Chapter Seven

AMELIA

“I think I want to have sex.”

I hold back the cringe that threatens to pass over my features. This is the third “I want to have sex” conversation I’ve had with one of my students since I arrived, and I’ve been here for a week and a half. I know I’m a school counselor, and I’ve been trained for situations like this, but it never ceases to disturb me how young kids want to get started so early on being adults.

News flash, kids: hold off. You have all the time in the world to adult, enjoy being a kid for as long as you can because before you know it, you’re going to be living next to your ex-boyfriend who destroyed your heart, trying to keep a long-distance relationship fresh over FaceTime, and helping your deteriorating father fade comfortably.

Stay young for as long as you can.

Keeping a straight face and my pen poised at my notepad, I ask, “And why do you think that, Carissa?”

Sitting awkwardly, she twists her hands together on her lap and carefully looks at me. “Is this going to get back to my parents?”

“Only if your life is being threatened. Everything else is confidential between us.”

She nods and bites on her lip. “I think I’m in love.”

“Okay,” I say gently. “That’s wonderful. Love is such a powerful feeling to have for another person. It can be very consuming, can’t it?”

Carissa, my student, shyly nods. “Very consuming.”

“Who’s the lucky one to hold your heart?” I tread carefully with my words because in an age where love is love, I don’t want to assume any sexual orientation of my students.

“Danny Baxter.”

I make a mental note to look him up later as I casually write down his name. I want to be as familiar with my students as possible.

“Is he nice to you?”

“He is.” She nods. “He buys me lunch every day, and we eat together at a table in the cafeteria. We like to talk about Harry Potter and The Legend of Zelda. We’re both on the same level, and when I get stuck, he always helps me. He doesn’t ever move forward unless I’m on the same level as him.”

Oh God, my heart. Danny Baxter sounds like a total sweetheart. High school love, it’s so easy.

“Wow, that’s really sweet of him. You’re a lucky girl.”

“I am.” Looking at her hands, she twines them together, clearly nervous about the conversation we’re having.

“I have a little concern though. You said you think you’re in love with him. Why do you think you’re in love?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I like him a lot. I think about him all the time and when we kiss, I get really excited.”

Hormones be raging in this one.

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“What?” Her eyes widen, pure fear in her face as it goes white. “No way. Why would I do that?”

Carissa, you’re so not ready for sex. No high schooler is for that matter.

I don’t want to sound condescending or like I’m her parent, so I choose my words wisely. “I was in love once with a boy who consumed my every thought.” Why did I say in love once? I’m in love now. I shake the mistake and continue. “He was everything to me. We talked about Nirchi’s pizza, and played cards ”—and fucked like bunnies, but I leave that out—“and spent every spare hour we had with each other.”

“That’s like Danny and me.”

“I figured.” I wink. “But do you know what I feel is different between our two relationships?”

“What?” She’s sitting on the edge of her seat now, listening intently.

I’ve captured her; I have her full attention, and that’s something to be proud of when dealing with kids this age. “When I was with him, all I wanted to do was tell him how much I loved him.”

“Really?”

I nod. “All the time. It was something I couldn’t stop myself from saying. From what you’re telling me, I can see you’re not quite ready to start sharing your feelings.”

“Yeah, that’s too scary.” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. See? She’s not ready for sex.

“Totally understandable, but I have to tell you, Carissa, if you think that’s scary, having sex for the first time is an entirely different world of scary.” She shrinks in her chair. “I want you to have the best experience when that time comes, and I want it to be with a man like the one I used to love, someone who you can’t help but express your feelings toward. Does that make sense?”

“It does. I have to truly, really, completely be in love with Danny before we have sex.”

“Exactly.” Oh please, let this conversation have some influence on her decision.

“But I still want to make out with him,” she adds, looking shy from her confession.

I pat my desk as I smile at her. “Make out all you want, but before you take the next step, be absolutely sure that you love him, okay?”

