Duke
I slip in line behind Charlotte at the campus coffee shop. She senses someone, so she glances over her shoulder and does a double take.
“Hey.” Her eyes are wild and unsure. The barista drags her attention away, and she orders her coffee. Decaf, black. Her coffee order is imbedded into my mind.
Charlotte steps off to the side and blows on the lid of her coffee.
The girl behind the counter smiles when her eyes pass to me in line. I step up and order my black coffee. The way the girl pulls her hair behind her ear, tossing it over her shoulder in a display of catching my attention is obvious. It may have worked for me in the past. Not when Charlotte is standing beside me with that damn stirring straw in her mouth. It’s not even in her coffee cup, so why does she have it?
“Thank you,” I say to the barista, taking the coffee. I grab a sleeve and eye her name and number scribbled on my drink.
Charlotte flicks the cup. “Dolly, huh?” A sarcastic laugh waits on her tongue.
“Seems so.” I shrug. A barista scribbling her name and number on my cup is a normal occurrence. “What brings you to campus?”
“Finishing up some last-minute questions for my interview on Sunday,” Charlotte explains. “What about you?”
At the mention of her interview, my mind goes blank. Since my visit to the warehouse, I haven’t had another run in with Ari.
Everything Jacob and Ari related has been quiet. I’ve managed to keep my hands clean of the whole mess. Lydia put the whole thing into perspective. When I mentioned maybe paying him another visit, she made it clear Ari would take it as a threat and lash out even more. My biggest worry is once Charlotte waltzes through his office doors, he’ll have no choice but to make a move.
“Earth to Duke.” She waves her hand in front of my face.
“Sorry, what?” Focus, Duke.
“Why are you on campus?” Charlotte holds the cup to her mouth. She stills. The perfect curve of her lip distracts me.
Earlier this morning, I ran into Rachel outside of my ‘too early for a Tuesday’ ethics class. She spilled Charlotte would be around campus, catching up on work for the newspaper.
“I was actually looking for you,” I admit, glancing away. “And what interview? I thought you already interviewed Derks.” I’m blunt and crass most days, so this playing dumb about Ari is painful to me.
“I did, which reminds me, I shadow him tomorrow.” She pulls out her phone and clicks her fingers against the screen, glancing up at me every so often. “This interview is for Ari St. James.”
“I’m surprised he agreed to an interview.” Of course, he agreed to one. He’s like a cat chasing a mouse. Charlotte will be batted around the yard before he goes in for the kill. “There has to be someone better to interview. You’re trying to tell me there is no other alumni who stayed around and done good?”
Charlotte shrugs, unsure of where to go with our conversation. “You said you were looking for me?” she asks, retracting to my previous comment.
“I need your help.” No, I don’t. “Furniture. I need new furniture.” What the actual fuck am I talking about? I don’t need new couches. I have new couches.
She laughs uncomfortably. “And you want me to help you lift it?”
“Hardly.” I squeeze her arm. “These twigs couldn’t lift a couch if your life depended on it. What I need is a female’s touch.” Her eyes widen, and an adorable pink hue creeps onto the apples of her cheeks. “A female’s perspective. Opinion. Whatever,” I stumble. “Fuck, maybe I need a woman’s touch. Lack of sex is making my head full of mush.”
“I have plenty of opinions, so I’m your girl. For the furniture. Not the sex.” She walks in the opposite direction.
“I wish,” I mutter under my breath. Fuck, I need to quit thinking these things. Maybe Charlotte and I are spending so much time together, it’s clouding my judgement.
“Where are you going?” Charlotte’s already twenty paces in front of me.
She turns around and walks backwards. “My car’s this way.”
“My truck is this way.” I refuse to let her drive.
“Are we really going to do this?” she questions, her hands extended. “Too big of a man to let a woman drive?”
I’ll show you what kind of man I am.
“Oh, see, now that’s not fair.” Two steps, and we’re eye to eye. “If I put my foot down and demand to drive then I’ll appear to be a misogynist, but...” —I hold up a finger— “if I don’t drive, I’ll be a complete pussy, riding shotgun in what I assume is a reliable, sensible vehicle.”
