by Clara Stone
He pauses, looking up through his lashes. Suddenly, I feel like I need to down a whole gallon of H2O. “You’re very beautiful tonight.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks at his change in demeanor. My eyes are locked on his, unable to turn away. There’s a certain attraction—sexiness—to a guy that is confident and looks like Cam Gigandet’s long-lost twin brother.
“Do you have brothers? Sisters?” he asks, as if we didn’t just have a moment.
I clear my throat, stuffing my face with the last bite of burger, buying myself some time. I’ve never been comfortable talking about my family. It’s something only a privileged few know about me. I’m not sure if Vincent has earned that yet.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Vincent interrupts my thoughts.
“Nothing to tell really. It’s just Dad and me.”
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second.
Instead of dwelling and inviting unwanted questions, I throw a one back at him. “What about you?”
He shrugs. “Apart from Rock, we have three other siblings that are three, five, and ten, respectively. All boys.”
“Oh, that’s a huge age difference. You’re what, twenty . . . ?”
“Nineteen,” he corrects me. His lips thin, like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Giving him the same courtesy as he’s done for me, I let it go. I get up, gathering the empty wrappers. Without another word, I turn around and head for the trash container. Dumping the remains of dinner, I wait, staring at the people around us—laughing, kissing, enjoying life.
“Ready for the fun part of the date?” Vincent stands, facing me, a smile on his face. He extends one hand, like a peace offering, while his other is securely hidden in the front pocket of his jeans.
In that moment, he gains a little more trust from me. Apart from the fact that he knows I’m not comfortable talking about my family and is obviously trying to change the subject, he also successfully turns my thoughts to our night out together. Maybe sometime, one day soon, I might be able to share my life story with him after all.
Ever the gentleman, he helps me get into his beat-up ’95 Ford truck, shutting the door with a creak. He then runs to the other side and slides in. His phone vibrates and he picks it up, reading the screen and frowning before throwing it back on the console. I want to ask if something’s wrong, but I don’t. He sighs, starts the old piece of metal, and pulls out of the parking lot. His phone buzzes again.
I turn my face, pretending to look out the window, but my eyes train on his reflection. The same reaction flashes across his face. I feign ignorance. I figure, if he really wants to share with me, he will. He didn’t push me to tell him about my family, and I’m going to return the gesture.
Before I know it, he’s pulling into a parking spot, and I’m being helped out of the truck, his hand enveloping my elbow. After shutting the door, he leads me down a sandy ramp, toward the beach.
Freeing my hand from his, I move a few steps ahead of him, taking in the waves crashing against the shoreline. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the smell of salt and fish, and then exhale, feeling myself relax. Ahh. I throw a glance over my shoulder and bite down on my bottom lip.
“What are you doing?” he asks, a grin on his face and his hands stretched out to the sides.
I pivot and start to walk backward. “Catch me, if you can.” I wink at him before taking off in a full sprint.
Small giggles erupt as he lunges for me, just missing. I stick my tongue out at him, and notice he’s standing there, staring. I turn around and place my hands on my hips, breathing heavy from the run. “Giving up so easily?”
His smile widens in a delicious grin as he takes off toward me again. I squeal and try to get out of his reach, but fail. His hands snake around my waist, and he picks me up with ease, spinning me around with him.
“Put me down!” I yell.
His laughter surrounds me, and I feel so alive and carefree.
When he finally sets me down, he takes my hand and pivots me so that I’m facing him, holding my hand prisoner against his chest. He snakes his other arm around my waist, and his hand skims down to the round of my butt. His eyes turn smoldering dark, dropping to my lips. The cold air from the beach runs across my skin, and a small shiver rolls over me.
“You okay?” His warm breath fans across my mouth.
I nod in response, licking my lips. My heart rate picks up speed, and I remind myself that this is why I came out tonight. I want to see if things between Vincent and me can go anywhere, if our attraction can be transformed into a physical connection.
You’re just using him to push away thoughts of Heath. The little angel on my right shoulder scowls in disapproval. I ignore her.
