Tell Me How This Ends

by Victoria De La O

  “I have one brother,” I finally answer.

  “And?”

  Elizabeth stares at me for a long time, so I shake off my bleak thoughts and remember the better times.

  “We were latchkey kids, so it’s hard to imagine a world without TV. We watched tons of wrestling. We built a practice ring in our backyard so we could hold matches with kids in our neighborhood, which were awesome.”

  “Your parents must have loved that.”

  I ignore that. “This one kid, Stevie—he was a little shit. He brought a folding chair one day and started throwing it around, and another kid got hurt. My mom shut us down and we had to dismantle the ring. Always that one stupid kid that ruins everything.”

  “True, and it was usually one of my brothers. Were you the good brother or the naughty one?”

  I don’t say anything for a minute.

  “I’m not going to bite.” She nudges me with her elbow.

  “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Answer the question, Romeo.”

  I’m about to say that I was the naughty one, because I know that’s what she expects, but instead I stop to think about it. I surprise myself by saying, “I was a bit of both, but I guess I was usually pretty good.”

  “You better be careful. You almost sound like a normal guy.”

  “Maybe I am a normal guy.”

  She props her head on her arm and studies me. “Hmmm. Verdict’s still out on that one.”

  It’s almost easy talking to Elizabeth, and that shocks me. Ryan says I’m prickly, but she’s not put off by that. Maybe that’s how she gets me to say so much.

  “Do you like working in marketing?” she asks.

  “I like being able to eat.” I park the car and turn toward her. I rest my right arm on the back of her seat, so my hand is a couple of inches from her hair. The urge to touch her is getting very hard to resist.

  “Still not an answer. You like it or you don’t?”

  “I do. The creative stuff is cool. What about you? You really like taking care of other people all the time? Because honestly, your job freaks me out.”

  She chuckles. “I know. I can’t imagine you helping someone go to the bathroom, or cleaning a wound.”

  I’ve done enough of that in my life, actually. I hope never to have to do it again. But she doesn’t know that, so I guess I can’t blame her for thinking that about me. “I might surprise you.”

  “Yeah? You’d get those clothes dirty, and that would send you over the edge.” She pinches the crease on my pants to make her point. I can feel her touch through the fabric.

  “Nothing wrong with neatness.”

  She smirks at me as she lays her head back on the seat. “Thanks for the ride. You could have dropped me off at the curb.”

  “No, I’ll walk you. It’s getting late.”

  “You sound like an older brother. You remind me of my oldest brother, Jeff, actually. Except, metrosexual.”

  I laugh. “Hate to tell you, but no one says that anymore. And I have never gotten a mani or a pedi or a wax, thank you very much.”

  “Now I’m picturing that.” She closes her eyes. “Hey, how about I get out of the car after I take a small nap? An hour or so should do it.”

  “You need me to carry you?”

  Her eyes stay closed. “I’d love to see you try. But no, I can cowboy up.”

  “Half the time, I have no idea what the fuck you’re saying.”

  She chuckles. “I probably wouldn’t be talking to you this much if I weren’t half asleep.”

  I run my hand over her hair and down one braid. She leans into it like a cat. Her face starts to relax and her lips part. I want to kiss them, obviously, but I also want to tuck her into a big bed with cool white sheets and a down comforter. I want to undo each of those braids and untwine the strands one by one. I want to run her a bath and help her step into it. My heart starts to beat harder, and the inside of the car feels ten degrees hotter.

  I want her. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to do whatever I have to do to get her.

  “So, is it serious with frat boy, Elizabeth?”

  Her eyes open and she sits up. “He’s not in a fraternity. And no, but I’m hopeful. Why? Are you renewing your generous offer from the other night?”

  I hate the formal tone in her voice. I use two fingers to turn her chin so we’re face-to-face. “Yeah, that was a dick move. I’m a little sorry about that.”

  “A little?”

  “I was rude, but I was being honest. If you and I keep running into each other, sex is a foregone conclusion.”

  “Wow. Did I somehow lose my ability for higher reasoning when I wasn’t looking?”

  Now I laugh, even though I’m not in a humorous mood. I lean in closer and run my thumb over her neck. “I can feel your pulse jumping. The hairs on your arms are standing up. Your pupils are probably dilated. So are mine. There’s only one way for this to go.” I stroke my thumb down lower and register the softness of her skin.

  “You are the oddest person,” she says, almost as if she’s talking to herself.

  “Why’s that?” I wish I didn’t want to know.

  She does that unnerving thing again where she thinks before answering.

  “Why do you have to make this into a hunt? Why don’t you admit that you’re lonely?”

  I go cold, but my heart races even faster. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I am.”

  Her brow furrows. “You made these rules the first time we met. Total honesty. I’m sorry if you don’t like them anymore.”

  I have her by the shoulders now, and I’m locked on her like a snake to its prey. “Elizabeth, if you keep talking, I’m going to kiss the hell out of you, and you know we won’t stop there.”

  I’m not bluffing. I will take her right here in this car until she reveals her secrets. How does she see me so clearly? What kind of man would I have to be to impress her?

