by R. C. Martin
As much as she cares about me—and she does, she totally does—sometimes even she doesn’t see me.
Then again, this is all contingent upon whether or not Coder feels for me even a fraction of what I feel for him. I mean, it’s all just chemistry at this point. I still don’t know his last name, and he pretends he can’t remember my first. The memories that I have of him—they’re all physical. We don’t know anything about each other. But he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time, and he looks at me. Even when I’m crouched down on the floor, surrounded by a crowd of rowdy partiers, he still sees me.
I free a groan, sweeping my hair behind my ears as I stand to my feet, sure that I’m reading way too much into all of this. “It could just be nothing. It usually is.”
“Oh, come on, don’t give up like that. I like Kenzie in a daze.”
I return her smile with one of my own before reaching for the strap of my bag and sliding it over my arm. “Thanks for the advice, Maribel—and for listening.”
“You’re welcome. And Kenzie?”
“Yeah?”
“I expect an update next week.”
My smile stretches into a grin, the thought that there might actually be an update to share making my stomach tingle. As I wave goodbye and make my exit, I decide then and there that I have no excuses. Maribel is right. Life is too short; too fragile. I’m going to that party, whether I live to regret it or not.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of my door, my small amount of daring confidence from earlier a distant memory. It’s not my appearance that has me worried. Not exactly. I look fine, and I feel comfortable; I feel like myself. I decided to wear my off-white, wide crew neck, cable knit sweater that hangs down low over my hips. It hides what little shape I have, but it’s warm and I like how the color brings out the darkness of my hair—which I took the time to tame a little while ago. The holey and distressed jeans I’ve got on hug my legs snuggly, and I finish the outfit off with my pale pink, slip on, canvas Vans.
I’m not big on jewelry, but I do make sure I put a couple studs in my ears before slipping on my favorite ring. It’s a simple, silver band that forms a hollow heart which sits sideways across the middle finger on my right hand. It catches my attention now as I fiddle with my hair, my nerves starting to make me fidgety.
It dawned on me earlier, when Coder sent Brooke a text with his address, that while I’ve been thinking about him since last we spoke—he hasn’t reached out to me again. Not that I expected him to. Not at all. However, I can’t help but to read into the fact that even though he didn’t have to reach out to me, the truth remains that he didn’t. Therefore, I assume what I told Maribel earlier is wrong. That he’s not into me after all.
I do a decent job of convincing myself that I’m not as disappointed as I am. The real trouble lies in the fact that now that I’ve come to this conclusion, it’s too late for me to back out of tonight’s party. I gave up thinking of an excuse to feed to Brooke a while ago, and now—
“Kenz, babe, are you ready?” She knocks on my closed door once, pausing for only a second before she invites herself inside. I force a smile when I get a good look at her.
She’s wearing a pair of tall, brown leather, wedge heeled boots, her legs tucked into dark washed, blue skinny jeans. The gray sweater she’s got on clings to her body, and the elbows are covered in patches made up of gold sequined fabric. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun—making it look like she’s going for totally casual—and she’s got a burgundy scarf draped expertly around her neck. She looks perfect, and I know she’s about to get exactly what she wants. All I can do as I turn to my bed for my black leather jacket and purse is prepare for the inevitable.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s go,” I murmur, sliding my hair from out of my jacket as I spin around to face her.
“You don’t mind driving, right?”
“’Course not,” I assure her, forcing another smile.
“Great! I’ll grab my coat. You look cute, by the way!” she calls out over her shoulder as she heads to her room.
I cough out an unamused laugh, her choice of word not at all lost on me. Last week, I was hot. Tonight, I’m cute.
“Thanks,” I mutter in reply.
Yeah…it’s going to be a long night.
I put the car in park a few houses away from our destination. There are cars stationed all along the street, and I’m guessing the party is well on its way to being in full swing. As odd as it might sound, I find myself grateful for this, thinking that it’ll be easier for me to hide from Coder in his own house so long as it’s full of people.
Brooke’s phone starts ringing for the fourth time in the twenty minutes it took us to get here. I look over at her, raising a quizzical brow before I ask, “It could be important. Are you sure you don’t want to get that?”
“It’s just work. I’m not scheduled to come in until tomorrow night. If I answer, I risk missing out on a night of fun with the hot guy whose hot brother gave me a totally sexy piercing I’m betting hot guy will one day appreciate. Come on. It’s starting to get cold already.”
She opens the passenger side door and steps out into the freezing night air. I sigh before following suit. We’re halfway to the house when her phone rings again; only this time, instead of ignoring the call, she groans and answers with an exasperated, “What?”
She doesn’t stop walking toward Coder’s place as she listens to what the caller is saying. She’s still on the phone when we step onto the front porch and she rings the doorbell.
“You can’t be serious,” she states, her free hand grabbing at her hip.
While she continues to listen, and we both continue to wait for someone to answer the door, I take a look at the house in front of us. It looks old, but well kept—sort of. The porch is littered with a half a dozen old, plastic milk crates, which I assume they use for seating when it’s not freezing outside—or, perhaps, maybe even then. I notice there are cigarette butts scattered around the crates that look relatively new. Just as I start to ask myself if I remember any trace of cigarette smoke on Coder’s person, the door swings open at the same time that Brooke grumbles, “Yeah. I hear you. Loud and clear!”
