When You're Ready

by Danielle, Britni

  “Amazing, right?” I said. “Kinda takes your breath away.”

  He turned to me and smiled. “Yeah,” he said, dropping his eyes to mine. “Just like you.”

  Scout’s compliment made me feel lightheaded and giddy. It was very easy to like him. He was undeniably gorgeous and seemed to be reading from a film script with his perfectly placed charming lines and easy smile. It took all of my strength not to lose my head right then and do something impetuous like run my hands through his hair and stick my tongue in his mouth.

  “Umm, so, shall we?” I asked, already walking up the stairs to put some distance between my impure thoughts and the man who caused them. I decided to ignore Scout’s comment about me taking his breath away and focus on the task at hand: showing him around.

  We walked into the visitors’ center to get a map and a brochure, and to plan our course of attack. Normally, I wandered through the Getty stopping at random paintings and sculptures that caught my eye, but because it was Scout’s first visit, I wanted to make sure he saw it all.

  “Do you want to get the audio headsets or just walk around on our own?”

  “Just walk around,” he said, “that way we can talk.”

  Scout and I set out on our way, walking past a beautiful fountain and into a gallery. We stopped in front of several paintings and I dutifully read the displays and added my two cents about each one. For some reason I wanted him to know that I knew what I was talking about, even when it wasn’t exactly true.

  Scout seemed to enjoy my opinion about art, and after winding our way through several rooms, we came upon a collection of naked bronze sculptures by Pietro Cipriani.

  “These are pretty badass,” he said, stepping closer to get a better look.

  “Right?” I agreed. “They’re so lifelike. I’m always amazed when I see stuff like this. I wonder how they managed to make such beautiful things without all of the modern technology we have today.”

  Scout nodded, but stayed silent. He walked around the statue of the Venus and I followed behind him. “Look at her body,” he said, and I bit back a groan. Typical guy.

  “What about it?” I asked, worried he was about to say something douchey that would make me hate his guts.

  “It looks so…real. Like, if an sculptor made this today this woman probably wouldn’t even be considered a perfect subject.”

  “People appreciated all types of bodies back then. Now, every guy wants a stick-thin model who looks likes she eats every other day.” I rolled my eyes. I figured that was Scout’s type anyway.

  “Not every guy,” he said, walking around the statue and slipping his hand in mine like it was the most normal thing in the world. I looked down at his hand, which felt so warm against my palm, and then back up at his face. He was smiling.

  I pulled my hand away and ran it through my hair. Scout’s eyes narrowed and I hoped he wasn’t pissed off, but his mini display of PDA sent my mind swirling into a hurricane of conflicting emotions. Excitement, nervousness, and lust all banged around in my brain, and suddenly the walls of the airy gallery felt like they were closing in.

  “Umm, are you ready to, umm, head to the café?” I asked, hoping Scout didn’t think I was a dork for acting so weird after he held my hand. “I haven’t eaten yet and if I don’t get something soon you might have to pick me up off the floor.”

  He eyed me for a second, and then smiled. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

  “Great!”

  We headed out of the gallery and into the warm spring air. Almost as soon as we got outside Scout grabbed my hand and squeezed it lightly, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my heart. Instinctively, I tried to slip my hand out of his palm again, but Scout gave it another squeeze as we walked toward the café. This time I didn’t pull away.

  6 Scout

  “Nola, you cannot be serious,” I told her, watching her fish through her gigantic bag looking for her wallet. She was determined to pay for our lunch, even though I had already handed over my card to the cashier.

  “I told you lunch was on me, Scout, and when I find my wallet, I’m paying.”

  I had to chuckle at her stubbornness; she was completely unlike anyone I’d ever hung out with before. While my friends never flat-out asked me for money, no one ever attempted to pay for anything when I was around, especially girls. If we were out to dinner or hanging at a club, when the tab came people just slid it in my direction like footing the bill was my fulltime job. I didn’t mind, mostly. But sometimes it felt like some people were taking advantage of me because I could afford it. If I was still that broke kid in Pacoima, I knew most of them wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I could tell my Nola was different. Watching her scramble for her wallet to buy me lunch was a new, and uncomfortable, experience.

