We’re at the Water Street Market parking lot, and Hayes has a travel mug in each hand as he approaches my hatchback.
Fortunately, Stony Kill Falls is actually worth getting up for at this ungodly hour.
It’s a waterfall that only the locals know how to find, despite a number of photos of it posted online. Its long, lacy gush is ethereally beautiful and we’ve done a fairly decent job of keeping its location a local secret.
Hayes grins at me now and holds out a silver travel mug that has the Starbucks logo stamped boldly on the side. Points go to him for using a travel mug rather than a disposable cup. But major points get subtracted for the evil corporate logo on the side.
“Sorry,” I say, “but I’m committed to supporting our local coffee houses, not Starbucks.”
He grins. “It’s cool. I made the coffee at home.”
“I’m still not drinking from a mug with that arrogant symbol on the side. If I’m going to help promote a coffee shop, it’s going to be the Mud Puddle.”
He shrugs and takes a sip from the tumbler he was trying to hand me. “More for me, I guess.”
“Yes, because you need even more caffeinating.” I motion for him to get into the passenger seat of my car.
Driving up the mountain, I open the window and blast the radio while Hayes sings along to the music. Loudly. Also, so out of tune I let out a small chuckle against my will.
He sings even louder, and I shake my head in feigned annoyance.
Just as he’s drawing out a long, screeching note, I reach over and flip the volume way down.
Without the loud music backing him up, his horrible howl lingers in the car for a moment before he realizes and bursts into laughter.
“Nice alley cat impression,” I say. “You must be channeling your spirit animal.”
“Go ahead, mock my lion obsession. You’re the one who’s been painting giant cats all over town.”
“Let me guess. You saw The Lion King too many times as a kid.” I dismiss him with a wave.
He reaches over, and I think he’s going to crank the tunes back up, but instead he turns them the rest of the way down. “My dad read me the first Chronicles of Narnia book aloud when I was seven and it just…got inside me.”
He repositions himself to a comfortable lounge, and I want to pull over and kick him out of my passenger seat for shifting to such an intimate tone of voice without warning.
He asks, “You’ve heard of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”
I shrug noncommittally. “I saw the movie a long time ago.”
“Yeah, they did a nice job on that, but the book is just remarkable. Think about it: you walk into a closet and disappear to this other world. It sounded great to me.”
I keep my expression neutral. “I thought you didn’t really have anything to escape?”
“I still had boredom.” He laughs. “Besides, it wasn’t just about getting away. Narnia was all about entering this amazing world. These kids got to join in the huge battle and they kicked ass. I’ve never loved a book that much, before or since.”
There is a pure brightness radiating from him that I want to pinch with my fingers. I thought this guy was supposed to be some troubled alcoholic. I take the switchback extra hard, but he just leans into it, unfazed.
I say, “So, this dad who used to read you kiddie stories, he kicked you out after your DWI?”
“Second DWI, and kicking me out would’ve been better than what he did do. Instead, he got this sad look in his eyes anytime I was around. I hadn’t realized how proud he’d always been of me until he wasn’t anymore.”
I swallow. “And what about your mom?”
“She just stopped trusting me.” He rubs the center of his forehead with his thumb. “I have two younger sisters who I used to help out with all the time, and she stopped letting me even babysit them.” He looks at the cup he’s holding. “I seriously miss those two.”
I don’t ask their names as I make a left onto an unpaved road. Hayes sits up and leans toward the windshield. “I never would’ve even noticed this turnoff.”
“I feel like I’m betraying my whole town,” I say, “showing some spoiled brat from Lawng Eyeland how to get to our private waterfall.”
He glances at me. “What makes you think I’m a spoiled brat?”
I aim pistol fingers at him. “No jail time?”
“I lost my license for a year and I’m on probation for three. I started going to AA because the court mandated it, but I’m working my program and trying to turn things around here. Nobody is doing the work for me.” He takes a deep breath. “Besides, I was never actually convicted for the second DWI.”
“Right, because your rich parents hired a big-time lawyer—”
“No,” he interrupts. “Because I drove home in a blackout and had sobered up by the time we called the cops the next morning.”
My hands tighten on the wheel as the road gets rough. “Why did you even notify the cops then?”
“Because,” he says, “when my mother went to take out the recyclables the next morning, she noticed blood smeared on the front grill of my car. We had to call in and report it.”
“So you killed someone and got away with it?”
“No! It wasn’t like that!” His temper flares hot for a moment before he sinks back down into the passenger seat, glaring at the dashboard in front of his face. Finally, he says calmly, “It was a really scary morning. I made a promise to myself that I would never drink again and thankfully everything turned out okay. It was just, I mean…the thing that I hit…it was just a dog.”
“Oh, well, if it was just a dog then.” A court might not have convicted him, but I just did.
He’s quiet while I drive down increasingly haggard dirt roads until I reach a dead end and pull over to one side. I turn off the car and open my door, but he grabs my arm before I can climb out.
