He looked down at me and tenderly traced my jawline with his thumb. “You,” he said, “are amazing. How about you go hang out under the umbrella and I’ll get you a drink?”
Still dazed, my reply was a whisper, “Okay.” I called Jack and headed back to our stuff. The adrenaline generated by the surfing, topped off by the single best kiss I’d ever experienced made it difficult to think rationally. But, I had a lot of practice talking myself out of the good things in life, so while I waited for Nick to come back, that’s what I did. Talked myself out of more surfing, days at the beach, and kissing. Talked myself out of Nick.
Chapter 4
Nick
I’d known that Lyndsey was pissed when I sent her out on the water alone after our surfing lessons. When she came back so high from riding her first wave and I snagged that incredible kiss, I figured she’d forgiven me. But, apparently I was wrong. I got back from grabbing her a victory soda and she was distant. She thanked me politely for teaching her, but said she had to go. Thirty minutes after I’d had my lips on hers she and Jack were gone, and I was lost.
I swore there was a connection between us that wasn’t only in my head, but she kept turning me down over and over again. She’d let me touch her, then pull away when I suggested spending more time together. It was the hardest time I’d ever had getting a read on a woman in my life. As if my head wasn’t fucked up enough, I had to go and fall head over heels for the world’s most difficult woman. She was seriously messing with my efforts at getting my shit together.
It was bothering me so much that when I headed to my weekly counseling appointment the following Monday, I was actually considering talking to my therapist about it. When I’d gotten admitted to the university I’d had to give them all of the information from my military service, including my diagnosis of post-traumatic stress. They, of course, had then insisted that if I attended their prestigious institution, I would have to be monitored by a licensed counselor for the first twelve months. I guess they thought I’d go Columbine on them and start shooting up classrooms or something. Which went to show that they hadn’t read the details of my military discharge. I’d never tried to hurt anyone, I just had a knack for getting other people killed.
I pulled up to the therapist’s office building, left the truck at the curb in a metered spot that I didn’t have enough coins for, and sprinted in through the front doors and up the stairs to the fifth floor. When I exited the stairwell, the hallway was deserted, a windowless void with dirty white walls and ten-year-old generic industrial carpet. I walked down the hall to the third door on the right, and knocked. After hearing the voice inside tell me to come on in, I opened it up, taking a big breath and feeling the tightness in my chest starting up already.
My therapist, Scott, was a big guy, bald as a bowling ball, and usually dressed in a polo shirt and Bermuda shorts like a golfer, although admittedly, this was only the sixth or seventh time I’d seen him. Today’s ensemble was no different than usual, except the polo shirt was pink instead of navy blue.
“Pink?” I said. “Really?”
“Quit trying to deflect from the fact that you’re fifteen minutes late for your appointment, Nick,” Scott said, looking at me from behind his cheap laminate desk.
“I’m not deflecting, I know I’m fifteen minutes late, but I really can’t believe you’re sporting a pink shirt, dude. I mean what do you weigh in at? Two-forty? And you’ve got the whole Mr. Clean thing going on. The pink shirt? Just not feeling it.”
Scott rolled his eyes at me and said, “Let’s worry about my lack of fashion sense later. You’ve got work to do, whether you want to or not.”
He gestured to one of the aging beige chairs around a coffee table as he came out from behind his desk and took the seat across from mine. The fabric on the chairs was scratchy and stained, and not for the first time I wondered why he couldn’t spring for a new set.
“So, you want to tell me why you’re late?” he asked, as he casually looked through the notes he laid on his lap.
I wasn’t fooled, this was the warm-up question, the shit therapists asked to get you talking before they hit you with the real stuff. I lounged back, slouching as much as possible before I answered him. “I was at lunch,” I said, knowing that alone would never satisfy him.
“Yeah?” he answered. “Where’d you go?”
“The Grill. You know it?”
Scott smiled. “I’ve been everywhere in this town,” he chuckled. “You forget that I’m da man.”
