This Is the Wonder

by Tracey Ward

  “What is he into?”

  “Computers. Mahjong. Anime.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about my boy Sanchez?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “He is not into Mahjong. He’s into pushing buttons. He asks me about you every day to push mine.”

  “What does he ask?”

  “If I’ve kissed you yet.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. I’m not buying it. “Does he really say ‘kiss’ or are you sugarcoating?”

  “I might be using some artificial sweetener, yeah.”

  “What does he really ask?”

  He waves my question away, looking out the window. “Nah, it doesn’t matter.”

  “He asks if you’ve tapped that, doesn’t he?”

  Jax’s lips clamp together but he looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

  I slap the table lightly, sitting back with a smile. “I knew it.”

  “I tell him no.”

  “I would hope so,” I laugh.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “What do you really tell him? No Splenda.”

  Jax sighs, turning back to face me. “I tell him to fuck off.”

  His reluctance is sweet. “You try not to swear around me, don’t you?”

  “I try, yeah.”

  “You don’t have to. I have a filthy fuckin’ mouth.”

  He laughs, shrugging. “I’ll still try. At least for now.”

  “Until you tap that?”

  “How’s Mel?” he asks, changing the subject. “Sanchez said she talked about a guy the whole way to the castle.”

  “Ben,” I groan, slouching a little at the thought of them.

  “The guy you were with at Oktoberfest?”

  “Yeah. They hooked up and they shouldn’t have. Now she’s mad at him and he doesn’t get it and he’s flaunting other girls in front of her and it makes her angry and sad and drunk. It’s a mess. And I’m worried they’re going to do it again while I’m gone because she’s not over him and he keeps flirting with her.”

  “Sounds like he should back off.”

  “And she should open her eyes, but neither of them is doing the smart thing.”

  “It’s easy to see what the smart thing is from the outside. When you’re in it, you have no idea. You just do the best you can.”

  “And you don’t listen to your friends when they try to tell you what the smart thing is.”

  He nods slowly in agreement. “Best you can do is be there when it blows up. Help pick up the pieces and hope they’ll be there for you when you’re on the other side.”

  “Have you ever been on the other side?” I ask quietly, not sure why I do. It’s a really personal question, one with the potential for an answer I won’t want to hear, but I ask it anyway. I ask because I’m curious about him. All of him.

  He sits forward, turning his glass slowly on the table. “Everybody has,” he answers simply.

  Our dinner arrives, pushing aside the heavy turn our conversation was taking. We dig in and it’s seriously some of the most delicious, heartiest food I’ve ever eaten. I think of the German brot I’ve sworn my soul to and I feel a twinge of guilt as I consider leaving it for a new love. London is slowly taking hold of my heart, wrapping it in its warm embrace, and making me wonder if I’ll ever be happy anywhere else—if anywhere else can ever compare to the comfortable feeling settling into my bones as I soak up the atmosphere, the tastes, and the sounds. The scenery.

  Jax smiles at me over his steaming plate of Shepherd’s Pie and I automatically smile back, my body responding before my mind can understand why.

  Yeah, I think, blushing as his eyes linger on my face for a second too long. I could get used to this.

  An hour later the rain has lightened to a misting. Jax and I agree to head back to the hotel before the skies open up again and we’re drowned.

  Outside the pub is dark and cold, the wind coming off the Thames taking form in a swirling fog that lines the walkway leading to the bridge. Tall lampposts pepper the trail, their iron bases gothic and thick, coated in black paint that makes them look menacing and strange. The rain clings to them, obscuring the large yellow glowing globes at their tops and giving the world an underwater feeling, a thickness and body to the air.

  We walk slowly, not speaking much. We pass people who nod and wish us a good evening and at some point Jax takes my hand in his, pulling me in to walk so close to him that our bundled-up bodies brush against each other with each step. I like the feeling—of both him next to me and the clench of his cold fingers on my skin.

