by Ruthie Knox
“You’re seeing the job.”
“No, it’s you. I mean, it’s what you look like. To me.”
“And you have a thing for that guy.”
He didn’t say it like a question. It was just that obvious. She didn’t try to perk up whenever he was around, but she felt it happening—the way her spine straightened and her chin lifted and her eyes went all wide and excited.
He must have seen her staring at him. Must have read her mind when she followed him out to the parking lot each night, hoping that tonight would be the night she’d get something other than Have a good one as a goodbye.
Amber closed her eyes against the sick discomfort of her embarrassment, but eyes open or closed, it was the same. The blackness didn’t change. She could shrink away from it or expand into it.
She decided she would rather expand.
There was nothing wrong with having a thing for him. It wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t even pathetic, though it felt that way. It was human. She was human.
And she was tired of shrinking.
She looked straight at the spot where she knew he was and said, “Yes. I do have a thing for that guy.”
“He’s not me. I’m a lot more fucked-up than he is.”
“I think everybody is. I mean, everybody is more complicated than they look, when you actually get to know them.”
“Yeah, maybe so. You want me to tell you what you look like? From the outside, I mean?”
“I think you already did,” she said.
“You tell me, then.”
Amber considered how to put it. “Sweet. Nice. Ordinary nice, and ordinary pretty, all the way through. Like a Girl Scout, or Maria in The Sound of Music.”
A huff of laughter. “There’s some of that, I’ll be honest. But you got the whistle, too.”
“What about the whistle?”
“You round up those kids with the whistle. When you’ve got your clipboard and you’re barking orders at them out on the soccer field you look tough as nails.”
Tough as nails. She liked that.
“You look sexy.”
Something dark and dangerous in his voice made her nipples prickle.
“Don’t.”
“No, it’s true. You look like you know what you want. Like the way you seem to think I am.” A pause. “This chair is wicked uncomfortable.”
Metal scraped against the floor, and he rustled around for a moment. She felt him move closer, then farther away.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to sit by the wall. Want to join me?”
“Sure.” The chair was getting kind of painful. She stood and pushed it aside. “I don’t want to trip over you.”
“I’ve got my hand out.”
She waved her arm around until she connected with skin. Soft hair and hard muscle. His forearm. She followed it down to his wrist, then his hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers, damp but strong, and he used his grip to guide her to the right spot. “Sit right there.”
She sank to the ground. Her thigh brushed his, and she moved over a few inches to lean against the cold cement wall.
“Better?”
“Better.”
She took a few moments to get used to the new position. It felt cooler, the chill of the concrete moving through the backs of her thighs. Closer to him, too. More intimate.
“How are you doing now?” she asked. “With the dark, I mean.”
“I’m hanging in. Keep talking to me.”
“Why do you hate it so much?”
She felt his shrug as a disturbance against her shoulder. “There weren’t a lot of dark places at my house growing up, or a lot of alone time. I’m not real fond of either.”
It didn’t feel like a complete answer. She waited, hoping she’d get more from him.
He sighed. “It’s easier to ignore all the bad shit in the light. Distract yourself with work and TV and other people. The dark is just … bad memories. Bad dreams. I don’t like to be left alone with all that.”
Trouble, Rosalie had said. Amber remembered her mother’s question, cut off before she could complete it. Is he the one who …?
Whatever had happened to Tony—whatever he did or didn’t do—it had left its mark on him.
“I hate spiders,” she volunteered.
“All girls hate spiders.”
“I don’t mind the little ones. Just the big, hairy ones.”
“I hate them, too. But don’t tell anybody.”
“It’ll be our little secret.”
“You any good at keeping secrets?”
“Should’ve asked me before you told me your secrets.”
“Yeah.”
She pulled up her knees and leaned her head back against the wall. “What are you most afraid of?”
“I’ve already told you two things that scare me. If you think I’m going to make you a list, you don’t know men.”
“We already established that.”
He chuckled.
“I have a brother, you know. And a dad. I’m not a complete innocent.”
“Having a brother won’t get you very far. Having a boyfriend, on the other hand …”
“I’ve had boyfriends.”
“How come you don’t have one now?”
She thought about how to answer.
Because I’m tired of getting matched up with men who are exactly as good as I am, and exactly as uninteresting as I feel.
Because the first guy I slept with cried afterward, and while the other one was an improvement, sex hasn’t exactly knocked my socks off.
She settled on “I haven’t met the right type of guy, I guess.”
“Which is …?”
“Different from the guys I’ve already been with.”
“Different how?”
“Just different.”
“You’re ducking the question.”
Was she?
Yes. She was. Be bold, you weenie.
“Okay, sorry. Different like … I’d like to go out with a guy who’s had completely different experiences from me. Like a guy who’ll challenge me or drive me nuts sometimes. Somebody who doesn’t always feel safe, but always feels interesting.”
