“Sorry, but that was mostly your fault.” Wow does she suck at apologizing.
Even if my vocal cords were as pliable as the strings of my guitar, I wouldn’t answer her questions. She doesn’t need my nasty shit poisoning her well. But I wish I could admit how her words get in my head on repeat, how I’m sometimes dumb enough to start believing them. I’d like to spend hours coming up with the exact shade of her eyes, the smell of her skin, shape of her mouth and get carried away with the slope of her hip and a taste I can only imagine. I want to be anybody other than me so I could have a chance with her.
Tia suddenly sits on me. She kneels on the ground and her lovely ass settles into the hollow cavern of my belly.
“I want your full attention,” she insists. “I want to crack your head like an egg and dig around in there. I need to see everything, know everything, slather you on toast and eat you up like a Sunday brunch.”
OK. Not sure how to take that.
Her hands rest on her thighs. They lift, begin to reach for me, then curl into fists at her chest level. “I can’t help myself. You just had to wear a hat today, didn’t you?”
It’s Shae’s hat. He decided my hair was a distraction at band practice and shoved it on my head. Since I fucked up every song because I couldn’t stop thinking about this girl right here, I got a new hat for nothing.
“I’ve been trying so hard to hide my weirdness,” she mumbles. “But that hat … your music … If I don’t, I might cry or incinerate.” Her slender, girly fingers stretch open and wiggle as if she’s typing in midair.
Touch me, touch me, touch me.
I get short of breath. My heart grows, doubles, triples in size and jumps into an allegro tempo. My brain wakes up and for one horrible second, opens the wrong door.
Oh fuck, oh fuck. I can’t slam it quickly enough. There’s a glimpse of my dad’s red eyes above me, the taste of blood, the shiver of panic and then …
“Taz?”
One syllable. Three letters. They are enough to pull me back. She is enough. This princess who smiles when I get lost and found, smiles as if I’ve landed after a mission to mars. Her nose nearly touches mine. The end of her blonde ponytail falls soft against my cheek. Her gentle hands take ownership of my face.
“Hi,” she says quietly.
“Hi.” That’s all I’ve got. I’m such a loser.
Her fingertips trace my lips, starting in that divet and sliding to the corners before meeting back in the middle. She then spreads all ten digits to hold my jaw and find the sensitive skin behind my ears. Sliding upward, she dislodges the hat and pushes into my hair, nails slightly scraping my scalp. I’ve never felt anything so amazing in my whole miserable life.
I make some low, rough, embarrassing noise and my lashes weigh a thousand pounds. I fight to keep them open, not wanting to miss anything. The way her eyes study me, with pupils like big black buttons ringed in dark blue, is utterly fascinating. The tip of her tongue pokes out, right before her teeth catch in her bottom lip, and I nearly die on the spot. I may never recover.
“You’re so solid and hard and warm.” Her smile is a little tentative, begging me not to ruin this moment. “You’re my sunny rock. And I’m your lizard.”
I guess her weirdness is right out in the open now.
She drops her cheek against my heart, searing my skin through my shirt, and I don’t dare move. My fingers flex against the dirt. I can’t trust them. If I let my guard down, they’ll rush off on an expedition of discovery.
“Such a strong, healthy beat,” she remarks as her ear rides the exaggerated lift and drop of my chest. “Sometimes I hear you speaking, even when you don’t say anything at all. I think that maybe, when we’re together, all the other stuff doesn’t matter so much.”
Yes.
She wiggles her ass just a bit and I tense up, hoping to avoid her bumping into the proof of what she does to me.
“I know it’s scary to give away your words, those little pieces of yourself, but I’ll take good care of them. I promise.” Tia lifts her chin just enough to make eye contact and her voice breaks as she admits. “I’m afraid of you too but not for any of the reasons you think. Be brave with me, Taz.”
CHAPTER 44
Tia:
I’ve got a knot in my laces. I’m crouched down while Taz stands and waits, his bare toes curling against the cold wooden floorboards of my front porch. I offered him sneakers. He said no, which is one more syllable than I usually get. Baby steps.
