by Darcy Woods
I am learning when it comes to Grant, the simpler the response, the more likely a complicated story lies behind it. He has shut down, exactly as he did Saturday in my kitchen. Maybe one day he’ll trust me enough to tell me the real reason disrespect sent him into a blind fury. Maybe one day I’ll tell him all about my mom, and then he’ll understand why astrology means so much to me.
Someday.
But not today.
“Sorry if I freaked you out back there,” he says.
“No, you didn’t. I mean, I was a little thrown but…”
Suddenly Grant’s hand is on the small of my back. Again. And now I am freaking out. His touch sends a surge of electricity buzzing up my spine. I suck in a breath and look up. God, he’s so beautiful—the way the sun halos his head, he could be Apollo. It takes all my strength to remind myself he’s the harbinger of heartache and devastation.
“Broken glass.” He motions toward the amber shards on the sidewalk. Oh…right, he was being nice and guiding me around it. His hand falls away. “What are you doing in this neighborhood, anyway?”
“I was…” Well, crud. I can’t tell him I was consulting a psychic about the melee of my warring emotions for him and his brother, or that I temporarily believed it to be the result of an otherworldly attack. Instead, I settle on something truthful, if not complete. “I was visiting an old friend of the family.”
“Cool.” He stuffs a hand in his pocket.
“Um, my bus stop is the next block up, and I’m afraid I can’t keep walking without these shoes chemically bonding to my feet.” I fan my face again. “Are you good? Or I could catch the next—”
“I’m parked over on Chestnut”—he pauses—“and you’re not taking the bus.” Grant smirks at my relieved smile. “Huh, not even an argument? That’s a first. Usually you put up some sort of fight when I offer to help.”
My eyes widen. “Are you kidding? Do you even know the condition of this city’s public transportation?”
He chuckles. We cut across Dugan, working our way toward the side street where the pickle wagon awaits. “Uh-oh. What is it?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, either you’re about to throw a dart at me, or you’re concentrating really hard on something else. Your tongue,” he clarifies.
“Oh, um, no. I just…the ride home. I don’t want to create any more”—I fumble for the right word—“friction between you and Seth.”
Grant sniffs. “I keep forgetting you’re an only child—friction’s the norm, Wil. And my brother and I, we tend to butt heads. A lot.”
“Did you ever get along?”
“Yup.” And that’s the extent of his answer to that question. “Seriously, though, if Seth’s getting that torqued up over a couple of car rides and some cupcakes, he’s the one with the problem.”
I’m fretting over how to respond when Grant kicks a semicrushed can in my path. I grin and kick it back. “So, what brought you to this end of town?”
He picks up the mangled aluminum and tosses it in a trash can. “Java Hole. They’ve got great live music. Friend of mine, Roman, often plays here, so I popped by to catch him.” His eyes slide over to me. “I think you’d really like his music—he plays a killer acoustic guitar.”
“Yeah?” I squint ahead. “You’ll have to let me know when he plays again, then.”
“Well, won’t be long before you’re giving Roman a run for his money.”
My grin falters. “Oh right, I keep forgetting.” I root around my purse. “I accidently took this the other night from your car.” I hold out the guitar pick.
He shakes his head. “Keep it. You’ll need it.”
I stare at the pick and then Grant. “I can’t.” I hold it back out. Please don’t ask why. I can’t confess I don’t trust myself with the sort of closeness guitar lessons would warrant. Or how I almost burst into flames last time. The pick is an extension of Grant—every time I’d hold it, I’d be holding him. So I have to let it go. I have to.
“Keep it anyway.” He curls my fingers back over the triangular bit of plastic. “In case you change your mind.”
About what?
The question hovers at the tip of my tongue until I bite down on it. I know what I must do. While Miss Laveau may not have shed much light on my future, she was right about the past.
I was warned about Grant before.
And I won’t compromise the promise to my mother any longer.
When he isn’t looking, I drop the pick on the pavement behind us. Where it will lie abandoned along with any shred of feeling I have for him.
