When You're Ready (6 page)

She paused for a moment, and I didn’t dare say anything for fear she would stop talking. I wanted to know everything about her, wanted to hear every piece of her parents’ unlikely love story, hoping it would help us have one of our own.

“There’s a saying my father taught me,” she said, picking up her thoughts again. “It says, ‘It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.’ When I was little I used to wonder what it meant. Now, I think I understand.”

“Oh yeah? What do you think it means?”

“I think it means we can fix the past in a way.”

“How so?” I asked, hoping she was right. I’d been through so many things growing up that had left me scarred, suspicious of people, and scared to love. I hoped I could go back and patch things up because I really liked Nola, and for the first time ever, I wanted to love her…and I wanted—no, needed—her to love me back.

“Well, we can’t change the past, obviously, but we can learn from it, and then let it go. And we can make sure we don’t carry the bad stuff into the future,” she shrugged, “But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” I said, wondering if Nola was reading my mind. “So, your parents are still together?” I asked, hoping to change the subject to something happier.

“No.” Her face fell. “My father died when I was 10.”

Fuck
. The very last thing I wanted to do was cause Nola any pain, and in the first 10 minutes I’d struck a serious nerve. Her eyes got misty and I wanted to shoot myself for making her sad.

“Nola, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

She waved me off. “It’s okay, Scout, you didn’t know. Anyway, that was a long time ago. I should be over it by now, right?”

I stroked her face and wiped away an escaped tear. “Baby, some things you never get over.”

I should certainly know.

* * *

Nola

I felt like my head was going to explode.  Everything about Scout told me I should run away, and fast. First, he had about a million tattoos etched into his skin: Chinese characters, names, quotes, and even a skull and crossbones. What kind of normal, good guy has one of those? Then there were the scars. Motorcycle accidents and street fights meant he probably had some kind of death wish, and getting involved with a man like that was certainly out of the question.

What the hell was I saying? Scout and I were
not
going to be getting involved, no matter how much I wanted to kiss him.

Still, I had to admit there was something about Scout that told me he was more than his sketchy-looking body art and hard muscles let on. Behind his gorgeously rough exterior lay something deeper that kept sucking me in, no matter how hard I wanted to fight it.

We rode up the tram to the top of the hill and I held my breath the entire time. Scout stood so close I could smell his musky cologne and feel the heat jumping off his body. I didn’t dare speak during the slow climb up the hill, fearful I’d say something stupid or start crying like I did when Scout asked about my parents. I wanted to kick myself for letting those tears flood my eyes, but I couldn’t help it, thinking about my dad always made me so sad.

While my parents weren’t traditional, and we constantly moved around, those years my dad was alive were the absolute best times of my life. Back then my mother smiled constantly and my dad treated me like I was the most precious, most beautiful girl in the whole entire world. Even when he got high he never yelled or got angry, just nodded in the corner with a dumb grin on his face until he drifted off to sleep.

After he died, my mom went to pieces and fell into a terrible depression. I had to grow up fast, learning how to cook and take care of myself just to keep from starving to death. After a couple years, my mom seemed to finally snap out of her funk, but things were never the same. Instead of doing mother-daughter things with me she turned her attention to an endless stream of trifling boyfriends to fill the hole my dad left in her heart. I knew she was in pain, but she didn’t even seem to notice I was hurting too.

The tram doors slid open, and Scout put his hand on my lower back to guide me out. I immediately stiffened at his touch, and then relaxed into its tenderness. Everything about Scout was a contradiction. He looked like a runway model, but wasn’t full of himself at all. He was covered in scary tattoos, but didn’t seem like a maniac. As a matter of fact, he’d been incredibly kind and caring with me, which was further confirmation that the saying, “Never judge a book by its cover,” was true.

Scout was like a complex puzzle that frustrated the hell out of you, but made you want to figure it out anyway. I just hoped I didn’t end up hurt if I decided to try to put all of his pieces together.

“Wow,” Scout breathed when we stepped off the tram and into the glorious day. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a vibrant blue that usually only happened after the rain had cleared out all the smog. Scout gazed at the travertine steps that led up to the cluster of art galleries and his eyes doubled in size.

“Amazing, right?” I said. “Kinda takes your breath away.”

He turned to me and smiled. “Yeah,” he said, dropping his eyes to mine. “Just like you.”

Scout’s compliment made me feel lightheaded and giddy. It was
very
easy to like him. He was undeniably gorgeous and seemed to be reading from a film script with his perfectly placed charming lines and easy smile. It took all of my strength not to lose my head right then and do something impetuous like run my hands through his hair and stick my tongue in his mouth.

“Umm, so, shall we?” I asked, already walking up the stairs to put some distance between my impure thoughts and the man who caused them. I decided to ignore Scout’s comment about me taking his breath away and focus on the task at hand: showing him around.

We walked into the visitors’ center to get a map and a brochure, and to plan our course of attack. Normally, I wandered through the Getty stopping at random paintings and sculptures that caught my eye, but because it was Scout’s first visit, I wanted to make sure he saw it all.

“Do you want to get the audio headsets or just walk around on our own?”

“Just walk around,” he said, “that way we can talk.”

Scout and I set out on our way, walking past a beautiful fountain and into a gallery. We stopped in front of several paintings and I dutifully read the displays and added my two cents about each one. For some reason I wanted him to know that I knew what I was talking about, even when it wasn’t exactly true.

Scout seemed to enjoy my opinion about art, and after winding our way through several rooms, we came upon a collection of naked bronze sculptures by Pietro Cipriani.

