Hide Me Page 8

  Damn. For some reason Sunshine ’s comment about Whit is like a dull spoon jabbed in my heart and twisted.

  I shake that thought off, chuckle, and take her small freckled hands in mine. “You’re sweet, babe. But this girl? She’s not… This girl isn’t the one for me. We’re, like, from two different worlds, you know? She’s got complications I’m not about to get involved in.”

  She raises one light eyebrow.

  “What?” I ask and pretend like I don’t know.

  “Nothing.” A knowing smile twitches on the side of her mouth.

  “What?” I demand again.

  If she’s trying to imply I’m wrong about Whit, she’s out of her gorgeous head. Sure, Whit and I had some incredible chemistry. And, yes, there was this comfort factor—she happened to be one of those people I immediately felt like I’d known forever, the kind of person who could make me smile until my damn cheeks felt like they might crack. But Whit has secrets—and while I don’t believe for a second they make her the kind of person I wouldn’t want to know, it’s a risk I’m not sure I should take.

  Yes, I want to learn everything there is to know about her. What I do not want is the kind of crazy ass yo-yo relationship my parents had—up and down, hot and cold, and pure insanity. I’m not about to let history repeat itself.

  Which settles the whole thing. It’s not even a question. Whit just isn’t right for me. Period.

  “Nothing! It’s just that you always take the easy way out, Deo. I mean, I know you never really thought you and I would get serious, but you’ve been calling me for, what, two years for booty calls? And you had to have had fifty girls you were interested in all that time. It was always the same damn thing. One, two, maybe three dates, then things were ‘too complicated.’ I think it’s code.” She flicks her hair again like a damn know-it-all.

  “Code for what?” I refuse to acknowledge she’s just said what I’ve been thinking and managed to make it sound whiny and ridiculous. I tuck my arms behind my head and look at my old friend and former fuck-buddy, the now-engaged Cara. Unreal.

  “Code for ‘maybe I like this girl.’ Code for ‘things are getting real, so maybe I’ll pull back like an enormous pussy.’” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Ooh, did you just pull out the P-word? Your feminist teachers would blow a gasket,” I say.

  “Desperate times call for desperate language,” she sighs. “Look, I know you better than a lot of people. And I care about you. I really do. I’ve never seen you mourn a girl. Maybe it’s a sign.”

  “A sign?” I watch her gather her little embroidered bag and slide into her sandals.

  “A sign that times are changing, Deo. And maybe it’s time for you to grow up and face those changes.” She leans over and brushes my hair back, kissing me on the forehead. “I want happiness for you.”

  I grab her hand and kiss her knuckles. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy, Sunshine. See you around?”

  “Of course.” She pauses at the doorway. “Can I send you an invite to the wedding? I don’t want it to be weird for you, but it breaks my heart to think of doing this without you there.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” She tosses me a bright smile, and it’s like I see the old Sunshine, board under her arm, racing my scrawny teenage ass out to beat me to the biggest wave. How is it we were both kids a minute ago, but now she’s on her way to being a card-carrying grown-up with her shit figured out, and I’m sleeping on a twin bed, unemployed, unloved, cramping my grandpa’s style like a bum?

  I fall back on the bed, my body bouncing off the old mattress springs. Cara is getting married. She’s actually getting married.

  Grandpa sticks his head in and says, “What the hell are you still doing here? Your mom thinks you’re going to that awful dinner she’s cooking. Probably all rabbit food.”

  “I’m not really in the mood,” I say, settling back in my recliner.

  “To hell with what you’re in the mood for. When my mother invited me to dinner, I went to dinner. I feel for you, ’cause your mother cooks some weird stuff, but you get up and go. That woman suffers enough being hooked up with my piece-of-shit son.” Grandpa chucks a few pistachio shells at me.

  The guilt gets under my skin and spurs me to action. “All right, all right. Stop with the violence, old man.” I get up and stalk to my closet. It’s fruity as hell, but my mom likes when I dress up for this crap. I pull on a semi-clean, only partially wrinkled button-down and shorts that are stain and rip free. I head to the bathroom and take note that I should shave my scruff, but don’t bother. My hair is messed up as hell from salt water and grease, because, these days especially, I’d rather be out on the waves rather than anywhere else, so I don’t worry about it much. I know hipsters who’d sell their man-purses to get the look from their expensive-ass hair products that I’m naturally able to rock.