“Huh.”
“You can’t just say ‘huh.’ ”
“Oh. What I meant was, ‘Huh, and here I thought you were going to talk about sex.’ ”
“You did?”
“I hoped. You’re making me curious.”
“Why?”
“I’m a man, and you’re pretty, plus you like me. You start talking about guys, and I start hoping I’m going to be able to work the conversation around to sex.”
“You want to know about my—” She couldn’t say sex life. She didn’t have a sex life. “—my personal life?”
“No. I just want you to talk about sex, freely, for the next several hours.”
Amber laughed, a surprised bark. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Damn. Well, just tell me this, then. Are you a virgin?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You could tell me anyway.”
She could. Why not? She wanted to.
She took a deep breath. “No. I’m not a virgin.”
He made a sound, a kind of grunting unh that she didn’t know how to interpret.
“What does that mean? Was I supposed to be a virgin?”
“No. Yes. I have no idea.”
“Why do you sound like that?” Tight. Tense.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I thought we were being honest. You made me say ‘virgin’ out loud, and now you won’t talk to me?”
“I’m a guy. We’re talking about sex. Why do you think I sound like this?”
There was a direct question. Amber tried to figure out some sneaky way to avoid answering it, but she couldn’t come up with one, so she just blurted out, “You’re excited?”
“ ‘Excited,’ bunny?”
“You sa
id you wouldn’t call me ‘bunny.’ ”
“I’m getting hard. Not excited. Hard.”
“You’re picking on me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m hitting on you. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I want to hear you say the word ‘hard.’ ”
“No.”
“Come on. Say it, and I’ll stop calling you ‘bunny.’ ”
“I’m not saying the word.”
“Then I’m not going to stop.”
“I don’t even know how we got on this subject.”
“Don’t be coy. Nobody likes coy.”
“I thought guys loved coy.”
“Just say it.”
Another deep breath. “You’re getting hard.”
And she was getting hot. So hot. Her cheeks, her throat, her breasts, and a deep pool of liquid heat between her legs. Holy cow.
“Wow,” he said.
“What ‘wow’?”
“Say it again.”
“Once is all you get.”
“C’mon. Tell me why I’m getting so hard.”
He was exasperating. How had he maneuvered the conversation to this point so easily?
Why did she want so badly to keep going?
“Fine. You’re getting hard at the idea of my … actually, which part is making you hard?”
“Pretty much the whole package.”
“But mostly the virgin part gets you hard.”
He exhaled forcefully. “Okay. You gotta stop saying that word.”
“I thought you wanted me to say it.”
“Yeah, but every time you say it, I get a little harder, and now I feel like I could hammer nails with my dick.”
A deep pulse of arousal started between her legs and pushed through her whole body. Amber closed her eyes, overwhelmed. “Oh.”
“See, now I’ve shocked you.”
“I’m not shocked.”
“You’re totally shocked.”
“I’m excited.” And shocked.
Another soft grunt. “Does ‘excited’ mean ‘wet’ now?”
“Shut up.”
“I would if I could, I swear to God.”
“That’s just … that’s just biology, though, right?”
“Don’t make this complicated. It’s us talking about sex, and me wanting to have sex with you.”
“Oh. Like, now?”
“I’m not going to fuck you on the floor in the dark in the basement, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She hadn’t actually gotten that graphic in her mind, no. But now that he had, whoa. Whoa. And also, Yes, please.
It wouldn’t ever happen. Still, this was the single most exciting conversation Amber had ever had. She didn’t want it to end, so she gave herself permission to keep saying whatever came to mind, with no filter.
“But you kind of want to do that? What you said?”
“Say it.”
“You kind of want to—” Oh, Lord. “To fuck me on the floor?”
She heard something give a soft thunk against the concrete. She thought it might be his skull. “Yeah, honey, I want to.”
“That’s hot.”
Another soft thunk. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “You’re not a bunny at all.”
Chapter Five
Amber had a million different impulses at the same time.
Crawl into his lap.
Keel over and die.
Ask him to kiss you.
Hide in the corner.
Fumble around in the dark for his fly and find out if he means it.
She liked that last impulse best, but she couldn’t move. Running her mouth was one thing, and getting rejected—physically, actually, definitively rejected—was another. She wasn’t sure she could hack it.
“Who ever said I was a bunny?” she asked.
“Nobody, honey.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m just a woman, Tony. Just me. And I … I like you.” A lot.
“I like you, too, honey, but I—”
The tornado siren cut him off. It built from a low moan to a wail, surprising her with its volume.
When the siren died down, there was only their breathing and her disappointment. No way to resurrect the conversation—the noise had effectively sliced through the intimate atmosphere—but she wanted it back, all the same.
She wanted to know what would have happened next.
“That was the all clear,” Tony said.
