Mine to Steal (Mine to Love)

by T. K. Rapp

  “We have this open policy when we aren’t in the same town. I know it sounds stupid, but it was easier than breaking up. And it works. For now.” Her eyes fall back to me and there’s a hint of disappointment in them. Or maybe she has simply accepted their situation.

  “And you didn’t think anything of it when you heard you were meeting Trey and it was a blind date? I mean, you knew about the ‘marathon’ dates.” I laugh, curious how she didn’t figure it out.

  Her cheeks flush and she lets out a laugh of her own. “I didn’t know I was meeting a Trey.”

  My lip quirks, in what I can assume is an unattractive way by her reaction, “Who were you told you’re meeting?”

  “I’d rather not say; it’ll probably go to your head,” she states, trying to end the exchange as she walks toward the counter to rent the paintball gear.

  “Now you have to say,” I stand next to her and nudge her shoulder. “What name did Kayla give?”

  She runs her hand over her mouth and looks away. “Romeo.”

  “What? You’re kidding me. And you didn’t think to question it?” I laugh at her obvious dismissal of the name.

  She turns to me with red cheeks and laughs, speaking louder, “I don’t know, people have all sorts of strange names for kids these days.”

  “Wow, Faith. I’m not sure about this.” I narrow my eyes and shake my head.

  “Yeah, me either,” she scoffs. “I’m going to kill Jasmin, and I don’t know your friend Kayla, but I kinda want to kick her ass, too.”

  “I’ll text you her address.” Maybe hold her down so you can do it.

  This is a strange turn of events. Here I was dreading date number three, but I think it might be the most entertaining of all. We are, after all, competition, and what better place to work out your aggression than on a paintball course.

  They put us in a team with a group of people who have clearly come here together. I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to be on the same side, and from the look on her face, she feels the same way.

  “I was going to enjoy shooting you.” She smiles and bats her eyes, feigning innocence.

  “Back at you,” I say with a straight face. “Guess we have to work together. Again,” I say with a mopey tone. But really, I think I might like having her on my side.

  The leader explains the boundaries and rules to us, and we both listen intently to obtain as much information as possible. We strap on our gear and position the protective goggles over our eyes before giving each other a high five, because we plan to annihilate the competition. I guess since we can’t do it to each other, we should feel bad for the poor bastards we’re about to take down, but we’re too busy laughing to care.

  The referee holds his white flag and signals the start of the game; both teams scurry to hiding places within the boundaries and take cover. Faith runs to a tree with a wide base and crouches down, and I run to a wall that is erected with a target painted over it. People are yelling and taunting, but we both remain quiet, stalking our victims.

  We make visual contact with each other and neither of us says a word.

  I’ve never played paintball before, but these few short minutes are the most fun I’ve had in a while. I watch Faith as she, with pinpoint precision, peeks from behind the tree and hits a target that is running past. Poor bastard never saw her. I give her a thumbs up and peek out from behind my spot and shoot two rounds, hitting a guy who was about to shoot one of my teammates.

  I nod to Faith and mouth, “How many?”

  She shrugs and lifts her head up, I assume she’s doing a mental tally and when she shows me a count of eight, I smile. Sixteen of us came in, and we’ve shot two of our opponents. She starts laughing and points, waving me over. I peek around the wall and when I see the coast is clear, I sling my gun over my shoulder and make run for it. She shoots three times, and I hear another guy groan somewhere behind me, but I don’t bother to check where the noise came from.

  I dive at the last moment and trip over a branch that sticks out of the ground and tumble toward Faith. Before I land, possibly hurting her, I try to push away throwing myself onto my back to avoid a collision. Somehow she ends up on top of me and covers my mouth with her hand. She raises a finger up to silence me and points somewhere past me.

  I’m not sure what her plan is, but I’ll let her stay where she is for as long as she wants. Faith turns to check both sides and whispers, “Make that five more left.”

  “What now?” I ask before she drops her face to my neck.

  She muffles a whisper, “Someone’s behind us. Be. Still.”

  I don’t see anyone, but I don’t have the same vantage point she does. Her breath is hot against my neck, and my free hand is holding her to me. The position is too familiar, and I half expect her to cave in and admit she does remember everything.

  I turn to her and whisper in her ear, “We need to move soon, they know where we are.”

  I try to formulate an exit plan in my head, but she lifts her head and scans the area. She looks down at me and drops a quick kiss to my lips. “Cover me.”

  I’m stunned by the kiss as I watch her move away. She looks back and sees my smile, but takes off running. The sounds of shots being fired from somewhere cause me to get back in the action when I see someone attempt to shoot Faith. Fortunately they miss, and when I try to find the culprit, I’m out of luck. Whoever it was is hidden. Well.

  She keeps running but before she dives into her new hiding spot I see someone aiming for her so I turn and fire, hitting the woman in the chest. I run over to join Faith and she high fives me. We laugh while we try to catch our breath, but we are huddled close together to hide and all I want to do is kiss her again to see if it sparks her memory.

  What possessed her to kiss me in the first place?

