From the Wreckage

by Melissa Collins

  “You bastard,” I yell, pushing him away again. “How dare you!”

  Grabbing my hand as it pushes against his chest, he laughs. “Calm down. Let me explain.”

  Nodding, I pull my hands out of his, letting them fall into my own lap.

  “No matter what I say right now, you’re mad at me. And that’s fine. You can be as mad as you want, but I’m not going to let this misunderstanding get in our way. And I’m sure as hell not going to use establishing our relationship as a means to make you less angry at me.” After pulling the keys out of the ignition, he turns his attention back to me. “I have to work for the next two days. Hopefully that will be enough time for you to sort through how you’re feeling so we can have a normal conversation about this. And . . .” He leaves his sentence hanging as he steps from the car, forcing me to follow behind him.

  “And what?” I ask, impatience clear in my voice. Resting my arms atop the hood, I mimic his stance, waiting for his response.

  “And then I can take you out on a proper date. I might not agree with you being mad at me, but I can accept how you’re feeling. I should at least make it up to you.” He says all of this as he makes his way over to my side. Then, when he has me locked in between his hot body and the cool metal of the door, he murmurs, “Besides I think you deserve a little romance before I claim you as mine, don’t you?”

  His last words zing through me like I’ve stepped on a live wire. It’s as if I can actually feel the blood moving into my neck and cheeks, heating my skin. Incapable of any kind of intelligible response, I nod and swallow hard.

  “Good,” he coos into my ear, trailing kisses along my neck. “I’ll pick you up Saturday at six. Be ready.”

  And with that, he loads my bags onto his shoulders, leading me up the stairs to the train platform. Before I step onto the train, he smiles, promising he’ll make it up to me.

  Sitting on the train for the hour long ride back into Manhattan, a small smile curls at my lips. In the span of a few hours, I was offered the job of my dreams and all but claimed by the man of my dreams.

  As the rays of sunlight slice through the dingy windows of the train, a sunburst of happiness takes root in my chest.

  Sometimes, life is just too damn perfect.

  And sometimes, we’re lucky enough to get a taste of that perfection.

  Today is most definitely one of those days for me.

  “You’re getting awfully dolled up for a few drinks at Smoke,” Ian offers his unsolicited opinion as I roll my sleeve up, cuffing it tightly on my forearm.

  Pushing the other sleeve up and cuffing it the same as the other, I tell Ian, “I’m not going to Smoke with you. You’re going to have to grind up against all those poor helpless women at the bar all by yourself.” Arching his brows, he pretends to be insulted, but there’s something there suggesting my words hit a little too close to home.

  Shrugging, he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, what a rough life I have.” Dropping to the bench separating the two rows of lockers at the firehouse, Ian swipes a towel over his face. Looking up at me with his post-workout sweat-covered face, he asks, “So if you’re not getting all dressed up for me–” His face lights up as he puts it all together. “Hot redhead? You know, you never did thank me for serving her up to you after the ball game. How was she? Is she a firecracker in bed?”

  Choosing to deflect his comments, I simply say, “Wouldn’t you just love to know?”

  Of course he doesn’t drop it. Carrying on, he continues, “Well, give me the details, asshole. She wild or tame? Hardwoods or drapes?”

  Losing the battle with my calm, I snap. “You’re a shit, you know that? Shut your fucking mouth about her and what she does in bed. It’s none of your business.” Wadding up a towel, I toss it in his face. “And her name is Grace and you’d actually sound like a human being if you addressed her by it. All women for that matter. I’m sure if they knew you called them ‘dancing like a stripper,’ or ‘easy target,’ they’d slap you more often than they already do.” Shockingly, my words seem to reach him a little. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Slamming my locker closed, I grab my bag from the floor. “I have a date with a woman who I’m not even the tiniest bit embarrassed to be seen with in the light of day.”

  “You wound me, Andrews.” Ian’s words fall on my back as I walk out of the room.

