Just Me

by L. A. Fiore

  “My uncle is up and out of the house before I even wake up. The girls don't need to leave for school until an hour after I've already left the house, so my aunt doesn't feel the need to get up until then. I don't mind the walk and when it gets colder, Shawn and Poppy come for me. I don't ask for a ride during the warmer months since mornings are theirs and I'm not a fan of being the third wheel.”

  His voice was a barely audible rumble, “Son of a bitch.”

  I wasn't sure what it was about this boy, because I didn't know him, and yet my need to offer him comfort was instinctual. I reached across the table and linked our fingers.

  He shook his head, like he was trying to shake his bad mood away. “Would you mind if I picked you up in the mornings?”

  His mouth was moving, but I couldn't be hearing his words correctly. He wanted to pick me up in the mornings. Giddiness hit me at the idea of riding with him every morning, followed quickly with apprehension since my luck just wasn't that good. “You don't have to.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I would really like to pick you up.”

  This was, hands down, the best day of my life—sitting across from Bastian Ross as we discussed his wish to drive me to school every morning. The day could not get any better. “I would really like that.”

  “I'll come for you at Poppy's at quarter after seven tomorrow morning.”

  Pulling out a piece of paper and pen from my backpack, I jotted down my aunt's address since he already knew where Poppy lived, but eventually I'd be returning to my aunt's house. The fact that my writing was legible with how badly my hands shook was a miracle. He studied the note I slid across the table to him for a moment, then folded it up and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “My friend Caden, the dude with the shaved head and earrings from the pizzeria, he's in a band. They're playing on Friday at Reservoir. Would you like to go with me?”

  Maybe I was dreaming—not only was Bastian interested in seeing me at school, he wanted to see me outside of school. I unconsciously gripped my seat with my free hand. With the way I felt, I was in serious danger of floating away. “Yes.”

  “It starts at eight, so I'll come for you around half-past six and we can get something to eat before it starts.”

  “Sounds great.” How I managed an even, almost cool, tone when my body was going haywire surprised me. He looked so good sitting across from me, good enough to eat. Suddenly my pizza lost all of its appeal. What would he do if I leaned over the table and pulled his lower lip into my mouth? It was a striking lip, slightly fuller than its companion with the smallest of dents that creased it at the center. I could already taste him on my tongue, like that special chocolate Poppy hordes: not too sweet with just a hint of spicy heat. My mouth started to water, so I changed the subject before I threw caution to the wind. “Tell me about your weekend.” I asked.

  At my question, his expression changed. He looked down at his plate. “It sucked. We usually have a family dinner at the club on Sunday where I am given the usual lecture on how I'm not living up to the Ross name.”

  Didn't live up to...what the hell? More than his words, it was his body language that caused the spark of anger to light through me: the slightly slumped shoulders, the way his fingers tightened on the pizza he held, the hardening of his jaw. Growing up neglected, I recognized it easily in others. “Meaning?” Anger laced through that word.

  His head lifted and his eyes met mine. “Well, for one my appearance is apparently like that of a homeless person. My tattoos are an embarrassment and my hair is ridiculous. I dress disgracefully and my general attitude is piss-poor. My dad wants me to be a clone of him—perfectly tailored. Blend into the mainstream, but achieve great things. His idea of great things is to make lots of money ideally while working for him: this way it will line his pockets, too.” He looked down and added, “I don't think I would mind their disappointment in me so much if it was fueled by genuine concern for me, but it's not. They ignored me as a child and now they are only worried about how my behavior reflects on them. My dad wouldn't give a shit if I was a male whore, but being so looks badly on him.”

  “Yet even knowing this, you still do as you please,” I said.

  His gaze returned to mine. “Yeah, I'm eighteen. It's my life, right?”

  “Good for you. Not many in your shoes would stand up for themselves.”

  “I get the sense you're one who would.”

