Playing with Fire
“Oh, it’s fine. Really.” She blushed under her makeup.
“That’s a statement, not an offer. Move it.” I pressed a hand against her lower back, close enough to her ass to get my mind rolling. My dick strained inside my jeans, and I couldn’t wait to get home and rub one out.
Texas bolted upstairs to the shower, and I strolled into the living room, making myself at home. It looked old, but the foundation around it was pretty new, which told me all I needed to know. There was a fire here, and parts of the house were remodeled.
Savannah was sitting on a recliner in front of the TV, knitting something that looked like a never-ending scarf. Her eyes were blank, her mouth pressed into a thin line of discontent.
I sat in front of her. “Hey, Mrs. Shaw. Remember me?”
She looked up from her twelve-foot scarf, above the rim of her glasses, then dropped her gaze back to her knitting.
“Of course I do,” she said, her tense expression relaxing. “You’re my husband, Freddie.”
Ten minutes later, Texas was out of the shower, and I was one hundred percent sure her grandmother had dementia. Mrs. S spent the time I’d been watching over her asking me about people I didn’t know and apparently worked with, recited entire conversations we hadn’t had, and treated me like I was her dead husband. This wasn’t an act. She had no clue who I was.
Grace came down the stairs, taking them two at a time, wearing an oversized, long-sleeved shirt she used as pajamas. Her legs were bare, and my eyes licked them greedily. Her legs were perfect. Tan and long and athletic. I could easily visualize them wrapped around my waist.
But I didn’t.
Because we were JUST FUCKING FRIENDS, as I kept forgetting. Maybe I needed to stick a Post-It note to the insides of my eyelids. Just and Friends.
My pupils finally slid up to the rest of her. She was wearing the ball cap, and her face was full of freshly applied makeup.
We playing it like that, huh, Tex?
I stood up.
“Thanks so much for doin’ this. I really appreciate it.” Grace threw her arms around me when she reached the landing, giving me a squeeze. Her tits pressed against my pecs. She wasn’t wearing a bra. West Junior made a mental note to do her more solids if she repaid us in hugs. She led me back to the front door, her polite way to tell me to get the fuck out.
“What’s with the makeup?”
“What’s with the screwed-up relationship with your parents?” she ricocheted back to my court, opening the door for me.
Touché.
I flicked the back of her ear. “For the sake of full disclosure, if you cage in on me tomorrow at school, I’m going to hurl your ass into the fountain and scrub every inch of that face clean of makeup.”
She grinned. “I ain’t doin’ that no more. Pinky promise.” She gave me her pinky. I wrapped her pinky in mine and pulled her into my body, kissing her unmarred cheek. She gasped. I drew back, smirking back at her before she had the chance to freak out.
I stepped down her porch stairs, feeling surprisingly light, even though it was my birthday, and my birthdays were the worst days of my life.
I stopped at the last squeaky step, turning around, knowing she was still at the door.
“Hey, Texas?”
She rested her forehead against the door, smiling at me sleepily.
“You should open up a little.”
“So should you.”
“I think I am.”
It was the first birthday in the last five years where I’d actually cracked a smile. Which was insane to think about. It made me feel guilty as hell. No wonder Mom, Dad, and East had called me all day. They probably thought I’d finally offed myself.
That this time I had a deer-on-the-road moment I managed to seize.
Grace bit her bee-stung lower lip in a way that told me she was fighting one of her make-the-world-melt grins.
“I think I am, too.”
Grace
I was cleaning up the auditorium, doing my job as a stage assistant, the evening my first phoenix feather finally peeked out of its ashes.
It was the day after my almost-kiss with West. Tess and Lauren were the last to leave, after staying late and rehearsing some of their scenes together. Lauren was still struggling to get all her lines right. She blamed it on a recent breakup with her boyfriend Mario. Tess had been working the angle of passive-aggressively coaxing her into convincing Professor McGraw to switch roles. She argued that Stella didn’t have as many lines and her role wasn’t as emotionally draining.
“Seriously, Lor, just tell Finlay and McGraw you’ve got too much on your plate. Switch to Stella. You’ll get an A+ and would only have to memorize half the lines.”
I tidied up around them, moving the mop around their feet. They both waved me goodbye, with Tess’ eyes lingering on me a moment too long, as if noticing my existence for the first time. I had no doubt it had everything to do with West snatching me from the auditorium the other day.
After I finished mopping, I rearranged all the props backstage, hanging the costumes on the racks.
Humming “No Me Queda Más” by Selena to myself (because: ’90s and Selena were double the win), my thoughts wandered to West. Specifically, to his relationship with his parents. He was angry, that was for sure. He’d been cagey about them, but from what I’d pieced together, they were struggling financially, and he was breaking his back trying to help them.
About to turn the lights off, I paused on the threshold between the stage and the backstage, peeking through the burgundy curtains. I loved the stage’s floor. It was my favorite. It was full of scratches and dents, from actors and dancers wearing it down over the years.
Beaten and broken, it was still capable of creating the greatest magic.
Without really meaning to, I found myself taking a step toward the center of the stage, swallowing hard.
“You need to open up.”
West’s words tickled the bottom of my belly.
Another step.
“Don’t roll over and play dead.”
The next one was my grandmother’s.
“If you’re not scared, you’re not being brave.”
Before I knew what was happening, my feet hurried across the stage.
Tap, tap, tap.
My heart accelerated, my mouth dried up, and my breath stuttered in my throat.
I stopped and stood there, in the middle of the stage.