“Amy,” Geoff says. “And she’s right. She’s not mine. Just a friend. She does got a nice booty though.” He laughs and puts knuckles out for Logan to bump, and Logan just rolls his eyes and disappears down the hall with a laugh.
“He’s nice,” I say.
“You have no idea. He’s always been there for me. Amazing guy,” Geoff says.
“Nice,” I say.
But then something occurs to me, and I can’t wipe it away. I lie back on the couch, but I know I’m not going to sleep until I bring it up with Geoff. But I shouldn’t say anything.
I shouldn’t. Keep your damn mouth shut Amy. That’s not even possible.
But why was Logan’s face the face in my dreams? Was it because he woke me, or some other reason? He has dark hair.
“Was Logan close with Camille?”
“Oh, totally,” Geoff says, punching his pillow back into submission and trying to get back into a comfortable position on the shorter couch. His legs hang off, but he shrugs and pulls his blanket back on. “I mean, once she was dating Knight, they didn’t see each other as much. But he’s my best friend, so yeah.”
“And…and was he by any chance at that party?”
Geoff sits up. “Which one?” His eyes bore into mine, sharp. “What are you saying?”
I clutch the blanket in front of me. “Well, I don’t want to, but I…”
“What. Are. You. Saying?”
“He has dark hair,” I blurt out. “He knew Camille. And I had a dream about dark hair and snakes and his face, and then guess what, he’s there above me.”
Geoff’s face turns harder, almost stone, and for the first time, he looks pale to me. “No. Just, no. Not possible.”
“But if you really want to know, why wouldn’t you consider anyone?” I say, hating that I have to be the one to point this out.
“No, you don’t know him. I do. Amy, just stop it. I can’t.” He turns away, buried under the blankets.
“But…”
“Just drop it. I know it’s not him. Please don’t ever say anything like that again.”
“Why not? If you’re so tough, why can’t you hear it?”
Geoff sits up, glaring angrily. “Because he’s all I have left. Because I know he didn’t do it, but just the suggestion that he did makes me ready to go kill him now, and I know it wasn’t him. But if the person was that close, it makes me crazy. Because that would be a betrayal worse than any other, and I would literally go insane.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
“But also mainly because you don’t know shit, and you don’t have a right to stir me up like that, or not believe me when I say that I know it’s not him.”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I’m sorry.” The living room is lighter now. It’s early morning, and should be safe to go home. “Can you take me home now?”
“Sure.” He stands and shakes the blanket off and heads to the door without waiting to see if I’m following.
When I reach the door, I touch his arm. It’s warm and firm under mine. The size of his forearm is startling compared to the size and feel of mine, but his skin is so soft.
“I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. “Me too, I’m sorry. But just, could you try to be more careful?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I’m not fragile or anything, but remember, it’s my sister. And my best friend. I mean, you of all people I thought I could count on to be sensitive.”
“All right,” I say. My pride is still pricked because I hate being told off for things, or caught being wrong, but I do feel bad for causing him problems. “I can do sensitive.”
“Just don’t tell anyone I asked for it,” he says, winking at me as he leads the way to his bike. The drive home is all loudness from the bike and silence between us. He pulls up a little ways from my house.
“Don’t want your moms to freak out seeing you come home on a bike with a guy like me. Oh wait, they’re out of town, right?”
I take off his helmet and hand it to him. “Yeah. It’s okay. I don’t even know how they would react.”
He sits the helmet in his lap for a moment. “Maybe you should see sometime. Give them a chance.”
“I don’t know…”
“I mean, they love you, right?” He fastens the helmet to the back of his bike. “Parents do, you know. You got good ones, I can tell.”
“How?”
“They raised you. You’re all right, Dollface. I know I’ve said it before, but it’s true.”
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask impulsively, not wanting to be away from him, for some odd reason.
“Are your parents going to be back tonight?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Well, I was planning on going out tonight.”
“I could go?”
“Not your scene.”
“Where are you going?”
“Moz.”
I swallow. It’s a pool hall in the part of town my moms tell me not to visit alone. Or at all. “Oh.”
“But I could come pick you up after. Or you could text me if you see Mike around. When do the folks get back?”
“Tomorrow. But I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. If you could do me a favor and look through the yearbook today, let me know if you see anything interesting, that would help.”
“Great,” I say. “I’ll do it.” I turn to leave and he grabs my hand, pulls me back onto his lap and looks down into my face. In the morning sunlight his eyes are a warm, soft gray.
His eyes go back and forth between my lips and my eyes, and then he presses a kiss to my forehead and I lean into it.
What are we doing?
Then he lets me go. “Sorry Dollface, got carried away. Thanks for helping me.”
I nod and turn to go before I can over think the kiss. “Thanks.” I turn back at my door before going in. “Did you kiss Camille like that?”
He shakes his head and smiles a slightly sad smile. “Never.”
I don’t know what to say, I put my hand on the handle.
“I mean come on, that’s my sister. Gross,” he says. Then he laughs, waves, and pulls away. I touch my forehead when he’s gone. What was that?
