by Alex Rosa
He has my full attention now.
“We have to go because Jason is here.”
My heart stops, and my face must reflect the fear that courses through my body as I go into a daze.
“Skyler?”
I shake my head, unsure how to react, frozen to the spot. It isn’t until Blake takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him, that I come out of my trance.
“Skyler, tell me you’re okay.”
My eyes dart over his perfect features.
“Let’s go. You’re safe.”
He leans into my lips, placing a sweet kiss there, but pulls away quickly. He is the only person, other than my brother, who fully understands my fear.
“We have to go inside—”
I cut him off, still shaking my head, fearful of what the darkness might hold. “No, I can’t. He could be in there. What if—?”
“Skyler, look at me.”
My eyes dart back through the doorway. I listen to his command as my eyes move to lock with his.
“Just go inside, tell Dick good-bye, and meet me outside. I’ll have the car waiting with the valet, okay?”
“But where are you going?”
He smiles. “I told you. I have to get the car.”
I nod, furrowing my brows as I do so. “I’m still mad at you.”
“We’re going to talk about it.”
The words leave my lips reflexively. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He shakes his head.
“If you’re longer than ten minutes, I’ll know something is up, and I’ll come find you. Now go get your purse and say good-bye.”
He tugs me inside, but lets me go as soon as we cross the dance floor. He heads toward the exit, leaving me to my task.
Alone and scared Jason is lurking, I practically run back to the table. I don’t know what I’ll say. I don’t know how I’ll explain, but as I approach, I don’t think I give a shit.
Vanessa and Josh are canoodling on one side of the booth, and on the other side, Heather and Rich are in what looks like a heated argument. Heather’s arms are flailing, and Rich looks about ready to burst.
I’ve had enough of everyone. I wipe at the corner of my eyes, worried that my wandering tears will be visible as I grab for my purse.
Rich notices. “Skyler, where are you going?”
“I have to get out of here, Rich. I’m sorry.”
“This is not how this was supposed to go.”
“It’s too much for me. I’m leaving.”
Shocking me, he says, “Heather isn’t meant to be here. This was supposed to be our night.”
“Excuse me?” screeches Heather, and I know that will be the start of another argument between them.
I shake my head, worried that my ten-minute time limit is winding down.
“It never goes as planned, but I have to go. Please understand.”
He exhales in utter defeat, and I can’t blame the guy. It makes me even angrier at Blake. He has made so many people’s lives miserable this evening, and for what?
“Let me take you home.”
“No, I have a ride.” I know I could never explain from whom, though I’m tempted to rub it in Heather’s face. “I’ll catch up with you later, Rich.”
He’s trapped and he knows it. Needing a selfish, winning moment, I lean into the booth, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek before swiveling around to run to the exit.
I don’t wait for good-byes, because they never go well. I mean, the night has already gone to shit.
My heels are beginning to hurt my feet as I scamper to the exit. I can see Blake’s waiting car through the open double doors, and I’m relieved. I quicken my pace, unsure if I want to kiss him or punch him.
Boom!
I bump into a girl walking away from the bar. Her drink spills all over her tight white dress, and a little bit on me, but I don’t care until I recognize her wavy strawberry blonde hair. I realize I don’t even know her name.
“Skyler . . . ?” she stutters.
I wish a hole would appear beneath me and swallow me.
She looks pissed at first, but when we make eye contact, her eyes widen, mirroring my expression. Because our collision gives me confirmation, or at least provides a higher probability that Jason is in fact here—and nearby, too—I run.
I run past the dumbstruck girl and through the double doors to Blake’s waiting vehicle, not looking back as I slip inside. His car speeds off from the curb, and my breaths heave in and out of my chest. I’m a wreck.
Chapter 28
“Skyler, you okay?”
I’m so sick of that question. So damn sick of it.
I’m trying my damnedest to be strong.
