by Lily Maxton
I frowned. “I was hoping for a little more instruction than that,” I muttered to Evan as we trotted toward our base.
All of us hunkered down behind our paint-spattered wall and waited. The air smelled like fallen leaves and earth and bonfires. I held my breath, releasing it with a gust when the bullhorn sounded, reverberating across the trees and signaling the start of the game.
My heart thumped against my rib cage. “Are they doing anything?”
Evan peered out from behind the wall. “I can’t tell. We’ll have to get closer.”
And then, crouching low to the ground, he sprinted to the nearest tree. “Evan!”
He knelt against the trunk, flashing a smile. “Come on. You’re not going to let them call us bitches and get away with it, are you?”
“No?” My voice tilted up at the end, finishing with a question.
“Very convincing.”
I could do this, I told myself. What was the worst that could happen? So I dove out from the wall. And heard shots raining down on me, pinging off the wall and off the nearby trees, splattering paint like blood.
“Ah!” I cried, kicking up dirt and leaves as I flailed toward the tree next to Evan. I flopped to the ground, lungs pumping and heart racing. “Am I hit?”
“I don’t think so.”
I glanced back. Andy had tried to run for it at the same time; a large white smear colored the front of his shirt. “Those bastards! They got Andy!”
Evan nodded. “Payback?”
“Definitely.”
We spent the next ten minutes darting from tree to tree, or sliding into man-made ditches, gradually making our way toward the other team’s base. I had mud on my clothes, and splatters of paint from near misses.
Over the course of those minutes, my worry subsided into an aggressive sort of adrenaline. In other words, I felt like a total gun-toting badass.
“I see one of them moving,” I whispered to Evan, poking my head over a randomly placed wooden wall. It had once been a normal plywood color, but so much paint had marked the front that it looked like a Pollock canvas now.
“We should approach from different sides,” he said. “You go toward the right.”
“But there’s less cover in the other direction,” I pointed out.
“As long as I can get to the next wall, I should be okay.”
I frowned, it looked like quite a distance to the next wall, but before I could say anything else he was up and moving.
Gunfire exploded and he dove, but not before two paint splashes of red and orange appeared on his arm.
“No!” I yelled, charging forward, gun blazing. I felt like I was in Rambo. I pelted the guy who’d shot Evan with a paintball before he could even try to hide or fire back. “Take that!”
I kept charging deeper into the other team’s territory. When I heard popping surround me, I aimed, not bothering to take cover. I hit one of their guys in the chest: “Who’s the bitch now!” I crowed.
And then, one of the other team members popped out from behind a tree, only about ten feet away from me, and shot me in the stomach.
*
“It’s too bad we lost,” I said, sipping soda from a plastic straw. “All three times.”
I’d worked up a vigorous appetite after the paintball game, and had capitulated when Evan asked if I wanted to go somewhere to eat, under the condition that it wasn’t a restaurant. Restaurants were way too date-like.
And I had clearly reiterated to him that this wasn’t a date.
So we currently sat across from each other in a bright-red booth at a fifties-themed fast-food place. Pictures of Elvis and James Dean were scattered all along the chrome walls. Outside the window, the parking lot was lit with street lamps and the moon was a silver crescent, the only thing visible in the sky. I could hear the employees talking and laughing in the kitchen as the smell of grease wafted toward us.
“You were awesome in that first game,” he said. “You managed to take out two of them in like ten seconds.”
I placed my hand on my stomach. “Yeah, but that shot hurt. I think I’ll have a bruise.”
“I can kiss it and make it better.”
My head jerked up, even as the muscles in my lower abdomen clenched. “Stop it,” I said, an edge to my voice. I wasn’t certain why I was so angry. Was it because his suggestion had caught hold of my mind, twisting and ensnaring until it seemed like an inevitable course of action?
A necessary course of action? Like if his lips didn’t press my skin I would burn up on the spot?
Evan just looked at me, silent, searching. It felt like he was puzzling me out, and I didn’t particularly want to be puzzled out.
“What exactly are you scared of?” he asked simply. Matter-of-factly. It made my teeth grind together.
“I’m not scared of anything. Are you so egotistical you can’t imagine a woman not being interested in you in that way?”
He leaned back, a skeptical lift to his eyebrow. “If I didn’t have my hand under your dress a few days ago in the break room, that might be easier to believe.”
My lips parted. My face felt hot. “You’re an asshole,” I said, grabbing my purse and shoving to my feet.
His fingers brushed my wrist, a gentle but inexorable force that made me halt. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I looked down at him. “No you’re not.”
A smile curved his mouth; my fingers itched to follow it. “Okay, I’m sorry I upset you. I’m not sorry for being honest. I want you. I’m pretty sure you want me. We’re two consenting adults. You have glow-in-the-dark condoms … what’s standing in your way?”
Everything. He was a coworker. It was too soon. I’d never been intimate with anyone other than Drew. I’d never wanted to be intimate with someone other than Drew. And yet, nothing stood in my way. Twice I’d nearly crossed the line.
