Unwanted Girl

by M. K. Schiller

  “Are you still familiar with the laws?”

  “Darling, it wasn’t so long ago, and I retain partnership in the firm, so I keep up.” Her schooled expression turned excited. “Is this for a book you’re writing?”

  “It’s a personal matter, actually.”

  “Ah, anything to do with the exquisite girl I saw you dancing with?”

  “It has everything to do with her.”

  “Well, in that case, you have half a cigarette left before I start billing you.”

  “I’ll make it quick then.”

  She smacked him on the back. “Just kidding, lawyer humor. Take your time, honey. There is no greater story than a love story.”

  “I was wondering how difficult it might be to turn a student visa into a more permanent situation.”

  “When does she graduate?”

  “In a few weeks.”

  Grace frowned. “She only has sixty days from graduation to leave the county. I’m afraid there’s not enough time for her to apply for any type of extension or permanent residency.”

  Nick sighed, unprepared for the blow she had laid. “Are there any options?”

  “There are always options. The law has plenty of loopholes. How far are you willing to leap?”

  “Skyscrapers, Grace.”

  “What is she getting her degree in? Engineering? Something with computers?”

  “Elementary education.”

  “Oh dear,” Grace exclaimed, expelling a plume of smoke. “How unfortunate. Not due to the major, which I consider an honorable endeavor, but it limits your choices.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “If she had some type of business credentials unique and in demand to this country, it would be possible for her to get a work visa. A business could hire and sponsor her. In fact, I can think of a few off the top of my head that are searching for qualified candidates. Unfortunately, no school district has the kind of funds for such an investment.”

  Nick tried not to let his disappointment show. “Any other suggestions?”

  “Just one more.” She paused and inhaled her last bit of her cigarette for dramatic effect. “Marry her.”

  Nick choked. It had nothing to do with the screen of smoke he was inhaling courtesy of Grace Madsen. “You’re saying I should marry her?”

  “Oh no, you asked me for options, and I’m giving them to you. I’m saying you could marry her. And as long as immigration deems it a real marriage and not a perpetrated fraud, they would let her stay.”

  “I see.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  “You have been. I appreciate your time.”

  “You make a very cute couple, Nick. You paint the kind of image that belongs on wedding toppers and new age cereal commercials. Best of luck to you.”

  * * * *

  Shyla glanced over at the glass doors where Nick was talking to a tall woman in a colorful dress.

  “Hi,” Karma said, taking the seat next to her, previously occupied by Nick. “I think we got off on the wrong foot before.”

  Shyla struggled not to sigh or roll her eyes. “Thank you for apologizing.”

  “I wasn’t apologizing. I just meant you might have misunderstood my intentions.”

  Shyla laughed at the gall of this girl. “I don’t think so.”

  “I want to offer you some advice.” Shyla was thinking of a polite way to pass, but Karma continued, her words slurring together in a pattern with no pauses, making it difficult to decipher when one ended and another began. “It’s cute how Nick’s run out of hometown girls so he had to outsource his latest conquest. But I should warn you about him. He’ll hurt you.”

  “I’ll ignore the racist remark and your attempts to play the part of mean girl, even though it’s a commendable performance.”

  “Tell me, Shyla, did he put you in a book? I’m in number four. I think he described me as the fiery girl who breathed new life into Max Montero. You see, honey, when it comes to women, we’re all characters for Nick Dorsey to play with and manipulate. Just be careful.”

  Shyla’s skin prickled; her heels ached. Not the ones she wore, but her Achilles heel. Karma had found it and plunged the poison dart.

  * * * *

  Nick looked at her as she gazed at the skylight above his bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’ve been quiet since we left.” He propped his head on his elbow and kissed her. Her lips gave away what her voice did not. She was pissed. “Tell me.”

  “I liked Tara and Carrie very much.”

  “They liked you, too. Are you avoiding my question?”

  “I’m making a statement.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “What makes you think I’m upset?”

  “Well, there’s your demeanor, sharp and cold. It injures me far more than your heels could have. Also, there is the fact we haven’t had sex.”

  “Is sex a barometer for you?”

  “Yep, it sure is, and that’s not me being chauvinistic. It’s me reading you. You enjoy our strenuous activities too much, and you’ve never rejected me, so the only explanation is that your disinterest is a manifestation of your distress. What is it?”

  “Did you put Karma in one of your books?”

  The question surprised him. “Yes.” Shyla frowned as if she was hoping he’d deny it. He didn’t mean to laugh, but her question was ridiculous to him.

  “Maybe it seems silly to you, but I thought it was special when you based the character on me, but you put all your girls in books, don’t you?”

  Nick sighed, frustrated by the complications of the evening. “You are special, but not because I put you in a book. The OCD waitress in the café made it in there, too. I’m not fucking her. I’m a writer. If you’re around me, your personality is fair game.”

  “Thanks for explaining it,” she said, shifting away from him, clearly not happy at all.

  “Look at me, please.”

  She didn’t turn to him but laid flat on her back instead. Her disappointed expression caused many curses in his head. “You are different because of the way I feel for you.”

