- Gemma -
lex’s company seemed to be provoking a flirtatious giddiness I didn’t think I had in me.
Perhaps his forwardness had finally worn me down, or maybe his commitment to making me feel like the most desirable woman in the Midwest had boosted my ego. Whatever it was, the fact that he would tell some size two bitch in heels that I was his girlfriend was actually a bigger compliment than any he’d given me all night.
“I love Lake Shore Drive at night,” I said, admiring the way the dark lake glimmered under the glow of the city lights. “Especially when everyone’s just cruising along like this.” I took a deep breath and glanced at Alex.
He was leaning back in his seat with one hand on the wheel.
“This is the best date that isn’t a date I’ve been on in years.”
He laughed. “I’m honored that you let me take you out.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked, cringing inside at how desperate I sounded.
“I’m taking a pottery class.”
“What?”
“I think it’s the last one,” he said. “Or at least it will be if the vase I made cracked in the kiln. Been kind of worried about it all week.”
“Pottery? With those hands? You are full of surprises.”
He lifted his free hand. “What’s wrong with my hands?”
“Aren’t they a little big to be sculpting delicate shapes?”
He smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just the thought of you over there obsessing over my big hands—”
“I’m not obsessing over your big hands.” At least, I wasn’t until thirty seconds ago. “Seriously, though. Why pottery?” And then it hit me. “Never mind. I figured it out.”
He raised his thick brows. “I’m not following.”
“Well, there are only two reasons a guy like you would take a pottery class.”
“A guy like me?” he asked. “What does that mean?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Fair enough.”
My neck retreated in surprise. “Really?”
He shrugged. “I understand that you might be more comfortable spacing out your compliments so I don’t get a big head.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Especially when I’m obviously still reeling about the fact that you weren’t offended by the idea that you could be my girlfriend.”
“So you’re not gay?”
He grabbed the wheel with both hands and straightened his arms. “What?!”
“It makes perfect sense,” I said. “Your body, your taste in clothes, your willingness to blow off supermodels.”
“You can’t be talking about Libby. I doubt she’s woman enough to shop outside the junior department, much less model.”
“It would explain the pottery, though.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
“How easy it was for you to offend both gay and straight men everywhere.”
“How is that offensive?”
“Besides the fact that interest in clay has nothing to do with sexual orientation?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “You’re the expert.”
He glanced at me with eyes full of disappointment before turning his attention back to the road. “I’m not gay, Gemma.”
“Sorry.”
“Do I detect disappointment in your voice?”
“I’ve always wanted a gay friend.”
I could tell by his expression I’d pushed too far.
“It’s not my only theory,” I said, trying to ease the situation.
“I can’t wait to hear the other,” he said sarcastically.
“Could it be that you take pottery classes to meet women?”
“Wrong again. Meeting women is the furthest thing from my mind.” His eyes swept up my body. “Most of the time.”
I swallowed.
“Which I realize makes me sound gay, but that’s not it. I just have more important things on my mind right now.”
“Like what?”
“Besides,” he said, ignoring my question. “All the women in the pottery class are in their sixties besides the teacher, and she’s as baked as her creations most of the time.”
“In that case, I’m all out of guesses,” I said. “Though I’m dying to know what a straight man who’s not interested in meeting women is doing spending his Sunday afternoons waiting in line for the kiln.”
“Taking a pottery class is on my mom’s bucket list, and, as an only child, it’s my responsibility to help her check things off.”
I scrunched my face. “Really? I feel like such an asshole.”
“Would it be a bad time to mention that she’s sick, too, so we’re under some time pressure?”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel bad.”
“I’m really not,” he said. “I just don’t want you to laugh when I tell you I have to leave early next Thursday for ballroom dancing.”
“Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. I had no idea.”
“How would you?”
“That’s really sweet what you’re doing,” I said. “I hope she knows how lucky she is to have such an awesome son.”
“Believe it or not, I’m the lucky one.”
I turned to look out my window and stayed quiet for a few minutes. No matter how many times it happened, it always surprised me when I discovered that people who seemed to have it all together were actually fighting battles as trying as my own. “Can I ask what her prognosis is?”
