Explicit

by Ava Harrison

  Emotionally hurting.

  “I, of all people, understand, man. It might not look like it,” I hear Pierce say, “but my family doesn’t get me either. You can’t . . .”

  The wind is knocked out of me. I want to hate him, I do, but even I can see this is not the same guy from last year, let alone three months ago. Although every feature on his devastatingly handsome face is the same, it’s what’s underneath that’s changed. He’s subdued.

  Different.

  Behind the facade he’s shown for so long, there’s a sadness. One I know too well. It’s in every comment, every look, and it makes me want to say he’s not alone. That I understand. But those won’t leave my lips because if I know anything about him or myself that would be too much. Instead, I make a silent vow to put the shit behind us aside and to show him through actions and what he needs most, friendship that there is another way.

  A way that doesn’t involve the next party.

  A way that can make him happy.

  For some reason, I need her to want me, and the fact she won’t is driving me insane.

  I seek her out during the day like a stalker. I’m here even when I’m not scheduled to be. The need to see her has replaced all thoughts of going out, or partying, or being me.

  Like now, for instance. I know she’s in the cafeteria having her coffee. I don’t need coffee. Hell, I don’t even drink the stuff. But where do I find myself? In the damn cafeteria.

  It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own these days.

  A delicious game of cat and mouse.

  I can’t get enough.

  She’s standing by the counter, the piping hot mug in her hands. Steam billows from the surface. Her lips purse and a puff of air escapes before she places the rim to her mouth to take a sip. She closes her eyes as the hot liquid courses down her throat, and I swear the way she drinks should be illegal, especially when kids are around. I can’t help but step toward her. To close the distance between us.

  When she opens her eyes, I’m there, right in front of her, staring down at her full, fuckable lips. “What are you—”

  My hand lifts to her jaw and stops her words, touching her skin before lifting to brush the fullness of her mouth, of the skin I so badly want to taste. “You had something on your face,” I lie.

  Her eyes widen and then narrow slightly, making my hand drop. She knows I’m lying, but I don’t care. It was worth it.

  “Please don’t touch me,” she whispers, her voice trembling, but not from fear. I’ve heard that tremble before, and fear was not present. All that’s present is need and want. I move closer.

  She’s so close the scent of her perfume whispers in the air. She takes a step to the left to escape me, but so do I, not ready to let her go just yet. The dance we play continues. Another beat of an unsung song. One I intend to confront and she intends to hide from.

  “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

  “No.”

  My words stun her, making her mouth hang agape. She furrows her brow, bites her lip. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I step closer until there’s no distance between us. Until her chest rubs against my torso. Until I feel her heart beat against mine. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. I’m not sure why I’m torturing myself, and in turn, torturing her. I don’t know what it is about her. I don’t know why I can’t get her out of my mind, why I can’t stay away.

  All I know is there’s something about Lindsey Walker.

  She’s everything I can’t have. She’s all the rights I’ll never have. She deserves better, but I can’t find it in me to care and just stop. I continue to study her, waiting for something, for her to object to our proximity, for her to say something, to say anything. But she doesn’t.

  So I take the one chance I have and go for it.

  I wrap my arms around her and pull her face to mine. There’s no stopping me, not until I know what she tastes like. I crash my mouth to hers, nipping at her lower lip to coerce her open. Her mouth parts of her own accord, letting me sweep inside and savor her.

  She pushes away from me, her breasts heaving with exertion. “What the fuck! What gives you the right to kiss me like that?”

  “You didn’t seem to mind. Not when you were—”

  “God, you make me so . . . so . . .”

  “Shh,” I coo. “Don’t ruin it.”

  “This. What just happened? That can’t happen again. I’m sure this is my fault. I’m giving you mixed signals, but I don’t want you like that. Don’t you understand that, Pierce? I don’t want you. Friends maybe, but nothing more.”

  “Yes, you have already made your thoughts on me quite explicit,” I mock.

  “Don’t pursue me,” she hisses back.

  “No promises, Lucky. When I want something, I go for it. And, Lindsey . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I want you.”

  “You can’t have me.”

  “That’s what you think. But I know the truth. We’re inevitable.”

  I almost jump right out of my chair when my phone rings from across the coffee table in front of me. I’m lost in thought, thinking about what happened today, trying desperately to pretend it didn’t. Trying even more desperately to not read into it.

  The phone rings again. Strange that someone is calling at this time. Looking up, I realize it’s actually not so late. The clock on my computer says it’s eight thirty p.m. In my former life, I wouldn’t even be dressed yet. I’d be just getting out of the shower, pouring myself a glass of wine, and getting ready to go out for the night.

  But that was then, this is now. And now eight p.m. is past my bedtime.

  The phone continues to ring and I place my computer down on the table and reach for it. Amelia, my younger cousin.

  My relationship with Amelia is funny. For years she hated me. I was kind of a bitch. But then after the accident, no matter how rude I was, how much I tried to push her away, she just wouldn’t hear it. It’s kind of crazy to think about now. I’m not sure why she kept trying with me. I certainly didn’t deserve it, but I’m so glad I eventually softened and let her in.

