Contradictions (13 page)

“Did she see you hit it?”

“Yeah, go figure. She was outside picking up her paper, which is why I hit it in the first place. She distracted me and I didn’t see the patch of ice. I turned the wheel a little too hard and wound up jumping the curb.” Reanna gave me a pained look before continuing. “She was yelling and hollering that I had tried to run her over on purpose.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because she knows I’ve disliked her since she ratted on me senior year when Tommy Heckler and I were just about ready to do the deed in the front seat of his pickup truck. Nothing like trying to get everything in the right place only to look up and see some old lady’s face squished against the window. Talk about things going flat.”

I nodded my head knowingly. There was nothing like those moments when a parent or other adult walked in on you. Jackson and I had had our share of mishaps with his mom.

“Anyway, she went screaming over to my house that I was trying to kill her, so I did the only thing I could.”

“You really did run her over?” I teased, still laughing. I bent over to check the mini fridges under the counter to make sure the whipped cream and milk jugs were filled. Saturdays were notoriously busy at Javalotta, and nothing sucked more than having to run to the stockroom for supplies midway through a rush. It was never good to make coffee lovers wait for their next caffeine fix.

“Funny. I should have run her ass over. No, I peeled off down the road like I had no idea what was going on.”

“Okay, so it’s your word against hers,” I joked.

“Sadly, she has proof,” she said, looking embarrassed as she filled the napkin dispensers.

“What did she do? Snap a picture?”

“Um, no. Her mailbox—well, it’s sorta wedged under the back bumper of my car.”

I looked at her, waiting for her to continue, while trying not to laugh since she looked so distressed.

“See, when I hit it at first, it sorta flew into the road from the momentum of the crash. I panicked because she was screaming like a lunatic, so I tried to speed away, and I ran it over on my way down the street. It somehow got wedged up under my car.”

There was no way I could suppress my laughter anymore.

“The funny part was the god-awful noise it made as I was driving here,” she said, joining in on my laughter over the story. I was wiping away tears when Carl, one of the other employees, joined us.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, placing a till in one of the registers.

“She, sh-sh,” I tried to explain, but I dissolved into more laughter. I held my side, trying to ease the stitch from laughing so hard.

Carl looked at Reanna to elaborate. “It’s not as funny as she’s making it,” she said, trying not to laugh as she stacked cups in one of the dispensers.

Her comment made me laugh again. I left her to explain it to Carl while I went to Larry’s office to retrieve my own till.

“What’s going on out there? Sounds like someone let in a pack of hyenas.”

“You’ll have to ask Reanna. I’m not sure I could get through the story,” I said, laughing again.

The story of Reanna’s mishap ran through the entire coffeehouse as the day progressed. We began to make bets on which customers would comment on the car that had a mailbox stuck under it. I cleaned up. The informers were easy to spot. They were the ones who walked in the door backward since they were busy gaping at the mailbox like it was roadkill. In a way, it was.

At three o’clock, the next shift of employees showed up, and Reanna left with a grinding noise as she drove off with the mailbox still attached. We all watched from the window to see the fountain of sparks coming up behind her car from the metal mailbox rubbing against the asphalt. The morning crew laughed before heading out, leaving the afternoon crew and me feeling bereft now that our source of entertainment was gone.

The steady stream of customers that was typical for a Saturday continued all afternoon and into the evening. The time was flying by, even though I found myself checking my phone more often than normal. I had to give credit to Liz and Larry for putting together a great crew. We ran like a well-oiled machine.

“You seem pretty antsy tonight,” Heather observed as I pulled my phone out to check the clock for the umpteenth time in the last hour. “Is there some killer party I need to know about?”

“Not that I know of,” I answered offhandedly, hoping she’d drop it. I stepped up to the counter so I could ring up the energy drink a pimply kid had plunked on the counter. I handed him back his change.

“Tressa, Queen of All Parties, doesn’t know if there’s anything going on tonight? Are you holding out on me?”

I sighed. That really was my reputation. How sad my college legacy would be. “I have a date,” I said, trying to save face, even though I had intended to keep my date with Trent on the down low.

“Oh, even better. Spill.” She leaned against the counter with sudden interest.