I shout, “No! I am not even close to okay. My night has gone horribly wrong! Wrong-wrong-wrong!”
My hands are flailing in front of me. Blake shocks me into calm when he snatches my hand out of the air, squeezing it reassuringly before placing it on his thigh, his fingers entwined around mine. I don’t fight his touch, because it’s exactly what I want, but it changes nothing about the events that have unfolded, as well as his foolish decision-making.
Aching to get home, I count down the moments until we pull into the driveway. I don’t want to talk; I just want to go to bed. I wish things were different. I wish he could come crawl into bed with me, and hold me until I sleep. However, it’s such a foolish thought. Rich would even suffice, and I realize I am too dependent. I’m still seeking comfort in the arms of another person.
I wonder if getting a dog would fix the problem.
I notice the scenery doesn’t look familiar as we ascend a winding road, climbing up the hills of Los Angeles, and I look around the darkness outside and see nothing. I’m about to start questioning and protesting our destination, but before I can, we make it to the top of a huge hill. The magnificent nighttime view of Los Angeles is breathtaking. It makes the gritty, overpopulated, traffic-filled city look glamorous.
The car pulls into a dirt parking lot on the left edge of the hill and comes to a stop. Surprising me still, Blake lets go of my hand to exit the car, leaving me in a lonely silence.
Worry floods me. I’m scared as to why we’re here, because this conversation, I suspect, is not one I’m ready for. However, I can’t sit alone all night. I need to face this.
I open the car door, and as I step into the darkness, I note that Blake’s silhouette is as dashing as seeing him fully. His strong jaw and perfectly straight nose outlined against the city lights are captivating. He really is a movie star without even trying.
As I approach him, I notice the bright red ember that glows in the shadows of the night, and a quiet exhale. It gives him a James Dean appeal, and I want to hate it, but I can’t.
“So are you a smoker now?”
My eyes adjust to the darkness, so when he turns to face me I can see his smirk, backlit by the city lights. I can even identify his dimple.
The way he looks at me makes me ache, but it isn’t fair. He hurt me first. He caused this ache from the start. This inside out, churning pain that feels mental and physical now.
I fiddle with my hands, peering up at him again, and all I can think is, God, I wish he’d stop staring at me like that.
“I used to be a smoker, but I don’t smoke anymore.” Ironically, he takes another pull from the cigarette.
“Hmm,” is all I muster.
“Lately it’s been a bit more difficult. I smoke when I’m stressed out.”
“Why so stressed?”
A quick, mocking huff escapes his lips as he flicks the cigarette over the edge, ignoring my question.
“You know, you don’t have to show so much skin to look good, like you did the last time we were out.” He takes three steps toward me, closing the distance between us. He trails his fingertips down the length of my right arm, over the sheer lace material of my sleeve. “I like this dress on you. You look really beautiful tonight.”
Surprising me still, his fi
ngers trail back up my arm, over my shoulder, and over the lace covering my cleavage before he pulls away, causing a chill of desire to shoot through my body. The clash of lust with my anger and frustration is an odd combination, only because his tone is solemn and nothing like his normal playful one.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
I perk up at his words, regaining control of my betraying body. “What are you sorry for?”
He sighs, swinging his sad stare to mine, and he runs both hands through his hair. “If I said I didn’t know, would you get mad?”
I wilt, huffing inwardly and scrunching my face. “Yes, I’d be mad! Actually, I don’t know what to feel right now. I just know it isn’t good.”
My eyes water like before, and they must twinkle in the light because Blake is quick to wipe the corner of my eye for me.
“I hate seeing you cry. And what I hate even more is knowing I’m the cause of it this time.”
He still hasn’t asked what he’s done wrong, and that’s what puts me over the edge. I walk away from his touch, sniffing before I turn around.
“You know I know that you slept with Heather?”
His eyes widen and he looks guilty. He takes a step forward, but I take a step back.