Chapter 8
Logan and I haven’t played pool lately. We used to play all the time, but then I started work at the water park, and had more late nights with the guards, not to mention with Amy.
Man, I wanted to kiss her today. Then I copped out and…kissed her forehead. Like a mom or something. I palm my face and sigh, and Logan laughs.
“Want to just give up and re-rack?” he asks, holding up the triangle tauntingly.
“Never,” I say, scowling at the table. Three balls behind. Not good. I don’t always play shitty compared to Logan, but I’m distracted today.
Amy.
She looked so adorable and helpless when I pinned her arms. Looking up at me with those sparkly eyes, those amazing lips slightly open. I wanted to do more than tickle. But I need to find another excuse to tickle her, for sure. That was cute. I scratch my head, because I want her more than is comfortable.
She scared the bejeebus out of me when Logan woke me and I saw her thrashing. What the hell was that? I study Logan as he calmly sinks another ball. Shit. Four behind.
“Don’t look so disturbed,” he says, handing me the stick after missing a shot. Finally. “You just need a four ball streak to beat me. No big.” He grins.
I shrug. “No big.”
“So,” he says, leaning with his bony arms on the table across from me while I line up my shot. “If you’re not into Amy, can I ask her out?”
I slip and my cue scrapes the felt. I stand. “Excuse me?”
“You know, can I make a move? She seems nice.”
I shake it off and try to line up my shot again. “She’s out of your league.”
“Rich kid, huh?”
“Sure,” I say. “I don’t really know.” But I
do know. And even if I say Amy isn’t my type, I don’t really want to see her with Logan either. They’re both nice enough people, but it would just bother me.
“So, more your class then?”
“For the last time, Logan,” I say, thumping my pool cue on the ground for emphasis. “My step dad’s class. Not mine.”
“Your mom’s classy. And you got money now. Just accept it,” Logan says, taking another cue and resting his head on it over his hands.
“Never!” I say jokingly.
“Geoff,” he says, eyeing me with a serious look that always spells trouble. “Camille wouldn’t want you to hold on to the life you two had. She’d want you to move on.”
I shrug, blocking it out as usual. I don’t want to hear it. Not from him. He should be the one who understands more than anyone, but on this he never does. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “Make that four streak shot and I’ll buy dinner.”
“Here goes then,” I say, lining up my shot again. I split two stripes and both go in. I grin up at Logan who just smiles innocently, as if he doesn’t care that I’m about to level the playing field. The perfect amount of top spin sets the cue ball up perfectly for a shot on the seven. I knock it in, with backspin, which sets me up for a shot on the nine.
I’m about to shoot when Logan speaks again.
“So, Amy, is that a no? I’d like to ask her out.”
I sigh and stand up. “Can I at least take my shot? Or do you just want to talk pussy?”
“I thought she wasn’t pussy,” Logan said. “And that’s uncharacteristically crude of you. Upset, perhaps?”
I narrow my eyes at him and bend to take my shot again. “No. Fine. Hit on her all you want. She’ll just shoot you down. She’s hella picky.” I miss my shot and step back with a groan. He could sweep the table and finish the game this turn if he’s really on.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says, chalking the tip of his cue and blowing the excess off. “She’s worth it.”
I shrug, ignoring a bitter feeling rising in my throat. Must be because I didn’t sleep well enough. I already told Amy I didn’t have any good intentions toward her. I shouldn’t prevent other guys from having them.
“Who’s worth it?” Brent says, coming up behind Logan and startling him with his hands on his shoulders. Logan turns around and shoves him off, turning red. Probably at being caught talking about chicks. Logan’s weird about chicks. Shy I guess.
Brent’s a friend of Logan’s that I met in high school. Pretty chill, in a burnout kind of way. He’s always got a beanie on, and he’s short and buff. Always messing with Logan, because they’re opposites. Where Logan is shy and attentive Brent’s very loud and obnoxious.
“So who’s worth it?” He rubs Logan’s shoulder despite Logan’s attempt to brush him off. Logan looks at me with long suffering eyes and I laugh.
“Just this girl I know,” I say.
“Ooh,” Brent says, leaning over the table on his elbows. “Do I know her? Is she hot?”
“I don’t know,” I say, waiting for Logan to take his shot.
“I’m not telling you,” Logan says, bending to take a shot without measuring it. Big mistake. Scratch. We’re playing ball in hand so I pick it up and study the table carefully. I need to make this count if I’m gonna win my free dinner. And I’m so gonna win free dinner.
“Oh man,” Logan says, rubbing his neck with one hand and shoving the cue back to the wall with the other. “There goes the game. Thanks a lot Brent. Now I’m off and he’s on.”
“No probs,” Brent says, pulling up a stool. “But seriously, this chick. She at least an eight?”
Logan glares at him and saves me the trouble of doing it. “She’s Geoff’s friend.”
“Oh. So like a four then?”
Logan glares again, and this time I join him.
“What the hell?” I ask.
“Oh come on,” Brent says, pulling his beanie down in the back. “We all know Geoff isn’t ‘friends’ with chicks.”
“I could be,” I say.