  “Just ring it up on the card,” I told the cashier who was starting to get a little impatient.

  “Don’t you dare!” Nola screeched, her eyebrows scrunching together. “I mean, I’ve got it. I just have to—“ She stopped mid-sentence as her bag crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. She spotted her wallet amid the mess and paid the cashier while I picked up her things and started putting them back in her bag. I noticed an essay with bold lettering across the top and read the title aloud, causing Nola’s head to snap in my direction.

  “Give me that,” she said, grabbing for the paper. I held it above her head, far out of her reach, teasing her. “C’mon, Scout, please?”

  “It looks interesting, I want to read it.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she tried to jump up and grab it, but between the extra inches I had on her and my long arms, she couldn’t reach it.

  “That’s not funny, Scout. Give it back.”

  “Fine.” I folded the essay in half and stuck it my back pocket, and then covered it with my shirt. If she wanted it back she’d have to reach under my t-shirt to get it, getting dangerously close to my skin. “Get it yourself,” I grinned.

  Nola bit her lip, and I immediately wanted to kiss her until she begged me for more. Even though the stuff at the Getty was pretty amazing, I’d been having a hard time paying attention to the art. Nola’s skin glowed in the sunlight, and her hair cascaded past her shoulders in luscious curls. Every time she stopped to tell me about a painting or a sculpture, all I could think about was plunging my hands into her hair and pulling her mouth to mine.

  We walked out of the café and headed toward the garden to find a spot to eat. Nola and I stretched out on the grass, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

  “What?” she asked, looking puzzled. But all I could do was watch in awe as she took out a copy of the Daily Bruin and spread it on the ground as a makeshift tablecloth for our food. First, she laid out our sandwiches, then our fruit cups, and finally the drinks, arranging each piece so it looked like we were about to enjoy a real meal.

  “Damn, girl. You set everything up so nicely I feel like I should be dressed up or something.”

  Nola giggled and I felt her laugh reverberate in my own chest. “Sorry. Habit.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot. You’re the professional.” Nola took a bite out of her sandwich and smiled. “How long have you been working at Pink Taco?”

  “A year,” she said between bites. “Before that I waitressed at another place, but it was kind of a dump.”

  “You like your job?”

  “It pays the bills,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how many people actually like waitressing. It’s harder than it looks. When I get off work my back is aching, my legs and feet hurt, and my arms feel like I’ve been lifting weights all day.”

  My jaw tightened. The thought of Nola being physically exhausted, and in pain, made me want to tell her to quit her job immediately so I could take care of her. But that was stupid, and completely unreasonable since it was just our first time hanging out. Still, I didn’t like the idea of her pushing her body to extremes just to cover the bills.

  I could give Nola a great life; hell, I c
ould give her an amazing life. I just hoped she would let me do it. Seeing her give me a hard time about paying for lunch was a huge clue Nola probably wouldn’t let me pay her way, but that’s exactly what I intended to do.

  “How about you?” she asked, knocking me back to reality. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a tech nerd.” Nola cocked an eyebrow and turned her head to the side like she was sizing me up. “What? I don’t look like a computer geek to you?” I asked, grinning. I know that I didn’t. People who don’t know me are more likely to think I steal cars or deal drugs than sit in front of my computer for hours writing code.

  She hunched her shoulders, and took another bite of her sandwich. “Well…no, not really.”

  “What does it look like I do?”

  “I dunno. Act or model or work on cars,” she said. “Isn’t that what everybody does in L.A.?”

  I leaned back and laughed. “You got one out of three.”

  “Which one?”