“I know. We can go up. You want me to lead the way out, since I know it better?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
She stood up and brushed off her butt. He got up, too, and he was standing so close to her that they bumped a few times as they got cleaned off.
“So, wait, which way are you facing?” she asked.
His hand collided with her hip, a solid weight. “This way.” The other hand landed, and there went that heat between her thighs again. That single, intense pulse that flung her whole body headlong into lust.
He could kiss her, if he wanted to. He was breathing hard. Maybe he did want to.
Here, in the dark, where she was safe, she could even kiss him. She wondered how far away his face was. If he was staring over the top of her head or looking to the side. How difficult it would be to seek his mouth with her own and to find out whether his lips were soft or firm.
“I need to get out of here,” he said.
Right. She had sex on the brain, and he was in fight-or-flight mode.
“Okay. Let’s go over to the side wall so I can turn the light switches off, just in case the power comes back on tonight.”
She pried one of his hands off her hip and held it, pulling him along behind her as she took tentative steps into the blackness. She realized too late that she should have followed the back wall instead of walking in the open, because every step she took, she became a little more uncertain, a little more worried she’d drop into an abyss or trip over something. Get eaten by a lion. Whatever primitive fears her brain unleashed upon her at moments like this one.
Tony was breathing as though he’d just finished running a marathon.
“You never told me what your worst fear is,” she said, hoping to distract him.
“This. This is it.”
“No way. This is just a phobia. I mean something bigger than that. Like what mistake would you most regret making? What’s the one thing you could never get over?”
He didn’t answer for so long that her stomach started to hurt, and she wanted to retract the question. She shouldn’t be prying, not when she knew there was something he didn’t want to tell.
His reply came as a relief. “You have a gift for asking weird questions, you know that?”
“Sorry. I—ow! Son of a biscuit!” Her shin had slammed into something.
“What?”
Amber felt around with her free hand until she could make sense of it. One of those rolling racks of basketballs. If she remembered correctly where it was, that made the wall ten or twelve feet farther ahead. “I ran into some balls.”
Great. Now even normal conversation sounded dirty.
“You bleeding?”
“No, I’m fine.” She started walking again, Tony in tow. “My worst fear is that I’ll get to my deathbed and realize I’ve never done anything with my life.”
“You’re not even twenty-five yet.”
“So?”
“So that’s a stupid thing to be afraid of.”
She forgave him the insult, since his palm was sweaty, and it was hard to be kind while freaking out, and clearly her question had punched a button she needed to learn to avoid if she was ever going to talk to Tony again. “It doesn’t seem stupid to me. You know, I have a younger brother in the army, and he’s living in Germany. My baby sister, Katie, wants to move to Paris—or she used to anyway. Lately she keeps talking about Alaska, which is where her boyfriend wants to go after graduation. And I’m just … here.”
“You finished college. You have a job. It’s not like you have
to leave town to prove yourself.”
“I know.”
“Family’s important, too.”
“I know, I’m just … I don’t know who I am yet. I feel like I’m still living the wrong life.”
She reached the wall and pulled his hand forward until his fingertips touched it. “Here. We made it. Now we just have to keep moving forward, and we’ll reach the stairs in no time.”
“Thanks.” He exhaled, a ragged sound. “You want to get married, have kids, the whole nine yards?”
Yes.
The thought seemed to come from some part of her other than her brain. It leapt out from the cellular level, straight to the tip of her tongue.
Then she realized he was asking if she wanted to get married someday, to someone. Not to him, immediately.
Amber swallowed. “Sure. You?”
“I don’t know.”
“You ready to start walking?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you need to hold my hand, or …”
“No, I can just use the wall.”
“Okay. Keep up.”
They started walking toward the front of the basement, moving faster now. Even at a more rapid pace, the room felt four hundred times as large as it had when the lights were on.
“So how can you not know if you want to get married?” she asked. “You’re almost thirty. It seems like you would have figured it out by now.”
“You sound like my sister.”
“Oh, don’t turn this into a woman thing. It’s a human thing. Do you want to find someone to marry? Do you want to reproduce? These are not complicated questions.” She reached the light switches and flicked them all off.
“Well, I’m not going to say ‘No, not ever,’ because I try not to do that these days.”
“Why’s that?”
“You never know what’s gonna happen in life. Sometimes you win the lottery. Sometimes tragedy knocks you on your ass with no warning.”
A raw note in his voice.
“So expect the unexpected?”
“I try to. But I don’t see myself getting married from where I’m standing right now.”
“Because …”
“You know what you said, about your worst fear? I guess that’s mine. I can’t take the idea of letting people down. Whenever I think about getting married, even in the abstract, I imagine myself making the wrong choice and then seeing it all fall apart ten years down the road. I guess I’m old-fashioned, you know? I think it should last forever. But I want to know it’s forever, and that I wouldn’t ever flake out on my family. Get careless or distracted and fuck it up.”