Long After

by Cheryl McIntyre

  if he ever found out.

  Yet here I sit.

  “Did you show him your arms?” His eyes trail over the sleeve covering the evidence of Loden’s actions.

  “I just want to move past it. I just want to move on.” I look away, concentrating on the dirty dishes splayed across the adjacent table. “No point dwelling on what can’t be changed. I made a note not to let it happen again. Now I continue on. Stronger because I’m wiser.”

  Warm fingers twining around my hand draw my attention back. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me as if it’s still summer. As if I didn’t spend the past few weeks avoiding him as often as possible. Again. I feel like he can see all the things I want to say—all the truth I refuse to speak. And God, I want him to. I want him to see what’s inside of me and tell me it’s okay.

  His lips open and I hold my breath in anticipation of what will come out. A plate blocks him from my vision and then we’re pulling apart as our waitress delivers our orders.

  I curse the interruption, but sigh inwardly with relief at the same time.

  As much as I want something from Chase, I know it’s such a bad idea.

  Loden. I have Loden. I’ve invested too much into our relationship.

  Chase is just a friend. I have to get my priorities straight. I’m not thinking clearly because the past couple of days have been so draining. And Chase eases some of the emotional strain. Because we’re friends.

  “We’re friends,” I say aloud, needing to hear it. Needing him to confirm it.

  He lifts his brows, but drops his eyes to the plate sitting untouched in front of him. “Friends,” he murmurs as if he’s testing the word on his tongue. He nods as he picks up his burger. He smiles at me. “Yep. We’re buddies.”

  I try not to cringe. Buddies? That’s not right. I don’t like when he says it like that. Buddies? No. Buddies punch each other in the shoulder and watch sports together. They play wingman and meet up for beers after work. They give noogies and wedgies.

  “Buddies” is all wrong. Ugh. Just hearing it in my head makes me feel sick. And disappointed.

  Buddies?

  No.

  “Friends,” I correct. Friends have room to grow. Friends trust each other. Rely on one another. Care for the other person. Friends are permanent. They hug and spend time together. They have real conversations. You can call your friend in the middle of the night when you need them because you had a bad day—or your boyfriend hurt you. You know they’ll be there for you.

  Buddies? You call a buddy to move a couch.

  “What’s the difference?” Chase asks.

  I pucker my lips and shake my head. “I guess there isn’t one,” I clip out. He takes a big bite looking smug and I push my plate away. I’m not hungry. And I don’t really feel like hanging out with my buddy anymore, either.

  20

  Stir It Up

  Chase

  “What are you talking about?” I scoff. “Have you lost your mind? That is the worst idea I have ever heard in my life. And this is coming from me.”

  Annie’s frustrated sigh sounds in my ear and I almost expect to feel her breath against my skin. I shift the phone, adjusting it in the crook between my chin and shoulder. “It’s impeccable planning,” she says, trying to defend herself.

  “No, no, no. Deep into the woods. That’s your best shot. You stay away from malls at all cost.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she replies. Her tone rises several octaves and her enthusiasm on the subject makes me smile. I’ll argue all night with her—whether I agree with her or not—just to hear the passion in her voice.

  “Where would you get supplies?” she continues. “Where would you find shelter?”

  “Live off the land,” I say. “Hunt. Make shelter out of nature.”

  “You’d be dead within a week,” she states dryly. “You’re not thinking about all the elements. Nature would kick your ass. I don’t care how awesome your twig fort is, it won’t protect you from the cold. You’d get hypothermia or pneumonia. Or both.”

  “I’d make a fire.”

  “You can’t make a fire,” she squeaks. “They’d see it and you’d be dead no matter what.”

  I chuckle, loving how riled up she’s getting. “How many zombies do you think would be wandering around the deep woods?”

  I wait and when no reply comes, I sit up, swinging my legs off the side of the couch. “Hell just froze over,” I announce in awe. “I just won a debate against Annie Phillips.”

  She growls into the phone. If she were here right now, that noise might make me kiss her.