  “How many women have you been with?”

  Nick sighed. “We gonna do this right now?”

  “Do what?”

  “Have an argument over something I cannot change?”

  “I’m not trying to argue with you. Maybe I don’t have a right to ask, especially since I have no claims when it comes to you, but my mind isn’t always rational.”

  “You can ask me anything, and I’ll be honest with you, but you might not want to hear the answer.”

  “You’re right. I’m feeling fragile right now. Just ignore me. Goodnight.”

  They lay in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, both tired from their long day. He clasped her hand, joining their fingers. He tilted her chin until she looked at him. In the dark of night, he made his confessions.

  “I’ve been with so many women I’ve lost count. I was a jackass on many levels and a very selfish man. My recovery has helped me acknowledge the sad, cold truths of my past. It’s been hard work, and I still struggle with it. I was celibate from the day I woke up in the hospital until I met you. It took me a long time to accept who I was and become free from my addictions…all my addictions. Recently, you’ve helped me with some of that. My past isn’t pretty, but I’ve told you about those dark times. My present wasn’t much better. I was alive but not living. I have never felt the way I do right now. Not once in my life for any other girl. I honestly didn’t think I was capable of what you bring out in me.”

  A small tear fell from her eye. Nick wiped it away.

  “I feel the same way. Sometimes, I wonder if it would be better if I hadn’t met you, so I wouldn’t have a pain in my heart when it’s over. Then I think about all the things we’ve done and the way you make me feel. I love that you try to protect me, but it’s the fact that you also let me lean against you when I need it, a
nd most importantly lift me up.”

  She leaned her head against his chest. He stroked her hair. “We should talk about the future, Shyla.”

  “There is nothing to talk about.”

  “I think there is.”

  She placed a hand on each side of his face. “Not tonight, okay? I just want to be in your arms.”

  “Shyla—”

  She put her dainty hand over his mouth. “Nick, I had an amazing time, even if I got a little jealous.”

  “You don’t think I was jealous?”

  “Of what?”

  “Maybe you didn’t see the way men looked at you, but I sure as hell noticed. There was an inner battle going on.”

  “What battle?”

  “Between me and my inner caveman.”

  “Is he the one that growls?”

  “Yeah, and he beats his chest and has a hard time not reverting back to monosyllabic words.”

  “I know that guy. He’s sexy.”

  “You’re sexy, but we’re not done talking, are we?”

  “I don’t want to end on a sour note. Let’s be thankful for the days we have left and not dwell on what lies beyond the horizon.”

  She was right. Nick had a lot of thoughts to digest and analyze. This was not the right moment to have this conversation. “Fine.”

  She took his hand and traced the lines of his palm. “I graduate in two weeks.”

  Nick defined that day as bittersweet because no matter how happy he was for her, it also meant the end of them.

  “I know the date very well. Are you excited?”

  “It’s hard to believe that this phase of my life is ending.”

  “Is your father coming?”

  She shook her head. “It’s too far and expensive. I won’t have anyone there.”

  “You’ll have me, Shyla.” You’ll always have me.

  “Really?” she asked, sitting up in bed. “You’ll come?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be clapping so loud you’ll hear me over the ‘Pomp and Circumstance.’”

  Chapter 28

  She regarded herself in the mirror, a thick layer of steam coating the reflection, but she could just make out the grim expression on her face. She looked at the pajamas she’d brought into the bathroom, not quite ready or willing to put them on. Instead, she picked up the white oxford shirt he’d discarded in a wicker hamper labeled dry cleaning. She pressed it against her nose and inhaled his scent.

  Her mind became a cacophony of treacherous, tangled thoughts. So she inhaled deeper, trying to focus on the scent and not the man it belonged to. Could she recreate it? There were so many elements to a person’s scent, and Nick was more complicated than most. But she knew his smell so well. She had all the ingredients. The bar soap, shampoo, and conditioner were household names, available in any country. Nick had a tendency to be loyal to his brands. The detergent and dryer sheets might be more difficult. Their labels boasted locally made, eco-friendly ingredients. Then there was his shaving cream and aftershave, items she never imagined shopping for. Of course, she couldn’t forget his expensive cologne in a dark square bottle. That wasn’t all, though. There was his minty baking soda toothpaste, a paste not gel, and his spearmint-flavored mouthwash.

  The amount of ingredients for the recipe would make it complicated, but she could be a chemist, mixing them in the right proportions until she achieved the desired result. And maybe in the darkness of night when she was all alone, she could place a few drops on her pillow and inhale deeply. She sniffed the fabric again. Then gave up on the idea of her experiment immediately. There was a deep, underlying masculine scent she would never find in any jar, bottle or box, no matter how hard she searched—one that was unique to him.

  The tears streaked down her face once more. She slapped at them. She refused to cry in front of him. It would only hurt him. She had worn a yellow sundress today with a paisley pattern. It had a vintage look with its tight bodice and flared skirt, which swooshed when she walked. He had told her she looked lovely, like a tonic of sunshine. They had a picnic in the park, coffee in a café, a movie in an old-fashioned theatre where he’d put his arm around her, his fingertips brushing against her skin as they watched Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck enjoy a Roman Holiday. It wasn’t his typical choice. He liked old movies, but the kind that involved birds pecking at humans or flies caught in transformers. He thought this might be more romantic, though. And it was.

