by Shen, L. J.
West showed me around quickly, clasping my hand in a punishing grip, like the vibes in this place could suck my tender soul straight into hell. He held the paper bag with the tequila bottle in his free hand.
“That’s basically it. Third floor is management. It’s where our offices are,” he said, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. I snorted.
“Do you work nine-to-five?”
“More like sixty-nine.” We took the stairway to the third floor.
The minute I saw the elevator bank in front of me, my smile collapsed. He couldn’t see that, since he had his back to me.
So that was where he took all of his hookups.
Where he and Melanie melded together into one.
I needed to say something to change the subject, quick.
“What do you wanna do? When you graduate this year?” I swiveled to face him, clearing my throat.
He ran a hand through his hair, the A tattoo in his flexed inner bicep taunting me, reminding me how little I knew about him.
“Sharp change of subject. Guess I haven’t thought about it.”
“Don’t you have any preference? Ideas? Aspirations?”
“No, no, and no.” He stopped, turned his back to me, and lifted his arms in the air. “I don’t want to talk about the future. Trust fall, Tex. Catch.”
Before I knew what was happening, his body swung toward mine. I let out a little wheeze, opening my arms to try to clasp him. Crap. I needed more time to prepare. He was heavy. Really heavy. I fell right along with him, crushed by his weight, and winced, bracing myself for the cold concrete behind me. But when he fell on top of me, his whole body pressed over mine, I realized there was a mattress behind me that blocked the fall.
That’s why he’d done it.
He knew I didn’t have time to catch him, but also that we’d both fall onto something soft. He’d just wanted to see if I’d try to catch him.
Damn this man.
I cackled, shoving him off of me. He rolled around, popping the tequila bottle open. He was about to take a swig, but I snatched it from his hand before he could.
“Not so fast, birthday boy. I would like to make a toast.”
He sat up, listening intently. Seriously. He looked like a curious kid all of a sudden, about to be given a very important lecture about his favorite subject.
It broke my heart to see him hungry for my words, because it was clear he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. He didn’t do anything with his friends and didn’t bother telling me about it until later today.
In fact, he was planning to work a shift at the food truck.
For some reason, West St. Claire wasn’t very happy he’d been born, and knowing that nearly undid my soul, breaking it to pieces.
“I would like to make a toast to a very special friend of mine, who, despite my being stubborn and sometimes a handful, is always there for me.” I tried to keep my tone casual, but I was pretty emotional, realizing all the things I said weren’t an exaggeration of the truth.
West rolled his eyes. “Get to the part where you talk about me, you little shit.”
I swatted his shoulder. “I don’t care what the entire universe says about you, West St. Claire. I don’t care that you are a fighter and you ride a monster named Christina and that you’re a man-whore. To me, you’re just a cool guy who always does the right thing, and that’s enough. No.” I felt myself flushing. “It’s more than enough. It’s everything. Happy birthday, jerk-face.”
I tipped my head back, took a swig of the tequila, and passed it to him, embracing the burning sensation slithering down my throat. We stayed on that mattress for two whole hours, drinking and talking. The conversation was all over the place, ranging from our childhoods to football, TV shows and music, then books. The more we drank, the less we made sense, until we both had two completely separate conversations at the same time.
By the time we finished the bottle, it was dark outside. The Plaza got surprisingly chilly. We were both perched on the mattress, our arms brushing, staring at the ceiling.
“Know what I feel like?” I asked.
“Pushing me away for no fucking reason other than your heighten sense of self-preservation?” he asked dryly. I snickered. Touché.
“Some real Mexican food to soak up all the alcohol.”
He picked up the empty tequila bottle, squeezing one eye shut as he stared into the bottom of it. “You mean, like fish tacos and tortilla chips?”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t know where we can find something like that ’round here.”
We exchanged knowing grins. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t okay, but it made perfect sense. Hell, we’d broken so many rules today, one more wouldn’t kill us.
And really, Mrs. Contreras would never find out.
“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, birthday boy?” My grin widened.
“I’m thinking Texas just got a whole lot more fun.”
We staggered into the food truck, locking it behind us, keeping the window shut. I turned around and pressed my index to my mouth.
“Shhh!”
“We’re both quiet, dummy.” He gave my neck a squeeze, chuckling as he brushed past me.
West flicked on the light and turned on the grill while I cut vegetables. I prepared soft tacos, stuck the birthday candles on them, and lit them up. Since the truck had come back from the shop, we were a few ingredients short, like sour cream and guac, but we were too drunk to care.
I butchered the song “Happy Birthday,” somehow missing all the notes, and let West blow out the candles.
“What did you ask for?” I rubbed his arm, placing my chin on his shoulder as we both watched the thin trail of smoke curling up from the candles.
“If I tell you, you promise not to dig into the subject?”
“Sure.”
“I mean it, Tex. I don’t want you going girly on my ass. The only reason we’re here is because you’re not that person.”
“Spill it out, boy.” I laughed.
“I asked to never want to die again.”