  “Admit it,” I sing. “I need to hear you say it out loud.”

  “I’m thinking. Stop distracting me.”

  “You have nothing. Just own it. I have a valid point—one you hadn’t considered, by the way—so I win.”

  “There’s no prize for being an asshole,” she quips.

  “Oh, man. There should be.”

  “You’d have a proud trophy shelf.” She follows this up with a long, breathy yawn that I unintentionally return. I glance up at the clock on the common room wall.

  “Shit. It’s almost two,” I realize.

  “Mm,” she agrees.

  These phone calls have grown longer and longer each night as the weeks have passed. I rub my face and stifle the next yawn. Damn. I’m becoming sleep deprived on a daily basis. What’s messed up is I don’t care nearly as much as I should. I feel a slight twinge of regret when my alarm goes off in the morning, but I already know I’ll be anticipating her call all day tomorrow.

  “Get your iPod,” I tell her.

  She groans tiredly. “Can we skip the nightly music class, Mr. Malloy?”

  God. Shit. I can’t even explain how much my body responds to her calling me “Mr. Malloy.” That’s fucking hot, especially in her low, sleepy voice. I imagine her stretched out across her bed, long, blonde hair spread over her pillow.

  “Where you at right now?” I ask.

  “My bedroom. Why?”

  “On your bed?”

  “Yeah…”

  Jesus. “Are you in pajamas?”

  “Yes. Why?” She tries to sound annoyed, but I hear the true curiosity in her voice.

  “What do they look like?”

  “My pajamas? They’re just plaid boxers I stole from Guy years ago and a tank top. I think I stole it from Hope, actually. I can’t remember. Why?”

  I laugh at her complete unawareness. She has no clue what her little description just did to me, either. “Is your roommate there?”

  “Huh-uh. She’s dating some guy with an apartment. She’s hardly ever here. What’s up with the third degree?”

  I ignore her question and ask my own. “You have your iPod yet?”

  She sighs. I hear the springs in her mattress creak as she moves and it doesn’t help matters. I’m being stirred, slowly, but surely. All I can think about is how that tank top is probably sliding up her side as she reaches over to her night stand. I picture her rolling onto her stomach, her ass on display under those little, threadbare shorts. I know exactly what pair she’s talking about. I’ve seen her in them so many times before. The memory of how they show off her legs, long and lean, attacks my senses.

  I groan quietly. This is Annie. She’s Guy’s step-sister.

  I chant it over and over in my head.

  Not her.

  She’s off limits.

  It’s wrong.

  But I can’t find it in me to give a shit. I can’t find it in me to actually believe there is anything wrong with the way I feel about her.

  How do I feel about her?

  “Okay,” she says. “What song tonight?”

  I hesitate. All other music is erased from my mind except the one song playing on repeat in my head right now as I envision Annie.

  You know those moments when time seems to stand still? The ones where you try to decide what your next move should be? Where fifty different thoughts attack you and you have t
o make your decision on the fly? Because you know time really hasn’t stopped, you’ve just been sitting there, quietly contemplating your life like an asshole?

  I’m having one of those moments right now.

  “Chase? What song?”

  “Stir It Up,” I finally say. “Bob Marley.” I close my eyes and jerk my hand through my hair. “And Annie?”

  “Huh?”

  “Think of me when you listen to it.”

  “What?”

  “Just think of me.”

  “Okay…”

  “Goodnight,” I rasp.

  “Night,” she echoes, her voice full of confusion. Sixty seconds into the song and she won’t be.

  Shit. What the hell did I just do?

  ~*~

  I think I fell asleep in class. Or else I zoned out for the last forty minutes. People shuffle past me as I blink rapidly, trying to orientate myself. The corner of my mouth is wet and I wipe it with the back of my fingers. Nice. Drooling is a pretty obvious tell. I might as well have brought a blanket and pillow.

  At least I made it here. I swear I had just fallen asleep when my alarm went off. Despite how tired I was, I couldn’t sleep last night.

