Scratch

by Rhonda Helms

  I rubbed my hand across the front of my upper chest. “Not really,” I confessed. Not my scene. It was noisy here, and I kept getting bumped into. Even the beer glow wasn’t helping me relax much.

  “I have an idea,” Daniel said. “Wanna get out of here?”

  My heart stopped for a second, then restarted. I peered up into his eyes and saw no malice there. Could I trust him, though? It wasn’t safe to leave a party to go out somewhere with a guy. Especially one I didn’t know that well.

  He stepped back just a bit, and I sucked in a small lungful of air. “I know somewhere we can hang out and talk,” he continued. “And you can text Megan to let her know where we are.”

  Obviously I hadn’t hidden my concerns very well. But he was thoughtful enough to help me feel comfortable. I drank the last of my beer and tossed the cup in a nearby garbage can. Should I go? Should I stay?

  “Or you could just stay,” he said. “I think I see another round of the wet T-shirt contest starting.”

  Ugh, he was right. That cinched it for me. I whipped out my cell and texted Megan that I was taking off and I’d check in an hour from now. Then I nodded and, pushing my suddenly shaking hands into my jeans pockets, I said, “Lead the way.”

  “A drive-in movie?” I asked in disbelief as Daniel’s rust bucket of a car pulled into the lot forty-five minutes later. They still had those around? I thought they went out in the fifties or something.

  He chuckled. “What, you don’t like movies?”

  Well, at least he’d been honest with me back at the party. It certainly was a public place, with a few cars scattered throughout the lot in front of the massive white screen. The gentle night breeze flowed in through my open window, caressing my hair and sending flutters of locks around my face.

  “Of course I like movies,” I stated primly, resting my hands in my lap.

  Sure, I looked calm on the outside, but on the inside my stomach was a riot. And my heart hadn’t stopped beating madly in my chest, despite Daniel being a perfect gentleman the whole ride here. He’d let music play softly in the background to fill the vast pockets of my awkward silence and kept his limbs on his side of the car.

  “So, what’s playing on the big screen?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” he said, and I laughed, the band around my chest loosening a smidge. “They play movies around this time almost every night until the weather gets cooler, so I figured we’d take a chance and see what’s on tonight.” He paid our way in and found a spot in the middle of the lot. No cars immediately around us, but close enough that I wouldn’t feel alone.

  The tension in my shoulders unknotted bit by bit. He still kept to his side of the car, not trying to make any moves on me. His whole body was relaxed in the driver’s seat as he shut the car off and tucked the speaker onto the door. His long legs stretched out, and he had an arm dangling over the side of the window, just in front of the speaker box.

  Digging into the console between us, Daniel procured a massive bag of M&M’s. “Hungry?”

  “You keep chocolate in your car?”

  “You don’t?” he countered.

  I gave the bag a skeptical look. “Doesn’t it melt?” It had been another scorcher today; surely that bag was nothing more than chocolately goo by now, despite the slight temperature drop over the last hour.

  “Probably a little, but it’s still good.” He reached back into his console and grabbed two plastic sporks, still in the wrappers. “Here. This might help.”

  I stared at him.

  “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten melted chocolate from a bag with a spork.” His face was completely serious. “It’s pretty much the best thing ever.”

  Well, I did love chocolate. With a small shrug, I took the spork and unwrapped it, tucking the wrapper in a pocket on the door. He opened the bag and scooped out a spoonful of chocolate mess. I pinched my lips and kept my still-clean utensil in my hand.

  Daniel swiped his tongue out to lick the tip of the spork, his eyes locked on me; I swallowed, my body suddenly tense again, but this time with a heightened awareness of him. There was something sexy about the way he slowly licked the chocolate. With purpose.

  With total pleasure.

  A light shiver skidded across my flesh, and I dug my spork into the bag, desperate for something else to focus on. “Wow, this is pretty good,” I conceded around a mouthful of chocolate. Still super messy, as I’d suspected it would be, but at least he wasn’t wasting good food.

  The movie screen flickered to life, and after a couple of commercials about concession stand food, the opening credits of Snow White began to play.

  “Wow, they’re going old-school,” Daniel murmured.

  Snow White. I hadn’t seen that cartoon in ages. Lila and I used to watch the DVD all the time when we were little. Practically drove our mom nuts from our daily watching during one summer. We both had loved the way the animals would clean the small cottage with Snow White. Lila, wearing her fanciest dress, would stand up and sing along with a feather duster in her hand every time we hit that scene.

  I swallowed the chocolate down my suddenly tight and dry throat, my hand shaking just a touch. I put my spork back in its wrapper, appetite gone.

  “What food do you hate?” Daniel asked.

  “What?” The question was so out of left field that it momentarily jarred me out of my sad memories.

  “I hate coconut. Loathe it. If a food has coconut in it, I refuse to eat it.”

  “Even German chocolate cake?” I loved that dessert, with layers of chocolate, the frosting . . . all so good. Great comfort food.

  He nodded and gave a fake shiver. “That food product is made by the devil.”

  “Well, I hate ketchup,” I admitted.

