Our Totally, Ridiculous, Made-Up Christmas Relationship (12 page)

Someday I’ll be fine. Maybe not right here and now, but someday I will be able to look at Danny and not think about all the what-ifs. Someday I won’t feel like the outcast in a world full of lovers. Someday I’ll wake up in a bed, by myself, and be perfectly content with my life.

Yup. Someday I’ll be fine.

When I wake up, it’s still pitch-black outside. Turning on my cell, I see that it reads three thirty-four a.m. The snow is falling gently now, the sparkling flakes hitting the edges of the window as if stylishly choreographed in an intricate dance. I look over to the sleeping beauty, watching her body rise and fall. She’s a handful when she’s awake, but she’s flawless and perfect in her sleep.

Rising from the uncomfortable sofa, I cringe as my scrunched-up body tries to unknot itself. Before assuming a full-upright position, I rub the back of my neck and roll my shoulders a few times to loosen up. I’ll definitely be taking the floor during the next few nights. The couch isn’t cutting it.

Slipping into a pair of shoes, I grab my coat and a pack of cigarettes and head to the front porch. The cold air momentarily takes my breath away, and for a brief moment, I consider going back inside where it’s nice and warm. Zipping my jacket and pulling up the collar against the frigid air, I cannot help but wonder what I’m doing here, in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin, in the company of Oscar-winning actors. Why did I agree to this in the first place? First of all, I wanted to tell my parents that an agent had signed me, as if that would somehow prove my worth to them as an actor—and as a son. But when I heard the desperate pleading in Jules’s voice as she stood on the chair in the lobby, begging for an actor, I recognized that desperation as my own when Stacey turned me down at the agency.

I rub my lips together before lighting up the cigarette and inhaling the first hit. That first drag normally brings an intense feeling of relaxation as the smoke fills my lungs; and, exhaling empties me of all tension. Usually, there’s a pleasant buzz—a momentary dizzy feeling—that accompanies each drag, but not this time. I look at the cigarette, and wonder why I hold on to this nasty habit. Why I even started. But whenever the smell of smoke envelops me, whenever I breathe in the scent of smoke that remains embedded in my clothing, I remember her.

I was seventeen when I first fell in love. It was the last time I fell, too. She was two years older but just as dark, just as broken. We both grew up in homes where we didn’t fit into the family portraits. We were the outcasts, the rejects, the creative types. Penny always believed in better days. She said that someday our acting careers would take off, and we’d show our families how much we didn’t need them to believe in us.

She was more intense than I was, more…passionate. She was also more damaged, more lost. She wanted more than anything in the world to prove that she wasn’t the negative space her family painted her to be. I wish she had been a little stronger, had a little more fight. There came a point when I realized that all of her passion, all of her bravado, was an act. She did not believe in herself. She saw herself as invisible. How her family portrayed her had become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I never thought I would be the one to land the agent, to actually give this acting thing a real run for its money, but look at me now, pretending to be someone’s boyfriend.

Penny would’ve laughed at this whole situation. Her laugh was contagious, spreading into my bones, infecting my soul. I guess I haven’t quit the cigarettes yet because they remind me of her, her kisses, her scent. Of her sadness.

I toss the cigarette into the snow, and hear it hiss as the snow melts around its glowing tip. I should let go of the whole smoking thing; yet, there’s this melancholy feeling that when I do, it means I’ll let go of Penny and lose all of my memories of her and of us.

And I’m not sure if I’m ready to walk away from it all just yet.

Arriving back in the bedroom, I gaze at the beautiful blonde sleeping in the bed and a part of me wants to forget Penny completely. A part of me wants to move on from my past and get to know Jules. She’s weird, emotionally scarred, and semi-annoying—in the best possible way—but I love those things about her.
Love those things?
Is that even possible? To love characteristics of a person you don’t even know? The gulf between the couch and the bed mocks me as I crawl into the bed, and wrap my legs and arms around her. What am I doing? And why wasn’t the cigarette enough? Why is it that, on this cold winter night, Jules Stone is the only thing in my mind that can bring me the warmth I’m searching for?

Gently kissing her ear, I whisper against it. “Sunshine…”

She shifts in her sleep, but not before relaxing against me, snuggling her curves even deeper into mine. I wonder if she knows I’m this close, if it would scare her. Does it scare me a little? I want her to wake up, roll over, and notice me. I want her to be all right with the fact that I’m this close.

I kiss her ear again, and she wiggles against the bed sheets and turns toward me. Her sleepy blue eyes slowly open; then open wide, startled with alarm and fear. “Ah!” she screams in shock, sitting up in bed and kneeing me in the gut.

“Ow!” I whine, grabbing my stomach, bending over in a small bit of pain.

“Oh my gosh!” She shakes her head back and forth, hands over her mouth, trying to dispel her dream state and waken more fully. “Kayden, I’m so sorry! But what the hell are you doing?! Do you sleep-walk?”

To be honest, I have no clue what the hell I was doing, why I chose to climb into bed with her. Jesus! I probably came off as a fucking psychopath just now. I don’t snuggle, I don’t hold people, and I don’t let people hold me. So why in the hell did I climb into that bed with Jules? And why in the hell did it feel so…right?