  Wondering what Annie’s reaction to that song was—or what it will be—had me unable to turn my mind off.

  I don’t know what I was thinking.

  That’s bullshit. I know exactly what I was thinking. Annie’s cool. I like her. I like talking to her. I like hanging out with her. I like pissing her off so I can be rewarded with her smartass mouth. I like that she’s got a really great sense of humor, even if she tries to hide it. I like that she’s smart and organized.

  It makes me want to do anything I can to mix her life up. There’s nothing wrong with messy sometimes.

  And, hell, I am so attracted to the girl it isn’t even humorous.

  But she has a boyfriend—a shitty boyfriend, albeit, but a boyfriend all the same. She’s my friend’s sister. Step-sister, but that doesn’t change anything. We’ve known each other for years. Years that we’ve been nothing more than friends. And most of the time not even that.

  What scares me the most is the idea of her not wanting to be around me anymore. She already avoided me for six months during last year. I didn’t like it. I really don’t want her to hide from me again. All because I opened my mouth and made her feel uncomfortable.

  I like easy. So what the hell possessed me to go make shit complicated?

  I finish packing my stuff up and slip out the door before my professor gets the urge to call me out on my class time nap. The sun’s too bright for my taste at the moment. I pause, slumping against the building as I tug a hat out of my backpack.

  Pulling the bill down to shade my eyes, I stay this way, leaning against the cool brick while I work through my internal debate. I want to go back to the dorms and sleep. I want to pass out and pretend last night didn’t happen.

  But I have two more classes, one of which is Lit with Kayla.

  Shit. I’m not in the mood to see her today. I don’t have the patience to see her today. I need to end that. I push off the wall. If I’m going to act like a grown-up and go to all my classes, I need to go now. I look up just in time to see Loden round the corner, Annie towing behind him. He stops, pulling her until she’s flush against him. I watch—because for some reason I can’t look away—as he glides two fingers over her cheek before kissing her. My jaw grinds, teeth to teeth, as I glimpse flashes of tongue.

  It’s enough to repel my gaze. I force myself forward, giving them a wide berth as I pass. I keep my eyes on my shoes. One foot in front of the other. At the last second, I glance up and note they managed to untangle their tongues.

  Annie’s eyes are following my movement. I don’t want to ignore her, but there’s no way in hell I’m going over and playing nice with Loden. I nod, not slowing down. She turns, giving me her back—the only clue she noticed the gesture.

  I can’t be mad. I brought this on myself. But if she thinks our nightly phone calls are over, she’s damn wrong.

  21

  Love Somebody

  Annie

  There is something therapeutic about packing. I get to make lists. I get to check items off. It’s calming. Relaxing. All my energy is focused on the task. I have no time to spend dwelling on anything other than making sure I have enough underwear to last the four days I’ll be away.

  I’m taking Loden home to meet my family for Thanksgiving. And then we’ll be making the hour trip to Loden’s parents’ house.

  I’m nervous. My mom is all paper plates, plastic utensils, and serve yourself for Thanksgiving. With overloaded, flimsy plates in hand, we all hunker down on the living room floor and watch the first Christmas movie of the year. While eating our turkey—which is always either undercooked or sadly resembling cardboard—we make fun of the movie, re-voicing the characters’ lines. Someone always uses this as an opportunity to make fun of somebody else. A year’s worth of pent up aggression released in a few rewritten lines of Jingle All the Way. Then someone gets mad, peas get flicked, bread winds up being thrown… This all leads to ending our day with one massive food fight.

  My stepdad started the rule a few years back that no showers are taken until the living room is cleaned. It’s not a bad rule—it guarantees quick clean-up—but Loden and I will need to get ready for his family’s dinner.

  In his house they actually have Thanksgiving dinner at dinner time. Not at noon like we do in my family. They also dress nicely and sit at a dining table. Loden told me his mom has special china she uses for the holidays.

