Her Perfect 10

by Brianna Cash

  How am I supposed to work at my desk, knowing she’s eighteen floors below, turned on and more than ready for me? How am I supposed to pretend I’m not hard and daydreaming of being inside her, wrapped around her entire body as I move on her—and in her—her whimpers turning me on that much more? Her short, guttural words whispered at just the right moment, were enough to make me lose it, or push her over the edge, or get us both erupting into a laughing fit that made this weekend feel like so much more than anything purely physical. How am I supposed to forget that?

  Yesterday, I went downstairs twice. Once in the morning for no reason other than to see her, talk to her, breathe in her honeysuckle scent. The second was for lunch. She wouldn’t give me anything other than professional, friendly replies to anything I said.

  “Owen!” Clive yells as soon as I get off the elevator, waving from down the hall.

  “Hey, Clive. How are you?”

  “All right. Life’s kinda boring now that Sarah’s not here, ya know? Did you have a good weekend?”

  A good weekend? That doesn’t even begin to describe the weekend I had. But should I tell him anything about my time away from this building, or pretend it was another boring three days off work where nothing exciting happened? Do I cross that line and let him into my life a little bit, even if I don’t tell him anything about Sadie?

  “You realize it’s Tuesday, right? Most people ask that question on Mondays.”

  He shrugs. “I had a training day yesterday. Playing catch-up today.”

  Clive actually goes to trainings for his job? What exactly are they trying to teach him? How to keep connections with someone on every floor so he knows all the good gossip?

  Oh, who the hell am I to judge? Maybe I’ve been doing way too much of that lately. Maybe if I stopped judging everyone and everything, Sadie and I wouldn’t be where we are right now. Wanting each other, but eighteen floors and a world apart.

  I punch his arm in a brotherly fashion, chuckling quietly and giving him more than I ever have before. “Clive, I had the best fucking weekend of my life.”

  “Whoa…”

  He’s still standing in the hallway, his jaw hanging down around his knees as I head to my cubicle.

  I leave everything at my desk where it is, deciding to live life on the edge. Who cares if the stapler is crooked? Who cares if I bump into the mouse when I reach to answer the phone? Who cares if the monitor is tilted at the wrong angle? Who cares about any of this mundane shit?

  I’ve been worried about all the wrong things for a very long time.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  After another failed attempt at trying to talk to Sadie in-person at work, I’m in the middle of a successful attempt to start a conversation with her as her anonymous writing partner when there’s a knock on my door. I’m not expecting anyone, and no one visits me, especially not since Penny and I broke up. Regretfully typing out a goodbye text to SD, I turn off the TV I wasn’t really watching and get up to see who’s here.

  It’s my sister.

  I swallow hard, leaning against the doorframe. Do I answer? I can’t exactly leave her standing in the hallway, can I? Is there any way for her to know I’m here? Mrs. Folston wouldn’t tell her, I’m almost positive. But where else would I be? And why is she on my doorstep? What does she need now?

  Shit. I have to at least figure out what she wants.

  I swing the door open. “Hey, Chris.”

  “Hey!”

  Her bright smile and the way she dances into my apartment has me on high alert.

  The door closes a little too hard and I refrain from slamming my head against it. I don’t even turn around to ask my next question, talking instead to the door. It’s probably more satisfying that way. Whatever comes out of my sister’s mouth is sure to be a lie. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Wanna take me out to dinner?”

  My teeth grind together, and I close my eyes at the inevitability of an oncoming headache. “I already ate.”

  When she doesn’t answer, I turn around. Her lips push toward me in a pout that will get her nowhere. With our mother? Sure. With me? Hell, no. I’ve played this game with her too many times to fall for it again.

  “You should take me out anyway.”

  “Not happening, Chris. If you’re hungry, I can fix you something to eat here.”

  If she’ll actually eat, I’ll never not feed her. She’s usually not after food when she wants anyone to take her out, though. Attention? Maybe. Access to the person’s credit card? Possibly. Their cash? Definitely. Anything of value she can steal and trade for cash? Absolutely.

  “Of course, I’m hungry. Why else would I want you to take me out?”

  “Great. What do you want to eat?”

  She sighs, moving to my fridge, then the cupboards, making a show of looking for something that’ll satisfy her craving. Which won’t be food of any kind.

  She’s thin. Not the thinnest I’ve seen her, she doesn’t look like a creepy skeleton, but she doesn’t look healthy, either. Her clothes look clean, but her hair doesn’t, and there are layers of grime under her nails that she probably forgot about or thought I wouldn’t notice.

  “How’d you get here, Chris?”

  “A cab.”

  My heart drops into my stomach. Where’s her car? What did she do to it this time? Do Mom and Dad even realize she’s missing yet? Or did she make up some excuse to be gone for an unlimited amount of time, and they bought it because they want so badly for her to be ok, they’ll believe anything she tells them?

  “How did you pay? You don’t have your purse on you.”

  “Oh…” She shuts the cupboard and turns back to me with a smile. “Can I have some money for the cab?”

  There’s not a chance in hell I’m giving her any cash. “Sure, I’ll come down with you to pay him.”