  I look good enough for Rocko and Mom, that’s sure as shit.

  I consider trying to see if I can score some weed before I get to my mother’s, but after hanging with Cara, it makes me feel like a scumbag, so I say good-bye to Grandpa and just drive straight there. I hope Mom’s got some good booze, cause the fruity wine she loves isn’t gonna cut it tonight.

  After the quick drive, I stumble slowly up the short walk to her little cottage, which looks like it puked up an acre of herbs, a couple thousand little wind chimes, and tons of hummingbird feeders. I duck under all the crap and walk in, following the trippy world music to the back patio, where I can see the flames from her fire pit already licking high.

  I sneak up on her and throw my arms around her waist. “Hey, Mom. Whatcha make me for dinner?”

  She whirls around, and instead of the happy smile that’s kind of my birthright as her only kid, I get a shocked sputter. “Deo! You’re here.” Her eyes dart back and forth.

  “Gee, Mom. It’s awesome to see you, too. You could at least pretend to be happy I dragged my ass over here.” Maybe she actually wanted a sexy-time one-on-one thing with Rocko. I should have ignored my grandpa. Goddamn that old codger and his romantic stories and guilt plays.

  And then I hear a laugh I can’t possibly mistake, and it rips all the air out of my lungs.

  “Whit is here?” It’s not a real damn question. Of course she’s here; I can hear her laugh. The real question is, why is she here?

  “I didn’t think you were coming, honey,” Mom rasps in a low whisper. All of her silver bracelets clank up and down her arms as she throws them up. “Why do you never return my calls?”

  “Sorry,” I hiss. “I had no idea I needed to RSVP to dinner at my own mom’s house.”

  Before our little conversation can turn into a full-fledged double-sided tantrum, Rocko comes from the herb garden on the side of the house, his heavily sleeved arms loaded down with tarragon. His hair is slicked back neatly and he’s wearing his signature crisp white button-down cuffed to the elbows with worn jeans and combat boots that look like they’ve been around since punk’s infancy. Rocko’s not a big dude, but there’s something pretty boss about him—and it occurs to me he’s just the right mix of kicked-back and take-charge to be the anchor my mom’s needed in her life for so damn long.

  “We got it, babe! You had a bumper crop this year. This risotto is going to kick—Deo… I had no idea you’d be here.” He and my mother exchange a panicked look and Whit, unaware of the drama, comes running down the path.

  “I have the mint! Do you mind if I take some home? It’s my favorite… Deo!” The minute her gaze lands on mine, she stops short, her words fading on the wind, and clutches the mint to her chest.

  She looks so mind-blowingly beautiful, my heart definitely stops for a few dangerous seconds. It’s not the pinup look from that night at the tattoo parlor. It’s more like her laid-back beach vibe, but amped up. She has on this tiny dress, the same color blue as the ocean on a clear day. It’s short and soft and makes her look like she’s all long, tanned legs and smooth arms. Her dark hair shines
, and there’s a thick red headband in it, which makes her look kind of young and incredibly sexy all at once.

  “I, um, I was just here to drop off some…stuff. For Mom. I wasn’t staying,” I stumble. Mom looks like she wants to protest, but Rocko puts a hand on her arm. “Yeah, so, nice seeing you guys. Bye.” I give a nonchalant wave and turn on my heel, shocked by how my traitor wuss body is going fucking nuts over seeing her again. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I’m all the way out to my Jeep when Whit’s voice calls my name. “Deo! Wait!”

  I stop, turn, and stick my hands deep in my pockets to keep from grabbing her and dragging her to my Jeep, shoving that sweet little blue dress off her body and showing her exactly how much I missed her confusing, stubborn, stupid, sexy ass.

  “Sorry, Whit. I didn’t mean to crash the party. I honestly thought it was just my mom and Rocko here. I didn’t even want to come. My grandpa made me feel guilty.” I’m rambling. I’m stealing time so I can look at her, be near her for a few more seconds before I go through another period of who-knows-how-long missing her like hell.