My throat clogged up, and it got all quiet, but I kept my word, not pressing the issue. “Then I’ll wish for that, too,” I said softly.
We sat on the floor and ate broken, distressed tacos while I asked him this or that nineties questions. I decided not to dig into why West befriended me anymore. Instead, I’d run with what we had going and see where it took us.
I hadn’t been this happy in years, and that had to count for something.
West was in the midst of explaining to me why fanny packs were boner killers when someone rapped the window outside the truck.
“Hello? Anybody there?”
We both fell silent, staring at each other with wide eyes, mid-bites. I clasped my lips together, stifling a laugh. I rarely got drunk anymore, and I forgot how giggly I turn once I get tipsy.
“Hey, the lights are on,” the man outside the truck said. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he rounded the truck. He was probably trying to peek inside through the window cracks. “Open up, y’all.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth, trying to contain my laughter, but a small horrifying snort escaped my nose. West’s eyes broadened, and he grinned big.
I covered my face, mortified that he’d heard, my whole body shaking with silent laughter.
“Look at the truck,” one of the two people outside said, muffled. “It’s shaking. Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“I’m thinking if what you’re thinking is true, they’re definitely not going to open up for us, Rick, and I ain’t eatin’ no food from there either.”
They thought we were having sex! Oh, Lord. I let out a second, uncontrolled snort, unable to hold it back, tipping backwards. West pounced on me, pinning me flat across the floor, straddling my waist and pressing his hand over my mouth to silence me.
Our tacos were discarded around us, and all the air left my lungs as I watched him on top of me, his groin pushed
against my belly. Nothing about what he did was meant to be sexual. He just wanted me to shut the hell up so we wouldn’t get in trouble. We weren’t supposed to be here, and if Mrs. Contreras found out, she’d probably fire us both, her affection toward me be damned.
Still, my whole body came alive, and a small moan escaped me as his delicious weight pushed against me. I felt my nipples puckering against my bra. The friction against its fabric every time I moved made my mouth water. His thighs were so strong and muscular, I wanted him to hike up, unzip himself, and put his penis in my mouth.
West curled his fingers around my lips. I resisted the urge to lick his palm. I could feel his skin, rough and salty, against my mouth. He leaned deeper into me, engulfing me everywhere, so heavy I could barely breathe. His eyes were dead-set on mine. I wasn’t laughing anymore. The people outside kept trying to look into the truck, flashing their phone’s flashlights inside, decorating West’s face with soft slivers of light.
Both our hearts thudded wildly, so fast I could hear them, almost see their imprints through our shirts.
The crunching became quieter, and the sound of crickets outside the truck enhanced. They were leaving.
West leaned all the way down, propping my ball cap sideways, resting his forehead over mine. Our chests bumped into one another with each violent breath. He closed his eyes. The tips of our noses touched. A heady, strange feeling overcame me. Something told me I was going to replay this moment in my head for years to come.
He removed his hand from my mouth and tugged on an electric cord next to us, turning the lights off.
Pound, pound, pound, went my heart.
“Texas.” His whisper blanketed me, making me feel fuzzy and warm.
“Maine.” My voice was thick, strange. Not mine.
The truck was so dark I couldn’t see anything. My eyes were glued to what I imagined was the curve of his lips, and even though my brain told me a kiss was the worst possible thing that could happen to our friendship, the rest of me rebelled, desperate to feel his mouth on mine.
“Today didn’t suck.” His breath tickled my face.
I swallowed, losing my ability to speak. “No, it didn’t.” My lips moved a breath away from his.
“My birthdays usually suck,” he explained.
“Oh.”
I had officially stopped showing any signs of intelligence. I blamed his proximity. It made me drunker than the actual tequila.
“Texas,” he said again.
“Maine?” I shook with anticipation.
“Permission to do something really fucking stupid, yet acutely necessary right now?”
My heart flip-flopped in my chest. I wasn’t even sure what he was asking, but I was darn sure what my answer would be.
“Granted.”
“Happy birthday to me.” His mouth descended on mine in the pitch black.
Every cell in my body blossomed and sang. I arched my back, my mouth falling open to accommodate his tongue. The brush of his lips against mine sent a shiver down my spine, and I growled, the blood in my veins sweet and sticky.
West’s phone buzzed to life again. He pulled away quickly, breaking the trance we were in. He scrambled up to his feet, turning the light on, and I followed suit, gathering the discarded taco pieces as he turned his back to me and finally picked up the call.
“Yeah?” He sounded short of breath. Flustered. He was pacing now.
I busied myself, throwing the broken tacos into the trash, my eyes wandering discreetly to his jeans, detecting the outline of his erection. It was long, thick, and inviting. It was good to know that he was driving me mad, but that I was capable of doing the same to him.
Oblivious to my perverted thoughts, West turned around and ran a hand through his messy hair, giving me his back once again.
“Been busy.”
Pause.
“Just hanging out with a friend.”
Pause.
“Yeah, a she.”
Pause.
“Because there’s nothing to tell. She’s just a friend. As I mentioned in my previous fucking sentence. You should do more memory puzzles, Mom. Give your brain a little workout.”