  Wordlessly he leads me to the large stone railing that runs along the river and we stand side by side, our hands still grasped, and we watch boats traverse up and down the dark waters. It’s getting colder and I take a half step closer to him, burrowing into his side. He releases my hand and slowly lifts his arm, wrapping it around my shoulder lightly as though asking permission. I give it by stepping even closer, tucking in under his arm and resting my head in the curve between his shoulder and neck.

  We stand there like that until my hands begin to go numb and the boats are few and far between. Until his grip on my shoulder tightens and his pulse pounds against my temple, wild and erratic. Until I lift my head to look up into his fathomless blue eyes and my heart misses a beat, then stumbles forward in double time. Until his face lowers, mine rises, and our lips meet in a flicker-flame moment of heat sparking and burning soft and low in the cold London air.

  The cold pushes us from the streets to our hotel room and I nervously lie down with him on one of the double beds in our room. I kiss him slowly, my mouth lingering over his lips and my hands staying still on his arms. I’m afraid of how far he’ll try to take it—of that awful moment when the perfection of where we are slips away from us and a boundary has to be formed.

  But Jax never wanders. He never pushes, and eventually the kissing turns to holding and I’m in his arms in the dark and he’s pulling a blanket up over us. He’s brushing his mouth over the top of my head and whispering goodnight, and I’m lit up like the moon. I’m glowing and hovering high above the earth, untouchable. Unreachable. Enveloped in the infinite span of space and time with nothing but the beat of his heart, the pull of his breaths, to hold me down.

  Chapter Eight

  “I hate you.”

  I laugh, taking the hit and rolling with it. Mel is in a shit mood and I feel bad for her but I’m not about to let it bring me down. I’m flying high, too happy to do anything but schoolwork and smile. Most of the time I find myself doing both, and it’s weird and unnatural but it just keeps happening.

  “You’ll be fine without me,” I assure her.

  “Not likely. You know what happened last time you left.”

  I try not to let my irritation show on my face, but I feel it. While on my trip to London with Jax, Mel slept with Ben again. I knew it was going to happen and I told her not to. She knew she shouldn’t, but the heart wants what it really shouldn’t want because it’s a fucking idiot and no one can tell it otherwise. Because it’s also a stubborn fucking idiot.

  “Okay, well, how about this?” I ask her, grabbing her shoulders and looking her in the eye. “Don’t have sex with Ben again.”

  She sneers at me. “So helpful.”

  I release her. “It’s all I got. Sorry.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  I sit down hard on the bed next to her, throwing my arm around her. “Nothing. You’re fantastic.”

  “Ben doesn’t think so.”

  “Ben is not a good measurement of self-worth. Even he would tell you that.”

  “He wouldn’t tell me anything because he’s not speaking to me. Not since we… you know.”

  “Fucked?”

  “Yeah,” she agrees glumly. “Do you really have to go?”

  “I don’t have to, but I really want to. Do you want to go with us?”

  Mel laughs, sitting up and gently shrugging my arm off he
r shoulders. “No. Thanks. Being a third wheel on your romantic trip to Paris with your boyfriend does not sound fun to me.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend and it’s not a romantic trip. It’s sightseeing.”

  “In the city of love.”

  “It’s also the birthplace of the guillotine, so let’s not oversell its sweet side.”

  “You have a problem with romance,” she accuses.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”

  Yes, I do. I have a big problem with it. I’m not good at it, if that’s possible. I don’t like roses, I’m not a huge chocolate fan, I don’t really care about the Eiffel Tower. I think the Space Needle in Seattle is just as cool. Both were built for World’s Fairs. Both are in big, beautiful cities. Both are tall. The point is that I don’t associate either one with any more feeling of love or mushiness than the other. It’s a steel structure, not the gateway to some epic journey to a larger-than-life love story.

  Try telling that to people like Mel, though. She has a black and white poster on her wall of the Eiffel Tower and she’s never been there. She just thinks it’s romantic.

  “Please don’t leave me,” she pleads out of nowhere, throwing herself back on my bed dramatically.

