Bree hands me a drink and I scowl at her. “What?” she asks, innocently. I point at her in warning. I don’t want to hear it. Back-stabber. I toss my head back, gulping down the shot and hand her the glass back.
“More,” I say. I’m going to need it. She hands me hers and I repeat the process. “More,” I say again.
“Damn. All right. Let me find Jessie. Take this for now.” She hands me her rum and Coke and I suck on the straw. Her eyes settle on my empty glass that I drained almost immediately. I meet her gaze, daring her to say something. I’m not usually like this. She can put up with it for one night—especially since this is her fault. She knew I wouldn’t have come if she told me Park was going to be here.
Why is he here anyway? Shouldn’t he be home healing or something?
My gaze slips back to his table and it’s empty. Good. Maybe he left with that trampy girl. My stomach churns at the thought and I feel guilty for assuming she’s a tramp.
And then I giggle because seriously…she seemed pretty damn trampy.
“How’s it going?”
I look up at the guy standing beside me. I turn to get the full view. He’s cute with his curly dark hair and bright blue eyes hidden under a pair of squared glasses.
“Um, good,” I say.
“I’m Wyatt.” He holds his hand out and I shake it.
Wyatt. I like it. “I’m Lucy,” I start the usual spiel, “but my friends call me Lulu or Lu.”
“You can call her Lucy.”
Wyatt’s eyes focus above my head, and I don’t move. I can’t. I’m too busy having an internal debate with myself. On one shoulder, my little devil is jumping for joy. On the other, the angel is seething over Park’s nerve to pull this macho bullshit when he has no right to me.
Wyatt gives me a strained smile. “It was nice to meet you, Lucy.” He turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd. I roll my eyes and suck on my straw. I probably should have eaten something before drinking.
Well, too late now.
Where the hell is Bree? I still haven’t turned around and I think I need another drink before I can deal with Park.
“Lucy,” he says and I try so hard not to shiver, but the way my name passes through his lips is so sexy.
No.
Stop it.
I spin around and he takes a step back when he registers my anger. “What?”
He sets his half-full beer on the table next to us and rubs his forehead. “I want to talk to you.”
Arching an incredulous brow, I swipe up his beer and chug it. Eck. It’s warm. I grimace as I wipe my mouth. His eyes follow my movements. I try to ignore the way his white tee shirt hugs his biceps. I don’t need him to be so attractive right now. “You want to talk to me?”
“Yes.” He smiles. “Please?”
The “please” makes my stomach pull tightly, but I take another drink and ignore it. “Sorry,” I say smartly, “but I want to dance. I’ll talk to you later.”
I push past him and I hear him suck in a breath through his teeth. I turn back quickly, realizing I was too rough. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
His eyes are trained on me, his hand pressed into his side. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
I stare at him and he smiles weakly. “Are you trying to manipulate me?” I ask quietly.
“What?” He takes a step closer to me. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Why would you fuck me in my shower then turn around hours later and fuck another girl?”
His dark eyes widen in surprise at my outburst and then I see something else flicker there. Some kind of heat that makes my stomach plummet like the drop on a roller coaster.
“Lucy, I need to talk to you.”
I shake my head because I’m so close to saying okay. If he pushes it anymore, I know I will. And then I’ll definitely be that girl. “There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear. Not after what you did.”
“Did you ever think I did what I did for you?”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I can’t see how you having sex with another girl is beneficial to me.”
“Because it’s better if you hate me.”
“Don’t worry, I’m almost there.” I shake my head again, begging him with my eyes. I won’t give into him. That will make me a stupid, weak, naïve girl just like everyone assumes I am. I can’t do this.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bree demands. She hands me a shot and I take it quickly, looking for a little liquid courage. She manages to get in between me and Park, her hand on her hip. “I told you to keep your distance.”
“This may come as a shock to you, Bree, but I don’t answer to you.”
“Fine. I’ll tell Jessie,” she threatens.
Park laughs bitterly. “Go ahead. I don’t give a shit anymore.” He looks past her, his eyes landing on me. “Lucy?”
“I want to dance.”
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s dance.”
“Not with you,” Bree hisses. She grabs my hand and pulls me away from Park. I look over my shoulder and watch him until he’s swallowed by all the other bodies.
30
Park
I watch Lucy shake her ass and sway her hips for nearly an hour. I watch as she dances with strangers, ready to beat the first asshole down that touches her inappropriately. She’s been blowing them off after one dance, which I’m happy about. Plus she has Bree by her side. Jessie’s been out there for a few songs and Guy’s even danced with them a couple times.
“What is it they say about taking a picture?” Chase asks from beside me.
I glance over at him and he’s smirking. I hate when he does that. It makes me want to smack the smugness off his face. “It lasts longer,” I say. “But it can’t kick someone’s ass if they touch my girl.”
Chase’s head snaps in my direction. Shit. Did I just say that aloud? “Your what?”
“Nothing. Shut up. I like this song.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Hell no. Explain yourself, oh, Delusional One.” He gestures toward Lucy, swinging her hips out on the dance floor. “Does she happen to know she is apparently yours?”
