Someone to Love (20 page)

“He’s bald and looks like every single
stranger your mother ever warned you about.” Lauren says, pedaling
me to the back of the store. “Just picture him asking you to look
for his lost kitten while luring you into a windowless van.”

A small cry escapes my throat. “God, Lauren,
you are so going to owe me for this.”

“Done,” she says, ducking behind some
foliage.

I take a seat at an empty table and wait for
a tall, bald predator to walk through those doors and see if I
qualify to be his sex kitten.

Cruise

The smell of rust and hairspray, fumes me out
from underneath the bathroom sink.

I look up at my sister who’s wielding a can
of toxic hair glue like it was a lethal weapon.

“You mind?” I bury my face in my armpit and
take a deep breath. I’d rather inhale the remnants of my deodorant
than asphyxiate myself with the vaporous shit Molly insists on
suffocating me with. “I’m going to die of lung cancer one day, and
it’s going to be all your fault,” I say, tossing my wrench back in
the tool bag.

“Sorry, but I have to look perfect.” She
twirls the curling iron in her hair, and a series of vapors emit
from the wand. I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to smoke like
that. I’ve held down the fort more than a few times, at the Crappy
Hair and Snail Salon where the new logo should be;
We’ll age you
thirty years!
Not sure why Kenny never lawyered up. My mother
is damn lucky she still has a roof over her head—me too for that
matter.

“What do you need to look so perfect for?” I
say, getting up and dusting the rust off my jeans.

“I got a date.”

“A what?” I look at her in the mirror. Her
face is painted like a kabuki doll, complete with bright red
lipstick, and her hair is twirled in perfect ringlets like she’s
going to prom. “You can’t go on a date.”

“Says who?” Her bright pink nails maneuver
the curling iron around another stray lock.

“Says me.”

“You’re not my dad.”

“You don’t have one, so I sort of am.” I bend
over to pick up my tool bag, and she knees me solid in the balls.
“
Shit
.” My head dips to my thighs as a blinding pain spreads
through my body, slow and searing like molasses on fire. “Moll,” I
say, following her agitated footsteps down the halls. “I’m sorry.”
I pound against the door. “Can I come in?”

“No. I
hate
you!” The soft sound of
sobbing emits from the other side.

“I’m sorry.” I wiggle the doorknob until it
unlocks itself. Nothing ever works around here, so it’s no big
surprise I can manipulate the bolt with a flick of the wrist.

Molly lies on the bed, crumpled and broken.
She depresses her face in the pillow as her back heaves in a wild
fit of tears.

“Hey.” I go over and sit on the edge, rubbing
her shoulders with my deep regret. “I just don’t want to see you
getting hurt, kiddo. That’s all.” Shit. Could I damage her any more
than I already have? It’s not her fault her dad is a screw up. He
landed in the pen five years ago on a cocaine bust that ended with
a body, and now here I am, rubbing her face in it. “You really like
this guy?”

She twists around and looks at me with those
tear-filled eyes. Her lipstick’s smeared, and her neat curls have
exchanged themselves for a ball of frizz. She might very well be
transforming into a beautiful young woman but all I see is that
six-year-old who used to follow me around like a puppy—wish it was
still so.

“Yes, I like him.” She straightens her legs,
and I’m shocked to see they almost dangle off the bed.

“Does he treat you well?”

“No.” She doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“Then what the hell are you doing with
him?”

“I don’t know. I just want him to like me. I
want him to tell me he cares about me—that he loves me, but he
never does. He just slobbers all over me and pretends like that’s
enough. At least buy me a freaking flower before you stick your
tongue down my throat.”

“You know I’m going to have to kill him.”

Her eyes slit to nothing. “Touch him and I’ll
arrange the need for a brand new set of tires and repeat the
effort.”

My stomach sours at the thought of anyone
hurting Molly—
cheating
on her. All she wants is a few kind
sentiments and flowers and gets neither.

She might as well be talking about Kenny and
me.

“Look, I gotta run.” I lean over and tousle
her hair. “Do me a favor and give this guy the cold shoulder, will
you? Stay in and catch a movie with Mom. She could use the company.
And don’t let anyone stick their tongue down your throat, or I’ll
have to track them down and rearrange body parts.”

“Where you going?”

“I’ve got some shopping to do.”

Flowers. I give a little laugh as I stare
down at the bouquet of bright red roses I picked up from the
florist. I wanted it to look special, not like I swiped it out of a
plastic bucket off a street corner, so the florist peppered in a
bunch of baby’s breath, and it looks like a song came to life right
here in my hand.

I tried to text Kenny to see where she’s at,
but she didn’t answer. I figured I’d hit a few of the usual haunts
before waiting it out at home. I’m amped and ready to tell her how
I feel—that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid on eyes
on, that her inner beauty outshines the stars, the moon—makes them
look like amateur hour when it comes to phosphorescence. Then I’m
going to say it. I’m going to say those three little words I
haven’t uttered in so long—and for the first time ever, I’m finally
going to mean them.

The Beamer is parked right outside Starbucks,
amassing snow an inch deep over the windshield, so she must have
been here a good long while.

I park and brace myself before getting out of
the car—hell before imparting such a life changing statement.
Everything about the two of us will change in that very moment.
She’ll either say it right back or laugh in my face.