She smirks, holding back her laughter. “It’s a Corolla.”
“See.”
“Don’t be such a guy, Duke. I need to stop by the apartment before we go anyway, so just let me drive.” She tilts her head back toward the parking lot behind her. “And plus, delivery’s free at Central Furniture.”
“How do you know where I plan on shopping?”
“Female opinion you were looking for.” She raises her hand. “Central has the best furniture if you are interested in anything other than a futon.”
“Fine, just this time.” I follow her out into the parking lot. Of course, she drives a Corolla. They’re reliable, much like herself. The taillights blink, and I slide into the compact passenger seat.
“So, Lydia has been giving me trouble about you. She has a theory.” I glance at Charlotte.
“And what is this theory?” With her hand on the gear, she reverses into the parking lot and pulls out into traffic, while I stall.
This is the moment of truth. Lay it on her and hope she doesn’t freak the hell out because Lydia’s theory is one hundred percent accurate. Charlotte and I both know it. Take a deep breath. Twelve-year-old boys are more mature than I’m being right now. Fuck!
“She thinks I’m intrigued by you,” I speak fast. The car jerks, and my body flings forward. My hand catches me before I slam into the dashboard.
Charlotte corrects her foot on the brake as we approach the red light. “Intrigued by me? Why?”
“Because I am.”
“Oh, I see.” Her voice hitches, and the urge to backpedal kicks into overdrive. I’m such an asshole. Her boyfriend, my frat brother, is in a coma, and I have the nerve to say shit like this to her.
“It’s just...” I narrow my eyes on the side of her face. Her lips are pursed in a perfect O, and she’s in the middle of some sort of meditation to regulate her erratic breathing. Her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythmic dance.
“We’re sort of an unexpected friendship, so I get it.” She drives into her apartment complex but avoids looking at me. “Rachel’s been giving me hell, too. Accused me of ogling you at the bar.”
I slip out of the car, a smile hidden from her view. “Ogling me, huh?” I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows, taunting her relentlessly over the roof. Charlotte crosses her arms over her chest, unamused by my antics.
“Shut up.” She starts to walk but slows her pace so I can catch up.
“Well, were you?” My elbow bumps her ribcage.
This simplicity between us is something I’m afraid of losing. Besides Lydia, I don’t bother with female friendships. I’ve seen countless relationships ruined because a guy and a girl are too close for their significant other’s liking.
“Was I what?” When she looks over her shoulder, I see the innocence in her eyes. The only problem is right behind the angelic façade sits a devil in waiting. Admitting it would be too easy, so she holds out.
“Ogling me.” I shake my head. “What am I talking about? Of course, you were ogling me.” I step past her, and her hand wraps around my bicep, pulling me back.
“Hardly.” Charlotte unlocks the door, and we step inside. She giggles when I press on the skin right above her hip. Her purse lands on the coffee table, and she shifts to tickle me back.
My spine stiffens at the sight of Rachel and Wes inside the kitchen. His eyes zone in on Charlotte touching my waist, and to ease the tension in the room, I step back, forcing her hand to fall.
Rachel pushes off Wes’s chest and busies herself with the dishes.
“What are you two doing here?” Charlotte asks. She walks into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room.
Rachel waves over her shoulder, dragging Charlotte down the hallway. I lean against the back of the couch, crossing one foot over the other. Wes’s stare burns into the side of my head until I address him.
“What’s up, man?” He’s irritated, and clearly, I’m the source of his discomfort.
“You tell me.” He shrugs. “You two look comfortable.”
“Charlotte’s helping me pick out furniture.” My shoulders square towards him. “Is that a problem?”
“Lydia busy today? Isn’t she your go-to girl?” Wes pulls a phone from his pocket and sends a quick text. He tucks it back into his jeans and turns to me.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is? He has a lot of nerve.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The sound of blood pumping whooshes in my ears.
“Don’t fuck with her. You two aren’t friends.” Wes’s shoulder collides with mine, then he walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Charlotte returns to the living room to find me alone.
Rachel sits down on the couch with a frustrated release of breath. She checks her phone and rattles off a text of her own. “Where’d he head off to?”
