The Girl I Was Before (22 page)

My lips twitch into a smile from his words. He’s ridiculous. Lovely and ridiculous.

“This is Paige,” I say. Long, deep breath. I straighten my posture, rolling my shoulders back. I look the part—confident and strong—on the outside.

“Yes, hi…Paige Owens, correct?” The voice on the other end of the line is an older woman.

“That would be me,” I say, every muscle in my body growing tighter waiting for her to get to her point.

“Great, thank you. I’m Roberta Flynn, and I’m the managing editor here at the Herald Tribune. A couple months ago, one of our reporters received an email with some pictures that pretty clearly show a woman named Chandra Campbell in a room with a large amount of illegal drugs. Is this sounding…familiar?”

Familiar? It’s on repeat in my goddamned memory—those pictures…in my hand, on the phone pressed to my face.

“Yes, it does,” I respond.

“I’m going to be frank,” Roberta continues. “We don’t do gossip here. And my gut instinct was to dismiss these photos and not get involved. But one of our reporters has been working on a story for years involving the Campbell family. When we got a call from their lawyer—pretty much threatening to sue every single person who works here for reporting these photos—we were a little
less
inclined to dismiss them.”

“Okay?” I say, in a question. I’m still not certain how this affects me, but I’m also not anxious to get to that part.

“I know you took these photos, Paige,” she says, like a punch in my stomach—so much for sending something anonymously. “I need you to go on the record. We will protect your name, as best we can, as an
inside source.
But we’re at a point with the other stories…we have to have everything nailed down and buttoned up. If we open this, we have to be ready to fight.”

I heard her question. Houston didn’t. He’s still holding my other hand, his thumb rubbing softly over my knuckles. His thumb feels so nice. Why can’t I just sit here and feel his thumb? Why do I have to go on the record? Why am I even in a situation where I have to think about records? For a brief second, I think about how easy it would be to do what Chandra asked—
tell her I was wrong.
But I wasn’t wrong. And as much as I jumped into this for the wrong reasons—for revenge—I still feel like I’m the good guy in this one.

“I’ll still think you’re hot,” Houston whispers, one eyebrow raised. He’s being playful, and I’m pretty sure he’s clueless to how serious this all is. He might think this is just Greek-system politics, but it’s not.

“You won’t use my name?” I repeat. Houston’s cheek dimples with his smile.

“Not unless they take us to court and a judge tells us we have to,” Roberta answers. I think for a few long seconds—not so much about the name—but about the ways Chandra and her family will attack my credibility the second this story goes live. It doesn’t really matter that the Herald protects my name; the Campbells will be sure everyone knows
who
this unnamed source is and just how
not credible
I am. I move my eyes to Houston’s, looking for courage. He already knows the girl in the video isn’t me, but the rest of the world won’t. How much do I care?

“Paige, this story goes today or it doesn’t go at all,” Roberta says, as if any more pressure is necessary.

I’m the girl everyone looks up to.

I close my eyes, and allow myself one more deep breath. The air is cool, and my lungs grow full; I relish the feeling, because I don’t think they will feel that way again for a while.

“I’ll go on the record,” I say. “I saw it. The drugs, her—I saw it all.”

Houston’s smile slips away.

“Thank you, Paige. What you’re doing—it’s very brave,” she says, her voice sounding through a tin can. I feel dizzy, so I lay back. Houston stays sitting, he doesn’t join me.

“If you say so,” I say, hanging up. I let my hand fall to the side, the phone sliding out of my grip. His thumb has stopped. Why has his thumb stopped?

“How do you know Cee Cee?” he asks finally, his back is still to me. He hasn’t let go of my hand, but that feeling—the one that was a little like love? That’s gone from his grip. I think he’s worried about the trouble I’ve brought into this house.

“You know her real name is Chandra, right?” I say, and he shrugs.

“Her family always called her Cee Cee,” he says. “Honestly, I know very little about her. Her and Beth—they had this weird connection. They were so different, and sometimes I was sure Beth hated her. But sometimes she would act like she didn’t. She’d call; they’d talk. I think Cee Cee leaned on Beth. When she came to see Leah when she was born, Beth cried—and I could never tell if her tears were happy or sad that Cee Cee had come.”

