Saving Sullivan

by Sara Hubbard

  The girls have a few drinks and I stick to water. I never drink and never feel the need, but I suppose given my history, it’s probably for the best.

  We take a cab downtown and pull up outside the ranch. It’s a long wooden building with blackened windows. Nothing special. Some mid-sized cars line the front along with some Harleys. The girls are hooting and hollering as we head to the line-up. It moves quickly and before too long we’re inside, blending in with the crowd. The place is full and I’m practically bumping into people with each step I take. The girls head to the bar and I grab us a table just by the dance floor, dead centre in the middle of the room. The floor is full of people line dancing. I watch, trying to memorize their moves, but if I join them, I’ll just mess it up; it’s better to avoid it altogether. As I’m watching, the bench seat I’m on depresses and I smell cedar and mint before turning to face the man who has his arm out and around me. Sullivan.

  “Hey there, beautiful.”

  I chuckle. “We just keep running into each other.”

  “Maybe I’m seeking you out. I have a bet to win, remember?”

  I groan. “You’re horrible.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still talking to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I talk to you?” I ask, turning inward to face him. We’re so close our knees are touching and I can feel heat radiating through his jeans and onto my skin.

  “Your friend?” He chin-nods to Nicole, who’s practically spinning on the dance floor. “She has a serious hate-on for me.”

  “Nicole?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “Nicole.”

  I laugh. “Don’t pretend like you remember her name.”

  “Okay, you caught me.”

  “You were kind of dick to her, Sullivan.”

  “Probably. I often am. Another reason why I told you it’s hard for me to have girl friends. Still time to back out if you want?”

  I think it over. His penetrating blue eyes hold mine and his usually confident face seems kind of unsure—like he expects me to say yes, that it’s better we’re not friends. But I won’t give him the answer he seems to want. For some reason, he’s a douche to most girls and yet he’s different to me. And he reminds me of how my brother’s friends treat me. I find some comfort in that. I’m also just plain curious why he never does friendship, but he’s willing to give it a shot with me. What makes me so special?

  “Yes, Sullivan. We’re friends. I try to judge people based on how they treat me, but you know, you should probably give girls a heads up if you don’t plan on calling them. It’d be the nice thing to do.”

  He sighs, his confidence returning full force. “Ah, but I think we’ve established that I’m not all that nice.”

  I point at his chest. “You’re not as tough as you seem. I have a feeling there’s a sweetheart in there somewhere.”

  “Deep, deep down,” a guy says as he takes a seat beside Sullivan.

  “Abby, Ames. Ames, Abby.”

  Ames switches his drink into his opposite hand and then holds the other out for me to grip it. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

  “Likewise,” I say.

  My friends return and, smiling, they stare at the seats.

  “I guess that’s our cue,” Ames says, standing. Sullivan follows suit and one of the girls from my cabin—Coreen—giggles as Sullivan winks at her. I have to roll my eyes.

  “Easy, Coreen,” Kim says. “He’s a fucking dog.”

  Some of the other girls agree, glaring after Sullivan as he walks toward the bar. It’s then I notice his ass. He sure does look nice in jeans.

  “You should introduce me,” Coreen says, her eyes glued to Sullivan.

  He’s at the bar smiling at the female bartender. I watch as she writes something down on a napkin and hands it to him after whispering something in his ear.

  I consider Coreen’s request for a moment, before telling her not to waste her time, but I don’t do it for the reasons that I should. On the surface I use the excuse that while Sullivan and I are friends I wouldn’t recommend him as a potential boyfriend because of his history, but deep down, I know why I don’t want to introduce them; thinking of him sleeping with Coreen—which he most definitely would because she’s cute—doesn’t sit well with me. What’s more, if I had to listen to it in my cabin, I think I'd lose my mind. Jealousy. I don’t like the feeling. It’s like I feel I have some claim to him, which I definitely don’t. I wouldn’t even date him but here I am, beyond all reason, feeling like a green-eyed monster.