“I’m not mad that you slept with her. I don’t care what you do, Blake. God, I hate so much that I have to explain this to you. If only you would just take a few extra moments to consider why I might hate the fact that you decided to bring her, of all people!”
My hands are flying again. “Did it ever occur to you that I might despise her? That she might be one of the many reasons why Rich and I never worked out? Did you ever even think about the fact that we might be connected or know each other? Hell, Blake, did you ever think of asking me about her?”
It makes all our talks, thinking we were getting to know each other, feel insignificant when I reflect on the fact that we apparently could never have an open conversation like the one this night requires.
Blake looks baffled, standing frozen to the spot. He watches me as if I might explode, and he might be right.
“You can be so goddamn selfish sometimes. You only ever wanted to piss off Rich! I get it! I just wish you would’ve thought how it might have affected me! You say you care, but how is that true? She bullies me, Blake. She is constantly rude to me. She somehow always finds the power to stick her nose into my business, swaying my life in whichever direction she sees fit! And now she has you!”
I cover my mouth, embarrassment twisting around my frustration.
“You brought Rich! You knew that would piss me off! I hate that guy!”
“You don’t get it, Blake,” I snap. “Who else am I supposed to bring? I’m not you! I don’t have a little black book where I can just call up any guy. That isn’t my style. Rich is all I have, and you know that! If I didn’t bring Rich, I’d go alone. Is that what you’d prefer?” I feel defeated. “Now are you really ready to have this conversation?”
I’m exasperated. He knows what I mean. His face is tight as he watches the tears spill over my cheeks. He doesn’t acknowledge my question. I want to pretend he cares. I want to pretend he yearns for me the way I do for him, but the fact that he doesn’t want to talk about it makes me feel like he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.
Blake closes the distance between us. I don’t have the chance to react as he grabs for my face, cupping it in his strong hands, forcing me look at him.
“I’m really sorry, Skyler. This isn’t at all how I planned tonight. I never want . . . wanted to hurt you. I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry.”
Salty tears drip over my lips, and I want to say more but his lips crash into mine. His gentle strokes against my mouth have me feeling okay for a brief moment until he pulls away. The feeling dissipates as quickly as it came, and anguish fills the void of contentment.
“Let’s go home.”
There’s a sense of finality to his tone and even to his lips, causing fear to creep from the base of my spine
I don’t argue. I don’t say anything.
I follow him to the car in silence. He opens the door for me and watches me slip inside. The smile he flashes me is tight, full of doubt, and far from reassuring. I think I do the same before he closes the door.
There is a proverbial dark cloud looming over us the entire drive home, but he makes it a point to hold my hand against my thigh. We don’t exchange a single word.
Chapter 29
When I enter the café the next morning, I stroll as nonchalantly as possible past Tucker, who is watching me closely. As I place my bag in the back room, I blurt out, “Why are you looking at me like that? You didn’t happen to see Blake this morning, did you?”
Tucker practically bats his eyelashes at the mention. “Oh, is that why you’re sulking? Jeez, if only that boy came in this morning. Laying my eyes on him would be a wonderful way to start my day.”
My stomach knots. My day would be better if I could take in the sight of that adorable dimple and half-smile, too, but my reasons are all wrong.
I disregard the comment but watch Tucker.
“I thought maybe he came in and got a coffee—”
“You mean you thought he’d come in and ask about you?” he goads.
“I think Blake and I got into our first real argument last night. I’m not sure if we’re talking, but I could be reading into it too much.”
Tucker eyes me. “Is that why you’re so pale, too? You and Blake get into an argument, and you don’t know which way is up or down? Oh darling, I think you’re—”
“In too deep? Over my head? Not keeping boundaries?” I ask rapid fire.
“Uh-oh.” He sighs.
I tie the maroon apron around my waist, focusing on the knot instead of my overflowing nerves. My whole body feels heavy with the weight of last night, exhausted with trying to find meaning where there might be none.
