by Portia Moore
“Damn Blue,” Riley says, grinning as he shakes my hand. “Firm grip. I like that, if you know what I mean.” He winks at me.
“Well, it’s a shame I’ll never grab anything other than your hand, then,” I say deadpan, not giving him even an inch of flirtation.
“Ooh, that’s cold,” Jake says, shaking his head.
“Like your bed most nights,” Blue says easily. “Back down boys, she’s got a guy already.”
“I could probably take him,” Jake says, grinning, but I just roll my eyes.
“You fight?” I ask casually, eyeing him up and down.
“For the last three years.” Jake preens a little. “Won almost every fight I’ve had, too.”
“How many times have you been hit in the head?”
“Quite a few.” He looks prouder of it than he should be. “But I’m still going.”
“That explains a lot,” I say dryly, and I hear Blue snort with laughter behind me. “Come on, Blue, introduce me to the rest.”
I can tell Blue is impressed with how easily I’ve made friends with his family. His dad, Carl, seems nice enough. They’re all a little rough around the edges, but I like that. That’s the kind of people I’m comfortable with, the blue-collar types, the ones who work hard and struggle and aren’t always on the right side of the law or society. I fit in here because I’m not always on the right side, either. And I like it better there.
“Hey Blue, let your girl come play with us,” Leah, one of Blue’s friends, calls.
Blue looks at me as if it’s cool. “I like cards,” I tell him easily, heading over to take my seat.
I sit down and Leah raises an eyebrow at me. “You know how to play?”
“I’ve played a few times,” I say, taking the cards as she deals them out.
“You like to win?” she says with a smug arched brow.
“I sure do,” I say easily. I’m good at card games. I pick them up easily and remember the rules, and I’m good at manipulating them, too.
It’s only a few minutes into the game when I realize she’s cheating. I don’t care. I think it’s funny, especially because I know exactly what tactic she’s using, and how to beat it. The look on her face when I win the round anyway is priceless.
“I like you,” she says decisively. “You’re a good kid. Blue was right to bring you around.”
I don’t want to admit it, but I like the praise, and the warmth of Blue’s family. I’ve always said I don’t need family, or people, or anyone but myself really. Family ties and relationships and longing for connection has always been Megan’s shtick. But this feels good. It makes me miss Ian, truth be told. Because more and more, I’m starting to think of him as my family.
“You found yourself a nice girl, there,” Leah tells Blue as we all fill our plates with food and sit down around the long table. “Why are you just friends? There’s gotta be something else going on.” She winks at him, and Blue just shakes his head.
“Alana’s like a little sister to me,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulder. “I just don’t see her like that.”
“Yeah?” Leah raises an eyebrow as she smirks and looks at me. “What about you, Alana? You see Blue like that?”
“Definitely like a brother,” I say, grinning at him. “I mean, look at him. He’s just hideous.”
That gets a good laugh out of everyone, and Blue grins at me with his eyes sparkling. It feels good to have a friend, someone who doesn’t want anything from me but my personality and companionship.
“I’ll bring my girlfriend next time, I promise!” Blue says, raising his hands. “Really, I will.”
The lunch is more fun than I could have expected. The food is delicious, and there’s decent beer and lots of good conversation. I haven’t really met anyone in Blue’s family I don’t like—even his lascivious cousins aren’t too bad once I shot them down. We’re finishing up one of our last plates and getting ready to leave when Blue’s dad waves him over. “Let me talk to you for a minute before you head out,” he says, and Blue glances at me.
“It’s alright,” I say. “I’m just going to run inside to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back out here in a minute.”
I’m coming out of the bathroom when I stop, noticing a collage of family photos on the wall in the hallway. I’ve always liked looking at photos when I meet people, which I met a lot of as a result of all the foster homes I’ve been in. They usually show the good in people, their best moments, and it’s good to see even in all the ugly that sometimes there are moments where miserable people were happy and hopeful. My eyes scan the pictures; most of the people I met today are included in them. I see some of how Blue looked before the tattoos and piercings and I grin at the innocent wide grinning photographic version of him. And then I see one that makes my heart leap into my throat. In the photo, unmistakably, Ian is standing next to him, grinning for the camera. Their arms are slung around each other’s shoulders, and they look like they’re having a great time. Like they’re friends!
“Hey,” I hear Blue say behind me, and I jump a little, turning to face him. “Blue…who is that?” I ask, pointing to Ian in the photo.
Blue’s face darkens a little. “My cousin,” he says, and I hear something sad in his voice. “I haven’t talked to him in about two years. We had a falling out—a job went bad. I took Ian along with me without telling him what was really going on. He was pissed when he found out, and we had a huge fight over it. Things were said that couldn’t really be taken back and well…he hasn’t talked to me since then. I don’t know if he ever will again.”
I pause, biting my lower lip. “Blue…that’s my guy. Ian.”
Blue stares at me for a long second. “Get the fuck out,” he says finally, his voice shocked. “No fucking way!”
