Becoming His (5 page)

“And our youngest, Ace, and her best friend Abby. And then of course Zeus,” she adds with a wave of her hand as Zeus rests his head against my thigh.

Dad finishes loading chicken on a platter already covered with several steaks as my mom completes her introductions and carries it over to the patio table, instructing everyone to come eat.

I carefully balance my plate and cup with Zeus trailing so close I feel his cold, wet nose on the back of my calf with every other step I take to a seat beside Kyle and Abby.

As I sit down I catch the tail end of a joke I’m sure Kyle’s been dying to tell without Mindi around, since it’s rather crude, and smile as their laughter draws attention to us. Zeus sits under my chair and lets out a sigh as he stretches and rests his large head on my feet.

“He sure looks happy to have you home.” Sharon smiles at me as she takes a seat beside my mom.

“He is without a doubt her dog,” Mom says, glancing down at Zeus.

“He’s a mammoth,” Jameson joins my mom and Sharon, followed by Max and Landon. “How much does he weigh?”

“He’s about one seventy-five.” Jameson’s mouth drops at my response, making me smile.

“The way Mr. Janes talked about being concerned with you running alone with your dog, I pictured a Chihuahua.” Jameson earns laughter from the table, which he soaks in with a grin as he glances to Kendall. She’s engrossed with her cell phone, and nursing a beer, making her hangover façade a little more condemning.

“He’s a gentle giant. Mr. Janes is probably right,” Kyle teases, leaning forward in his seat to ruffle Zeus’s fur.

“That is the most faithful dog ever. If any one of the girls were in trouble, he’d spring into action,” Dad says confidently as he sits across from Max.

“Dad, Savannah and I had already moved out by the time you guys got Zeus,” Mindi challenges.

“He still knows you’re family.”

“What do you think, boy? Would you bite Marshall if he ever got a little too creepy?” Kyle teases, referring to a neighbor down the street.

“If?” Kendall cries, finally setting her phone down. “Have you not seen him lately? He’s surpassed the
too creepy
mark.”

“Kendall,” Mom chastises, “he’s just shy … and a bit awkward.” As she continues, it’s apparent she’s not buying her own words. “Y’all should probably stay away from him, but I’m sure he’s …” She drifts off and my dad gives a few dramatized nods making us all laugh.

“So, Max, you still like cars?” my dad asks casually as he begins salting his salad.

My eyes drift back to Max as I wait with anticipation for his response, as though his words are important. I realize as he confirms his interest with cars, and now motorcycles, that it’s not his words so much, but his voice. It’s warm and deep, masculine and rugged. I didn’t know a voice could be rugged.

“You’ll have to come check out my old Chevelle. She’s turning out beautifully.”

“She’s orange, Dad.” Kendall’s tone is sarcastic, reflective of her distaste for the authentic color choice he made.

“Which is why she’s named Clementine,” Dad responds. I love that old car. I’ve spent countless hours watching my dad create her from just the body, slowly adding parts and pieces until she became a car.

I look over at Abby as she knocks her knee against mine. She raises an eyebrow before nodding slightly toward the patio table to question my interest that’s apparently not as inconspicuous as I’d hoped. I quickly shake my head and work to move my focus to what she and Kyle are discussing. With some effort I engage in their conversation and avoid my curiosity as to what Max and my dad continue discussing.

Shortly after eating, Max stands up and clears his place. “We’ve got to get going or we’ll be late,” he says so quietly that if I wasn’t turned around listening to Kendall and Jameson bantering with one another, I would’ve missed it.

“I’m sorry to eat and run, but we’re supposed to be meeting some people,” Max says to our parents.

“That’s no problem. It was so good to see you and Jameson, and to meet you, Landon! Sharon’s been so anxious to have you boys home this summer. Please feel free to stop by anytime,” my mom says with an Oscar-worthy smile.

I feel relieved and strangely disappointed at their early departure.

M
y heavy eyelids blink reluctantly, feeling slightly dazed from the combination of my restless sleep and continued jet lag. I reach for my phone and see that it’s six. Somehow, even with the exhaustion, my mind seems to have reprogrammed my mental alarm clock.

Careful to not disturb Abby, I slip out of bed and pull on some running clothes. Zeus is on my heels as I enter the kitchen and find the scent of burnt toast and fresh coffee, traces that my dad’s been up. For as long as I can remember, my dad and I have shared this time to catch up with one another.

A sheet of paper on the kitchen bar catches my attention, and I wander over to find my dad’s familiar handwriting. It briefly explains he’s been called in early for an accident and promises me chocolate chip pancakes for tomorrow.

I head outside, not bothering to stop for coffee without him being there. The air is already a warm seventy-two, and I relish the sun’s rays on my bare arms as I stretch my calves and hamstrings, fighting the precarious desire to look over at the Millers’. The longing seems to intensify with each passing second leading me to hastily finish with my stretching and shove my earbuds in. I select a loud playlist that Kendall recently added and pat my thigh to get Zeus’s attention before setting off toward the park.

