Use Somebody (3 page)

It’s not that I didn’t want him to touch me—I had never been more okay with someone touching me—but the respectful gesture stood out to me. A unique kind of tension built, and I liked it. I liked wondering what his next move would be rather than having to slow him down. I liked the mystery without the guilt of compromise. Such small gestures spoke volumes of the stranger before me. Had I actually met a gentleman at this party?

One song melted into the next, yet he showed no signs of wanting to stop. It was easy to get swept away. His magnetic pull drew me in and like putty in his hands, I molded myself to his movements and tempo.

Suddenly a country song came on, and we both laughed at the abrupt change in pace. I was an embarrassment to my southern roots, unaware of how to dance to this music. I paused in place, blinking up at him, blushing, and overall just trying to breathe.

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, love,” he smirked widely then took my hands again. To my surprise he knew exactly what he was doing. With precision and grace, he led me in a choreographed series of movements where our arms lifted over our shoulders, and he spun me away then back into him.

“Two-stepping,” he said in my ear when I was cuddled into him.

I grinned.
This guy could dance!

After a few cycles through the routine, I caught on and was dancing it right along with him. We moved together like a well-practiced duo. Even people around us stopped to make room as he added in extra twirls and a dramatic dip. I wasn’t even embarrassed. What was the point of dancing if you couldn’t have fun?

After twelve years away from Texas, this former southern sweetheart could officially two-step.

When the song came to an end, we were breathing heavily through our laughter. He led me out of the room and into the kitchen for water, grins still in place. I couldn’t remember the last time I had such fun, and I was pleasantly surprised that he still seemed eager to spend time with me.

“So…” I said, intentionally trying to make my brain cells work. “You’re not from around here.”

He gifted me that sexy smirk once more. “What gave me away?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It might’ve been the accent. Or the fact that you called me
love.”
I smiled demurely into my cup. “The two-stepping did throw me off a bit, though.”

“Quite perceptive. I’m from all over, as it were, though I’ve spent the last few years in the states.” He paused to study me. “If you don’t mind me saying, I gather you’re not from around here either.”

I blushed a little. Of course it looked like I didn’t belong. “I grew up here, believe it or not.”

“Is that so,” he said in that devastatingly charming way of his. Definitely some sort of European, most likely British. “You bested me, then. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was getting an entirely different vibe from you.”

I looked up at him with wide, brown eyes. “What kind of vibe?”

“Well, let’s see, shall we.” Thoughtful fingers stroked his darkly stubbled chin while he circled me. “Ah, yes…” His voice grew quiet, serious. His gaze held me in place. “Open fields. Wild flowers. Horses grazing in the sunrise. A warm afternoon sipping iced tea on the porch swing, sitting next to the one person in the world that makes you feel like home… am I close?”

It was pure poetry. A life from a dream no one could have ever known.

“All that from a dance?”

“It was more than one dance,” he smiled. “Truth be told, I was a bit of a country lad, myself. From what I’ve seen of the world, there are no better people.”

It was official—we were soul mates.

“I lived in Texas until I was six,” I smiled wistfully. “I really miss it. I wanted to move back for college.”

His head tilted as he studied me with his penetrating gaze. “Why didn’t you?”

With a small shrug I admitted, “I guess I didn’t want to leave my friends.” The reason seemed kind of stupid now. Our clique of six disbanded. Miles and I broke up. The only friend I had left was Lexi. And now I was stuck here for the next four years.

He looked at me with the understanding of a clairvoyant. “But now you regret staying,” he deduced, voice smooth as silk.

How did he do that? How was he able to just stand there looking amazing while my pulse thundered away like a jackhammer? It was that knowing glint in his eyes; he had me pegged in an instant.

I cleared my throat. “So what brought you to California?”

I felt his roguish grin all the way down to my pinky toes. “Why, big dreams, of course.” He leaned down closer to me and winked. “And a nice place it is. So far I’d say it may be my new favorite.”

Holy cannoli.

I wanted to say something flirtatious back, but couldn’t find my nerve. I had never been much of a flirt, especially sober. I was too shy and awkward to ever pull it off.

Unfortunately, before I could get my brain to cooperate, the source of tonight’s troubles caught my attention. “Nice hair,” came her sarcastic remark as she walked past us with a newly filled red cup.

Without thinking, I let the insecurity show on my face. I had forgotten how awful I must’ve looked after the beer dunking, and here I was standing next to a male masterpiece. She snickered at my reaction then pouted dramatically. “Poor baby.”

