He stood there frozen, like he wasn’t sure at all what to say. Then he adjusted his stance, gripping the back of his neck like he was in pain, and stared at her for a good minute. Just stared at her, as though she’d thrown a million pieces of a mismatched jigsaw puzzle at his feet, and asked him to put it all together again.
“I kissed you, Fe. You didn’t kiss me.”
His voice came out of nowhere, low and serious, and her breath caught in her throat. Of all the reactions she’d anticipated, that response was not one of them. She quickly started to shake her head to argue, because she was confident the kiss had been caused by her initiation, but he held up his hand stopping her before she could get in a word in edgewise.
“But I agree with you,” he continued. “I’m glad you brought it up. It’s been driving me crazy for months.”
She licked her lips, the need to speak making them sour, but she remained silent. Because quite frankly, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She hadn’t planned this far ahead. Hadn’t expected him to agree so easily, hadn’t expected him to say that he had been the one to kiss her. Yes, he had rendered her speechless, but at the same time, the conversation felt nowhere near over.
Her stomach began to grumble and ache, like something heavy had been dropped down to the bottom of it, stirring up all the icky, uncomfortable feelings she’d been suppressing all year. Why hadn’t she planned this out better? Why hadn’t she come up with an evacuation plan before walking head first into the flames.
He took his glasses from his face, tossed them to the coffee table, then plopped down heavy in the arm chair. “You know,” he began. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’m pretty sure it’s a normal. I mean, we’ve lived together for five years. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
Her eyes narrowed, but the heaviness eased off of her intestines a little. She decided to join him by sitting on the couch. “Yeah, and it was New Year’s Eve, and we did drink a lot of champagne.”
He nodded furiously. “We did.”
“I think ignoring this conversation has made it even more awkward.” She swallowed, finally able to breathe a little easier. “And I just want you to know, I don’t like you like that, and that I’m A-OK with the Mary Poppins situation. I wouldn’t be helping you otherwise.”
He met her eyes. “Fe?”
Her heart stopped for a moment, but she locked her eyes with his, determined to see this conversation through, “Yeah?” she whispered, her throat so disloyal it betrayed her every time she tried to speak.
“You’re the best friend a guy could ever ask for, you know that?”
Her eyes creased at the corners, and she looked down to her fingers, biting her bottom lip to suppress a stupid grin. “Damn straight, I am,” she said around a bubble of laughter. “You’d be lost without me, Elliot Prescott. Literally.”
He itched the back of his neck and smiled. “Probably so.” But then he met her eyes, and his face grew serious again. “But if this ever happens again—"
She cut him off. “It won’t—”
He held up a hand. “If this ever happens again, we can’t let it fester. We have to talk about it right away, because you mean too much to me to lose you over lack of communication.”
She smoothed her hand over her hair, and gripped the side of her neck, knowing she was blushing. But it was such an Elliot thing to say, she couldn’t help from feeling warm all over with flattery. He was such a good guy. So sweet, and caring, and thoughtful. “Okay.” She promised. “If I ever decide to devour your mouth again, we’ll talk about it first thing in the morning.”
He chuckled, not missing her claim to the money shot. “Do you want to tell me about your hickey now? I mean kiss tattoo—whatever you call it?”
Her brows lifted and she shook her head. “Lip branding.” She corrected. “And not really.” She rose to her feet, deciding it was the perfect time to exit, but he reached out and touched her arm.
It was such a simple touch, gentle, just below her elbow, but it took all the air from her lungs. She glanced up at him again, finding all the light heartedness from a moment ago completely gone.
“You’ve never kept anything from me before. I think that’s what bothers me most.”
She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding and met his eyes. He was right, before now, she told him everything. If they were ever going to move past this, there could be no secrets. Just like before.
“I didn’t tell you.” She swallowed hard. “Because it was nothing.”
His hand dropped from her elbow, but he didn’t move away. “It doesn’t look like nothing.”
She wanted to run to her room, to close the door, and not say another word, but she kept her feet planted.
“Who’s the guy?” he said softly a moment later.
Fisting her hands at her sides, she turned to face him. “No one—” but then she lifted her chin. “I mean, Todd Peeking.” She cleared her throat. “Who really means nothing to me, which I think is why it’s been so hard to tell you.” Her brows pinched together, because this line of conversation was incredibly hard to admit. “I think I’ve been on a diet too long, Elli, and all the cake, in all the places, looks too good to me now.”
He smiled, but his chin titled down to his feet, telling her this wasn’t easier for him either. “Who’s Todd Peeking?”
Her nose wrinkled up with a cringe. “I hoped you wouldn’t ask that question.” But again, channeling her inner Winnie, she lifted her head and faced her Heffalump. “He’s the new English teacher in the 600 building.” She swallowed.
Elliot puffed up his chest, dropped his hands to his sides, and tucked them both into the front pockets of his pajama pants. “Should I meet this, Todd Peeking’s?”
It was said with all the protectiveness of an older brother, and a slow smile edged toward the corner of her mouth. “No.” She shook her head. “No. You definitely should not.” Pushing past him, taking his last question as the perfect time to leave the conversation, she headed for the kitchen.