Seeing no out, I gave her an abridged version of my impending date. Her questions made it easy since she was all about the physical stuff. It was easy to describe Trent’s physique in great detail. Heather sighed with pleasure as I talked about his abs and of course his eyes, which were his best feature. By the time I finished talking, I felt like everything in me was a puddle of liquid heat. Being sexually deprived was muddling my brain.

Trent, who normally couldn’t keep track of time to save his life, showed up at my apartment at nine thirty on the nose. I was in the middle of trying to squeeze into my favorite skinny jeans when he knocked on the front door. Derek and Cameo weren’t home yet, which meant I had to bounce my way to the door to get my jeans pulled up over my hips, which have always been on the curvy side. After I managed to shimmy my jeans on and button them up, I smoothed my shirt down and opened the door.

“You’re early. Come on in,” I stated, backing up toward my room for my long socks and boots.

He looked at his watch as he stepped through the doorway. “I said I’d be here at nine thirty.” I thought that was funny. It seemed like no one wore watches anymore. I remembered thinking I was cool when my older cousin, Jamie, had bought me a Relic watch when I was fourteen. I never touched it again after my parents gave me my cell phone.

“Yeah, but you’re always late,” I answered as I ducked into my room to get the rest of my stuff.

His answer was muddled but pretty much sounded like a denial. I pulled on my socks and boots and then headed to my bathroom to spray perfume and touch up my makeup. I wasn’t sure where Trent planned to take me. Probably some comic book store.

I threw on my jacket and we headed out. I was wrong about the comic book store, but where we ended up wasn’t much better.

“This is where you decided to take me?” I don’t think I could have guessed the Halloween megastore if I had been given ten chances, but there we were nonetheless.

“Sure. I know you don’t have a costume. Tonight’s as good a night as any to get yours,” he said, opening his car door.

“How do you know I don’t have one?” I climbed from the car and into the cool night temperatures.

“You mentioned it Monday when we saw that kid wearing a wolf mask outside the library.” He started walking toward the brightly lit Halloween store.

“So? I don’t need one. I’m not going to any parties this year.” I wasn’t overly sad about missing the campus parties. Last year I had gotten completely wasted after the third party of the night. Waking up in the living room of some frat house with vomit that you’re not entirely sure is yours is not the best feeling.

“I thought you said you were going to Woodfalls for the festival.” He opened the door of the store and a blast of warm air enveloped us as we walked in.

I didn’t answer him right away since I was awestruck. I’d never seen so many costumes. Aisles and aisles of them. I wondered why Cameo and I had felt the need to slave over making our own costumes when a store like this existed.

“You are going, right?”

“Huh?” I asked, running my fingers over a black wig that would have been perfect for my Cleopatra costume last year. Instead, I used temporary dye for my hair, which ended up dyeing my neck too.

Trent stepped in front of me, cutting off my view of the costume wonderland in front of me. “Halloween festival. Woodfalls?”

“I guess I’m going, but I didn’t intend to dress up.”

“You have to dress up,” he said, grabbing me by the wrist and leading me down one of the endless rows of outfits. “How about this one?” He reached into the rack and pulled out a short beer maiden’s costume.

“Did it two years ago, except my skirt was shorter.”

“Uh, of course it was,” he said, adjusting his glasses. I smirked at his reaction. His responses to some of my comments were flattering.

“How about this?” I asked, pulling on a mask from a popular slasher film franchise. Brittni and I had watched all the movies when we were freshmen. For months afterward, I would call her up and ask her in a creepy voice if she liked scary movies.

“The first movie wasn’t bad, but the rest were pretty ridiculous,” Trent said, handing me a fake butcher knife so I could get the full effect in a mirror at the end of our row.

“My mom probably wouldn’t be thrilled if I showed up to the festival wearing this.”

“No, but you’d get cool points from your brother.”

“Maybe I should get it for the snot runt.” I pulled the mask off and patted my hair back in place.

We rounded the corner into a new row that looked like Disney princesses had puked in it. “Wow, talk about princess fetishes.” I’d somehow been lucky enough to escape the love affair every girl seemed to have with wanting to be a princess.

