Twisted In You_A Twisted Romance

by Rachel A. Marks

  Fin looks towards the hall where they disappeared, then he tilts his head at me, giving me a grin before settling back in the old green chair. “So, do you have any morning muffins, young one?” His eyes skim over me, hovering on my tattoos, chest, thigh, foot, then back to my thigh.

  He swallows.

  But to his credit he looks away and studies the floor. “You’re paintin’ something special, then?”

  “I want to do a good job.”

  “You working on it now?”

  “I just woke up.”

  He nods slowly and glances back at the door to the Love Den. “Would you wanna go get a drink or two?”

  I get nervous all of a sudden and open my mouth to say I need to study for a test or something—but then Willow’s sex-giggle comes bouncing down the hall, so I blurt out, “I’ll get dressed.”

  FIN PICKS THE COFFEE shop on the corner. It’s kind of a dive, but the girls and I come here all the time. It’s more like a diner than a coffee shop, really, no matter what the sign says. It can’t decide if it’s 50’s or 80’s themed, and there’s a huge sign over the register that says, “We don’t serve vampires.” I think it’s trying really hard to be hip but it’s failing miserably. There’s a thick coating of grease on everything and it smells a little like a moldy mop. The only waitress is a silver-haired Filipino lady named Doris who barely speaks English. And I think she’s also the delivery guy because she’s always going out the door with bags of food and she’ll be gone for, like, twenty minutes at a time.

  But the coffee and apple pie are amazing and cheap.

  Doris comes over and takes our order. She sits beside Fin and hovers her pen over her Hello Kitty tablet, waiting. He doesn't seem to think it’s odd at all as he studies the menu, telling her he’d like a burger and a Coke. I order a cup of hot chocolate.

  “You know, we could’ve gone to a bar,” I say, when Doris waddles away.

  “Aren’t you a little young for a stiff drink in the colonies?”

  “I can go to a bar. I just can’t drink yet.” Legally.

  He picks up a packet of sugar and reads the label. “It’s fine. I spend too much time in those dark holes anyway.”

  I lean back in the booth and study him. It’s the first time I’ve been able to get a good look at him in the light. He’s wearing a white cotton V-neck and jeans, with flip-flops. It's a bit contradictory to the rest of him, with those gauges, a pierced eyebrow, and tattoos. He also has a small scar on his forehead above his right eye. His hair is blond with a strawberry tint. I suppose most people would say he’s a ginger, but in the right light he could be a blond. And wow, his eyelashes are amazing, they’re so light they make his green eyes look a hundred times brighter.

  “This is a bit awkward,” he says, bringing me back to the present.

  “Is it?” Because even though I should be freaking out right now about what I saw him doing with Lindsey and what I may be trying to convince him to teach me, I feel pretty relaxed. Maybe I’ve finally lost it.

  He rests his arm on the rim of the booth as he leans back and I’m suddenly captivated by his tattoos. They’re amazing, detailed and colorful. But then I realize he’s studying me while I stare.

  Okay, that’s uncomfortable. His eyes are super intense.

  I swallow. “I mean, we’re both adults. What you do in your spare time is none of my business.”

  He nods. “Right. Grand.” He pauses and tosses the sugar packet back onto the table. “So, you’re an artist.”

  “I work at the Visions Gallery off 3rd in Santa Monica. I’d like to be a painter someday.”

  “Well, I’d hate to see how much paint you get on ya when you’re actually painting in that someday.” He smiles and it blossoms warmth in my gut.

  “I paint, but I’m not a professional yet,” I clarify. “Someday, if the stars align, I’d like to be.”

  “What do you paint?”

  I consider the question. It’s actually not easy to answer, even though I get asked all the time. You’d think by now I’d know what to say when people get curious. Most of the time they’re only trying to be nice, though; it’s not like they actually want to know. I can tell, because when I start talking their eyes sort of glaze over.

  “This and that,” I say, my usual vague answer. “I haven’t really latched onto a theme or a vision yet.” He blinks at me like he might actually be interested in what I’m saying so I let myself add. “I’m studying the renaissance right now.”