“Are you guys serious?”
There was a tightness in his voice, one that wasn’t protective, but something else.
Taking her Terminator cup from the cupboard, she filled it halfway with water, and turned around. “No,” she said honestly. “If that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
He adjusted his stance, his jaw tight, and face unreadable. “Promise?”
She swallowed hard, setting her glass back on the counter. “Yes.”
Chapter 6
When Fe said haircut, she wasn’t kidding, because hair was everywhere. The floor, his drape, his pants. Though not so much on his head any longer. Sitting forward in the barber chair, he turned his head left and right, assessing the damage.
It was Friday night, only thirty minutes after Fe had spouted off a dozen directions, and for a tall gentleman, with a beard as long as Merlin’s, to do exactly what she said. It was like magic. Inches of hair began dropping to the floor like horseflies off his grandmother’s flyswatter, and that was when he decided to start paying attention.
For a good half hour, he thought he would be sick. His hair had been his pride and joy ever since middle school. His claim to fame. His one and only rebellion against his super conservative parents, and now it was gone. Well most of it anyway. The rest was pushed up with product in a way he’d never imagined himself, but he had to admit, it looked good. Damn good.
His new do, along with his new five o’clock shadow, made him almost unrecognizable.
“What do you think?” Fe asked almost giddy, standing behind him as she pushed her fingers through his dark hair.
Things had been much better since their talk. She started touching him again, like this, with a smile on her face. Laughing and joking. In fact, they woke up that next morning, filled their mugs with coffee, as though the kiss had never even happened in the first place.
Everything had been great ever since. Back to normal. Just like alw
ays. The way it was before he let the wrong head of his make all the decisions.
“I hardly recognize myself,” he told her in the mirror, plucking his glasses from the table and returning them to his face.
She wrinkled her nose, obviously tickled by his transformation and shook her head. “Nah,” she argued. “You’re still there. Those light blue eyes would give you away any day.”
She dipped down low, fetching his wallet from his front pocket, then proceeded to sashay-skip over to the register to pay for the cut. He clenched his jaw at his reflection, then pushed himself to stand. He had to admit it. He liked the new style. It had a more sophisticated, sort of GQ quality to it, which was a giant leap in the right direction.
After brushing the remaining hair from the front of his pants, he walked toward the counter and joined her at the register. “What next?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck where the freshly cut hair was starting to itch.
“Tattoo,” she stated. As though the suggestion was as natural as ice cream.
He laughed, pushed her aside and signed the receipt. “I told you, I’m not gettin’ a tattoo.”
She turned toward him, pulled his credit card from the machine, and returned it to his wallet. “Why not?”
“Because. I have boundaries.”
She frowned. “Will you come with me to get mine then?” But all of the air deflated out of her chest in an instant. Like she’s woken up on Christmas morning and realized Santa hadn’t come.
His brows pinched together, because he hated that reaction. He’d rather her yell at him or punch him in the stomach—just about anything but look the way she did. He stepped toward her. “You? Get a tattoo? The girl who screamed like a banshee when she cut her finger with a kitchen knife?”
She spun around, shoving his wallet into his chest. “Because that was unexpected, and painful, and there was a lot of blood.” A tiny smile teased at the corner of her lips, as she regarded him. “There’s hardly any blood when you get a tattoo.” She pulled in a breath. “The pain is totally different.”
He grinned. “Is that so?”
“I’ve done my research.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, then gently rocked back on his heels. “Fine,” he paused. “You get one, I get one.”
Her eyes widened, and she ran both hands over her hair, pulling it forward on one shoulder. “Are you serious?”
He chuckled, because she sounded almost breathless. “Yes.” He nodded. “If you get one, so will I.” Because just the sight of her smiling like that could persuade him to do just about anything.
“Well okay then.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement, and she began to franticly pat her pockets.
“What are you looking for?” He grinned.
“My keys.” She slowly turned in circles as she continued to pat.
“I drove, remember?” He reached into his pocket, produced the keys, then hung them on his finger.
She snatched them away, a twinkle in her eyes that reached all the way to her soul. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
He smiled. “Oh yeah?”
She nodded, her expression soft and glowing. “But it means even more to me now…because I get to do it with you.” She pushed through the door then, leaving him standing there in the middle of the barber shop, his hair on the floor, and an unknown future ahead of him.
“Elliot,” Fe said an hour later, her small body stretched out in the tattoo chair across from him, her limbs completely still, as if she was afraid to move. “Elliot.” Her voice distant. “Elliot, I was wrong. I was so wrong.” Her hands began to shake, and her eyes squeezed shut with the next stroke of the tattoo artist’s hand.
It had only been a few seconds since the guy started, but Elliot already felt helpless. He was beginning to think this was the worst idea he’d ever had.
She thrashed her head to the side, her eyes locking once again on his face. “This sucks, Elli.” Her lip quivered. “More than sucks. In fact, if I had any secrets, I would tell them to you now, just to make it stop.” Her features scrunched up into painful knots, as she reached out, clawing her fingers into Elliot’s forearm. “This isn’t fun at all,” she screeched. “I was wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking. Oh my God, I think I’m going to faint.”
