Rumble (17 page)

followed by a random echo:

Luke.

Luke.

Luke.

By Friday

I still haven’t forgiven a single person.

Least of all myself.

On the surface, Hayden and I are fine.

Except, not really.

Dig a millimeter beneath my epidermis.

Blood trickles, chilled.

I told her I’m okay. With her. With us.

But I’m not so sure.

I don’t know how to act with her.

What to do. What to say.

Should I tell her she’s totally stunning?

Or insist she’s hot as hell?

Should I coax her hand into mine?

Or maul her boobs?

What freaking role should I play?

Respectful boyfriend? Stud?

And maybe the biggest question of all:

Would the true Hayden please step forward?

Zero Communication

That’s what we’ve shared in the past

three days. Yes, we’ve talked, about

weekend plans, and the game tonight—

it’s moot, but Dad has to finish out

the season—and even about her campus

youth ministry meeting today. Looks like

I’m giving up Friday lunches to Judah.

Oh, as they say, fucking well. But as far

as commentary, I didn’t even say that much

to her about my real feelings. Martha

would be so disappointed. I totally flaked

in the open communication department.

But now, walking her to the library,

where she’ll turn her attention away from

me and toward her way-too-good-looking,

way-too-interested-in-her young minister,

thoughts churn in my head, turning my brain

into sour butter. I still have hold of her hand

when I say, “Here’s something to ask Judah.

Is the reason he thinks I’m probably gay

because I don’t believe in God? All atheists

aren’t queer, you know. And conversely,

a strong sense of morality isn’t exclusive

to those who dress up in their religion.”

Now, That Was Communication

Succinct. Well-spoken.

But apparently Hayden

isn’t much impressed.

Our fingers come unwoven.

Believe it or not, we have

more important topics

of discussion than you.

“Since when?” I turn and

stride away before way

too much communication

vomits from my mouth.

I’m halfway to the lunch-

room when it hits me. What

could they be discussing

that’s so damn important?

Every shred of bravado

disintegrates. For maybe

the hundredth time I wonder

if Hayden and I are destined

to cut loose from each other,

go separate ways. But this

time I also wonder if I care.

Skipping Tonight’s Game

Is a given. That Hayden

and her minions will attend

without me is also obvious.

The question becomes what

will I do with my Friday night?

I find the answer three paces

behind me, when I turn, sensing

eyes on my back. “Hey, Alexa.”

I pause to let her catch up.

“I don’t suppose you witnessed

that little scene with Hayden?”

A pretty smile paints tiny lines

at the corners of her eyes. Dark

blue eyes. Almost violet.

I might have. Don’t suppose

you want to give me details?

She falls into step beside me,

close enough so every now

and again the curve of her hip

bumps my thigh. Nice. Wait.

I’m mad at Hayden, but not

enough to be thinking what

I think I’m thinking. “It’s probably

not PC to divulge our secrets.”

Just as the words escape my lips,

Jocelyn scurries past. Her rabid bitch

glare catches me and her smirk

declares she has seen too much,

assumes even more. Suddenly,

I want to confide everything,

and dare to ask Alexa, “So,

what are you doing tonight?”

I Spend Most of the Afternoon

Thinking up excuses.

But Hayden doesn’t even ask

if
I’m going to the game,

so there’s no need

to explain why I’m not.

In fact, the only thing

she bothers to say

at the end of the day is,

Call me later.

She does give me

a whipped-cream kiss,

sweet and light and lickable,

but definitely not

the “I want to turn you on”

kind, let alone the “stick

your tongue down my throat

so I can bite it off

and spit it out” kind.

Then she floats away

like a wispy cloud,

to be swallowed up

by the chatter tornado.

I think about my plans

for tonight and guilt churns

as I watch the twister

spin toward the door,

nothing but hot wind

and the tiniest bits

of substance, but a force

to be reckoned with.

Hayden does not look

back, doesn’t wave goodbye.

“Love you, too,”

I whisper into

the cyclone’s wake.

The words fall,

autumn-crisped

leaves, scattering

across the floor.

The Guilt

Has pretty much dissipated

by the time I pick up Alexa.

We left our plans for the evening

fluid. After all, this isn’t a real

date. More like hanging out.

That’s my story and I’m sticking

to it, at least if I can convince

myself that this intense attraction

I find myself feeling can’t possibly

lead to more than great conversation.

But damn, this girl is hot. If Hayden

is a nymph, Alexa is a siren,

a temptress in black leather.

When she gets into the truck, she scents

it with some rich, earthy perfume.

Not sweet, and for that I’m grateful.

Hey,
she says.
Where are we going?

I shrug. “Depends on what you want

to do, but there’s no one at my house.

We could go there. If you want, I mean.”

She grins.
Might be dangerous.

“Scared?”

Of you? Hardly.

“Okay, then.”

Decision made, I steer the truck

toward home. Anxiety tremors

suddenly, cartwheels in my gut.

