by Carian Cole
A sick feeling creeps over me. Something between fear and anger. My stomach is in knots. My mind starts to race. Who has visited here? Storm? It’s definitely not his. Amy? She would never wear something this gaudy. It certainly didn’t fall out of the cat’s ass.
Maybe it was there when we bought the couch. A salesperson or delivery person could have lost it.
I vacuum the couch a lot, though. At least every other month. I don’t see how I could have missed this before. It was right there in plain sight when I pulled the cushion off.
I hold it up, take a picture of it with my cell phone and text it to Michael with the words: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?
I hurl it onto the end table and put the couch back together again, but not before checking it for more evidence. I find nothing. I lie on the floor and peer under the couch. I see a little something in the back and pull it out. A smile breaks through my anger. It’s the toy Storm bought Halo when I was sick, the one that blinks a red light when it’s smacked by a paw. He must have bopped it under the couch. I gently lay it next to Halo, who has been sleeping through my excursion of decor and cleaning.
My phone beeps.
Michael: A bracelet?
Me: I know that. But whose??
Michael: I have no idea. What’s wrong with you?
Me: I found this in our couch.
Michael: So?
Me: Well, it’s not mine! So whose is it?
Michael: I have no fucking idea. I don’t have time for this.
Oh, hell no. I quickly dial his cell number and on the fourth ring, he answers, but his voice is rather hushed.
“Evelyn, what the fuck is your deal? I’m in a fucking meeting here, and you’re sending me pictures of jewelry?”
“I want to know who this thing belongs to, Michael!”
“I told you I don’t know! It’s not mine.”
“Well, no shit! Who have you had here in the house? I clean this couch all the damn time, and this piece-of-crap bracelet wasn’t there!”
Sometimes, you can actually hear someone thinking. Now is one of those times. I can literally hear his mind thinking.
“Well?”
“Okay, now I remember. Jim was by with his girlfriend. It must be hers.”
Jim is a guy he works with and plays golf with. “When the hell were Jim and his girlfriend here?”
“A few weekends ago. During the blizzard, actually. It must be hers.”
He had friends over while I was trapped in a pick-up truck, almost freezing to death. And dry-humping a very sexy rock star . . .
“You need to calm the fuck down, Ev. I’m working. Put the bracelet somewhere, and I’ll tell Jim we have it. I gotta go.”
Click.
Well, damn.
I feel slightly embarrassed for freaking out. But as I sit here and stare at the bracelet, a feeling of unease is still hanging over me. For the first time since I met him, I’m not sure Michael is telling the truth.
When I’m stressed, I need to do something to keep my mind busy. Many a therapist have told me to channel the energy into something positive. Like aerobics. Taking a walk. Cooking. Cleaning. Sometimes, I take out the Wii and just kill things for a few hours. But today, I do something entirely different with my stress energy. Something unlike me—spiteful sluttery.
I call Storm.
“Hey, I thought you were going to call me yesterday?” I love how he doesn’t say hello, just starts talking.
“I know, but I got busy. I had to go shopping.”
“Really? Did you go Christmas shopping for me?” His voice is teasing, sexy, and flirty. It floats through the phone and infects me like a virus. Its fever spreads over me, making me warm, causing my heart to beat faster and lulling my brain.
“No, I would have no idea what to get you.”
“Just put a bow on your ass, sweetheart, and it’ll be better than any present Santa ever gave me.” My insides go gushy and my core twitches at his words.
He continues, “I do have a present for you, which is why I was trying to get in touch with you. When can I see you?”
Now. Tomorrow. Every next day. All the forevers.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“What are you doing tomorrow morning? I’ll be on my way to Gram’s for Christmas Eve dinner. I can stop by on my way.”
“Um, I’ll be here. You can stop by anytime. But you really don’t need to give me a gift.”
“I already got it. I want to give it to you. Will Michael be there? Maybe I should bring him a bottle of wine or something.” I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.
“No, he had to go out of town for a few days.”
“You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“I wish I was. He had to go out of town for work.”
“That sucks, Evie. It’s Christmas. What the fuck?”
“I’m already pissed. Trust me.”
“Is that why you called me, because you’re mad at him? And yesterday, when I wanted to talk to you, you weren’t mad yet. Right?”
Damn. He can see right through me. I let out a sigh.
“I wanted to call you . . . I was just trying to do the right thing by focusing on him.”
“I thought you were going to think about us.” Storm has one of those voices that are so expressive I can actually see what face he’s making when he’s talking, even if I can’t really see him. Right now, I know he’s not smiling, and his eyes became a little bit darker, and he’s probably clenching his teeth a little bit.
“Storm, I do think about you, and us and whatever this is. I can’t not think about it. But I am in a relationship with him.”
I must have super powers because now I can also hear Storm thinking.
“Are you still fucking him?”
“Storm! What the hell? You can’t ask me things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rude and private, that’s why.”
“I don’t like the thought of him fucking you.”
“Then don’t think about it. And could you stop saying fucking? Who are you fucking, by the way? I saw your picture on a magazine last week with some chick with tits bigger than my head.”
“She’s no one.”
“Right.”