  He makes a sound in the back of his throat like that’s something he’d like to know more about, which means the floodgates of my mouth open, because he’s letting me blab about my most favorite thing in the whole world.

  “I really love the soft curves and stuff,” I say, beginning to talk with my hands, getting lost in thoughts of pastel colors and delicate brush strokes. “I’ve been doing a lot of that style for tests and projects, trying to replicate Botticelli and Titian. I love the openness of the faces, and the way everything is so real but more than real, you know? But I also really like how the modernists were able to capture color. And the feeling of that style is so otherworldly, almost like falling into a dream. Especially painters like Durack or Dalí. My mom used to have this table book of Dalí paintings and there was this one called Swans Reflecting Elephants and—” I stop as Doris comes up and sets down a plate of burger and fries.

  Oh God, I was totally babbling.

  Doris sets down the Coke and a cup of coffee.

  Fin asks me under his breath, “Didn’t you ask for hot chocolate?”

  When Doris walks away I say, “She gets them mixed up. I say hot chocolate because she thinks that’s coffee.”

  He looks at me like he might think I’m clever. “You’ve got this place figured out.”

  I take a sip and sit back again. I hadn’t realized it but I’d been leaning forward as I talked.

  “So, the painting was called Swans Reflecting Elephants?” he asks. Wow, he was actually listening. “What’s that a painting of?”

  “Clowns,” I say.

  He laughs and the sound of it tickles the inside of my chest.

  “It’s nice that you love what you’re doing so much,” he says. “Your face got lit-up and pretty when you talked about it.”

  Did he just say I was pretty? I clear my throat. “Well, you love music, right. And you get to do it for a living—that’s fairly amazing.”

  His smile turns more forced. “It’s been quite a ride.” I watch him, wondering about his strained tone. Then he dips a fry into the glass of soda and pops the whole dripping thing in his mouth.

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask with a laugh.

  “Wha?” he asks, mouth full of food.

  “I thought only Jade did that.” He quirks a brow in question so I clarify, “My roommate—the one who set you up on the couch the night you crashed at our pad and broke my toe with your rock-hard shoulder.”

  He nods. “Ah, the Mary.”

  “Mary?”

  He motions with his hand like it should be obvious. “You know, Virgin Mary.”

  “Seriously? Shallow much?”

  He pops another fry in his mouth. “Wha?”

  “For a minute there you were almost a nice guy.”

  He grins wide and winks.

  A tingle runs up my legs and I’m reminded of what I want from him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know,” I say, trying to cover my sudden nerves.

  “Exactly. Virgins are juicy.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Wow.”

  “I can spot one a mile away.”

  “Oh, really?” I give him a disbelieving look.

  He leans forward, gaze scanning me, my face, my chest, my fingers playing on the coffee cup.

  “That’s a lot closer than a mile, you know,” I say, feeling uncomfortable with his eyes on me like that.

  “I saw it in that room, when you caught me with the slapper.”

  I want to lean farther away f
rom his heated gaze but there’s nowhere to go. “Saw what?”

  He raises his brow at me.

  “You think I’m a virgin?” I wonder if I should be insulted. Guys keep saying that. “Your radar is seriously flawed.”

  He laughs. “I see it in the way you move your hands when sex is brought up.”

  “My hands.” I hide them under the table.

  He laughs again, deep in his chest. “You are definitely a Mary, Mary.” He leans back and tosses a fry at me.

  I can’t help laughing too. It’s nervous laughter but I can’t seem to stop it. “I’m not a Mary, Dick.”

  “Don’t be ashamed. Like you said, it’s a lovely thing.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’ve had sex.” I’m not sure why I’m even bothering to argue with him. It doesn’t matter.

  He shakes his head, still chuckling. “No,” and it’s noo again. “A good tup or two would’ve made you look starved and instead you look like you wanna scatter.”

  “That’s insane!” Now I’m insulted. I am not scared of sex.

  “If ya say so.” Soo.

  “God, you’re annoying.”

  He sighs and glances out the window. “How long do ya think the lovers will take?”