She nods and stands from her chair. “Thank you, Miss Santos.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. If you want to have this conversation again before you decide to move forward with Danny, please know my door is always open.”

“Thanks.”

Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, Carissa walks out of my office, hopefully with a new perspective in her mind. There is only so much I can do for these kids, which is scary. It’s up to them to take or not take my advice. I’m hoping I have enough impact on their lives that they make the right decisions.

Between sessions, I check my phone for messages. Nothing.

Putting my phone back into my desk, I drum my fingers for a second before checking my emails. I don’t get many emails, usually stuff from the administration about what’s going on in the school, so when I see an email from Mr. Buster I quickly open it.

The subject is volunteering and in the body of the email is a picture of Aaron and me cutting out the large Christmas tree together. We’re wearing goggles, and we’re both concentrating on the piece of wood beneath us, but what I didn’t realize at the time was how incredibly close we were. So close that his large body is almost pressed against my petite one. Maybe because it felt natural to have him near me, to have him flush against my skin. Maybe it’s because for some odd reason, I consider him the only man I’ve loved. What was that about? It was a slip-up for sure. It’s just because he’s fresh in my mind.

I stare at the picture again, thinking about being that close to him. A warm sensation floats through me from the memories flooding my mind, the memories of having Aaron’s arms wrapped around me, his mouth against mine, his body driving in and out of mine.

Hell . . .

Shaking my thoughts, I look at Mr. Buster’s comment at the bottom. “You two work well together. Glad to have you on board.”

Mr. Buster. I like the guy, but he also seems to have ulterior motives. I wonder if in his spare time he likes to play matchmaker. I’m going to have to let him know I’m in a relationship next time I see him because these little emails—if he sends them every week—are going to bother me.

And that’s not a lie.

Being so close to Aaron again, having to work with him, it’s messing with my mind. For the longest time, I thought he was the one. I thought we’d marry, have two children, and live on the hill that overlooks Binghamton. We were happy, content, ready to start our lives together, and then out of nowhere, like a freight train coming in with no brakes, he broke up with me. Just ended it. After two years, he called it quits.

I’ve never felt so much pain before in my entire life, so much heartbreak. He was my rock, my protector, my soul mate. He made me laugh, made me cry, made me feel. We fought, but we always made up. He was my partner in crime; he let me fly freely, arms spread and the wind bristling past me while he held me, grounded me when I needed it.

He was the one who encouraged me to chase my dreams, to go to graduate school, to follow the voice calling to me and when I did, when I took a chance to make something of myself, to earn a master’s degree I so desperately wanted, he broke up with me.

And his reason . . . He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t be with me.

I asked several times if there was another woman, if I wasn’t good enough for him, and all he did was shake his head. He gave me no reason, no explanation, just a box of my things and a brief glance as he drove away.

I tried calling him. I tried visiting him. I tried everything to get him to talk to me, but he wouldn’t. He cut all ties with me. It was over. He was done.

He was done with me.

There was nothing left for me to do other than to pick up and leave, to move to the city and chase after the education I wanted. I packed my things, took my acceptance letter to Columbia, moved into cheap dorms, and tried to forget the man who crushed my heart. But damn if it didn’t hurt that entire first year, wondering what I did wrong.

But with time, memories of him faded. Soon they were replaced by a new love, a new man. A man who loves me, cares for me, and would never break my heart the way Aaron did.

Trey is safe, sweet, and caring. He’s willing to move to Binghamton . . .

He’s willing to move.

He has his career, but that won’t stop him from coming to be with me. That’s the big difference between Aaron and Trey. Trey is willing to be with me, despite the miles between us. Aaron never was, which is still a tough pill to swallow, because no matter how many times I tell myself differently, I was never good enough for him. I was never important enough. Yes, I was able to pursue my dreams, as he obviously did his. But at what cost? Could we not have done that together? He seems happy for me now, almost as if he is sorry he let me go. But surely he’s not sorry . . .

I take a long, deep breath and shut my eyes as I lean my head against the back of my chair.

He hurt me.