  I groan, turning to glare at her. “Don’t do this.”

  “I’ll do something stupid.”

  “You’ll do something stupid whether I’m here or not.”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Fine!” she cries, sitting up and heading for the door. “But I will not be held accountable for what happens in your absence!”

  “Who will then?!” I shout after her.

  She shrugs and heads down the hall, disappearing into her room.

  “Crap,” I groan, grabbing my coat. I hurry down the hall past her room so she won’t catch me leaving, and I go downstairs. I pull on my coat as I hit the streets and make my way through the coming darkness to the bar at the end of the road.

  It’s a day that ends in Y. Ben will be there.

  I find him where I expect to—perched at the end of the bar with a drink in front of him and his fingers in a girl’s hair. She’s sitting on a stool facing him, her back to me, and I can tell from the smile on his face and the miniscule distance between them that this is already a situation well under way. He’s going to be pissed at me, but I’m already a little more than pissed at him so I don’t really give a shit.

  I make my way to his corner, smiling and saying hi to familiar faces from class until I’m standing directly behind his latest score. His eyes meet mine for just a split second and his smile falters faintly. He can read my expression and he knows I’m not happy.

  He recovers quickly, leaning in and whispering to the girl. She laughs lightly, nodding and standing from her seat. She leaves without looking at me. I’m pretty sure she isn’t even aware I’m there.

  “Five minutes,” Ben tells me, picking up his drink.

  I scowl at him. “Screw you, dude. Who are you, the Godfather? I’ll talk to you for as long as this takes.”

  “How long is this going to take?”

  “That depends on you, dipshit.”

  “What are you so pissed about, Wren?” he asks, his tone sharpening.

  Good. I want to talk to Ben the person, not Ben the player. I need him to come down out of the game long enough to get real with me about this. No smirks. No smooth talk.

  “Stop it with Mel.”

  He sighs, looking away. “I knew this was coming.”

  “So then you know what you’re doing wrong.”

  “Hey, I’m not doing anything wrong. She comes on to me, okay? She initiated it. Both times.”

  “I don’t care. You know what she’s after and you’re not going to give it to her, so turn her away.”

  He chuckles, lifting his glass. “Not my style.”

  I reach out and slam my palm down on the rim of his glass, smacking it back down onto the bar.

  He looks up at me in annoyance. “What the hell?”

  “Never again,” I warn him.

  “Would you believe me if I told you I like her—genuinely like her—but I’m not ready to settle down yet?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s not your style,” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm.

  “Maybe she’s my style.”

  “Cut the crap, Ben.”

  “What do you want from me, huh? She’s a consenting adult. One I happen to enjoy having sex with. If she comes looking for it, I’m giving it to her.”

  I pull my hand away, softening my expression. “Ben, just be a man about this one. She’s not one of your one-nights. She was your friend once. She deserves better than this from you. A little restraint, that’s all I’m asking. You have plenty of girls to get your rocks off with. Take a pass on Mel.”

  He looks at my face, watching me for a long moment before he finally groans and shakes his head. “Fine. All right. If she comes looking for something from me, I’ll tell her no.”

  “And you’ll stop flirting with her. It’s only courting trouble.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop flirting with her.” He grins suddenly and I know my time with the man behind the mask is over. “But there’s nothing I can do about my raw animal magnetism. It’s the risk you take getting in a cage with a tiger, you know what I mean?”

  I shake my head in disgust and head for the door. “You’re a revolting human being. I’ll see you later.”

  “Should I come by your room? Have a couple drinks? See where the night takes us?”

  “Not if you want to keep all of your appendages in place.”

  ***

  You’re going to Paris with him?!?!?!? Robin asks, using far too many exclamation points for my liking.

  Yeah. He’s driving us there.

  You’re driving to Paris?

  Yes.

  I despise everything about you.

  I know.

  Do you know where Chris and I went for our anniversary this year?

  Not Paris?

  Red Lobster.

  I love Red Lobster.