  More like begged her to forgive me.

  “What up, cuz?” I answer.

  “You in bed?” She knows me so well.

  “Almost.”

  “You’ve become such a loser.” She laughs.

  “Takes one to know one,” I reply, my words laced with humor.

  “I’m coming over.”

  Hearing Amelia say she’s coming over at this time has me standing from the couch.

  “Everything okay?” I ask as I begin to pace the room.

  “Yep. Just need to vent.”

  Her voice sounds tight and I know someone has made her angry. Amelia is usually so laid-back and carefree.

  This can’t be good.

  “Well, come on by. I’m just doing some work, but I’m here.”

  “You work too damn much,” she huffs in a dramatic pitch.

  “It’s work or party, or just have a pity party for myself. Which do you prefer?”

  “You were totally intolerable with both the other outcomes. So I’ll choose work.” I laugh at that, and some of the tension I felt before has diminished. She still has her signature sense of humor, so it can’t be that bad.

  “You got your key?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, just let yourself in.”

  “Okay. Be there in thirty.”

  Amelia has been a godsend to me. When I was at my lowest and Olivia was in rehab, Amelia helped pick up the pieces of my broken spirit. I’m still not perfect, but I’m a lot better than I was. I’ll never forget when I was finally out of the wheelchair after the initial accident and was made to use a cane. I was so damn depressed. Mortified to be seen in public like that. So Amelia did what she does best.

  She was there for me.

  There while I screamed. There while I cried. There when I was abusive to her. And still, her smile never faded
. When I threw the cane against the wall, she barely batted an eyelash. Instead, she showed up the next day as if I hadn’t kicked her out the one before. In her arm was a box. I still laugh thinking of that box. Her Bedazzler. And that’s how I ended up with a crystal-studded cane, fit for a queen.

  If Amelia is coming over tonight at eight thirty p.m. knowing I’m in pajamas, something is wrong. And I owe it to her, after all she’s done for me, to be there for her too.

  I keep myself busy as I wait. I have an idea for a business, a new venture that I’m passionate about. I want to figure out a way to help the kids but on a grander scale. So right now I’m spending my night researching business plans. I’m not sure exactly yet what I’m planning on doing for them, but what I want to make sure is that when I figure it out, I’m able to write up a plan and pitch it to my father.

  Maybe then I’ll get his attention.

  Maybe if I’m like one of his many investments, he’ll find time to talk to me too.

  Doubt it.

  As I’m researching the proper ways to create a pitch deck, I hear the familiar pitter-patter of Amelia’s shoes hitting the wood floors in my apartment.

  “I see you chose to work . . .”

  “It was hit or miss for a while. I figured drowning myself in self-misery was not exactly a good plan for my evening.”

  “I’d say not.”

  I take her in. Her face looks paler than normal and she has dark shadows under her eyes.

  “What’s going on? You kind of look like shit.”

  “Geez, Linds, you reverting back to your old bitchy ways from before the accident? Because a little warning would be nice.”

  “I wasn’t that bad,” I whine.

  “That’s like saying a pet python is warm and cuddly,” she deadpans.

  “Har, har, har. You’re cute. But seriously, what’s going on?”

  “My dad.”

  “Join the club.” I pat the arm of the chair next to the one I’m sitting at. “Take a load off and spill it. What did dear old uncle do now?”

  She sits and then proceeds to unburden all that’s happened in her life since I last spoke to her. Her father’s disappointment because her grades aren’t good enough and her internship isn’t good enough. Nothing is good enough.

  Same song. Different verse.

  Neither of us has good relationships with the Walker brothers. My dad is too busy for me, and hers is too busy ridiculing her.

  In the end, when I finally opened up to her about my family problems, and she to me, we were forever bonded.

  “I’m sorry. That sucks. But honestly, you’re killing it. Your dad just sucks.”

  “He doesn’t approve of my major. And the rest is a big waste of time because of that.”

  “One day you’ll be the best designer ever and you’ll make him eat his words.” At that, she finally smiles.

  “So what about you? What’s the word on Pierce and Polaris? He gone yet?”

  I bite my lip and then blush.

  Amelia leans forward in her chair, her nose crinkling. “Ummm, what was that for?”

  “What was what?”

  She narrows her eyes as her lips purse. “You just blushed,” she responds candidly.

  “Did not.”

  “Did too. Tell me. I need something juicy after my day.”

  “Fine. He might have tried to kiss me. Well, he did . . . um, kiss me.”

  “What? Stop. Back up. The beginning. Last I knew you hated him. And from everything you told me about the last few weeks, you made that point very clear to him that you hated him.”

  “I never hated him.”

  Her right brow lifts.

  “Fine. I might have said that once or twice.”

  “Or fifty times.”

  “Okay, fine. I might have said it more times than I can count that I hated him, but I mean, well, I guess—”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Grrr. Are you really going to make me say this?”

  She nods.

  “Imightnothatehim,” I say quickly, all the words coming out in one word.

  “And how did those words feel coming out of your mouth?”

  “Like rat poison. Yeah.”

  “Rat poison might actually taste better.”

  “For sure,” I groan.