The plan is to run together. If we ever make it out of here. Our window of opportunity shrinks as Mora’s voice seeps from inside the house. “I’m gonna snip your little balls and feed them to Sam if you don’t get in there and start scrubbing! There’s pee all over the seat!”
I pluck, pluck, pluck, glancing between the front door, my sneaker and Taz. He’s got his hair twisted into a nub at the back of his head with a gray T-shirt and faded black sweats. Hand-me-down clothes but on his angular frame they somehow lead me to think about how the pants are just baggy enough, I could climb in there with him. Hmmm.
“Raise your hand if your sister licks butt cracks!” That shout belongs to Ten, and twenty bucks says Hem’s hand is up. Those twins learn every lesson the hard way.
There’s a screech, barking and a series of painful sounding thumps. I motion frantically at Taz. “Let’s go, let’s go. Quick.”
Taz takes my instructions literally. He grows wings and flies.
“Wait!” I pump my arms, stretch into my strides and flounder in his jetstream. He veers left at the end of the street, curling into such a tight turn, I stagger, skid and nearly go down in frantic pursuit. I have no idea where we’re headed, but my knee throbs a warning to slow the heck down.
“Homecoming is coming up,” I blurt as I come alongside him. I’m just making conversation, just throwing a line in the water to see what I snag. I’m not begging for a date. I’m not. I mean, if he asked me to the dance, I’d consider it. I might say yes. OK, I’d definitely say yes. Pick me. Pick me. Pick me.
“You know homecoming? The game and the dance?” He edges far enough in front, I now shout at him. “They’re selling …” pant, pant …“tickets” … pant, pant … “at school.”
I’m in good shape. I run three to five miles nearly every day but not at this pace. This is boot camp. I’m literally chasing him. I’d tackle his scrawny butt, but I can’t catch him.
My knee suddenly buckles, sending me tripping, stumbling, falling, sprawling, scraping across the sidewalk with all the grace of a harpooned porpoise. My pride and whole body takes a pounding.
Taz runs another few steps before catching himself and loping back. He stands over me with hands on hips, possibly debating whether to roll me back into the ocean or just put me out of my misery. It might be a kindness at this point.
“You OK?” he checks. His concern is overwhelming.
I’m sweaty as a glass of iced tea in July and my knee is screaming. I maneuver from belly to butt, rub shredded palms on my shorts and remind myself that the path of self-improvement does not include punching aggravating boys in the groin. But it sure would make me feel good.
“Knee,” I spit out.
He nods. That’s what I get. Grrr. I want apologies, sweet-talk, petting, and his bedside manner is seriously lacking.
He squats down next to me, uses the hem of his shirt to swipe his face, and now is not the time to get preoccupied by a delicious tummy V. He’s already invaded my shower. Every morning, I’m so distracted by thoughts of Taz standing in that same spot, water sluicing over his smooth skin, I can’t remember if I’ve washed my hair or not. We’re running low on shampoo but fortunately, everyone blames Mora.
“What was the hurry?” I snap.
He twitches like I just gave him fleas.
“If I’d known we were competing for Olympic records,” I complain. “I’d have trained for this, looked for sponsors and demanded matching uniforms.”
“I … ah …
” His fingers dance while his lips twist sideways. “Didn’t wanna talk.”
“Try this next time.” I hold my index finger against my lips and go “Shhhh. I can take a hint.” Hugging my knees, I curve my spine inward and drip with exhaustion.
This is the first time we’ve been alone together since the pizza run. Over the last couple of days, he’s spent some time among the West tribe playing Candyland and X box, doing calculus homework, giving guitar lessons, getting fed and then slinking off again. Wherever he is, Gibson Tazmerek makes barely a ripple in the universe and yet his music fills the house, a trail of breadcrumbs I follow, only to end up hungrier with every taste. He communes with his instrument, entirely insulated from the world around him. So yes, I was hoping to chat a bit on our run. Is that so terrible?
I dig down deep into a nearly empty reserve of goodness and let him off the hook. “It’s fine, an old volleyball injury. It’ll ache for a day or two, then be OK. I have a brace I’m supposed to be wearing.”