Our silence stares at each other in the virtual air, battling it out, both of us knowing the fight is wrong, the jealousy is not allowed. But it’s there, rearing its ugly, green head. A long, tense minute goes by.
“Evie, I don’t want to fight. I just want to give you your present.”
“You started it.” Yes, I am five now.
“Okay, I guess I was out of line. I’m not used to feeling jealous. Give me a break over here.”
“Is she your flavor of the week?”
“You’re jealous, too, aren’t you?” he says triumphantly, as if he’s winning.
“No. If she’s what you’re into, that’s great.”
“I want to get into you.”
No one has ever been able to stop my heart with words. But he does, always. I close my eyes and savor the feeling for a few moments. The feeling of being wanted and desired. It’s new. It’s intoxicating.
“If you’re done swooning over me, let’s get back to me coming to see you. I have a better plan now.”
Swooning? I am not.
“I’m afraid to ask,” I say as I fall back onto the couch.
“Come with me.”
“With you where?”
“To Gram’s.”
“What? No. I can’t go to your family’s Christmas Eve dinner. I don’t even know them.”
“Yes, you can. You’ll have a great time. They would love to meet you.”
“It’s rude for a stranger to show up at someone’s house for a family holiday dinner, Storm. I couldn’t.”
“You’re not a stranger. You’re my friend. My family isn’t like that. Trust me. Christmas is for friends and family. Say you’ll come. You can’t sit there on Christmas Eve by yourself. Th
at’s total bullshit. Do you have anywhere else to go?”
I glance at the little gingerbread house on my mantle. “No, I don’t.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at ten. Everyone will be casual, so you don’t have to dress up or anything. We’ll just be hanging out in the living room by the fire and eating in the dining room. It’s about two hours away. I probably won’t have you back until about nine at night. My gram likes to give us gifts and stuff, so make sure you give the cat extra food and water. I don’t want you to be worried while we’re gone. I want you to have fun.”
I pick at a stray thread on my sweatpants. Christmas with Storm’s family sounds exciting and a little bit frightening. Sitting here alone sounds worse, though.
“Are you really sure it’s okay?” I ask him again.
“I’m a thousand percent positive. It’s just gonna be my parents, Gram, maybe my brothers and my sister. And Niko.”
I smile at the thought of seeing Niko again. “Only if you’re sure it’s okay. I don’t want to be in the way or make your family uncomfortable. Should I bring anything?”
“Just your ass with a bow on it.”
“Storm . . .” I warn.
“Okay, okay. We’ll have fun, I promise. I’m glad you’re coming.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to bring Juggsy?” I say playfully. My mood has lifted, and I’m actually looking forward to not spending the day alone tomorrow just being depressed. When I tell Amy, she will be proud of me.
“Remember you just said that, so when I spank you tomorrow, you’ll know what it’s for.”
I change my clothes five times. I keep telling myself this is not a date, but I’m really not sure what this is. After finally settling on a pair of jeans, black boots, and a white V-neck cashmere sweater, I throw on a black scarf with tiny sparkles to top it off. I guess that looks casual and festive. I add a pair of silver hoop earrings and a necklace with a black stone wrapped in white gold wire that belonged to my mom.
Earlier, Michael called and was still mad at me over Exhibit A—the bracelet. I still have a bad feeling about that cheap-ass bracelet, but I’m not going to let it wreck my holiday. I told him I was going to dinner with Storm at his grandmother’s and he didn’t even seem to care. Not that I want to make him jealous, but still. I don’t know if he just doesn’t care whom I spend my time with, or if he’s just so star-struck by Storm and likes the idea of me hanging out with one of his musical idols.
Storm shows up promptly at ten A.M., holding a box wrapped with silver paper and a bright red bow. I feel bad I don’t have a gift for him. It’s so awkward when someone gives you an unexpected gift and you don’t have one in return.
“Wow, you look beautiful,” he says when I open the door, and he doesn’t try to hide his eyes roaming over my body.
“Thank you. You look nice, too.” He really does. Achingly so. His hair is shiny and wavy, hanging a few inches past his shoulders. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt, faded jeans, and black motorcycle boots. A silver chain with a large black cross hangs around his neck, and he has several sterling silver and black leather bracelets on. I suddenly feel very shy around him. Every now and then, the fact he’s famous creeps up on me and makes me wonder what the hell he’s doing hanging around with a nobody like me.
He hands the box to me. “Open this now before we go.”
I take it from him, smiling brightly, not able to hide my excitement. I wonder what sort of gift he is giving me. Knowing him, it’s going to be something joking or sexy and inappropriate.
“You really didn’t have to do this.” I tell him.
He’s grinning at me like a little kid. “Open it.”
We move to the couch, and I take the bow off the gift carefully. I want to save it. Soon, it will live in a box in my closet with all things precious to me, little memories I’ve collected. Wrapping off, I lift off the lid. Whatever it is, it’s buried in tissue paper. I move it all aside and lift whatever it is out . . .