  Turning back to face him, I sling my bag over my shoulder. Leaning against the door frame, I say, “Just think about it. You spend all this energy on the chase, all for what? To go home alone after a few hours of sex with some girl you’ll never see again.”

  “You’re one to talk.” He throws his words at me with more than a touch of anger. “Since when are you the morality police? How many nights did you go home alone after a few hours with Kelsey? And how many girls were there before Kelsey? Too many to mention and many of them you wouldn’t even have given the opportunity at a repeat performance.”

  “You’re right,” I admit, more than a little ashamed of my past. “That doesn’t mean a person can’t change. I guess maybe I’ve just found my motivation.”

  “So now what? After like a month, at the most, you’re ready to get married and have kids. With some chick you knew from when you were ten. Talk about someone who has their priorities all fucked up.”

  “No one said anything about getting married and having kids, but is it really that horrible of me to want more than getting drunk and finding random women? Is it so horrible that I’d rather have a meaningful relationship?” Shaking my head, I add, “You’re getting awfully ruffled up over this. Hitting a little close to the heart of the matter?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He waves away my words. “Get out of here and have fun on your date.” With that, I walk out of the locker area, wondering when my best friend will grow up. The entire exchange was awkwardly tense, but there was so much truth in what I was trying to tell him. He’s a decent enough guy, but for whatever reason he has, he sells himself short. Tells himself that settling down is for pussies. And maybe that was something I told myself a long time ago, but it rings less true now.

  Needless to say, the rest of the guys whistle and make cat calls as I walk out of the station. It’s rare that any of us ever leave here in more than our uniform or jeans and a T-shirt. Apparently seeing me in black dress pants, leather shoes, and a blue button-down dress shirt is the same thing as witnessing Swamp Thing trudge through the place. They actually lean out the door of the kitchen, asking me a million questions as I load my bag into the trunk of my car. None of them hear the answers they want.

  Leaving the station, I walk up West 10th Street, turning on Greenwich Avenue. Grace’s apartment is less than a ten minute walk from the station. The sun’s rays slice through the towering skyscrapers, painting the streets of lower Manhattan in specks of gold and orange. Turning down West 13th, I’m a few buildings away from Grace. After buzzing her apartment, I jam my hands in my pockets, rocking on my heels.

  “Hello,” Jade calls into the line.

  “Hey, Jade. It’s David. Is Grace there?”

  “Oh, hey. Yeah, come on up.” Her voice is cut off by the sound of the door being buzzed open.

  Jade is waiting at the door for me when I arrive. “I let her know you were here, but that only made her more flustered.”

  Laughing, I know exactly what she means. Recalling how Grace rambled on and on as excitement flowed through her veins as she prepared her lesson makes me smile. “Should I go in there?”

  Jade shakes her head just short of furiously. “Not if you want to come out alive. She takes forever to get ready on a normal day. And tonight–” Realizing she may be giving away too much about how Grace is feeling about our date, she cuts herself short, changing directions. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll take a bottle of water if you have one.” She nods, excusing herself into the kitchen. Taking her exit as my cue, I walk down the hall to Grace’s room.

  Sounds of her huffing a
nd puffing filter into the hall. When I tap on her door, the noises stop. “Not yet,” she whines. “I need a few more minutes.”

  “It’s me, Gracie.” Leaning against the wall, I wait for her response, but all I catch is a few groans of displeasure, and things being tossed all around. “Can I come in?”

  “No,” she exclaims. Then all I hear are hard footsteps moving toward the door. “You definitely cannot come in here.”

  “Are you naked?” I snicker.

  Even if she isn’t, I’m thinking of her naked. Knowing exactly how she looks makes the image that much more vivid, beautiful, and real.

  Pretending to be offended, she nearly shouts, “No. Now go away.”

