Fragments (27 page)

"It wasn't flirting, I was just being jovial. Plus, I'm single—you're not!"

My breath catches in my chest.
Huh?

"What? Who says? I haven't—"

"Kyle! Or did you forget? Where is he, anyway? Shouldn't he be helping?" he sneers, pretending to look around for him. Before I can respond, Aiden pulls Becca off the couch and signals for Josh and them to leave. They all rise quickly, and as Josh walks past Alex, he takes a moment to stare at him before muttering, “As lovely as this has been, we’re off.” Indicating over to me, he adds, “As gorgeous as I think Trice is… she doesn’t have the parts I need in a partner. You—” He looks Alex up and down his body, while sucking in a dramatic breath, “—have everything I need. Think about it. Trice has my number.”

Winking, he saunters out the door with Aiden laughing behind him. Becca turns to glare at me and mouths
bitch
and I flinch from her insult knowing I deserve it. I was rude just then. I stand up and adjust my shorts, careful to not make eye contact. I am going to unpack and forget about the arsehole in the room.

“You never answered my question, Trice. Where is Kyle?” he says in a firm voice.

Shunting my chin, I lift my gaze and glare at him. "Where he should be. At
his
house waiting for Regan,
his
fiancée, to get home.”

Alex’s mouth falls open as his face pales in an instant.

“What do you mean fiancée?” he asks.

“Well, when two people fall in love, they sometimes decide …” I begin.

“Cut out the crap, Trice. When did you guys break up?” he scoffs. I raise my index finger and rub my forehead, pretending to contemplate the answer.

“Around three years ago.”  Turning, I pick up my handbag that I had thrown on the couch earlier and head to my room.

“I’ve got to unpack, Alex. You would’ve known that I was single, if you actually gave a shit.” Walking into my room, I turn and catch his gaze.

“But you’re good at walking away, so you obviously haven’t changed.” Pointing to my chin, I indicate, “Except this—” meaning his goatee, “—this is new, but you being an arsehole, yep—still the same. Oh, well.”

I take a step back and flick the door, effectively slamming it.

“Greg! The Stop Sign!”

Tism

Alex

“She should be with you.”

The slam of Trice’s bedroom door shocks me out of my thoughts. Groaning, I feel the heel of my right hand thundering towards my forehead in an almighty slap.
Clenching my teeth, I growl at being such a dick. Not even a full day and already we are at each other’s throats. And she is single. Not with Kyle. Unattached. Ty’s words churn in my mind over and over as a possessive rush tears through my chest with a need that I hadn’t felt in years.
With me.
Torn between the scathing words of my father about what a piece of shit I was and Ty’s, I stare at her door, waiting for a sign for what to do. Trice is here, and she is near me. This isn’t some coincidence. I take a few deep breaths to slow down the heat that begins travelling through my chest. All I have to do is open that door and reach for her. Clamp my hand around her neck and kiss her, reminding her about what we had … while also trying not to remind her about what a dick I was afterwards. Bleh. I’m fucked.

I want to open that door, but in a moment of weakness the voice of my dad intercepts,

“You’re a worthless piece of shit …”
leaving me torn, in this whirlpool of self-loathing and insignificance.
Fuck you,
my thoughts whisper in return. After four years, his words feel like they are new again. Why are they here again? Biting my tongue to dispel any rage I feel about him, I open my eyes and focus on her door. Friends. I need to build on that. Who knew if what she felt for me even existed anymore, but I have to find out.

I roll back my shoulder blades and tilt my head from side to side, as if I am preparing for battle. I know that I don’t know her like I used to, and as much as my hormones are telling me to conquer her, I’m not sure how to approach this without a knee to the jewels. She deserves better than a quick romp. I need to—
can’t believe I’m about to say this
—win her over. An apology is the least she deserves, and she has every right to tell me to piss off. Jumping to conclusions while making a dick of myself in front of her friends just put me behind big time. If I open that door, I am sure she’ll tear me the new one that I deserve. Staring at it, I start rounding off all sorts of apologetic lines.
“I’m an idiot … Yes, you can have a free kick to my nuts.”
or
“I didn’t know and you seemed all over that guy … who happens to prefer dicks to chicks.”
Yeah, probably not the best way to fix this.

