She told me she’s going to be in head to toe Angels’ gear, which isn’t remotely weird for this insane crew. She’ll also be holding a sign like one of those guys who pick you up at the airport.
I head to the hat, my guts clenching tight, and wish I could rewind time. As sucky as things may have been with Kensley in the end, there was this sense of safety, of belonging, and I took that for granted. I had no idea what it meant to have that ripped out from under me, but I know now. And it fucking sucks.
I scan the crowd, but people are moving fast, and I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. I didn’t want to ask for the details on her appearance, because I didn’t want to sound like a dick, like I cared either way, but it was making finding her difficult.
Is she tall? Short? Curvy? Willowy? Blond? Brunette? I can’t help smiling a little when it occurs to me just how many ways a girl can look damn good. Deo would be proud of this thought process.
“Cohen?”
It’s the voice I know, right away, no questions.
Damn.
Maren.
She’s a short little thing, curved in all the right places, dark hair twisted in two shiny braids. Her eyes are wide and a clear, light blue. She smiles like she’s thinking something she shouldn’t, and for a stupid blip of a moment, I hope she’s thinking whatever she’s thinking about me. Something about her is…familiar. Like I know her from somewhere. Like I’ve seen her before. But I wrack my brain and can’t think where it might have been.
I’m probably just being a lunatic.
“So you weren’t kidding about being all A’ed out.” I smile at her jersey, hat, red sneakers, and Angel’s jacket.
“I’m dead serious when it comes to baseball.” That smile. It’s all over her face, it’s making my own lips curl up. It’s contagious. “And Ally is going to have a hard time keeping her hands off of you. You are hot.”
I wish it were weirder than it is that she says that. I wish it felt like she crossed a line.
But it sounds like a girl who has a boyfriend being excited for a girl who needs one.
Maybe Maren’s sometimes-boyfriend’s friend will be amazing. Too bad I’m having trouble remembering the girl’s name already.
“Thank you.” I want to tell her that I haven’t felt so attracted to a girl in…ever maybe. Damn. She’s not as movie-star beautiful as Claire. She’s not as sexy as Tracey. She’s not as polished as Kensley. She just looks…so good. Really damn good.
But you don’t say shit like that to a girl with a boyfriend.
“It’s so cool to finally meet you-meet you. Even though I sort of feel like we already do know each other, you know?” She rocks on the balls of her feet, and I nod but feel like a douche for not saying more.
“It really is. Thank you for using your extra ticket on me.”
She stands on her toes so she can stretch enough to fish the tickets from the front pocket of her tiny shorts. I reach out for the one she holds in my direction. “I’m so glad you made it. Ally and Jason get along really well, but I feel like it might have felt awkward for her, you know?”
“Mmmhmm.” I follow her into the stadium and try not to stare at her ass.
Funny how many times we’ve talked on the phone and I never had any idea how she looked. But now it’s been ten minutes since I met her, and I feel like I can’t remember what it was like to not know the long line of her neck or the fact that she has freckles across her nose and next to her ears.
When she comes to our row, I nearly knock her over because she stops short and just stares. It’s always a little strange to meet new people, but, right now, there’s a pointed awkwardness in the air that has nothing to do with a lack of introductions.
The asshole I assume is her sometimes-boyfriend is getting pretty snugly with the girl I assume is the coworker. The girl at least has enough shame to look guilty. The guy stares up at Maren almost like he’s daring her to say something about how his arm is around some other girl’s waist.
I’m a fairly laid-back guy, but my hackles are up. Maren goes all pink and looks painfully embarrassed, which makes my temper spark big time.
“So, um, Jason, Ally, this is Cohen.”
Ally jumps up, and Jason doesn’t bother to hide the way his hand lingers on her hip as she moves away from him.
“So nice to meet you. Are you a baseball freak like Maren?” She tosses a look over her shoulder at Jason, like they’re sharing a joke.
At Maren’s expense.