“Not since your sister…” Brent trails off and I catch Logan sending him one of those looks. One of those annoying ‘be careful’ looks that I’m used to people doing around me ever since my sister died.
Maybe I liked when Amy didn’t know. She didn’t treat me like I was fragile or different. She’s still pretty mean to me, so I guess it hasn’t changed her that much.
Damn, do I want her to be nice to me or not? I can imagine some tender loving care from her working out pretty well, but then she’d want more, and I’m not down for that with anyone. Never have been. For all I called her on not having a relationship, I’ve never had one either. Not really.
“I was just trying to see if he was really interested,” Logan says, folding his arms and leaning against a stool. “I’m not really.”
“Oh really?” I say. “Good.”
“But, she’s really cute. I’m tempted to go for it just to watch him get pissed.”
“If it’s his friend, why’s he pissed?” Brent asks, looking from me to Logan. Logan just raises an eyebrow and Brent nods, realization finally setting in. “Not just a friend then.”
“Bingo. Even if he’s too dumb to admit it.”
Okay, now my hackles are up. “Okay, you two shitheads. Do what you want. I mean, she’s my friend, so I’ll beat the shit out of you if you make her cry, but ask her out, do what you want. She’s not mine.”
“Of course not,” Logan says. “No one is.”
“I know.”
“No one ever will be,” he continues, and I don’t like where he’s going.
“Logan…”
“You’re just afraid to have anything good again, because then you would have something to lose—”
“Stop it.” I put up a hand, and he knows it’s over, that he’s gone past the limit. I don’t want to hear it. Not from him. It may be the truth, but I don’t want to face it. Not when I’m just out trying to have a good time and win a free meal.
“Hey, your loss, man,” Brent says, smiling and cracking his knuckles. “Sounds like fun. When do we meet her?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, grinning. “Never.” I hit the first ball in with a smooth stroke, and it lines up perfectly for the next shot. I love pool because it’s never just the shot, it’s always looking forward to the next shot. It’s not what is happening, it’s what needs to happen next. It keeps my brain engaged constantly, and I need that.
If I ever do get a chick, it’ll have to be a smart one, like Amy. Someone who keeps my brain busy. If she has a soft, supple body and a nice round… Well, that’d be a bonus.
“Mean,” Logan says.
“Shitty,” Brent says.
“You’re too short for her anyway,” I grumble, staring at the table. Two in so far on this turn, and I didn’t set this up well. No sure shots.
“Not all of me,” Brent says.
“Ew,” I say.
“So gross,” Logan agrees.
Brent shrugs.
“So yep, you guys don’t have her number, so as I said, you probably can’t do anything about it, but yeah, do what you want.” I sink the next ball. Ahh, sweet victory in sight soon.
“Hey, what’s going on outside?” Brent says, looking out the window. “Couple dudes look ready to go.”
“Go as in fight?” I raise my head, but then decide to focus on my shot. I can watch the fight in a sec, after I win my dinner.
“Yeah,” Brent says. “Looks like there’s a nice piece out there.”
Logan just rolls his eyes. “Like they need an excuse to fight.”
“She’s hot though. Super nice rack. Great ass. I can see what the fuss is.”
I crick my neck. Why do I have such stupid friends?
“Fine, I’ll look, even though you’re probably just trying to break my concentration so Geoff can get the eight ball in behind my back,” Logan says, passing me to go to the window. He
just stands there for a moment, frozen.
“Shit,” he says. “Uh, Geoff?”
“Yeah?” I say, reaching my peak of aggravation. I slam the cue down and stand up. “What the hell is so important that I can’t finish this damn game and win my damn dinner?”
Logan looks at me with a slack face and points to the window. “Isn’t that Amy?
“What?” I ask, my stomach sinking down to my feet, because I think I already know what he’s going to say.
“The one we’ve been talking about,” he says, looking back to the window. “Amy?”
I drop my cue and go to the window. Damnit. This is not my night.
Chapter 9
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to call them pigs.
But they were acting like them!
The two men stop shoving each other and turn to me, faces turning an even angrier red. “What did you say?” Thing number one walks towards me. I back up, and find myself against a motorcycle that came out of nowhere. I look over my shoulder. My car’s too far away. Damn it. I could call Geoff. He’s probably in there. But I won’t give him the pleasure. My mom’s didn’t raise me to be intimidated by men, to be a damsel in distress.
“I apologize,” I say, putting up a hand and backing away from the dude on the motorcycle behind me, as much as I can while still keeping distance between myself and the guy in front of me. “I didn’t say anything.” It rankles to hold my tongue but diplomacy seems to be the way out of this.
He’s a mountain, even compared to Geoff. Older, maybe mid-thirties. He’s got a beard, and tattoos. When he asked if I had a boyfriend, I told him the truth, that I didn’t, but that I wasn’t looking for company. He and the other man currently staring at me with rage in his face took that to mean that they should compete somehow for my attention. I just need to get in and see Geoff I need to show him something in my yearbook.
It’s not that I just wanted to see him, or that I was morbidly curious about what it was like to be in one of these seedy little bars. Not that I was bored alone at home. Or that I was afraid Mike would come back. None of those things. I clutch the yearbook to me.
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