Kiss in the Dark (14 page)

“Are you sure you’ve got everything you need?” Danielle asked again.

Vance sighed, shaking his head. “Danny, I’ve been living alone for, like, three years. I’m fine.” He leaned forward, affectionately kissing her on the forehead. “Now, I’ll see you girls at eight,” he said. “Sleep tight, Boston.”

“I hope so.” Danielle looked at the clock. “One a.m.! We are so going to regret staying up this late.” She looked at Boston. “Want me to help you make the bed? There’s extra bedding in the top of the closet.”

“No. I’m fine,” Boston assured her. “Let’s just get to bed. I’m sure Steph will make my exodus as painful as possible tomorrow.”

“Probably.” Danielle rolled her eyes. She looked at Boston and smiled. “Oh my heck, Boston, I’m so excited. We are going to have so much fun!”

“I know!” Boston squealed.

The young women hugged and then retired to their bedrooms.

Boston sighed as she surveyed her new bedroom. It was bright and fresh and Stephanie-free! Furthermore, the lingering scents of Juicy Fruit gum, Old Spice bodywash, and clean cotton T-shirts still hung in the air. In that moment, the soon-to-be liberated Boston Rhodes thought heaven itself couldn’t seem more inviting.

Vance pushed the driver’s side door of his old pickup closed. Reaching into the bed of the truck, he retrieved the two duffle bags he’d brought from Danielle’s. It was late, and he was tired, so he sauntered to the door of the cheap motel, unlocked it, and stepped in.

He wrinkled his nose as the smell of old carpet, dust, and grime filled his nostrils. Still, the room had a bed, a TV, and a bathroom. What more did he need? After all, it was only for a few weeks—only until the previous owners of the house really did move out.

He dumped the two duffle bags on the wobbly little table under the front window and walked to the bed. Flicking a cockroach off the faded bedspread, he stripped off the motel’s questionable bedding. He’d been glad Danielle had let him take the bedding from her place. He couldn’t have slept in the bedding provided by the motel. He wondered how long it had been since it had really been washed.

As Vance made the bed with the bedding he’d used at Danielle’s apartment, he silently wished that buying the house hadn’t so completely wiped out his savings. In that moment, he silently admitted he would’ve liked to have holed up in a nicer place for the next three weeks. Yet he couldn’t see wasting the money now. Furthermore, he’d only be there to sleep. He figured he could hang out at Danielle’s on the weekend. Thus, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have to pick up some air fresheners though. The place did smell pretty closed up and rank.

Stretching out on the bed, he set the electric alarm clock on the nightstand. The old quilt he’d brought from Danielle’s still smelled like fabric softener, and he pulled it up under his nose. At least Boston wouldn’t have to spend another night with that psycho chick. At least he’d done one good deed lately—though he prayed his sister never found out. He chuckled, imagining the fit Danielle would throw if she knew he was staying in a dive like this.

Vance closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of fabric softener, and tried not to breathe in any other scents that might remind him of where he really was. He frowned—breathed deeper—pressed the hem of the quilt against his nose. Something else was there, something mingling with the fragrance of fabric softener. He realized then what the sweet scent was, wishing it was stronger, more perfectly discernable. Lotion, maybe? Perfume? Hairspray? The old quilt smelled like fabric softener all right—fabric softener and Boston Rhodes. Vance inhaled the lingering fragrance of Boston Rhodes again and—in the next breath—slept.

Chapter Seven

“Masculine hands are
so
important on a guy,” Halle said as she placed the box of books she’d been carrying into the bed of Vance’s pickup.

“Oh, totally!” Boston agreed. “Men’s hands need a few calluses.” Boston put the box she’d been carrying into the pickup bed as well.

“And I kind of prefer it when their fingernails aren’t perfectly manicured,” Danielle said, placing her box with the others.

“Max’s hands are perfect!” Kara said. Kara was in the pickup bed. She stacked the boxes the other girls had just put in. “Callused…but not too rough. Strong too.”

Vance and Dempsey arrived, carrying the only piece of furniture Boston was bringing with her—the lounge chair Boston’s dad had given her for Christmas the year before.

Boston smiled and watched as the two men worked to lift the chair into the pickup bed. Vance leapt up into the truck bed and secured the chair with bungee straps.

“There,” Vance said. “This has gotta be the easiest move I’ve ever done.”

“You didn’t have much in there, Boston,” Dempsey said. “Are you sure none of that other furniture is yours?”

Boston shook her head. “Nope. Books, clothes, pictures, bedding…just stuff like that. Oh! And most of the framed stuff on the walls is mine.” Anxiety began to rise in Boston’s chest. “Once we start taking the artwork and pictures…that’s when Steph’s going to get upset.”

“Well, I’ve got to admit,” Danielle began, “they’re a pretty good example of what we were talking about. What do you think, Bost?”

Danielle nodded to Boston, and Boston took Vance’s hands in hers. Instantly, a weird electric sensation traveled through Boston’s body. Vance’s hands were warm, callused, and obviously very strong.

Boston studied Vance’s hands for a long moment. They certainly did not own manicured fingernails. Yet his nails were nice—no length at all to them. He had calluses on his palms, below each finger. Though his skin wasn’t dry, it wasn’t baby-soft either. In short, Vance’s hands were the perfect blend of scuffed up, rugged masculinity.