I snapped my fingers in front of my face. “Ah, that’s right, how could I keep forgetting that?”
“So, what happened at The Grill? The service slow or something?” he asked, ignoring my sarcasm.
“No. No way. The service was the best part,” I answered, before thinking about it.
Scott’s head snapped up and he looked at me as if he could read my mind. I cleared my throat, not knowing how to play this one. I sort of wanted someone other than Gabe to talk with about Lyndsey, but I also knew that talking about any woman in therapy was going to set off all sorts of warning bells.
“Yeah, I’ve always liked the service at The Grill myself,” he said slowly. “Any particular part of the service that really grabs your attention?”
I ran my hand through my hair and slumped some more. “Look, it’s complicated, alright, but it’s not why I was late. That was my own fault.”
“Well, in spite of your late start, I’ve got a full hour, so why don’t you go ahead and explain this complication to me.”
“What does this have to do with Afghanistan?” I questioned, pissed that in order to talk about a girl I had to also talk about all the rest of it.
“Well, Nick, since I’ve read all of your files, I happen to know that it has everything to do with Afghanistan. I’m getting the sense that there’s someone special at The Grill. Raoul has a reputation for hiring pretty waitresses, so it’s not that hard to figure out. But you haven’t mentioned, or to the best of my knowledge, spoken, to a woman other than your mother since leaving Afghanistan, so that’s significant.”
“Jesus, it’s not that bad. I just haven’t dated in a while, and I’m not dating now, she’s just a friend from class, and she waits tables at The Grill.” I could feel my lungs closing up and the heat climbing to my face. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I couldn’t do this now. Not now, and not here.
“Nick,” Scott said quietly, obviously reading the signs of my impending meltdown. “It doesn’t have to be about Afghanistan, alright? Why don’t you just tell me about your friend. What class do you have together?”
I tried to catch my breath, willing my body to relax. Remembering the techniques my therapist in California had taught me, I cleared my throat, and counted silently to myself. The anxiety started to crawl away from me like a wetsuit being peeled down my body. “We have, uh, we have math together.”
Scott continued in his calm, therapist voice, “Is that your calculus class?”
“Yeah.” I said, still not able to get more than a few words out in a row.
“And, were you doing a project with this young woman . . . what’s her name?”
“Lyndsey. Lyndsey Anderson.”
“Okay. Were you doing some schoolwork with Lyndsey over lunch today?” he asked.
“No. I went there to eat with Gabe because . . . well, because that’s about the only way I can see her these days,” I confessed, still short of breath, but now under control.
Scott reached across the small coffee table and touched me on the shoulder gently. “Hey, Nick? It’s okay that you were late to therapy today. Why don’t you tell me more about Lyndsey.”
“Why? So you can get a front row seat to my failure?” At this point my skin was starting to itch, and I knew I couldn’t take much more of this without being an asshole and storming out.
“Because you met a woman who you like well enough to follow around to her job. Because I can tell you want to get to know her and that’s a good thing. It doesn’t
always end like it did with Aubra, Nick.”
I clenched my fists at the mention of her name, my nails digging in to the fleshy part of my palms. Every time I heard it I felt like my insides were bleeding all over again. The mix of despair and hatred made me sick and scraped at my soul.
“So,” Scott continued, “did you meet her in class or at The Grill?”
“Yeah, um, she waited on us. On Gabe and I.”
“So, are you going to ask her out?” he questioned, leaning back in his seat and adjusting his reading glasses. He looked like the old wrestler, Stone Cold Steve Austin, but the smart version.
I sighed. “I actually did ask her out, and she turned me down.”
Scott laughed now. “Nooo! Not handsome Nick! It can’t be possible. Even after you’ve followed her around to work and class?”
“Fuck off, man,” I muttered.
“So, is that it? You just gonna give up?”
I looked at him trying to discern what he wanted me to say. His face was unreadable, so I decided to go with the truth—for once. “No. No, I’m not giving up. She likes me, I can tell, and I’m going to give it another shot. I haven’t used all my best material yet.”