Her tone causes me to focus my attention on her, so I don’t know who has opened the door until I hear Coder’s voice say, “Hey,” at the same time Brooke looks to me and declares, “We have to go.”
“Umm…” This time, at the sound of his voice, Brooke shifts her gaze in his direction. “You know, it’s kind of rude for two college girls to ring the bell at a party only to ditch before they come inside.”
As he speaks, Coder takes a step out onto the porch. When my heart starts to beat faster, I tell myself this a good thing—leaving, that is—regardless of what the reason might be. Fully aware that his proximity makes me anxious, even though I’m still not looking at him, I’m sure some distance is exactly what this night calls for. Now I won’t have to hide from him. I can just avoid him altogether, forgetting everything I’ve been stupidly dreaming about the last few days.
But then I hear him in my head—Eyes up. Don’t hide those babies—and I can’t help myself. I twist my neck and lift my chin, my lips parting as I pull in a quiet, surprised breath when I find his dark eyes smiling down at me.
“Hey,” he says softly, as if his greeting bears repeating now that he’s got my attention. He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he shifts his gaze to Brooke and asks, “What’s the rush?”
“I just got called into work,” she pouts, holding out her phone as if to emphasize her statement.
He folds his bare arms across his chest, the act causing his short sleeves to lift a little, and my eyes jump to his lean, sculpted biceps. Coder isn’t built like his brother, but that’s not to say he isn’t cut. I can tell there’s strength in those arms; and peeking out from underneath the fabric of his t-shirt, I see part of a tattoo inked onto his skin. I can’t tell what it is, and before I get caught
staring, I look away, reminding myself that he’s forbidden. I don’t need to know his details.
“Where do you work?”
“The Fringe. Don’t ever shop there. I mean—” She sighs in frustration, rolling her eyes before she amends, “Actually, it’s an amazing store. It’s why I work there. But, dammit, I was just threatened!” She then turns to me and says, “Eddie told me that if I didn’t help cover the stocking shortage tonight, I’d be out of a job tomorrow. Apparently, he’s desperate—desperate enough to risk the chance of losing one of his best employees.” She sighs again, then schools the features of her face into a charming smile before she tells Coder, “This totally sucks, and I’m so sorry, but we have to go.”
“Why do you both have to go?” he asks casually, his shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug.
“What?” I squeak, caught off guard by his question.
“You don’t both have to work, right? And you’re here. You might as well stay,” he replies, dropping his arms before shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Kenzie drove. She’s my ride.”
“Yup. Yeah, that’s—that’s true,” I stammer, pointing at Brooke as I nod at Coder.
One side of his mouth lifts in a half smile, and he chuckles quietly as he suggests, “You could stay, she could take your car and come back when she’s finished.”
There it is again, I think to myself, my hope suddenly rising. He wants me here.
Oh, crap.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck there,” says Brooke.
This time, I don’t jump in to back up her point. Stupidly, I stay silent, wondering what Coder might say next. I don’t have to wonder long before he says, “How about this—you get off before one, you come back. If you don’t, I’ll get your girl home.”
My stomach clenches and I seal my lips closed tight, not entirely sure what I want anymore. This isn’t going at all like I thought it might.
“Well, I don’t know—it’s up to you, Kenz.”
I look from Brooke to Coder, then immediately back at Brooke, knowing that if I look at Coder, I’ll cave. Then I remember my conversation with Maribel earlier. I replay her advice to not take myself out of the running and to let him choose whether or not he’s attracted to me like I’m attracted to him.
Without second guessing myself, I reach into my purse, grab my keys, and shove them at Brooke with trembling hands.
“Oh. Wow. Okay—are you sure?” she mutters in obvious bewilderment.
Never before have I attended a party without her. Furthermore, my attendance is usually accompanied by lots of complaining. I’m sure my decision comes as a surprise to her. Little does she know, the feeling is completely mutual.
“Hurry back,” I reply, my nerves already questioning my decision.
“Okay. I’ll try! Oh—here, take my keys, just in case. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she tells me, backing her way off of the porch. “Keep an eye on her, will you?” she calls out to Coder.
He must nod at her or something, because I don’t hear a response, but she smiles and waves before hurrying back to my car. When she disappears into the darkness, I become hyperaware that I’m standing with Coder. Alone. On his front porch. In the freezing cold.
“It’s fucking freezing out here,” he says, as if he’s read my mind. I look up at him and he smiles, nodding toward the open door before he insists, “Come on in, Mack. The party’s just getting started.”
I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know a single person here—unless you count Coder. Since I know all of three things about the guy, I don’t think he counts. The house didn’t look small from the outside, but now that I’m inside, I’m not sure what to believe. The living room and the kitchen seem to be the most popular hang out spots. People are sitting around on mismatched furniture or on the floor or on kitchen counters, and just about everyone has a can of beer in their hand—unless they’re holding a marijuana pipe, in which case, they sort of need both of their hands to handle that.
