He shakes his head and presses his warm lips to my cheek. “Really. You should be with her. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I nod and close the door behind me, my eyes shooting daggers at Bennie again, who barely contains her mirth.
Her flippy black hair is bobbing against her face as she shakes her head. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. My timing sucks in a major way, huh? And where the hell did the Key West cutie come from? Did you answer his phone calls? Tell him where you were? What did I tell you about vacation sex friends?”
“Never fall for them,” I say.
“Never fall for them,” she says at the same time.
“Jinx!” I call out.
We dissolve into a fit of laughter, and she follows me into the kitchen, where I pull a couple beers from the fridge and twist off the caps, handing her one.
“Yeah, well, the whole ‘never fall for them’ thing was shot the first night I met him.”
She sips and swallows, tipping her bottle in my direction. “When he took you out on the boat and showed you the stars and shit?” She gags, pretending she hates those types of romantic gestures. I think she’s never dated the kind of guy inclined to do such things.
I shove at her shoulder and push her to the couch, kicking off my shoes and plopping down on the other end.
“Yes, the night he took me out for an incredibly romantic night on the water. Stars, and stories, and sweet, innocent touching,” I say to incite her, and she faux-gags so much I’m afraid she’s going to really vomit.
“I can’t believe it took you a few more nights to get into his pants. You never did spill. How big is his…”
“I am not telling you. You forget I am a proper Southern lady. We never kiss and tell.” I grin. This is driving her mad.
“Proper. Ha.” She snorts. “Proper, like dry-humping a hot guy on your stoop?”
My face heats up. The neighbors could have seen everything. Oh God!
“We were trying to bring the action inside, but as you know, we were rudely interrupted.”
Bennie doesn’t say anything, looking down at her beer bottle before taking another swig.
“Are you going to break up with Enrique this time?”
She shakes her head and mumbles, “I don’t know.”
“What’s going on Bennie? This is the second time you’ve caught Enrique doing something. Why are you sticking around?”
“Good sex? The man’s tongue is masterful.”
I give her another dose of the stink-eye.
“I don’t know, okay?” She jumps off the couch and paces, wearing a path on the carpet. “Nothing better going on, I guess.”
I get up and hug her, stopping her in her tracks. “You deserve so much more.”
“I can change him. If he loves me, he’ll change for me. Right?”
“Oh sweetie.” I squeeze her tighter as she sobs softly into my hair.
I’m sad for her because I know she’ll take him back and he’ll hurt her again and again until she finally gets fed up.
I let her cry it out on my shoulder, then retrieve a pillow and blanket for her.
I come back a couple minutes later, and she is out like a light.
Her beautiful face is softened by sleep, and I brush her thick hair out her eyes before I turn off the light.
I will pray for her to find real love with someone who will never break her heart.
Someone like Shay.
Then I remember I harbor a gigantic secret that might break his heart.
And mine, when he walks away forever.
***
Shay
I’ve never been involved in so many embarrassing sexual situations until I met Thea.
The stupid smile plastered on my face tells the world I don’t care.
What a freaking unbelievable night.
I haven’t laughed so much in a long time, even if she kicked my butt bowling.
I’ll find something I can beat her at, or at least have fun trying to beat her.
It’s best Bennie interrupted us. I mean to give the whole “taking things slow” a shot, and the closeness of her, all soft hair and sweet skin and delicious lips, spins me out of control.
Control is the one thing I craved the most throughout my life. Until now. I’d gladly give up control to wake up next to Thea every day.
I turn on the shower, running tepid water. September in North Carolina is still warm and sticky. The shower might also ice my raging ardor. Just thinking about touching her gets me going, and if I don’t get rid of this erection, sleep will elude me.
I step in and let the frigid water cascade over my body, and think how calming a swim would be right now. I’d love to go running, like Liam does. He talks about the runner’s high, the rush of endorphins churning after a long run. I tried jogging a few times, but the pain in my knee, caused by all the built-up scar tissue from the multiple post-accident surgeries, prevents me from trying again.
Swimming is fantastic exercise though, and I enjoy the solitude when I hit the pool at six o’clock in the morning.
A swim tomorrow morning will help burn this restless energy.
I shut down the shower, dry off, and get dressed in my gym shorts and tee shirt. I still need to study. My phone vibrates, buzzing across the dresser.
I pick it up, expecting Mom or even Mac, who’s struggling with the death of his long-time therapist. I’m the crutch trying to get him through this massive disruption.
It’s not either of them though. Instead, it’s a text from Thea.
Thea: So sorry abt earlier. Thx for understanding. Bennie’s sound asleep now.
Me: No problem. She needs you, and I love how you’re so nurturing.
Thea: UR the best. Can I make it up to U tmrw?
Tomorrow? So soon. Don’t the “rules” usually dictate no calls for a couple days after the first date? Those rules don’t seem to apply much to us.
Me: Sure. Dinner and a movie?
Thea: Sounds good. How about the new Hangover movie?
