One (9 page)

"Pax." I
don't know I've whispered his name until I see his eyes flicker down
to my mouth. Self-conscious, my tongue snakes out, licking my
suddenly dry lips.

"Jules," he
says my name so softly I briefly wonder if I imagined it.

"You should trust
me," I whisper.

His nose touches mine.
"Should I?"

"Yes," I
breathe. If I attempt any more words our mouths might touch.

He pulls back to stare
down at me. One finger traces the curve of my chin. "Beautiful
liar." He doesn't say it like an insult. He says it with a hint
of… longing. I shake my head, and that movement brings Pax's finger
right into the softness inside my mouth. An audible groan emits from
him, and abruptly he jumps off. He mutters something as he puts a
hand through his hair.

"I should be more
careful with you," he says. "You have a way of making me
forget."

I come up on my elbows.
"Forget what?"

"That you're not
mine."
Yet.
The unspoken word hangs between us.

I wait for the alarms
to ring in my head, for my subconscious to start whispering thoughts
of fleeing. But nothing happens. There is a strange buzz in my body,
but it's a silent hum; a vibration of something I can't name.

Pax doesn't wait for me
to respond to his confession. He walks to the sink and reaches up to
the cabinets. From this angle I can see the indentation by his hips
as his shirt rides up. The slip of skin is tan and looks as hard as
he'd felt. I avert my eyes when he walks back. "Ready Madame
artist?" he asks me in a horrible French accent.

"
Oui
,"
I respond, just as horrifically.

Pax walks to the middle
of the room. "Should I lie here naked for you?" He's back
to his amusing self, and the heat from moments before is no longer
here, locked away in a corner until one of us unleashes it again.

"How about not."

"Do I detect a
hint of disappointment?"

"You detect a hint
of irritation," I retort with a smile. "All your talking is
messing with my creative flow," I say as I bring a chair and
place it in front of the easel. I find a nice sharp pencil on a shelf
nearby, and flip my hair back as I prepare to sketch him. "Grab
one of those chairs," I instruct. He obeys, lifting the chair
over his head before he places it in the middle of the room. Pax
slides into the seat, adjusting himself as he puts an arm over the
back, and his other hand in front of him. I've never seen anyone look
so sexy so casually, and I have to focus on the white paper in front
of me to help slow my breathing.

What is it about
this guy?
I wonder as I lift the pencil up.
Why am I more
aware of him than of any one
ever
before?
Sneaking another glance at him I note the smoldering gaze
that he flashes at me as he looks up through thick eyelashes. His
gaze is capable of penetrating a person's soul, and yet I've seen his
eyes smile so brightly it's all I can do not to drown in it. Who is
he? Is he the handsome, smoldering quarterback from Mad Town? Or is
he the all-star who learned to smile through hardship? Suddenly, I
know how I want to sketch him.

"Don't move,"
I tell him. "I need to look at you."

"I like a woman
who takes charge," he smirks.

"Try not to
blink," I continue as my pencil touches the paper.

"That might hurt."

"No pain, no
gain," I say as my hand starts to move, outlining his form.

I never used to draw or
paint. I never used to do much of anything other than work and dream
of a time when things might get easier. Grandma told me my mom didn't
paint until she became a teenager when she finally realized dreams
weren't real, and the only things worth doing in life were tangible
and instant. So like Grandma, she began to use art to take her away,
but it never could take her far enough. It became such a struggle
that one day she left and never returned. The last I heard of her was
three years ago when she was indicted on her fourth charge of
prostitution and sentenced to ten years in jail. She had been in
Florida at the time. I can't even remember what she looks like.

I found Grandma's art
tools after she died. Grandma wasn't the neatest person but her tools
were kept in pristine condition, carefully organized to preserve the
life of each brush and every color. I'm not a good artist, not
compared to Grandma, but I learned to appreciate an outlet where my
emotions could go. I found it was better to bleed on paper than it
was to cry alone. It didn't hurt as much.