  “Yes, but I don't have the pressure of a family trying to force their will on me. I'd like to believe if someone ever tried that I would stand firm. Life would be miserable if I lived someone else's idea of it. For the record, I think your hair is beautiful and your tattoos are sexy as hell. And for a homeless person, you smell really good.”

  Belatedly, I realized I had actually said that last part out loud, when the sexiest grin curved up his lips into a beautiful smile. Shifting my eyes from him, I wished for the power of invisibility. He leaned over the table and lifted my chin with his finger. “Thank you.”

  His thumb brushed my lower lip. “We still on for seventh period?”

  “Yeah.”

  The heat in his eyes settled very comfortably in my chest, “I can't wait.”

  ***

  I was ready to call it a day by seventh period. Clearly the rumor mill was working overtime about Bastian and me. I didn't mind my name being paired with his, but after spending the past three years nearly invisible, it was a bit overwhelming to be in the spotlight. Breathing became easier when I stepped into the safe and familiar space that was the art room.

  Ms. Whitney was just leaving when I entered. She lived like a throwback to the seventies: brightly-colored flowing skirts, auburn hair parted in the middle that hung lose and curly around her shoulders and a lithe and graceful way of moving that made it seem like she floated when she walked. “Hey, Lark. I need to run this down to the office. I won't be long.”

  She was gone before I could reply. Only a minute or two later, Bastian entered.

  “Hi, Lark.”

  “Hey. Give me a minute to collect the paintings. Why don't you sit over there by those easels?”

  “Okay.” His long, strong legs carried him across the floor. Suddenly I was feeling rather warm in my sweater.

  I pulled my gaze from the masterpiece currently straddling a stool and retrieved some of my work. My pulse pounded in my veins as I sorted through my paintings because I was nervous. Outside of my friends, the Wrights and Ms. Whitney, no one I knew had ever really shown an interest in my art. Even my uncle, who claimed interest, felt more like he was fulfilling an obligation when he viewed my pieces. This boy, whom I'd known for barely a week, was interested, had even requested a viewing.

  One of the pieces I selected was an oil painting of a covered bridge with turbulent water churned up from a thunderstorm. Another was a sketch of an old man and a little girl playing chess in the park. I chose another painting—a particular favorite—because based on our discussion at lunch, it seemed appropriate. It depicted a field of wildflowers, but not when they were vibrant and vital, but when they had lost their luster and were just hanging on.

  Placing my art on the easels for Bastian to view, I stood to the side and watched him but I couldn't read his expression. He studied them, really studied them, for a while before his gaze shifted to me. “You're incredible.”

  Such simple words and so easily given and yet, for me, it was the finest compliment I had ever received.

  He pointed to the field of wildflowers. “What do you call that one?”

  “Mainstream.”

  He reached me in two long strides. I felt my heart doing somersaults when his hands wrapped around my face. He lowered his head so that our lips were almost touching. Tracing my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, he didn't need to speak what was on his mind since I saw it burning in his eyes. Anticipation lit through me as I waited impatiently to feel his lips against mine, but a noise just outside the door pulled us apart. Ms. Whitney was back. D
isappointment so profound washed over me and when I happened a glance at Bastian, he looked exactly like how I felt.

  “Rain check?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Four

  “He's picking you up in the mornings? How did that happen?” Poppy asked as we sat in her kitchen after school eating ice cream.

  “I mentioned I walked to school and he actually got mad.”

  “Well, it's infuriating that your aunt doesn't drive you to school. You can be damn sure that the twins will be driven in next year.”

  “True, but I've grown accustomed to being the one on the outside.”

  Poppy's lips curled into a snarl. “And that only makes me more angry.”

  “And that's what makes you the perfect best friend: indignation on my behalf.”

  Her smile in reply didn't quite reach her eyes.

  “Getting angry won't change a thing, Poppy.”

  “No, I know that. It's just, I was thinking about your biological father. I know you've come to terms with never knowing him, but I just wish it could be different for you.”