My wide eyes shifted back to the man in front of me. He must have heard her—his expression hardened—though he didn’t turn around.

“Don’t let that daft prat get to you,” he said quietly. “The sad truth is, she’s just as miserable as everyone else here.”

“You think?” I asked, merely curious. She was definitely cantankerous, in my totally unbiased opinion. And I was feeling a bit under the weather sitting here like a wet dog. But… miserable?
Everyone?
That was quite a statement.

“I’ll let you in on a secret…” he leaned in conspiratorially, “She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

I blinked at his beautiful face. “How do you figure?”

“They’re all just playing the game.”

“I know all about
the game,”
I gave a disheartened nod. “I’m terrible at it.”

He shook his head reassuringly. “Don’t you fret, love. You see, you’ve just figured out what this entirely unpleasant lot hasn’t yet.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It’s nothing but a load of bullocks.”

I smiled politely. Certainly someone so handsome and smooth was good at this life. No doubt he fit in wherever he went and no one called him out at parties. I was clearly the misfit here, dancing to the beat of my own drum, though he was sweet to try and make me feel better about it.

“But some people love this life,” I countered, gesturing around the rooms where people danced, drank and flirted the night away. His eyes followed the same path as mine with a slightly curled lip, clearly seeing something different.

While I couldn’t wholly discredit his theory—since this scene certainly did nothing for me—I was having a hard time connecting “misery” to all the faces I saw. This life wasn’t for me, but I never claimed to be the norm. I could barely figure out my own happiness, much less judge anyone else’s.

“What makes you so sure?” he posed.

“Because this is what everybody does in college,” I shrugged. “This is living the dream.”

We quietly observed our surroundings like some social experiment as people partied the night away. It looked to me like they were in their element, like they were made for the nightlife. And I had always been practical to a fault, always took what I saw for face value.

“Fair point. Perhaps they believe it,” he considered, “But I can’t say that I do. They come here to get sloshed and go on the pull because they’re lonely. They fight for attention because they don’t truly feel beautiful. And they only knock others down because they feel insecure. These cheap soirées are nothing but an escape from their own rubbish lives. So yes, I think to some degree, they’re all miserable.”

By the time he finished, I was gawking. He spoke with such conviction that I began to doubt myself. For years I had stayed away from this life, unable to properly explain or defend my aversion to it. Then, finally feeling life’s pressure, I surrendered. I faked my way through parties and alcohol because I was lost and that’s what seemed to work for everybody else.

However my attempt at rebellion was half-hearted, at best. When it didn’t help, I wondered if there was something wrong with me. But if he was right… if all these people were just lost too… maybe I would feel a little less alone.

“Everyone?” I asked quietly.

A smile tugged at his lips. “You tell me,” his voice lowered. This time he leaned even closer to speak directly into my ear, deliciously grazing my cheek with his. “I find myself… curious as to what exactly you are doing here. I’ve been watching you since before you got up to dance. I noticed you standing alone in that corner as though you are inferior in this place. But if that’s what you think, you’re gravely mistaken. You are not meant to fade into obscurity, Scarlett.”

The way he said my name in his smooth British tenor made me yearn to hear it again.

“And what was I meant for?” I inquired, wide-eyed.

“You are the spark that illuminates a dark room, sweet girl… you were meant to shine.”

Me? Can someone so simplistically adorable… shine?
No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I gulped, unaware of how to respond.

I tilted slightly so I could look into his eyes. Our noses were inches apart. “And you?”

That’s what I didn’t understand. What was the point of showing up to a party and then judging everyone in the house for being here? Was he a hypocrite? Or was he telling me that he was miserable too? He didn’t appear to be drowning himself like others around us, but maybe he was lonely. Maybe that was the reason why he was talking to me. Maybe he was searching for something that he hadn’t expected to find tonight, either.

“Me?” he asked, seeming distracted by my mouth. My heart started beating faster and harder, knowing he was thinking about kissing me, and really,
really
wanting him to. It took every bit of effort to hold it together despite how badly I was affected by him.
A gentleman has to be the one to make the first move.

“Are you miserable?” I asked softly, letting the words flirt off my tongue, aware he was watching.

He seemed just as mesmerized by my mouth as I was with his eyes. I practically felt them latch on, unblinking, as the silence stretched and he failed to answer my question.

What began as a kind gesture was quickly becoming something much more. Within one short conversation and just a glimpse into his mind, he had me thoroughly intrigued. I felt connected to him. He understood me more than my best friends ever had, more than I understood myself. He had a passionate intensity that grabbed me at first glance and never let go.