Grabbing hold of her hand, he squeezed her fingers until they released his flesh. Then, sandwiching her hand between his two, he leaned forward, and kissed the tips of them. “You don’t have to do this, Fe. Seriously.”
She really didn’t look so good. Her hands her clammy, and there was a soft grayish cast to her skin. Elliot glanced up to the Tattoo artist, annoyed he didn’t see how much pain she was in. “Hey dude, ease up a bit?”
Fe shook her head franticly. “No! He can’t stop. I can’t.” Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, and she breathed so fast, she was practically panting.
She was going to hyperventilate. He just knew it. “Fe, this is ridiculous, honey.” He glanced up to the tattoo guy again, determining he hadn’t heard him the first time. “Dude,” he said louder. “Can’t you see she’s dying here? Ease up, okay?” He then wiped over his brow with his forearm, unsure why he was sweating so much. This was the most stressful thing he’d experienced in his life, and it wasn’t even his turn yet. He was also sure the temperature had climbed by a hundred degrees in the last minute.
He brushed Fe’s hair back from her forehead, hating the fact she was in so much pain. She was so tough, so rough and tumble, that seeing her vulnerable like this made all his protective instincts want to throw the tattoo guy against the wall.
Tattoo guy, who was apparently paying attention now, lifted his needle, and looked up at Fe. “Want me to stop?”
“No,” she stated without hesitation. “I can’t go through life with only half of a heart.”
Her voice was dramatic, yet so determined, Elliot almost laughed. Almost.
This was ridiculous. But he had to admit, she was as endearing as hell.
Tattoo guy lifted his shoulders to Elliot, as if saying “I’m doing what the lady wants, bro.” Then lowered the needle again, and got back to work.
Fe closed her eyes with the next stroke, which honestly made things more bearable for both of them. But when she opened them a few minutes later, they were glassy with tears, as though she was about to cry. “Elliot, if for some reason I don’t make it through this—"
Not able to hold it in any longer, he chuckled, then leaned forward and squeezed her hand. He lowered his face until they became level, and looked her in the eye. “You’ll make it through, okay. Look at me. Take a deep breath.”
She did as he said, then nodded slowly.
“There you go. Nice and easy. In and out. Good girl.”
Her skin started to pinken up a little, and her fingers eased from her death grip around his thumb.
“Tell me a story,” he said in a soft voice.
“A story?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “About anything.”
“Elliot, I’m getting a tattoo, I can’t tell you a story.”
“You can.”
“I can?” she asked in a wobbly voice before nodding. “Okay,” she repeated, “I can. Okay. Good idea.” Her eyes slowly fluttered closed, and she inhaled a deeper, stronger breath.
Leaning forward, He squeezed her hand tightly and moved close to her ear so only she could hear him. “Tell me about your childhood. Tell me about your students.” He was grasping at straws, but he was desperate to help her relax.
The corner of her lips lifted, and a minuscule grin appeared on her face. She took another breath, then another, and eventually started talking. “One time,” she began quietly, “when I was six or seven, it rained at our house for a week straight.”
His shoulder’s relaxed, and he nodded. “Go on.”
“We lived in an old farm house on the end of a cul-de-sac. The backyard was butted up against the side of a hill that my dad had just stilled up and fertilized. Well with all the
rain, the whole thing became a big pile of mud that my father forbid us to play in.” Her grin widened. “All was going well until I saw that darned toad hop on past the sliding glass door when I was watching TV.”
With each word she spoke, she got a little more relaxed, and eventually she melted back in her seat. “I don’t know what possessed me, if it was boredom, or something else, but I put on my hand-me-down alligator rain boots, a bright yellow poncho, and went outside. I heard my dad’s voice in the back of my head, but somehow, I convinced myself it was more a rule for my brothers than it was for me, since they were always the ones getting in trouble, and Dad always called me his little angel. Well, when I got out there, it was still sprinkling, but it felt so good against my skin having not been outside in a week. Plus, I always loved the smell of rain. I loved the taste of it, too, and stuck out my tongue to try and catch some rain drops on the tip, and that’s when I saw the toad hop right on by again.
“He was huge. Like the size of both of my fists pushed together. I followed after him, stalking him as quietly as I could, and when he stopped hopping, I pounced! The ground was incredibly slippery, and when I pushed off the ground with my feet, they slipped out from under me, and I face planted in the middle of the pile of mud. The toad hopped away, and to this day, I could swear I heard him taunting me.”
Elliot laughed, but urged her to continue. “Go on.”
“Well, I’ve always had a little bit of a temper…”
“You don’t say…”
“So, when the toad hopped away smiling, I decided to set a trap. I went back in the house, tracking mud and rainwater with me, and came out with my brother’s yellow Tonka truck, green army men, and a sling shot.”
“Oh no!” Elliot laughed.
“Oh yes,” she said grinning. “Eventually, my brothers came home from school and found me covered in mud with all their toys in the back yard. At first, they were mad, but when I explained to them about the toad, they all agreed to help me catch it.”
Eight Steps to Alpha: A Nerdy by Nature Novel Page 5