At least I had his address now. If he was hiding something, it probably wasn’t to do with his home after all. Probably.
“Fine!” I grit out. “I’ll be there at 7AM.”
We’d decided that an early start would give us the best chance of not getting caught at the border for too long.
The next morning, I pulled up outside a small, manufactured home on a quiet street. It was a nice area, but it was clear that Cody and his mom weren’t rich. The mystery of how he could afford all this time off deepened. I wondered uneasily if this whole TJ trip wasn’t some elaborate scheme to do a drug run.
I wanted to kick myself for that mean thought, but it was there all the same, burrowing away. I felt even worse when he came bounding out of the house, a huge smile on his face and scooped me up into a tight hug.
I couldn’t help hugging him back and pushing my face into the soft material of his t-shirt, breathing in his clean, spicy scent.
I felt Cody’s heart stutter, and we held each other just a beat longer than was strictly friendship. When I pushed him away, I’m sure my cheeks were flushed, and I could see that he wasn’t unaffected either. A very solid erection was visible beneath his jeans.
“Sorry,” he said, shrugging and avoiding my eyes. “Pretty girl in shorts.”
He threw himself in the car then plugged in his iPod, and Lifehouse’s Between the Raindrops echoed out of my speakers.
I smiled and shook my head. I was about to climb into the driver’s seat when I glanced toward his house. I could have sworn that I saw a face peering out between a gap in the curtains. Probably his mom checking on him. Or me.
I headed for the bus station, waiting for Cody to say something, but he was staring out of the window
After a few minutes of awkward non-conversation, I couldn’t hold back.
“The day it was raining—why did you give me that note?”
His smile was a little sad as he looked at me.
“You looked like you needed cheering up.”
Not the answer I was expecting.
“That’s it? Your mission is to go around cheering up random strangers?”
“Sure, why not? I can think of plenty worse ways to spend my time.” He looked away, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery of cars and shops. “And I meant what I said. But now I know you, I’ve changed my mind.”
“You … you don’t think I’m beautiful?”
What a letdown.
He smiled and looked across at me. “I know that the outside is just a reflection of the inside.”
I laughed shakily. “I think your eyes need checking: I’m miserable and grouchy and I give you a hard time even when you do nice things for me, then question you like a cop.”
He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms upward, as much as was possible in my small car, and gave me a view of taut, toned stomach as his t-shirt rode up.
“Nah, you’ve just had a bad few days. Everyone gets down sometimes.”
“You don’t! You’re always happy. It’s kind of annoying.”
He laughed loudly. “Yeah, don’t you just hate that? All those darned happy people! What are they thinking?”
“Asshole,” I muttered, even though I was smiling.
His laughter died away and he became serious.
“Life can be shit. You’ve known that since you were seven. I decided a long time ago that being happy is a choice. When I was 13, someone I knew well got sick with cancer—you could say it was a life-changing experience. So yeah, you can wallow in your own misery and tell everyone what shit luck you have, or you can face it and smile that fucker fate in the face.” He paused. “ Doesn’t mean your luck will change, but you can choose not to be miserable about it.”
“Is it really that easy?”
Cody shook his head slowly. “Nope, but it’s the choice I make every day.”
I phrased my next question carefully. “What made you decide … to make that choice?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m not going to answer that, because today is about having fun with my … with my best friend.”
I stared at him in surprise.
“I’m your best friend?”
“Truck!” he yelped, gripping his seat hard.
My eyes snapped back to the road and the truck that I’d nearly side-swiped. A blaring horn sounded in my ears as I corrected the steering wheel with a jolt.
“Answer the question!” I croaked, when the immediate danger had passed.
He took a deep breath, and I didn’t know if was because I’d just scared the bejesus out of him, or because he was steeling himself.
“Yeah, you’re my best friend.”
“Why?”
My question surprised him.
“Why not?”
“No, it’s just … well, what about friends from high school?”