“Listen, I know that there’s a lot you already don’t like about me,” he says. “But when I first rolled into town, I saw one of your lions and it was like a sign that I’m on the right path. That I can do this.” I don’t answer him and he adds, “I swear I could hear that thing roar.”
I look at him unblinkingly for what feels like a long time. “Yeah, well, good luck with the giant cat voices in your head,” I finally say. “Now clear out of my car before the scent of your cologne is permanently imbedded in my seats.”
• • •
I try to outpace Hayes as we head across the field toward the woods where the waterfall is hidden. He’s my height, but like with most guys, his legs aren’t quite as long as mine. Still, he has no problem keeping up while he marvels out loud at the huge, fenced-in area we’re passing.
“What is this?” he asks. “Some sort of Area 51 secret location?”
“Yeah, this is where we keep all the east coast aliens. Now that you’ve discovered our secret, you must report to the town square for a public anal probing.”
He points to the overgrown patch of cement with a giant yellow circle painted on it. “A helipad? Seriously? This is definitely some kind of top-secret shite.”
“You’ve clearly read too much science fiction. This was an old power facility. The helipad was for emergencies in case the power ever went out.”
His face clouds for a moment before he breaks out a fresh smile. “Or is that just the story the government wants everyone to believe in order to cover up the truth?”
“Ha-ha. Come on, Mr. Conspiracy Theory. The falls are this way.”
As we reach the far end of the field and enter the woods, the distant hiss of rushing water grows louder.
“I hear it,” Hayes says as if we’re approaching a mythological beast.
The sound rises as we close in on the stream and start following it uphill, toward the roaring falls.
Picking my way through t
he trees, I ignore Hayes’s gasp when the tall, vertical pillar of fast-moving water stumbles into view far above us.
“This is amazing,” he says as we reach the steep rock scramble that leads to the bottom of the falls. “Do you hear that?”
“Waterfalls speak to you now too?”
“Of course. This one is calling us to come inside and play.” He grins and launches over a big boulder ahead of me, like a kid who wants to be the first one to the top of the jungle gym. Hayes’s enthusiasm tries to catch me, but I hold back a moment before calmly climbing after him.
I notice he chooses the most challenging route up the rocks. In a moment, he’s effortlessly pulling himself onto the enormous flat stone that serves as a small beach for the deep pool of water at the bottom of the falls.
He’s not even breathing heavy, and the tiniest notch of an idea clicks into place. A dangerous idea.
Hayes stands tall beside the waterfall with his face full of open wonder as he takes in our surroundings. I realize there may be a reason he’s inserted himself into my life after all.
So he can help me break the law.
Stripping off his shoes and shirt, Hayes looks like he goes for regularly scheduled manscaping appointments in between his obvious trips to the gym.
Ugh. So very not my type.
He actually gives a few cheesy flexing poses like he’s in on the joke. As a response, I pretend to heave into the scrub bushes beside me.
Laughing, he does a cannonball into the clear pool of water. When he resurfaces, he waves for me to join him.
The woods are warm even in the early morning shade, and I’m wearing a bikini underneath my clothes, but I still don’t jump in. Instead, I lie down face up on the rock, watching the tree branches and trying to figure out how I can lure this “enlightened” muscle head into helping me. His being on probation may be a deterrent.
“There’s a rainbow in the mist!” he calls out.
I don’t lift my head. “You sure that’s not a double rainbow, dude?”
“It’s sooo beautiful!” he says miming a stoner, and I smile in spite of myself. Finally, I can’t take it anymore and scoot across the rock to the water’s edge.
I pull off both of my sandals at once and have to hold back a groan of pleasure as I drop my feet into the icy water. It’s so clear there’s no visible line between where the air ends and the water begins.
Hayes is making his way toward the falls, and I use his distracted state as an opportunity to study him.
He’s definitely been hitting the gym, but maybe not too hard after all. Maybe just hard enough.
I’m pretty sure Hayes is not an artist of any kind. But what if he is?
He’s reached the falls and steps directly underneath the stream, letting the water run over his shoulders like he’s in some sort of shower ad for men’s bodywash. A supersexy shower ad.
I watch as he angles his face into the water and slowly slides his hands back through his hair. He opens his mouth slightly, and I wonder if he’s literally putting on a show for me right now.
As if in response, he looks directly at me and raises one eyebrow. Damn. I physically feel that. I look away.
His total obsession with my lions is more than a little disturbing. I can find another apprentice. Maybe my buddy Kat from the art shop. Though, she may not have Hayes’s athleticism. In fact, just coaxing her up that long water tower ladder will be a giant challenge, but as her piercings and bloodred hair attest, she’s not a big fan of rule following. Plus, she’s artsy and talented as hell.
It was actually Kat’s long-winded rant about the Sparkle Soda people “raping our landscape” and “invading our right to ad-free space” that got me started on the whole idea of painting the water tower in the first place.
I start putting my shoes back on while Hayes continues his sensual performance underneath the waterfall. I want to join him so badly, I actually need to scrape my palm against the grainy surface of the rock I’m sitting on as a distraction.