T
he following week I seem to be hyper aware of any activity coming in or out of the Millers’. I spend most of my time resigned to our backyard where I’m safe from my growing curiosity. From back here there isn’t much of the Millers’ I can see. Max’s bedroom is on the side of the house looking out over the front yard, and it’s directly across from mine.

I’d discovered this shortly after they’d moved in. It was one of the first times that I’d seen him since my mom dragged us over to meet the Millers the day that they moved in. Max had been decorating his room, hanging posters of random baseball players and bands that I’d never heard of. Thinking about this nine years later, the memory still makes me blush as I recall Max turning around and catching me standing frozen in my window staring at him. He stared back at me for a beat and then stalked to his window and closed the shade. Mortified, I’d closed my own as well, and it’s remained shut since.

F
riday night I stand in one of our upstairs bathrooms beside Kendall, who’s artfully shading her eyelids with a smoky charcoal, as we primp in preparation to attend a party at Karli Lincoln’s house.

This party is not something I’m willingly attending. Although I’ve been anxious to get out of the house and distract myself, I have no desire to go to a party thrown by Karli. Kendall had begged and pleaded for me to go, and Kendall is nothing if not insistent, refusing to be ignored. However, I’ve had nearly twenty years of practice and am fairly fluent. Eventually, when she realized that groveling wasn’t leading to her desired outcome, she pulled the ‘I kissed Kevin Murphy for you’ card.

She had … in a game of truth or dare that had occurred seven years ago.

Seven.

Years.

Yet she pulled it and I silently submitted because to this day the thought of having to kiss Kevin Murphy when that bottle landed on me during that game of spin the bottle still causes my stomach to lurch.

So here I am, pinning my hair into an impromptu updo that I’ve mastered with years of experience.

Glancing at my reflection, my gaze settles on my brown eyes staring back at me as I pry open another bobby pin with my teeth. I work to see the resemblance to my dad in them as I insert the hair pin. Where his are distinguishable and a warm molten brown, mine appear too big for my face and are such a dark shade of brown that it’s nearly indiscernible to see where my irises end and pupils begin. Before I have the chance to further scrutinize myself, I feel Kendall’s eyes on me and shift my focus to her light blues staring at me with a look that tells me she’s about to ask me what I’m thinking. To avoid her question I turn my attention to the eye-catching short denim skirt that she’s paired with a black sleeveless top and high black heels. She’s obviously dressed to catch attention tonight, and I briefly wonder what I’m in for.

“Why are you dressed for winter?”

“Winter?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I look down at my yellow skinny jeans and sheer white blouse covering a white tank top.

“A nun?” She reaches forward and tugs on my shirt in an attempt to reveal some cleavage. I bat her hand away in protest.

“We both know the crowd attracted to Karli’s parties,” I reply, fastening a final bobby pin into my hair.

“I know, that’s
why
we’re going. We both need to have some fun! You finally admitted you’re thinking of ending things with Eric. Let’s find you a hot rebound.”

I look at her and roll my eyes before flipping off the bathroom light and heading downstairs, leaving her to follow me. I had confided in Kendall after hearing for the ten thousandth time how much she loathes Eric that I’m starting to consider taking a break from him. Kendall’s used to this; she often calls me a serial dater. According to her I have commitment issues. All because prior to dating Eric, I dated a decent number of guys. She never could understand that just because I went on a date with someone, it didn’t mean I was in a relationship with them. You’d think that someone as high maintenance as my sister can be, she’d understand, but under Kendall’s high fashion and couldn’t-care-less attitude she often exudes is the most undeniably loyal person I know. She doesn’t bother dating people if she isn’t interested in a relationship, whereas I date people to see
if
I’m interested in being in a relationship.

I’ve been dating Eric for the past nine months and have silently considered ending things with him for the last seven. It isn’t that I’m necessarily bored with our relationship—okay, I’m sort of bored, but that hasn’t been the primary reason for my past relationships not lasting—I just have never felt that toe-curling, sweaty palms, all thoughts consuming kind of love that movies and books portray. It always makes me second guess my relationships until I eventually have myself thoroughly convinced that I’m not with the right person.

My relationship with Eric is really convenient. I take heavy class loads and require independence, and he never seems to protest like other guys that I dated at the beginning of the school year. When I need to study, or want to spend time with my family or friends, he never objects, largely because he’s often busy himself, so I think in a way he appreciates that I require so little of his time. During school we generally make an effort to hang out once a week, sometimes even less, and both of us seem completely satisfied with the commitment.

Watching Kendall act giddy and anxious all week in anticipation of running into Jameson causes my relationship of convenience to wear on me.

Eric has traits that had originally drawn me to him. He’s nice, smart, and incredibly ambitious. However, I quickly found that I can determine his reaction or words to nearly any scenario. I found this to be another convenient attribute initially and even considered that maybe it was a sign that we share a deeper relationship; after all, isn’t love all about knowing someone so deeply and completely that you’re able to know their thoughts and reactions? It didn’t take long before I found it to be boring, lacking both excitement and passion, each time I waited for him to do or say what I already knew he would. I’d begun to forget how mundane our relationship felt while I was in France, but Sunday had brought that dam of emotions back. His predictability nearly drowned me when he came into the bathroom to say he was leaving early.