  “Look, Owen, you don’t need to come down. I’ve got everything under control. I just need to give the guy his fare.”

  “I don’t have any cash; I’ll come down with you. Then we’ll come back up and I’ll make you something to eat. Figure out what you want yet?”

  She rolls her eyes, slamming my last cupboard and marching toward the door. “Don’t bother. You don’t have anything I want. I’ll just go somewhere by myself.”

  “Wait. Just…don’t leave.” I sigh, steeling myself for what’s to come. She arrived empty-handed, as long as I check her jacket and her pockets when she leaves, she can’t steal too much. “I’ll go pay the guy and you can order something. How’s that sound?”

  “Fine, but I got a ride with a friend, not a cab.” Of course, she did. Why did I believe anything that came out of her mouth? “D’you have stuff to make grilled cheese? You know the ones you used to make me when we were kids?”

  That’s not a lie. It’s probably the first truthful thing she’s told me since she crossed my threshold. Maybe even in years. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time when I was perfecting my grilled cheese sandwiches, the ones I made to impress her, since that’s the only time she ever said anything positive about me.

  I’m the baby of the family. Growing up, I just wanted some attention from my older siblings who were always too cool to give me any of their time. Rob was stuck in his own world when we were kids. Always on his computer, doing whatever it was he did in his room. When I started playing around in the kitchen, Chris started bribing me, giving me attention for food.

  It was a great system. She helped me figure out how to experiment with ingredients and measurements, and I… I don’t know what I did for her. Hopefully, I amused her. She never acted like she hated spending that time with me. She would even brag about some of my recipes to her friends once I started making my own instead of tweaking the ones I found on the internet.

  We didn’t have a bad childhood. We were deeply loved, our parents were well-off, we all got good grades, we didn’t want for anything important. I have no idea how we went from sharing stolen moments in the kitchen while s
he prattled on about her friends—and all the drama associated with their everyday lives—as I whipped up whatever recipe I was working on in the KitchenAid mixer, to here. I know where the bump in the timeline happened. I just don’t know the why.

  And I doubt I ever will.

  I sigh, meeting her eyes and looking for any piece of the girl she used to be, the one who used to love me. She’s still in there somewhere, right?

  “I don’t have the stuff for your favorite, but I can still make one you’ll like.”

  “Thanks, Owen.”

  She smiles, looking so much like the sister I used to have, the one that would change the color of her nails every night to match her outfit for the next day. The one who used to peek out of her blinds every time the doorbell rang before a date, to see if he brought flowers. The one who used to tell me that girls never meant what they said. If they told me they didn’t like me, it meant they did. If they said they didn’t want me to ask them to go to the dance, they were dying to go with me. If they acted like kissing me was disgusting, it was what they were dreaming about as they laid in bed at night.

  She was wrong about all girls never meaning what they say. Her friends were the kind of girls that played hard to get. Girls that liked to “play the game.” But love isn’t a game. And I don’t want anyone who treats it as such.

  It’s not an equation, either, but at this point, I’ll gladly take the time to prove that to SD.

  Sadie…

  What would she say to my sister, if they ever met? What would she say if I told her anything about Chris? Have I even mentioned that I have a sister?

  I brush that thought aside and grab the bread. I’ve mentioned Chris. In one of my assignments. Maybe even two of them. Nothing other than the fact that she exists, but Sadie should be aware I have a sister.

  “I kind of met someone.” I smile at the inside of the fridge as I grab the cheese, not sure why I’m telling the ghost of a girl in my kitchen. Chris won’t care. “She’ll be at the wedding. You’re going, right?”

  The sizzle of the buttered bread hitting the pan fills the silence between us.

  “Look, I know it’ll be awkward, but Rob wants you there. He loves you. We all love you... We’re here for you, Chris… If you need help, all you need to do is ask.”

  When she still says nothing, my shoulders slump and I hang my head. This is where she always blows up, insisting she’s ok, she has everything under control, she doesn’t need any help, she’s fine. But if she’s not saying anything…? That means she’s gone.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I turn around, my eyes already searching my empty apartment to see if anything is missing. Of course. My wallet. I hit the button to dial Mom, shaking my head in resignation. Chris might sometimes look like the girl she used to be, but she’ll never be that girl again. Her innocence was stolen from her a long time ago, and that’s not something you can ever get back.

  “Hey, Mom. Do you have any idea where Chris is?”

  It’s best to tread lightly when talking to my mother about her only daughter. Reality isn’t the place she lives in when it comes to Chris.

  “Of course. She started an internship in the city a couple weeks ago. They provided her with an apartment and everything.”

  Sure they did. She has no college education, hasn’t held down a job for over six months in over five years, and has no experience doing anything other than shooting drugs into her veins with dirty needles, but some company is going to give her an apartment?

  I roll my eyes and hold my tongue.

  “She’s doing really well, Owen. She made a great choice when it comes to this new job. This is the start of something amazing for her. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Awesome. Mom probably dropped her off somewhere in the city with a smile and a wave, without checking any of the facts Chris gave her.

  I hate being the messenger.