  We’re so close I can smell her. Even with nature around us, I can smell her flowery perfume and sweet shampoo and all I want to do in find someplace to study every inch of her again.

  “There’s about four more left,” she says, snapping me out of my strange scent infatuation.

  “How many have we lost?”

  “I have no idea, but they probably have less than four, unless our guys got more.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I say with a salute. I step out from behind the brush and walk slowly, watching where I step to avoid noise and check for any movement around me.

  Nothing.

  There is complete silence when I hear the sudden snap of a branch. Faith jumps out next to me and we stand back to back, looking around for our would-be shooter, but we don’t see anyone. The adrenaline that is pumping over a game is insane, but it’s there, and having Faith at my back is making the surge even stronger. I feel myself relax, but the next moment I hear her yell something before she is pushing me down, and I see her get tagged by a spray of paint.

  Faith is on the ground, and I jump to my feet to defend her, only to get tagged by the same shits who got her.

  We’re lying on the ground, breathing heavy but neither of us is moving. “Son of a bitch, that stings,” she says as she rubs her hand over the protective vest. I laugh, but I’m not laughing at her.

  “No shit,” I remark, rubbing my back where I was shot. I give her my hand to help her up and pull her to her feet. She is an absolute mess, but it’s pretty damn sexy. “Teenage assholes.”

  She laughs, and I throw my arm over her shoulder as we walk back to the starting point. I’m not sure what possessed me to make the friendly gesture, yet here I am, doing it.

  “I wish it was me that got to shoot you,” she pouts.

  “Yeah, likewise, Young” I give her a squeeze and drop my arm, not realizing how natural the gesture felt until I stopped doing it. “Wanna go again? I’ll pay them more to let us shoot each other.”

  “Nah, I’m good. Actually, I’m really hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

  We decide to take my car and find one of those outdoor taco stands because we are both covered
in a rainbow of paint. Besides, it’s a nice afternoon, why not relax and get to know her better.

  Chapter 18

  Sunday afternoons in September are still pretty nice, as evidence by the people shopping and walking around. I’m sure we stick out, both of us in white shirts messed in an array of color. The park has several mobile eateries out today, and the first one we spot is the taco truck.

  Faith orders a huge taco and fills it with so much crap I wonder how she’ll fit all of it into her tiny body. I pay for our meals and grab a couple of drinks before we make our way to one of the many picnic tables strewn all over. Several tables are covered in shade beneath the trees, and others are in the middle of what appears to be a large play outdoor area. Families have taken most of those near the jungle gym and are talking loudly and laughing together as we pass.

  She points to a solitary table, away from the crowds and screaming kids. Following behind Faith, I’m struck by the odd situation we find ourselves in. Again. She takes a seat, but looks uncomfortable to be sitting with me. I hope she’s trying to find something to say, because she was fine before.

  “I don’t make it a habit of eating from mobile taco stands,” she informs me as she unwraps her taco. She’s opens it over the foil and dumps two packets of sauce inside before rolling it back up. I watch with fascination as she methodically tucks the ends before lifting it to her mouth.

  “Me either,” I say as I unwrap the taco and take an obscene, messy bite. This might be the best-damned taco I’ve ever had, or it’s been too long since I’ve eaten something that isn’t exactly healthy.

  We devour our food in comfortable silence except for the noise of the kids in the distance. My eyes are trained on the mountains in the distance, as if there’s some secret they hold. Or maybe I like looking at them because then I don’t have to focus on her.

  “Okay, so I have to say, I feel weird knowing I’m part of some experimental serial blind date thing you have going on,” Faith says through a bite of food. “You know, because there’s clearly something wrong with you.” She laughs.

  I join in, laughing at her description of the aforementioned dates and appraisal of me. “Yeah, well, considering you didn’t know about it until I said something, I feel a little weird too. Why are you and Brad together if you have this ‘open’ policy? I mean, Grayson would have jumped at the chance to get with you.”

  “But that’s it, this thing with Brad works. I don’t know what will happen in the long run but for now, I can honestly tell men that hit on me, ‘I have a boyfriend.’ I’m not lying and being a bitch. Is it the complete truth? No, but it works.”

  “But at what expense?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, here you are, out on a blind date. So you are still searching. I guess that means Brad isn’t the one.”

  “Do you even know what “the one” is?” She uses air quotes as she asks in exasperation.

  “I’ve never had the one. I mean, I’m out with you, so clearly I haven’t found ‘it.’ But I know what it looks like when someone else finds it,” I remark, thinking of Emogen and Ryan. “When you find the one, you don’t want to be with anyone else.”

  “You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

  “I do,” I admit easier than I expected. “Not from my own relationships, obviously, but everyone I know who’s found it, they don’t have the need to keep looking.”

  She shifts uncomfortably on the bench, but her eyes are locked on me. She opens her mouth to say something but bites her lips and shakes it away. I can’t tear my eyes away from this woman, and I wish I could get her to tell me what she’s thinking.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she finally asks.

  “I’m trying to figure you out. One minute you’re giving me the evil eye, and the next, you kiss me.”