“I concur,” Boston said, releasing Vance’s hands—for holding them was making her nervous.

The girls all giggled conspiratorially, and Dempsey—never one to be able to handle being left out of a secret—said, “What? What’s so funny?”

By this time, Vance was looking at his own hands, his puzzled frown deepening.

“We were talking about men’s hands,” Halle explained. “Kara says Max’s are very masculine…so we were just checking out Vance’s to make sure his were too.”

Boston couldn’t help but grin when she saw the way Danielle’s breath caught in her throat, the way her own hands trembled as she studied Dempsey’s.

“The masculine hands test?” Max asked as he approached carrying three boxes.

“Yeah, baby,” Kara said, tiptoeing and kissing Max on one cheek. “You set the standard. We’re just seeing if Dempsey and Vance can hang with you where masculinity is concerned.”

Max smiled. “Well, very few guys can hang with me there,” he teased.

“Check it out,” Vance said. “Don’t look, but your pal Stephanie is watching us out the window.”

Boston’s innards began to tremble with heightening anxiety as she thought of having to return to the apartment to begin taking the stuff off the walls. In truth, Steph could have a very violent temper. Boston was glad her friends were with her—especially the guys. She hoped the old “safety in numbers” thing would keep Steph in control. Surely she wouldn’t lose her cool in front of the guys.

“She’s in there muttering about how ungrateful you are, Boston,” Max said. “I think she expected you to leave that chair.”

“She likes it,” Boston said. “And I actually thought about leaving it…but it was a gift from my dad.” She frowned, irritation and anger causing her to clinch her teeth. “And besides…it’s the principle of the thing. It’s my chair!”

“It is yours, Bost,” Danielle reminded. “Just like the stuff on the walls. So let’s get back in there and finish this.”

Boston shook her head, still worried. “She’s gonna be mad.”

“Then she’ll just have to be mad. Come on,” Vance said, patting Boston soundly on the back in offering reassurance. “I’ll go first.”

Boston couldn’t help but smile as Vance then began using military hand signals to direct everyone as to where to go, as if they were all Navy SEALs sneaking up on the enemy.

“Well, all your junk is out then,” Steph said as Boston stepped into the apartment behind Vance.

“I just need to get the stuff off the walls, and I’ll be done,” Boston said.

“You’re not taking anything off my walls!” Steph shouted then. “You’ve already taken stuff that belonged to me! I’m not letting you steal stuff right off my walls!”

“With pleasure,” Danielle said. Danielle glared at Steph, stepped past her, and began pointing to three custom-framed black-and-white photographs of trees.

“I’ll call the cops, Boston!” Steph threatened. “I swear if you take one more thing out of this apartment, I’ll call the cops!”

Boston started to cower, but she made the mistake of glancing to Vance. Rather, she made the good choice of glancing to Vance. His eyes narrowed and he nodded to her; he was encouraging her to self-advocate, she knew he was.

“Stephanie Crittendon,” Boston began, “as hard as this is for me, I have to say something to you.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to fortify her courage as she looked to Steph to see her defiantly fold her arms across her chest.

“For a long time now, I’ve been trying to help you to understand that you need to soften up. You need to quit being so mean to everyone and start treating people more kindly. I’ve let you bully me and bring me down. I’ve let you treat the people around me like they were slaves…and I can’t take it anymore. I
shouldn’t
take it anymore. You’re poisonous, Steph! Anyone who is ever around you feels horrible in your presence. And unless you want to spend your life all alone…miserable…feeling the way you make other people feel…you’ve gotta stop being so mean!” There! She’d said it. Not all of it, of course, but it was more than she’d ever said before—and suddenly, there was more.

“This is hard for me, Stephanie! It’s, like, the meanest thing I’ve ever said to anyone in my whole life, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how else to help you! All I know is, I can’t be around you anymore. I can’t let you poison my soul with your unhappiness, anger, and cruelty. The artwork in this apartment is mine. I found it all, I paid for it all…I even hung it on the walls! There’s no reason I shouldn’t take it with me. And no matter how much you threaten me or yell at me…I’m leaving and I’m taking the things I worked hard to earn with me. Is that okay?”

Boston sighed with disappointment in herself. After all that—after finally being honest with Steph—she’d still managed to ask her permission to take her own things.

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. She glared at Boston—hatefulness, envy, and resentment pulsating from her countenance.

“Fine,” Stephanie said. “Take your stupid pictures! They make me sick! You make me sick! Take your stuff and get out of my apartment!”

Boston gasped as she felt Vance take hold of her arm—yank her out of the way as Steph picked up a large glass vase, hurling it across the room in her direction. Thanks to Vance, the vase missed Boston and hit the wall behind her—shattering into a thousand slivered pieces. But it wasn’t over. Steph proceeded to grab another vase and hurl it across the room at Boston too. This vase grazed Vance’s shoulder as he stepped in front of Boston to protect her. It shattered against the wall, and Boston covered her face to protect it from the flying shards.

Boston watched as Halle, Kara, and Danielle went about the apartment, retrieving every print and picture belonging to Boston. Vance didn’t move—simply stood between Boston and Stephanie.

Dempsey stood near the door. Each time one of the girls left carryings something, he’d nod at Steph and say, “Stay chilled, Steph.”