Trent held up a yellow monstrosity of a dress. “What, you never wanted to be Belle?”

“No, thanks,” I answered disdainfully, leaving the aisle behind.

The next aisle was much more my speed. It was like a blast from cartoon heaven. Trent and I spent a good thirty minutes in the cartoon aisle trying on different masks and headgear. I couldn’t resist pulling out my phone and snapping a picture for Brittni of Trent wearing a Johnny Bravo mask. Johnny Bravo held a special place in our hearts. I posted the picture on Instagram also. I ignored the message section that showed I had more than a thousand comments on pictures I had posted.

The next few aisles were kid costumes, so Trent and I skipped over them. I couldn’t help giggling when he dragged me down a superhero aisle like a kid who had just spotted Santa Claus. His major geek came out when he picked up a Green Lantern ring and quoted something that sounded like a pledge.

“Do I even want to know how you knew that entire thing?” My attitude changed when I spotted a Princess Leia costume, complete with a freaking cinnamon roll–looking wig. I wasn’t much of a sci-fi nut, but I’d always been obsessed with Han Solo. Mom told me that when I was little they dug out my dad’s collection of action figures from when he was a kid and I instantly zoned in on the Han Solo and Princess Leia figures. I was like three at the time. I recently saw a movie with the guy who played Han Solo and he’s totally some old dude now. I can’t believe I had crushed on him so hard.

I held up the costume, which was completely impractical for Maine since the belly was bare and all, but I wanted it. Bad.

“That’s the costume you like?” Trent asked in a strangled voice.

I turned my attention away from the costume in my hand to eye him, wondering what the big deal was. “Yeah. Why?” His eyes were practically bugging out.

“You know that’s from a major ‘geek movie,’ as you like to put it, right? Maybe you’d like one of the costumes over there,” he said, pointing to a nurse costume.

“I know which movie this comes from,” I said, clutching it to my chest. “What’s your deal? You wanted me to pick a costume, and now you’re going to get all judgmental? What, you don’t like
Star Wars
or something?”

“Are you kidding? It’s the biggest cinematic movie of its generation. It revolutionized how movies were being made.”

“Okay, so what’s your deal with Princess Leia? Let me guess, you hated that a woman got to kick some ass? That’s a pretty sexist attitude,” I said, stalking off to one of the mirrors so I could try on the wig.

“I don’t have a problem with Princess Leia,” he said as he came up behind me, looking embarrassed.

It took a minute for the pieces to click into place. “Ah, I see. You have a thing for Princess Leia. You don’t think I’ll make a good one?” I didn’t know if I should be pissed or hurt.

“That’s not it,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“Then what is it?” I pressed, stepping closer to him. He took a step back, hitting the rack behind him. A couple wigs fell at his feet, but he didn’t notice.

“Well?” I asked, stepping even closer. This was the first time I had invaded his space and it felt oddly invigorating.

He mumbled under his breath, looking at a loss for words.

“I didn’t catch that,” I said, running my finger up his arm. There was a special place in hell for me for messing with him, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

He turned the tables on me when he placed his hands on my hips, stopping me from stepping closer. His hands resting intimately on the curves of my hips evoked a feeling of want that was so strong I wanted to crush myself against him. I wanted to feel those hands guiding me with a whole lot less clothing on.

“My only objection with that costume is being able to keep my hands off you. I’m trying to take things slow so I don’t scare you off. If you wear this costume, you’ll be fulfilling every fantasy I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” I said, getting a taste of what he’d just felt. I stood contemplating what he’d admitted. He’d all but told me he fantasized about me. This should have jerked me to my senses, caused me to ease off, but it did neither of those things. If anything, his words made the desire I’d been holding back rise to a near boiling point that throbbed through me as completely as the bass had in my car earlier that day.

His eyes were on mine. I watched as they darkened and I could practically see my own reflected in them. Did he sense I was entertaining thoughts of jumping his bones? Did he know I was imagining what those hands would feel like elsewhere?

A voice squawked across a loudspeaker telling us that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes.

“So you have a thing for Princess Leia,” I finally said, stepping back so I could control my hormones.

“I hate to break it to you, but half the male population had a thing for Princess Leia,” he replied.