  “How can you hate ketchup? That’s un-American. I don’t think we can be friends.” He pointed to the door, his forehead marred by a deep frown. “You need to walk home now, sorry.”

  I snorted and crossed my arms over my chest. “Come on, ketchup just masks the food’s natural flavor.”

  “Ketchup enhances everything that’s good in a meal.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a while, watching Snow White flitter across the screen.

  “What’s your major?” he asked me.

  So, Daniel was apparently one of those guys who got you to open up by playing Twenty Questions. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it—people like that tended to get pushy. But the questions weren’t threatening my privacy so far. I forced back my wariness and said, “Business. I’m going to get my MBA in a couple of years, after I get a job somewhere. You?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “What in particular interests you about business?”

  I paused. “Um, it’s a steady field, and I’ll be able to find a job pretty easily. I’ve already started scouting potential companies.”

  “But what interests you about business itself?” he pressed. “What makes you excited to work in that field?”

  My cheeks burned. “It’s not about being excited. It’s about dependability. The security of knowing I can find a good job.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my wallet. “I’m going to go get a drink. Would you like something?”

  “How about a Coke?”

  I almost ripped the door open in my effort to get out of the car, making myself walk steadily to the concession stand. What about that question put me on edge? I didn’t need to be ashamed of myself. Just because I wasn’t frittering away my college years on a fluffy major like underwater basket weaving or speaking Pig Latin didn’t mean I wasn’t fulfilled.

  I snorted. Security was fulfilling. I had a plan.

  And I didn’t need to defend myself to him.

  Him or anyone else.

  Chapter 5

  I ordered two Cokes and took the overbrimming large drinks back to the car, ignoring the movie as I walked. A twinge of guilt twisted my stomach. Maybe Daniel didn’t realize how he’d come across. I might have overreacted a bit to his q
uestions. Of course he wanted to know what I enjoyed. Something I’d learned quickly about him—Daniel was a very curious person.

  He opened the door for me when I approached, and I slid into my seat, handing him his drink.

  “Thanks,” he told me with a wide grin. “All that melted chocolate was making me thirsty.”

  “So, what’s your major?” I asked him after taking a sip of my drink. It was good and crisp and cold, helping me clear my head. The alcohol was almost worn off now, which made me feel more confident and in control. Less floating and flowing with feelings. This was my safe space.

  “I’m majoring in English and minoring in art history.”

  “What are you going to do with that?” What an unusual major/minor combination. Didn’t seem very practical to me.

  “I really don’t know,” he admitted. “I was thinking of teaching, but right now I’m trying to just enjoy the process of learning. Living in the now instead of worrying so hard about planning for the future. It helps that I can work flexible hours at my dad’s title company and make extra money whenever I need it.”

  Another silence lulled the conversation, but this one a little more comfortable than before. The movie played on, with Snow White running into the woods, fear etched clearly on her face. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

  Lila used to dash around the living room in her dress during this part while I chased her. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. Triggers came from everywhere, and there was no real way to avoid them sometimes; the key was to be ready for them. Still, I wished we’d gone to see something else.

  “What do you do when you’re bored?” I forced myself to ask Daniel. I needed to get my mind off the past and back in the present. And turning his questions game against him might be the way to do so.

  “I’m never bored,” he declared in a haughty tone.

  I chuckled and looked at him, one eyebrow up.

  “Okay, that was a lie.” He sipped his Coke. “I run around Cleveland, finding all the free things I can do to entertain myself. There’s a lot in this town you can do without spending money.”

  “Oh, so you’re broke.”

  “No, I’m not, and don’t change the subject,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. He turned in his seat to face me. “Have you been to the Rock Hall?”

  The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a staple of downtown Cleveland. “Not yet, but I’ve heard of it, of course. It’s expensive, though, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but there are parts you can see for free. The store, the main lobby. I also like people-watching downtown and taking pictures. There are a lot of strange folks around there, if you can believe it.”

  “Who do you go with?” I found myself asking, turning slightly in my seat to face him as well.

  He shrugged. “I go by myself.”

  “Isn’t that lonely?” I thought about him wandering around downtown, camera in hand. Mingling in and out of the jostling crowds as he captured happy families on film. I could never do it. Part of the reason why I preferred to stay at home, working on music, when I wasn’t deejaying. It was a solo activity I could lose myself in without feeling self-conscious or awkward.

  “Not at all. I’m surrounded by people, studying everything around me. You can learn a lot when you let yourself into the flow of traffic. Listening to conversations, watching people around you talk.” He paused, and his gaze drifted to the dashboard as a secret smile creased his face. “I saw a guy and a girl break up right in front of me, but somehow they kept themselves composed as they said good-bye. Another time, this woman tearfully told her boyfriend she was pregnant—and then he dropped to one knee and proposed right there, in the middle of the sidewalk. When she said yes and jumped into his arms, crying, everyone stopped and clapped. And on one memorable trip, there were two old women holding hands on a city park bench as they fed pigeons. There’s a lot of good things out there in the world if you open your eyes to it.”

  His words were charismatic, passionate. I could almost see the images as he described them, and I felt a momentary strange stirring in me to do . . . something. Anything. Get out of my own skin, my own brain for a moment, and live life the way he did. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be so unguarded, open to everything.