It grows quiet while I wait to see if he has more to say. When he doesn’t, I begin to let him know everything else I have left—nothing more to hide.

“She goes to McConnell. Did you know that?” I say.

“Business major, or something. Her dad’s name is on a building, so I just assumed. I don’t go out of my way to see her. Kind of the opposite, really,” he shrugs, turning his body to face me more.

“She’s the Delta president. She’s also on the soccer team. And my sister’s better than her.” I lift myself to my elbows, looking at him so our eyes meet, and I smirk. “Chandra
hates
that.”

His smile comes again, not as full as before, but it’s back. Houston isn’t disappointed in me. He’s disappointed in Chandra, and maybe a little disappointed with the fact that he lets her near his daughter.

“She used some things I told her in confidence…well…all right, maybe not in confidence, but…you know…” His brow is pinching. “I didn’t think she was that mean.”

Houston chuckles. “I don’t know her well, but I know she’s mean,” he laughs.

“Right, well, you get the award for being a better judge of character. Good for you,” I say. I start to feel guilty that I’m snapping at him, but he picks my hand up again, his thumb stroking the knuckles, so I don’t apologize. “I told her things about Cass, and she used them to spread rumors and hurt my sister.”

Houston nods in understanding. “So when you saw her…” he leads me.

“Naked in a bedroom passed out and nearly OD’d?” I give it to him straight, and his eyes flash as he winces. “Yeah, I snapped some photos. It was a party. I was a little buzzed, but not
that
buzzed. I knew what I was doing. I sent them. To. Everybody.”

“And the video?” he asks.

“I have no proof, but…” I don’t need to finish it; Houston has it all put together.

“And that phone call…that was the paper?” he asks.

“Story goes live this afternoon,” I say, my eyes losing focus, the edges getting bright. I lie back down and close them, the anxiety of everything overwhelming me.

I feel the weight of his body slide next to me, his finger sweeping my hair behind my ear as I turn into him. When I open my eyes again, he’s looking at that hair, watching his hand move slowly. I watch him watch me for minutes, neither of us talking. For a small window, everything feels…okay.

“So, there’s this park,” he says, his hand still stroking, his eyes still on everything but mine, his smile full of sympathy. “It has a slide. And I mean, like, a REALLY big slide. I think it needs a queen. And…it’s been
years
since I’ve taken a girl on a picnic.”

His hand stops. His eyes drift to mine, and stop. As much as Beth isn’t here, she’s very much
here
right now. I’m both melting and terrified at once, and when I finally look into his eyes, I feel myself fall into the green layers that grow dark around the edges and are golden in the middle. I swim in them. I drown.

“Are you asking me on a date?” I bite my lower lip. Within hours, I’m going to be the porn star who threw stones at the millionaire’s daughter because she was jealous. I might as well let myself get wooed a little before everything becomes cheap and sensational.

“Yeah, Paige. Like I said earlier…I’d like to
date
you,” he says.

“Good, because I didn’t eat a damn thing at dinner,” I say, putting on a pushy voice. I can’t hold it, though, and I let myself laugh. There’s also a little sadness that escapes with the sound. It’s one of those desperate laughs, and Houston can tell. He sweeps me into his arms and rolls until I’m on top of him, holding my hair from my face so he can kiss me. I look for any sign of doubt in his lips, but it isn’t there. He literally. Knows. Everything. And he’s still kissing me.

“You still think I’m hot?” I tease. His hand slaps my ass hard at my question, and I squeal a little as he squeezes, his fingers mostly on bare skin where my dress has ridden up enough to leave me exposed.

“You have no fucking idea,” he says against my mouth.

“How committed are you to this picnic thing?” I tease, not really tease. His hand—it’s on my bare ass.

“I’m not committed to the picnic at all, but my mom gave me half an hour of alone time in the house, and I’m pretty sure the non-picnic thoughts I’m having are going to take a lot longer than that,” he says, pressing his forehead into mine, his eyes shut tight, his smile enormous and embarrassed.

“Okay,” I say, mine closed too. “But just so you know, that line I was holding at kissing…”

“Mmmmmmm?” he questions.

“It’s moved,” I grin, letting my eyes blink open to see his fully staring back at me now. I lean back against him, my palms pressed to his chest, and his hands grip my wrists—tightly.

