interest in me. None.”
Carter sets his wrench down. “Because you dress like you’re Amish.”
I set my wrench down too—so I don’t throw it at his head. “Take that back.”
“Can’t. It’s the truth. You can’t hide forever.”
“I don’t like people noticing me. It’s not a crime. The rest of you can have all the attention you want.”
Carter pops up onto the workbench. “It’s not working. Sarge notices you. He pretends not to, but anytime he thinks I’m not paying attention, he’s watching you.”
I pick up the wrench again for something to do. “You’re making that up. Quit being a matchmaker; you’re no good at it.”
“Sarge is a good guy. You could do worse.”
Must not hit brother with wrench. “Charlie is a good guy, yes. He’s also very good looking and doesn’t need your help finding dates.”
“So you think he’s good looking?”
If a glare could melt his face... “Carter, stop. Of course, he’s good looking. But that doesn’t mean he’s a good match for me.”
“You guys would have beautiful babies.”
“Carter!”
“What?”
“If you want babies, go get a girlfriend and leave me out of it. I swear to God. Your ticking biological clock is not my problem.”
“I don’t want babies. That’s why I want you to have them. I’m a much better uncle than I would be a daddy.”
That is categorically untrue, but I let it slide. “I love you, Carter, but I don’t want to have babies with your sergeant.”
“Ex-sergeant,” comes a voice from behind me. A very familiar voice.
We
ll, that’s not embarrassing at all. I actually feel every color as it passes across my face. I must look like a kaleidoscope of pinks and reds.
“Carter, I’m glad you survived Afghanistan just to come home and be killed by your little sister,” I say, shooting him a look I hope tells him that I will get him back, and it will be spectacular. To Charlie I say, “Hi.”
His smirk holds a thousand secrets. “Hi.” He lifts his brows in a near waggle. “Sheriff Jones had a call, so he had to change our meeting, and your older brother is watching cartoons. I thought I’d come out here and help with the bikes.”
Carter promptly gives up his station. “Here you go, man. I’m going to go make some coffee, you guys want some?”
I nod. I’m still going to kill him, but I might as well force him to bring me caffeine first.
“Sorry about all the awkward,” I say when Carter is out of earshot.
Charlie just shakes his head and picks up Carter’s wrench. “I’ve put you in a weird spot with your family. It’s my fault things are awkward.”
“It’s not. Carter is—”
“Right. He’s right. I was standing there for a few minutes. I do...notice you. I can’t seem to stop noticing. And that was before...last night.”
I pretend to be absorbed in the sprocket. “What do you mean you notice me?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“What? No. I just mean...I’m not...” I look down. “I don’t stand out.”
“Emily?” I look up and find him staring at me. I break the eye contact, but he brings my chin back up. “You’re beautiful. You stand out to me.”
Why are there tears forming in my eyes? “I don’t want to stand out.”
He uses his thumb to brush a tear off my cheek. “Are you sure? I feel like everything about you has been calling to me since I first saw you standing on the porch.”
My heart thumps a crazy bass rhythm. “Why, Charlie? You could have anyone you want. Guys like you... I’m the friend of the girl you ask to dance. I’m never the girl.”
He exhales a harsh sound between a laugh and a groan. “Girls like you—hell, I’ve never met anyone like you before. You scare the hell out of me.”