  To never be afraid.

  “What do you do to escape your everyday life?” he asked me, and I startled for a second, wondering if somehow he’d read my mind.

  “Music,” I said on a soft breath. It was my everything. The bass was my steady heart beat, the compositions my lifeline that kept me floating above water most days. “I make songs.”

  “What inspires you?”

  Hm. I hadn’t really thought much about inspiration. “I mostly just sit down and . . . feel a song. I layer in different tones and music samples to see what fits. Usually by my mood.” Wow. I couldn’t believe I was talking so openly about music with him. But I got the feeling that he would understand.

  His gaze shifted to my eyes, and my heart bounced up in my throat. At some point during our conversation he and I had shifted closer until we were just a foot or so apart. I could see the flecks of freckles across the bridge of his nose, highlighted from the bright glow of the movie screen.

  A pulse fluttered at the base of his throat, and his eyes dropped to my mouth. I licked my lips, and I saw him exhale.

  I wasn’t buzzed anymore, had nothing to blame except my own rampant emotions. Somehow this strange and quirky and magnetic man had wormed his way beneath my skin, and I couldn’t fight the pull right now.

  “You are a passionate person,” he said in a quiet voice. “I see it in your eyes. I can hear it when you talk about music.”

  I just stared at him and gave a small nod, willing my heart rate to slow down to a reasonable tempo. I needed to get myself under control.

  A light tinkling sound filled the car as another song came onscreen. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Daniel’s bottomless green eyes. It was like I could see every emotion flickering through them. Curiosity. Respect. Passion.

  He reached out and, with a slow, steady movement, stroked the top of my hand with one lean finger. The gesture was soft and sent a burst of tingles across my flesh. He moved to stroke the line between my index and middle finger. Then he flipped my hand over and ran his fingers across my palm in featherlight touches.

  “You are a mystery,” he said to me, a crooked grin on his face.

  “An enigma,” I offered.

  “A cornucopia of mazelike tendencies.”

  I burst out a sharp laugh. “Really?”

  He chuckled. “Okay, I ran out of good analogies.”

  As my smile eased away and we fell into a comfortable silence once again, suddenly there were a bunch of questions I wanted to ask him. Like, did he have any siblings? Where did he grow up? What was he like as a kid? But if I did, he’d likely turn those questions on me. And I wasn’t ready to answer things about my past.

  Nor did I know how to tell him those questions were off-limits without looking like a psycho.

  I rummaged through my mind for something to ask him, anything that wouldn’t be too personal but would keep the conversation going. I wished I’d paid more attention when people around me made small talk.

  “Um,” I started, mind whirling, “what . . . cereal do you like most?”

  “Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” he answered without batting an eye. “You?”

  “Chex. Lots of fiber and nutritional value.”

  “Ah, so responsible of you, Casey. Even in your breakfast cereal choosings.”

  I knew he was teasing, but for some reason the comment stung. Mainly because he was right—I chose cereal like I did everything else, based on what was healthy, not fun. “You’ll be jealous when you have no teeth in twenty years and I still have all of mine,” I finally replied.

  Lame. I wanted to smack my forehead. For a moment I actually wished I had another beer in hand. At least when I’d had a drink I didn’t feel like I was so painfully aw
kward. And if I was, I could blame the alcohol.

  “Probably so.” He looked down at my mouth again, then back in my eyes, and his eyelids grew hooded. He leaned a fraction closer. “I have a confession.”

  My pulse kicked up just a notch. “Why?”

  “Why . . . what?”

  I swallowed, fought every instinct to stare at his mouth. His full lips, now only six inches from mine. My body began to respond to his nearness, and I dragged in a ragged breath of his cologne. He smelled fresh, like a soft breeze on a spring day at the lake. I wanted to inch closer. No, stop it, I ordered myself. This was dangerous, to let myself even be this close to him.

  “Um, why are you confessing something to me?” I finally asked him.

  “You ask me the most unusual questions.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I feel like I want to talk to you all night. Which is why I wanted to confess that I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

  I swallowed, let his words sink in, then swallowed again. His honesty was disarming me, chipping piece by piece at the careful shield I had around myself.

  “Casey,” he said on a soft breath. “You intrigue me.”

  He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could get out another word, I pushed my head forward, past the last few inches separating us, and pressed my lips to his. Daniel froze in surprise for just a moment, then slipped a hand to my forearm, stroking down until his fingers met mine.

  With his other hand he cupped the back of my head and teased my mouth open with his tongue, tilting so he could deepen the kiss. He tasted like chocolate and Coke and something purely male, a combination that intoxicated me more than the beer.

  My heart thrummed in a wild, erratic beat as he drank from my mouth. I opened wider, our tongues slipping and sliding, my breaths falling into his mouth in little pants. I moved closer, breasts brushing his lean and firm chest. His hand tangled deeper in my hair, and his body heat flooded through my thin shirt into my torso.

  I was dizzy, drunk on him, aching with a surge of something intangible coursing through my veins. My core tightened; my belly fluttered.