Trice is single. I am an idiot.
How could I not know that? Oh yeah, that’s right, I blocked her out … fool.
While staring at the door, I picture her lying angrily on her bed, and it does nothing to quench my hormones. Instead, my caveman instinct kicks in. The need to burst that door open and grab her has me clenching and unclenching my fists like some creeper by her door. How can you want someone so much when you haven’t seen them in a long time? All those years of making my mind shut her down, only for her to come back, be touched by someone else, and now my entire being wants to claim her. Each memory that I had locked away bursts out, filling my mind with everything that I miss about her. I need to fix this before I lose it. Time to get this apology over and done with. 

I huff out a sigh of stupidity and knock. Fuck it. We have to make this work. Right now, she is probably on the phone to her friends looking for somewhere else to live. I can’t have that happen. Half a day she’s been here, and I remember what I’ve been missing. Her smile, her eyes, her hair … Those legs … Yeah, I’m fucked. Time to become her friend again—if she’ll let me.

Knocking again, I know it is probably annoying her, but I don’t care. I have to stop her from leaving me. I go to knock a third time and the door opens abruptly away from me. Trice is standing there red faced and eyes are narrowed, glaring daggers at me. It’s show time.

“Look, Trice I just wanted to apologise—”

Before I can deliver a heartfelt apology, she snaps, “Oh, really? What about? Being a dick? Or butting in where it’s not your business?”

“For all of it, really. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.”

“Conclusions? Like, insinuating I’m a cheater? Like some cheap whore? You’re the one who dates whores, Alex; I would have thought you should have known the difference,” she snarls. Seeing as she is not backing down, I raise both hands in defeat and step towards her. She is stunning in her anger. Her eyes are bright, her chest is heaving, and all I want to do is slam her into the nearest wall. I take a deep breath to calm the hormones, again.

“You are not a whore and you never were.” Stepping forward, I put my hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know you like I used to and that’s my fault. I want to get back to being friends again.”

For a moment, I think I see a flash of pain on her face, but she quickly hides it as she focuses back on me, licking her lips. She mutters, “We were great mates, and I want that back, too.”

I sigh in relief and pull her in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and tip my chin down on top of her head. Yep. I have missed this. I give her a quick squeeze and I step back. I know I need to take this slowly, even though my limbs want to snake out and rip her clothes off.

“Well, friend, let’s just chill tonight, order pizza and watch a movie and tomorrow, I’m going to cook you a welcome home breakfast. We have brunch on the weekends, so it’s a tradition you need to become familiar with. But I’ll warn you, though, I am reigning Supreme Brunch Chef. You may try to beat me, but you won’t.  Dishes go to the loser.” Winking, I turn and head out to the lounge to give myself distance. These bloody hormones are telling me to do things that I can’t even try … yet.  The last thing I need is for her to look down at my junk and see what else is trying to reign supreme. 

              Much later over an empty box of pizza, a few beers, and a huge bowl of popcorn, we shift into normal conversation like we used to. I am sprawled out on the main couch trying to catch popcorn in my mouth and Trice is on her side lying down on the chaise lounge that is next to my feet. Both of us keep to neutral territory, asking about university experiences, her new friends, old ones, and the occasional shenanigans. What we don’t talk about is us. What a complete moron I had been by leaving her. It is on the tip of my tongue to tell her how sorry I am, but as much as the beer is loosening my tongue, when it comes to that subject, it stays firmly in place. While we chat about the time we weren’t in each other’s lives, it occurs to me that she is skittish about her dancing. Sitting up so I can see her better, I put my beer on the coffee table and ask, “So, are you still dancing? You used to be so passionate about it and you weren’t half bad.” Her beer stops mid-air as she visibly flinches. My brow furrows in confusion. Did something happen in the last four years?

