Kaleidoscope Hearts (11 page)

Elle tilted her head to look at me, wearing that tiny frown she got when she was trying to figure something out.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. Adam . . . you dancing . . . Vic saying you’re not into relationships . . .” I shrugged.

She laughed, her eyes lit in amusement. “That’s something, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never been into relationships. You have all the fun in the world.”

“That’s different.”

“Different how? Is it because I’m a girl?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No,” I said quickly. “It’s not that.” It wasn’t. The women I fucked were all single and not into relationships—it was what we had most in common. But this was Elle. This was . . .
Elle.

“So what is it?” she challenged.

I groaned, running my hand over my hair and leaving it there. “I don’t know. I . . . don’t know. You’re right. You should do whatever you want.”

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” she said, her eyes trailing from mine, to my bicep, and then my head. I smiled.

“You can braid it better now.”

She smiled. “Turn around.”

I did. My shoulders stiffened when I felt her hands on them.

“I can’t reach. You’re going to have to kneel down,” she whispered against my neck. My eyes fell closed as I tried to contain the fire beginning to blaze through me. I turned and walked to a bench at the side of the house. It was gross, and Vic had been trying to get rid of it for years, but right now, I was glad it was there.

Elle sat beside me, and I turned my back so she could let my hair down. I cringed when she pulled on the rubber band.

“I told you to stop using these,” she said, sighing heavily as she ran her fingers through my hair. She massaged my scalp as if she was washing it. I resisted the urge to moan at how good it felt. Women loved to pull on my hair, and I never complained about that, but there was something about the way Elle touched it that made a tingling sensation run through me. When she was finished combing it through, she dropped her hands. The pause was long enough for me to turn my body and face her.

“You’re not going to braid it?” I asked, frowning as I took in the faraway expression on her face.

She shook her head, her eyes dropping to my chest. I moved closer, until our faces were inches apart, but she still didn’t look at me.

“Elle?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

Her eyes snapped to mine and for a beat, I got lost in the way the different colors in them swirled. They always reminded me of a marble. My favorite marble—blue, green, and brown. The way she looked at me made my heart pound. It was like a world of wonder lived in those eyes. I wished I could see myself the way she saw me. Maybe I would be a different person if I could. Maybe I would be a one-woman man—a man who wanted to go visit her parents for the weekend and get serious right now. Looking at Elle—right there at that moment—made me want to be that guy.

“I was, but it brings back memories,” she whispered. “Braiding your hair, I mean.”

I nodded and swallowed, pushing my hands down over my thighs so I wouldn’t touch her.

“Do you remember when I asked you if you would kiss me when I was eighteen?” she asked in a whisper. She reached out and tapped the tips of her fingers over my knuckles as if they were piano keys. It made my heart beat faster.

“Yeah,” I matched her whisper, but mine sounded hoarse.

“Would you?” Her eyes bounced to each of mine, her hands stilling over mine. “Would you kiss me, Oliver?”

My heart was beating so fast, I couldn’t think. My lips parted slightly, and I nodded. I was always the chaser—the one sweet-talking girls—but this girl always seemed to have me at a loss for words. She threw me off balance. We moved toward one another until the tips of our noses touched. We held each other’s gaze and, a millisecond apart, we closed our eyes. Our mouths touched . . . my lips slid between hers . . . her tongue slipped into my mouth . . . and as soon as it touched mine, I felt the fire ignited earlier, roll through me at full blaze.

Kissing Estelle felt like what I could only imagine kissing a cloud was like—light and sweet, and all consuming. Our mouths moved together in sync, as if we’d been kissing since we were born. Our hands framed each other’s faces, like we were scared to pull away because the moment would be over. I’d never wanted to melt and disappear into a girl’s mouth as much as I wanted to right then. When I finally broke the kiss—because my hands were developing a mind of their own and I didn’t want to do something I would regret tomorrow—her eyes popped open. She looked at me like she was just seeing me for the first time—or maybe that’s just how I felt because I wanted her to look at me like that. I kissed her again, this time more urgently, and groaned into her mouth when her hands pulled my hair. We pulled apart one last time, our chests heaving, when we heard someone calling out her name.

“That’s Adam. He probably wants to leave,” she said, panting.

“Are you going to go have fun with him?” I asked, dipping my head and taking her bottom lip between my teeth. She moaned and pulled on my hair, readjusting so she could straddle my hips. My hands moved to her thighs of their own accord. Everything in me wanted her so bad—all of her. And for so much more than just a make-out session.

“I’m having fun with you,” she said against my lips, grinding down on me.

“Fuck, yes,” I said in a moan, when she did it again.

Our tongues met and, as Estelle moved, I guided her hips to meet my thrusts. It was crazy. We were crazy. Anybody from the party could turn the corner and find us there, dry humping on that dirty bench, but we didn’t care. We weren’t
really
having sex, anyway, even though I wanted to. I wanted to pull my dick out of my pants and slip inside her more than anything, but this was Estelle, she didn’t deserve a quick fuck at a frat party. Her name got louder, and we tore away from each other quickly. She sat back beside me as we caught our breaths, and finally a figure appeared in the corner.

“Elle, I’ve been looking everywhere. You’re still looking at that damn plant?” Vic said, walking over to us.