  “Nope, I’m coming in. Otherwise at this rate, we’ll never leave.” Much to my surprise, the door opens before I have to push my way in. “Holy fuck!” Shock washes over me, stopping me dead in my tracks.

  “I know. I’m a mess. This dress doesn’t fit right. I bet it’s not fancy enough. Hell, I don’t even know where we’re going, but based on how you look. Oh, God, I’m in way over my head. Maybe we should just stay home. Order some takeout and watch Netflix.” Her rambling pulls my attention away from the disaster area that is her bedroom.

  Pulling her hand into mine, I step in front of her. “First of all, you look amazing. And yes, this dress is perfect for where we’re going. A burlap sack would work because you’d be wearing it.” Letting my eyes roam over her body, I have no clue why she thought she looked anything less than spectacular. The navy blue dress hugs every inch of her luscious body and shows the perfect amount of skin. The top has thin straps and her arms are bare. Even from across the room, my fingers itch to touch her.

  “Oh.” She gulps down her shock at my acceptance of her outfit. “And second?”

  “Second of all.” I pause, laughing and running a hand through my hair. “The ‘holy fuck’ was for your room. It’s a pigsty.” Stepping toward her, I grin.

  “Oh, really?” She jabs me in my chest, some of the nervousness about her dress gone. “You’re one to talk Mr. If It’s Decorative I Don’t Need It. And if I remember correctly, I dusted about an inch off your furniture last week.”

  “You did, but this. Grace, this–” Spinning around, I take in the full circle of her room. There are clothes on every surface imaginable. Her bed looks like it hasn’t been made in months, if ever. Books are overflowing from the four bookcases lining the wall, spilling out into small piles on the floor. And on the desk, it looks like there’s at least two days’ worth of dirty dishes piled up next to the computer. “This looks like a teenage boy lives here. Are you hiding a seventeen-year-old boy in your closet?” Keeping the mood light, I step over to the closet and pretend to peek inside.

  “And if I am?” she jokes, arching a brow at me.

  “If you are . . .” I grin again, looking down at her. Looping my arms around her waist, I pull her against me and lift her a few inches from the floor. Her arms tighten around my neck and her mouth forms a little “o” at the surprise of being lifted. “Then he’s about to get a lesson in sex ed.” Her pupils widen at my words, the black almost swallowing the baby blue. It’s a soft kiss, one where I can feel every groove and line of her tender lips. One that calls to the most basic level of human connection. Slowly and sensually, our tongues glide together. Hot and wet, it’s pure electric, a slow build of hot pulses that build and build and build until . . .

  “Whoa!” Jade’s shocked voice calls from the doorway. “Well, don’t stop.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans against the doorframe. “Go on. That was sinful.”

  Resting my forehead against Grace’s, I slowly lower her to the ground, letting her feel my reaction to our kiss on the way down. “I guess I forgot to close the door.” I laugh, kissing her one last time on the tip of her nose.

  “Yeah, you did.” She laughs with me, unraveling her arms from my neck.

  “Okay, okay. Enough of this lovey dovey stuff. Let me get my girl all ready. You,”—Jade points a finger at me—“your water is out on the table. Sit and wait.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Saluting her on the way out, I add, “Our reservations are at eight-thirty, so don’t take too long.”

  By the time I finish my bottle of water, Grace is stepping into the living room. If I thought she looked beautiful before, now she’s . . .”My God, you look stunning.” Never having been one to appreciate the lacquered look some women go for, I’m knocked almost breathless by the golden and peach look Grace has going on. There’s nothing about her appearance that isn’t 100 percent Grace. Sparkling and shimmering, the only competition she’ll have tonight is the night sky.

  Lacing her fingers with mine, she tips her head to the side where Jade is perched, watching us. “Let’s get out of here, before Miss Nosey Pants over there gets another show.”

  “You’re no fun.” Jade pouts. “But go.” She shoos us to the door. “I have my own hot date to get ready for.”