“These are pretty badass,” he said, stepping closer to get a better look.

“Right?” I agreed. “They’re so lifelike. I’m always amazed when I see stuff like this. I wonder how they managed to make such beautiful things without all of the modern technology we have today.”

Scout nodded, but stayed silent. He walked around the statue of the Venus and I followed behind him. “Look at her body,” he said, and I bit back a groan.
Typical guy.

“What about it?” I asked, worried he was about to say something douchey that would make me hate his guts.

“It looks so…real. Like, if an sculptor made this today this woman probably wouldn’t even be considered a perfect subject.”

“People appreciated all types of bodies back then. Now, every guy wants a stick-thin model who looks likes she eats every other day.” I rolled my eyes. I figured that was Scout’s type anyway.

“Not every guy,” he said, walking around the statue and slipping his hand in mine like it was the most normal thing in the world. I looked down at his hand, which felt so warm against my palm, and then back up at his face. He was smiling.

I pulled my hand away and ran it through my hair. Scout’s eyes narrowed and I hoped he wasn’t pissed off, but his mini display of PDA sent my mind swirling into a hurricane of conflicting emotions. Excitement, nervousness, and lust all banged around in my brain, and suddenly the walls of the airy gallery felt like they were closing in.

“Umm, are you ready to, umm, head to the café?” I asked, hoping Scout didn’t think I was a dork for acting so weird after he held my hand. “I haven’t eaten yet and if I don’t get something soon you might have to pick me up off the floor.”

He eyed me for a second, and then smiled. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“Great!”

We headed out of the gallery and into the warm spring air. Almost as soon as we got outside Scout grabbed my hand and squeezed it lightly, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my heart. Instinctively, I tried to slip my hand out of his palm again, but Scout gave it another squeeze as we walked toward the café. This time I didn’t pull away.

6
Scout

“Nola, you cannot be serious,” I told her, watching her fish through her gigantic bag looking for her wallet. She was determined to pay for our lunch, even though I had already handed over my card to the cashier.

“I told you lunch was on me, Scout, and when I find my wallet, I’m paying.”

I had to chuckle at her stubbornness; she was completely unlike anyone I’d ever hung out with before. While my friends never flat-out asked me for money, no one ever attempted to pay for anything when I was around, especially girls. If we were out to dinner or hanging at a club, when the tab came people just slid it in my direction like footing the bill was my fulltime job. I didn’t mind, mostly. But sometimes it felt like some people were taking advantage of me because I could afford it. If I was still that broke kid in Pacoima, I knew most of them wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I could tell my Nola was different. Watching her scramble for her wallet to buy
me
lunch was a new, and uncomfortable, experience.

“Just ring it up on the card,” I told the cashier who was starting to get a little impatient.

“Don’t you dare!” Nola screeched, her eyebrows scrunching together. “I mean, I’ve got it. I just have to—“ She stopped mid-sentence as her bag crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. She spotted her wallet amid the mess and paid the cashier while I picked up her things and started putting them back in her bag. I noticed an essay with bold lettering across the top and read the title aloud, causing Nola’s head to snap in my direction.

“Give me that,” she said, grabbing for the paper. I held it above her head, far out of her reach, teasing her. “C’mon, Scout, please?”

“It looks interesting, I want to read it.”

Her eyes went wide, and she tried to jump up and grab it, but between the extra inches I had on her and my long arms, she couldn’t reach it.

“That’s not funny, Scout. Give it back.”

“Fine.” I folded the essay in half and stuck it my back pocket, and then covered it with my shirt. If she wanted it back she’d have to reach under my t-shirt to get it, getting dangerously close to my skin. “Get it yourself,” I grinned. 

Nola bit her lip, and I immediately wanted to kiss her until she begged me for more. Even though the stuff at the Getty was pretty amazing, I’d been having a hard time paying attention to the art. Nola’s skin glowed in the sunlight, and her hair cascaded past her shoulders in luscious curls. Every time she stopped to tell me about a painting or a sculpture, all I could think about was plunging my hands into her hair and pulling her mouth to mine.

We walked out of the café and headed toward the garden to find a spot to eat. Nola and I stretched out on the grass, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

“What?” she asked, looking puzzled. But all I could do was watch in awe as she took out a copy of the
Daily Bruin
and spread it on the ground as a makeshift tablecloth for our food. First, she laid out our sandwiches, then our fruit cups, and finally the drinks, arranging each piece so it looked like we were about to enjoy a real meal.

“Damn, girl. You set everything up so nicely I feel like I should be dressed up or something.”

Nola giggled and I felt her laugh reverberate in my own chest.  “Sorry. Habit.”

“Oh, right, I forgot. You’re the professional.” Nola took a bite out of her sandwich and smiled. “How long have you been working at Pink Taco?”

“A year,” she said between bites. “Before that I waitressed at another place, but it was kind of a dump.”

“You like your job?”

“It pays the bills,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how many people actually
like
waitressing. It’s harder than it looks. When I get off work my back is aching, my legs and feet hurt, and my arms feel like I’ve been lifting weights all day.”

My jaw tightened. The thought of Nola being physically exhausted,
and in pain
, made me want to tell her to quit her job immediately so I could take care of her. But that was stupid, and completely unreasonable since it was just our first time hanging out. Still, I didn’t like the idea of her pushing her body to extremes just to cover the bills.

I could give Nola a great life; hell, I could give her an amazing life. I just hoped she would let me do it. Seeing her give me a hard time about paying for lunch was a huge clue Nola probably wouldn’t let me pay her way, but that’s exactly what I intended to do.