I hope she wants to see it and is not suggesting the film because she thinks I, as a “dude,” like low-brow films.
Me: Hangover 3? You sure?
Thea: I love those movies! Don’t you? Pick something else.
Me: No, they’re funny.
Thea: If you’re sure. How bout I pick you up? Need your addy.
Sure. I’ve never really done the dating thing, since my only long-term relationship was in high school, but whatever rules Thea wants to go by are cool with me. I send her my address, and we say goodnight.
My head is swimming with all of the possibilities of things to come. I want to run, jump, and shout from the balcony how excited I am. I don’t think my neighbors want me to do these things.
I feel phenomenal.
The one thing I don’t feel, however?
Like studying. I can study in the morning after I go for my swim.
I pick up my tablet, pull up the latest e-issue of a psychology journal and slide into the crisp, clean sheets on my bed. I drift to sleep quickly, and wake up hours later to turn the light off. When I go back to sleep, I dream of Thea tangled up in these sheets with me.
The dream will be reality soon enough.
I won’t be able to help myself, no matter my best intentions.
***
Thea
Hee. I finally get to go see The Hangover Three. Bennie and Leesh held true to their word and refused to go with me. That’s okay because now I get to watch the movie with Shay.
I hope I don’t embarrass him with my snorting. We’ll sit close to one of the speakers so we don’t miss any of the dialogue.
I tiptoe quietly down the hall so I don’t wake Bennie. I’m wound up, not ready to sleep yet, and maybe another beer will settle my nerves. I grab my laptop and slide under the covers.
I meet with the plastic surgeon next week to discuss my options for reconstruction. I look at more pictures. Bennie and Leesh ask why I keep torturing myself with these
images. Not torture, I tell them.
Reality.
Soon, the scars and pain will be mine. I’ll never be the same again, physically or emotionally.
I tilt my head at one of the thumbnails in my search engine’s image results. A smiling, pretty young woman, no more than thirty years old, sits on a couch shirtless. The rosary beads around her neck emphasize her pale skin and puckered, pink scars. Behind her sits her husband—they’re both wearing wedding bands—and he’s shirtless too, kissing her hair while she holds his hand.
Without warning, tears scorch my cheeks.
I thought reconstruction would be the right choice to create some semblance of normalcy for me, but the decision was driven in part by my desire to be normal for guys.
This beautiful woman in the photo has no breasts. She has scars. But she has the two things I seem to be lacking.
Faith and love.
I need to find the first, and the second will follow.
I need to have faith that Shay will love me no matter what, that even though we hardly know each other, he cares deeply enough about me to weather this storm.
If he doesn’t want to, he never deserved me to begin with. If I can’t be honest, I don’t deserve him.
Easier said than done.
How long can I keep this from him? How long can I prolong this sweet joy he’s giving me, without him even knowing how much it means? I don’t want him to walk away now. I need him for a couple more weeks, so I’ll tell him later.
But I will tell him.
Then hold my breath and pray he stays.
Chapter 11
Shay
I whistle as I jump into the shower after my swim.
When I kept talking about her this morning, Fred smacked me upside the head, thinking the blow would knock some sense into me.
So much for scientific reasoning, since a knock on the head usually makes people more senseless, not less.
I dry off and get dressed to go meet Fred at the library so we can quiz each other. Not only was Fred a known entity as a roommate after four years at Miami, but he was a known entity—a superior one—as a study partner. A lot of the tricks and tips he taught me helped me get through some of the more rigorous undergrad material, which in turn helped get me to my first choice medical school, so I could study with Dr. Sykes.
That dream’s becoming a reality.
The other dream, the one I’d always suppressed, the one about finding love with someone who wasn’t terrified of my family’s tendency toward mental illness, was close to becoming a reality as well.
I’ve always worried that any genetic material responsible for my birth mother and brother’s severe depression is lying dormant in me, waiting to attach itself to any children I might have.
It’s also possible that Thea hasn’t even considered that possibility, of having kids with me.
Heck, the idea just came to me right now.
If she has time to think, if I mention it to her, she may reconsider our relationship
It’s too soon to start thinking about children, but why would she want to waste her time with someone who’s defective? She knows about Rose and Mac. We discussed the genetic link. Do we talk about the issue now, so early in the new phase of our relationship?
I shake my head and try to block out the negative thoughts. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and slide on my sunglasses as I step out into the bright morning sun. The day is shaping up to be a hot one, and after I walk to the library and then back to my car, I’ll need another shower before Thea picks me up.
For the second date in two days.
Breaking all the rules, and I like it.
A couple pretty girls are sitting on the circular brick wall of the fountain marking the center of campus. They wave and say hello, giggling behind their hands when I return the greeting.
Freshmen, no more than sophomores, I think.
I have no interest in stopping to talk. A year ago, heck, six months ago, if a pretty girl had so much as said hello, I would have at least paused, even if I was afraid of talking to her.
Now though, no one else can garner my interest, because they’re not Thea.