“I am a baseball freak,” I admit coolly. “But I think Maren has me beat by a mile.” I look right at Maren, not giving a shit if I’m making things even more awkward. “And I think girls who get all into baseball are sexy as hell.”
If she was pink before, she’s a shade away from boiled lobster now. “Um, anyone want drinks? Food?”
“Sit,” Jason barks, the same time I say, “Sure.”
She looks between us and takes a deep breath. “Get stuff later,” Jason says.
I ball both my hands into fists and beat the fury back. I can’t go ape shit because a girl I just met in real life and her sometimes-boyfriend agree to not get snacks at a ball game.
Because that’s what this is.
It’s not that I feel a way I never expected to the minute I saw Maren. It’s not that I think her sleazy sort-of boyfriend is probably screwing around with this Ally brat. It’s not that I’m going fucking rage-blind with jealousy. Nope. Couldn’t be that at all.
“So, what do you do?” Ally asks, trying to make it look like she’s not glancing over at Jason every other second.
“My parents own a furniture store. I help manage it.” I can tell from the way she raises her eyebrows just slightly that she isn’t impressed. “What do you do?”
“I’m in college right now. I do part time work as a secretary at Bingham and Walters.” She twirls a little piece of her hair like she’s sending an SOS Jason’s way. He’s too busy hissing something low and quick in Maren’s ear. What the fuck is he saying to her? “Jason is the corporate finance manager of the entire department. The youngest one they’ve ever hired in that position, you know.”
I don’t know. And I don’t give a shit what this prick’s position is or how young he was when he got it. What I do care about is the way he’s shaking his head at Maren, like he’s disgusted with her.
That I care about way more than I should.
“Are you okay?” Ally asks, her face blocking my view of Maren and Jason. “You look kind of pissed. Is it the game? Jason was getting all bent out of shape because the Tigers managed to steal second, but the Angels will bounce back. They always do.”
She’s trying to be cheerful. She’s trying to make this less of a clusterfuck than it is, but, for once, I’m not interested in being the nice guy. I have no clue where this insane over-protective vibe came from, but once it rips out, there’s nothing I can do to shut it back down.
“I’m actually a Dodgers fan,” I say a little too curtly, and watch Ally’s face fall.
It’s so not me. I’m usually a peace keeper. A good guy. Not a raging lunatic about to jump over some chatty ditz to throttle a guy I hardly know for looking at girl I just met the wrong way.
Just when I’m about to stand, Maren beats me to it. She’s clamping her jaw and breathing hard and fast.
“Don’t get mustard on my hotdog. I hate that.” Jason’s eyes are small and mean, like he knows exactly what a dickhead he’s being to her and enjoys every second of it.
“Should I go with Maren?” Ally asks, moving to get out of the way as Maren rushes by, knocking her in the shoulder.
“Nah. I told her what you wanted.” He pats the seat Maren just left and Ally slides over. “Hey, where are you going?” he calls to me.
Fuck this guy.
I don’t bother to answer, and it takes me a few minutes of weaving through the bottlenecked crowds before I reach Maren, trembling in the concession line.
“Hey.” Now that I’m stan
ding in front of her, I have no idea what to say. She’s staring at the toe of her bright red Chuck, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly. I reach one hand out and move a finger along her knuckles. That tiny brush of a touch seems to jolt her out of her thoughts.
“Cohen.” My name from her mouth is sweet. “What a freaking mess. I’m so sorry. This was a bad idea.”
I shake my head. “It’s alright.”
“You’re just being nice.” She yanks her ball cap off, rolls it up, and stuffs it in her back pocket. “Jason can be—” She pauses like she’s trying to find a nice way to say that her sometimes-boyfriend is an asshole. “—an asshole,” she finally says.
I can’t help laughing. “I’ve dealt with lots of assholes. Remember the Rickmans?”
Her eyes have a lot of green in them. And she has nice, plump lips. I love how they look when she smiles. “Ugh! Yes! Remember he ordered that hideous orange sectional, and then they needed it moved seven times in a month? I think his wife must have had a thing for one of the moving guys.”