He leans down, and I rise to my toes. My left hand hooks around his neck, while the other lies over his beating heart. My eyes close. Just as his lips graze mine, his phone blasts a punk rock ringtone. I sigh. He leans his forehead into mine.
“Take it,” I say breathlessly, biting my lip. When the hell did I run a marathon? My heart’s racing, going way faster than I’ve ever felt before. There’s a slight sway in my step when I push back from his warmth. I guess that answers my question about a physical connection.
He pulls the phone out of his pocket and answers, his tone none too happy. “Yeah?” His brows furrow. “I’ll be home . . .” His eyes find mine, guilt pouring out of him.
I nod, mouthing, “Now.”
“Now,” he repeats into the phone, with an apologetic smile. As he snaps his phone shut, he reaches to take my hand, linking our fingers together. He tugs and I go to him willingly. “I’m so sorry. I just wish, for once, I could kiss you and not get interrupted.”
“Me too,” I agree. “But it’s gonna have to wait.”
We walk back to his truck. Once we’re both buckled up, he pauses, his hand on the ignition. He lets out a breath of frustration, and his head falls back against the headrest. I want to ask him what’s wrong—maybe that call was more than just a request for him to come home?
“I don’t want this to be the end of our date. I just need to make a stop at home to take care of something. Would you mind coming with me?”
Something inside me jumps at his desperate plea. “I don’t mind,” I say, my eyes dropping to his lips. I need to find out. I need to know if Vincent can be the guy for me. I feel like a complete douche for even thinking of using him in such a way, but I’m desperate, and Vincent and I have this connection. I just hope it’s enough to make me not think about Heath.
He drives into a trailer park, and for the first time, I understand the depth of his hesitation about bringing me here. He thought I might judge him based on where he lives. I take his hand and give him a squeeze as he pulls up to a trailer.
He nods in acknowledgement, and I let go of his hand. Once he disappears inside, I attempt to roll the window down, only to find it’s automatic, which means I need the keys. The keys Vincent took with him.
I sigh and peel the door open, jumping out. I slap the door shut, walk to the front of the truck and pull out my phone. A cool breeze sways around me, tickling over my bare skin. Shivering, I tuck one hand around my waist, placing the hand with the phone over it.
I scroll through the missed calls list: Emily, Dad, and Heath. I listen to the voicemails, going through them one by one.
Dad: “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
Typical. He probably picked up another odd job, trying to make ends meet. Or maybe he’s off somewhere getting drunk to forget his misery. I sigh and go to the next message.
Emily: “I’m dying to know how your sexy date with Vinny-boy went. Is he a good kisser? What does he taste like?” She giggles. “Stop. Don’t you dare, lover boy. Stop pulling at my panties.”
I roll my eyes. She’s probably calling in the middle of her own boy-agenda.
I smile. I’ll have to actually kiss Vincent before I know how good of a kisser he is. I skip to the next message.
He’s gotta be a good kisser. With that bad-boy vibe he’s got going on and all.
Heath: “Hey, baby.” He breathes into the message, and I feel a shiver of gooseflesh rise in response. “I miss you so fucking much.” His voice slurs. “I wish you were here with me. Me. You.” He laughs and burps. I hear a girl giggling in the background. “Get the fuck out,” he says. I hear the sound of feet shuffling, followed by a pained grunt, like he stubbed his toe or something. “What was I saying? Ah, oh, right. Speaking of missing you, were you just here? Because I swear, I thought you were talking to me . . .” His breathing becomes labored, heavy. “Sometimes . . . I wonder . . . Fuck.” He groans and follows it with a pause. “Call me when you get this . . . or not . . .”
The line goes dead.
My heart’s hammering at the base of my throat. What did he mean? What did he wonder about? The uncertainty in his message and the insecurity in his voice were clear. Does Heath want something more than friendship? Does he see me as more than a friend?