“Why aren’t you?”
Cuz it smells worse than spoiled salami. “Um. I forgot.”
His pale eyes rove over me. I swear I feel them, cool as winter fingertips leaving a wake of shivers behind, and he is the very thing I want to wrap myself in to keep warm.
“Probably shouldn’t put weight on it,” he mutters.
Is he planning to run off and leave me here? I start to tell him I’m good, I can make it back, and aren’t I the brave little toaster, when he offers, “I can carry you. Piggyback.”
I do some quick math. I add my level of sweaty disgustingness to the distance between here and home, then divide by the chance to wrap my arms and legs around him like a slut-monkey. “OK.”
Did I really just say OK to getting carried? For the sake of all females everywhere, someone slap some sense into me. In fairness, my knee really does hurt.
We both get to our feet. He starts to help me, changes his mind and a flare of panic crosses his face. Uh-oh. I knew these shorts were a mistake. Another thing to blame on Mora. She convinced me I look cute in them. Now I’m shivering while getting rejected because of my overly large ass.
“Forget it. No worries.” I hobble in a circle to prove I’m fit.
“I just … um.”
“It’s really OK,” I assure him but can see it isn’t. Turtles, hermit crabs and snails have nothing on this boy. Taz has disappeared into his shell. “I can walk. See? It’s all good.”
He shakes his head, keeps shaking it, getting more and more worked up and mutters “No” so quietly I’m not sure if it’s meant for me or him.
“Taz? Tell me what’s going on.”
“Ah shit, I’m such a fucken freak.” He blinks, blinks, blinks then sinks into the slouch of the utterly defeated and mutters, “I have trouble with anyone coming up behind me.”
Oh thank heavens. He’s not backtracking because of my butt. But that probably means his reasons are something much worse. I want to ask why, but he won’t tell me and maybe better to learn his story in small doses. I remember Sam in those early days, snapping at me anytime I startled him. That poor dog always expected a swat instead of a pet. Imagining the swats that have crippled this boy explodes a little poison pill in my belly.
“You don’t need to carry me,” I say.
His mouth flattens and his fingers splay wide before getting crunched into tight fists. “Yes I do.”
“Taz …”
He turns, presenting his back, huffs a hard breath and then squats down. There’s extra grit in his voice when he tells me, “Hop on.”
I rest my hands lightly on his shoulders and they jump. “This OK?”
He jerks a nod. I swear I hear his teeth grind. I climb on, circle my arms around his neck and his hands wrap my thighs. He stands, and I hook my ankles at his belly.
“Still OK?” I try again.
“I’m good.”
Not sure I believe him, but he starts walking with a steady stride that bumps me up and down. I’ve paid for rides at the fair not half this enjoyable. No backpack has ever been so content.
Somehow the view from this vantage point is better. The day is now bright and shiny with possibilities. The fall afternoon is crisp and the boy beneath me is deliciously warm. The air smells of burning leaves and he adds a spice I can’t place but would gladly roll in. His hair slides against my cheek and his waist is the slim, straight solidity of a young tree. Riding Taz is my new happy place.
I squeeze him tight and realize I miscalculated the distance we ran.
“There’s no way you can carry me the whole way back.” That came out wrong. “It’s too far.” Pretty sure I just made it worse.
“I can do it.”
Great. Now his back is up.
“Put me down,” I tell him.
“No.”
“Taz.”
Each of his fingers tighten one by one around my legs, and he keeps right on walking. Stubborn boy.
“Taz.” I wiggle. “C’mon. You proved yourself. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Your knee.”
“Is fine.”
“Is my fault.”
“Hey, no.” I struggle, nearly face plant us both, and he finally lets my feet slide to the ground. “You’re not carrying me all the way back. I can’t allow that. No way.”
He swings around, his every fiber straining, and his voice scrapes deeper than tectonic plates shifting. “Stop bossing me around.”
“What?”
He cringes.
“Will you please repeat what you just said?” I need to hear it again. He needs to say it again and keep saying it. Louder and louder until everyone in the universe starts listening. C’mon shy boy, speak up for yourself.
