Keep

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Shame washed over me as I reached for my glasses but his hand covered mine, holding it against the table.

  “It was a compliment.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders refused to perk back up as I slumped farther in my seat, my eyes focusing on the white table cloth, which was the only thing I could make out, and even that was so blurry the table kind of looked like a giant marshmallow.

  “So, you’re a maid for the resort in town?”

  I nodded, relaxing as I leaned back in my chair. “It was a summer job. They usually let me go during the down season, but since I wanted to save some extra money, they let me stay on until I go to college.”

  “How much do you work?”

  “Ten hours a week. It isn’t a lot, but it’s hard to get jobs here.”

  “I want to hear about the worst room you’ve ever cleaned.” He laughed, I couldn’t tell if he was still smiling because I literally couldn’t see his face, just a blur where it should be.

  Oddly enough, that set me more at ease.

  “Well…” I thought about it, and a couple came to mind. “There was one room that had used condoms all over the floor, and when I say all over I mean, they were everywhere, like an orgy had taken place.”

  “Were a lot of people staying in the room?”

  “No.” I laughed at the memory, “It was an elderly couple. They’d been married over forty years and were celebrating their anniversary.”

  “Go Gramps.” Zane nodded his appreciation then crossed his muscular arms.

  “Yes.” I cringed at the mental picture. “It was a rough two nights, let’s just put it that way.”

  “I don’t use condoms,” Zane announced in a low voice.

  I rolled my eyes. “Why does that not surprise me? The great Zane Andrews doesn’t practice safe sex, some Saint you are.”

  “There you go making assumptions about my character again.”

  “What other assumption is there to make? You just said you don’t use condoms.”

  He was quiet and then whispered, “I don’t.”

  “So you have unprotected sex.”

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, we’ll have two Helgas.” Zane said in an authoritative voice, just as I registered a presence hovering near my left elbow. “And a milk for my little sister.”

  I kicked him under the table.

  He bit out a curse. With a whisper of fabric, the waitress left, or must have left, since I still couldn’t see much. At least I no longer felt someone standing there.

  “Did she hear the entire conversation?” I asked quietly, somewhat mortified.

  “Only the good parts.” Zane laughed. “So, what did you do with the used condoms?”

  “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

  “Why wouldn’t we talk about this?”

  “It’s a date.”

  “People don’t talk about used condoms on dates? Damn it, I’ve been doing it all wrong!”

  I fought the losing battle with a smile.

  “You should do that more often,” he said softly. “Smile. You know, the world isn’t out to get you.”

  “Just you.”

  “What was that?”

  “Just you.” I said, this time, louder. “I don’t want to get comfortable with you.”

  “Because I’m Satan?”

  I laughed and tried reaching for my water.

  “A little to the left.”

  “Thanks.” My fingers fumbled with the glass as I lifted it to my lips, nearly spilling ice all the way down my shirt.

  “So close.” Zane whistled. “I’ve always wanted to go on a date where the girl just magically splashes herself with a glass of water in hopes to lure me into her bed.”

  “Not luring,” I corrected. “Just blind, can I have my glasses back yet?”

  “Nope.” His laugh was deep, wicked.

  Why? Why was this happening to me? Why was he happening to me? I released a sigh.

  “Why can’t you get comfortable with me? What’s so bad about making new friends?”

  I thought about it. The answer was as complicated as it was simple. After a moment, I whispered, “Friends leave.”

  “Aw, are you saying you’re going to miss me, four eyes?”

  I groaned. “If I say yes, will you save me the heartache and just break things off now? Let me down easy and move on to your next victim?”

  “So I’m a predator now?” The movement of him leaning his arms against the table had me sighing in part agony part bliss. I was too blind to see those muscles stretching, but I knew they were all the same.

  “Fine, you’re not a predator.”

  “Thank you…” His soft laughter sounded oddly victorious. “Want a sucker?”

  “Luring me with candy Mr. Non-predator?”

  “Nah, just testing your will power.”

  “I’ve got a lot of it.”

  “Me too,” he whispered, and I still couldn’t make out his face, dang it! But he seemed… sad about it? Which made absolutely no sense. None at all.

  Food was set in front of me, and the heavenly aroma of crab wafted into the air.

  I reached for the mallet, but Zane grabbed it and shook his head. “I think you should let the man handle the weapons.”

  With a frustrated groan, I slumped forward. “You’re really controlling and condescending.”

  “Funny, Jaymeson says that all the time.” A loud crack and then his fingers were literally touching my lips. “Open up.”

  I did, mainly because I was so shocked he was feeding me that it was either open my mouth or get crab on my chin.

  Of course Zane wouldn’t do things the easy way, he didn’t just feed me then pat me on the head, his fingers lingered on my lower lip before he brushed them with his thumb and pulled back, whispering, “How’s Helga?”

  “Helga’s…good.” Voice raspy, I reached for my water again. The back of my hand met the glass, cool and slick with condensation. As I pulled back to try again, the glass tumbled sideways, ice clinking against the sides as it fell over.

  Zane let out a curse and stood.