He shrugged. “Lost touch with them.”
Well, that was odd.
We reached the terminal and climbed onto our bus, choosing a seat toward the back. It was full of day-trippers and men with buzz cuts who were clearly soldiers or marines, and were excited at the prospect of cutting loose.
It was only a half-hour ride to the border, but once we were there, we ended up in a long line of cars and trucks, all heading south for the winter, like snowbirds.
“Why did you decide to be a CPA?” Cody asked out of the blue.
“Good money; steady career choice,” I answered automatically, parroting the words I’d said to myself a thousand times before, echoing my father. “Well, it was supposed to be…”
“Okay,” he said slowly, “but…”
“But what?”
“I can’t imagine you as an accountant.”
“Why not? You think just because I’m blonde with big boobs that I can’t be smart, too?”
“Whoa!” he said, his tone surprised. “Where’d that come from? Have I ever treated you like you were dumb?”
“Sorry,” I said, at last. “But you wouldn’t be the first guy to assume that.”
“I know you’re smart—I was just wondering why CPA? It seems kind of … stuffy for you.”
“I’ll be able to earn good money and then spend my leisure time doing what interests me, hobbies and such.”
Cody shook his head. “Jeez! Are you 22 or 52? What’s got you so afraid of living?”
“Don’t be mean!”
“Ava…”
He put his arm around my shoulders, and hugged me while I rested my head against him.
“If you want to be a CPA, then go for it. It’s just that you always look kind of sad when you talk about it … like it’s not what you really want to do.”
I studied the pink, jeweled flip-flops that I’d picked out the day before, while I thought about my answer.
“I’ve always wanted to work in art museums.”
I hadn’t admitted that to anyone since I was 16.
“Okay?” he said, scrunching up his forehead like he was studying a calculus question. “And you don’t because…?”
“My dad said there weren’t many good jobs in that field, and that nobody would hire someone as clumsy as me to work in an art museum. He’s a CPA so…”
Cody squeezed my shoulder gently. “I get it. You want to please your old man. But it’s your life, Ava. Yours to live any way you want.”
I sighed. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Nothing’s easy about living, but it’s a helluva lot harder if you’re miserable while you do it.”
I gave a small smile. “How’d you get to be so wise? You make me feel like I’m the kid.”
I felt his fingers drift down my cheek before he brushed a kiss onto the corner of my mouth. I turned to stare at him, leaning closer…
But our moment was interrupted when the border guard waved us on, and the bus lurched into life.
Two minutes later we were in Mexico, and soon we were rattling and bumping along the streets of Tijuana.
“What do you wan
t to do first?” Cody asked, his eyes glowing, lit up from the inside with his own personal stash of happiness. “Beach, town, or bar?”
“Bar? It’s only 10.30AM! If you start drinking now you’ll be too trashed to do anything else.”
He winked at me. “Not seeing a problem with that.”
“Ugh. I read online about this place called El Popo. It’s a market where all the locals go. We could have a look around and get a soda and something to eat…”
“Food, yeah! I could definitely eat some tacos.”
“You’re always thinking about your stomach.”
“It’s not the only thing I’m always thinking about,” he shot back, letting his gaze drop to my cleavage.
“Stop being a perv! We’re supposed to be friends!”
“You suggested ‘friends’. I’m more sort of ‘friends … whatever’.”
“You conned me!” I accused, holding a smile behind my frown.
“Yeah, so sue me.”
“I’ll just leave your sorry ass in Mexico when I go home,” I called over my shoulder as I started to walk away.
He shook his head, grinning. “My sorry ass is following your sorry ass wherever you go.”
“Uh-uh. This sorry ass travels solo,” I sang, shaking my hips a little.
When he didn’t answer, I looked behind me and saw Cody’s eyes glued to my butt. I should have felt guilty, but I didn’t. I felt desired. The line between friendship and something else was becoming increasingly blurred, and I was the one at fault. Cody had made it clear from the start that he was attracted to me.