“I’m not sure.” I’m ready to escape before they turn to me for any real answers. How do you explain our weird, awkward conversation? “You ready to go, Charlotte?”
“Yeah.” She grabs her purse and checks in with Rachel. “Duke needs help picking out furniture.”
“You guys are picking out furniture together?” Rachel’s eyebrow perks up. A pleased smile crosses her face. “A new bed, I presume? The kind you can lay in all day, sort of thing.”
Rachel enjoys her best friend and me spending time together. Her reasoning is unknown to me, but joy lurks behind the sadistic grin aimed over Charlotte’s head.
“A couch,” Charlotte corrects her. The meaning behind Rachel’s question flies right over Charlotte’s head. “I’ll be home later.”
“I see what you did there,” I whisper to Rachel. She shrugs, an act of innocence I’m not buying.
I slip out behind Charlotte, watching her walk with a little skip in every other step. She’s a perfect mix of carefree and levelheaded. I don’t understand how she pulls it off, while the rest of us overcompensate to appear as if we have our shit together. Even if everything started to fall apart around her, she’s the kind of girl who could hold it together without asking for any help. Her strength may be the sexiest thing about her.
*****
“Hey, there.” The salesman’s crooked grin widens at the sight of Charlotte. “What can I help you with today?”
“Couches.” Charlotte dodges him, but within seconds, he’s practically crawling up her ass.
By the time I catch up to them, he’s showing her several L-shaped things, and I shake my head.
“Not into these, then?” The salesman searches the showroom for something else he believes may fit our needs. “What do you think your boyfriend will like?” He speaks to Charlotte like I’m not there.
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.” Charlotte’s jaw goes slack, and I’m half-tempted to close it for her. Did she have to answer him so damn quickly? Fuck. I’m not repulsive. Talk about bruising a man’s damn ego. “Just helping my friend pick out a couch.” Her hand skims the arm of the sofa.
“Well then...” He crowds her space and hands her a slip of paper. “Here’s my card. My cell phone is on the back, if you need help picking out your own furniture.” He walks away, leaving Charlotte dumbfounded and me rolling my eyes.
“Central has the best furniture, huh? The salesman only cared about the pretty girl who walked through the doors.” I sit down on a brown leather sofa. The material is soft under my touch, forcing me to envision what it would feel like to watch a football game on it.
Charlotte plops down beside me. Her fingers glide over the leather like butter on hot toast. “You called me pretty.” She clears her throat and drops her gaze to her lap. Her hair falls in front of her face, almost hiding the adorable blush on her cheeks.
I turn to face her. Please listen to what I’m saying. “No one should ever pay you such a meaningless compliment. Pretty doesn’t do a girl like you justice.”
The leather cushions her head, cupping her in the soft material. Her breaths are shallow. She’s affected by me, and as fucked up as it is, her being Jacob’s girl, I am thirsty for the reaction my presence brings out in her.
“Jacob calls me pretty all the time.” Her smile flattens, and a tortured gloss glints in her eyes.
“Pretty is what you call the girl you like, but you know nothing will come of it. Women have been trained to take it as a compliment. Depending on who it’s coming from, I suppose it could be. But if you’re truly enamored with someone, you don’t go with easy.” I’ve never been more aware of her closeness.
Charlotte shifts, leaning in close. “Okay, so what do you call the girl who takes your breath away, the one who makes you stop and think ‘Fuck, this girl is it.’?” Her lips part, and I imagine running my thumb across them.
“You’re imposing.” I focus my attention forward, afraid of what it will mean to say these things and read her response in her eyes. “You waltz into a room and command all our attention, all of my attention.”
A subtle breath releases slowly beside me. Charlotte stands, her hand held out in invitation. I place mine in hers, and she pulls me from the couch.
“This one is it, right?” I gesture to the brown leather couch, hoping she’ll forget what I said.
“Not going to try out any others?”
“When you know, you know.” Neither of us miss the hidden meaning behind my words. Charlotte’s throat bobs up and down. She hears them loud and clear.
Towards the front of the main showroom, I tell an older gentleman which couch I’d like, and he writes me up a receipt.
