Everything You Want (4 page)

Marissa

I jumped back, almost dropping the tray
of cookies I was holding.  I hadn’t even knocked yet, and there he was,
standing in his doorway, like he had been waiting for me.  Half a second
later, I realized that was a stupid thing to think.  He was going out, obviously. 

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “Were you
going somewhere?  I was just bringing these over.”  I tilted my head
towards the tray in my hand, my excuse for showing up on his doorstep. 
Who didn’t like chocolate chip cookies?  No one, that’s who.

“No, I was just…stepping out for some
air.  Do you want to come in?” he asked.

“Okay.”  Yes, I did.  I’d been
thinking about him all day, about what Greta said, about getting to know your
neighbors and all, and today seemed as good a day as any to start.  He
stepped aside and I walked into his apartment. 

I looked around.  It looked exactly
like mine, except like a guy lived there.  Plain, dark furniture, zilch
decoration, big TV.  It was surprisingly clean, though.  It was
probably cleaner than mine.

I walked into the kitchen and set the
tray down on the spotless counter.  “Would you like a cookie?  I
baked them on Saturday and I had a lot left over.”

“Yeah, thanks.  Can I make you some
coffee?” he asked, coming up behind me.  He leaned over me and reached
above my head, pulling a coffee can and filters out of the cabinet in front of
me.  I bit my lip as his chest grazed my back, and inhaled his clean,
fresh scent.

I unwrapped the foil from the cookies and
noticed he was filling up the coffee pot with water all the way to the
brim. 

“Oh, no coffee for me.  Thanks.”

“No coffee?  Do you not drink
caffeine this late?” he asked, scooping coffee grounds into the basket.

“No, I do.  I just don’t drink
coffee.  Period,” I said.

“No coffee?”  He scrunched his
nose.  “Freak.”

My eyes went wide and I burst out
laughing.  “Did you just call me a freak?”

“Yes.  Who doesn’t drink coffee?” he
asked, shaking his head, trying to hide his smiling eyes.

“I don’t,” I said, still laughing.

“Well, what do you drink then?” he asked.

“Everything except coffee.”

“Yeah, but what’s your favorite?”

“Sweet Tea.”  I smiled.

He made a face.  “Ugh, that’s
nasty.  So you’re a tea drinker, then?”

“I suppose so.” 

“Okay, let me see what I’ve got
here.”  He put away the coffee can and began to dig in his cabinets. 
“There it is,” he said a moment later.  “My sister left this stuff here
last time she stayed with me.”

He handed me a box.  I read the
label.  “Blackberry sage?”

“Yeah.  I’ll brew you some.” 
He dug a pan out, filled it with water, and set it on the stove to boil. 

He took the tray of cookies and brought
them into the living room.  He picked a stack of papers off the coffee
table and shoved them into a messenger bag beside the couch.

“What’s all that?”

“Homework,” he replied, sitting down on
the couch.

“That’s a lot of homework,” I said,
joining him.

He laughed.  “No, not my
homework.  It’s my students’ homework.  I’m grading it.”

“Oh.  You’re a teacher?” I asked,
surprised.  Of all the career fields I had imagined him in, that wasn’t
one of them.

“Yes.”

“What do you teach?”

“I teach algebra to ninth graders,” he
said, biting into a cookie.

Then I was the one who made the
face. 

He chuckled.  “It’s really not that
bad.  Sometimes I even like it.”  He winked at me and my heart
skipped a beat.

I took a cookie and nibbled on it, even
though I was far from hungry. 

“This is a good cookie.  Your cake
was good, too.  You should be a baker.  If you’re not already, that
is.”

I smiled.  “I’m not.  I’ve
thought about it, but it’s not really that practical.  Baking is just a
hobby for me.  It’s kind of how I wind down.  I don’t want to screw that
up by making a job out of it.”

He nodded.  “So what do you do,
then?”

“I work at a bank.”

“Do you like it?”

“Not really.”

“Then why don’t you do something else?”

“Believe me, I’m trying.  I must
have, like, fifty résumés out there right now.  It’s just hard to find a
job right now, I guess.”

“I’ve heard that.”

Kieran walked into the kitchen and
grabbed two mugs out of a cabinet.  He filled one with coffee and the
other with the boiling water from the pot on the stove.  He popped a tea
bag in the second one and brought them both into the living room. 

“Here you go.  Let me know if you
like it.  My sister’s crazy about it.” 

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the warm
mug.

As he sipped his coffee, I looked him
over.  His hair was pulled back and he was wearing black pants and a long
sleeved red shirt.  It was ninety-five degrees outside.  I knew I was
probably out of line, but suddenly I had to know.  “Is that why you always
wear long sleeves?  Because you’re a teacher and you have to cover up all of
your tattoos or something?”

Coffee spewed from his mouth.  “All
my tattoos?”  He laughed.  “What makes you think I have a bunch of
tattoos?”

I shrugged and stared down into my mug,
trying to hide my embarrassment.  “Do you?”

“No.”  He smiled, getting up and
going into the kitchen for a napkin to wipe himself off.  “I mean, I do, but
only a couple. I got them when I was young and stupid and I don’t plan on
getting anymore.”

“And they’re on your arms?”

“No.  One is on my back and the
other one is on my chest,” he said, touching the place where each tattoo was.

“What’s the one on your chest?”

“I’d rather not say.  It’s sort of
embarrassing.  I’m actually in the process of having it removed.”

“Okay, how about the one on your back?” I
asked.

“It’s a Gemini.”

“A Gemini?”  I snickered.  “Is
that your star sign?”  I was never much for astrology.

“No, I’m a Scorpio.”

“Then why do you have a Gemini tattoo?”

“Because I’m a twin.”

“You’re a twin?  That’s cool. 
What’s your brother’s name?”