“Good man,” Scott said approvingly. “Now, let’s talk about Afghanistan.”
I sighed and settled in for the next half hour of hell. Warm-up time was over.
* * *
Aside from going to the therapist every week, my position as a regular member of campus society also depended on doing volunteer work. The university hadn’t been so eager to admit me with my discharge and psych history from the military, but since I met the entrance requirements and didn’t have any kind of criminal record—either in the military or out of it—they were stymied by how to reject me. In the end, they couldn’t, but what they could do was create a set of odious requirements with the hope I’d get pissed off and leave. I had no intention of letting them win, so it had become a battle of wills.
Once the semester started I was required to volunteer at least five hours/week with a campus group of my choice. I selected the Students Organized Against Domestic Abuse, SOaDA. I knew there wasn’t anything I could do for those girls I’d seen in Afghanistan, but it seemed fitting I work with an organization like SOaDA in the States.
I showed up to the Student Union building at about 10:00 a.m. on a Sunday, the week after my day on the beach with Lyndsey, having been told that there would be a lot of work to do leafleting a neighborhood nearby with domestic abuse awareness materials. I’d tried to get Gabe to come with me, but he had taken off early to surf, and said he probably wouldn’t make it back in time.
So, I found myself about to be the lone guy in a group of women, working for an organization that focused on the worst of men. I walked into the small conference room in the basement of the Union building, where twenty or so college girls were sitting and standing while they chatted. The whole place fell silent for a minute, as I stood at the door feeling more than a little awkward. Then an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and sensible glasses finally stepped forward holding her hand out.
“You must be Nick Carlisle,” she said politely, as murmurs started up amongst the rest of the group. I could feel heat rising up my neck and I wondered if my face was red too.
“Yeah, hi, you’re Ms. Anaya?”
“I am. Come on in, we were just about to get started.”
I stepped further into the room, and smiled as benignly as I could. Several of the girls still looked at me suspiciously, but some of them returned the smile, and a couple even moved their chairs to one side so I could take a seat at the conference table. As I scooted my chair forward I looked down the length of the table and did a double take when my eyes fell on Lyndsey, but before I could try to catch her attention I heard someone call my name.
Lyndsey
“Nick!” the gorgeous brunette called as he sat down at the table three or four seats away from me. He turned around to see who had just walked in behind him. As if the shock of seeing him here weren’t enough, now I watched warily as it became clear I wasn’t the only girl Nick was paying attention to these days.
“Kelly!” he said as he stood up and gave her a warm hug. I cringed inwardly. I’d never spoken to Kelly, but I’d seen her at SOaDA functions before. Her burnished skin and sleek waist-length chocolate-colored hair were the stuff of magazine covers. No damn way I could compete with that. Not that I wanted to, I told myself in my head.
After hugging Kelly the Perfect for twice as long as was necessary, he gave her his seat and stood behind it. I tried really hard not to look over at him, but I could feel his stare burning into the side of my face as I sat there with my eyes pinned forward, rubbing my fingers along the scarred surface of the old wood conference table where multiple generations of students had carved their initials.
Ms. Anaya gave the talk about where we could and couldn’t put the leaflets, and how to handle aggressive residents. I’d listened to this same speech once a month for nearly two years, so I had it down pat. I could hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears, and it made me hate Nick. Hate that he did this to me, hate that I couldn’t control how I felt when he was near.
When I finally couldn’t take the tension anymore I turned my head just slightly toward his end of the table. I looked just as he rested his hands on the back of Kelly’s chair and leaned down, dipping his head to her ear, where he whispered something that made her cast a glowing smile up at him. I felt mildly nauseous and snapped my eyes back down to the table.