Rousing myself early the next day, I try yoga in hopes of attaining enlightenment. When that doesn’t work, I set up a “sacred space”—complete with a “clarifying” sandalwood candle and special floor cushion—in the corner of the living room.
I didn’t realize listening to the voice inside me would be so labor intensive, but I figure I should try to glean something from yesterday’s reading. My forehead creases as I strain to receive the faint messages. Finally, the voice is speaking! And…it tells me my nose is itchy, I might’ve pulled a hamstring during downward dog, and my right foot feels all pins and needles because it’s lapsed into a coma.
A short time later Gram shuffles by as I’m in the middle of a loud “Ommmmm.” The pads of my thumb and index fingers lightly touch, because the yoga DVD says this will help open my channels of energy and awaken my kundalini. Which…come to think of it, sounds kind of scary and messy.
Gram backs up, pausing in the doorway. Then she shakes her head and keeps on walking.
Once again, considering my frustrating lack of results, it’s now clear the problem must be that I have not properly connected with nature. I spread a blanket in the backyard, finding a flat spot beneath the crab apple tree where the moles haven’t churned up the earth. The fluffy blossoms on Gram’s peony bushes perfume the summer air.
Lying on my back, staring up at the softly clapping leaves, I wait. And wait.
And within five minutes…I am asleep.
“You hate it, don’t you?” Seth whispers.
“ ‘Hate’ is a strong word. I, um…” I gnaw my lower lip. “I didn’t know there were so many ways to blow something up.” Plus, it’s downright depressing to think the only person to survive the end of the world is Vin Diesel.
“You hate it.”
“Shh!” A guy with no neck wearing a football jersey shushes us. Like dialogue is a critical element of an action flick.
“It’s almost over,” I whisper to Seth.
He rolls his eyes and grabs my hand. “I’m not gonna make you suffer all the way to the credits. Let’s get out of here.”
We exit the theater into the humid night. Since Monday offered zero insight into my current conundrum, I’ve decided to allow fate to have its way with me. So when Seth called, asking if I wanted to grab dinner and a movie, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
I tug off the thin sweater covering my black dress.
Seth whistles. “Oh yeah. I’d much rather look at you than Vin for another hour.”
“Well, just don’t ask me to flex, because my muscles don’t do that.”
He chuckles and grasps my hand. “I’d get a complex dating a girl who could bench-press more than me anyway.”
Stray cats are hissing in a turf war near the theater’s Dumpsters. Furry bodies streak through the parking lot and into a nearby field.
“Wil?” Seth pauses.
“Hmm?”
His mouth twists as he bites the inside of his cheek. “I need to say something but…” He stalls and frowns.
“Now you’ve really piqued my curiosity.” I grin, giving his arm a little shake. “What? Come on, out with it.”
He hits the power lock, walking me to the passenger side of the Lexus, and opens the door. The interior light shows what the darkness hides. Nervousness. His eyes flit around, refusing to land anywhere more than two seconds. His free hand tugs at his earlobe. It’s rare to see Seth fidget. Anything
that makes him this uncomfortable can’t be good.
“I don’t like the amount of time you’re spending with my brother,” he confesses. The light and fluffy popcorn becomes ball bearings in my stomach. He releases my hand. “Grant took you home after our last date, and then spent all of Saturday with you.” Seth sniffs. “I think your grandma pretty much worships the ground he walks on. She couldn’t say enough about him. And then I heard you guys saw each other yesterday….It’s like he’s spending more time with you than I do.”
“Well, it’s not like any of it was…planned,” I point out. “Seth, I would’ve called you but—”
“That’s the thing, I know.” He kicks at some crumbled asphalt, causing it to roll beneath the car. “Hell, listening to myself, I sound like a jealous asshat. And it’s so stupid and lame, and I know we’ve already talked about it, but—”
“It’s…not stupid. Unnecessary maybe, but…” My mind whirls. I frantically grab at the scattered thoughts to cobble together something that will put him at ease. “Would you really want to spend a whole Saturday making cupcakes with my grandmother?”