“Sister.  Her name is Kiera.  She
lives in New York.  And she has the same tattoo, in the same place.”

“Kieran and Kiera?”

“Yes, they’re very similar.”  He
smiled and rolled his eyes.  “It’s actually very annoying.  If I ever
have twins I’m naming them something completely different.”

 “That’s probably a good
idea.”  I laughed, lifting the mug I was holding up to my mouth and taking
a sip.  “Mmm.  I’ve never had hot tea before, but this is really
good.”

“You’ve never had hot tea?  You’re
not much of a tea drinker, then, are you?” he teased.

“No, I am.  Just iced.  And
very, very sweet.  There’s this place downtown where I eat lunch that has
excellent sweet tea.  It’s like drinking pure sugar.  I’d buy a
gallon of it to take home if they sold it that way.”

We sat eating cookies and drinking our
drinks for a few minutes before I remembered what I had initially asked him
about.  “So, if you’re not covering something up, what is it?”

“Hmm?” he asked, looking at me over his
coffee mug.

“The sleeves,” I prompted.  “Are you
cold natured?”

“No, that’s not it.  I was in a car accident
a few years ago, and my arm…” he trailed off, looking away from me.  After
a few seconds he said quietly, “I just don’t like to look at it, or for other
people to see it.”

“Oh,” I said, immediately regretting that
I’d asked.

We sat in silence for a few moments more
before he spoke again.  “So, seriously.  Why did you think I had a
ton of tattoos?  I mean, besides the sleeves.”

“I don’t know.  I
guess—”  I laughed, embarrassed.  “I guess you just kind of
have this dangerous aura.”

“Dangerous aura?” he repeated, amused. 
“That is…”  He burst out with laughter.  “I don’t even know.”

“Stop!” I said, but I was laughing
too.  “You’re the one that wanted to know.”

“Is it my hair?  Because I only wear
it like this because I look like an idiot with short hair.  And I wear it
up most of the time anyway, because of my job.”

“No, not really.  I think it’s just
the way you carry yourself, maybe.”

He laughed.  “I’m not
dangerous.  Far from it.”

“Yeah, I know that now.”

“So were you, like, afraid of me?” he
asked.

“No!  I was never afraid of
you.  I said I thought you had a dangerous aura, not that I thought you
were actually dangerous.”  I was really digging myself in deep.  The
conversation just kept getting worse.

“Oh, so you don’t mean like a scary
dangerous?”

“No.”

“You mean more like a hot kind of
dangerous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I looked down at the floor.  I could
feel my cheeks flaming.

“Wait, do you?” he asked.  “I was joking,
but if you think I’m hot I’m not going to argue with you,” he teased.

I glanced up at him, wishing I could just
crawl under a rock somewhere.  “I didn’t say that.”

“So, you don’t think I’m dangerously hot?”

I knew he was just messing with me, but
it didn’t lessen my embarrassment.

I sucked in a deep breath and looked back
down.  “I didn’t say that.”

I expected him to comeback with another teasing
reply, and when he didn’t I looked back up at him.  He was leaning back on
the couch with a thoughtful look in his eyes, and a small, pleased smile on his
lips.  “So how about that tea?” he asked when he noticed me looking at
him.  “Do you want a refill?  I have plenty more.”

“Oh, no.  I’m good, thanks.  I
actually need to get going.  I’ve got a few things to do tonight before I
go to bed, and it’s about time for me to take the dog out, so…”

“Okay,” he said, standing up. 
“Thanks for bringing the cookies over.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Feel free to bring over some more cookies,
or cakes, or pastries or whatever.  Anytime.” 

He opened the door for me and I walked
out into the balmy summer evening.  “Sure, no problem,” I said.

We stood there and smiled at each other
for a moment before I turned and walked back to my apartment.  When I
heard the door shut behind me I paused before sticking my key in the
lock.  A slow smile crept across my face.  Yeah, I could see myself
making him some more cookies, or cakes, or pastries or whatever.

Kieran

“I’m too old for this crap, Ollie.”

“Just five more minutes,” my friend,
Ollie whispered.

I crossed my arms and sighed.  “This
is stupid.  I can’t get busted for being out here.  I’m a
teacher.  I’m pretty sure defacing property is frowned upon.”

“Five more minutes!” Ollie whispered
louder.  “You know, you used to be a lot more fun.”

“Yeah, I used to be a lot more drunk,” I
mumbled, and walked back over to where my best friend, Shannon, and his
fiancée, Alisha, were still sitting in the parked car a few feet away.

I never thought I’d feel like an old man
at twenty-four, but I did.  It wasn’t so bad when it was just Shannon and
me, but with Ollie…

“It’s creepy out here.  Looks like a
good place to get mugged,” Alisha complained as I climbed into the backseat. 

“Yep,” I agreed.

  I watched Ollie as he finished
tagging the old underpass.  “Done!” he gave us the thumbs up and shoved
the spray paint cans back in his backpack.

“Good,” I said, quietly enough that only
Shannon and Alisha could hear me. 

Ollie considered himself to be an artist,
and he really wasn’t bad. He was actually the one who got me into the whole sketching
thing.  Ollie was serious about his art.  I liked most of his stuff,
and thought maybe he could make a living at it if he put in enough time and
effort.  He was just a little too old to still be using graffiti as a
means of artistic expression.  His reasoning was that he could reach a
wider audience that way.

“You know, this is why I never take you
guys anymore.  You’re always rushing me.”

“Because if we get caught we would
probably lose our jobs.  We need them to pay for things, you know,” I
said.

“Not to mention this place looks like a
crime scene,” Alisha muttered.

Ollie glared at us.  “I can’t help
it.  I was inspired and I needed to get it down, and the guys I normally
go with now were busy.”