“Tucker, can you hold all judgments until the end of this conversation? Because I need some serious”—I take in a deep breath, and exhale loudly—“advice.”
“Tell me everything.”
I peer around the café, and it seems slow before the lunchtime rush.
“I think I pushed Blake too far last night, and I think he did the same with me. He brought Heather as a date, and I brought Rich. It was an utter disaster. At first I was furious at him. Of all people! Blake, of course, didn’t understand. Things got skewed after that. I told him I was mad about Heather because it hurt me, and then he said he was upset that I brought Rich. I think we realized then that the overall argument was pointless. We aren’t dating, and Blake made that clear at the end of the night.”
Tucker hums his understanding, and his brows knit in concern. “What do you mean, he made it clear? What exactly did he make clear?”
I let out a regretful sigh before speaking. “He admitted it upset him that he was the reason I was crying—”
“You were crying?”
I roll my eyes, waving my hand at him. “I was justified. Trust me. Regardless, it seemed to bother Blake that I was so upset. I implied we weren’t ready for the conversation that needed to happen. I told him he was selfish and that we weren’t honest with each other. Then things got weird. We went home and he didn’t even glance back at me before he went to bed. Without saying anything, he made it clear what we are to each other. I’m not mad at him for walking away; I’m mad at my reaction to his perfectly justified behavior.”
“Perfectly justified?” Tucker raises his voice and waves his hand flamboyantly. “He just walked away from you? I don’t know how I feel about that. What else did he say?”
“He didn’t say much. What was there to say? I’m sure he didn’t want to hurt my feelings even more by stating the fact that he actually doesn’t have to do anything. We aren’t supposed to get attached. He isn’t, and I apparently am.”
Tucker chews his lip, as if debating whether to speak. “You don’t think he’s emotionally attached
?” he says.
I look down at the floor, recounting singular sweet moments with Blake, and I find it difficult to rationalize the emotions that were involved.
“He cares.” I frown. “We’re friends for sure. He’s protected me from Jason on more than one occasion now.”
“Jason! You haven’t mentioned him, and to be honest, I’m annoyed that this is the first time you have. Are you okay?” Tucker’s face grows more and more baffled by the minute, and his frantic tone is not lost on me.
I lean against the counter, trying to shrug the thought off.
“Yeah, Jason. He isn’t one I like to talk about. It terrifies me, Tucker. You know that. Jason has popped up more times than I’d like within the past few weeks, and rehashing it is always the last thing I want to do.” I take a moment to reflect on Blake’s heroic tendencies before I speak. “But Blake has been there every time to save the day. Jason was there last night—at least I think so. That’s why Blake and I left in the middle of my fury, which ended, well, you know how it ended.”
“Oh darling, this sounds like such a mess. I warned you. I don’t even want to ask about Rich.”
My waning sanity makes an appearance again as I let out a loud, exasperated laugh. “Yeah, don’t even go there, and please avoid the I-told-you-so dance.”
“But I love dancing,” he replies.
A heartfelt smile spreads through my face.
“Are you ready for my next question?”
My eyes dart to Tucker, who looks nervous and apprehensive now.
“No, I’m not ready for much of anything, but go for it.”
“We might be avoiding the most obvious topic here, but it seems I have my answer. Are you emotionally attached?”
I gulp down air as I try to answer.
“Yes . . . No . . . Yes. I guess I am. I don’t want to be, though! That was never my intention. Things started getting blurry when he brought Heather—I never considered all of this until I felt so furious at seeing her with yet another person I hold dear. I became a frantic mess, worrying that she had some sort of vice grip on him. And, in an immature sense, it felt like he chose her . . . which I know is a childish thought. I just thought I could do this, ya know? I thought I could have sex with someone and not get attached. Is that what’s happening, Tucker? Is it just the sex, or do I really care? He feels like a drug, and my withdrawals feel unhealthy. Therefore, I debate whether my attachment is sincere or an addiction. Does that make sense?”