  “Cars. I love classic cars,” I said, thinking of my ’66 Mustang, and the Chevy Impala I’d been restoring for the past few months. I took her comments about Angelenos and turned them around. “So, how about you? Since you’re in L.A. are you trying to be an actress or model?”

  Nola scrunched up her face. “God, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I may have moved here, but I’m not trying to be famous like everyone else. I just want to finish school and get a good job like normal people.”

  I had a million questions for Nola about her goals, her dreams, what she was most afraid of, and what she was like as a kid, but I didn’t want to sound like I was interrogating her. Although I’d slept with a lot of women, I never kept one around long enough to really get to know her. I wanted to find out every single thing about Nola, but I knew I had to take it slow.

  I bobbed my head and continued making small talk. “So where are you from?”

  “All over,” she said just above a whisper.

  “Army brat?”

  She shook her head. “No, crazy parents.”

  My breath caught in my chest. I hoped Nola’s childhood was nothing like mine; my parents were fucking horrible. A small smile crossed her lips that made me relax a little.

  “We moved a lot when I was a kid. My dad was a musician and my mom and I tagged along with him on the road. When he died…” Nola’s voice trailed off and her eyes went wet again. I wanted to pull her into a hug but didn’t want to freak her out. “After my dad died, I thought we’d settle down, but my mom kept moving from place to place like she was on the run from his memory.”

  Shit, I’d done it again. I’d fucked up and made her think of something painful. “Nola, I’m—“

  “It’s cool, Scout.” She smiled but the feeling never reached her eyes. “This is actually the longest I’ve lived in one city.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. I’ve been here for three years.”

  “And you’re not sick of it yet?” I joked.

  “No, it’s by far the nicest place I’ve lived. Well, except Jamaica.”

  “Wow, you lived in Jamaica?” My mind was blown. Nola wasn’t the naive girl I thought she was. Still, despite losing her father and having to move around countless times she wasn’t jaded or bitter either. I’d grown up in Pacoima my whole life, my piece-of-shit parents were alive, and I wasn’t as open or as kind as Nola.

  “Yeah, my dad had a place in Saint Ann’s Parish and I’d spend all day running around trying to catch lizards or hanging out with my mom at the beach.”

  “That sounds amazing, Nola. Maybe you can show me around one day.”

  Her face fell.

  Shit, I’d struck another nerve.

  “I haven’t been back since I was 10. After my dad died my mother got rid of the house,” Nola shook her head. “Too many bad memories, I guess. My mom is…an interesting woman. She used to be so happy and carefree and crazy, but in a good way. After my dad died, her craziness just got out of hand.” She frowned like she was looking at something bad. “We’ve moved all over the U.S. because my mom was just so restless, but we never went back to Jamaica.” Nola’s voice cracked and I thought she was going to cry, but she managed to hold it in. “My father is buried there. And I know it sounds nuts, but I’ve always wanted to visit his grave and say my goodbyes. I was so young and in shock when he died that I didn’t know how to deal with it. One day he was here, and the next,” she snapped her fingers, “he was gone. I’ve always felt like I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  I reached out and grabbed her hand and ran my thumb across the top of her skin; and to my surprise, she didn’t pull away.

  “One day I’m going to go back,” she said. “I still have family there, but it’s hard to keep in touch when you have to move every year, you know? But one day…” Her voice trailed off and she was quiet for a long time. My heart banged around in my chest. I longed to wrap Nola in my arms and tell her I’d take her to Jamaica so she could say goodbye to her dad. The look on her face made me want to fix everything that had gone wrong in her life.

  “Anyway,” she said wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. “Sorry for being such a girl.”

  “Shhhh. You have nothing to apologize for, Nola. Thank you for sharing this with me. I know how difficult it can be to talk about the not-so-good parts of our lives, so I’m honored. Seriously.”

  She smiled at me, and my heart felt like it doubled in size. Shit. If she could make me feel this good so quickly, I wondered where we could possibly go from here. At this rate, I’d be confessing my undying love for her in less than a week. I needed to slow this shit down before I messed it up. If I freaked her out and she ran away I knew I would go chasing after her.