Maybe it was the second answer that frightened me most.
“If you keep pushing, I’m going to call a cab,” I said. I wished I’d sounded smooth and cold, but my voice just seemed small.
Blue eyes scanned my gray. He must have believed me: “I’ll behave.”
Something about his crooked smile, apologetic and slightly wry, eased the tension from my shoulders. I slid back into the booth and popped a french fry in my mouth, chewing slowly.
“I’d like to know more about you,” he said. “In a platonic way,” he added.
“I’m not very exciting,” I responded, lifting my shoulders.
He propped his elbow on the table and twisted the plastic straw between his fingers. I tried not to follow the movement with my eyes. It would be better not to think about all the things he could do with those fingers. “I doubt that.”
I scrutinized a grease stain on my french fry container. “You already know enough.”
“I know you worry a lot, and you’re prickly when you feel uncomfortable, and you recite poetry and you used to paint and you want to visit the Louvre. But I don’t know the basics.”
“Like?”
“Where are you from?”
“Near Springfield,” I said. “What about you?”
“I grew up here. Well, in Schaumburg actually. I went to school out East and then I moved back when I got hired at SLQ.”
“That explains it.”
“What?”
“You don’t drive like a Chicagoan.”
“Crazy and aggressive?” He finished the last bite of his cheeseburger and crumpled the wrapper. It lay on his tray like a paper snowball.
I grinned. “And you don’t have the awful ‘a.’”
He laughed. “I can do it though … Chic-ahh-go.”
My eyebrows shot up. “That sounded more like Brooklyn.”
“Really? Damn.” His face worked into a hangdog expression, which I was sure was just for show. “And all these years I thought I had it perfected.”
I leaned my head against my hand as I looked at him, fighting the ridiculous urge to start giggling. “
That’s really, really sad.”
“I know; I’m depressed about it, too.” He took a sip of his drink. “So, what brought you here?”
“Alyssa, my roommate,” I said. “We both lived at home and went to the same commuter college. When she got a job in the city she asked if I wanted to move in with her—a lot of my interviews were here anyway, so it made sense. And my mom kept peering at me.”
“Peering at you?” he asked, amusement coloring his voice.
“She has this look,” I said. “When she’s worried about me or my sister, she’ll kind of narrow her eyes and tilt her head to the side, like she’s trying to bring us into focus. She was doing it a lot with me before I moved out.” I cleared my throat. “My boyfriend thought he was the main reason I moved. So I just let him keep thinking that.”
“You never thought about living with him instead of Alyssa?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t ready for that. And he didn’t ask.”
Evan frowned. “It didn’t bother you that he didn’t ask?”
“No.” Should it have bothered me?—I was pretty sure I mirrored Evan’s vaguely perplexed expression.
“Interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?”
He stared into my eyes for a shade too long. And then the furrow smoothed from his brow as his lips shaped into a smile. “No reason. When did you graduate?”
I leaned back, broke the eye contact. “Last winter. I moved in April.”
“So this is the first time you’ve been on your own?”
“Yeah, I miss my family sometimes,” I admitted quietly. “But it’s getting better.” I spread my fingers out on the table, noticing a chip in my pink nail polish.
“I remember when I first moved out. I hated it,” he said. “I’m an only child, so I’d always had my own room and all kinds of privacy. And then I had to move into a dorm and live with a stranger. He was an okay guy, but living in a closet-size room with another person is unnatural. I got my own apartment as soon as I could.”
I smiled slightly. “Do you ever read the advice columns in the newspaper? There’re always college students wanting help with their roommates. And sometimes it’s weird kinky stuff.”
“Like, ‘My roommate uses her vibrator all the time and I can’t sleep, please help’?”
“Yeah, stuff like that.”
He grinned. “That could also be the setup for an erotic story.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Men just like to think every woman is a secret nymphomaniac.”
“It makes us happy to think that.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling back at him. “Did your roommate do anything weird?”
“Like use his vibrator all the time?”
I laughed, too loudly. I pressed my knuckles to my lips to stifle it. “Gross.”
“No,” he said, grinning in response to my laughter. “I really didn’t have it too bad. I just didn’t like not having personal space.”
“I don’t have my own room at Alyssa’s apartment,” I admitted. “She’s gone a lot, but I still miss it. I’m a pretty private person, too.”
The door to the building opened and a young guy with messy, gelled hair walked up to the counter. The movement drew my attention, and past Evan’s shoulder I noticed a digital clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen. The red numbers glowed 10:05—later than I’d thought. If I wanted a decent night’s sleep before work, we would have to make the drive back soon.
Evan followed my gaze. “We should probably take off,” he said, sounding reluctant.
“Yeah,” I agreed. I slid from the booth and gathered my food wrappers.
I was startled when a sudden wish crossed my mind that we didn’t have to work the next day.