He broke me.

He cracked my soul.

And yet, I still want him wrapped around me.

I push my hair out of my face, warding off the emotion that’s trying to pull me down when there’s a knock on the door. I look up to find our secretary with a huge smile on her face.

“Someone’s here to see you.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively. There is only one man in Binghamton who causes that kind of reaction in a woman.

Oh shit.

Why is he here at my work? Does he even know where I work? How did he find out?

A million questions float through my mind as I motion for my visitor to come back. I quickly pull a mirror from my top desk drawer, check my teeth for lipstick, fluff my hair, and then stick the mirror away. A million butterflies float around in my stomach from the prospect of Aaron coming to visit me at work. I shouldn’t feel like this, I shouldn’t be excited to see another man, but, hell, he’s been consuming my thoughts lately, maybe a little visit won’t hurt too much, right?

I take a deep breath when I hear his footsteps near my door. Standing, I push down the skirt of my dress and put on a big smile.

When the door opens, a pair of vivid blue eyes I’ve come to love so dearly greet me.

“Trey?” I ask, surprised. He’s carrying a giant bouquet of roses in one hand and a brown bag in the other.

“Hey sweetheart.” He drops his items on my desk, steps around it, and pulls me into his chest where he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me passionately.

All thoughts of Aaron are washed away the minute Trey’s lips meet mine. My hands run up his chest where I grip the lapels of his suit jacket and pull him closer. God, I’ve missed this man.

His tongue slips into my mouth and I open for him, clawing his jacket, never wanting this kiss to end. When he growls, every nerve in my body sparks with awareness, and I’m immediately reminded I’m in my new office, at my new job, ready to dry-hump my boyfriend.

I pull away, a little out of breath, needing some distance before I do something completely indecent.

“Fuck, I needed that.” He keeps me close despite my attempt to put some distance between us. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“I’ve missed you.” I search his eyes, still in disbelief that he’s here. “What are you doing here?”

A large smile spreads over his face. “I have an interview in an hour.”

“Are you serious?” When he nods, I can’t contain my excitement. I hop into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. I capture his face in my hands and stare at him as his hands cup my ass. “Oh my God! You have an interview.”

“I have an interview,” he repeats, his words like music to my ears.

“Ahh! This is so exciting.” I press my lips briefly against his. “How long will you be here?”

His face falls. “I have to drive back tonight for work tomorrow morning.”

My elation is quickly squandered and I drop to my feet. “Really?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He cups my face. “But my interview won’t take very long. I’ll be done when you get out for the day so I plan on spending every minute with you until I have to leave.”

“Every minute?”

He smirks and runs his hand up the back of my dress until he finds my thong-covered ass. He quietly moans as he bites on his bottom lip. “Fuck, every damn minute.”

He lowers his lips to mine where he lightly kisses me, his hands gripping my ass, and his erection pressing against my stomach. Pretty sure he shouldn’t have an erection on school campus, but hell, I shouldn’t be rubbing myself up against him either.

We spend the next few minutes talking about his interview, holding hands, and smiling like fools at each other. This is exactly what I needed, a re-charge, a reminder of where my heart belongs.

***

Five years ago . . .

“Where is he?” I try to stand on the toes of my platform heels but can’t see over the crowd. “He said he would be here.”

“He will be, relax and try to have some fun. It’s your birthday, after all.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to come out. We should have stayed home, because he would have been more comfortable hanging out.”

Amanda places her hand on my shoulder. “Relax, he’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss your birthday.”

I press my lips together, wishing we did something else for my birthday. Staying home, playing games, and eating cake would have been just fine with me but Amanda insisted on dressing up and going out like we used to. Aaron wasn’t the kind of guy who went to clubs to dance, and now that he’s half an hour late, I’m nervous he’s not going to show up.

Amanda is distracted by some of our friends, so I take a quick peek at my phone to see if I missed any message. Hmm, nothing. Where could he be? I adjust the short, skin-tight dress Amanda insisted I wear and make sure I’m not showing nipples. It has a keyhole front that looks amazing on Amanda but since my boobs are twice the size of hers, I’m about to pop out of this dress.