  “Well if all he’s into is sex, then I’m definitely game.” Coreen takes a long drawl of her red, fruity cocktail.

  I sigh through the tightness in my chest.

  Ella is a maniac on the dance floor. She tries to pull me up but each time, I resist her. Coreen ‘accidentally’ on purpose just bumped into Sullivan and they’re talking rather close, with her back pressed up against a support beam near the bar. I try my hardest not to watch but my gaze keeps wandering back to them. Kim is hitting on the bartender, which leaves me all alone again because the other girls are on the dance floor, too.

  I feel like a killjoy. I should be out there dancing and having fun, but I really don’t want to. Perhaps I should have stayed at home and finished my book. This is supposed to be fun and I’m just sitting here, annoyed.

  Ella grinds against some guy, behind her I see Sullivan. This time he’s alone. When our gazes meet, he lifts his drink to me in a mock cheers. His face is questioning, curious, before he strides across the dance floor, fighting off girls who try and latch on to him. He stalks toward me like a predator, unwilling to be distracted by anyone or anything. Confident. Determined. Sexy as hell.

  “You look like you’re having about as much fun as I am,” he says.

  I sigh. “Does it show? I’m trying not to be a buzz kill.”

  “You want to get out of here?”

  “For real? I saw you and Coreen talking. Maybe you want to go and ask her?”

  “You’re not jealous, are you? There’s more than enough of me to go around.”

  Sigh. “Nope. Definitely not jealous.” I hate that he’s right. But what I hate more is the fact that I can’t stop myself from being jealous.

  He bumps shoulders with me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  "I’m pretty sure we’ve already gone over this."

  “That’s not what I meant.” He stands and takes my hand in his before pulling me to my feet, but when I’m standing, our hands are still entwined, and he doesn’t seem to notice. It feels…nice. Comfortable. “I’m starving. All I can think about right now is pizza, and there’s a really great place around the corner.”

  “You’re in a bar with woman practically throwing their underwear at you, and all you can think about is pizza?”

  He thinks about this for a moment. “I must be ill.”

  I laugh out loud and he pulls me along.

  “What about your friend?” I ask.

  “Who? Ames?” He points to the other side of the room, a few tables away from the bar. Ames is practically on top of a blonde who leans against the wall with her leg bent and her knee between his legs. He's kissing the girl’s neck and her head is titled back, her eyes closed.

  “He won’t even notice.”

  “Ah, yeah, okay. Just let me tell Ella.”

  “Sure.”

  I start to walk away but he still hasn’t released my hand. “Um, Sullivan?”

  He glances down at our hands and frowns. “Fuck. Sorry.” He takes a step back and runs his hands through his hair.

  Ella gives me the evil eye when I tell her I’m leaving with Sullivan. I assure her I’m not going to sleep with him, but she doesn’t believe me.

  “He’s a charmer,” she says.

  Don’t I know it, but no, I won’t sleep with him. “We’re just getting pizza and I’ll be right back.”

  She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it.

  “Use a condom,” Kim says as she dances be
side us. “On second thought, better double glove.”

  I groan and then push back through the crowd until I reach Sullivan. His hands are deep in his pockets and I put my arm on his elbow as he guides me through the people surrounding us. Once we’re out on the street, I don’t let go.

  The moon sits in a cloudless sky. It hangs lower and faintly glows in the sky. We walk slowly and the crisp wind blows against my bare arms. Just holding on to him helps to warm up my arms, but only a little. When we left for the bar the air was still warm but now, the temp has dropped just enough to force a layer of goose bumps to rise on my skin.

  “You want my shirt?” he asks.

  “Nah, I’m good. Do you mind this?” I ask, motioning to my hand on his elbow.

  He shakes his head. “Oddly enough, no.”

  The pizza place is small and is basically just a hole in the wall with some benches out front. They have crazy ingredients here, things I’ve never heard of on a pizza. There are too many choices and I have no idea what to pick. I take forever to read through the menu.

