by M. Leighton
I shrugged, wishing that I could tear my gaze away from his and look anywhere but into those eyes.
“But you are,” he declared softly. “You shine like the sun and you move like water. Your eyes are the perfect mix of gray and brown, like fog in the woods, and you smell like lilacs in the summer. I think if you laughed, it would sound like music.”
If anyone else had said something like that to me, I probably would’ve smiled and written them off as either a total dork or a total nut job. But not with him, not the way he said it. He was enchanting and I was enchanted.
Even though his poetic words stirred something inside me, bringing long dead things to life, it was his eyes that told the real story. They promised that he meant everything he’d said and that he was just as intrigued by and attracted to me as I was him.
My lungs seized, trapping air inside the painfully tight walls of my chest. I didn’t know what to say. I had no such elegant prose to explain the way he made me feel when he looked at me with those hypnotic eyes. I couldn’t even really make it make sense to myself, so telling someone else was hopeless.
But I could feel it. Oh, how I could feel it.
“Your battery’s dead,” he stated flatly.
“I-I know,” I admitted.
“Let me walk you home. You can get it fixed tomorrow.” He stood, holding the door open wide.
He held out his hand and I took it. It was cool and a little rough, but attractively so. When I stood, we were less than a foot apart. The words of gratitude I’d been about to speak died on my tongue. My insides were warm and tingly and tightly focused on him, and I fell mute in the face of his nearness.
Though he was a few inches taller than my five foot six frame, he was not so tall that I would have trouble touching my lips to his. All I’d have to do is stretch up on my toes and lean forward just a little bit…
Logically, the thought ended with our mouths locked in a kiss, a fiery one that made my knees weak. Shaking off the image, I was flustered by how much I wanted that kiss to happen, exactly as I’d seen it, passion and all.
As if he could read my thoughts, his eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there for a nerve-racking minute before they rose once more to meet mine.
“Let me get your bag,” he said, leaning past me to reach inside the car.
His body brushed mine and gooseflesh broke out all along my arms and legs. I held my breath and closed my eyes against the onslaught of sensation that followed the simple contact. But closing my eyes was not the wisest choice.
On the backdrop of my lids, I had no trouble imagining where a kiss like that could lead—his endless eyes staring down into mine, his bare skin pressed to mine, desire rising hot and wild between us. It was so clear, this scene, that I might’ve seen it before in reality. Only I hadn’t.
Embarrassed, I forced my eyes open and shifted to the side so he could pass without touching me. When he straightened, duffel in hand, he was grinning.
He tipped his head and said, “Come on.”
When I turned back to the car and hit the lock button on my remote, I caught sight of my reflection in the driver’s side glass. For the first time since I-don’t-know-when, I didn’t see the too-pointy chin or the too-thick hair. Instead, I saw something else, I saw someone else. I saw what Bo saw, like a curtain had been drawn back and she’d been magically revealed to me.
My sable hair had fallen from its confines and hung in wisps around my face. My lips were partially open, full and trembling. I looked like I’d been kissed already.
“You coming?”
Bo’s voice startled me into action. I closed my car door and we set out across the parking lot.
“Aren’t you afraid to run around by yourself at night like this? I mean, Southmoore’s not that far away,” I said, referring to the Southmoore Slayer.
“I like the night.”
I resisted the urge to comment on his answer, which was not an answer at all. Instead, we walked in silence for a ways before the need to speak overwhelmed me.
“So, how are you liking Harker?”
Bo looked over at me before he responded, his eyes scanning my face. “Much better than I thought I would.”
I felt my cheeks heat and I was glad that he couldn’t see my reaction in the darkness.
“What brings you here?”
He shrugged. “It’s a long story.”
Though we obviously had plenty of time, I figured that was his way of saying he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t press.
He fell quiet again.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
He shrugged again. “Don’t have much to say.”
We walked in silence the rest of the way to my house. As much as I normally hated the quiet, ours wasn’t the torturous silence that I’d detested for so long. No, it was quite the opposite. Our silence was highly charged, full and alive, though not with words. It crackled with electricity and hinted at dark and dangerous things, secret things. Passionate things.