Finally it was time for everyone to pair up and hit the streets. I saw Kelly and Nick approach Ms. Anaya together. She checked their names off the list, and handed them a stack of leaflets. I realized I’d better find someone to pair up with fast or this whole meeting would have been a waste. SOaDA’s rules said you couldn’t leaflet alone; there had been cases at other schools of men harassing the students working for the group. I was searching frantically for someone who looked on their lonesome like me, when I heard his voice next to my ear.
“Who you looking for?” he asked, ridiculously sexy without even trying. I caught a whiff of his citrus cologne and felt my nipples harden. Dammit, what this guy did to me.
“Just trying to find my partner so we can head out,” I answered, sounding flustered even to myself.
“Well, I was sort of hoping you’d come out with Kelly and me. Have you met Kelly? We’re surf buddies,” he said, as I finally turned to face him completely.
She stood next to him smiling confidently. I hated her already.
“We’ve seen each other around. Hi, I’m Lyndsey.”
She bared her pearly whites at me, “Yeah, it’s nice to finally get your name. How do you two know each other?” she said gesturing at Nick and me.
“We’ve got class together,” Nick said as he bumped my shoulder with his arm like we were old buddies.
“Cool,” Kelly responded. “Should we get going? I’ve got plenty of flyers for all of us.”
“Yeah, I think you’re stuck with us, Lyndsey, everyone else is taking off.” Nick smiled again.
Great. Him, me, and his flavor of the week. Volunteering had never been so fun.
Nick
As we walked out of campus and into one of the adjacent neighborhoods, Lyndsey was quiet. Kelly kept up a relaxed commentary and asked us both questions so the pressure was off, but I sensed a bad vibe emanating off of Goldilocks. Kind of like the buzz from a really big power line overhead.
A couple of blocks from the section of the neighborhood we’d been assigned, Kelly’s phone rang, belting out a garbled rendition of Justin Timberlake’s “Suit and Tie.” When she answered it, I sidled up next to Lyndsey and ran a finger down her arm. “Hey, how you doing?”
She jerked her arm away from me, sighed, and kept looking straight ahead. “I’m good, thanks.”
“You’re kind of quiet,” I said softly.
“What are you doing here, Nick?” she asked, finally looking me in the eye.
Man, she was pretty, even when she was fierce. Her sweet lips were pursed and she was scowling at me, one little line in between her feathery eyebrows. I shook my head to clear it. “Well, I’d imagine the same thing you’re doing here—helping out a good cause.”
She snorted. Yes, actually snorted. Then she said, “You have no idea what I’m doing here. Don’t even try to compare us. But, really, you’re like the first guy we’ve seen here in about a year and a half, so what gives?”
“Well, I told you I was in Afghanistan.” She nodded. “So, things over there can be pretty bad for the women and the little girls. I sort of promised myself that when I got back home I’d look for ways to help prevent that kind of stuff.” I didn’t mention that today was also fulfilling required community service. The last thing I needed was for her to be scared of me.
She stopped walking and stood there squinting at me in the late morning sun. Her mouth opened up once, then she shut it, her teeth clacking together, and started walking again.
I kept pace with her, waiting for her to say something. Finally she stopped again. “Don’t do that.” She frowned at me.
“Do what?”
“Be all thoughtful and kindhearted. Just stop it.”
I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it. “Would you rather I be a jerk?” I asked.
“Just stick with the stereotype, alright?” she snapped back.
Now I was pissed. “Stereotype? What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh please,” she drawled, all dripping sarcasm. “You’re the walking, talking epitome of a player, Nick. You’ve got the looks and the lines, and all the moves down pat. Since when do you care about women and how they’re treated?”
By this time Kelly, who had kept walking while we stopped to argue, had finished her phone conversation and was headed back down the block toward us. I swallowed once, trying hard to rein myself in. “Since when do I care about how women are treated? Gosh, I don’t know, Lyndsey, I spent an entire day teaching you how to surf, buying you lunch, taking care of your dog. I thought you enjoyed it. Maybe I was wrong. I’m also the guy who punched a three hundred pound linebacker to protect you a few weeks ago. I’d say I’ve done a pretty good job of treating you well.”
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