  It sounds exactly as I’ve always wished holidays had been in my house. But my family is made up of all these strange little bits—like pieces from several different puzzles all thrown together to make one big, odd picture.

  I’ve wondered what it would be like to just have a whole sister or brother. To not have to put “half” or “step” in front of it. I’ll never know, but I will make damn sure my own children will never have to think about it.

  And that’s why I’m nervous. I don’t want Loden to know how messed up we all are. I try so hard to keep it all together, to not let anyone see anything less than perfection. But I’ll be giving him a front row seat to the live show. Cirque du Soleil—Annie Phillips style. Except I won’t be wearing a funky costume and I doubt there will be any applause at the end.

  My cell phone rings, causing me to jump. I drop the shirt I was folding and look at the clock. 12:15. I know by the time exactly who it is without looking at the caller ID. I ignore it, letting it go to voicemail.

  I know I promised I would call him every night, but I just can’t talk to him today. I… I have no idea how I feel. I’m so confused. Why did he tell me to listen to that song and think of him? What does that mean?

  I barely slept last night because I kept repeating the song, trying to decipher each and every word. And then arguing with myself over whether I misinterpreted. I’m pretty sure that song is all about sex. Like really hot, giving sex. Either that or cooking.

  But I’m pretty sure Chase wouldn’t have me listen to a song about cooking. Of course, I didn’t think he’d have me listen to a song about sex and ask me to think of him. And, God, I did. I did think about him and that just made it so much worse. Because there is an attraction there. I admit it. The boy is so beautiful that I can’t stand it, and maybe if it were a different time or we were different people…maybe if I didn’t have a boyfriend.

  No. Just no.

  Not Chase. No matter how much the thought of kissing him had me tossing and turning last night I cannot go there. I have Loden. And Loden is perfect. I think he loves me. And I think I could be happy with him. We’re making plans. Planning our future together. We’ve even discussed marriage as a future possibility.

  That’s what really matters.

  My phone rings again and I sigh as I stare at it. I can’t. A part of me wishes I could explore this—whatever this is—with Chase, but it’s just not worth
the risk. Avoidance is the best answer. I’ll go home with Loden, have a great holiday weekend and come back next week, relaxed. Time will heal all this awkward confusion inside and I can get back to normal.

  Pounding on my door is followed up with, “Annie?”

  I open the door slowly, not recognizing the voice. One of my dorm roommates, I can’t remember her name, is waiting, one bright pink slipper tapping the tiled floor.

  “Some guy is here for you.”

  I nod my head absentmindedly and look out into the common room.

  And then I freeze.

  Seriously. I can’t do this.

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss. If I act like a total psychotic bitch he’ll turn around and leave. He’ll rethink whatever message he was trying to send me and run far, far away.

  “You didn’t call,” Chase says quietly. “And you didn’t answer.” He shrugs unapologetically. “So I stopped by to check on you.”

  I watch him scratch his chin nervously and something in that small gesture—that tiny little slip that gives him away—makes my breath shake as I exhale. He was worried about me.

  “I don’t need you to check on me. I’m fine.”

  He nods and slides his long fingers into his front pockets. “I just needed to see.”

  He keeps looking at me and I fight the urge to squirm. To cover myself. To run into my room and lock the door. “Well you saw,” I say, but there’s no bite to it.

  “You should’ve called.”

  I press my lips together so I don’t scream at him. Instead, I take a step closer and cross my arms over my chest like a shield. “You shouldn’t have told me to play that song.” There. I said it. It’s out. Maybe he’ll feel like an ass and go.

  “You’re right,” he agrees.

  I search his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm. All I see is uncertainty and it makes my heart squeeze. Maybe I should say something here, but all the thoughts running through my head aren’t ones I can voice. God, if I did… I can’t even imagine it.

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t—I didn’t mean—shit.” He rubs his forehead then drags his fingers through his hair. It’s brown today. Must be because he’s going home. I forget sometimes what his natural color looks like, even though it’s always been my favorite on him.