by Long, Marie
“You know I’ll be here.”
Kevin beams. “Hey, you bring your girl?” He turns and looks out at the thinning crowd.
I stop packing away the records and feel a lump forming in my throat. “Naw, I think she’s seeing someone. I fucked up bad, man.”
Kevin quirks an eyebrow. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Last night started out okay. We went out for dinner. It was nice. But then she started asking me questions. Trying to pry into my personal life. I get it. She’s trying to learn more about me. But I don’t want to talk about my fucked up past over a nice dinner.”
Kevin frowns. “No. You don’t need to tell her that shit. She doesn’t need to know. That’s personal shit.”
I sigh and rub my hands over my face. “I don’t know what to do, man. I’m really attracted to her, but she obviously wants nothing to do with me. I should just move on, but … ”
“It’s hard to let go, especially when a chick does crazy shit to you—crazy good shit, that is. You didn’t fuck her, did you?”
I grimace. “Seriously, man? It’s only been one date.”
“So that’s a ‘no.’ That’s good, then. You have nothing to lose. Just move on.”
I resume packing the records to keep my hands busy. “Maybe nothing according to Denise, but I feel something whenever I see her. No other girl’s ever done this to me, man. I can’t explain it.”
Kevin shakes his head and begins unhooking cables from the mixers and turntables. “Love’s not a one-sided thing. You’re a great guy, Dom. But she isn’t the one for you. If she’s not interested, then move on.”
He always makes it sound so simple—and maybe it is. Maybe I’m just thinking too much on it.
“But then again,” he says. “Since it was only the first date, maybe you just need to give it another shot.”
“I was going to. I was about to ask her out to the movies, when her date showed up.” I scowl.
“Oh. Maybe she moved on.”
I sigh. Maybe …
“Hey, just ’cause she’s not interested doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you,” Kevin says.
“Oh yeah? Then why the fuck can’t I ever keep a damn girl?”
“It ain’t your fault, man. There’s someone else out there for you.” Kevin carefully places a turntable in one of the crates.
But I don’t want someone else. I want her. I twist my lips sideways in thought.
“I know that look,” Kevin says. “It’s the ‘I don’t give a shit what my brother’s saying, I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want’ look.”
That’s partly correct—I don’t give a shit—but I do want to listen to my brother. He’s never let me down before. “All right,” I finally say. “I’ll leave her alone.”
Kevin just nods and resumes packing away the rest of the equipment.
When we’re all done packing, I help him load his car, which is parked behind the club. After we finish, Kevin slams the hatch shut. “Thanks for helping, man,” he says, then gets in the car.
I nod. “Anytime. And thanks for the advice.”
“Eh, you know what you gotta do.” He starts up the engine and puts it in gear. “Later, li’l bro. Take it easy.”
“Later.”
I watch him speed down the street until his car rounds a corner and the taillights disappear.
There are still a few club-goers milling around the building and in the parking lot. I don’t see Denise or her friends.
She’s long gone, and never coming back.
I return to my bike and begin slipping on my gear. A group of girls nearby spot me and wave, smiling. I catch their gazes and wave back. At least I can be polite. Afterward, I mount my bike and reach for my helmet.
“Dominick?”
I pause just as I’m about to slip the helmet on, and look toward Denise’s voice. The butterflies return.
She comes running, waving, from a small cluster of people in the lot, grinning wide.
My stomach does flip-flops as she stands before me. I catch a whiff of her intoxicating pear scent. How the fuck am I supposed to move on from her?
“Oh, hi,” I finally say in a piss-poor attempt to sound casual.
“I totally didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” She doesn’t look the least bit guilty.
“Likewise, but it was good to see you again.” I glance over to the cluster of people nearby and recognize some of them as the girlfriends who were with her earlier. When they meet my gaze again, they all break into a giggling fit.
“My God, he’s looking at us! Stop being so obvious, Alexis,” one of them says.