  She has to take a second to breathe before she can answer. “I’m only a game to you.”

  “I wish that were true.” And then I kiss her.

  My body registers her heat, her skin, her scent. My stomach tightens, along with my dick. But that’s just stimulus and response. Something is new—different. My brain starts to hum, like white noise. My chest starts to tingle, and I think I’m having a panic attack. It hurts, it feels good, it’s terrifying. I kiss her some more.

  Finally, I move away, and she puts her hand to her lips.

  “God,” she whispers, “I can’t do this. I don’t think I can survive you.”

  I nod in agreement, because I know exactly what she means. She thinks I’m dangerous to her orderly life. She has no idea what she could do to mine.

  CHAPTER 4

  Elizabeth

  I decide to put some effort into my appearance for my meeting with Ryan today, so I take off my A ROUND OF SHOTS ON ME T-shirt, which has a picture of a nurse with a tray of syringes on it. I try on different tops, but each time I take one off, I feel Jude’s fingers on my collarbone, his lips on mine. I stop and stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t like how flushed I am, or how confused I appear. He was right: The chemistry between us is inescapable. But it doesn’t mean I can’t try.

  Guys like Jude, they leave scars. You can do such terrible things to yourself in the name of love, especially for people who will never love you back. Because they become a void that you try to fill, until there’s nothing left of you.

  On the other hand, why am I letting him scare me? I’ve faced down much worse. No one can be a bigger threat to me than I can.

  All Jude really wants is sex without complications. I’m not sure that exists for someone like me—someone with a heart—but maybe I should have tried to find out. After all, I came to California last year to move beyond my parents’ expectations and judgments.

  No matter how far away I get from Utah, though, I can’t bring myself to sleep with Jude while I’m starting something with Ryan. R
yan seems gentle and smart—the kind of guy that can go the distance. Jude . . . is Jude.

  And it’s unfair to be wondering what I missed out on with Jude while I’m getting ready to meet Ryan.

  “Get it together, Price,” I tell the mirror, and then I choose a fitted green shirt that brings out my eyes.

  I get to class on time and take the seat next to Ryan. His eyes linger on me, and I’m glad I made the effort.

  “How’s it g-going today?”

  “Good. You ready to read my crappy paper?”

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “Says you.”

  I watch Ryan as he listens to the lecture, which is fun because he is laser-focused as he scribbles madly in his notebook. I feel a connection with Ryan, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to light me on fire the way Jude did.

  I realize halfway through class that I am bumping elbows and knees with him way too often, like a seventh grader with her first crush. He doesn’t seem to mind, but he doesn’t reciprocate much. I remember what Jude implied about Ryan not being interested, and I sit up straight and focus on what Stephens is saying.

  After class, Ryan and I walk over to the library so we can talk about my paper. I try to focus as he tells me about his job at the café.

  “S-sorry. I know the life of a barista isn’t exactly thrilling.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I was listening. I’m just tired today.”

  We pass through the glass exterior of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Library, which sits on the corner of campus. We head up to the third-floor study rooms and actually manage to reserve one.

  I dump my books out on the table. “What are you going to do after you graduate?”

  “I w-want to write, but that means starvation. I’m g-going for my credential, so I can teach and write on the side.”

  “What kind of stuff do you write?”

  “Nonfiction. I got one of my p-pieces published last year.”

  “I’m genuinely impressed.”

  His cheeks turn the tiniest bit pink. “G-good, because I thought I sounded like a tool when I said that.”

  “Do you have a copy of it I can read?”

  “Yeah. I m-might even have one or two extras. Or ten.”

  Ryan is too unassuming, and I don’t know if that’s because he’s shy, insecure, or both. I open up As You Like It, and Ryan helps me decode some of the jokes in it. He’s patient and he listens, but he also is able to break things down for me in a way I can understand.

  “You’re going to be a good teacher.” We’re sitting at a small table right next to each other. I lean in to Ryan, but he doesn’t move. I want him to kiss me, and I’m frustrated when he doesn’t.

  “Something wrong?” he asks. “You d-don’t seem like yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “You’re quiet today.” He leans back, putting distance between us.

  I feel like bees are crawling under my skin, and insecurity begins to creep in. Dredging up the past has clearly knocked me off my game. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting here wondering if Jude was right about Ryan.

  I should be polite and tell Ryan everything’s fine. I don’t, though. Maybe it’s unfair, but what I want is for Ryan to make a move, a decision, something. Instead, he’s looking at me like I’m crazy, and he feels so far away and remote.

  Maybe I rushed into all this and am pushing for a connection that won’t ever happen. So what if Ryan has nice hands, soulful eyes, and listens when I talk? Nothing is worth this ridiculous self-doubt.

  “I should probably go,” I say. “I’m not feeling well today.”

  “What? We haven’t even talked about your paper yet.”

  I’m sitting here losing my damn mind over this guy, and he’s worried about my academic success. “That’s fine,” I snap.

  I shove my books and my laptop in my bag with too much force. Ryan’s eyes go wide, like I smacked him in the forehead.

  “Did I d-do something?” he asks, his voice so quiet I barely register it.