I smile tightly. “She knows. She’s just trying to deny it at the moment.” Because I did a really good job of making her run. At least I’m good at something.
“I’m not sure she’s the one in denial,” Chase chuckles.
“We’ll see,” I say, but he has a good point. Even if Lucy has feelings for me, it may very well be too late for her to forgive me. And even though I know it’s better that way, I can’t help the selfish part of me that wants her so badly I can taste it.
Lucy pushes her way through the crowd, making her way up to the bar and I see my chance to talk to her. “I’ll see you later, man,” I tell Chase.
“Good luck, dude. Don’t fuck up this time.”
I raise a skeptical brow. “Not sure I know how to do that.”
“Just…don’t trip, fall, and land dick first inside some random girl on the way over there.”
“I can manage that,” I reply.
“You’d think, but one never knows with you,” he tosses back.
“Do you have something you want to say to me?”
Chase shakes his head and takes a drink. “Nah, man. I’ve said all I can.”
Right. Chase should start his own life lessons. Don’t fuck up and don’t stick your dick in random girls. Pretty legit rules to live by.
I nod at him. “I care about her. I want… I need her to forgive me.”
He takes another drink, his eyes scrutinizing every feature on my face. “Then try putting her first for once. Tell her the fucking truth and trust that she’s not going to use it against you.”
I nod again even though my heart is stuck in my throat. The truth. What if I don’t know what the truth is? What if I’m as confused as she is? What if I’m just as hurt? And trust? I don’t know the meaning anymore.
I sit back down not feeling as confident as I did a few minut
es ago. My gaze falls over the bar, looking for her long hair.
“What are you doing?” Chase asks.
“I’m not ready.” Maybe I’ll never be ready.
“You just talked all that shit. You’ve been watching her all night. You said you care about her.”
I sigh. “Yeah. And then you said I need to trust her.” And now I realize I need to earn her trust.
Chase shoots me an irritated look. “So?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Just the thought makes me feel like puking,” I mutter.
He shakes his head slowly. “You have to trust somebody, or this is it. You get that, right? Where you are, right now at this very moment, is the best it will ever be for you if you don’t let someone into that black rock you call a heart.”
I drop my eyes to the table, staring at the dark wood, ringed in water marks. “I don’t know how.”
“It’s not something you can learn to do on your own, dumbass. It doesn’t happen all at once. It takes time and patience. And it’s not always easy, but most of the time it’s worth it.”
I look up at him and laugh quietly. “When the hell did you get so fucking wise?”
“It’s a new occurrence. All those Disney movies finally paid off.”
“Fucking Simba, man,” I say trying to keep the lighter mood going.
“Hakuna matata.”
Yeah. No worries.
***
Staring at the ceiling has become my newest pastime. It’s a shitty ceiling. There’s a long, thin crack and a few cobwebs. Other than that, there’s nothing to see. But it’s all I can look at when I’m lying on my bed trying to sort through my thoughts.
It hasn’t worked yet. It’s all still a jumbled mess.
I’ve been holding my cell phone in my hand for over an hour. The only person I can think of asking for advice is the one person my pride is refusing to dial.
It’s a small miracle I haven’t chucked the damn thing against the wall. I’ve wanted to. Several times.
Shit. He said if I needed anything…
Fuck it. I’m doing it. He owes me.
I sit up, dropping my feet to the floor and hit the send button. It rings three times before he picks up.
“Hello?” Ah, he must have me programmed into his contacts because he made that one word sound reluctant and irritated at the same time.
“Hey, Mason. It’s Park.”
“Yeah…is everything all right?”
Is it? I have no clue. “It’s fine. I just need to ask you something.”
“Okay…?”
Damn. This guy gets on my fucking nerves. “You and Hope—you went through a rough patch a couple times, right?”
He’s quiet for a moment, the only sound is of our mutual breathing. “We did,” he confirms, but gives me no further information.
That’s fine. I don’t need the details of their fights. That’s not what this is about. I just need to know: “How did you get her to forgive you?”
“Are you asking me to get Hope to forgive you or someone else?”
“Lucy,” I say. “I fucked up really bad and I think I want to fix it.”
“You think you want to fix it? Or you know you do?”
“I know I do. I just don’t know if I should. Or how I would even go about it.” I grin down at my bare feet. “And since you’ve been fucking up for awhile, I thought you may have some wisdom to share on the subject.”
“Well when you put it that way…go fuck yourself.”
I chuckle. “All right, man. I’m sorry. Seriously. I—need your advice.”
He’s quiet again, long enough to make me nervous. Finally he clears his throat. “Candy.”
“What?”
“Hope loves candy.” That’s an understatement. The girl is flat-out obsessed with sugar. “Find out what Lucy’s candy is and then be relentless. I mean, don’t cross over into stalker territory, but walk the line if you need to.”
“What if she doesn’t have a candy?”
“Everybody has a candy…” He trails off and I try to think. What do I know about Lulu? She’s sweet. She always puts others before herself. She likes to cook. There are her Saturday morning breakfasts. She’s good with her brothers. Terrible at video games. She loves music. She sucks at Water War, but she loves to play it. She runs. And she reads as much as, if not more, than I do.