  “You might want to check on her. She showed up at my apartment, stole my wallet, and disappeared without saying goodbye.”

  “No, Owen.” I can practically see Mom shaking her head, her lips a thin line of denial. She’ll do this with every piece of evidence until the police or a hospital calls. I used to think she’d learn, but she’s just as stubborn as Chris’s habit. “Chris wouldn’t do that to you.”

  I tip my head to stare at the ceiling while biting back a groan. There’s no point in arguing.

  “Ok, Mom.”

  My voice is as full of disdain as I am. Mom doesn’t pick up on it, though. She simply continues singing Chris’s praises like I never said a word and Chris has only been to a rehab facility as a visitor.

  “The apartment she’s in is beautiful; she sent me some pictures. Maybe you should look into getting a job there. It wouldn’t hurt you to try something new. You haven’t gotten a promotion since you started at that company.”

  “My company doesn’t do promotions, Mom. I get bonuses and a good raise every year instead.”

  “Still… Your sister’s doing so well considering the hand she’s been dealt, and you’ve had it a lot easier than she has. There are better opportunities out there, you just need to look for them. You should try a little harder, Owen.”

  I should try harder?

  I need to look for better opportunities?

  After I hang up, my clenched jaw twitches as I press my palms into the table, forcing my fingers to uncurl. I can’t get them to stay straight, though.

  Maybe my mother should be proud of who I am and the fact that I have a job in the first place. But I’ll never measure up to Chris in her eyes. Even when we’re on completely different levels. On my worst day, I’m still looking down at Chris on her best day.

  No wonder I was such a goddamned perfectionist for so long. All my life, I was dying for attention from people who were comparing me to someone that had nothing in common with me.

  A long breath has me reaching for my phone. I need to cancel my debit and credit cards. Again.

  When I unlock my screen, there’s an unread text from Sadie. I tap on the icon, needing to see her attitude in a splash of words meant for her anonymous writing partner that can’t get enough of her mind—and unbeknownst to her—or her body.

  SD: If you tell me your girl showed up at your door on a random Tuesday evening, I’ll take it out on your cake when we finally meet.

  Her message pulls a reluctant smile to my mouth.

  Sadie might criticize me, but it’s always honest. She’s not deluding herself, or playing favorites, or making shit up to hurt my feelings. And she almost always tells me how to fix whatever it is she finds lacking. Sometimes it seriously pushes me outside the boundaries of my comfort zone, but her advice is helpful. And she’s quick to praise me when I follow through. And she thinks I’m nice. And she likes me, as the person I am, even if she doesn’t realize she knows me yet.

  And she gave me a perfect score.

  More than once. Many times over during the best weekend of my life.

  I’ve been dying for the wrong kind of attention all this time.

  The only person I want to be perfect for from now on, is Sadie Dietrich, my SD. And even then, I only want to be perfect when it comes to sex, how I score in her LBB, or how great we feel when we’re together.

  I’m starting to think I’m already perfect for her, just the way I am.

  Chapter 20

  Assignment #9

  Write about building a fire

  To: oc736@solc.edu, profmereeder@solc.edu

  From: sd275@solc.edu

  Subject: Catching fire

  Their eyes catch over the expanse of the clear, blue, pool water. Her breath stops in her throat, stuck there by the implications of his presence. She’s never met him before, but she’s been getting to know him for months. They promised to give each other a chance. To wait. At least until they were able to meet and find out if they were as good together in person as they were in their heads.

  He moves toward her, swallowing the distance wit
h his long strides, his gaze intent on hers as she watches his every move, wondering if she’s upset he’s here early and not at their scheduled time.

  Standing in front of her, he reaches for her hands, grasping them tightly as she grants him this wish. He pulls her from the chair, wanting to take her into his arms, but hesitating because this is so new, finally being able to see and touch her. Was she all talk, or does she really want him to touch her however he wants?

  “I couldn’t wait any longer to see you,” he finally explains, looking back and forth between her eyes, wondering what her response will be.

  “I wish you hadn’t waited this long.”

  Smiling at her response, he grows bold, and finally pulls her into his arms.

  She welcomes his embrace, wanting to feel his body against hers, to remind herself that this is real, and not the same dream she’s had for the last several months. She pulls back enough to look into his eyes, to memorize the color, the shape, the intensity, so she can finally put all her questions about his appearance to rest. He grins down at her, those lips looking so soft and kissable.

  “I brought cake,” he tells her, making her laugh. Her heart swells for him, for his sweet thoughtfulness, for his kindness, for the person she knows him to be.

  “I love cake.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, wearing a cocky grin as he pulls her a little tighter against him. “How do you want it?”

  “Here,” she whispers, anticipation making her heart beat faster and her breaths shorter.

  “Not where.” He laughs, making her smile again, despite the overwhelming intimacy of their first meeting. “How?”

  “With a fork.”

  His face drops and he steps away from her. She instantly misses his warmth, his smile, his sparkling eyes. “What?” she asks, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t bring any forks.”

  She steps forward, trying to comfort him, dragging his eyes back to hers because now that she can see them, she never wants to miss looking inside their depths.