Playing with Fire
“Close your eyes.”
“If I do, you can’t turn around.”
“Hey, that wasn’t a part of the deal!” I protested.
“You were a cheerleader, right?”
“Yeah. Before—”
“What’s the first thing they do in practice, before you make it to the team?”
I frowned, trying to remember. “Uh, trust falls?”
“Exactly. This is our trust fall. Trust I won’t open my eyes.”
“You told me trusting people is putting your optimism in the wrong place,” I pointed out.
He twisted his face. “Don’t listen to my ass. I’m just a fucking no-good punk who is only good with his knuckles.”
“But …”
He put his finger to my lips. His eyes crinkled at the sides with a smile. I could tell it meant something to him. That I put my trust in him. Even if I didn’t know why.
“I won’t let you fall, Tex,” he said quietly.
“Promise?”
“I don’t promise. I never promise.” He tsked. Wasn’t that what he was doing? I wondered what made him so hell-bent on never promising even the smallest, most trivial things. “Try me.”
The air was thick with silence as I considered his request. He squeezed his eyes shut. I took off my gray cap slowly, the adrenaline whooshing in my veins. I stared at him in shock, relishing the small liberating moment. I could practically feel his arms as I figuratively fell backward into them.
How he caught me.
How he kept his word and didn’t sneak a peek.
I grabbed the pink cap. It wasn’t bent on the sides, so when I put it on, West could still see a little more of my face than I was comfortable with. I secured it over my head, took a deep breath, and tapped West’s shoulder to signal he could open his eyes.
“Decent?” he teased.
“Not by my standards,” I mumbled.
His eyes fluttered open.
“Whaddaya think?” Even though it was only a cap, I motioned at my entire body, posing a-la Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City. It sounded stupid, but it felt like trying on a wedding dress.
He flashed me a lopsided, half-moon grin that made my knees weak, and whistled.
West reached for the cap and my heart stuttered. For a second, I could feel my body hitting the ground as he let go of me. But no. He didn’t take it off. He bent it the way I liked it, so it shielded both sides of my face.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Cap’s all right, too.”
“Thank you.” The softness in my voice jarred me. “And not cool, dude. If you bend it, you buy it.”
“That’s fake news. Ask any girl I’ve hooked up with.”
I chuckled dully. I wasn’t amused by the fact he was known for sleeping around.
“’Sides, we’re buying it,” he said flatly.
I turned around to change back to my old hat and checked the price, then proceeded to snort.
“For fifty-five bucks? You’re kiddin’ me.”
“My treat.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You already got me dinner once. We can’t make it a habit.”
But he was swaggering to the register, spinning the pink cherry cap with his finger on his way there, not paying me any attention. I followed him, groaning. I knew he was going to do whatever he wanted.
“It’s not a habit. It’s a trade-off. I got you something I thought you needed, now it’s your turn to get me something. How ’bout them apples?” He jerked his wallet chain (which my nineties heart had noted was very much in sync with my favorite era) and took it out, dropping a few notes on the counter in front of the salesman.
“Snap. You’re West St. Claire. Sher U, right?” The guy’s face brightened.
They did a bro-shake.
“Saw your fight with Williams last year. You thrashed him. Is he still even alive?”
“Wouldn’t bet on it.” West stuck a green apple candy in his mouth, back to being his cocky, jerk self.
“You should go pro. You’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen. You go there.”
“You’re a good kid,” West said.
“Will you sign my cap?”
He did, and he also agreed to take a picture with the guy. We got out of the store in high spirits.
“So what do you think I need?” He was referring to our trade-off.
I tapped my lips, pretending to mull it over. “A genital guard.”
He laughed. “You’ve got jokes, Texas.”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one who left you ballet shoes before I even knew your name.”
West tugged his wallet back into his pocket, handing me the bag with my new cap. “You never acknowledged that. I wondered if it ever happened. I was starting to question my own sanity.”
“You should do that regardless. But no, I got ’em. Still have them at home. Not sure what to do with them yet, but my poor girl complex wouldn’t allow me to throw them out,” I admitted, laughing. “Want them back?”
“Keep ’em. I’m not sure ballet is my field. I’m kind of a big girl.” He feigned shyness, and I snorted, imagining him in a tutu.
After a quick cap change in an alleyway, I came back out with the pink cap. He catcalled me, and I swaggered past him, swaying my butt like I was some sort of femme fatal.
His phone buzzed again. He killed it.
“Aren’t you gonna take that at some point?” I turned around and walked backwards, my eyes on him. “It’s okay if you have better things to do.”
“I don’t have better things to do,” he clipped, his mood changing back to sullen.
“Whoever is callin’ might have somethin’ important to tell you.”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized a hookup wouldn’t call him dozens of times a day. Worry settled in my gut. It was more serious than that.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Your turn, Tex,” he called out to me as I charged ahead. “Where to?”
“Ever had a Frito pie, Maine?”
His face broke into the goofiest, sweetest grin I’d ever seen. His eyes twinkled like fine jewels. I’d once watched a documentary about the fall of the Berlin Wall. Saw the thousands of people bringing hammers and bricks to it, demolishing it with their bare hands, glowing with triumph, buzzing with deep, dark ache. This was what I felt happened to my walls of defense the moment he truly flashed me a genuine smile. It was crumbling, brick by brick, as thousands of little Wests pounded their fists upon it, making it collapse.