“We’re home!” Joyce is using the sing-song voice, like an alarm sounding, so we know that whatever intense conversation we’re having needs to lighten up now that Leah’s here. She probably thinks we’re still talking about
Cee Cee.
But the longer I lie here, against him, the less I give a shit about Cee Cee and what she can do to me.

Do your worst, Cee Cee. Playground Paige is back, and she’s a little pissed you’ve made her take this dumb-ass detour through your shadow.

H
ouston

I
let
Paige leave her room before me. It took me a good ten minutes to get things back…well, in place. I’d like to blame the boots and the dress, but I’ve been with a few women over the last year with boots and dresses and bodies almost as good as hers, and they’ve never made me want to do the things to them that were running through my head when Paige looked down at me.

It definitely wasn’t her boots and dress. It’s just her.

My mom is watching me scurry around the kitchen. I look like a maniac. I think I might look like an asshole too. She hasn’t directly asked what the story is—just if we had an okay talk, if Paige is okay. I want to fill her in, maybe warn her a little. I think she’d like Paige more—trust her more—if she knew just how much she despises Cee Cee. But then that’s the thing—I’m caught in that weird place where Cee Cee is
who she is
and can call her dad and tell him I haven’t been keeping up my end of the bargain and all he has to do is
snap
and Leah’s money is gone.

My mom would be fine with losing it, cutting the few strings he holds, never letting Cee Cee into our house again. But I’m not okay with my daughter not getting what’s hers.

And I don’t want to think about any of that right now because boots and dresses and Paige’s ass in my hands is all I can fucking think about!

“Where’s the damn picnic basket?” My voice comes out in a yell as I slam the last two cupboard doors closed. My mother is laughing at me. “What?”

“You. What in the world has you so wound? And why do you need the picnic basket?” she asks, finally standing from the stool where she’s been watching me for the last twenty minutes, amused. It’s almost ten at night, and Leah’s been in bed for more than an hour.

“I just…need it,” I say. I sound like a teenager.

“Relax,” she says, pushing my arms down to my side, pulling them away from my neck that I’m rubbing obsessively. I might be a little stressed.

She reaches below the sink, moving a bucket out of the way, and slides out an orange, plastic cooler. It’s not a basket. It’s not even close to a basket.

“Is this all we’ve got?” I ask.

“Honey, this is all we ever had,” she laughs.

“No…we had a basket. I swear we did,” I say, looking where she just looked. There’s only cleaning supplies left.

“You must remember it differently. Things seem better when you’re younger,” she says, and I flash to that night with Beth, then look at the cooler. It feels familiar.

“It’s fine,” I say, opening the cooler and rinsing out the debris that’s collected in it.

“Are we taking a trip?” she asks, sliding back on her stool. It’s like her perch, where she can look down at me—it’s how she sees when I’m lying, I swear.

“No. I’m taking Paige on a picnic,” I say, rushing through the pantry, grabbing bread for sandwiches, looking for anything else. I drop the bag of bread on the ground and two slices slide out. Swearing under my breath, I pick them up and toss them in the trash. The only pieces left are the heels—who makes sandwiches out of heels? I toss the bag on the counter and look back to the pantry, for crackers or anything else. My mom’s hand slides on mine as I’m fumbling the peanut-butter jar, halting me. I look up at her.

“Let me,” she smiles. “You go put something nice on.”

I stare at her with a blank face, trying to read her, wondering what her motive is, but she just pats my hand twice and starts spreading peanut butter on the last good piece of bread, cutting crust and blowing crumbs into the sink.

“Thank you,” I say, looking down at my shirt that…damn, does have a stain on it. I run up the stairs and toss out whatever’s clean in my bottom drawer, pulling together a dark pair of jeans and the black sweater I wore the last time I went on a date. Everything looks new—like I just went out and bought it, like I’m trying too hard. I am trying hard!

I’m staring at my reflection, second-guessing myself, when Paige’s door opens. She pauses across from me, her light still on behind her. It’s the same dress, same boots—I’m sure she’s done something to her hair, or maybe it’s just the jacket slung over her arm. Whatever she’s spent the last two hours doing, she’s somehow
more
beautiful, yet exactly the same.

“I like the sweater,” she says, her lip tucked in her teeth.

Good. Settled. Sweater and jeans it is.