  “So what now?” She looks at me intently, and I let out a long, resounding sigh.

  “Nothing. Like you said, I’ve made it very clear I’m not looking to have a repeat performance.”

  “But what about friends?”

  “I have enough friends.”

  “You have two.”

  “You’re real cute, you know?”

  “I’ve been told that a few times . . .”

  I really am lucky. To think if it wasn’t for my accident I wouldn’t have this. I wouldn’t have her.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “For making me laugh.”

  “Shouldn’t I be thanking you? I’m the one who came over here to bitch.”

  “I don’t mean today. Thanks for everything. For not giving up on me. For helping me.”

  Her eyes go wide, and I swear she looks like she might cry, but instead, she shakes it off and gives me a small smile. “You’ve changed, Linds. You ever think maybe he has too?” We sit in silence for a minute, her unanswered question hanging in the air above us.

  “Just give him a shot. Maybe if you just ask him what happened, you’ll find out he’s not so unlike you or me.” She stands and gives me a kiss on the head. “Think about it.”

  “I will.”

  I spend the whole rest of the night and early morning replaying Amelia’s words. Give him a shot.

  “Earth to Lindsey,” I hear from beside me pulling me from my persistent thoughts of what to do about Pierce.

  “Umm, did you say something?”

  “Yes. I said you’re doing great, Lindsey. Your progress has been remarkable.” Alison Ames beams a smile in my direction.

  She’s been my physical therapist since the accident. She’s witnessed me at my lowest and celebrated with me at my highest, and her encouragement has been a consistent factor in the improvements I’ve made over the past year. I smile widely at her words of support.

  “I’m feeling good, Alison. I’m really feeling good. Do you think”—I bite my lip—“I can start running again?”

  “Here’s the deal, if and when you can walk two miles, I’ll move you up to jogging. But only here. I don’t want you walking two miles unless I can monitor you.”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” I answer almost too fast, but I can’t contain my excitement, the idea of eventually being able to run again is exhilarating.

  “Only here,” she repeats, her hand on her hip to get the message across.

  “Got it. Starting now?”

  She blows out a huff. “Fine. But slow. Starting speed is two.”

  Two is a turtle pace, but I don’t say that, I’m just happy to be able to try. Once on the treadmill, I set the speed and start to walk. There’s a bit of a discomfort in my tight muscle but not enough to stop me. Not now, when I’m so close to my desired goal. Thirty-five minutes later, I’m winded, huffing, and sweat is pouring off my body. My leg is so damn tight. I don’t think I can make it. I’m almost there, so close the taste of victory hanging above me.

  You can do it. Just push through the pain.

  I resolve to make it no matter the consequences. Closing my eyes, I muster up all the energy inside me, but then the treadmill slows and my lids jut open.

  Alison is staring at me. Her head cocked to the side, her lips pursed.

  Shit.

  “I think we’re done for the day.” She gives me a pointed look. “It’s obvious you’re pushing yourself too hard. It will come, I promise, but you need to give your body more time to heal.” The machine comes to a stop and she reaches out her hand to help me off. “Come on, I’ll stretch you.”

  Together we walk to the table
and five minutes later my leg is feeling a little looser.

  “I think all the exercise you’re getting at the center and here is paying off. But I need to stress, no pushing yourself. I want you to keep it up but make sure to not overdo it.”

  It’s been the same conversation month after month. I want to go faster, and she continuously tries to slow me down. When I feel good I want to ride that high and today I’m feeling it. Even with my muscles tight, I want to keep going.

  It’s my late day for the center. On these days Carson comes in early and gets everything set up. When I walk in, I check the posted schedule and frown. My name and Pierce’s are together at the basketball station—again. I’d hoped I’d be matched with someone else, but apparently not.

  This is bad.

  The temptations are too much when he’s around. My body doesn’t understand that he’s bad for me.

  Walking into the gym, Xavier’s eyes light up when he sees me. “Miss Lindsey! Pierce volunteered for basketball again. Apparently, we didn’t whoop on him hard enough.” The other guys chuckle and I can’t help but break a smile.

  “Guess we’re gonna have to do better then,” I suggest.

  Pierce grins. “The boys have decided since there are not enough players, you have to guard me,” Pierce announces with a smug smile.

  I frown.

  “Thanks, guys,” I groan, not loving this setup, but determined to roll with it for the boys’ sake. They need to learn that sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.

  As I walk to my place, I vow to change my therapy hours and never come in late again. At least then I’ll have one hundred percent control over how far away I get to stay from Pierce Lancaster. Alison’s words ring loud and clear in my head: Don’t overdo it. But I can’t show weakness to these boys. They have to know they can overcome all obstacles. This is mine to overcome on a number of levels.

  I square up to Pierce, getting in my defensive stance. He looks down at me, his forehead pinched with worry.

  “Are you sure you can do this?” he whispers so the boys don’t hear.

  No, I’m not sure, but I don’t tell him that. I’m actually one hundred percent sure I can’t and I’m also pretty darn sure this is exactly what Alison was telling me not to do, but again I won’t say that either. Instead, I stand up taller and puff out my chest in defiance.