  I shrug, unsure if I should enforce the idea that Lance and Willow are not having sex. But that would make this lunch chat seem pointless and weird.

  “Ah, don’t be mad,” he says, reaching across the table and nudging my arm. “I’m sure you’re a scrubber who’s gotten off with all kinds of sexy fellas.”

  “Fellas?”

  He looks contemplative then says, “Dandies?”

  I giggle. “Very dandy.”

  “That’s my girl.” And he pops another Coke-soaked fry in his mouth.

  My insides melt.

  NINE

  Tonight's The Night. I’m going to ask Fin for . . . help. Or at least attempt to create our business agreement (if that's the right thing to call it). I totally chickened out last time we were alone together the other day. But it’s Friday and we’re all going out, so it’s pretty much now or never. I’m running out of time. I just need to figure out how to do this.

  I study myself in the mirror, navy and black lace tank top, purple skirt, silver belt at the hips, and high black boots I borrowed from Willow for the mission. I look like I’m getting ready for a night on a street corner. It’s so not me. But then, being me isn’t working too well lately.

  I pull up the skirt a little, seeing how it looks as a mini-mini, but then pull it back down when a breeze hits my thighs. The outing tonight was planned as a group thing which could lead to the perfect opportunity to pair off. Lance will have some girl on his arm; he always does. Willow will have some boy toy. And according to Lance, Fin doesn’t know anyone in town he wants to take. Even though Jade is single, I seriously doubt she’s interested in Fin. He’s not remotely her type—except, I’m not really sure what her type is.

  In any case, tonight I have the chance to melt him with my feminine charm and ask him to . . . how would I say it? Teach me how not to be terrified of intimacy?

  I lift my hair off my shoulders and tie it in a knot high on my head, securing it with a lavender band, tugging out a strand of violet to hang free. Then I reach into my boots and pull my charcoal and purple socks up over my knees. Helps a little. I’m like half me, half slut now.

  Willow’s date comes to the door first, a total Surfer Slick Willy; I have no idea where she finds these guys. After three minutes of trying to start a conversation with him in the kitchen while we wait for Willow to finish getting ready, I realize he’s got the brain of a clam.

  I sigh with relief when the doorbell rings, giving me a way out of hearing him describe the last wave he caught in excruciating detail. “I’ll get that!” I yell even though it’s just Willy and me in the kitchen. I run around the counter and open the door, saying, “You’re late.”

  It’s Fin instead of Lance. His mouth opens a little, maybe to say hello, but nothing comes out. He’s frozen as he stares at me, eyes skimming over my body. He swallows and finally says, “Lance is waiting in the car outside, double parked.”

  My insides tingle with his reaction to me. I holler over my shoulder, “They’re here!” I have to play it cool as long as I can.

  “You look deadly,” he says with a crooked smile.

  “Thanks.” I grab my clutch and shawl off the counter then wink at him as I walk past and down the hall. I want to turn around to see if he’s watching my ass but I don’t want to look too desperate.

  Before I beg him to make out with me. Sheesh.

  We’re piling into the Suburban when I realize it’s already got residents besides Lance. Two girls with shiny blond hair are in the back seat, chatting with each other. I get in behind Lance, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “How many dates does a man need, Lance? You bring a back-up or something?”

  “Very funny, Sis. One’s for Fin.”

  I glance at Fin, my gut sinking, but he’s oblivious as he slides into the passenger seat. There goes my plan.

  Willow and her date took a different car so it’s Jade and me in the third seat of the Suburban like a couple of toddlers, watching two blond heads giggle in front of us all the way down Sunset.

  We get to the club and within five minutes of being let inside I find myself hiding in the bathroom. I need to gather my thoughts, refocus, and try to talk my brain out of feeling like a dummy. This sure is some night out. Stag once more.

  I can’t take it so personally, though. It’s not like Fin knew I wanted him to pair up with me tonight. I need to get over myself. I’m missing an opportunity to have a little fun—which I really don’t do much of lately. I should be out there in the crowd with the girls, dancing, making the best of the free drinks.