Maybe my brain is turning into mush, as Fred scientifically diagnosed this morning, based on my symptoms of glazed eyes, relaxed limbs, and a distinct fixation on a single female with pretty hair and large breasts.
If this is mush-brain, I’ll take it.
I’ve never been more happy or hopeful.
My future’s brilliant now that Thea’s in it.
***
Thea
Another date, another night of difficult wardrobe choices.
Leesh is working her second job at the lingerie store, and Bennie is moping (which she is entitled to do) so I’m on my own.
I admire my reflection in the mirror. I think I did alright.
My hair’s still pretty straight from Miguel’s masterful styling last night, and I only need to touch up a little frizz with the flat iron.
I opt to wear my hair down, a few sections hanging over my shoulders and the rest falling down my back.
The sleeveless purple top is cut high but still shows off my curves. The black capris are fitted but not too tight.
I spin, checking out my butt in the reflection and nodding in approval.
I touch up my make-up, too, and notice I’m glowing a little.
Smiling a lot.
My happiness on the inside is showing on the outside.
Love is a balm for the soul, and mine has sorely needed soothing.
I sling my large black bag over my shoulder and walk into the living room. Bennie sits motionless on the couch, remote in one hand, candy bar in the other, staring at the television airing a reality show marathon.
She intermittently grunts at the inane conversations of the “celebutantes,” but hasn’t spoken to me all day.
I leave her alone when she gets all dark and broody like this. She’ll snap out of her funk in a couple days. I’d let her sleep on the couch forever if it meant she wouldn’t go back to Enrique, but when Bennie falls for someone, despite her anti-romantic rants, she falls hard. All in.
I understand.
I hug her, one arm around her shoulder. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you need any more…”
I point at the empty candy bar wrappers littering the floor around the couch.
She grunts, her smile wan.
It’s something.
I’m about to walk out when she speaks. “Hey McBride, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
I glance over my shoulder and chuckle. “Ha. That’s pretty much nothing, so I’m good.”
“That’s my point, crazy girl. Have fun.”
I blow her a kiss and walk out.
The pick-up is washed and waxed, vacuumed and polished. Nothing fancy, but at least she looks pretty tonight.
Shay’s gonna be mighty cute sitting in the passenger seat.
I get to his place in less than ten minutes. He’s in one of the cookie-cutter student housing complexes bordering the campus. The apartments are popular more for proximity than character.
I park and hop out of the truck to find him waiting on the steps of his building, watching me approach.
He stands, his long legs rapidly closing the gap between us.
“You’re…I know I say it all the time…amazing.” He reaches out his hand and curls his fingers in a couple tendrils of hair hanging over my shoulder. “I like it.”
“Thanks.” My gaze skims from the top of his dark, styled hair to the crisp white polo encasing his defined biceps, to his boat shoes. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
My wide grin belies my casual words. He’s gorgeous.
I link my arm in his and lead him to my truck.
He whistles. “Sweet ride. Not quite what I expected.”
“Not what you expected? Says the callus-handed boater who drives a dinky hybrid.”
He covers his heart with his free hand. “Ouch.
Hit a guy where it hurts, won’t you?”
I giggle…wait, did I just giggle?
Oh boy. I’m in deep.
“Hop in, and let me show you some real southern hospitality. Pepe’s is delicious, but you need to get some authentic home cooking in you if you’re gonna be living here for a few years.”
We pull up to Mama Hattie’s, a country-cooking restaurant about thirty minutes outside of town. Since it’s not within walking distance of the campus, most of the clientele are older regulars.
The old tin signs decorating the posts on the front porch of this old-house-turned-restaurant lend a rustic touch to the building. Mama brought me here from the time I was little, and Hattie and her staff are like a second family to me.
The stairs creak as we step up, and I stop Shay with a hand to his chest.
Damn, it’s sinful for a man to feel this good.
“I want to warn you now. Check your ‘future doctor’ tendencies at the door. Everything in here has been battered and deep fried at least once, or cooked with a stick of real butter.”
He shrugs. “People know doctors don’t always make the best patients. Most have at least one awful habit. Battered, deep-fried fat will be mine. We’ve all got to go somehow. There’s only one thing to die from that’s more enjoyable than a lot of unhealthy meals.”
He winks, setting my panties on fire.
He opens the front door for me, and the rich, familiar, butter-tinged scents welcome us. The kitchen is visible from the entry, singing with pops, whistles, sizzles, and dings as orders go into the fryer, hit the grill, and go to the counter with the ring of an “order up” bell.
Old Mama Hattie herself greets us at the door, her bright smile beaming in her dark, wrinkled face. She’s eighty if she’s a day, but her infectious grin is more like a child’s, bright, energetic, and optimistic.
She’s little, even shorter than me, and when her slender, papery arms wrap around me, her chin barely grazes my shoulder. “Thea Michelle McBride as I live and breathe! Where ya been, child? Mama’s missing that sweet face.”
Goodbye to You Page 11