And I was certainly attracted to him, but he was holding something back. I could feel it, and it made me nervous. It would be too easy to fall for this boy with the big smile and bigger heart.
“Come on,” I said, turning to grab his arm. “Let’s feed you.”
We bought some delicious tacos from a street vendor, then wandered along, hand-in-hand through the market, eyes popping out at the sight of the amazing candies. We bought Sopapilla cheesecake and white coconut alfajores for dessert, and Cody bought candied pineapple, mango, and Chilacayote squash for his mom.
He wanted to buy a bottle of tequila, too, but I thought it was too early to start hitting the hard stuff. And even though he was 6’2” and fifty pounds heavier than me, I still felt responsible for him.
As we browsed through the market, I found a store that sold local tie-dyed fabrics and went to have a look around. Cody refused to come in on the grounds he still had his man-card, and sauntered off, collecting admiring glances wherever he went.
When I came out 15 minutes later, he was looking very pleased with himself.
“What did you do?” I asked, suspiciously.
“I scored,” he said, his face deadpan but his eyes giving away his excitement.
“Wow, that was quick. Poor girl.”
His eyes widened for a second, then he laughed.
“Nah, I’m with the prettiest girl in town already,” he winked at me, throwing a casual arm around my shoulder. “I got something to, um, enjoy later.”
“I’m really hoping you’re going to say a bottle tequila, but since I can’t see one…”
He shrugged lightly. “Just some loco weed.”
I frowned.
“You were really taking a risk—if you’d asked the wrong person or … it probably isn’t the real thing anyway. You’ve probably bought a bag of herbs.”
“Oh, it’s herbal, alright,” he laughed. “Very medicinal.”
“Hmm…”
“Did you know some doctors prescribe it for pain relief?”
“Yes, I had heard that, but it’s hardly the case here. Just promise me that you won’t try and take any back across the border.”
He looked amused and irritated. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Remains to be seen,” I muttered under my breath.
Cody grabbed my hand and swung our arms together like a couple of kids.
“Don’t be mad—I just want to cross some more things off our list.”
Nope, definitely couldn’t stay mad at him.
We stopped at a liquor store and Cody proudly bought two six-packs of beer. And although he glanced longingly at a bottle of locally brewed tequila, he didn’t buy any.
“Enjoying yourself?” I teased, as he tucked the six-packs under his arm with a wide grin.
It wasn’t that long since I’d bought my first drink without using fake ID. I remembered how good it felt, how grown up.
Most of the time Cody seemed older than his years, but every now and then, the boy in him came out to play. He had such a thirst for life, such a way of seeing the good in every situation; happiness just poured out of him. I’d genuinely never met anyone like him. He was blessed.
We found our way to a pretty park, not far from the main drag. Wide-leafed palms merged into a thicker canopy of leaves, the further we made our way into the forest behind, as I refused to go anywhere if there was the smallest chance we might be seen. Eventually, we settled ourselves under the secluded shade of a eucalyptus, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the long grass at the base of the tree.
“I feel really conspicuous,” I hissed.
Cody shook his head in amusement.
“Seriously!” I whined. “If we get caught we’ll go to prison.”
He rolled his eyes in disbelief and smirked at me.
“First, no one will see us here—in fact I’m kind of worried they’ll only find a bunch of bones a few years down the line, because you route-marched us into the land that time forgot; and second, you can have five grams for personal use—I googled it.”
“Yeah? Well, your research sucks, because I googled it, too, and that’s only if you’re Mexican, and as far as I know, unless you’ve been lying your ass off, you’re from Kansas.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“Well, if anyone finds us—which they won’t—we’ll be able to hear them coming, and I’ll drop it on the grass. Grass on grass: no one will find that.”
“They’ll be able to smell it, doofus!”
“Just wave your hands around. We’ll tell them you saw a huge flying cockroach.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Fine! Just do it. Smoke your loco weed. I’m going to have beer.”