I didn’t want to leave.
And that alarming realization had me walking even more quickly toward the door.
Chapter Nine
“One of my assistants quit yesterday,” my mom said over the phone.
I stood at the stove, waiting for a pot of water to boil so I could throw in spaghetti. I wasn’t much of a chef. To me, cooking was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Actually, since I was (or used to be) an artist, it was probably less exciting.
“Yeah?” I wasn’t sure why she was telling me.
“If you want the job, it’s yours.”
I should have guessed.
I sighed. “I have a job.”
“I know you do, Dani. But if you took this one you could move back home. And you could take classes and see if you might want to get into veterinary medicine. You could take over when I retire.”
“Mom … I don’t even like animals that much.”
There was a very long pause. When she spoke her voice sounded strange, like I’d uttered a blasphemy. “You don’t like animals?”
I forced down a strangled laugh. “I mean I like animals well enough, but I don’t think I like them enough to warrant changing jobs.”
“Then it could just be temporary. While you decide what to do. I’d feel better having you home again.”
Bubbles rose to the surface of the water. I tore at the spaghetti box.
“Dani?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “It’s not that I don’t miss you guys. But I’m doing well here.”
“Are you happy?”
Not an easy question to answer. Sometimes I thought I was; sometimes I felt paralyzed. But I’d felt the same way at home; moving back wouldn’t fix that. “Yeah,” I said.
“Are you still involved with your coworker?”
Did she have to say it like that? It made it sound like we were having a seedy affair at a budget motel. “We’re not really involved. We’re just friends.”
“I see,” but her tone of voice made it clear she didn’t really see. “What’s his position at SLQ?”
Talking about Evan reminded me that he hadn’t been at work today. When I’d arrived home, I’d taken my phone out and set it on the counter, trying to decide if I should text him or not. But I’d figured I was being unreasonable. Just because people took sick days didn’t mean they were actually sick.
And even if he was, I didn’t want to send the wrong message by checking up on him.
“He develops software for the company,” I said, absent-mindedly.
“That sounds important,” she said, echoing my words.
“I think it is. You wouldn’t know it by talking to him though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s really modest about things. You know how when some people are really smart or successful, they want everyone to know it? He’s not like that … ,” I trailed off, realizing I had been smiling as I spoke.
“Does he know Drew?”
“No, I don’t think so. He works in the same department I do. Drew works in management; those offices are on a different floor.”
“Do you know what his family is like?”
“Mom!” I nearly dropped the phone in the boiling water as I leaned forward to stir the spaghetti a little too vigorously. “No I don’t. But it doesn’t matter; you’re acting like we’re dating. And we’re not.”
“Okay, okay. Will you at least think about the assistant job?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“That’s great!”
I felt guilty as I ended the call. I laid the phone down next to the stove and tried not to stare a hole in it.
A few minutes later I grabbed the stupid thing and texted Evan’s number.
Hi. It’s Dani.
A few seconds later the phone beeped.
I know. I put you in my contacts.
I hesitated and then texted. Are you okay? You weren’t at work.
Fine.
That sounded a little curt from Evan. But then again, it was hard to tell from a text message.
Thought you might be sick.
No. Well maybe a little. Worried about me?
I almost smiled. That sounded more like Evan. No. Just want to make sure SLQ is runnin
g smoothly. Don’t want to lose my job.
Such altruism.
Really, altruism? Over a text?
It must be my 200 IQ.
160 at the most. Don’t exaggerate.
I realized I was smiling slightly as I texted and quickly forced my expression to smooth.
So what’s up?
I hesitated and then, My mom wants me to be her assistant. She’s a vet.
Are you going to?
Probably not. But I don’t like disappointing her.
Why would you disappoint her?
Because she’s perfect.
No one’s perfect.
Close enough. She was top in her class. And she owns her own practice. A really successful practice. Sometimes I wish I had a really prestigious career just to impress her.
After I sent that one, I bit my lip and focused on stirring the spaghetti. It was sort of long for a text. I hoped Evan wouldn’t think I was dumping all my problems on him.
But he texted back like twenty seconds later. A job doesn’t have to define you.
So says the one with the important job.
Every job is important, or they wouldn’t need someone to do it.
I guess.
Tell me one good thing in your life.
I frowned down at the phone. Why?
I’ve always thought if you can name at least one good thing, you’re doing okay.
Okay, Dr. Evan.
You’re so cruel, Dani. Cruel but sexy.
I laughed in spite of myself. And you’re ridiculous.
I was a little worried when he didn’t respond immediately, but then the phone started ringing, making me jump and nearly knock into the pot of boiling water.
“Um, hi?” I answered stupidly, after hitting the Speaker button.
“Hi,” Evan’s voice came through the phone.
“Why are you calling?”
“As nimble as my fingers are, I’m not a texting machine, Dani. And I have some hard-hitting questions for you.”
I didn’t think I liked the sound of that, but I tried to sound casual. “Okay …”