  “I’ll probably starve before you order,” he says.

  I elbow him in the chest and he puffs out air before chuckling.

  Sullivan goes for traditional pepperoni, and after a couple minutes of indecision, he prompts me, “Alright, make a decision. I’m dying here.”

  “I don’t know. I usually just get cheese, but I feel like I should try something different.”

  The man at the cash register smiles. “I got something good for you. You gonna try and you gonna love it.” He speaks with an accent that I can’t really place but from his facial features and his dark hair and skin, I know he’s Asian. Like the true space cadet I am, I wonder how he came to live here. Why he moved? Is his family is in Canada, too? How long has he lived here?

  “Abby?”

  I shake off my daze. “Um. Surprise me.”

  Sullivan shakes his head, but his grin claims his face. “Yeah, cancel the pepperoni. I’ll have what she’s having.”

  I shake his arm and he sways back and forth. “You gonna love it,” I whisper, mimicking the attendant who gives me a little wink.

  Sullivan and I take a seat on the picnic table while we wait for mystery pizza. The wind has died down but it’s still chilly. Sullivan offers his Henley again but he’s only got a t-shirt on underneath, and I don’t want to be warmer for the sake of him being cold. I insist that I’m fine.

  When the man calls out our order, I rub my hands together, preparing myself to be amazed. Sullivan goes to get it, brings it back and takes a seat.

  I glance at it and my mouth forms a perfect circle. “Is that jam?”

  “PB and J pizza. Peanut butter and jam with powered sugar on top.”

  Thankfully, no cheese. That would just be all kinds of wrong. I feel like a kid as I pick up my massive slice. I fold it in half while Sullivan rolls his up from the pointed end to the crust. We tap them together as if we’re toasting. It tastes amazing. The dough has just enough sweetness to compliment the taste of the strawberry jam. And peanut butter makes everything better. I could eat a whole jar in one sitting—and I often have.

  “I think I need to undo my button,” I say, leaning back and tapping the fly of my jeans.

  “That was pretty good.” He wipes a trace of peanut butter off his chin with a napkin.

  “The best,” I say. “I’m definitely going to have to come back here.”

  “I’ve been here every summer for five or six years now, and I’ve never strayed from pepperoni. I had no idea what I was missing.”

  “So you came here with your family when you were younger?”

  The jovial expression on his face hardens. He clears his throat and rests his forearms on the table as he studies me. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’m curious to find out.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Nothing. I just…I don’t talk about my family. You know, if we’re going to be friends…they’re kind of something I’d rather not talk about.”

  “But isn’t that one of the points of having friends, to talk about things you wouldn’t talk about with other people? I mean, who do you turn to when you’re upset? When you need someone to just listen?”

  He thinks for a moment and scratches at the scruff on his chin. “I don’t know…I guess I turn to medication.”

  I frown at him. He's joking, right? At least…I hope he is.

  Finally, he cracks a smile before tossing his napkin onto this paper plate. “Not everyone needs to share their feelings, Abby. I just keep everything to myself, I guess.”

  “That must be really lonely.”

  “When you’re not used to having anyone, you don’t know any different.”

  I want to reach out and take his hand. This guy everyone pegs as a womanizer—and rightfully so—is so much more than what they assume. He’s charming and handsome and athletic, but he’s also vulnerable and it makes me want to be there for him, no matter what.

  “What about Dean? Ames?”

  He shrugs. “What about them?”

  “I don’t know…I just figured you guys are close.”

  He runs his tongue along his teeth removing the sticky peanut butter from his mouth. I sit there, mesmerized. His lips are so undeniably kissable.

  “Guys aren’t the same as girls,” he says, pulling me from some pretty inappropriate thoughts. “Especially my friends. I suppose in the past I’ve talked to Dean when he pushes, but Ames?” He shakes his head and lets out a chuckle. “Ames and I party. We don’t talk feelings.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “What about you?” he asks. “Who do you talk to?”