“I’m sorry, it’s just…never mind…I can’t even explain it.”

With her body turned toward me, all I want to do is kiss her over and over again. She shifts her eyes to the window, noting the darkness, and a yawn escapes her beautiful lips as she lies back down. “Kayden, it’s still sleep time. Go to sleep, Sexdorable.” she breathes out as she closes her eyes, and her smile widens. There’s so much I want to do to her, with her, right at this moment, but I can’t, and it pisses me off.

“Are you awake?” I mutter, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to her almost motionless body. It takes everything for me to not burst out laughing when I see her eyes reopen with a sassy look of attitude.

“I’m not nice when I don’t get sleep.”

“I’m hungry.” Moving over to her, I take her arms and pull her up into a sitting position.

“I will punch you in your face. No lie, I will fuck you up,” she warns, trying to edge back down to her pillow. I can’t help but laugh at the grump, and pull her up again, holding her against me.

“Let’s go make something to eat. Seeing how I missed dinner because you almost killed me.”

“Really?” She leans her head on my shoulder, and I feel her hot breaths slapping against my neck.
My gosh…I really like holding you.
Her body wiggles even closer to mine, making me think she somewhat likes me holding her, too. “You’re playing the ‘I almost died’ card? At like four in the morning?”

“It’s three, and yes, I am.”

Her hands rub across her face, and she slaps her cheeks back and forth, trying to wake herself up. “Fine. But you’re cooking.”

I yank open the fridge and see what I have to work with. “How do you like your eggs?” I ask, pulling out the carton.

“Sunny-side up. At eight in the morning.” She mopes around the kitchen in her slippers and damn cute puppy dog pajamas, and I snicker at her tired attitude. Her hair is all frizzy and wild, and her make-up is smeared across her face, but I don’t mention it. It’s kind of cute, and it works perfectly with her early morning personality.

“Pancakes it is,” I say, pulling out all of the ingredients. Jules hops on the barstool across from me, and watches as I start mixing everything together. “Chocolate chips or blueberries?”

“Blueberries.” Her fingers open the blueberries and she pops a few into her mouth. Her nose wiggles at the tartness of the fruit and she shakes her head. “Chocolate chips.”

As I start to prepare our early-early breakfast, she lays her head down on the kitchen island, watching all my moves. Even though she doesn’t say a word, her body language speaks for her. She’s comfortable and relaxed around me—as if we have always awakened at three in the morning for breakfast dates. Her lips hold a soft smile upon them, showing me that she’s pleased I woke her from her dreams. For some odd reason, I feel as if I’m still dreaming.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Her question should be random, but I’m surprised she hasn’t asked before. I turn on the skillet, dreading the idea of turning my body toward her and answering her. The words are there, my reasons are clear, but I don’t want to talk about it. Our eyes finally meet and we stare for a moment, neither of us blinking, neither of us
wanting
to blink. Until I turn away and go back to making pancakes.

She doesn’t push the subject, but I can tell she’s still wondering. “You cook a lot?”

“I used to.” My reply is curt, and I feel bad about it, but I can’t go into more detail. Tossing a few pancakes onto a plate, I slide it over to her and pull out the syrup from the cabinet.

“Thank you,” she yawns, covering her lips with her hand. “There are a lot of things about you that you don’t talk about, aren’t there?”

“There are a lot of things about me that I can’t talk about. Otherwise, I’ll turn into you and someone will need to pin me against a wall, feeding me a pep talk.” Turning off the stove, I grab my plate of pancakes and join her at the island.

“I give pretty decent pep talks.”

“I’m sure you do, I just don’t
receive
pep talks very well.”

“Oh my gosh.” Her eyes close as she takes the first bite of the pancakes and I swear it looks like she just had a moment of personal pleasure. “Three a.m. pancakes shouldn’t taste this good.
No
pancakes should taste this good.” My insides twist in a knot knowing that she enjoys them, creating some kind of weird satisfaction within me.

“You smell like smoke again,” she blurts out, eating her food.

“I’m trying to quit.”

“Why did you start?” Another question left unanswered. She blinks once, and when her blue eyes look up, I ease myself away from her in the opposite direction. She notes the new distance between us. “I’m sorry, I get personal. I’m nosy. Sorry.” Her apology is authentic, but it’s not necessary. She has no reason to apologize for my personal issues. There’s so much of my history I’ve learned to block out of my world, and there’s no reason for me to revisit it out loud. Inside my head those demons are free to float around, but the idea of the words actually leaving my lips is terrifying. There’s such a realness to talking about Penny, and about what happened, that it scares the living hell out of me.

“I wish I could be more like you. Able to shut up and forget things.” She stares at her pancakes, cutting them into pieces. “But I gotta say I also wish I knew more about you, about your history. It’s safe to say I fall for guys fast. I become weak searching for love or lust. Any emotion, really. But it’s different with you, Kayden. With you it’s hard to find the weakness inside of me. With you I feel strong. So, I simply wish I knew more about you, because you make me stronger.”