“Her doctor said she has three years.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Starting five years ago.”
“Wow.” I clasped my hands in my lap. “I can see why dating men isn’t a priority for you.”
He smiled. “Well, that’s progress.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, turning onto a side street when he noticed some traffic up ahead. “Life’s too short.”
Maybe he was the same guy I’d known all those years ago…despite the striking change in his outward appearance.
“What about you?” he asked. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m working nine to four, and then I’m hoping my friend will go look at a few apartments with me.”
“You don’t like where you are now?”
“I love it,” I said. “It’s just not my place.”
“Whose place is it?”
“My friend Jeanie’s.”
“Oh.”
I wondered if he thought I might invite him in, wondered if I wanted to. But while I was curious to see what our chemistry might be like behind closed doors, my feelings for him were already more complicated than I would’ve liked.
He pulled up beside the curb and put the car in park. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, as if he detected my heightened sense of anticipation.
I stepped onto the sidewalk, suddenly sad that the night had to end. It went too fast, and it was too fun. What if we never went out again, and I had to skulk around work, fretting about owing him a meal? “Think about where you’d like to go next time,” I said as I walked to the door as slowly as possible. “Since next time’s on me.”
“I will,” he said, squaring up to me outside the lobby’s glass door.
“And thanks again for the lovely meal. I had a great time.”
“Me too. You’re even more fun than I remembered.”
I smiled, my body burning up inside at the hope that he would kiss me goodnight.
His eyes dropped to my mouth as he stepped into my personal space.
“Careful now,” I said, unable to quiet my nerves. “There’s a lot riding on this.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Don’t do it if you don’t think you can top the first one.”
“I thought you said that meant nothing to you?”
I searched his dark eyes. “I lied.”
He leaned forward and kissed me, holding his soft lips against mine until my whole body sighed into his arms. And when he parted his lips to taste me, I let him, my tongue bending with his will until I was dizzy with lust.
I opened my eyes after he pulled away, my lips buzzing from the attention and my tipsy tongue useless in my mouth.
“Goodnight, Gemma,” he said, pulling the door open for me. “Sweet dreams.”
- Gemma -
There was no way I was getting back to sleep now.
I rolled over in my sleeping bag and curled into a ball, hoping my pee would evaporate from the inside if I could make myself warm enough.
Across the bunk-filled cabin, another camper’s face lit up with an eerie glow when she checked her phone. Then it went dark again.
Why did I always do this? I knew full well that if I drank juice boxes after eight, I’d have to pee in the night, and yet time and time again I failed to take my own advice. They weren’t even that good!
And now, here I was, bursting for a pee in the dark with nothing but a frightening walk through the woods to look forward to. Not that I was afraid of the woods. The woods were fine during the day. It was the dark woods that creeped me out.
As soon as my sandals hit the woodchips, every tweaked branch, every rustle of pine, every whisper of wind would have me more paranoid than my dad when he used to drive home from the bar after one too many drinks.
He didn’t do that anymore, thank God. Not since I asked him to stop for my eighth birthday after I learned it was wrong at school. Boy, did he have to pee a lot when he used to drink too much.
Shit. Maybe it was genetic. I’d heard the theory before.
And it would certainly explain my juice box problem.
I groaned on the inside so as not to wake anyone, uncurled my legs, and slipped the zipper down on the side of my sleeping bag so I could slip out into the night.
The air was fresh and cool, and I tucked my hands up into the sleeves of my pajamas as my eyes darted around nervously. Every now and then the older boys would scare kids on their way to the bathroom at night, and the last thing I needed on top of being the resident fatty was to pee my pajamas in front of a bunch of bullies.
When I reached the glowing bathroom, I went in tentatively, trying to steer my mind away from what a perfect setting it would be for a horror movie. My eyes scanned the stall doors, each one slightly ajar and looking hideously yellow under the buzzing fluorescent lights.