  “No. You’re tutoring me, which is what I asked you to do.”

  “Then why are you u-upset?”

  “Because I didn’t just want a tutor. And I think you’re too nice to tell me I’m making a fool of myself. I’m sorry for all of this.”

  I can’t meet his eyes now, because I’m embarrassed. I sound childish and ridiculous, but all I care about is getting the heck out of here. I swing my bag over my shoulder and head for the door.

  Ryan

  A zombie must have eaten my brain when I wasn’t looking—no doubt about it. One minute, I am talking to Lizzie about Shakespeare, trying my hardest not to ogle her breasts as she leans into me, and the next, she’s pretty much telling me to fuck off.

  She’s been antsy for the past hour. She was flirting with me a lot in Stephens’s classroom, which I was all in favor of. It took everything I had not to slide my hand up her bare thigh. I can’t even think about it now without embarrassing myself. And yet, I had the weirdest feeling that she wanted me to do something to prove a point, which doesn’t seem like Lizzie. She seems direct and down-to-earth—not coy and girly.

  But now she’s storming out and I’m trying to follow along, because I’m sure I did something to piss her off. I’m not used to feeling a step behind, but with her, I always am.

  She says something about me not being into her, and I start to get defensive. We’ve only known each other for a week, although more if you count the time we’ve spent eyeing each other in class. Still, what have I done in that short time to make her feel neglected?

  I stop and take a breath. It’s not what she’s saying, it’s how she’s saying it. She sounds hurt. I guess I did make her go out on a limb and come to me. If I weren’t so fucking self-conscious around girls, I could have made the first move and started hanging out with her weeks ago. Or maybe this isn’t about me at all.

  My brain is too slow, because she’s already heading out the door. The one thing I am sure of is that Lizzie is worth fighting for. I do something I’ve never done before: I grab her arm and pull her back into the room. It feels impulsive, but I know I can’t let her walk out. I can almost hear Jude telling me to be a man, or whatever, as I swing Lizzie around toward me.

  “Wait,” I say, but she won’t look at me.

  I move my hands from her arms to her face, cupping her cheeks with my palms. I lean down to kiss her, but I go slow. She doesn’t pull back or push me away—thank God—so I put my lips to hers.

  I glide my hands down her neck, and she opens her mouth so I can sweep inside with my tongue. Her lips are softer than I thought they would be. Once our tongues touch, energy travels through my chest and into my stomach. She smiles, and I forget where we are or what we’re doing. I lift her up so she’s standing on her toes, flush against my body. We kiss until we’re breathless, and then I regain my sanity and step back.

  “Okay?” I ask her. “C-clear enough?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I walk Lizzie to her apartment.

  “My roommate’s inside,” she says when we get to her door.

  I don’t come in, because I’m too restless to do introductions and make chitchat. I can’t be around Lizzie right now without wanting to lick her from head to toe, and that is obvious to anyone within ten feet of me.

  Lizzie has a hard time meeting my gaze. “I strong-armed you into that,” she says, twisting her hair up into a knot. “I’m sorry for my temporary insanity. I get insecure once in a while.”

  “Lizzie, shut up already,” I say, and I kiss her again.

  This time she throws herself into it, like she was holding back before. Holy shit. My heart can’t take it as she runs her hands down my back and over my ass, pulling my hips into hers. When she steps away, she looks quite satisfied with herself. She should, because I’ve been reduced to idiocy. I don’t even try to say good-bye.

  When I get home, it’s dinnertime, but Jude is playing b
asketball in the backyard. I hear the ball slamming against the backboard over and over again.

  I head out to check on him. “What’s up?”

  Even from this distance, I can tell something is off. Probably because we’ve lived in each other’s pockets for so many years.

  “Nothing,” he says. He is dripping with sweat.

  “Been out here awhile?”

  He stops and puts his hand on his hip. “You gonna talk all night, or are you going to play?”

  So it’s like that tonight.

  When Jude is in a mood, which is often, he gets physical. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t get drunk—he moves. Basketball, jogging, sex, anything that helps him work out his emotions. I disappear in a book or inside myself when I’m upset, but maybe his way is better.

  I pull my shirt off over my head and throw it to the side. He passes the ball to me, and I start taking my best shot, dribbling up the court, maneuvering around him. I go for a layup, but he’s not having it, and he knocks me on my ass. I can see this is going to be a long game. After a few elbows to the gut from him and some knee jabs from me, I manage to score.

  I call for a water break and run into the house to grab two water bottles. Jude and I stand next to the court in silence as I stop and breathe. It’s almost October—my favorite month. Any day now, the air will start to turn chillier and it will get dark earlier. Right now, though, I can still feel the last remnants of summer shaking themselves off.

  “You e-ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  Jude squirts his forehead with the water bottle. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “Maybe I want to worry.”

  “I have spent a lot of time and energy making sure you don’t need to. Don’t fuck that up now.” His tone is glacial.

  “You’re such a fucking martyr. Why don’t you let me contribute once in a w-while?”

  He sits down, and I get a bad feeling. Normally, Jude would make fun of me and go back to playing. Tonight, he seems tired and worn.