“Really?” I asked, adjusting the wig. “Why?”

“That costume, right there,” he said, pointing to my selection. “The gold bikini from
Return of the Jedi
. She looked, you know, sexy.”

“Oh, well, now I have to get it,” I declared, heading for the registers. I was pretty sure I heard Trent mumble something about how I’d been warned. I smiled.

There was a small line at the register and I nearly groaned when I spotted Chuck standing two customers ahead of us. I was tempted to dump the Princess Leia costume and leave before he could spot me. He had tried to call me a couple times after his asinine behavior at the frat party. I only answered once and that was to tell him to stop calling me.

Trent pulled two suckers out of his pocket. “Tootsie Pop?”

Dragging my eyes from the back of Chuck’s head, I snorted, eyeing the candy Trent was offering me. It reminded me that Chuck had never offered me anything when we were together.

“Thanks,” I said, accepting the sucker as the line moved forward. Chuck placed a hockey mask on the counter and pulled out his wallet. I tried to maneuver my body so that Trent was blocking me from view as Chuck finished his purchase and turned to leave. I knew before he even said my name he had spotted me.

“Tressa? What are you doing here? Girl, are you done breaking my balls and ready to go out with me again?” He stepped to me, not giving Trent a thought.

I rolled my eyes, unsure what I had seen in the asshole. He was nothing but a party buddy, which was an aspect of my life I was glad to leave behind. “You’re joking, right?” I asked as the line moved forward.

A hard look crossed his face and I turned away. Chuck was nothing but a blowhard.

My amusement disappeared when Trent stepped between us. I placed a hand on his shoulder, not relishing the idea of scraping him off the floor after Chuck was done pounding him.

Chuck looked like he wanted to say something else, but with a small audience of customers, he thought better of it. “Whatever,” he said, shaking his head as he walked out of the store.

I let out a pent up breath and turned to Trent, ready to tell him we had dodged a bullet. I was surprised to see he was looking at me incredulously.

“What?” I asked, placing my costume on the counter.

He shook his head. “You seemed relieved that your pal left without saying anything else.”

“One, he’s not my pal. Two, I’m relieved that he didn’t accept your silent, but unnecessary challenge. He would have wiped the ground with you.” I took my bag from the cashier and walked toward the exit.

“I’m insulted,” Trent said, following me.

“Don’t be. Chuck is a big lug. He’d put most guys on their asses,” I said, climbing into the car.

Trent closed my door and walked around to his own side. “How do you know I can’t take care of myself, especially when defending my woman?”

I raised my eyebrows. It was sweet that he was willing to stick up for me, but I wasn’t crazy about him thinking I was his girl. I chose to ignore him as I buckled my seat belt.

“So, is that it?” I asked as he started the car and backed out of the parking space. Sure, the date was unconventional and didn’t exactly feel like any of the dates I’d ever gone on, but until we ran into Chuck I had been having fun, which had been sadly lacking in most of my dates.

“You don’t seriously think the date’s over, do you? I’m not letting you off that easily. I haven’t even fed you yet.”

“I hate to break it to you, geeky, but you’re not going to find any restaurants open this late unless you’re thinking fast food,” I said, pulling out my phone to show him the time.

“That works perfectly.” He looked unconcerned, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Taco Bell?” I teased, trying to come up with places that were open late. I had plenty of after-party experience with that.

He shook his head.

“Wendy’s?”

“No way, I hate that place,” he said.

“What?” I asked, completely scandalized. “How can you hate Frosties? I think that’s classified as un-American. They’re perfect to dip french fries in.”

“They’re overrated. Give me a chocolate shake any day. Gross on the fry thing, though,” he said, turning down several side streets that were lined with warehouses.

“No way. Fries dipped in ice cream should be added as a food category.” I peered out the window as he slowed the vehicle down and turned into a gravel parking lot behind a nondescript building. The exterior paint of the building was peeling so badly that the industrial steel beneath it gleamed in the moonlight. It had definitely seen better years, like twenty or thirty years ago.

I would have thought I was in an episode of
Dexter
and Trent was leading me to a plastic-draped room if not for the relatively full parking lot.

“Ready for phase two of our date?”