I pushed three open and stepped back, satisfied at that point that the middle one was safe to pee in and did so as quickly as I could. Then I rinsed my hands and stared in the mirror, wishing for a moment that everything about my appearance were different before leaving a moment later when the lights flickered overhead.
Once outside, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark again, and as they did, I noticed a shadow moving down by the lake. I watched the silhouette sit down at the bottom of a tree and cursed under my breath, knowing I’d never be able to sleep if I left the poor wanderer out here to get murdered.
Thirty steps later, I reached the mysterious shadow’s resting spot. “Alex?”
He jolted at my voice, his back slamming against the tree as his legs failed to find their footing on the ground. “Jesus, Gemma, you scared the shit out of me.”
“What are you doing?”
“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing?” he asked. “Besides nearly giving me a heart attack.”
“Better a heart attack than an ax through your skull.”
His face twisted. “What?”
“I came out here to make sure you weren’t about to get murdered,” I said, glancing around before looking back towards the glowing toilet cabin to make sure I could still see my way home. “So you’re welcome.”
“Afraid of the dark, are you?”
“No.”
“You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing towards the ground beside him.
I eyed the patchy grass. “Is it wet?”
“Not as wet as where I’m sitting after the way you just snuck up on me.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“That was a joke,” he said. “I haven’t peed my bed in over two weeks.”
My mouth fell open.
“That was a joke, too,” he said. “It’s probably been more like ten years. Couldn’t say really.”
I dropped to my knees, sat back on my heels, and then slid to the side until my bottom met the ground. “Why can’t you sleep?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he said, letting his head fall back against the tree.
A cloud passed over the moon, allowing more light to filter down through the trees. He was wearing a worn Notre Dame T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that almost made it look like he had meat on his bones.
“I had to pee,” I said. “You?”
“My bunkmate always snores on lasagna night.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah, that’s all he said last time I told him.”
“How long are you going to stay out here?”
“You mean if I don’t get murdered?” he asked, a smile teasing his cheeks.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’ve heard there are killer deer in these woods. Bloodthirsty, they are. Campers are their meal of choice.”
“It’s not the deer I’m worried about,” I said, hushing my tone. “Didn’t you hear about the guy who lives on the other side of the lake?”
“The cannibal?”
I nodded.
“Pretty sure I’m the last camper he’s interested in.” He lifted his elbows so I could admire his skinny forearms.
“You make a good point,” I said, gripping my thigh. “Though I’m not sure that bodes very well for me.”
“But you’re a virgin, right? So you’re probably safe.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you not? Sorry, I just assumed.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is if we’re really starring in the horror movie you seem so convinced is happening around us.”
I bit my lip.
“Though my personal theory is that the counselors only let that rumor survive so we don’t wander over there.”
“Aren’t you?” I asked, still trying to decide whether I was mad at his assumption.
“Aren’t I what?”
“You know,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “A virgin?”
He smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, yeah.”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” he said. “How’s that?”
Shit.
“Well?”
“You first,” I said, trying to conceal how much I was freaking out.
“Why don’t you guess?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I think you are,” I said. After all, up to this point I’d assumed he was a fourteen-year-old pariah like me, and neither of us seemed the type to be first in line for seven minutes in heaven. Hell, I was pretty sure I’d never even had a cameo in someone else’s wet dream. Nor had I ever kissed anyone. So how could he possibly have had sex?
“Why?”
“Because we’re too young for that stuff.”
“Too young to do it or too young to think about it?” he asked.
I hung my head, hoping the shadows above would hide my burning cheeks.
“You can’t even talk about it, so I’d say you’re definitely safe from any killers lurking in these woods.”
I flicked my eyes up at him.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
I dropped my gaze to the ground and pulled on a tuft of grass.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “Like you said, we’re too young to worry about that stuff.”
“Agreed.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ve never even kissed anybody.”
“Really?” I asked, feigning a level of surprise I hoped would give me the upper hand. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Never liked anyone enough, I guess.”
A strange pang twisted in my chest. “I know the feeling.”
But really, that was the moment I realized I did like someone enough.
And I wanted that someone to like me more than anything.