I nod, and I feel a sudden, deep wave of sadness. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you guys can move past it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
“I mean, yeah, probably. Eventually. But not anytime soon. I…I’m not ready to bring all that back in my life again, think about it. And Alana…Ian’s not gonna be cool with us being friends.”
“Why not? Because he’s mad at you?” I ask as if he’s stupid.
“Because I usually fuck all my female friends,” Blue says bluntly.
I can’t help but laugh, even as I feel my heart crack a little. “You need to make it right sooner or later,” I tell him, a scolding edge to my voice.
“One day,” Blue says solemnly. “Let’s get you home, Aly.”
For six months, I’ve spent almost every night with Ian, in his bed or mine, ever since that morning at the diner. I didn’t mean for us to become inseparable, but it just happened, and I can’t make myself want it to stop. No matter how stupid I know it is, I’ve fallen in love with him. Love and lust, and I can’t not want to be with him.
I’m up early, plagued by nightmares that I can’t quite remember but that make me feel anxious and jittery. I stand out on the tiny patio, listening to the sound of people on the street below and the sounds of early-morning garbage trucks and dogs barking. I feel Ian’s hands slide around my waist, and I sigh, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and the faint remnants of his cologne. He smells like home to me now. Like something solid, real.
I’m afraid to make it official, but it’s almost as if we don’t need to. Why would we spend every day together if we didn’t love each other, if we didn’t want to be together? Why would I have spent almost every waking moment that I’m not at work with him if I didn’t want to? I don’t need to be his girlfriend to know what we have. I know he’s not fucking anyone else. There’s no way, with as much time as we spend in each other’s arms. And I don’t want anyone but him, not that way or any other. The time we do have never feels like enough. He works long hours at the factory during the day, and I’m at the club at night and sometimes Megan interferes. But I know when I’m at the club, there’s no one else here.
“I’ve been thinking…” I say softly
, and I feel him tense up a little. I turn in his arms and look up into his eyes. “I think I might quit the club.”
I can see him trying not to smile. I know he’s thrilled with the idea and he’s trying not to let me see how happy it makes him, but I know exactly how much he wants me to quit. I smirk at him, letting him know that I’m onto him. He knows I’m not working there looking for a sugar daddy, but he’s still jealous. He’s jealous of men looking at me, seeing things that only he wants to get to see. Sometimes I think I’ve stayed there because I want him to know he doesn’t own me, that I control what I do, still. “Don’t act like you’re not ecstatic,” I tell him teasingly, wrapping my arms around his neck, and in one smooth motion he slides his hands under my ass and lifts me up so that my legs lock around his waist.
“Well you said thinking,” he says dryly. “So that means you haven’t made up your mind yet…so nope. Not ecstatic yet.” He kisses me quickly as he carries me into the kitchen, setting me down in front of the table as he turns towards the cupboards and fridge and pulls out eggs and a skillet to start breakfast. “So what can I do to get a definite yes about quitting?” he asks, glancing back at me slyly as he cracks the eggs into the pan.
I run my hands through my hair, smiling at him. He grins back, that expression that always makes me melt and think of all the things he’s going to do to me later. I can’t help but laugh; I know he knows what it does to me, and he’s doing it on purpose. I blush bright red as I laugh, trying to catch my breath, and when I finally do I look at him seriously. “Well…your pictures,” I say, waiting for his reaction.
“What do you mean?”
“I think you should give them a shot. A real shot.” I keep my gaze serious, letting him know that I mean it. That I believe in him. But I can tell he’s already about to shrug me off. I’m not about to back down, though.
“Babe, there’s a million other dudes out there taking pictures of stuff, wanting to be a famous photographer,” he says patiently, flipping the eggs. “What makes me different?”
It seems obvious to me, and I’m a little irritated that he’s already fighting it. “Because you’re amazing,” I says flatly, letting him hear how obvious I think it is. He just rolls his eyes and I jump up, striding towards him and socking him on the arm.
“If there’s anyone who won’t blow smoke up your ass, it’s me and you know it.”
He shrugs, giving me that easygoing smile he uses when he doesn’t want to be vulnerable, when he wants to end a conversation without talking about how it makes him feel.
“Who needs credentials?” I continue urgently. “It’s not the nineties anymore. You should start getting your work out there. All it takes is the right person to see your stuff and bam, you’re doing it.”
“You make it sound so easy,” he says playfully, but it sounds a little condescending to me. I glare at him, pouting a little.
“I’m not saying quit your job and exist solely on gigs from Craigslist,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “I’m just saying start an Instagram account, ask to shadow someone you admire. Let people see your work. You’re so talented…people just need to see it.” I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. I really mean it—he’s the first person I’ve ever met who I really admire and believe in. He’s good…and he just doesn’t seem to realize it. Or he’s afraid of failure. But so is everyone.
“I’ll do it if you do it.” He turns towards me, his expression a challenge.
I frown, confused.
“How about your singing?” he asks, his tone that same it-should-be-obvious that I used on him a minute before.
Oh no. No fucking way. This isn’t about me. I grit my teeth, irritated all over again. “It’s not the same thing,” I say shortly, backing up.