I don’t care if this guy happens to have some form of artistic talent. He’s clearly too dangerous.
If I want to be the one in control, my only move here is to walk away.
• • •
Hayes scrubs at his still-damp hair with his T-shirt as I drive us back into town. With all the styling product washed out, he looks completely different.
Plus, now I can’t stop imagining what he looks like in the shower.
“I’m heading to my shift at Danny’s,” I say. “Do you want me to drop you back off at Water Street Market on my way?”
“Danny’s is the art shop in town, right? I’ll come along, thanks.”
I glance at the way his arm muscles dance as he continues riffling the side of his hair. I say, “No problem.”
“You picking up painting supplies?” he asks suggestively.
He drops his arms just in time to catch me watching him, and I glimpse the hint of a smirk as I snap my gaze to the windshield straight ahead.
“It’s my other part-time job,” I say. “I mostly do it for the employee discount.”
I don’t say that it’s also my spray paint hook-up, since my purchases would raise a red flag with Dad if I had deliveries sent to the house. I get everything though the shop, then drive the boxes straight to my cabin. In fact, I’m placing a big special order for my project during my shift today.
But Hayes already knows enough of my secrets.
He is still distractingly shirtless and I turn up the air-conditioning, hoping he’ll be inspired to clothe himself.
Instead, he leans back and raises his arms as if the icy blast is a new way to get high.
He keeps his eyes closed as he says, “I think I’ve figured out why we’ve been put into each other’s lives.”
“Excuse me? We are not in each other’s lives. You have tried to insert yourself into mine, but this is where our paths officially part ways.”
I’m already at the switchback heading down the mountain, and I take the turn fast enough to force Hayes to clutch the armrest.
He says, “You have to admit it’s strange that I’ve been so drawn to your lions and then caught you painting one.”
I shrug. “Weird coincidence.”
“Fine, call it a coincidence. But you need me to keep your secret. I need an extended tour of New Paltz. It’s a win-win.”
“I can’t believe you want to keep blackmailing me.”
“Firstly, I’m not blackmailing you. I’m just using some information to my advantage until I win you over.”
“What makes you think you can win me over?” The cornfields of the Walkill Farm zip past us on our right, the broad, green promise of a delicious corn-on-the-cob season ahead.
“We’re connected, Rory. I knew it the first second I saw you.” When I glance over, his eyes grab at me. “You can fight this thing, but you can’t deny it.”
I laugh hysterically for nearly a full minute, but he just grins and drums his hands on the armrest. When my laughter and his drumming gradually stop, the silence pulls at my throat.
I turn up the radio to blast level in order to stop myself from asking him whether or not he’s an artist.
• • •
Hayes follows me around Danny’s as I straighten up the shelves. “I’m thinking the ice caves should be our next adventure. They sound amazing,” he says.
“The ice caves are amazing. They’re right in Ellenville. You can use google maps to guide you, and I hope you have a very lovely hike.”
Taking off the wide elastic tie I always wear around my wrist, I use it to pull my dreadlocks back before bending down to straighten some writing pads.
Hayes picks a red sketchbook from the stack. “Oh yeah, I’m about ready for a new one of these. And where do you keep the colored pencils?”
I turn my f
ace away so he can’t see me close my eyes. I swallow to make my voice sound natural. “You’re an artist?”
“No, not really.”
I exhale.
“I’m actually a writer, but I’ve been teaching myself to draw. I’m almost finished with a dragon novel for middle schoolers and I thought it would be cool if I could sketch a few illustrations. Or at least give some idea what the dragon looks like in my mind.”
I stand up and scan him up and down. “You plan on writing kids’ books?”
“Yup. Better than writing for boring adults who think they have everything figured out.”
“So you basically plan to remain at middle-school maturity level.”
“C. S. Lewis said that eventually we grow mature enough to turn back to fantastic stories.”
“I’m a little embarrassed for you. Do you wear superhero underwear as well?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve got Spider-Man boxers on right now. Of course they’re still damp.” He reaches around as if he’s about to show me his underwear and I stiffen. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“You look flushed.”
“I’m…annoyed. Come on. The colored pencils are over here.”
As I lead him through the store toward the writing utensils, I curse myself for letting him get in my head. Everything with Hayes feels backward and out of control. I don’t like feeling out of control.
And now I can’t stop wondering if children’s authors count as artists or not.
“There’s that chick who’s really cool to hang out with.” Before I know what’s happening, Lego Bong Guy, a.k.a. Mr. Finance Frat Boy, has scooped an arm around my waist as he leans in for a kiss.
His lips land on my cheek and I pull away, slapping at his arm. He won’t let go and forces his affection on me until it gets to be too much. I’m trying not to overreact, but I still regret our hookup and I need him to let go of me, now.
Finally, I’m forced to use the hold break my dad taught me way back before I could even talk in full sentences.
With a quick twist and a chop, I’m free.
“Wow, someone’s ticklish.” His knowing grin is beyond irksome.
Love and Vandalism Page 5