  “Well…” I pick at the crumbs of my pizza crust. “I have a best friend at home: Julia. She’s great. But she’s doing a placement in Mexico. She left a week ago and we haven’t talked since because…well…”

  He raises a single eyebrow as he waits for me to continue.

  “Calling Mexico isn’t exactly economical,” I say, frowning. “I’m trying to keep my long distance bill down. I call my dad and my brothers because they’d kill me if I didn’t, but Julia and I are pretty much relegated to Facebook messages and emails this summer.”

  “The first night we stayed at the hotel?” he asks as if waiting for confirmation that I couldn’t afford it, which wasn’t the case. I could have if I wanted to, but I just didn’t want to spend what little money I had on things I could do without. I would have been comfortable in his car.

  “Wasn’t in the budget,” I say. “Not all of us were born with money.”

  “Money is definitely not everything,” he says, looking away.

  “Spoken from a guy who has lots of it.”

  “I didn’t always.”

  “No?”

  He clears his throat and collects his garbage. “We should get back,” he says. “Ames will get himself in trouble without a wingman.”

  “Absolutely. Everyone needs a wingman.”

  “Or a wingwoman?” Sullivan teases.

  “Can’t say I’ve ever been that.”

  “Well, it’s an interesting idea. Maybe we’ll have to try it out.”

  “Not sure hanging around a girl will help you pick up other girls.”

  “Yeah. You might be right about that. And yet being here with you is probably more fun than that fucking club.”

  He walks ahead as I stop dead in my tracks, unwilling to believe my ears, and unwilling to admit the same. Because being alone with Sullivan like this is quickly becoming one of my favourite past times.

  Six

  MY BUZZING PHONE wakes me early the next morning. With closed eyes, I reach out and feel around for it on the top of my bedside table as it continues to bounce around on vibrate.

  “Ugh. Too early,” Nicole mumbles.

  Shit. I didn't want to wake her up. I open my eyes, wipe away the sleep and snatch my phone. Rolling onto my back, I adjust my bedclothes; they’re wrapped around me like a noose. If only I didn�
�t have a roommate I’d be commando right now. “Hello?” My mouth is dry and my voice comes out scratchy. I clear my throat and stifle a yawn.

  “Get out of bed. We’re going skydiving.”

  “Wait? What? Who is this?”

  “I’m wounded.”

  I clear my throat to find my normal sounding voice. “Sullivan? How did you get my number?”

  “Oh, dear Abby,” he says, almost singing, before following up with a tsk tsk. “I have resources. Anyway, get up—I’ll be over in twenty. If you’re not outside, I’ll come in and drag your ass out of bed.”

  The phone clicks and I’m left lying there with my phone in hand, wondering what just happened. Did I just agree to go skydiving? What the hell? I’m afraid of heights!

  Nicole groans and rolls over to face the wall as I climb out of bed. I try to be as quiet as I can while throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt. It takes me a few minutes to find my sneakers. They’re under the bed—way under the bed—and I have to lay on the floor and reach my hands out as far as they’ll go to snatch them. I don’t put them on right away. Instead, I pad down the stairs and put my shoes on then, careful not to wake anyone up with my stomping feet.

  Sullivan’s Jeep pulls up moments later. I watch him through the window, shaking my head. He’s out of his mind. I glance at my watch—it’s nine-thirty in the morning. On a Sunday. For crying out loud! Normal people are still in bed!

  A chill makes it way inside the cabin and fills the hall as I open the door, and I backtrack into the kitchen to grab a sweater I left on one of the kitchen chairs. Outside, I head to Sullivan’s driver’s side door and wait for him to roll it down.

  With a dull mechanical buzz the window lowers, and he sticks his elbow out the window and smirks at me. His hair is a mess and he wears a couple of days worth of scruff on his face. It’s frigging sexy, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stir something inside of me. I’ve never before seen the fuss of sex, but he makes me reconsider. God help me, what am I saying?