A twinge of guilt fills my gut like a bad stink at that thought. Here I am, out on a date with Vincent, and I can’t stop thinking about Heath. Maybe I shouldn’t be kissing Vincent when I’m so confused. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?
I like Vincent; he likes me. We can kiss. It’s not a big deal. Right?
The angel on my shoulder hangs her head in shame.
“You must be the famous Carrigan.” A female voice cuts through my shock-infused attempt at rationalization.
I tuck my phone into my back pocket faster than a rat snatching a piece of cheese. I turn to see a girl with black hair and green eyes staring back at me. There’s something hauntingly familiar about her.
“I don’t know about famous, but . . . Carrigan is definitely my name.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re famous around here.”
I feel heat rise up the length of my body.
“It’s okay. Vincent thinks highly of you, and that’s saying something. He’s hardly ever intrigued by a girl, let alone talks about her.” Her eyes sparkle with laughter.
I stare at her, trying to remember how I know her.
“Jessica!” Vincent’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “I see you’ve met Carrigan.” He walks over and stands next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and tugging me to him. My hand automatically lands on his hard chest.
“So, it seems I’ve met your girl,” she says, winking at him.
“Wait, you’re the girl from the bar!” I finally put the face to the name. “I think Vincent said you were in a band, or something?”
She smiles in response. “Yeah, that’s me. All right, you two, we have younglings, so keep it PG.” She eyes Vincent, then me. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” She pulls me into a hug, forcing Vincent to let me go, and then walks away, leaving the two of us alone.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I call after her before turning to Vincent. “Everything okay?”
His lip curves up to one side as he snakes his arm around my waist again and tugs me to his chest. I gasp. My soft curves are pressed against the hard contours of his body. Thoughts escape me and blood rushes to my ears.
“Thank you for letting me stop by,” he says. His finger traces the length of my cheek and pushes a string of hair behind my ear.
“No problem.” I give a tight-lipped smile, fighting between needing him and doing what is right.
“Do you need to go home?” he asks, his voice dropping low, his eyebrows pinching together.
“I think that might be best,” I say, cloaked in confusion—Heath, Vincent, Heath, Vincent. The need to kiss him is still there, but something inside me is feeling uneasy.
“Okay,” he says, dropping his grip around me. He takes my hand and walks me back toward the passenger side of his truck.
After a few instructions, and a twenty-minute ride later, we’re standing on the front porch of my house. He grabs a hold of my hands and stares at them before looking directly at me.
“I really want to kiss you, Carrigan,” he says.
I don’t respond. I’m so confused at this point I’m not even sure what I can say. He takes my silence as his answer and leans down. He wraps one hand around my waist, slides a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. His eyes ask for permission.
“Say no!” my heart screams. But my body and head seem to have the opposite reaction. I close my eyes and give in. His lips touch mine, once, twice, like he’s still giving me the chance to back away. Flutters rollercoaster in the pit of my stomach.
Everything about this kiss is perfect—the way our lips move against each other, the perfect taste of mint, the feel of his hands over my skin and under the hem of my shirt. Everything. But still, it just isn’t complete.
It isn’t him. It isn’t Heath. A rush of shame pours over me. This isn’t fair to Vincent. I’m not the kind of person who sinks this low.
When he pulls back, I leave my eyes closed. I can’t look at him. What I’ve done is wrong on so many levels. No one deserves to be used. Especially not Vincent, who’s been nothing but sweet and wonderful—well, after that first day, anyway. Something wet rolls down my cheeks.
“It’s okay, Carrigan.” His tender voice seeps through my shame. His thumb runs across my cheek, wiping away the tears. “Hey.” He nudges my chin. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes, afraid to see disgust. But I end up feeling even worse when all I see is understanding.
“You should never settle for second best.” He kisses my forehead. “I wish you could’ve given us a chance.”
“I tried.” My voice cracks when I speak.
He nods. “You should tell him.”
My heart jumps to my throat. He gives me a sad smile in response. He knows, and he still tried. “Rich boy deserves to know, and you deserve to be happy.”