  Instead I’m staring at the patterns on the tile floor, trying to figure out why I’m surprised one of my lame plans isn’t working out well. What else is new?

  Fin’s out there with Trixy Long-Legs while I’m in here like the girl in the group who ate bad sushi and had to go home early.

  No. I will not be Bad Sushi Girl. I won’t let a guy ruin my night out. What do I care if Fin has a date? So what? I’ll find someone else to flirt with. Practice is needed either way. Obviously. No real loss.

  I look in the mirror and take a deep breath, trying to ignore the ache in my throat. I smooth out my hair from frizzing on the right side. The color streaks are fading, I need to redo it. And my eyes are puffy from painting and not sleeping—I should’ve put more make-up on—I look really washed-out in these lights—

  Gah! Whatever. I’m going to go have fun. I’m young. I’m sexy (in a weird-girl-who-wears-mismatched-clothes sort of way). And I own the night (queue 80’s music).

  The club is called Metallic, and the place is all blue and silver. Lance knows the owner because the guy is backing his music project and he wanted to meet Fin. The girls and I never got carded because we were on the door list, and now we have the stamp of approval glowing on the inside of our wrists, so it’s a night out with free drinks for all. In LA that’s when the real work gets done.

  I find Jade at a table a few feet from the dance floor. She’s sitting with a bunch of drinks and purses which means the others are all on the floor living it up. “How’d you end up with this job?” I ask over the pounding music.

  She shrugs but you can see in her eyes she’s not sure she wants to be here anymore either. Oh, no. She’s Bad Sushi Girl, too.

  I push one of the glasses in front of her and make the sign for drink.

  She shakes her head, but I shove it closer, giving her an insistent look.

  She rolls her eyes and drinks half the thing in two sips.

  That’s a start.

  I take one of the other drinks—something brown on the rocks—and gulp it down in one swig. A little nerve juice to help with the fun. I cough from the burn spreading quickly through me and consider that my voice may not work for a few days now. Wh
at was that? Liquid fire?

  I gather the purses and take them to the lockers I saw in the back by the bathrooms, shoving the glittering things in and slip the crystal-key-as-a-necklace-thing around my neck.

  On my way past I grab Jade and pull her with me onto the dance floor. The song that’s playing is all pulse and thunder, with a side of what sounds like a cat dying as it’s knocking over trash cans. But it’s very danceable. We mix into the crowd. I lose Jade, lose myself, and soon find my body pressed between two very tall Hispanic guys. Nice-looking muscular men. The kind you see in the gym and want to ask if you can touch their abs.

  They move around me like they’re predators and I’m the prey and I’m thinking I should probably be worried, but the brown liquor is hitting my brain and all I can think is how funny it is that they’re looking at me like that. It must be really dark in here.

  I smile and twist my body around to the music as one guy tests me by grazing my arm and moving closer. I don’t shy away so the other one follows, stroking my hair, then sliding his hand down to my waist, gripping it loosely from behind.

  Something sparks in my chest and I lean into him, closing my eyes, letting the men’s touch slide over me . . . and I sink into it. The rhythm of the music climbs and our bodies press together. The heat makes my head light. It feels a little like a dream, and I wonder if I should be so open with strangers groping me. But I let it all take me and end up giving in to my curiosity, reaching out to run my palms over their chests. Tight and warm. So lovely. I giggle a little and wish Jade was here to feel them too. It’s not going to be the same when I describe it later.

  Someone grabs me by the arm and I’m yanked away from the delicious boys and off the dance floor.

  Lance. He gets himself between me and the view of my new boyfriends and yells at the top of his lungs, “She’s not legal, freaks!”

  My eyes grow and anger fills me. “Are you kidding me?!” I sock him in the shoulder like I’m ten and he told on me to Mom.

  He turns around, looking pissed. “Seriously, Ver. Have some self-respect.”

  That’s rich coming from him. I bark out a laugh in his face and someone beside him moves back. I turn and see it’s one of those blond women he brought—no, girls. His date looks like a skinny twelve-year-old. Pot, meet kettle.