“You ready?” I ask, giving her my arm at the steps. I guide her down, and just the simple squeeze of her arm linked through mine is enough to remind me how she felt two hours earlier. My mom is no longer downstairs, just the packed cooler, a rolled up blanket, and an extra jacket—which catches Paige’s eye.

“Did your mom leave this?” she asks.

“I might have gotten a little…help,” I say. Paige swallows, and her face flushes for some reason.

“I didn’t think your mom really cared for me,” she says as her eyes drift back to the blanket, her finger running along the fringe on the edge.

“Why would you think that?” I ask, pulling her chin to me, her gaze following a fraction behind.

Paige shrugs, and looks down to her feet.

“My mom is just a little protective. And I haven’t really…well I don’t…date?” My words come out unsure, maybe embarrassed. The last time I dated someone my mom knew about, I was in high school—and
that
resulted in Leah.

“Look,” I say, pulling her hand into mine, running my fingers through hers. God, I love the way they look together. “My mom wouldn’t let you live here if she didn’t like you. You saw how she was tonight, playing hostess to Cee Cee…or
Chandra
. My mom hates her, and I don’t think she’s very subtle about it. And you have to understand…she and Leah have been the only women in my life for about five years—at least, that she knows of.”

“And I don’t need to know about any others either,” Paige interrupts, pulling the blanket into her other arm and flashing me what I now recognize as her jealous smile, her cheeks blushing. She’s given me that smile before, and I love that she has. She’s actually jealous that I’ve dated—both sweet and ridiculous at the same time. I lift the cooler and carry it in both arms out the door, Paige following behind me. We both walk to the car silently, and the nervous sensation of everything makes me smile like a schoolboy about to meet up with the popular girl in the tree house for a first kiss. Only we’ve already kissed. Which, of course, makes me about a million times more freaked out. I take the blanket from Paige, and tuck it in the back seat along with the cooler, opening the door for her and waiting while she climbs in so I can watch her skirt slide up her leg. I’m not even discreet about it.

“Damn,” I say when it does. She looks at her leg then up to me, and smiles, leaving her skirt in place—just where I like it. I pull the collar of my sweater up into my teeth and bite as I close the door. She giggles, probably because she thinks I’m playing, but with the rush she just sent through me with one glimpse of her bare skin, I may have just chewed a hole through the threads of my shirt.

I climb into my side, and in my overzealous hurry to get to the park—I squeal the tires while backing out of the driveway.

“Sorry,” I say through gritted teeth. I need to calm down. I glance at her, and I can see she’s smiling at me, at how nervous I am. At least I can make her smile.

We drive through campus and then out of town about fifteen miles until we get to a small forest preserve area. They rent boats here. I should bring her back again during the day. But tonight wasn’t really about boats. The lot is empty—which is what I had hoped for—but suddenly, now that I’m putting the car in park, and the dim lights are all that’s illuminating the walkway to the playground and the hill of grass, the fact that we are completely alone has my sweater choking me, and my body burning up. That was the plan, though. Stars, romance, privacy—I need to remember how to do this. Did I ever really know how to do this?

When I unbuckle my seatbelt, I glance at Paige, and notice her fingers are obsessively rubbing the rough edges along her seatbelt, her teeth clamped down on her lip, her eyes not blinking as she gazes out the window. She’s nervous too.

I get out of the car and walk around to her side, but I take the route around the back so I can jump in the air a few times, jog my legs, and stretch my neck. I’m searching for courage.

“What was that?” she asks.

Shit. I never thought she’d open her own damn door.

“Oh, I was…” For a moment, I consider lying, saying I’m cold. But it’s balmy out tonight. “That’s a really pretty dress.” I decide to go with honesty, or at least the icing on my honest cake. I couldn’t very well say I’ve spent fifteen miles imagining my hand running up the leg you flashed me back in the driveway.

“Thank you, Houston,” she smiles, and I swear she’s blushing again. I could spend the entire night complimenting her. But I can do that at home. Tonight, I need to find my inner Romeo.

“So, where’s this slide?” she asks, her hand on her hip. She thinks I made the slide up—which I totally would have, if I had to, just to get her to come. But the truth is, this park happens to be Leah’s favorite, and the slide is actually pretty fantastic.