“Yep. He wasn’t even the worst. So, I’m alright with assholes.” I watch her twine her hands around one another, nervously. “Strike that.” Her eyes fly up to my face. “I’m fine with assholes when they’re being assholes to me. I’m not all that cool with assholes who upset the coolest girl I know.”
She inches toward the concession window and chews on her lip. “Thank you. Really, thank you. But don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I love how much smaller she is than me. How I could tuck her head against my chest and rest my chin on the crown.
“Do that thing where you come riding up like some awesome knight-in-shining-armor because I’m being all damsel-in-distress.” She tugs the elastics out of her braids and pulls her hair loose. It falls down around her shoulders in shiny waves, and the air suddenly smells like coconut and salt…like the beach. “You did it that time on the phone, too.”
I try to remember the phone call she’s talking about, but, instead, my mind flips to Maren in a bikini on the beach and short-circuits for a few quick seconds.
“I just hate seeing someone as rad as you are with someone…who’s an asshole. Your words, not mine.” I hold my hands up and grin.
She tries to grin back, but it falls flat. Suddenly she squares her shoulders and looks me right in the eye. “You know what? I sometimes hate being with him.”
I’m not sure how to respond, but it winds up that I don’t need to, because she’s plowing ahead.
“I sometimes hate him. I hate how arrogant he is. A year and a half ago, we had a good thing going, and then he got promoted, and he became this monster. I broke up with him, and promised myself I wouldn’t go back to him…I should have followed through with that.”
“Yeah?” I lean closer to her. “You think so?”
Her eyes crackle with a fire that makes her even more gorgeous, and, instead of answering me, she turns to the concession attendant. “I’ll take a hotdog, extra mustard and a beer. Lots of ice.” She must sense the horror on my face, because she turns towards me and puts a reassuring hand on my arm. “Don’t judge, okay? I’m not going to drink a beer with ice. It’s for… Well, you’ll see.”
And she winks. That wink tips everything to the side. I don’t give a shit if she has an almost boyfriend. I don’t give a shit if I was supposed to be here for a date with another girl. And I don’t give a shit if this is Maren, the cool girl I talk to on the phone at work and don’t want to mess things up with. That wink means trouble, and I intend to follow it wherever it may lead.
Especially if Maren’s hot little self is doing the leading with a stomp of her sneakers. I follow all the way to the bleachers where Jason has his mouth too close to Ally’s neck while her hand is on his knee.
Maren continues down the aisle and catches Jason and Ally off guard. She shoves the hot dog at him and I clench my fist, waiting for him to go off on her so I have an excuse to pummel this douche once and for all. But he doesn’t. He tosses the hot dog onto the cement and stands up, but not before grabbing the cup of iced beer and downing it in two gulps. The fire extinguishes from Maren’s eyes, and she seems to shrink a little.
Just when I thought my hatred for Jason couldn’t get any more intense, a whole new slew of justifications for kicking his ass erupt in my brain.
“This game blows. I can’t believe how bad the Angels suck tonight. We wanna go have some drinks and appetizers over at O’Briens.”
Maren’s top lip twitches upward in an obvious snarl. She’s seriously adorable, but has zero game face. “You guys want to leave?”
“Appetizers!” Ally yips and jumps up and down like a lap dog excited for its afternoon treat.
“Well, yeah, all of us. Let’s go chill and give Ally and Carlo a chance to get to know each other.” Jason stands up and rubs his hand along the small of Maren’s back. She doesn’t shrug away from his touch, and I don’t really understand why, but it’s not really my place to, I guess.
“It’s Cohen,” I say. For the love of fried cheese why is my name so hard for everyone to remember? “And, O’Brien’s shut down a few months ago.”
“What else is nearby?” Maren asks, her eyes trained on mine.
“They had the best potato skins,” Ally says. This girl really wants an appetizer something serious.
“My place isn’t far,” I say. “And, I have a house full of junk food.”