Still captivated by my mouth, he swallowed ever so subtly, and my lonely little heart burst into song. It had been a long time since I had wanted a kiss this badly. His proximity made my tummy flutter in a long-forgotten way.

Once he began to lean in, my eyes fell closed, breathing shallowly by this point. Practically shivering in anticipation. Wondering why in the world he was prolonging this torturous wait.

Just as I expected to feel his lips against mine, my neck tickled with the warmth of his breath, and his voice sounded instead.

“Stop coming to these parties, Scarlett,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re better than this.”

When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

[Four Months Later]

“What do you mean, you don’t believe in love?” Gwen asked, skeptical.

“You don’t believe in love?!”
someone echoed dramatically, like it was a damn shame.

I turned to glare in his direction as he walked in from the back of the store, sporting the Mooshi Treatery uniform—a neon cow-spotted apron over all black—along with a huge grin. I sniffed. He must have been the lead closer, the one I hadn’t met yet, and within the first two seconds he was already pissing me off. Obviously Gwen and I were in the middle of a private conversation that was none of his damn business. What the hell did boys know about love anyway? Nothing beyond their own dicks, that’s what.

The boy, however, blatantly ignored my icy daggers, striding towards us with a big goofy grin on his stupid face. I narrowed my large doe eyes as tight as I could. Paired with this new black, edgier hairstyle, my glare was a bit more impressive these days.

As he approached, I held my defiant stare, although my resolve began to waver. I barely had enough attitude to manage a real scowl (the success of which was questionable), but not enough heat for actual confrontation. Especially with a stranger-slash-coworker. Even if his big perfect smile was totally annoying.

What the hell was he so happy about, anyway?

Like the coward I was, I looked away first. Damn. I was trying too hard to be a badass, but instead I was coming across like a dumbass. I fumbled awkwardly to recover. If my glare didn’t work, perhaps indifference would. I inspected my fingernails, essentially ignoring him. Maybe if he just started talking to Gwen I could make an escape.

No such luck.

He placed one hand on my shoulder, one over his heart, and belted out in tune of The Darkness, “I believe in a thing called loooove!”

What. The. Hell.

I stared at him in complete shock for a moment, trying to process what in the world was happening, before violently shaking his hand off my shoulder. My glower returned in full force. I didn’t like to be touched. Especially by guys I didn’t know. This one may be my coworker, but just like everybody else, he needed to learn he couldn’t mess with me.

He winked, deliberately provoking me, which only succeeded in pissing me off further.

“Who the hell are
you?”
I snapped.

“The name’s Vance, and I’m your lead for this shift. So be sure to watch the language when there are customers in here, will ya? This is a family place!”

He grinned like stupid sunshine and rainbows and it made me want to smash something. I was going to regret working in an ice cream parlor. This was supposed to be the low-stress paycheck that I needed—just enough to get back on my feet and get back into school. I was grateful to my old friend, Gwen, for getting me hired here and all that, but if I had to work alongside this grinning fool every week, not even all the free ice cream in the store could make this worth it.

He lifted his hand, like he actually thought he was going to touch me again, but I stepped out of his reach and pumped up my glare. The boy needed to pay attention to basic effing social cues. I didn’t like to be touched.

Finally understanding, Vance lifted both hands up in a mock-innocent gesture. “Have it your way,” he said, then he pointed. I looked down and realized to my chagrin that I had chocolate on my name tag. Embarrassed, I lifted the corner of my apron to wipe it off, then dragged my hands down the front to smooth it down.

Vance smirked.
Asshole
. “Follow me. This is your first time working a closing shift, right?”

I suppressed a groan and trailed after him grudgingly. He was going to be a talker. I could already tell.

These days I was just trying to get through one hour at a time. I wasn’t interested in small talk or making friends. Some people, apparently like Vance, didn’t take the hint.

Gwen smiled and wiggled her little fingers at me. She grabbed her purse and headed out of the store, leaving me alone with Boy Sunshine.
Traitor
. I followed him behind the counter to commence the countdown of our shift: T minus five hours… and counting.

“We’ll have to close up the candy station, seal the ice cream case, wash the dishes and clean the store at the end of the night, but we’ll get to that later,” he continued. “Are you comfortable with the cash register?”

I almost laughed in his face. I’d helped with my father’s business and finances since I was twelve—accounts payable, receivable, payroll and balancing books. During my brief stint in college, I worked at a bank near campus. I’d handled hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash. A small business register was a piece of cake.