Taz steps in and looms over me. His jaw works, chewing on something, and his scars constrict and flex. It’s a little terrifying. This is not pet rabbit behavior. This is the guy who pummeled the pulp out of Philly. This is an official report with armed robbery, juvenile detention and mandatory counselling listed in bold print. Ruh-roh.
“I’ll. Carry. You.” Oh that voice. Hello shivers.
He leans in, looking straight and deep into my eyes before his focus lands on my mouth. Something sizzles between us. It’s the pause before lightning strikes, the smell of ozone and grass standing on end. The whole wide world goes silent, anticipating a thin, jagged line to cut the sky, forever separating what came before and what happens now.
My breath turns shallow because I’m filled to bursting with want, my heart swelling and begging until there’s no room for anything else. I am helpless and probably obvious. I wet my lower lip, a quick tease with my tongue and his eyes brighten like sparklers. Just for a second.
With a blink of his lashes, the light dulls and the moment disappears. Taz flinches, twitches, then hunches down, scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder. Banding an arm across my thighs and planting a palm on my butt, he starts walking. Marching. Stomping. Storming. I am no more than a rolled carpet to haul. My fingers scramble to grip his shirt and my head bobs against his back.
“What the? Taz? Taz!”
He ignores me. Oh hell no. He’s not getting away with caveman tactics. Being bigger and stronger doesn’t win the argument. I grab his ass and squeeze. He grunts in surprise and his awkward dance bounces me every which way.
“Fuck was that?” He sounds pissed, and I realize I’m treating him the same as one of my brothers. Growing up in my house, I’m an expert at this game and don’t know how to quit until somebody cries, bleeds or breaks something. So when he gets right back to hiking down the sidewalk, I stick a paw down the back of his sweats and give the waistband of his boxers a good hard snap.
“Hey! Quit that.” He staggers sideways.
“You are not carrying me home like your fresh kill!”
Taz stops. I think he’s choosing to be reasonable until he jumps in place. Up and down, up and down, a human pogo stick and green is my new color. Unless I want to forever be known as the
girl who hurled down his back ...
“OK, OK, you win!”
“Will you please repeat what you just said?” He’s throwing my words back at me. How infuriating. I will not. I refuse. He can’t make me.
He jumping jacks, bringing the taste of burnt hotdog right up to the back of my throat.
“Say it,” he insists.
“Fine,” I snap. “You win.”
“I think you should do my English Lit homework.”
“Too far. No way.”
He spins. If my guts weren’t rolling like water bottles in the footwell of the Ark, I’d appreciate his impressive agility. The boy has moves. “Alright. Alright. Consider it done.”
CHAPTER 45
TAZ:
Throwing Princess Barbie over my shoulder wasn’t smart. It’s a long goddamn trek with her ass right there, calling my hands the same as the curve of a classic Les Paul. I imagine the sounds she’d make if I got to play with her and switch from stupid to masochistic.
These past few days, I’ve made a career out of jacking off. Tia West has taken my silent, empty, endless moments and turned them into chaos. There’s all these soft touches that sometimes seem accidental, sometimes not, and the smell of cookies on her skin. I’ve never been so hungry. I wanna fold her in half, dip her in milk and eat her.
When we get to her front steps, I should set her down. When I push the door open, step inside a quiet house, I should definitely end this. No way should I cart her all the way up the stairs, into her bedroom and shut the door just so I can hang onto her and pretend she belongs to me for an extra minute. What the hell am I doing?
Since dropping her on the bed is just asking to get castrated, I ease her down onto the fuzzy purple rug. I keep my hands in safe areas but get tangled in her hair and shirt. I’m nearly free, no harm, no foul, when her grip catches behind my neck, her ankles suddenly hook at my waist and I lose my balance. It’s a hard fall, but I land in heaven. My hips drive into hers. Her chest flattens beneath mine. The tip of her nose slides across my mouth, and just when I think I’ve made a big enough jackass of myself, my dick gets the idea that all the practice was for this moment. There’s no way she doesn’t feel that.
Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1) Page 20