Alexa’s right, this just might be

dangerous. But I’m pretty damn

weary of playing it safe. I do have

to wonder, though, what her motives

are. Then again, what are mine?

Too Late to Worry

About piddling things like motives

now. Alexa is sitting on the sofa,

legs curled up under her, waiting

for me to bring her a drink. I pour

two bourbons and Coke, hers as strong

as mine. Maybe even stronger.

By the time I return from the kitchen,

she has shed her jacket, and the shiny

pewter shirt she’s wearing fits like

a seal’s skin, clinging to muscular flesh

in quite a provocative way. I hand her

the slick, sweating glass, take a seat

at the far end of the couch, where

I can admire the view, but be less

tempted to touch her. She takes a healthy

swallow, and then another, deciding

what to say. Finally,
So, tell me. Why

did you ask me here? Revenge?

Straightforward, and I imagine

she expects nothing less from me.

Good. The truth isn’t always pretty,

but it’s easier than deception. “Maybe

a little. But mostly I needed a neutral

someone to talk to. You can be that, right?”

I Expect Her to Say

Of course. But Alexa prefers

to surprise me. She lifts her eyes

level with mine.
I don’t know.

But I’ll give it my best shot.

How do I begin this conversation?

What do I really want to talk about?

My hesitation makes her ask,

Is this about Hayden? Or me?

“Both, I guess. I can’t quite figure

her out, and I thought you could offer

a little insight.” Her steady gaze falls

away, and I attempt to draw it back.

“You two were friends for a long time.

What happened?” A swelling hum

at the hinges of my jaw tells me

the alcohol is kicking in. Not sure

if that’s good or bad. Especially when

she says,
Come on. You have to know.

Now I’m not exactly sure I want

to know. Distraction may be called

for. I drain my tumbler. “Need a refill?

I kind of think I might.” She hands me

her glass, follows me into the kitchen,

and watches me pour two more,

slightly weaker than the last.

What if your parents come home?

“Mom’s at her sister’s for the weekend

and Dad drinks to closing on Friday nights,

so we’ve got the place all to ourselves.

Cheers! Here’s to rotten parenting.”

We clink-and-drink. Unexpectedly,

she pushes very close, and looks up

into my eyes, flushing me with heat.

You
are what came between Hayden

and me, Matt. She knew how I feel

about you. I’d never do that to a friend.

And Just in Case

I’m not sure what she’s saying,

she rises up on her tiptoes, puts

one arm around my neck to bring

my face right into hers, and I know

she won’t take no for an answer,

and the truth is I don’t want to say no.

This time, we kiss, and it is not sweet

nor kind nor gentle. Our mouths mesh,

fevered and flavored with bourbon, and

there will be no turning away from what

must come next. “Finish your drink.”

The words fall away from my lips

and into the hollow of her throat. We

both take a final gulp, leave our empty

glasses on the counter. I boost her up,

and she wraps her legs around my waist,

and this time when we kiss I can feel

a rush of heat at the V of her jeans, right

above my belly button. I don’t think

I’ve ever been quite this hard, and it

didn’t take pills or porn to accomplish

it, let alone a guy’s physique. Gay?

Don’t think so, Mr. All-Knowing

Pseudo Minister. I’ll show you gay.

Alexa and I Kiss Again

Then she moves her mouth

to my neck, and her anxious

sucking at the pulse beneath

my ear leaves zero doubt.

“Come on.” It’s a hoarse croak,

someone else’s voice. I’ve been

body-snatched, and I can’t help

but feel grateful for that pitiful

excuse as I carry Alexa down

the hall toward my bedroom,

no second-guessing, full speed

ahead. But now I stop, put her down,

back against the door, pin her

there, hands above her head, palms

to palms. “I want you more than

I’ve wanted anything in my life

right now. But I can’t promise

this means anything more.”

Her heart thumps against my chest

and the blood coursing beneath

her skin lifts the heady scent

of her musky perfume mixed

with white-hot feminine lust. I’d

take her right here, but I need

to hear her confess.
I understand.

This is already more than I expected,

or even could have hoped for.

But just so you know, I’m going

to do everything in my power

to make you fall in love with me.

Because I love you, Matt Turner.

I have since the eighth grade.

I can think of no proper

rejoinder, other than to open

the door, pick her up and carry

her to my bed, lay her carefully

on top of the quilt. She starts

to get undressed and I move to

turn off the light.
No. Leave it on.

I want to see you, want you to see me.

I’ve Only Been With

Two other girls, one older (and my instructor),

one younger. (I was the one who schooled

her.) Neither cared about pleasing me,

only about my bringing them to orgasm.

Both had body image problems and insisted

we play in the dark. This is something new.

I watch Alexa unsheath a near-perfect body.

Where Hayden is all soft curves, Lex

maintains the taut angles of the distance

runner she is. The whole time she keeps

those spectacular eyes on me. Finally

she says,
Well? Don’t just stand there.

She doesn’t have to invite twice.

I’m naked. We’re skin against skin.

I’m in her mouth. My tongue’s in her.