I could never remember wanting to reach out and touch someone so badly in all my life. My fingertips literally tingled with the desire to run them through his hair and test the muscles of his thick chest.
With his wide shoulders and trim waist, he looked like an athlete and I wanted to ask him about his time at Southmoore, whether or not he played sports, but I’d apparently have to wait until he was more inclined toward loquaciousness, if ever there was such a state for him.
I was disappointed to see my house come into view and even more so to see my mom’s car in the driveway.
“This is me,” I said, turning to step up onto the walkway that led to the front door.
He nodded and stopped on the sidewalk.
“Well, um, thanks for walking me home,” I said, suddenly feeling nervous.
“No problem.”
I felt silly waiting, but I was hesitant to leave his quiet company. I was hoping he’d have something else to say, anything that might prolong the night.
“Ok, so, um, I guess I’ll see you at school,” I said, taking a slow step backward.
Again, he nodded.
I nodded, too, turning to walk to the house. Then it occurred to me that, since he was new, he might be looking for some social interaction. Granted, he didn’t seem like the social type at all, but who was I to judge or make assumptions like that? The right and proper thing to do would be to invite him to Caster’s party. So what if I was reaching. Sue me.
“Hey,” I said, whirling around and stepping back toward him. “There’s a party tomorrow night at Caster’s cabin in the hills. You should stop by.”
The invitation was out before I could even think about how fraught with problems a situation such as that would be. After all, I was going with a date, and not just any date. I was going with the same date I’d had for over a year, the date that I had semi-concrete plans to break up with.
He sort of wagged his head in a way that was neither positive nor negative. “Maybe I will,” he said, but to my ears it sounded like a platitude.
“Unless parties aren’t your thing,” I offered, giving us both a way out. I wasn’t sure who needed one more—him or me.
“Actually, they’re not,” he said, stepping up onto the walkway. “But I can think of one really good reason that this one might be more to my liking.”
Before I could stop myself, I raised my hand to my chest, as if to still the erratic beating there before any of my organs flew from my body. Bo was standing so close to me, his jacket brushed the backs of my fingers. I was struck by the thought that all I’d have to do is to turn my hand over and I could feel the thump of his heart. The desire to touch him was nearly overwhelming. We were so close, but I wanted to be closer still.
The world came to a breathless halt when I saw his hand come out of his pocket. As if it happened in slow motion, it rose toward my face and my eyes locked on his. He swept the backs of his fingers down my cheek in a feather-light caress.
“I want to kiss
you,” he whispered.
Spellbound and tongue-tied, I just nodded, hoping he understood that I was granting him permission.
“And you want me to kiss you,” he continued.
The only thing I could’ve added to that was, More than anything.
“But I shouldn’t,” he said, a frown wrinkling his otherwise smooth, pale forehead. “It’s not a good idea for you to be involved with someone like me.”
Someone like me.
A warning bell rang somewhere in the back of my befuddled mind. In a way, I knew, had known from first that first day, that he was dangerous. I didn’t doubt what he was telling me was true, and that he was right. I should probably turn and run. The problem was, I didn’t want to. I didn’t care how dangerous or how ill-advised being with him was. I didn’t care about warnings or caution. I didn’t care about consequences or rationale. I only cared about this—this night, this moment, this kiss.
When finally I found my tongue, I asked, “Then why are you here?”
To this, he smiled. It was a wry, self-deprecating twist of the lips. “Because I just can’t seem to stay away, no matter how hard I try.”
Though it was hardly a compliment, pleasure blossomed in my belly anyway. He couldn’t stay away and I knew how that felt.
“What if I don’t want you to stay away?”
I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t help it. I could only pray that the end result wouldn’t be a heart burned up beyond all recognition.
“You’d be a fool.”
“Brains are overrated,” I quipped.
For the first time, he really smiled, a spread of the lips that revealed straight white teeth and caused his eyes sparkle. It was a gesture that made my legs feel like melted butter.
“You should at least think about it,” he said, holding my chin still between his thumb and forefinger. “The only problem is, you might decide I’m right.” His smile dissolved into another frown, his eyes darting between my lips and my eyes. “And just in case you do, just in case you want me to stay away, there’s one thing I need to do before I go.”