  “It’s okay. Really. I, uh, was going to call you. I mean, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” She tugs that bottom lip in and nibbles.

  I’m aware that she probably has no idea how much she’s driving me nuts, but she seriously is. “You could have. I mean, I would have taken your call. Was it that bad, Whit? That we can’t even talk to each other? I still don’t know what the hell happened.”

  “No! I mean, it wasn’t that bad. And I know you wouldn’t have minded. But, uh, I kind of deleted your number.” She grasps her hands in front of her body and twists them. “Don’t be pissed. I…I had a lot of thinking to do, and I just thought I wouldn’t be able to get anything figured out with you so…available.” Her big brown eyes beg me to hear her out.

  I nod. “Okay. So, you’re doing okay now?” I take one hand out of my pocket.

  She smiles, relief all over her face. “Yes, I’m great. It took a few days. Rocko helped so much. I was actually kind of hoping you would drop by tonight. And if you didn’t, I was going to beg your mom to give me your number.” Her cheeks are a little pink on the edges.

  I pull my hands out of my pockets, and the empty, howling hole that I’d been doing my best to ignore the days without her suddenly feels like it’s about to quiet. “I’m glad to hear that.” I put one hand up against her face, rub my thumb along her cheekbone, and pull her closer, thinking that this night is about to get a whole lot better so damn fast. “So, you got things all figured out?” I smile at her, determined not to ask her what’s up and spoil the moment. She needs space, and I think that’s a good thing for both of us. I’ve never felt like this about someone before, and, honestly, it scares the crap out of me, so I respect that she needs space.

  She doesn’t smile back at me. Her hand closes over my wrist, and she moves my hand down away from her face gently. “I did. I thought about everything. And I really like you, Deo. As a friend. I think it would be so great if you and I could be…friends.” I look into those doe eyes and curse myself for being so on board with having some space between the two of us.

  I resist the urge to laugh at my stupid luck.

  The girl I can’t get out of my head just waltzed back into my life, looking like every fantasy I’ve never been creative enough to dream up, told me how much she’s wanted to call me and how much she likes me…and dumped me right in the fucking friend zone.

  Fantastic.

  Chapter Ten

  WHIT

  “That’d be my foot,” I say. I flash a smile, but my eyes are all stabby. I push Deo’s sparkly blue-painted toes off of my thigh, which is, you know, not my foot at all, but since we’re at his mom’s table, I decide against calling him out. It’s the third time he’s done it.

  Once during the meal of Seitan tacos, once while his mom and Rocko were debating how much hemp to put in the brownies for dessert, and just now, when his mom is busy telling me about how Deo used to work as a cabana boy. Which is, apparently, a real thing, and does, it would seem, include rich, sexed-up cougars. It’s just one more exotic notch in California’s belt, and it makes me realize all over again how far from Pennsylvania I really am. He blushes so hard when she tells me this, it’s almost like she revealed he was a stripper, and I’m tempted to ask him if the uniform required a thong.

  “Sorry ’bout that, doll.” He winks and though it was obvious before, that smirk seals the deal and proves he isn’t sorry at all.

  “Not a problem, friend.” I put an emphasis on the word “friend,” since I know that’s what this is all about. I threw him into the friend zone and he isn’t man enough to take it.

  It’s not that I don’t want Deo.

  I do.

  I want to be back there in that Jeep with his hands grazing over my skin like that’s exactly what his hands were made to do. Because that’s what it felt like. It was like he knew just what to do with them, and that mouth… But that’s not reality. And the way Deo makes me feel is nothing more than magic. An illusion. Something that will disappear if I get too close to it or blow up in my face if I try to inspect it. I’ve just lost someone I loved, and I’m not sure my pulverized heart can take any more. Truth be told, I don’t have the strength to risk getting too close to someone I might fall for. And I have a feeling I might fall for Deo. Hard.

  The reality is, I have to protect myself from potential heartbreak, because there’s no way in hell the risk would be worth it. It’s better for me, right now, to stick with guys like Ryan. It’s just safer to be in a relationship where everything is out there on the table and there’s no chance for failure because there isn’t anything to lose.