  She smirks and turns away from me. “You caught that, huh?”

  “Faith…” I wait until her attention is on me. “I was there; it’s a little hard to forget.” I’m referring to our night at my place, though I’m sure she’s thinking about the paintball kiss.

  “Trey?” There’s so much in the way she says my name, as if she’s going to reveal something to me. But then it fades when she continues, “Can we change the subject?”

  I concede and give her a smile. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Work?”

  “Sorry,” I shrug as I lift the taco to my mouth to take another bite. “I’m under strict instruction from my want-to-be love life advisor - work is off topic.”

  “What in the hell are we supposed to talk about then?”

  “I have no idea.”

  There’s an awkward silence settling in between us as we eat our food. We avoid eye contact, and the entire situation feels more forced than it did when we discovered we were set up. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say or do, this isn’t any ordinary date.

  She looks over at some kids playing on the swing set and laughs as the older boy pushes the smaller girl who laughs hysterically every time she’s pushed forward.

  “So why did your family move away?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I cringe, not knowing where the question came from.

  Hell, I didn’t know she moved away until Jett told me, but I know it has to have something to do with Lennox. She closes her eyes, as if it’s one long blink and takes a deep breath. When her eyes open her smile fades, and she answers with all emotion gone from her features. “My dad got a transfer to Phoenix and we had to pack up and follow.”

  “Did you like it there?”

  “Not so much. I loved our home, but it was hard to be there after Lennox died. Everywhere I turned there was something that reminded me of him. Sometimes I would go sit in his room and hope he would walk in and get mad at me for being there. It was nothing but sadness all the time.”

  Her hands fidget with the taco wrapper, and she’s twisting the foil into a thin line, creasing the edges before folding it over again. She looks up and laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. “Ya know, it’s hard moving, and even harder moving when you feel like you’re leaving so much behind. And add to it you’re eleven, and it’s the middle of the school year. Starting over is no fun either.”

  “Are your folks still there?”

  “Well,” she starts, finally giving up on the wrapper and wadding it up to throw away, “Dad is. He remarried a woman I can’t stand. I didn’t bother going to the wedding, not that he would notice anyway. And Mom is living in Providence, as far as she can get from us.”

  I’m stunned by her admission, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to engage or change the subject.

  “Since you’re talking so much, why don’t you tell me why you hate the ‘Miller’ boys so much?” I ask, using air quotes when I say my last name.

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to that again.” She smiles a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I thought you would know by now. I think it’s something you should ask your asshole brother.”

  “So you really hate him that much, huh?” I love my brother, but I also know she’s right, which is why I don’t get pissed at her words. “Honestly, I think I’d prefer your version, anyway.”

  “Ya know, I don’t really hate him,” she admits easily with a light laugh. “I used to - so much - but I was a kid and who wouldn’t hate him? Like I stated before, I think everyone has one person who tortures them.”

  “C’mon,” I goad, “You know you’re dying to tell me what he did.”

  “Why live in the past?”

  I give her a sardonic smile. “If you really felt that way, I don’t think you’d be referring to him as my ‘asshole brother,’ do you?”

  “Is he not?” Her eyes squint playfully as a smile forms. “Besides, it’s kinda fun.”

  She’s got me there. I laugh and nod my head, agreeing with her assessment. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “As long as it’s not about Lennox,” she says, as if
reading my mind.

  “How old were you when he died?” I have no idea what has possessed me to push forward and ask the question, but she doesn’t seem upset by it, despite her warning not to ask.

  “I turned eleven three days after he died.”

  “How-”

  “No. We’re not going to talk about this.” She shakes her head in a slow somber motion. It’s been at least thirteen years, but I don’t think it’s something you ever get over.

  “Cavette.” It’s my olive branch; my attempt at changing the subject for her.

  Her glassy eyes meet mine, and she blinks a few times until the moisture behind them disappears. “You said no work talk.”

  “I’ll make an exception.”

  “Tomorrow. Yeah?”

  “Tomorrow,” I agree. It’s her attempt to keep the daylight, and I’m inclined to honor that, because despite the other two dates, this one has been quite entertaining.

  She throws her head back in a nod and raises a brow. “What time is number four?”

  “Number four?” I repeat, but I know she’s talking about the next blind date.

  “Yeah, if I’m the third blind date, who is number four.” Her cheeks flush as she admits this was a date, and it causes me to laugh.

  “I’m not worried about number four because I’m actually enjoying number three,” I inform her, looking into her eyes. “Besides, three happens to be my favorite number.”

  Where did that come from?

  “Mine, too.”

  “So how does this ‘open policy’ thing work anyway?”

  “He doesn’t ask; I don’t ask.” She doesn’t elaborate, but I’m interested in learning how that night fits into the whole thing. I figure it’s a fair question since she is technically involved with someone and out with me.

  “You know Brad.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t like to lose.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Would you be pissed to find out he’s been seeing someone on the side?” She doesn’t answer immediately, weighing the answer before speaking, but it’s answer enough. “Okay, let me rephrase, would he be pissed to know you’re out on a date? Or rather, you’ve been with someone else?”