I return my gaze to Denise, who is looking at me apologetically.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “My friends are crazy sometimes. They invited me for drinks tonight, so I decided to come. But it seems that their real agenda was to see DJ Kevitron. They all have a thing for him.”
I laugh. “DJ Kevitron’s my brother.”
Denise blinks, then covers her mouth in shock. “Are you serious? Well don’t tell my friends that.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. What about you? You have a thing for him, too?”
She shrugs. “Not really. I mean, he’s all right. But I’m sure he’s got enough girls chasing him.”
“True that.” I exhale, relieved to know that she doesn’t care much for my brother. It would be all sorts of weird otherwise.
She twists her lips like she’s trying to fight down that beautiful smile of hers. “Hey, um, can I ask you a weird question?”
I blink. Totally unexpected, but I’m all ears. “Sure. What’s up?”
She bites her bottom lip, then gives me a somewhat sly, shifty-eyed look. “What’s the engine displacement of your bike?”
I blink. Several times. Really unexpected, but fucking hot as hell. Did she just ask me something about my bike? Something mechanical about my bike?
“Uh … ” I stammer.
She tilts her head to the side. “Don’t you know?”
I open my mouth to answer, then stop myself. Wait. What if William put her up to this? Maybe he’s thinking about getting a bike, too, to impress her. “Yeah, I know. I’m just … well … a bit surprised that you’d be interested in that kind of thing.”
By the look in her eye, I know William has nothing to do with this. “I was looking up your motorcycle online. Ever since you took me on that ride, I’ve been curious about them. You were right about how I’m missing out on some awesome fun things.”
“You’re thinking about getting a bike?” I ask, with raised eyebrows. I’d fucking explode with happiness—and slight worry since she must be new to riding—if she is.
She grimaces. “I don’t know. Probably not anytime soon. It was fun riding on the back of yours, though.”
I chuckle. “I’m always up for riding if you are. As for the engine displacement, it’s 600cc.”
“Oh.” She nods thoughtfully. “I saw your motorcycle on a review site. It was named one of the top ten sport bikes last year due to its ‘incredible handling and rider feedback.’”
God, I think I’m about to have an orgasm. “Yeah, it handles well because the chassis is lightweight and the engine is balanced.”
“I’m thinking about writing about motorcycles for my next lifestyle article. Maybe even incorporate some fashion trends with it. I saw some pretty sweet jackets for women riders.”
A thin layer of sweat forms on my chest and up to my neck. My heart’s pounding. Call me a fool, but there’s no fucking way I’m ever moving on from this girl now. “That’d be cool. I’d love to read the article when you finish.”
“I’d love to get your input, though I don’t know how savvy you are with women’s fashion.”
I laugh. “Well, uh, I’ll do my best to help you.”
She looks over her shoulder, then back to me. “Hey, I need to go, now. Let’s talk more about it later. Enjoy the rest of your night.” She turns and begins heading back to her g
roup of giggling friends.
She’s leaving, the tease. Shit! “Ah, Denise?”
She stops and looks back at me. “You wanna do breakfast tomorrow before class?” I ask hopefully, my voice cracking as I try mentally to ease the pain of my hardness.
She scrunches her face slightly. “I don’t know yet. We’ll see. My ride’s here now, so I gotta go. Bye, Dominick.”
Dumbfounded, I watch her leave, the pain in my pants quickly disappearing on its own. Did I really just get shot down?
When she returns to her friends, a black sedan decked out with shiny rims and a custom paint job pulls up to the curb near the group. Denise waves goodbye to her friends, hops in the passenger side, and rolls down the window, still chatting away with the other girls. I glimpse the driver—William. He leans over to her and kisses her on the cheek. She smiles and seems to enjoy it a little too much.
The tires squeal, and the car speeds off.
Fuck my life.