“Want another drink?” Amanda asks while leaning over to me. “I’m going to the bar.”

I glance down at my melted, watered-down vodka cranberry. “I’m good for now.”

Amanda sighs and lifts my chin. “Try to have some fun, sweetie.”

It’s hard when the one person I want here is nowhere to be found. Amanda retreats for the bar as I sit back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest.

This is stupid.

I don’t even want to be here.

I should leave.

I purse my lips and on a whim, decide to leave. It’s my birthday, I can do what I want. I grab my purse and start to stand from the booth we secured in the back of the club when a tall shadow blocks me from the bright, strobing lights of the dance floor.

“Leaving so soon?”

I would know that voice anywhere, because it’s the voice both that puts me to sleep and wakes me in the morning. Extreme joy wraps around me as I look up only to have my breath catch in my throat.

Aaron is standing before me wearing a pair of dark jeans that hug his long legs, a navy-blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone, showing off his bronze, corded chest. His hair is messy and to the side, and his beautiful eyes sparkle as he holds one single daisy out to me.

Swallowing hard, I take the daisy as he slips into the booth next to me, placing his arm around my back and taking me in. His eyes hungrily roam my body, spending a lot of time at the keyhole of my dress. When his eyes meet mine, he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so goddamn good.”

I set the daisy on the table in front of us and place my hands on his chest, my fingers trailing along his exposed skin. “You’re here,” I say quietly.

“Of course I am.” One of his hands plays with my hair as he speaks softly to me, so we can barely hear each other over the music. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday.”

“But you’re late.”

He nods. “I know, I’m sorry. I had something I had to take care of with my mom.” He cringes. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Is everything okay?”

He smiles lazily, scanning me up and down again. “Everything is perfect.” He turns to the dance floor and takes my hand. “Want to dance, beautiful?”

Shocked, actually ashamed I had Aaron pegged wrong, I nod.

He guides me to the dance floor, his hand wrapped tightly around mine, and when we reach the bumpers and grinders who are already feeling the beat of the music, Aaron spins me toward him so my back is pressed against his chest and his arms are wrapped under my breasts. He leans over and whispers into my ear as he starts to move his body with mine.

Oh God, he’s a good dancer.

“That dress is dangerous, Amelia.”

“Amanda made me wear it,” I say as he starts to kiss my neck. My pulse skyrockets, and in a matter of seconds, my nipples press against the thin fabric of the dress.

“Remind me to write Amanda a thank you note.”

As we dance together, rocking, bumping, grinding, we become lost in the feel of each other’s bodies. Without caring who’s watching, he roams his hands all over me, over my hips, my stomach, my breasts . . .

He touches me as if we’re the only ones on the dance floor, and it’s intoxicating. I grip the back of his neck, never wanting to let go as he squeezes one of my breasts, his fingers barely pinching my nipple. I moan and grind against his crotch, feeling his erection.

“Fuck, baby.”

Needing his lips on mine, I turn in his grip and bring his head to my mouth where he captures my lips, not holding back. Twisting, thrusting, lapping, our tongues race against each other, our lips molding, our bodies on fire as Aaron walks us to the back of the dance floor until I feel the wall against me. With one easy swoop, Aaron lifts me so I’m straddling his waist and my back is against the wall. I grip around him with my legs, making sure I have a firm grasp just as my heated center connects with his enticingly hard cock.

“Yes,” I moan, as he starts to kiss up and down my neck, pulsing his hips against mine with the music, igniting every nerve in my body. Not caring where we are, I pull on the small strands of his hair, egging him on, knowing he will break just like me.

Pulsating a little harder, hitting me right where I need him, I moan even louder.

“God, that’s sexy,” he mutters, moving his mouth to my ear. “This Amelia, this is where you belong, in my arms. You belong wrapped around me.”