“Right this way, Miss Owens,” I say, giving her my arm, leaving the picnic supplies in the back seat and taking her jacket in my other hand, anxious to see this new spark in her eyes. She looks down as she steps into me, our arms crossing, goosebumps coming to the surface on her skin. How is it possible that
this
girl is affected by
me
?

We walk through the picnic tables and ramadas along the winding path until we get to a large wood-chipped area filled with swings and jungle gyms.

“You weren’t kidding. This must be Leah’s favorite place in the world,” Paige says, looking around at the various metal and wooden play structures. I love that she’s thinking of Leah right now.

“It is,” I say, watching her face as she takes it all in. “She might get a little upset, though, when she finds out you’ve taken over her slide,” I say, tilting my head to the left, encouraging her to turn around. She looks up to the start of the winding slide, a series of red and blue tubes that link and wind together for five turns. It’s almost impossible to make it all the way down without having to scoot yourself through the last turn. Leah’s secret is a running start—and she slides on her belly. Something tells me that’s not Paige’s style.

“How do you even get up there?” she asks, a light in her eyes as she looks up. I was worried she would think this was silly, but she’s actually excited by the challenge. That girl, the one she talks about, the one she’s been searching for—she is so close to the surface I can taste it.

“You climb,” I say, leading the way, hoping like hell she’s following. I don’t turn around to check, instead, setting her jacket on the ground by the entrance and grabbing a bar and starting my ascent up the three platforms to the start of the slide. I catch a glimpse of her behind me somewhere in the middle of my climb, and I start to take the steps and bars faster, looping my body over and under each obstacle.

“Houston Orr you are not going down that slide first. Not if you brought me here,” she shouts. It’s funny how competitive she is over this all of a sudden, and it’s adorable, too. She said my entire name, and it was like she’s known me for years—the syllables so comfortable falling from her lips.

“You are going to have to earn it, woman,” I tease, pulling and climbing. It’s dark near the top, so I slow down a little to make sure I’m gripping the right bars. Paige doesn’t break at all, and she gains on me, her hands at my feet for the last few steps. I get to the bridge before her, and I can hear her heavy boots pounding on the wobbling wood and metal, so I stop and lift my body up with my arms on both railings, then bring my feet down with force to really make the bridge shake. It trips Paige up, and it also pisses her off.

“You were
that
kid on the playground, weren’t you? Oh, that’s it,” she says, standing facing me on the opposite side of the bridge. In two swift motions, she reaches for each foot and pulls her boots from her feet, tossing them over the side into the woodchips below. I watch them fall into the darkness.

“You better remember where you threw those, ‘cause I’m not helping your ass find them,” I joke.

“You better start running, because my twin’s fast as hell, and I got some of those genes,” she says, darting in my direction, holding the skirt of her dress in her hand. As dark as it is out, the smile on her face is unmistakable. It’s also incredibly distracting, and before I can get my feet moving, she’s equal with me, pushing and shoving against me as we work our way up the last few steps to the top of the slide.

“Houston, don’t you dare!” she shouts through the most beautiful fit of laughter. My arms are on the bars to swing my feet down the slide, and her hands are fighting to loosen my grip. This stupid game, this small moment, has brought more happiness than I can remember in years.

Without letting her pass, I spin quickly so my back is against the tunnel entry to the slide. My hands find her cheeks, and I bring her mouth to mine without giving either of us a chance to think, to breathe. I kiss her two stories up, under a perfectly clear Oklahoma sky, on a slide made for those who think kissing is gross. It’s the best kiss of my life. Her lips are just as needy as mine, her hands finding my chest, gripping my sweater as she lifts to the tops of her bare toes to reach more of me.

The softness of her tongue sweeps against mine, making me moan against her mouth. My hands react, one cradling the back of her head while the other finds the small of her back, pulling her closer to me. Her hands do the same, fighting for something to grab, any part of me to touch. I want to stand up here forever, doing this. But then there’s the thought of more than this, and
fuck…

Needing air, I lean my forehead into hers, our lips coming apart as we both inhale as if waking up from being put under. This close, I can see all of her, the moonlight reflecting off the white lace of her dress, the cream of her skin almost glowing like an angel, her golden hair blowing loosely behind her in the breeze. I honestly never believed I would be so lucky to find someone who made me feel again, let alone who made me feel
more.