A flurry of snow greets me as I make my way
inside. The flowers feel foreign in my hand, like I’ve donned a
costume and this is just some prop. It doesn’t feel real. My heart
drums out a vicious beat as I pan the establishment. I spot Ally
behind the counter, and her jaw drops. I tick a quick hello before
scouring the crowd and spot Kenny off in the back.

My stomach bottoms out.

Kenny has her arms wrapped around the waist
of a familiar looking bald-headed bastard—Cal.

She belts out a laugh and her neck arches
with pleasure in a way I only thought it did for me.

Looks like Kenny is taking the game to a
whole new level—flying solo with Cal of all people. And here I
didn’t think she had it in her, that she secretly may have wanted
only me.

A little girl walks in with her mother. Her
long hair, those large brown eyes with the slight look of hurt in
them remind me an awful lot of Molly.

“These are for you.” I hand her the flowers
and dart back to the truck.

She didn’t come to my room last night.

I glance out the window bleary-eyed as the
sun crests the hillside, casting an eerie tangerine glow over the
mounds of snow that piled overnight. I lie back down and throw my
arm over my eyes, trying to block out the dismal light, the
world—reality in general. Kenny seemed so innocent when I saw her
that night at that party. I knew she wasn’t coming home with me to
heat the sheets, but she held the oxygen in the room, and I damn
well needed to breathe. I was floating on the wreckage from my last
heartbreak and Kenny was a beautiful island that emerged from
nowhere, one that I longed to explore. And now I’m petrified that
what I really came upon was a volcano ready to blow my world to
pieces. If I thought Blair was bad, her blatant F.U. after years of
being together, then I have a feeling Kenny is going obliterate me
in the worst way possible.

I didn’t think I could feel pain so deep from
someone I’ve hardly known a month. I never knew I could have my
heart ripped from my chest and set on fire by my sheer desire to
have someone who has no real interest in me.

This afternoon I’ll be wearing nothing but a
smile in Kendall Jordan’s art class. I know for sure she’s enrolled
in it because I double-checked her schedule last night.

I’ll have to put on that invisible suit of
armor I’ve donned since last summer when everything went to shit
just hoping to make it through the hour.

I could always not go—forfeit two hundred big
ones. Technically, I’m staff, so I shouldn’t be so eager to shed
the stitches, although Professor Webber made it a point to let me
know graduate students were her primary pool of applicants.
Besides, I should probably get back in the game—start tearing
through that industrial-sized box of condoms I’ve got stashed in my
nightstand. Kenny was just a misstep. I let her get too far in my
head, and if I keep trekking in the same direction, I’ll turn into
one big emotional pussy.

After a quick shower, I don’t bother getting
dressed. Instead, I wrap a towel around my dripping wet body and
venture into the kitchen.

“The heater worked last night!” She marvels,
and my heart sinks like a stone.

I fired it up while she was gone, hoping
she’d come to my bed willingly.

My chest grows heavy. Kenny managed to
deflate my ego with one prick of her tongue. I was nothing more
than a heater. And last night, when she didn’t need my services,
she didn’t bother to show.

With all my heart and soul I wish she wanted
me. A part of me wants to weep like a schoolgirl at the thought of
Kenny getting it on with Cal or any other asshole that happens to
rub up next to her.

My lips twitch a mournful smile. I want to
look away, pull my gaze from hers, but she’s hooked me, reeled me
in with those sea glass lenses.

“Look at me, Kenny.” I glance down at my
body. “I want you to see every part of me.” I grab a hold of the
towel cinched at my waist, and her lips part, her eyes magnify in
size at what I’m about to do. She shakes her head ever so slightly,
mortified that I had ditched “good morning” and went for the carnal
jugular before she could down her coffee. I open the towel, slow
and methodical, exposing her in full to every inch of my being.

Selfishly, I don’t want Kenny to see me for
the first time in front of strangers while she tries to sketch me
with shade and light. Selfishly, I wish she
wanted
to see
me, to have me all for herself.

She turns away, quick as a hurricane, and
spills the contents of her mug in the process.

“Shit, Cruise. Good morning to you, too.” She
lands her cup hard on the sink and leans toward the window.

“Lesson of the day.” I come up from
behind—adhere myself to the curve of her body and don’t bother to
pull away once I feel myself grow. “I want you to see me like
this,” I whisper almost ashamed of what I’m asking her to do. “You
don’t have to touch. Just look.” It comes out sad, forlorn because
I know deep down inside she won’t—that I don’t deserve to have her
look at me.

“Cruise…” She turns her head into my
shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, and for a minute, I think she
might cry, that I might turn into a giant pussy and join in on the
sob-fest.

I offer a gentle kiss to her cheek, and our
lips find one another for the first time in a week. It’s as if she
were afraid to kiss me lying in my bed, as if my mouth were the
portal to unspoken treasures, and once she entered she could never
leave.

That visual of her touching Cal on the
collar, laughing at whatever flew from his lips, rolls through me
like rancid fat, and I pull away.

“I guess I’ll see you in class,” I say,
cinching up my towel.

She takes a breath, never taking her sad eyes
off mine. “I guess you will.”