  I wouldn't say I'd come to terms with never knowing my biological father, it was more that I'd learned not to hope or dream about it. There would always be a part of me that longed to know him even if it was just to see what characteristics of his I had inherited. But saying this to Poppy would only serve to worry her, so instead I replied, “Me too.” Changing the subject, I added, “I'm going to Reservoir with Bastian on Friday.”

  “The boy moves fast, but I like him for you.”

  “Why?”

  “He reminds me of you. Totally together on the outside, but I would guess his home life isn't much better than yours.”

  I was surprised at how accurately Poppy saw Bastian. “You're right. How did you know that?”

  “I've spent enough time around you to recognize a kindred spirit.” Her smile turned coy. “Has he kissed you yet?”

  I thought about our near kiss that afternoon and almost moaned. “He almost kissed me during seventh period. I had just shown him some of my work and he...” Just thinking about the look on his face when he was about to kiss me had my pulse jumping in my neck.

  “He what?”

  “He wrapped my face in his hands and lowered his lips so that they were almost touching mine.” I held her stare and grinned.

  She was hanging on my every word. “And you of course encouraged him.”

  “Yep, but then Ms. Whitney opened the door.”

  Poppy dropped back down on her stool and sighed. “Man, that sucks.”

  “Yeah, but after he looked at me with the hottest eyes and said ‘rain check.’”

  Poppy put her hand to her forehead, “Oh, my dear God, you lucky lady.”

  ***

  At exactly quarter past seven the following morning, the sound of Bastian's motorcycle came from down the street. I walked toward the driveway just as he pulled into it. He reached for the helmet and handed it to me when I approached.

  “Good morning.” He eyed his jacket and mischief lit his eyes. “I like seeing you wear that.”

  I flashed him a saucy smile. “I like wearing it.”

  Mischief turned into something darker, but he said nothing as I climbed onto his bike. Minutes later we were cruising down the street.

  Classes didn't start for another hour, so I wondered, as I had when he first mentioned the time he'd be coming for me, how he planned to kill the time. Just as I thought that, he pulled off the road to a scenic area along the Hudson River. Once parked, he moved me backward until I rested up against the trunk of a nearby tree. He caged me in with his big, strong body, molding my soft curves to his hard lines. Pulling his hands through my hair, he gripped it at the nape of my neck, tilting my head back and lifting my lips to his.

  “Rain check?”

  I didn't need to answer—my body answered for me. I melted into him. I felt his breath flutter across my skin, the sweet, spicy scent of him. My lips parted in anticipation as my eyes lifted to his heated ones. His fingers at my neck tightened slightly right before he fused his lips to mine. Desire and lust burned through me at the contact but it was the other feeling that wrapped around me like a blanket, which left me dizzy and breathless. Belonging.

  Gently he skimmed his lips over mine and yet my body tensed as desire coursed through my veins. I couldn't imagine anything feeling more incredible but I was proven wrong when his tongue touched the corner of my mouth. Just the tip, soft but insistent, seconds before he ran it along the seam of my lips. I sighed and his tongue swept my mouth tasting me with a thoroughness that caused those damn knees to malfunction. Wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer, he took the kiss deeper. Chills ran all the way down to my toes. The hand still holding my hair fisted gently, his mouth feasting, as his other hand traveled down my body leaving a trail of heat in its wake, settling at the curve of my back where he pulled me hard against him. My mind shutdown as my body took over, soaking up all the sensations that Bastian so masterfully pulled from me.

  Sometime later he reluctantly ended the kiss and I was convinced my bones were going to melt from the heat that burned through me. He stroked my cheek with his thumb and I tilted my head into that soft caress. Somehow I managed to peel open my eyes only to see him studying me, and the sensual look he gave me made my body tingle.

  “We should probably get to school or we're going to be late.”

  Confused, I asked, “What time is it?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight?! Where did the time go?”