“Donuts,” Mason says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Donuts?”
“She likes donuts,” he supplies.
“The jelly-filled kind,” I agree.
“Start there. I brought Hope candy every single day until she forgave me. And then I kept bringing it to remind her.”
“Remind her of what?”
“What she saw in me in the first place. What made her care to look.”
I don’t think Lucy likes donuts enough to get one every day. But that’s okay because I can switch it up. I’m going to do this my way. I may not know a whole hell of a lot about her, but I like what I do know. And now I realize I want to learn more. I want to know it all.
31
Lucy
I’ve waited a week for Park to try to talk to me again. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the bar.
It’s for the best. It’s what I wanted, right?
But it’s really not. That’s just what I tell myself to make me feel better. Because the cold hard truth is this: I want Park. I want Park to want me. I don’t want to forgive Park. But I want to forgive him more than anything. I hate him for what he did. But I love him. I hate that I love him. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him. And I wonder if he’s thinking of me. I want him to think of me. I want him to be sorry.
I want him to love me back.
I’m a mess. A complete, hot mess.
I crank the music loud and step into the shower. Every day, this simple thing breaks my heart. It’s this constant reminder of what I had for one short moment. A constant reminder of what I lost.
I’ve changed the shower curtain. I’ve thrown his toothbrush away. I even replaced mine. I purchased new shampoo and conditioner. It doesn’t take any of the memories away. How can it linger this long?
It’s been a month. A month since I spent one night and one short morning with Park. That’s all we had. It shouldn’t mean this much. It shouldn’t hurt this much.
I’m not even angry anymore.
Just sad.
And lost.
Maybe I’m hurting so much because I’ve lost a friend. Maybe we can go back. Maybe we can at least hold on to our friendship. Can I do that?
I turn the water off and wrap myself in a towel. Yes, I think I can do that. It has to be easier than this. And I know easy doesn’t always mean it’s right. But in this case, it feels right.
Friends.
We never really got to be friends.
I brush through my wet hair and actually feel like smiling for the first time in a long while. As I pad back to my room to get dressed, my heart beats quickly with a nervous excitement.
There’s a box sitting on the end of my bed. My racing heart stops beating all together. I glance around the empty room quickly then back to the mysterious box. I approach it slowly. It’s just a simple white box. I flip the lid open and frown. There’s an arrow drawn on the bottom. I look to the right—to the window.
My curiosity is peaked, but I’m naked. I throw my clothes on quicker than I’ve ever dressed before and practically run to the window. Throwing it open, I lean out and look around. Three steps down, there’s another box.
I crawl out and open the lid. There’s a small, plastic squirt gun inside, and under it, one word written on the bottom of the box: Down.
I deflate with disappointment. For a minute, I had thought this was Park’s doing. But a squirt gun? It’s obviously Jess. And I’m not in the mood for Water War today. I tuck the gun into my pocket and tromp down the stairs.
In front of Jessie’s window is another box. I open it with less en
thusiasm and then stare inside with confusion. This time, it’s a silk butterfly just like the ones I have hanging from my ceiling. I brush my fingers over the smooth wings before taking it out. Where it sat, there’s another arrow.
I press the soft butterfly to my chest with one hand and open the window with the other. Peeking inside first, I let my gaze scan the room. It looks like it always does. Unmade bed, clothes strewn about, DJ equipment piled against one wall. And empty. I see another box on the dresser and go straight for it.
I hesitate, looking around once more before I flip the top up. My stomach tightens. It’s the book I got Park. The second one in the series he and I were reading. My heart is pounding against my ribs. I can feel it in my head. My hands are shaking as I take it out of the box. On the bottom, one word: Out.
I pause. Out the door or the window? I came in the window, so I decide to go out the door. I can’t help it—I look for him as soon as I step into the hall. He’s not there, but there’s another box. I nearly trip in my hurry, dropping to my knees to open it. Even though I have no idea what’s going on, I like this game.
The third and final book of the series is inside. I pluck it out and hug it to my side as my gaze follows the arrow. Right into Park’s bedroom. I stand and take a deep breath.
I can turn around and go back home. I don’t have to go in there.
It’s my decision.
Looking down at the books in my hand, the silk butterfly resting on top, I touch the squirt gun in my pocket and make a choice.
I step inside his room.
I’m alone, but there’s a box on his bed. I set everything down and slowly raise the lid. And then I smile. A single jelly donut. I move it to the side and read the words beneath: Turn Around.
I read it once more before spinning on my heel. Park’s in the doorway, eating an ice cream cone. A vanilla ice cream cone with hot fudge dripping onto his fingers. He licks it away slowly and I swallow with difficulty.
Everything has significance. From the stupid water gun—just like I shot him with the first time we met, to the butterfly—I have fifty more like it hanging from my ceiling, to the books we were reading together, to the ice cream in his hand—just like when he told me I was vanilla and he wanted to lick the hot fudge off my body.
Before Now (Sometimes Never) Page 16