  Please, everybody loves Red Lobster. Cheddar biscuits. That’s all he had to say and I was sold.

  Then what’s the problem?

  It’s not Paris!

  The majority of places aren’t. I doubt it’s as incredible as everyone makes it out to be.

  You’ll have to let me know.

  I’ll give you a full report. Do you want anything from there?

  The Louvre.

  I’ll see what I can do.

  I want you to have fun, that’s what I want, she amends, surprising me with her seriousness. I want you to give it a chance.

  Give what a chance?

  Romance.

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later I find myself in another bar in Germany, but it may as well be on the other side of the world for how different it is from Ben’s. It’s on the military base in Ramstein where Jax is stationed and the feeling is so… American. Neon signs for Pabst, Coors, and Bud Light pepper the walls. There’s a DJ up front by the dancefloor playing a strange mix of rap and country. People are wearing cowboy boots. Thick gold necklaces. Backwards baseball hats. It’s a rowdy mix of good ole boy, gangster, and jock being bombarded with screens broadcasting American football instead of soccer. There’s a mechanical bull dead center in the room. It’s a weird departure from the European world outside the gates.

  Jax brings me a beer at the table where I’m sitting with his crew—Birchart with a backwards hat and a baseball jersey for a team I don’t recognize, Sanchez with low-slung jeans and a T-shirt from a rapper’s brand that I vaguely recognize, and Haskins in cargo shorts in the dead of winter. He has yet to say a word.

  Jax sits down next to me, sliding my bottle of beer in front of me and throwing his arm over the back of my chair. “Unopened,” he points out. “Just in case.”

  I laugh, twisting the top and tossing th
e cap aside. “I trust you.”

  “What time are you guys taking off tomorrow?” Birchart asks.

  “Early,” Jax tells him. “Six if we can get going that soon.”

  Birchart groans and I second that emotion. I hate mornings, but it’s a four-hour drive from here to Paris and we have to do it all in one day. We were supposed to go both Friday and Saturday but at the last minute Jax was denied time off for Friday. He worked his shift, drove to Heidelberg to pick me up, and now we’re leaving first thing in the morning. He has to be back at work by seven Sunday morning. It feels rushed, like we’re packing a lot into one day, and I’m worried he’s going to be exhausted from all of that driving. He insists he’ll be fine.

  “Besides,” he told me on the phone late last night, “you aren’t here for much longer. I don’t want to miss any time with you.”

  Those words fucking killed me.

  “And she’s staying the night in the dorms with you?” Sanchez asks now, slouching back in his seat.

  “Yeah.”

  “Be careful.”

  Jax nods once curtly. “I know.”

  I look between them, confused. “Be careful of what?”

  “You’re not supposed to be there,” Birchart tells me, scanning the dance floor. “No overnight guests in the dorms.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “It’s fine,” Jax assures me.

  “Everything is fine for an untouchable.”

  “Don’t.”

  Birchart salutes him. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  Jax’s face falls to shadow, his eyes instantly tight with anger. “Shut up, Birchart. Put your fuckin’ hand down.”

  Birchart laughs, but he puts his hand down.

  “You could get in trouble for me being there?” I ask Jax.

  “Yeah, but I won’t,” he assures me, his face smoothing. “It’s one night, you’re not moving in.”

  “You won’t be the first girl to crash in the dorms. Don’t sweat it, Baby Bird,” Sanchez soothes me, smiling.

  I can’t stop the grin his nickname puts on my face.

  Birchart disappears on the dance floor after that, being pulled into the vortex of writhing bodies doing what they can with the music selection. Sanchez sits back watching a replay of a football game he already knows the final score to and nursing his beer. And Haskins—he sits there in utter freaky silence. At one point he leans over to say something in Sanchez’s ear, the deep tone of his voice reaching me faintly over the booming bass of the music, but I could be imagining it. To my surprise Sanchez bursts out laughing, falling forward on the table and gasping for breath. Haskins just smiles.