With a tug on my chin to part my lips, Bo bent his head and kissed me.
It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, but somehow it still managed to turn my stomach inside out. Even after he’d lifted his head, I could feel the imprint of his mouth. It was etched onto my mind and burned onto my lips.
I opened my eyes in time to see his tongue sneak out, as if he was savoring me.
“Mmm. You taste like candy, like strawberries and sugar.”
“It’s my lip gloss,” I said automatically.
He grinned again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were steamy and intense. “No, it’s not. Trust me.”
He bent his head to mine again and dragged his lips from the corner of my mouth, across my cheek to my ear.
“Goodnight, Ridley.”
Mesmerized, I stood absolutely still and watched him go.
CHAPTER TWO
I stared into the empty darkness for several minutes after Bo left. I relived that kiss over at least three times before I could bring myself to go inside. I think I hesitated for so long because turning away was like an admission that the night was over and he wasn’t coming back, something I desperately wanted not to be true.
But, alas, reality waited, quickly making itself heard via the shrill voice of my mother. She called to me from the living room as soon as I opened the front door.
“Ridley, is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom. It’s me,” I answered, closing the door behind me and snapping the locks into place.
“Well get on in here and give your momma a hug,” she slurred.
I rolled my eyes and dropped my duffel by the door, resigned to a long night of babysitting.
When I walked into the living room, Mom was struggling to sit up on the couch, her royal blue dress a tangled mess around her legs.
“What the—” she exclaimed, pulling at the wispy material in obvious frustration.
“Here,” I said, rushing to the sofa to help her before she tore her new dress. She wouldn’t remember doing it, but she’d be mighty upset in a few days when she found it laying in the bottom of her closet, trashed.
I moved her legs and leaned into her, pushing her up on one hip so I could gently extricate the material from under her butt. It was wound around her like a tight blue cocoon.
“Alright, now you can sit up,” I announced once I’d freed her from the fabric.
Mom clumsily resituated herself on the couch and then patted the cushion beside her.
“Sit with me, tell me how’s your- how’s your life is,” she said, her tongue tangling over the words. She frowned, knowing something didn’t sound right with that phrase, but unable to figure out what it was. She closed her eyes in concentration. “How are you?”
When she opened her eyes, she looked satisfied with the less confusing sentence structure.
I sat down next to her and she put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me against her side.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
She smiled down at me. “My baby’s going away soon. You’ll be in Stanford and I’ll never get to see you,” she whined, her voice quavering.
“Yes, you will, Momma. You just won’t see me every day.”
That thought always brought me a sense of relief and anticipation, which was then always followed by guilt for feeling that way about leaving home, about leaving my mother.
Attending Stanford was my goal, my one true dream in life. It was just about the only thing that I truly looked forward to. It kept me going when I wanted to give up and run away. That’s why I put up with so much in cheerleading, and in life for that matter. Going to Regionals would win me the athletic scholarship that would help pay for school. My parents couldn’t afford to send me otherwise. To me, that scholarship was worth whatever I had to endure for the next nine months to get it. Whatever and whoever, Trinity included.
“I love you so much, Ridley,” she declared, giving me a hard kiss on the forehead.
“I love you too, Mom.”
“Now help me to the bathroom,” she groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Pulling her to her feet, I shuffled Mom to the half bath as quickly as her unsteady legs would allow. I deposited her in front of the toilet and grabbed the bucket from under the sink.
When Mom gets sick, she gets clingy and doesn’t like me to leave her sight. That’s why I started keeping a mobile medicine cabinet (i.e. the bucket) close at hand, always stocked and ready to go.
I kept it filled with supplies in case of emergencies of the inebriated variety. The bucket itself was invaluable, especially when we couldn’t quite make it to the bathroom in time. But inside it was a washcloth, some baby wipes, Tylenol, a bottled water, a sleeve of saltines and some mouthwash, all things she’d likely need and all in one container that I could grab on the fly. Sadly, it had served me well on far too many occasions.
I wet the washcloth as she vomited into the commode. Her brown hair was short so I didn’t have to worry about holding it out of the way. I just wiped her face and forehead with the cool rag until she was finished.