It’s a side effect of the breakup. I tossed all of Kensley’s wheat germ and tempeh, and, instead, stocked up on corn dogs and frozen pizzas topped with bacon. I’ve never eaten like this in my life, and I feel sort of gross doing it, but if it’ll get Maren over to my house—even with her asshole boyfriend—I’ll offer it up.
“Your place? Yeah. That’d be cool, right Jason?” Maren is slouched against Jason, his arms wrapped around her waist. It’s like she’s forgotten every ounce of anger she had for him just a few minutes ago.
This could be a problem.
When she looks up at him, though, his eyes are fixed on Ally’s rack.
“My place it is,” I say, reaching over and clutching Maren’s tiny wrist. Because I may be reserved, and not take chances, but Jason is an asshole and Maren is my friend, and now that I’ve met her, something about her tells me that she’s worth risking a little drama.
7 COHEN
“Holy shit, Cohen, you live here?” Maren kicks her shoes off and holds them the rest of the way. “Like, you told me that you lived near the beach, you didn’t say on the beach. This is incredible.”
She sinks into the sand a little with each step and looks even tinier than she did at the ballpark.
“Yeah, man, this is pretty impressive,” Jason says. He’s the last person on earth I give two shits about impressing. “I bet you get a ton of play having a place like this.” He laughs, proud of his stupid joke.
I pause with my key in the door. Jason’s wrong, of course. Kensley was the only woman I’ve ever had here. Well, other than my sisters or Whit, but none of them count for obvious reasons. I bought this place with the money I made from last year’s expedition with Deo. Deo’s dad does that sort of thing for a living and had a good tip, so Deo and I sailed up the Coast to Northern California in our crappy boat and dove for treasure like a couple of pirates. We didn’t expect to make out as well as we did, but it ended up setting us both up pretty well. Whit and Deo are spending a fortune on their upcoming wedding, and I bought this place and socked a good bit away. It feels awesome to be able to do it, even if financial security is boring according to Kensley.
“So, this is home,” I say as I push the door open.
It immediately feels strange to have other people here. Jason marches over to the shelves of alphabetized DVDs and starts pulling them from the shelves and cramming them back in wherever there’s an open space. Those spaces allow for more DVDs to be filtered in when I buy them without having to reorganize them all. He’s just made several hours of work for me in the two minutes he’s been
here.
I hate him more and more with each second that passes.
Ally hunches awkwardly in the corner near the ship’s wheel that’s mounted to the wall. Her expression might pass off as bored, but I can see the daggers she’s shooting in Maren’s direction.
Maren.
She’s sitting at the island in the kitchen, hair mussed from the braids she’d pulled out earlier and the humidity in the air.
“Can I get you a drink?” I ask her.
She’s the only thing that doesn’t feel out of place right now. I had figured it’d feel weird as hell having another attractive girl here for the first time. But Maren, she fits right in. Probably because we’re friends. Longtime friends, technically, if you count all the time we’ve logged on the phone.
Yep. Just friends.
“I’ll have a shot of Jager if you have it,” Jason pipes in from across the room as he crams the Godfather boxed set in between Pineapple Express and Pulp Fiction. I cringe.
“Sorry, dude, haven’t kept that around since I was in college,” I say without a twinge of actual sincerity. Jason is one hundred percent predictable. What grown man shoots Jager at home with his girl around? I’d never have to have a drop of alcohol in me to appreciate Maren.
Fuck, I need to stop thinking like that.
“Wine? White?” Maren finally says. Her voice is soft, uncomfortable, and I hate that for her.
I nod, grab a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio, and pass her a heavily poured glass.
“You okay?” I ask.
She runs her palm across the zebrawood counter top. “This is incredible. All of this, Cohen. You should be really proud of your home.”
I shrug. “Thanks. Though it was a lot of luck that Deo and I made out the way we did on that dive last summer. Otherwise, I’d still be squatting at Mama Rodriguez’s place.”
Depths Page 7