I’m overwhelmed. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t even know what a marijuana pipe looked like; it’s the smell that clued me in. And there are lots of smells here, mostly of the leafy green substance and stale beer—but also the musk of man and the residue of cigarette smoke. Suffice it to say, it’s not the cleanest place I’ve ever been, but I try not to think too much about it; rather, I focus my efforts on not panicking at the fact that I’ve decided to stay in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of unfamiliar people who are getting high or drunk—a decision I made all because Motorcycle Boots makes my insides go squishy.
Crap. What was I thinking?
“Hey, Coder, who’s your puppy?”
My head jerks in the direction from which the voice came, and I spot a buxom brunette leaning with her hip propped up against the kitchen sink. She’s wearing a tank top that hugs her generous curves tightly, the hem stopping a few inches above the top of her jeans. The hoodie she’s got on over it is unzipped and a little ratty, as if it’s her favorite garment and she wears it constantly.
I don’t realize she’s talking about me until she tips her chin my way. I don’t understand her meaning at first, but when I look up at Coder to see him looking over his shoulder at me, my eyes grow wide and my cheeks heat in a blush. It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t left his side since he stepped into the house. He didn’t say anything as I followed him through the living room and into the kitchen, where he’s currently stopped in front of the refrigerator, and I just assumed that meant I should stay close. It never occurred to me that I shouldn’t latch onto him. That is, not until this very moment.
I start to take a step back, but then stop when he turns to the brunette and says, “Don’t be a bitch, Piper. This is Mack.”
“Kenzie,” I blurt out, hesitantly looking back at the women I now know as Piper.
“Hey—who are you?” asks a new voice.
I open my mouth to speak, but my words get caught in my throat at the sight of the giant who walks up to Piper, draping his arm around her shoulders as he looks at me curiously. He’s big—like some sort of scary wrestler guy—and both of his arms are completely covered in tattoos. I try really hard not to stereotype him, but I can’t help it. He’s intimidating.
As he waits for me to answer him, he lifts the beer in his hand to his lips and takes a long pull. Never once do his eyes leave me.
“Mack—this is Rigs, one of my roommates. Rigs, this is Mack.”
“Kenzie,” I murmur, anxiously squeezing the strap of my purse.
“Cool. Nice to meet you, Mackenzie,” he says, tipping his chin at me.
“No—it’s just—” He doesn’t pay me any mind, his attention shifting to Piper. Before I know it, Coder slams the refrigerator closed, two cans of beer held in one hand.
“You can put your shit in my room. Follow me,” he says, leading the way without delay.
Silently, I do as he says, following him down the dark hallway. We pass by a bathroom on the right, and then he pushes open a door on the left, flipping on the light before signaling with his free hand for me to enter. I take a quick look around, noting that while there are clothes scattered around the floor, his bed is unmade, and his desk is covered in sheets of paper, it’s a lot cleaner in here, and it actually smells kind of good.
“You going to ditch your bag, or did you want to read me a story?”
I turn and find him smiling at me teasingly, which makes another blush fill my cheeks.
“Um, no.” Carefully, I set my purse down on his desk before folding my jacket over the back of his chair.
When my hands are free, he pops open one of the cans and hands it to me as he asks, “Still kind of curious about that book.”
“It’s—nothing. It’s nothing,” I say, shaking my head as I look down at the cold drink that I now hold. It takes me a second to realize he’s handed me a beer, and I shake my head again as I tell him, “I can’t—I can’t drink this.” He raises an eye
brow at me, and I’m quick to add, “Thank you. I mean, it’s really nice of you—but I can’t.”
“You can’t? Or you won’t? If you don’t like beer, just say so. We’ve got other shit.”
“I’ve actually never had beer. I don’t know if I like it,” I answer honestly.
Folding his arms across his chest, he leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, tipping his chin at me as he says, “Why don’t you try it and let me know.”
“Um…” I smile awkwardly, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear as I explain, “I’m not twenty-one. I don’t drink.”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes dancing with amusement before he asks, “You don’t drink because you’re not twenty-one? Or you don’t as a personal preference?”
My mouth opens and closes, but I find myself at a loss for words, suddenly aware that I don’t know the answer.
“Do you always follow the rules, Mack?” he asks before opening and taking a sip from his own can.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Why?”
I cough out an embarrassed laugh, not really sure how to answer that either. “I—I don’t know. I just do.”
“Take a sip, Mack. Rules were meant to be broken.”
I look down at the can, then back up at him before I ask, “What if I get drunk?”
He chuckles, the sound washing over me pleasantly as he pushes himself away from the door and takes a step closer to me. “It’s a party, Mack—that’s the idea.”
“But…”
“In approximately two minutes, that beer will be warm and taste like shit. If you’re going to give it a go, now’s the time.” He takes another step toward me, and I can now feel the heat of his body, which makes my skin break out in goose pimples. Then he smiles at me, and I feel all melty and warm. “Live a little. You might like it.”
Never in my life have I ever wanted to drink a beer as much as I do right now. But there’s still a small part of me that remembers I’m in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of unfamiliar people, with no idea when Brooke will be back—if at all. With that in mind, I feebly repeat, “What if I get drunk?”