  Wincing, I closed my eyes. “I just dumped water on your lap didn’t I?”

  “My fault.” Zane laughed, wiping his front with a napkin. “Helga had me all overheated anyway.”

  “Crabs get you hot?”

  My breath backed up in my lungs. Too far? Did I just really say that?

  “It was ten percent crab, ninety percent the little sound you make when eating.”

  “I do not!” My cheeks heated.

  “Mmmm,” Zane groaned. “Oh there, right there.”

  “Zane! Stop it! People are staring!”

  “You can’t see!” He laughed and then let out another loud moan as he slammed his hands onto the table. “Right. There.”

  The louder he got, the more I slumped into my chair, at one point, just giving up and covering my head with my napkin while he basically took advantage of the table and chair.

  “So. Close.” From underneath my napkin, I noticed his hands grip the table and give it a little shake before he fell back against his chair and let out a “Shit…that was good.”

  A few seconds went by.

  And then Zane was pulling my napkin off and shoving my glasses back onto my face, wearing a Cheshire Cat style grin and looking way too pleased with himself. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Probably.”

  “People are still staring.”

  “Yup.”

  “I don’t like staring people.”

  “Well…” He crouched down in front of me. “They’re probably trying to figure out how you got me to orgasm with a napkin covering your head.” His lips curved up into a delicious smile. “Magic? Or are you just that good in bed?”

  I straightened, ignoring my heated face. “Maybe I’m just that good in bed, ever thought of that?”

&nbs
p; He sobered, his perfect smile temporarily breaking before he recovered and shrugged. “Now I will.”

  “Great,” I grumbled. “Just what I need.”

  “Hey…” He returned to his seat and started snapping the crab legs, tossing meat onto my plate every few minutes—and refusing to let me grab the mallet, pushing it farther out of my reach until I’d have to actually walk around the table to grab it. “What’s so bad about our newfound friendship?”

  “You orgasm with all your friends?” What were these words? The brave ones coming from my mouth? Maybe it was him, I couldn’t help but be confident because as a whole he was completely ridiculous, too confident, too arrogant for his own good. And the whole situation was something that didn’t happen to real people, so my responses always felt like, I don’t know, like I was in a dream, or drunk. Ugh.

  “Only the ones I like.” he said with a simple shrug, that dangerous smile locking onto me again and refusing to let go. “Besides, I figure we’re good for each other.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, clearly your life is boring without me. You’re in desperate need of a makeover before you head off to school—that is, if you ever want to attract attention of the male variety…”

  I gasped.

  “Don’t even get me started on your glasses.”

  I stood, ready to leave.

  “Sit.”

  I didn’t want to.

  But his eyes were pleading, like a puppy, I’d always wanted a pet growing up, but my dad quite literally shot them all, even my pet bunny.

  He served it for dinner.

  I wondered if it was a bad time to tell Zane I was a vegetarian, only eating seafood out of necessity.

  “What’s your point? Are you going to take me out on a pity date? Get some good publicity? What’s your angle? What do you get out of our friendship?”

  “Okay.” Zane broke eye contact, not something he did often. “You want the truth?”

  “Please.” I braced myself for impact.

  “I’m lonely.”

  I burst out laughing.

  He didn’t.

  My eyes narrowed. Could he be telling the truth? “You live with friends.”

  “You know what?” He stood, his frown deepening. “You’re completely right. This is a bad idea. Being friends never works. We come from different worlds. I’m hot you’re…cute as hell when you aren’t wearing grandma glasses and tugging at your clothes like they itch.”

  Suddenly more self-conscious, I tugged at my t-shirt and glared.

  As usual, he ignored me. “But it can’t end well. Right? So best to just let this be the first and last date, end on a handshake, and go our separate ways.” He held out his hand.

  I stared at it.

  Even his hands were pretty.

  Well, that was unfair.

  I took it in mine and squeezed. “Are you using reverse psychology?”

  “Two years,” Zane whispered. “I graduated summa cum laude. Psych major with a minor in family therapy.”

  “But—”

  “Is it working?” His smile was back.

  “So, you really just want a friend?”

  “I want a local friend. I want a friend who can take me to all the places that inspire her in Seaside. I need to finish this album, but I can’t…” He licked his lips. “I can’t do it alone, get it? And I have zero creativity at the house.”

  “What do you mean you can’t do it alone?”

  “I’m afraid of the dark.”

  “So go during the day.”

  “Four eyes…” he groaned. “I wish I could do it alone, but I can’t do it alone, literally can’t do it alone.” His hand was still in mine, it started to shake again as his eyes darted to all the people around us, the people watching us, his grip tightened as he moved closer to us.

  He looked terrified.

  Which is why the next word out of my mouth was. “Okay.”

  Chapter Nine

  Zane

  THE MORNING LIGHT PIERCED through the curtains, dancing along my fingertips, its warmth reminding me that it was a new day, and I’d made a really shitty life choice by inviting someone to share it with me.

  What the hell had I been thinking?