Holy. Wow. I gently turn it over in my hands, and my heart just soars. I can’t even form words as I hold this amazing gift in my hands. It’s a snow globe, and inside is a tiny miniature pick-up truck with two little people holding hands and a dog, all surrounded by trees. The little man even has long hair. Obviously, he paid someone with quite a bit of talent to make this for me.
“I remember you said you love snow globes,” he explains. “I thought one with us in it would be cool.”
I hold it between us as I watch the snowflakes fall around the little ‘us’ inside. It’s so unexpected and sweet. I want to climb inside and live in this sweet scene forever.
I lay it on my lap and throw my arms around him. “I love it so much. Thank you. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.” I don’t want to let him go. I know I cling to him for too long, but it feels so good in his arms and be close to him again.
He holds me just as tight. “I’m glad you like it. I’m not usually good with gifts.”
I pull away reluctantly. “It’s the best, really. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” I kiss his cheek. “I just love it.”
I stand and walk to the mantle to put it next to my mom’s little gingerbread house. “I’m going to keep it out all year round, you know,” I tell him.
“Good. Hopefully, it will remind you to call me when you’re supposed to,” he teases.
I shake my head at him and grab my coat. “I call you when I can.” Taking my coat from me, he holds it out for me to slip into, then puts his arms around me from behind, pulling me against his body, his arms crossed in front of me.
“Where’s my bow?” he whispers.
My body instinctively sinks back against him. “You promised to behave.”
“I lied.” His lips are on my neck, kissing softly. “I didn’t know you would look so delicious.” The slight scruff on his face tickles me. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about me,” he says as his hand travels down my side, over my hip, and rests on my outer thigh, pulling my lower body against his.
“We promised no more of this, Storm.”
His lips are all over my neck, kissing, licking, and sucking. My mind starts to spin and twirl, blurring the lines between right and wrong, good girl and bad girl.
“I don’t like that promise anymore.” His hand grips my leg tighter, inching between them now, his lips moving down to my shoulder, my sweater pushed aside. His other hand finds my scarf and slowly wraps it around my neck, tugging it slightly, pulling my head back to him. A tiny moan escapes me and I try to pull away, but he tugs it harder, not choking me but holding me there against his lips.
“I like you just like this. You can’t get away.”
His hand moves between my thighs and his finger slides over me, pushing the fabric of my jeans against me.
“I can feel how wet you are,” he whispers.
I am lost in his sensuality. I have no defense against it, am clueless as to how to respond to it. Twelve years of mundane sex has left me a perpetual virgin. I am stagnant, scared, frozen, trembling. Aching. I want to turn around and just let him do anything. Everything. I want to unravel beneath him and be nothing but his. His, his, his.
I turn in his arms to face him. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair falling over his face in the way I love. I grab his shirt with my hands. It’s unbuttoned almost to the middle of his chest. Not really appropriate for Christmas dinner, but definitely hot. I finally allow my lips to touch his chest, my first kiss to him. His hands come up and hold my head against him.
“Yes, baby . . .” he breathes. “Let yourself want me.” His breathing is ragged, his hands tangling in my hair, yanking my head up toward him, his lips crashing down on mine, devouring me.
It’s he who pulls away. Steps back slightly. But his eyes still hold me . . . caress me . . . wanting me.
“Fuck.” Loud, but not yelling. “I won’t do this to you, Evie. You will hate me, hate yourself, and hate us.”
I
nod tearfully at him. I unwind the scarf from my neck and straighten my sweater. I already hate myself, though.
“I don’t want him hanging over us. I don’t want him between us,” he continues.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“We can rewind a thousand times, Evie. I’ll keep doing this with you. But I don’t want to.”
“Storm, I’m trying. I am.”
“I know you are. I am, too. I can walk out of here and never see you again, leave you here with him. Would that be easier for you?”
The thought of that scares the shit out of me. I could lose him. Obviously, he will not wait forever for me to make up my stupid mind.
“No, I don’t want that. I would miss you like crazy. I would always think of you.”
“And him? If you leave him, will you miss him like crazy, too?”
I admire how Storm fears no question. He just asks, hoping for the answer he wants to hear and swallowing what he doesn’t.
I’m ashamed to answer this question, though, and I don’t really trust my answer. Is it clouded by the way he makes me feel? How much of this is just excitement and desire?
“I guess your silence answers that one.”
“No.” I grab his hand. “It doesn’t. I don’t think I would miss him. Not like I would miss you. I would miss the memories, the time invested. I’m afraid of you hurting me. I’m afraid this is just crazy attraction, and once we get it out of our systems, it’s just going to be over, and you’ll be chasing after someone else, and I’ll have a broken heart.”
“I’m not fifteen, Evie. I know the difference between wanting to fuck someone and having real feelings for them.” He steps closer, smoothing my hair. “Let’s go. It’s Christmas. We can talk about fucking and feeling later, okay?”
His ability to transition in and out of situations amazes me. There is no beginning or end with him. He just pauses what’s happening, diffuses it, and deals with it later at a better time. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or something that could eventually drive me crazy.
Seeing Niko in the backseat is another highlight of the day. I missed this big, fluffy monster so much. He wags his tail and makes these little howling noises when I climb in the Jeep. I’m sure he remembers me.