  “I feel like I’ve been talking about myself this whole time. It’s your turn to over-share, Scout,” Nola said, chuckling.

  I wished I could pour my heart out, but I didn’t want to drive her away. Mine wasn’t a story of a dead father and a grief-stricken mother. No, my story included two junkie parents and a whole lot of abuse, fights, and getting into trouble.

  If I got Nola to fall for me before I told her all of the sordid details of my life she might not run screaming in the other direction. I know it probably wasn’t fair holding out on her, but I couldn’t take the risk. If I told her my life story now, Nola would probably think I was damaged goods, and honestly, she’d be right.

  “Okay, but first I’m going to read this essay,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t notice I was dodging her question. I pulled the paper out of my back pocket and she tried to snatch it out of my hands again.

  “Please don’t!”

  “Oh come on, I’m sure it’s brilliant.” I flipped open the first page and read a few lines out loud before pausing. “You wrote this?

  She cast her eyes downward and pulled a hand through her hair. “Unfortunately.”

  “Unfortunately?” I looked at her like she was crazy. “This is great! I don’t even know what half these words mean,” I laughed and pointed to the page. “Like this, what the heck is Intersectionality? And this, what cisgender privilege?”

  “They’re both terms you hear a lot in academic discourse on feminism,” she said like it was common knowledge.

  Holy shit; Nola was a brainiac. My face stretched into a wide grin, and I wondered how the hell I hit the amazing girl lotto—fucking gorgeous and smart?

  “So, you’re some kind of genius?”

  “Not hardly,” she said, her eyes back on the ground.

  “Seriously, baby, this reads like it’s straight out of a textbook. You have a gift.”

  “Tell that to my professor,” Nola grumbled. “She hates me.”

  My eyes narrowed; how was that even possible?

  “I don’t believe that. How can she hate you?”

  “To be fair, she seems to hate everyone. But she totally hates me more. I worked so hard on this essay and she gave me a D+” Nola threw up her hands.

  I scrubbed my face. It had been a long
time since I’d been in a classroom, but I knew getting a D+ wasn’t the end of the world.

  “That’s passing right?”

  Nola shot me a glare that made me reconsider my question. “Technically, it’s passing. But I need to get a B in her class.” Her hands massaged her temples. “If I don’t get a B in the class I will lose my partial scholarship, and if I lose my partial scholarship I won’t be able to pay for school.” She stared at me. “If I can’t pay for school I won’t graduate, and if I don’t graduate I’m screwed.”

  I felt my face heat up. Anything or anyone who stood in the way of Nola’s happiness was now my sworn enemy, and this professor was quickly moving to the top of the list.

  The words, “I will give you the money,” were itching to jump off my tongue, but I swallowed them back. I would totally pay Nola’s tuition, and if I could do it without her getting wind of it, I’d handle it in a heartbeat. I couldn’t let on just yet, but the seeds had already been planted. In a matter of minutes I had a list of things I wanted to do for Nola—buy her a car, pay her tuition, take her to Jamaica, make her fall in love with me—I just needed to convince her to see things my way.

  “You know how I know she hates me?” Nola said, dragging me out of my thoughts. “I asked her if there was any way I could revise my paper to bring up my grade and she told me to meet her tomorrow at five.”

  “I don’t understand, isn’t that’s a good thing?” I asked, confused.

  “It would be if I didn’t have to work at six.”

  “Why can’t you just meet her earlier?”

  “I asked, but she said, and I quote, ‘I don’t have time for your whims.’” Nola rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure how work can be considered a whim, especially when I need to do it to survive, but maybe it is in her world.”

  She shook her head, then picked up a strawberry and bit it in half, running her tongue along her bottom lip to lick up the juice. Damn. I felt myself swell at the sight of her pink tongue running over her mouth. She didn’t even seem to know how sexy she was, but it was turning me the fuck on.