“It is,” he says easily. “It’s all art. Just like you said, I’m amazing. Well so are you. We can do it together.”
I want to yell at him. I want to run. I want to tell him no, no fucking way. I bite my lips nervously, trying to think of how to change the direction of this without it turning into a fight. Anyone else I would just blow up, but I don’t want to fight with Ian like that. And that, more than anything, tells me how much I love him. Which is scary in and of itself. “I can’t, Ian,” I say quickly, looking away from him.
“Yes, you can.”
He means it, I can tell. He really does. But it doesn’t stop the fear from bubbling up inside of me or the sense that I’m losing my grip on things, that eventually I’m going to have to explain things that he’s never going to understand or believe. I choose anger, because anger is easier to deal with than fear. I’ve always confronted, instead of running away. So I do what I know. “No!” I yell. “I can’t, Ian! God, you know what? Just keep working at the shitty manufacturing plant and I’ll keep singing half-naked and we’ll live happily never after. I don’t care!” I spin on my heel, rushing out of the room and towards his bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I’m getting dressed when he walks into the room. He comes to stand in front of me as I pull on my shirt, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell was that out there?” He looks confused, and it just aggravates me more. Like he doesn’t really know.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I slip on my shoes and reach for my purse.
“What is wrong with you?” His irritation sounds like it’s matching mine now, but I pretend like I don’t care. I just want to get out of here.
“Everything,” I say shortly, snatching up my purse.
He lets out a long sigh and shuts the door firmly. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says, and I laugh. As if he can tell me what to do.
“I need some air,” I tell him sharply, and he groans, throwing on his sweatshirt. “Alone, Ian!” I snap at him, storming towards the door.
“You’re not going out at five in the morning by yourself,” he tells me firmly. “So you might as well start freaking out now because I’m going with you, okay?”
I turn to face him, glaring as I fold my arms across my chest. He meets my glare, throwing it right back. “You’re so annoying sometimes!” I growl at him, gritting my teeth.
“So are you, babe.” He’s just as pissed as I am, and strangely, something about it calms me.
“Fine,” I say quietly, walking out the door. He walks next to me in silence as we step out onto the street, giving me space to collect my thoughts, and I appreciate it. Maybe we can get through this fight after all. I stop after a few more blocks and turn towards him.
“I can wear a mask when I’m at the club,” I tell him calmly, as calmly as I can. He looks confused, and I sigh softly. “I can’t be exposed to the world.” I can hear how soft my voice sounds, like it might shatter in the empty air between us. When he reaches out to pull me towards him, I don’t stop him. I want the safety of him right now, even if I’m upset. I think this must be what love is: needing someone even when you’re angry with them. Wanting their comfort even when you want to push them away.
“If I asked who you’re hiding from, would you tell me?” he asks softly. He almost sounds sad.
“Myself,” I reply quietly, not looking at him. “When you look at me, it’s like I’m perfect,” I continue, my voice trembling a little. “And I am so far from that.” I step back and he tries to follow me, to pull me back into his arms, but I avoid him this time. When I look up at him, my eyes are sad. “I am so screwed up, you have no idea. It’s the whole reason that I didn’t want to get close to you. I’m not who you think I am. I can never be who you want me to be. I’m not a normal girl.” I’m talking faster now, so fast that my words are almost jumbling together, but he just reaches out and tilts my chin up so that I’m looking at him again.
“I don’t think you’re perfect,” he says gently. “I think you’re nuts, like most women are.” He laughs. “But you’re my special little psycho, and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”
I can’t help but smile a little at that. “You’re such an ass sometimes,” I
tell him, but I can feel the anxiety and fear slipping away. I push him gently away from me and keep walking.
“I want you to meet my parents,” he says from behind me. I stop dead in my tracks, raising my eyebrows as I look at him
“I tell you how screwed up I am and your response is to meet your parents?” I try not to laugh, but I’m on the verge of it. How insane is he? Did I actually find someone crazier than I am? He just nods, and I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m starting to think you’re just as crazy as me,” I tell him.
His response is to grab me by the waist and pick me up, tossing me easily over his shoulder as if I don’t weigh a thing. I squeal, because as much as I act like I hate his caveman act, I secretly love it. It kind of turns me on.
“Did I mention I told them you’ll meet them today?”
My whole body stiffens. I slap him on the back, my heart suddenly pounding in my throat. “Ian, what the hell?”
“I knew if I told you, you’d freak out.”
“I can’t believe you said I’d come.” I wriggle in his grasp, trying to slip down. I’m more scared than mad, but I don’t know how he expects me to do this.
“I hinted that you might come,” he corrects. “I’m hoping you will. My mom’s cool, and Pete’s going to love you.”
“Put me down,” I demand, wriggling harder.
“Only if you promise to not leave or kick me in the balls.”
Well, he knows me, I’ll give him that. It’s endearing, and irritating, and sweet, and annoying all at once. I groan, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see it. “I promise not to do one of those things,” I say shortly.
“You’ve got to promise not to do either, sweet cheeks,” he says, slapping me on the ass hard, and I grit my teeth. Why do I love him so much?