My eyes waver back to
Pax, lingering on the smooth lines of his body as one leg is bent at
a ninety-degree angle with his shin resting on a thigh. The position
isn't arrogant or humble; it's confident. Pax oozes it from every
pore. It's the confidence of a man who has dealt with something
difficult, and came out for the better because of it. It's the
confidence of a man much older than he.

I stop. What do people
see when they look at
me
?

I am so frozen in my
thoughts I don't hear Pax when he clears his throat loudly.

"You okay, Jules?"

I blink, coming back to
life. "Hmm…What? Yes, fine."

"Really? Because
it seemed like you were daydreaming." He pauses. "About
me." I gape at him. "You don't have to dream about it
because I'm here in the flesh. If you want," he continues, "you
can come over here and sit on my lap, and you can just
feel
your way through the drawing," he suggests wickedly.

"No, thank you,"
I say with every ounce of Midwestern sweetness I can muster.

"Ouch. Rejected."

I focus on my sketch of
his face. I darken his pupil, trying to create the right amount of
shading to show what I see.

"You want to know
a theory?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "My theory is
that a pretty nice girl can't reject a guy twice in two minutes. It
goes against their midwestern values." I pause, unable to tune
him out.
Where is he going with this?
"So I know you'll
have to accept my next offer. Jules Hendricks, will you go out on a
date with me?"

My pencil drops to the
floor.

"I'll take that as
a yes."

My head swerves past
the easel to glare at him.
Is this because he's seen my cleavage?
I think suspiciously.
Do I emit slut vibes?
"I don't
think that's a good idea," I finally say.

"Why not?" he
challenges.

"I don't really
know you."

"That's the point
of a date. You
get
to know each other."

"I'm not
interested," I lie.

"You like women?
Because I'm okay with that, too."

I almost laugh, but I
catch myself in time. "Was this all a ruse to get me here so you
could ask me out on a date?" I ask, indicating the pencil and
easel in front of me.

"It may or may not
have been." I don't say anything to that. "I would've asked
you the night I met you, but you weren't in the right state of mind
to accept," he admits. A pause. "There's something so
interesting about you, Jules. I can't quite put my finger on it yet,"
he confesses quietly.

"We're all unique
in our own way," I say casually as I continue to sketch. There's
silence as I work. Soon, all words and thoughts evaporate from my
head. I keep the image of what I see when I think about Pax in my
head. When I'm done, I stand up, pushing the chair behind me.

"Finished
already?" Pax yawns loudly.

"Yes." I take
a step back to admire my work. It's different, and not what he would
expect, but I like it. "Do you want to see?" I ask shyly.

He nods, getting up and
stretching as he does so. I move back to give him more access. When
his gaze settles on the sketch, he balks. "Jules!"

I'm not surprised by
his reaction. "It's different, but I like it," I say.

Pax points to the
sketch. "You drew my face as an old man on a little boy's body!"
He sounds so outraged I have to force myself not to smile.

Calmly, I gaze back at
him. "The old man represents the new wisdom you have about
life," I inform him. "I drew you on a little boy's body
because your body battled something harsh, and came out stronger. You
healed like a boy, but inside you're a man." I point to the
slice of chest muscle I'd sketched underneath the little boy shirt.
"You're a contradiction of many things, Pax," I say softly,
gazing into piercing emerald eyes. "Sometimes it's confusing,
but its unique and beautiful," I finish quietly.

We stay unmoving for
several moments, lost in each other's gaze. The artificial light
enhances his tan, outlining every muscular definition on his body.
For the first time, I let myself think about how handsome this man
is; about how girls dream about princes like him to take them away.

Pax breaks the silence.
"I don't care how creative it is." He points to the sketch
of his bald head. "You owe me. And we're going on that date."

Five years earlier

The car rolls to the
curb promptly at 11:05 pm. I flip the face of my watch back, and grin
widely, waving to the people inside. The door opens and I rush in,
grabbing my backpack.

"Hi," Livvie
greets me in an excited whisper. She's squeezed between a guy I don't
know and
him
.