We kicked off our shoes, enjoying the soft tickle of grass under our bare feet, and opened the beer, Cody sighing with pleasure. It was so peaceful, the sounds of the world far away. Then he reached into his pocket, and I watched, fascinated, as he rolled his smoke with nimble fingers.
“Hey, you’ve done that before!”
He looked up and smiled. “I didn’t say I hadn’t.”
“But … it’s on your wish list!”
“I’ve never done it in Tijuana with an ice cold beer and my best friend.”
I couldn’t help the warm glow of happiness that spread through me as he said that, despite my prim disapproval of what he was doing.
He lit the end, took a long drag, and breathed out slowly, blowing the sweet smoke toward me.
“It’ll keep the flying cockroaches away,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Then he lay back contentedly, his long legs stretched out, his bare feet crossed at the ankle.
With his eyes closed, hands resting across his stomach, I took the opportunity to drink him in.
His shoulders were broad and strong, and I could see the new tattoo peeping out beneath the sleeve of his white t-shirt. Every time he took another hit of the weed, his biceps bulged and the t-shirt lifted on his ridged stomach. His cheeks were slightly flushed, pink overlaying the golden tan, and his long lashes fanned out as his eyelids fluttered.
“I know you’re staring at me,” he said. “I can feel you looking at me.”
“No, I’m not,” I lied.
His full lips curved upward in a lazy smile, but his eyes remained closed. He took another hit then cracked one eye to look across at me.
“Want to try some? It’s
good stuff—it’ll just give you a nice buzz.”
I was about to turn him down when I hesitated. I’d been so scared of failing in college, that I’d hardly ever taken the chance to let my hair down. Math wasn’t my strong suit, so I’d had to bust my ass to get decent grades. I studied and I worked: the worst I’d ever done was to get drunk at a couple of frat parties, and sleep with the wrong guys.
I’d never get this chance again; not here like this, with Cody.
“Okay,” I said, nervously. “What do I do?”
His lazy smile stretched wider.
“Whatever feels good.”
That wasn’t at all what I meant, so I ignored the inviting look on his face and plucked the roach from his fingers, inhaling deeply the way he had. Only to have a massive coughing fit as the smoke hit the back of my throat.
Cody sat up quickly, swaying slightly, then passed me some beer to calm the rasping in my throat. He rubbed my shoulders, the movement slowing to gentle strokes, as the concern in his eyes faded.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded slowly, looking up at him. I’d stopped coughing although my eyes were still watering, but the touch of his hands had sparked something else.
We both knew it, but neither of us acknowledged it.
“Yes, I’m fine.” And I took another hesitant drag to prove it.
I passed the joint back to him and lay on the grass, mesmerized by the fingers of sunlight that dappled the leaves. I could almost see my hopes and dreams drifting hazily above me, floating nearby but just out of reach.
“My head’s buzzing,” I sighed. “It feels nice … sort of like I’m floating in a warm bath … or drifting like a balloon. I could just float away if someone cut my string.”
He lay back next to me and turned his face toward mine, his eyelids heavy over his beautiful eyes.
“That’s why it’s called a high, pretty girl.”
“The colors are so amazing—like a painting, but brighter. We’re in our own private art gallery.”
I felt his fingers drift down my arm, winding around my wrist until he was holding my hand.
“If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?”
I sighed, feeling contented but still with an edge of sadness. Why did all the good stuff go by so fast?
“I’d fly to Florence,” I began, my voice dreamy and soft. “That’s in Italy. I’d spend every day in the Uffizi art gallery. It’s the most amazing place, one of the oldest art museums in the world, and it’s got paintings by Botticelli, Giotto and Leonardo da Vinci. I’d eat pasta and learn Italian; I’d ride a scooter and live in a building that was hundreds of years old, and I wouldn’t be boring old Ava Lawton anymore.”
Playing in the Rain Page 5