Chapter 9
I see Denise running—running from faceless men who want to hurt her. Kill her. She wears that same sparkly silver dress from the club. But she’s barefoot now, rather than in those matching heels. I stand on one side of a glass wall, watching her run toward me. The men are gaining on her. She hits the wall and presses her hands against it. I stand before her, putting my hands against hers. But I can’t feel her. I call to her, but she can’t hear me. The way she frantically looks around, I don’t even think she can see me, either. I pound on the glass wall, yelling her name, but she still can’t hear me. The group of men catches up with her, and, like a trapped, defenseless animal, she spins around, her back flat against the wall. I continue pounding on the glass, harder and harder, but it still won’t break, and she still doesn’t seem to hear me. As her assailants draw closer, they become recognizable.
All of them bear my father’s face.
And that’s when I wake up in a cold sweat.
* * *
Happy fucking Monday to me.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream like that before, and I’ve no idea what it means. But I have to talk to Denise today. Hell, I have to talk to her now! I don’t give a shit if she’s seeing Prettyboy William. My usual morning of getting ready for class is marred by the dark thoughts of that dream.
Physics class is dismissed five minutes early, and I head straight for Padelford Hall, where Denise’s world literature class will be ending soon. I plop down on one of the benches outside and wait for her. That stupid dream still haunts me, and the ugly memory of it zaps my appetite, so I decide to skip lunch today.
While I wait, I text Larry, letting him know that I’ll be a few minutes late for work, and he texts me back with the okay.
When I look up from my phone, I spot Denise among a cluster of other students walking out the front doors. My eyes trace the blue sweater she wears down to her short floral-patterned dress, which reveals her long, slender dancer’s legs. Her messenger bag is slung across her, and she cradles a spiral-bound notebook in her arms.
So beautiful.
I realize I’m ogling her, and I hop off the bench before she can get away. “Denise?”
She stops and looks in my direction, her forehead furrowing. Then her face softens. “Oh, hi, Dominick. Don’t you have to go to work?”
I glance around briefly, eyeing passing students who seem oblivious to us. I step closer to her. “I do, but I wanted to see you.”
She averts her gaze to the ground. I could swear she’s blushing. “Dominick, I … ”
She looks even sexier when she’s flustered. I want to hold her and let her know it’s okay. “Can we talk? Just for a moment? There’s something that’s been on my mind and I—”
“Sorry, Dominick. I have to go. I’m meeting someone.” She turns to leave.
I tense up. William, I bet. But the longer I have to wait to talk to her, the more that crazy shit’s probably going to keep haunting me. “Five minutes. I promise. That’s all, I swear.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she purses her lips, her nostrils flaring slightly. “Fine. Five minutes, and that’s all.”
Five minutes is all I need to let her know how I feel. I gesture to the bench. She sits, but scoots to the edge and looks at me expectantly.
I sit beside her, but not too close. “Okay.” I say in a low voice as I fish for the right words. “First of all, I want to apologize about the other night at dinner. I didn’t mean to make you upset or uncomfortable. I just … totally overreacted when you started asking me personal questions. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”
Her eyebrows rise. “I just wanted to get to know you. Isn’t that what people do on first dates?”
Hearing her say “date” makes me feel even shittier that I fucked it up. “I guess. I’m a complicated guy, and I didn’t want to run you off. But it seems all I managed to do was make things worse. I’m sorry, Denise. I really am.”
She stares at me as if I’m crazy. Maybe I am.
I take a deep breath. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I … I like you, Denise. And I want you to be happy. You’re really beautiful, nice, smart, and hell, you like motorcycles.” I manage to get a hint of a smile out of her with that last bit. “Anyway, I don’t want some stupid guy to take advantage of you.”
She scoffs. “You sound like my father.”
Ouch. “Well, can you blame him?”
“No, but sometimes he acts like I’m going to spread my legs to the world. It’s annoying.”
“I think your dad just wants the best for you, that’s all.”
Her face softens slightly. “Look, Dominick. I’ll be all right. Does this have something to do with last night?”