  It was the most romantic day she’d ever had. He had held her hand while they walked home and whispered sweet somethings in her ear. She wouldn’t refer to them as sweet nothings because they all meant something.

  They’d arrived home late. He had unzipped her dress, and it had fallen with dramatic flourish. He let out a sound between a whistle and a growl. His hands caressed her curves and edges, following one path while his lips opted for another direction. Across her back they went and down her spine. She shivered, remembering them pressing into her shoulder and neck. She wanted him with every cell of her body. But the pit of her belly ached, and her emotions threatened to surface, so she had told him she was tired. She wanted to take a shower and go to bed. The lust in his dark eyes shut off with a blink, replaced with immediate concern. He’d held a hand to her forehead and asked her what hurt. What he could do to make it better. How could she explain it was her heart? She couldn’t, so she claimed it was her head instead.

  She folded his shirt, the small stain of her lipstick still visible on his lapel. She would be a stain on his life and he on hers—indelible, unshakable, a permanent reminder love could blossom between the least likely people. She could scrub herself raw and never be able to wash away his memory, so she would embrace it. Maybe she’d succeed in making a passable Nick Dorsey scent potion, but she couldn’t recreate the feel of his flesh over hers, the warmth of his smile, the various forms of his kisses. Oh, how she loved all those forms! From the demanding, mouth-crushing, breath-taking ones to the gentle, exploratory presses of his mouth, hinting heavily of his desire.

  She hated herself for the situation she’d created. She looked down at her palm and traced the lines etched there, regretting all the paths she could not change.

  She put on her pajamas, flannel adorned with pink polka dots, an unflattering outfit with the sexual appeal of cotton candy. She crept to the bed and hid under the covers.

  The bed dipped when he sat. “Here,” he said, two white pills on his palm.

  She shook her head in objection. “I’m fine.”

  “Shyla, don’t be stubborn. This is part of my sure-fired remedy to cure you.”

  She took the medicine he offered, swallowing it back along with the lump in her throat. “What remedy?”

  “Take two aspirin and fuck me in the morning.”

  She laughed despite all her fears. He could always make her laugh. He placed the book she was reading on the nightstand beside the water before he retreated to take his shower. She regarded the nightstand, which had somehow evolved into her nightstand. There was an old-fashioned alarm clock there, each tick mocking her, bringing them closer to the end of this journey.

  He slid into bed beside her, fresh from his shower, dressed in nothing but low-slung boxers. Every ounce of him chiseled, cut artistry.

  She closed her eyes, trying to fade the image of him, although she could feel it in the curve of his body as he put his arms around her. How could people be so comfortable embracing they could do it in sleep? She hadn’t known it was possible until him.

  She hated her deceit and the petty jealousy she felt, but not about his past. She’d accepted that, but about the future women that would come after her. About the lives they would lead separate and apart from each other.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, caressing her hair.

  “I’m nervous about tomorrow,” she lied.

  “You just walk on stage and grab your diploma. Try not to trip and fall into any other guy that’s not me.”

  “I’ll remember th
at.”

  “We should go to sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.”

  She swallowed. “I think we should stop writing the book.”

  He shot up, his face searching hers. “Why?”

  “We shouldn’t let it hinder the rest of our time together. I’m not enjoying it anymore.”

  “Shyla, we have to finish it. We’re so close to the end. Everyone gets into a slump, but I promise, you’ll feel differently once it’s finished.”

  “Why is it important to you?”

  “You’re important to me.” Her brain silenced the thud of her heart. He twirled a strand of her hair. “Every story deserves an ending.”

  She gave him a weak smile, nodding. “Maybe.”

  “Not maybe.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s your headache?”

  Her smile widened. “I think I’m ready for the second part of your remedy.”

  He chuckled. “Really? Because we don’t have to.”

  She sat up and straddled him. Her hair dropped in a curtain around his face as she kissed him. He was reluctant, searching her face for reassurance. She answered him with more kisses, growing hungrier until he grasped her hair and pulled her closer.

  “I hate these pajamas,” Nick said, peeling off her top.

  “Yeah, they aren’t sexy.”

  “That’s not why. The material is rough, whereas your skin is soft like silk. I just want your skin.”

  He flipped her on her back. He pulled down her panties.

  His fingers grazed up her legs as he crawled back toward her. “Touch me,” he said, lowering his boxers.

  Her hands were unsteady, unsure as she grasped him. He placed his fingers over hers, moving them against the hardness of his erection. He traced her lips with the tip. She grew bolder, pressing her mouth around him and taking him deeper.

  He cupped the back of her head, but he didn’t push her. His breath hitched, encouraging and exciting her. He whispered her name in the dark, a silent plea for satisfaction. She pushed forward taking more of him, sliding her tongue around his shaft. She choked. She pushed past it, determined to pleasure him despite the volatile sounds her throat made.