“Um, well, you used to be, of course, but I know things change …” She flicks her legs over the chaise and faces me.

“Alex, I am still dancing. I attend an academy here that is prepping me for future theatre careers, or if I want, I can back-up dance in music videos …” she trails off.
No shit? Interesting.

“Oh, okay. You happy?” I query, paying close attention to her face. She shrugs and sighs. “Yeah, I am. The director is a complete fuckwit. Though. I do love dancing.”

“Tell me about it. You used to dance for me when you were younger. That was cute.” I internally cringe at the memory. I remember perving on her the last time I saw her dance for me.              

“Well, um...how about we ... ah ...” Avoiding my eyes, she leans forward and gestures to the TV. “Let’s just watch a movie. I think
Taken
is on TV tonight. We can watch that.”

She shuffles her legs back onto the chaise and faces the TV, effectively shutting me out.
The fuck?
Instantly, I’m on edge. Is something happening at dancing that she doesn’t want me to know about? Is that director causing problems? My instinct is to go straight to that studio and kick that guy’s ass. No way am I going to let it pass her by.

“Trice, what is going on? Is something happening at dance? Is that director bullying you?

Want me to go and kick his arse?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, Alex. He’s a dick, and there are bitches in the class, but I can handle it. It’s fine. It’s not that.” Sighing, she twirls her hair between her fingers and lowers her eyes. “It’s not that,” she whispers. Taking a deep breath, she continues, “Look, I know you don’t really want to hear about my dancing—so I just tried to stop talking about it so you didn’t feel obliged. Sorry if you got the wrong idea.”

I am both relieved and annoyed. She still wasn’t making any sense. “What do you mean I don’t want to hear about it? Of course I do!”

“Ah, no, you don’t. But that’s fine. Guys tend not to give a shit, and that’s fair enough.”

“Don’t compare me to other guys, Bea. I want to hear about. I always have.” Her fingers stop twirling her hair as I call her by her old nickname. For a moment her face softens, but it’s quickly hidden after a few blinks. She clutches a strand of hair that she was twirling. She suddenly doesn’t look so distracted anymore. 

“Actually, Alex,” she grizzles, “you don’t want to hear it. In fact, when I was in year ten and coming out of class, I heard you say just how much you didn’t like it.”

“What?” Shocked, I shake my head. “What the hell did I say? I don’t remember that.”

“Well, your lips were preoccupied with Stacey the whore, so maybe you had a brain fart happening. To cut the story short, you said that my dancing ‘bored you to tears.’”

“Oh hell, Bea. I am so sorry.” Thinking about it, I could vaguely remember saying something, but it was never meant for her to hear. The truth was that I did like talking to her about it and I especially
liked
it when she danced for me. Her brother was there that day. I would’ve scored an elbow to the nose if I’d admitted it. There was no way I could tell her now.

“Bea, to be honest, I was probably being led by dick that day. A stupid, hormonal teenage boy who was being a smart arse. I am so sorry, and I never meant to hurt you. I actually do want to hear about your dancing. Please, just forget about me being a colossal dickhead.” I move closer to her so I can rub her shoulder. “Just add it to the pile of stupid shit I’ve done and please, please, please let’s forget about it? I want this friendship to work again.”

She leans her head towards my hand that’s on her shoulder. I don’t think she realises how much I want to touch her all over.

“Okay, sounds good.” Sitting up, a mischievous smirk comes across her face.

“Well, if you really want to hear about it, I can’t wait to fill you in on all the class drama that happens and discuss costumes, hair, and make-up. Oh and waxing appointments! The joys of avoiding ingrown hairs! I can’t wait!” Giggling, she flicks her hair and gives me that cheeky grin.

“Smart arse,” I murmur.
Ingrown hairs?
Yuck.  “Please, for the love of God, do not talk about tutus or anything pink and we’re good.”