“What?” I blink. “No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I sigh. “Okay. Maybe a little. Should I be asking who that guy William was?”
Her expression remains unchanged. “He’s a … a friend from high school. I haven’t seen him in five years. We were going out back then, but then he moved to Chicago, and … ”
The left side of my mouth twitches. Friend. I’m pretty sure she means “boyfriend.” But I don’t care who the hell he is. This isn’t high school anymore. “Right, so about last night. I’m sorry. I should’ve called to see if you wanted to come to the club with me.”
Denise shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. It was girls’ night out.”
Girls’ night out, huh. Does she think I forgot about Prettyboy that quickly? “Still, I mean. I would like to get to know you more. You wanna ride with me down to Cougar Mountain on Wednesday?”
Her perfect, beautiful smile returns. It makes me glow inside. I can never get enough of it. “I’d love to, but … ” Her expression shifts abruptly, and she looks at me the same way she did when I took her home from dinner Saturday night. Guilt. Regret.
“‘But’?” I ask.
Denise bites her bottom lip and stares straight at me. I can tell she’s wrestling with something in her mind. Something big. There’s a hint of fear in her eyes. Doubt. “What do you do when you’re faced with the past again?”
I swallow. The past. Does she mean William? That’s an odd question to ask, but a question that I’m no stranger to. I wish I could forget about the past. The hurt. I think carefully about my response. Her question sounds almost like a cry for help. I’ve asked that question of Kevin so many times before. And he’s always answered the same thing: You gotta fight to win, because the past will always try to drag you down.
“What do I do?” I say. “I keep reminding myself that the past doesn’t matter. The past’ll always try to drag me down. But I have to fight through it. Fight to win.” I look at her, concerned. The question is on the tip of my tongue. “Is everything okay with you?”
She nods without hesitation. “Yeah. I’m just … stressed about how I did on my world literature test today.”
Bullshit.
But despite how “stressed” she’s really feeling, her face m
anages to brighten again. My heart beats faster, pounding away in my chest. I just want to hold her. Comfort her.
Kiss her.
I look down to her hands in her lap. “I’m sure you did fine on your test,” I say softly. Then I slowly place my hand atop one of hers.
She doesn’t appear fazed by my gesture. Progress.
She looks down at our hands and places her other hand on top of mine. I hold my breath. Her hands are smooth and warm.
“I’ll be okay, Dominick. I appreciate everything you’ve done, fixing my car, and taking me to dinner and stuff. You’re a cool guy. Way different from other guys I’ve met.”
I beam. “Thanks. I try. Hey, I like you, Denise. A lot. I said that already, didn’t I?” I chuckle softly. “I hope that maybe, you know, we can make something work.”
“Maybe.” she says with a bit of uncertainty.
I give her hand a brief, gentle squeeze. William pops into my head. Fuck him and his shitty-ass car and everything else he’s probably got to impress her with. I stare at her face, cast into shadow by the shade trees. She stares back intently at me. I gaze longingly at her full, glossy, peach-tinted lips. What I wouldn’t give to kiss them. To taste her.
Slowly, I pull back my hand. No, not now.
“I need to go,” she says in almost a whisper, her face flustered. I wonder what’s going through her mind right now?
“Yeah,” I say breathily. I watch her retrieve her world literature book and re-sling her bag crosswise over her chest. “Since you’re busy Wednesday, do you wanna do something on Thursday?” I ask.
She rises from the bench and turns to leave. “I … I don’t know yet.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Sorry, I just realized it’s been longer than five minutes.”
She looks over her shoulder and, to my surprise and relief, smiles. Maybe she’s not too upset with me. “It’s okay. I’ll see you later.”
I watch her walk away. She may not do ballet anymore, but she still has a gentle, flowing dancer’s gait. It’s not until she disappears into a crowd of students that I finally exhale. Bye, Denise.
My back pocket vibrates, and I’m shaken back into reality. Oh yeah. Work. I swipe the phone out and check for messages.