Seth braces his arm against the doorframe, and stares back at the ground. “I don’t know, maybe. Grant was still high as a kite when I saw him Sunday. I haven’t seen him like that in forever. He’s happier lately, less…serious.” Seth lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Wil, I think it’s because of you.”
My laugh is a little too high and borders on maniacal. “Oh, come on! He was probably still in the throes of a sugar rush. You know he ate all the reject cupcakes.” I turn and climb into the car.
Seth closes the door. I catch a glimpse of his low-set brow and rigid posture. My words aren’t enough. He’s not even in the vicinity of reassured. I’m going to have to step up my actions to convince him.
He slides in and cranks the engine, adjusting the AC. He sits for a moment in silence, fingers curled at the wheel. “I’m going to ask you this only once, and then I’ll drop it—for good. But I need to know.” His brown eyes pull away from the windshield. “Are you absolutely positive there’s nothing between you and my brother?”
It isn’t until the question is posed point-blank that I realize how close I am to obliterating everything. I swallow. “Well, actually…there is.”
He closes his eyes.
Tentatively I touch his arm. “Seth, we’re friends. Just friends.”
The sadness leaves his face and his lips stretch wide. His teeth belong on television—news-anchor worthy. “Really?”
“Yes.” I shift closer; the leather crackles beneath me.
“Because I think you better break it to him that it’s nothing but…” His smile wavers as I inch nearer. “What are you doing?”
“I…” I am flipping out. What am I doing, making the first move? My heart’s ready to stage a jailbreak from my ribs. But I’m more afraid of losing him if I don’t.
Miss Laveau had all but told me I was fate’s marionette. Which makes Seth Walker my destiny—my one and only. So from this moment forward, I will stop fighting and questioning what is written in the stars. And I will throw myself into this with abandon.
“I want to kiss you,” I whisper. “No interruptions.”
Seth leans in, meeting me partway. His cologne mixes with the scent of peppermint and leather as his hand slides along the side of my neck. “That’s all I’ve thought about since the last time I saw you,” he murmurs. “It’s been driving me crazy.”
My gaze drifts to his mouth, so like Grant’s. My heart speeds faster. No! No! Nothing like Grant! I banish the unwelcome thoughts, focusing completely on Seth.
“You know, I have this history with guys.”
He licks his lips. “Black widow, I remember.” He moves a bit closer, until the distance between us can be measured in millimeters.
“So this could still end in disaster.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
I hold my breath…and take the plunge. The moment our lips meet I feel the rush. The one that comes from what is new and undiscovered. I think of the first time I climbed the water tower and then looked down. That’s how this feels. Thrilling with a side of vertigo.
As we kiss, I catalog the way he tastes—peppermint, like me—and the way his mouth feels—warm, unhesitating. It’s a certainty that comes from lots of practice. Like Grant. I feel a railroad spike at my chest. I am determined to make it go away.
I deepen the kiss and push myself harder into Seth’s arms. But…what happened to the rush? This doesn’t feel the same. Does he notice it doesn’t feel the same? Maybe if I just…
Quit overanalyzing!
Burying my hands in his hair, I move against him. He likes it. I assume he likes it, anyway, because his breathing gets even faster and more erratic. We carry on like this for a long while. Then I discover the logistical nightmare of making out in the front seat. My knee bangs the shifter.
I whimper.
Seth pulls away, breathless. “What? Did I hurt you?”
“Mmm, no.” I shake my head. “Just an old bruise.”
“Where?”
I pull my dress several inches above my knee to reveal the yellow, discolored skin.
He lowers his head. The distant theater lights make the tips of his brown hair golden. His lips graze my knee. “Better?”
“Uh-huh.” I am back to holding my breath, resting my head against the glass of the foggy passenger window.
Seth sits up, reaching out to toy with one of the waves that have fallen across my eye. “You scare me, you know that?”