  His cocky smirk falls at the word “friend” and I grin widely.

  “So, friend…” he begins in a voice so low only I can hear, and so full of sarcasm, it automatically triggers an eye roll from me.

  “I ran into Cara at the farmers’ market the other day,” Deo’s mom offers, not realizing we’re in the middle of a semi-hostile “friendly” discussion. I don’t know who Cara is, but Deo’s posture becomes a little stiffer at the mention of her name.

  “Ah, what a coincidence. I just saw Cara earlier today. She came over to hang out, like old times, if you know what I mean.” Deo stares at me while he talks, gauging my reaction. I give him nothing outwardly, but inside I’ve hired a dozen cabana boys to give me a hot oil rubdown while Deo cleans my Olympic-sized pool and seethes with jealous rage.

  A girl can have her exotic revenge dreams, can’t she?

  Deo’s mom tosses her head back and laughs loudly, her dark hair falling back over her shoulders like millions of strands of silky threads. “Oh, cut the shit, Deo. She showed me her ring.” Her face softens, and she narrows her light brown eyes in his direction. “It would make perfect sense if you were upset or thrown off by it, hon. She told me how unexpected the proposal was. Part of me always thought it would be the two of you. You and Cara had your fun when you were younger playing ‘rumple the foreskin—’”

  “Mom! As usual, too far!” Deo yells in a clear panic.

  I nearly spit my coconut milk across the table, which would be a damn shame because Deo’s mom warmed it with mulling spices, and I pretty much want to bathe in the stuff. This dinner is simultaneously one of the most enjoyable, sensory-rich events of my life and one of the most irritating, under-my-skin aggravating.

  “Oh, please. If you were trying to keep your business private, I wouldn’t have had to clean all those rubber wrappers off of your bedroom floor. Which, by the way—”

  “Mom, enough. I’m gonna go outside and have a smoke,” Deo says. He tosses his napkin onto the table and storms out.

  “I thought you quit,” Deo’s mom calls after him, but he doesn’t stop. The back screen door slams loudly. And then, it’s just me. And Rocko. And Marigold. And a whole lot of silence.

  “Can’t you just whip up some sweet love potion and feed it to these kids?” Rocko
asks, definitely only half-kidding. After this dinner party, I’m willing to believe Marigold really is some kind of amazing, mood-altering witch. I assumed it was just a green thumb and a lot of people willing to believe holistic healing mumbo-jumbo, but maybe there is an element of scary magic to her. And I’d rather not be on the receiving end of any of her potions in any case.

  “I’ll fix it,” I rush to assure them. I push away from the table. “Thanks for dinner, Marigold.”

  “No problem, sugar.” Her long hair falls into her face and Rocko is mesmerized. I haven’t even picked up my plate to bring it to the kitchen, but to them, I’ve evaporated.

  I shiver as I push through the screen door. It’s cooled off outside since I got to Marigold’s tiny beach house. I rub my hands up and down my bare arms like I’m trying to start a fire.

  “Hey,” I say. Deo is sitting in a lime green Adirondack chair that desperately needs a fresh coat of paint.

  “You cold?” he asks. Before I can answer, he’s out of the chair and pulling his hoodie up over his head. “Here, put this on.”

  I don’t object. I pull the thick cotton over my head, and it’s warm and smells like it’s been dipped in the ocean and hung to dry in the salty air.

  “Thanks. I thought you were coming to smoke?” I can’t help but notice that there are no cigarettes around.

  He drops back into the chair. “Mom’s right, I quit. Along with all my other vices, it appears.” He laces both hands behind his neck and exhales a long, sharp breath of frustration.

  I dig my feet into the cold sand, wondering how far they can sink if I let them. Could I just keep going? It’d be easier to hide from things underground.

  “Look, Deo, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Cara—”

  He rolls his eyes and gives me a defeated three-quarter smile. “Nothing is going on with me and Cara, or didn’t you catch that? We haven’t been anything in a long-ass time. I said all that because I was trying to get to you, obviously.”