  “Exactly. In another minute I'm going to say to hell with school and keep you here all day.”

  “In another minute, I'm going to let you.”

  He responded to that by kissing me, quickly but thoroughly, before he said, “Later, I'm cashing in again on that rain check.”

  Oh hell, yeah.

  ***

  The rest of the day sort of moved by in a blur for me because all I could think about was that kiss. I had been right, Bastian's taste was sinful: sweet with a hint of spice. Knowing myself as well as I did, I could admit that I was in serious danger of becoming addicted to him. I had always thought I was supposed to play hard to get, you know like how you see in the movies and read in books. Be mysterious, make the guy work for it, hold just a bit of yourself back. I wasn't following any of those rules, couldn't even if I wanted to. Being around Bastian, I felt something I had never felt before. Connected. Love at first sight, insta-love, didn't exist. Right? I wasn't so sure anymore. What I did know, that kiss had rocked my world and not just because of Bastian's obvious talent for kissing. As corny as it was to think, Bastian felt like the part of me I'd been missing which explained why it felt so natural to be with him.

  I had never felt this way before, so it was very likely I was romanticizing my feelings. And for Bastian, this could just be another day in his life and I was just one girl, in a long line of girls, that he was momentarily interested in. Either way, I planned on enjoying every second I had with him.

  ***

  The day following our smoldering kiss by the river, Bastian found me after the final bell had rung. “Are you doing anything now?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Come with me?”

  Like he had to ask. “Where are we going?”

  “You'll see,” he said cryptically.

  A half an hour later we were parking along Main Street of Nanuet, one town over from ours. “What are we doing here?”

  He glanced down at me, but his expression gave nothing away. “You'll see.”

  I really didn't care where we were going, because being with him was treat enough. We reached our destination: an art supply shop with a large Grand Opening sign in the window.

  “I saw this the other day when I came into town for parts. I thought you'd get a kick out of it.”

  Art supply stores for me were like shoe stores for other women, I adored them. I didn't need to buy anything, but
I loved looking around. Warmth burned through me because he had thought of me when he saw the store.

  “Do you like éclairs?”

  His random question took me by surprise and I answered almost without thought, “Yeah.”

  “After you've looked your fill, there's a bakery down the street that makes killer ones.” He flashed those gorgeous eyes at me and winked. “We can share one.”

  I actually felt a little piece of my heart being lost to him in that moment, “That sounds perfect.”

  ***

  Standing outside the Wright's home on Friday, I waited for Bastian who would be arriving any minute for our date. Poppy had wanted to dress me, again. I never understood the big deal about clothes, but I had to admit that I understood it now. Not just the clothes, but how it made me feel to get all dressed up, especially seeing the look of appreciation in Bastian’s eyes every time Poppy had her way with me. Yeah, I totally got it now. Tonight I dressed in black, but the wide-leg trousers and fitted sweater were still a far cry from my baggy getups.

  Bastian pulled up and climbed off his bike “You look beautiful. Are you ready?” He called.

  To spend the evening with him? Absolutely.

  ***

  Reservoir catered to the under-21 crowd of nightclub fans. Several times a month they had shows that featured the local talent. I'd always wanted to come, but I never had anyone interested in coming with me because the music was more industrial, and my friends favored pop. I was thrilled to be there. Especially with Bastian.

  Bastian didn't let go of my hand as we made our way through the club. I suspected because the place was packed and he feared I'd get swept away in the crowd.

  We found a spot along the wall, away from the mosh pit and stage diving. He pulled me back against him and I loved feeling the hard muscles of his chest against my back and having his strong arms around me. I didn't need to see his face to know what he was thinking because his body practically hummed with it. He wanted me and since the feeling was entirely mutual, I settled deeper into his embrace and tilted my head in invitation. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation that shot down my arms as he brushed kisses down my neck, lingering on the spot—just at the curve of my neck—that brought me chills.