My breath escapes in a shuddery exhale. “Then you have a really strange way of showing it.”
He closes the space between us, softly kissing my swollen lips before moving to my ear. “I think about you more than I should,” Seth whispers.
“Is that bad?”
His fingers follow the chain of my necklace. “Depends on whether or not you think about me.”
“Seth.” I grin. “I wouldn’t be doing this with you if I didn’t.”
“Doing what?” he asks, voice dropping low, like his fingers that follow my necklace.
My chest rises and falls under his touch. “Fogging up your windows.” The reply causes him to chuckle, even though I wasn’t meaning to be funny.
His face turns serious again. “What am I going to do about you, Wil?”
Uh, I’m confused. I thought I’d been crystal clear about what I wanted. Maybe he’s not so sure now. Maybe he’s waffling about his feelings for me. Which definitely adds a secondary layer of WTF-ery on the situation. “I…can’t answer that. What do you want?”
After a few skips of my heart, he stretches out his arm; his finger makes squeaky noises against the glass.
I study his intense expression, full lips pressed together as he works. More squeaks follow, until he’s satisfied and drops his arm. I turn to read the message he’s written in the condensation above my head:
YOU. JUST YOU.
He only wants me. More emotions than I can name go flooding through me. Weeks ago I sought to find love, love and universal synchronicity. Which has been impossible with the steady dance of doubt and uncertainty shadowing my thoughts. But tonight, with Seth…
I think I’m finally sure. “Just you, Seth. That’s all I want, too.”
He smiles, and it’s as bright as the moon hanging in the inky sky. He gathers me in his arms and I feel the elation in his kiss. It makes me happy to be the one to put it there.
More minutes pass and his cell beeps. It beeps again.
And again.
I turn my head in the direction of the noise. “Seth?” He’s totally oblivious. I can’t fathom how. “Are you going to get that?”
“What?” he rasps.
“Your phone. Don’t you hear it?”
“Wil,” he chuckles, “I don’t hear anything when I’m with you like this.” But he groans and finally moves away.
I take the opportunity to tug my dress back into place.
> Gradually I become aware of how he’s gripping the phone. He curses under his breath as he taps out a response, and sends the phone clattering into the cup holder.
“What?” I ask with sudden alertness. I sit upright.
The headlights blaze and he’s throwing the Lexus in reverse, barreling through the parking lot.
I scramble to fasten my seat belt. “Seth, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
His sole focus is the road. And his hands are wringing the life out of the steering wheel. “You missed curfew.”
Oh God. The glowing clock on the dash informs me I’ve missed curfew by over half an hour. It’ll be almost an hour by the time I get home. This is bad, real bad, but doesn’t explain Seth’s explosive reaction. His phone lights up with another text.
Seth grabs it, scowling once more. “And my punk brother needs a lesson in boundaries.”
“Your brother?” What could Grant possibly have to do with this? I thought we’d passed that obstacle. Beyond freaked, I snatch my cell—still muted from the movie—and listen to the messages. It’s worse than I thought. Gram’s voice is fraught with worry and desperate to know my whereabouts. And she has managed to enlist the help of the one person I wished she hadn’t…
Grant.
Any assurances Seth had about the nature of our relationship seem to dissipate like his writing on the glass.
“S-Seth,” I stammer, “I don’t even know how Gram got his number. It must’ve been Saturday, when—”
“Don’t.” His hand pushes irritably through his hair as he stops at a light.
We ride in uncomfortable silence until we’re less than a mile from my street, and finally I have to broach the question. “Are we…are things between us still…?” Between being unnerved by Seth’s reaction, and unnerved by what Gram’s reaction will be, I can’t seem to articulate the question.
But I can tell he sees what I’m driving at, despite my ineffective, floundering words. Seth rubs his fingers over his temple. “I don’t know, Wil. I really hate this back-and-forth vibe. It’s like I’m constantly wondering what’s going on in your head. One second you’re kissing me and it seems like you’re into it, and the next…I don’t know. It’s like you’re there, but not.”