“Only you,” I say, knowing how true it is. I’ve had a few boyfriends, but I’ve never felt the level of honesty and intimacy I do with Aaron. Perhaps it’s because he’s a few years older than me. Perhaps it’s because when I talk to him, I know I have his full attention, something I never knew in my teenage boyfriends. Perhaps it’s because I trust him so implicitly. He looks at me like my dad looked at my mom. He wants me to achieve all my dreams. He’s the only man I ever want to be wrapped up in, because even though we’ve been together for a short period of time, I know he’s mine . . . mine forever.

***

Present day . . .

The street I live on is an interesting one. The houses are very well kept, a little out of date, but still nicely put together with their turf-covered porches, white awnings, and perfectly bricked walkways. The houses all look the same, but they are each unique too. It’s weird and charming.

Bringing my speed down to fifteen—I’ve been told to slow down before—I casually wave at my neighbors, surprised to see they’re out and about today. I occasionally see a few, but nothing like this. What’s going on?

I pull into my driveway and park my car, and relax. What a tiring day. When I was studying to become a counselor, we were taught to understand how draining some days would be, and my professors were right. It’s beyond draining. We were also taught how important it was to have strategies in place for self-care. When you’re giving all day, you need tactics to relax and decompress. I haven’t worked out exactly what I need yet, not in Binghamton, but decorating my little house has created a good place of solace and joy. That and I keep thining back to the small moment I had with Trey when he was up here for his interview a few days ago. That’s keeping me strong right now.

From the passenger seat, I collect my items and turn to reach for the door handle when I see my neighbors converging on me, like a pack of curly, white-haired zombies. For a brief moment, I feel nervous until I realize the percentage of them have canes. I can easily outrun them, or use their canes to trip them into a hip-breaking fall.

I emerge from my car just as they hit my driveway.

“Miss Santos,” one of them calls out, holding up her liver-spotted hand. “May we have a word?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” I close my door and set my bags on the hood of my car. “Is everything okay?”

The rest of the herd catches up, their bodies heaving slightly from the little jaunt they took down Franklin Street.

“Are you aware of the week?” the pack leader asks.

Uh . . . the week? All I know is it has been two weeks since I’ve seen Trey. It feels like a month. Confused, I say, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not.”

The zombie pack mutter under their breaths and shake their heads.

“We figured,” the leader says, a huff in her voice. “Have you not read your mail? We left a flyer in your mailbox.”

I inwardly cringe. To me, flyers are a waste of paper. I don’t bother looking at them. I put them straight into recycling.

“Uh, I’m afraid I didn’t get to read it.”

“Of course she didn’t,” a bald old man says with a lift of his cane.

“Marv, settle down. Your blood pressure,” the leader says.

“She’s making us all look bad.”

“Yeah!” everyone chimes in, lifting their arms slightly with a mob mentality in their eyes.

Okay, I’m a little frightened. They do have numbers over my agility and youth.

Trying to calm down the group, I say, “I’m sorry. I would never intend to make you look bad. I get a little recycle happy when it comes to flyers—”

“She recycled the flyer,” Marv gruffs out. “Unbelievable.”

“Why do you think fridges were invented?” another lady chimes in, this one looking more sprite than the others. “To hang flyers.”

Technically, fridges were invented to keep food cold, but I choose not to point that out.

“I really do apologize. I wasn’t aware the neighborhood put out flyers.”

“Figures,” the leader says, crossing her arms. “Mrs. Ferguson was always a lazy neighbor, and it looks like she transferred it into a lazy landlord as well.”

Man, these people are ruthless. And to think I wave at them. If I knew their intent to make me feel bad about a flyer, I would have held back my wave, although . . . seems like that would have made things worse.

“Is there a problem over here?” Aaron’s voice comes from behind, startling me. I don’t dare turn around, instead I keep my eyes fixed on the angry—old—mob in front of me, and right before my eyes, they all soften when Aaron steps up, as if he’s their hero, ready to save the world.