  When we step out into the hallway, I press Grace against the wall. Locking her body against mine, I run my nose along the length of her neck, lightly kissing her along the way. My lips move across her collarbone and I mutter, “I’ve wanted to kiss you here.” I nip lightly at the hollow of her neck, right above the line of her cleavage, “Since I first walked into your room.”

  Muffled words filter out into the hall. “I can still see you.”

  Burying her face against my chest, Grace laughs, mumbling, “Jade.”

  And with that, we leave the building. The wait will make licking every inch of her skin that much more delectable. At least that’s the lie I tell myself as I readjust myself before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

  “So where are we going?” She twines our fingers together as we walk down the street.

  “It’s a surprise,” I answer, squeezing her small, warm hand in mine. “But if you’re up for it, I’d like to walk.”

  “A stroll through the city with this piece of man candy on my arm.” She looks up at me, her eyes bright and shining, her smile full and warm. “I can’t think of anything better.”

  I’ve always enjoyed walking through the streets of Manhattan, basking in the lively feel of pretty much everything. But doing it with Grace’s hand in mine, listening to her jabber on about her day, that brings it all to life in a completely different way. “So the school called,” she says out of nowhere.

  We haven’t talked about her new job since I dropped her off at the train station. On her words, more than a touch of tension fills our bubble of space. “Oh, yeah,” I answer tentatively. “Was it a good call or a bad call?”

  “Good,” she says excitedly. “I actually met with the superintendent yesterday afternoon.” Looking up at me, she’s gauging my reaction. Her words stop me in my tracks, not because I’m upset she didn’t call, but because I can’t wait to hear how it went.

  There’s a small coffee shop a few feet in front of us. Walking us over to a table in their outside seating area, I pull out a chair for her, prompting her to sit. “I’m sorry,” she admits quietly. “I overreacted with you calling in a favor to get me the interview. And it was childish of me to be all shitty about it.” Taking a deep breath, she covers my hands with hers. “I never said thank you and that was so very wrong of me. So thank you.”

  “You know this isn’t going to be the first time I help you out. I’ve never been in one before, but I think this is how relationships work. I help you. You help me. It’s some crazy shit like that,” I joke. “But seriously.” I use the change in tone to lace our fingers together, staring deep into her eyes. “It’s okay that you were upset with me. Maybe I did overstep my boundaries. I was just doing what I thought was best for you.”

  “You’re too good. I flip out on you and here you are being the sensible one.” Pulling our hands up to her soft lips, she kisses my knuckle, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” she mutters, a seductive lilt to her words.

  “Sounds like a pla
n. This whole you making it up to me.” I try my best for a sexy grin, but when she calls me a dork, I guess I fail. “Sure am, but now I’m your dork.” When she smiles at me, I can tell she likes the sound of that. Standing from the table, I pull her next to me. “Let’s go. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss it.”

  “Miss what?”

  “There’s no fun in telling you.” I grin again, this time looking slightly less like a dork.

  On the rest of the walk to our destination, she tells me about how she’ll be starting a summer curriculum writing project. She’ll be paired up with two senior English teachers and a team of social studies teachers as they revamp the interdisciplinary reading and writing program. Her enthusiasm is contagious and I couldn’t be prouder of her.

  “So will you be taking the train out there every day?”

  “Actually, I think it’ll be easier if I move,” she explains. “I mean, it’s well over an hour-long commute on a good day. Jade and I talked about it yesterday after the second interview. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Look at you! A new job, new apartment, and I’m assuming a new car, too. I mean unless you plan on living in the basement of the school, but I’m pretty sure they frown on that.” We laugh as our joined hands swing between us.

  “I know. It’s crazy how quickly everything is changing. But they’re good changes. I’m really excited about it all. My parents are actually going to come and help me find a car and do a day of apartment hunting with me.”

  Part of me is wounded that she didn’t think to ask me, but at the same time, given my level of interference last time, I can understand why.