I don’t know if I agree with either of those statements.
I WOKE UP THIS morning to a monster of a headache and a bemused voicemail from Ace. I remember calling her last night, but can’t seem to recall what I said. Pulling my Jeep into her driveway, I sit for a moment, taking in steady, deep breaths.
I can do this. This is Ace. Whatever idiotic thing I said last night, I’m sure I’ve said something far more inappropriate before. Right? Right. Besides, I want to fix us. I need her to understand that I don’t care who she’s “seeing,” and that I’ll . . . I’ll have her back. No matter what.
Sliding off the driver’s seat, I try to devise a plan as I approach the front door. I raise my hand to knock, but I’m beaten to the punch when it swings open.
Ace is standing on the other side¸ her forehead scrunched with confusion. “Heath?”
I run my hand over the base of my neck, feeling awkward. “Hi,” I say, hesitant.
“Hi,” she responds, her voice trembling, her arm blocking me from stepping inside.
“So . . . um . . .” Yeah, this is awkward. “I heard that the butterfly exhibit is open this weekend.”
Her lips tilt up into an easy smile—innocent and shy. “So I heard.”
“You think you’re up for it?”
“Sure.” She lets go of the door and walks backward. “Give me five?” She gestures her fingers like blinkers.
I nod and step inside. I watch her disappear toward her room before falling onto the sofa with a hefty puff. Why am I acting so weird? I need to get my shit together before she comes back.
I pick up the remote from the wooden coffee table and start flipping through channels, finally settling on ESPN. The commentators are talking about the game this evening, but I can’t concentrate on the words. My thoughts run back to Ace’s voicemail, to how her words had sounded sad. I close my eyes and tilt my head back.
“Hey, Heath. Just got your message. Since you didn’t pick up, I’m guessing you’re either sleeping or . . . busy.” I’d heard ruffling in the background, like she was slipping under a comforter. And long seconds had passed before her next words tumbled with uncertainty. “
I-I wonder too . . . sometimes.”
“Ready?” Ace’s voice jolts me from my thoughts.
I glance over my shoulder. She’s shrugging into a jean jacket, covering her blue and white floral dress. She ruffles her blonde locks before pulling them into a messy bun. I blink, completely mesmerized by her.
She clears her throat. Cheers from the TV suddenly fill the room, like my imaginary, soundproofed headphones were removed.
“Yes,” I finally respond, jumping to my feet and clicking the TV off. “Let’s go see some animals.”
“Oh. My. God.” Ace places her arm around my shoulders and twists me, pointing to the lions with her other hand. “Look!” There’s a gleam in her eyes as she fails to hide her giggles. “I think the he-lion just got told!”
I glance to the area she’s pointing at and laugh. The lioness swipes her paw at the lion, baring her teeth and lashing her tail. She’s totally telling him to piss off, but what fun would it be if I agreed? “First off, the king of the jungle can’t be dismissed! He’ll get that ass sooner or later. And secondly, it’s not ‘he-lion.’ He’s a lion, she’s a lioness.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses a piece of popcorn my way. I catch it in my mouth. Shaking her head, she steers us toward the butterfly exhibit. It’s unnatural for butterflies to bloom so early in the year, but the zoo’s climate-controlled exhibit means there’ll be butterflies, even in late March.
We go through the passageway keeping the exhibit isolated from the outside weather. The volunteer rattles off the rules: don’t touch or pick up the butterflies, and watch where we step.
Ace and I look at each other, grinning cheek to cheek like kids that won a shopping spree at Toys-R-Us. Compared to how I felt a few hours ago, this feels perfect and carefree. How easy it was to fall back into our usual routine.
When the gate opens, giving us access to the exhibit, Ace and I walk inside.
Vibrantly-colored, fluttery wings surround us as we move down the designated pathway. I hear Ace sigh and gasp, and I pull out my phone to capture her lively spirit on film. I snap several photos of her laughing and playing with the butterflies, and then scroll through them to see if there are any good ones.