Halfway across the store, Charlotte lies on a display mattress, her eyes focused on the ceiling. Her arms lay limply beside her, and her chest still rises and falls with uncontrollable breaths.
Neither of us say anything when I slide in beside her. Sometimes the silence between two people is louder than any words can be.
“I can feel you thinking.” My stomach knots. We’ve been dancing around each other, showing a mere sliver of our attraction, and now, I wonder if I’ve taken it too far. Have I shown her too much of myself?
“You can?” She looks at me, and her soft, blue eyes beg me to listen, to look past what I think I know, and see the truth. I turn away out of my own insecurities and fears.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. There are thirty speckled tiles right above us. The information is pointless, but nonetheless, counting is a good distraction from the beauty lying next to me.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Honestly? Your tattoos.” She comes to her knees and holds my wrist in her hand.
The moment her fingertips trace the intricate designs, an inner battle I’m familiar with prepares to wage war. I’d erase every passing thought of Jacob from her mind if she’d let me.
“What do they mean to you?”
“A lot of things.” I need her to stop looking at me like I’m worth a chance. “Each one exposes a piece of me to anyone who dares to look close enough.”
“What about this one?” Her fingers dance around the tail of my first tattoo.
“A phoenix. Proof you can rise up, even past the ugliest points.” Fuck, maybe one will rise up right now and eat me whole.
“And this one?” Her touch rests on my anchor.
A chill runs the length of my body. I need out of this bed before I follow through with eliminating Jacob from her head.
“A reminder I can stay in one place, or I can sail.”
“I’ve always wanted to get one,” Charlotte admits. Her chin tips slowly to her chest and tears fill her eyes. As the first one falls, I sit up.
“What’s going on?” I brush my finger on the edge of her eyelid. Her shoulders slump forward, and she shakes her head.
“I’ve missed out on a lot.” Who knew five words would come as such a relief to her?
“What do you mean?” Duke to the rescue, always thinking you can solve this girl’s problems.
“Don’t you ever wonder what your world would look like if you’d made different choices?”
“All the damn time, Charlotte, and you aren’t the first or the last. Hell, I’ve made some pretty fucked up ones in my past. It’s all about learning that those choices brought you to where you were meant to end up.”
“What’s a decision you regret?”
“Oh shit, this is easy. When I was in high school, I got caught dealing a little bit of weed.”
“You were a drug dealer?”
“Not exactly.” I lay back down on the mattress and stare at those speckled tiles. “My father bailed me out and forced me to do a hundred hours of community service.” Charlotte’s brow furrows, not quite understanding where this is headed. “The thing is, if I could go back, I’d face the judge before I ever allowed my father to use his name to get me out of trouble. He still holds it over my fucking head.”
“Your relationship is strained.” Charlotte’s discomfort shines bright in her tight smile. She, much like most people, doesn’t know what to say of my situation.
“I often wonder what it would’ve been like to have a father throw a ball around the yard and sit down to do homework with me. This is really embarrassing to admit.” Charlotte cuddles next to me, her hand protectively covering my heart. “When I was younger, and everyone was asleep, I’d watch family sitcoms and fantasize about what that kind of love felt like.”
Holy shit. I’ve never told anyone that. Dammit, that felt good.
“Do you ever wonder why he’s so distant?” Her fingernail designs an invisible picture on my chest, twirling and spinning before I can figure it out.
“When I was younger, yeah, maybe.” I close my eyes, feeling an unfamiliar burn behind my eyelids. I clench my jaw at how real this conversation is turning. Jesus, I’ve lied a lot about how I feel about Charlotte, but she still makes me want to tell all the truths in the universe. “I can’t imagine not loving my own child.”
Charlotte sits up when she hears the crack in my voice. Her eyes intensify as they skim across my face, landing on the corner of my eyes. I don’t need to see them. I feel their burn. Years of suppressed emotion tip over the edge, and I turn to discreetly erase them from existence. Her hand runs over my bicep, giving me no choice but to face her.
“You’re a better man than you let yourself believe, Duke Anderson.” The pad of her thumb dabs the corner of my eye.
It’s not sympathy passing between us; it’s understanding.