"Hi," I
respond shyly. I shut the door behind me, and the car instantly roars
to life. I don't turn back to look at the cracked blue house we pass
by. Instead, I face away, staring at Livvie, and feeling a nervous
thrill I can't quite contain. "Hey Josh," I try to say
casually.

He smiles warmly at me
and the nerves turn into butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Hi
Julie."

"Jules," I
correct him softly.
It's a common mistake,
I tell myself as I
tug at a tendril of hair.

"I hear you're in
the eighth grade," he continues, his blue eyes looking me up and
down. I shift uneasily as a blush forms over my face. I'd changed
into the sparkly top and denim skirt behind the neighbor's bush, and
for a second I wonder if I should've worn something different.
Glancing at Livvie, I notice she's wearing something similar. There's
only one mall close by, and only two stores girls my age like to shop
at so I'm not surprised we're dressed almost the same, down to the
same dark denim skirt.

"Yes," I
reply. "I'll be in high school soon," I add as an
afterthought. Josh is a junior. I try to sit a little straighter,
hoping to look older. My hands, rough from years of hard work, slide
over my exposed thighs as I look toward the night. Suddenly, I wonder
if they can still smell the fish on me. I'd spent an hour trying to
scrub it off, but I'd also spent the whole day catching and cleaning
fish for a local seafood market. Odd jobs like this are normal for
me. Because I'm under age I "work under the table" and the
owners pay me in cash. Usually I give everything to Grandma, but this
time I kept a little something for myself so I could buy this outfit
for tonight. I'd felt incredibly guilty for doing it, but I silently
promised I'd work harder next time to earn it back for her.

I think about Grandma,
lying soundlessly asleep in her bed, bone weary from another hard day
at the farm. I'd crept past her silent as a ghost as I opened the
window to sneak out. Even as my foot touched the grass, I couldn't
suppress the pang of guilt at deceiving her. She works so hard. Today
she went to the farm. It's located two hours away, and a truck picks
her up every other day. After she is dropped off, she hikes for over
an hour before she reaches her destination. I know this because I've
gone once with her before. It's backbreaking work, and she shouldn't
be doing it, but she tells me the owners treat her well. They give
enough to tie us over for the winter months when jobs are scarce.

"You going to stay
out all night with us, Jules?" Josh asks, breaking into my
thoughts.

I hesitate. "Well…
what time are you planning to go home?" I stall.

"When the sun
starts rising," he answers with a laugh.

I catch Livvie's eyes.
She never told me we'd be out that late. I bite my lip, abruptly
wondering about my decision to come.

"Hey," Josh
puts a finger to my chin, raising my face to his. "We'll get you
home safely. Don't you worry." The way he says it doesn't make
me feel any better. I look to Livvie again. Her eyes are narrowed,
daring me to object. She has a look on her face like she's regretting
asking me. She wants to stay. She wants to be included. I do, too.

"We're here."
The car slows to a stop. Everyone jumps out. I prepare to do so but
Josh clasps my elbow. "Stay with me," he says in a low
voice. "You're my date for the night."

My heart drops to my
stomach. His
date
? I can't stop the grin cracking my face. My
first date, and it's with
Josh
. Unable to answer, I nod.

"I know a place we
can go," he continues, watching me intently. 'You know, these
parties are always filled with people. It gets insane," he
laughs, as if I should know. I nod like I do. "Sometimes it's
better to just relax somewhere before all the craziness, you know?"
I nod again. He takes my hand. "Come on."

Josh tells the others
we'll catch up, and Livvie nods in my direction. I glance back to see
her retreating back swallowed by a mob of people as they head towards
the open woods. "These campfire parties are the worst. People go
crazy when they're with nature for some reason," Josh informs me
as we rush toward the opposite direction. I hear a sound and I try to
turn back to look, but Josh suddenly turns me in his body, hugging me
tightly against him.

"You smell really
good," he tells me as he lays his head on top of mine. I'm glad
I decided to take two showers. He looks down at me. It's so dark I
barely see his blue eyes. They look wide like two round saucers.