“Aaron, thank God you’re here. Miss Santos is the problem. She recycled the flyer without even looking at it.”

“I see.” Aaron steps up next to me and drapes his arm over my shoulder. I’m about to shrug him off but think better of it for one reason: the band of dentures might think more poorly of me if I distance myself from their hero. So instead, I step a little closer to him. Feeling me lightly snuggle against him, he raises a quick eyebrow and smirks at me. It shouldn’t feel right being held by him, especially with Trey in the back of my mind. But somehow, this feels right, too. Still looking at me, he asks the crowd, “Doesn’t she at least get points for recycling?”

The mob is quiet for a second, mulling over his statement. I should get points for recycling. Keep it clean, keep it green. That’s my motto.

The leader nods but then turns angry again. “She is the only house without decorations and trick-or-treaters are going to be here tomorrow. Children flock to our street because of our traditional décor. We are going to look like we’re losing our marbles with her negligence.”

Decorations?

Trick-or-treaters?

Is it really Halloween already?

Aaron scans my house and nods. “I see what you’re saying. The house looks like a sore thumb. I guess there isn’t much for us to do but tie her to a pole and throw eggs at her.”

“Yeah!” Marv reacts, shoving his cane in the air, murder in his eyes. That wrinkle sack is totally scary. He’s someone who “knows” people. I can feel it in the way he stares me down.

Clapping his hands together, mischief in his eyes, Aaron says, “I’ll get the rope. Mrs. Wickham, you grab the eggs. Meet back in ten minutes. We’ll teach her a lesson.”

“Sounds good.” Mrs. Wickham turns to the crowd. “We reconvene in ten minutes, take your pills, we have an egg throwing to take part in.”

“What?” I ask, looking around. They can’t possibly be serious. But before I can ask what the hell is going on, they slowly walk away, their canes padding across the asphalt. When I turn to look for Aaron, he’s gone as well.

There is no way he’s going to get rope . . . is he?

No. No, there is no way, and yet a little part of me fears that this really might be a thing.

“Pssst . . .”

Off to the side, Aaron stands beside his truck, motioning for me to come to him. Caught off guard, slightly frightened and mostly confused, I tiptoe over to him and lean to where he’s squatting. “What the hell is going on? Are they really getting eggs?”

“They are.” He nods and looks over his hood.

“Why the hell would you suggest that if you knew they were going to get eggs?” I push his shoulder, causing him to laugh. “What is wrong with you?”

“It was the only way to get them out of here. They were closing in on you, Amelia. You didn’t have much time left before they started poking you with their canes. They take Halloween seriously.”

“Seems like it.” I scratch my head “Note to self, look at all flyers.”

“Might be a good idea.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Uh, to get you decorations. You really don’t get it, do you? They will harass you until you move out of that house if you don’t decorate. They can be ruthless. I know because I’ve seen them do it before. We’re the holiday street; we decorate almost every month for every occasion.”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Now get in the truck. I’ll take you to a good friend’s place. He’ll give us some decorations wholesale to get you started.”

I stand, still unable to believe all of this. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” He nods at his truck. “Now get in before they come back with the eggs.”

I eye my purse that’s resting on his truck and bite my lip. Aaron laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll get your things, you get in the truck. You’ll be safe in there.”

He takes off to grab my things as I launch myself into his giant truck. I know I might be safe from the neighbors, but I almost feel worse once I’m sitting in his truck. Just like he always used to do, he reached out and rescued me. Brought me under his wing. I might add, never from geriatrics. And yet, here I am. I feel safe. And God, he smells so damn good. Surely other men use the same cologne as Aaron, but being surrounded by his delicious scent brings back memory after memory. Vividly. Being held close in his arms. Kisses goodnight. Kisses hello. Just kissing. And he was so good to kiss . . . My stomach feels weird all of a sudden.

And then I realize the problem. No matter how much I want to deny what I might be feeling, deep down, I still have feelings for Aaron.

I never got over him.

I don’t think I ever will.