Ouch.
“Feels about the same as last year.” He let out an icy, impersonal chuckle. “Anyway, gotta run. Say hi to Dad from me. Bye now.”
He shoved his phone into his back pocket and turned around, his cool, collected expression making me feel like I was a complete stranger. Like the entire day hadn’t happened.
“Ready to hit the road? I don’t know if I’m good to drive, but I’ll walk you home.” His jade eyes were hard as diamonds, and there was not even a hint of the warmth that swam in them a second ago.
“Was that your mom?”
I didn’t think I’d ever heard anyone talking to their mother so impersonally. As someone who grew up without a mother, I always watched the interactions my friends had with theirs carefully. The bickering, the exasperation, the vein of love running between them in an invisible cord.
The closeness varied, but there was always this underlying, built-in familiarity that wasn’t there between West and his mother.
“Yeah.” He helped me clean up the floor, going about everything quickly and efficiently, avoiding my gaze. Whatever that phone call had meant, it had thrown him off-kilter. “My friends know better than to try to celebrate my birthday, but my mother still tries.”
Why didn’t he celebrate his birthdays?
And why had he chosen to share this one with me?
I knew I wasn’t going to get any answers. Not tonight.
I rubbed his arm with a smile. “Wanna say hi to Grams?”
“Are you kidding?” He scoffed. “Only reason I hang out with your sorry ass is to get close with Mrs. S.”
West
And the Idiot of the Decade Award goes to …
Me.
It was going straight to my fucking open arms.
Kissing Texas was by far the craziest thing I’d done since moving to … well, Texas.
She’d been drunk enough to let it happen, and I was dumb enough to piss all over my rules.
My unlikely savior was my mother. The second I’d heard my phone ringing, I remembered.
Remembered why I was here.
Why I’d never go back to Maine.
Why I didn’t do girlfriends or serious relationships or had a plan for the future.
East was right—I liked Grace Shaw, and if I didn’t keep my hands to myself, I was about to drag both of us into a clusterfuck she didn’t deserve and I had no idea how to get out of.
No promises, no disappointments.
That was my motto in life.
Grace and I walked side by side. She was still buzzed, bouncing around and talking animatedly. She was cute with her little pink cap and blonde hair. A part of me couldn’t wait for the moment she’d see past her own insecurities and open up. Guys would start asking her out the minute she stopped giving them the don’t-get-close signals. Another part of me wanted to skin each and every one of those motherfuckers and make drum kits for orphans out of their flesh. They didn’t deserve her. I didn’t know who ‘they’ were per se. Just faceless, hopefully dick-less dudes.
“…said she might not let me pass this semester. Which is actually frightening. But I can’t go onstage. I know there’s some good special effects makeup, but what’s the point in that? Everyone would be trying to drill a hole through my makeup with their eyes to see my new face. The play would take the backseat, and my freaky new face would be the talk of town. No, I can’t go onstage. Not without the ball cap. Which, let’s admit it, isn’t really an option,” I heard Grace explaining in the background, and fuck, I’d blanked out again, this time thinking about what it’d have been like to finish that kiss. To have more than the quick peck we’d managed to slip through before I got a phone call.
“Who?” I asked as we reached her doorstep.
“Professor McGraw.” She stopped by the low gate leading to her
house. “You wandered off, didn’t you?” She reached to stroke my hair to one side, trying to make it resemble something neat. I’d only cut it every few months, and even that only happened when East literally sat my ass down and put scissors to it.
I groaned, looking away. Girls touched me, constantly. Giving me head, kissing me, groping me, riding me. But it’d been a hot minute since anyone had touched me like that. With care instead of lust. No one since Whitley had, anyway.
The door swung open and an older woman breezed out, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Honey pie, I saw the porch lights turning on. I left you some food in the microwave, if the old bat didn’t get to it yet. Sorry I don’t have time to wait till you take your shower. Pete’s coming down with somethin’. No time to piddle. Call if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mar.” Texas reached on her toes to hug the woman. We both walked up to her porch. Marla clapped my shoulder on her way to her car in hello.
“Treat her nicely, boy, or I’ll be sure to acquaint you with my shotgun.”
Fucking Texas.
“I’ll entertain Mrs. S while you get a shower,” I offered Grace as Marla took off in her Dodge. The shotgun remark passed over her head like Marla had offered me tea.
“Oh, it’s fine. Really.” She blushed under her makeup.
“That’s a statement, not an offer. Move it.” I pressed a hand against her lower back, close enough to her ass to get my mind rolling. My dick strained inside my jeans, and I couldn’t wait to get home and rub one out.
Texas bolted upstairs to the shower, and I strolled into the living room, making myself at home. It looked old, but the foundation around it was pretty new, which told me all I needed to know. There was a fire here, and parts of the house were remodeled.
Savannah was sitting on a recliner in front of the TV, knitting something that looked like a never-ending scarf. Her eyes were blank, her mouth pressed into a thin line of discontent.