  I knew it was a bad idea the minute the offer left my lips. She was too perceptive by half—most of the people I knew, didn’t give a rat’s ass that I didn’t like crowds. They assumed it was a complete privacy thing.

  But that was the really unfortunate part about studying your own brain and human behavior—you realize that sometimes there is literally no explanation for why you go into fight or flight, or why for some reason, I can handle crowds if I’m distracted or with a friend, but have trouble going to the grocery store by myself.

  One meltdown.

  I’d had one meltdown at a concert last year.

  The record label wasn’t pleased.

  It wasn’t my fault everyone assumed it was drugs, the perfect storm of overheating, being dehydrated, and having a full-blown panic attack while the stage broke beneath my boots sending me careening into the crowd.

  The real sucky thing about being an artist? I take inspiration from the very thing that terrifies me—people.

  So, how the hell could I write good songs when I’m not around them?

  I couldn’t.

  I’d tried.

  For two months.

  And had about fifty renditions of Old Mc Donald, before I started trying to go for walks on the beach, all it took was one bad experience with a dog owner and a kite, and I was back in the house shaking.

  I stared up at the ceiling.

  Damn but the fan seemed to be staring right back, each time it whipped around and tossed air in my general direction I felt its words.

  Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

  Miserable.

  Miserable.

  Miserable.

  I’d been up for hours.

  Ready to start my day.

  Ready to write some music—because my fingers itched for it, my hands trembled with the need to deal with my anxiety, but I was blocked, blocked by the white ceiling and white walls, blocked by the inability to think outside the white suffocating box I was in.

  And unable to think past the fact that I was completely using a nice girl in order to further my career—something I’d never thought I would be guilty of. She was fun to hang out with, but not my type, not at all. She was too innocent, and although I wasn’t the sexual deviant she thought me, I wasn’t a saint either.

  Far freaking from it.

  She was this breath of fresh air.

  I was the darkness sucking it in. At least that was what it felt like.

  But, that was where my exercises came in. Just because it felt like the end of the world, didn’t mean the world was actually ending.

  I hopped out of bed and glanced out the window. The sun was just rising, and all looked right on the beach.

  See? World wasn’t ending.

  I snatched a few marshmallows from my nightstand and swallowed them nearly whole, my body finally relaxing enough for me to think clearly and stop assuming the worst about what type of day I was going to have.

  “Everything is fine,” I said out loud. “It’s going to be a good day. You’re going to get a shit ton accomplished.” I closed my eyes and did a few jumps in place then started walking out of my room.

  Naked.

  By now, the guys were just used to it and the girls well, they just assumed I liked people staring at me—which was so wrong it was almost laughable.

  I could do without the stares.

  But I was comfortable without clothes the same way people found comfort in wearing sweats.

  I just refused to explain why, God save me. I could just hear the girl’s sighs if I told them the real reason behind most of my behavior. There would be tears, pity sighs, and lots of hugging.

  It would be horrible.

  Like an actual nightmare coming to life.

  I wasn’t the ty
pe of guy who wanted a hug and a good cry—I would much rather have a dude punch me in the face and tell me to stop being a pussy.

  “Yo!” I wandered into the kitchen just in time for Jay to toss a newspaper.

  “Cover your nuts,” he said calmly, “and I’ll allow you a cup of coffee.”

  “Oh, you’ll allow me?”

  He didn’t look, just poured a cup of coffee and held it out to me. “Are they covered?”

  “Yup.” I placed the newspaper over my dick with one hand. “Now hand it over.”

  “Have you thought about it?”

  “I know you’re a morning person, but I need more coffee, less words, it’s six a.m., Jay.”

  “And if I know you, which I’d like to think I do since I’ve known you for around five years now, you’ve been up since three-thirty staring at your ceiling followed by that little voodoo self-talk thing you do as you look out the window, telling yourself, ‘hey I’m going to go try to walk out in public today.’ And if my hearing is accurate, which I think it is, you jumped three times in the air, clapped, and walked out here. So don’t bullshit me about how it’s early.”

  “Hell, sometimes I hate you.” I rolled my eyes. “And there’s a difference between being awake and awake.”

  “You literally just said the same word twice,” Jay pointed out in a condescending tone. “I have to be on set in five minutes. You should stop by.”

  “So you can convince me to act?”

  “Yes.” Jay ran a hand through his long brown hair, shoving it to the side before grabbing his Ray Bans. “Look, you need a distraction, I’m a shit friend if I let you just sit in here with the curtains pulled.”

  “I’m not.”

  “The hell you’re not!” he yelled. “You won’t even go to the beach by yourself anymore!”

  It was getting worse. Did he think I was stupid? Of course, I saw all the signs, felt them, they choked me every freaking day. I didn’t need a reminder. Especially not from him.

  “I met someone.”

  “Oh hell, I don’t have time for this.” Jay shoved his sunglasses onto his face and dumped his remaining coffee into the sink, bracing his hands against the granite, his muscles tense.

  “We made a trade. I’m going to help her, she’s going to help me. I told her I couldn’t write my album alone, and she’s agreed to be like… a tour guide.”