“Yeah, well, we were talking,” she said, standing up and straightening her dress.

“Adam is throwing up everywhere. You might want to take him home,” he said.

She sighed heavily. “Are you serious? I don’t bring a girl with me because I don’t want to babysit, and then the guy I bring acts like a drunk sorority girl?”

I chuckled. “You want help?”

She shrugged. “I guess. If you don’t mind.”

I stood and followed to where the guy was. We waited for him to finish puking and I helped him get to the car—a shiny black BMW, which apparently he owned. It happened to be parked beside my beat-up Maxima and, for some reason, this drunk little shit having this car and trying to make a move on Elle bothered me. She’d never been a materialistic girl. I knew she didn’t need much, but it made me feel a little inadequate and reminded me why I was waiting to settle down. I wanted to be at a secure place in my life when I settled down. I wanted the car, the house—and anything else my mind could conjure up as a necessity—out of the way before that happened, and I knew it wouldn’t happen any time soon.

When she got into the driver’s seat and started the car, I walked to her window. We looked at each other for a long moment, and then she smiled shyly.

“I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you,” she whispered. I grinned and looked around the driveway. Everybody was inside the party, so I dipped my head into the window and kissed her again, not caring that Adam was sitting there. He was passed out anyway.

“And?” I asked when I backed away.

“It was . . . everything.” Her face lit up when she said it. “But don’t worry; I know it was a one-time thing.”

My smile vanished. I wanted to tell her it could be more. We went to nearby schools. It could be more. Then I remembered who she was and that her brother would never approve of me dating his sister. With my track record, I wouldn’t approve of me either. And she was only eighteen. It was her first semester of college, and I was about to graduate and go to medical school.

“You’re the one who wants to have fun now that you’re a college girl,” I said jokingly, kind of hoping she’d say otherwise. Instead, she smiled brighter.

“That, I do. See you next time, Bean.”

Adam groaned beside her, and we both froze and glanced his way. He stayed put.

“Yeah, next time,” I said, as she drove away. I sighed. My heart felt heavy as the taillights disappeared around the bend. I wondered if it would ever again stagger and skyrocket the way it just had.

Present

I HATE FIGHTING.

I hate being wrong, but I hate fighting more than I hate being wrong. I’m just not good at the grudge-holding thing. I get mad, scream about it and let go. Mia, on the other hand, gets mad, screams about it, and clings on to her anger like a leech. Needless to say, we haven’t spoken in a couple of days. I’d managed to avoid Oliver the past few days at the hospital, while I painted vinyl records and surfboards with the kids. I saw him a couple of times by the nurses’ station, though, and once leaving Jen’s office. I caught glimpses of what his life must be like—the flirting, the multitude of sexual partners, the late night rendezvous he probably has in the hospital during the night shift. They aren’t things I necessarily want to imagine, but that’s just where my mind automatically goes when it comes to Oliver.

Two of my friends, Micah and Dallas, are standing in the middle of the hallway of the pediatrics floor, both with the same disgusted looks on their faces that I had when I saw the walls. I could tell from the way Micah keeps running his hands through his long blonde hair that he’s nervous about taking this project on. Dallas is just full-on gaping, as if the walls are taunting him. Micah turns first and shoots me a
what the fuck did you get us into
look that I have to laugh at.

“But for real,” he says when I reach them. My arms swing around his middle, and I squeeze.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say against his back and then do the same to Dallas.

“Honey, this thank you better come with a blow job,” Dallas says as I pull away, laughing loudly until I hear a throat clearing behind me. I turn to find Oliver standing there with a strange look on his face. That makes me laugh harder, because clearly, he’d heard Dallas.

“Hey,” I say. “This is Micah and Dallas. Guys, this is Oliver, my brother’s friend—the one who got me into this whole thing.”

As they nod at each other, Dallas, who’s just slightly taller than me, gives Oliver a quick onceover, and Micah throws out a “hey man” that makes him sound like a stoner straight out of Woodstock. Oliver returns their greetings politely before his eyes return to mine.

“May I speak to you for a moment?” he asks, the intensity in his eyes making my stomach twist.

“Sure. Guys, the paint is in there. I think we should start with the room on the far left first. I’ll be right back,” I say, pointing to the room before turning to follow Oliver with a frown. “Where are we going?”

He opens a door and signals for me to go inside, but I stand rooted in place. This side of the hospital is vacant because of the paint project, but I don’t want somebody to see us and get the wrong idea.

“Come in.”

“We can talk here.”

Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as if he’s trying to calm himself down. When he opens them, they look more tired than before, if possible. “Please, Elle. Just humor me.”

I shake my head, but do as he says, because I don’t want to leave the guys alone for too long. He’s invited me into some sort of storage room, with a bunch of filing cabinets lined up along the walls.

“So?” I ask, turning to face him. He’s leaning against the door with his hands in the pockets of his white coat, just staring at me. “What?”

“I haven’t heard from you. I haven’t seen you, and then when I finally do, some guy is talking about you giving him a blow job?” He doesn’t sound upset, just confused and maybe a little hurt, I think, which is ridiculous and impossible—because this is Oliver we’re talking about.