Just as I confirmed that yes, I could handle the cash register, our first customers of the night walked in.

“You’re up Rosie. I’ll be right behind you if you need anything,” he assured me.

I glanced down at my name tag again with a frown. It clearly said “Scar.” Why had he called me Rosie? If he was making some ironic joke about my personality… I was going to kick… his… ass.

Two women around my mama’s age approached the counter, so I turned and contrived an over-friendly smile. These dimples and pearly whites were the epitome of sweet and all that was left of the old, innocent Scarlett. All my life I had been kind. Genial. Meek. Nowadays it took a little more effort to portray that, but real or fake, my smile had the desired effect.

I’ll show
him
Rosie.

“Welcome to Mooshi Treatery, ladies,” I greeted them. “Have you been here before?”

“Yes. Well, no. Sort of,” one of the women stuttered in response. “Oh my word, I’ve lived in San Dimas since 1969. This old space has been quite a few different stores in my day. I remember when it used to be a deli, and before that, it was an exotic bird store. In fact, this is where I got my parrot, Millie. Her cage was there, right where you’re standing, first time I saw her. And before that, it was all orange groves! But I haven’t been here since it’s reopened.”

I smiled out of courtesy through the whole exchange, even though inside I was cringing.
Way too much information, lady. I was just asking to be polite; I didn’t need your whole life story.

The woman’s friend laughed and playfully patted her shoulder. “So, that’s a no,” she translated, “It’s our first time.”

I went through the whole spiel flawlessly, telling them about our premium made ice cream, what set us apart from our competitors, and the history of the stores. They originated in the east coast and now they kept popping up everywhere like last year’s glitter. Ours was the first to open here in Los Angeles County.

They asked for my recommendations and picked out a couple flavors to sample. I obliged cheerfully. While they were narrowing down their choices, I shot a smug look behind me, hoping Vance saw that I could definitely be friendly, but
he
would be my exception. I hoped he took it personally.

He just gave me an enthusiastic grin and a thumbs-up.

I frowned.
Whatever.

The ladies finally made their selections. I used my scoop and spade to dig into the bucket of cake batter ice cream then piled it onto the ice block, adding Butterfinger and brownie bits and kneading it in. After I helped to serve their orders, I got them squared away at the register.

The bell above the door announced their exit. I crossed my arms and turned to face Vance. He chuckled and clapped his hands slowly. “Well done, Rosie. Like a pro!” he praised.

I didn’t like him patronizing me. I nipped that in the bud immediately. “What did you call me?” I demanded.

“Oh,” he stopped clapping. “I know your name is Scarlett, but—”

“No,” I shook my head adamantly. I did used to go by Scarlett, but not anymore. That would remain in the past, along with everything else. “It’s Scar. Not Scarlett. Not Rosie.
Scar
.”

“Are you sure? Because you look more like a Scarlett Rose to me.”

Ah. I see what he did there.
Real cute.
But I wasn’t buying it. My eyes narrowed. “My surname is Rossi. RAW-SEE. It’s Italian. And nobody calls me that either.” I pinched my nametag and pulled it towards him as far as my apron would stretch. “
Scar
,” I emphasized.

Ignoring my protruding nametag, he evaluated my face instead. Direct eye contact made me uncomfortable, but looking away was a sign of weakness and I refused to do it again. At least he seemed to be considering what I had to say.

Finally, he dropped his eyes to size me up from my Converse shoes, to my dark skinny jeans, to my oversized shirt under a cow-spotted apron, and all the way up to my swept back ebony hair. When he met my eyes again, a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Yeah. I think I’m gonna call you Rosie.”

* * *

“Ugh,” I groaned, looking at the schedule. Next week was going to be a pain in my ass.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked, not glancing up from her wedding magazine. She was constantly absorbed between the covers of The Knot or Modern Bride, ripping out pages of her favorite wedding elements and gowns. She collected every dress and theme idea she could get her hands on, waiting for the day she could officially start planning.

No, she wasn’t engaged, yet, but she and her boyfriend had been together for almost two years, and she was expecting a proposal any day now.

“The schedule,” I complained. “I’m working with Vance three times next week. And we’re closing together tonight!”

“So?”

“So! He’s annoying as hell,” I grumbled.

She huffed a laugh and turned the page to reveal another white designer gown. “I think he’s hilarious.”

“I think he needs to shut the hell up.”

She looked up from her magazine then, and pushed her thick frames up to the bridge of her nose. Her dark eyes narrowed to focus on me. “So, is this the new Scarlett?”

“Scar,”
I corrected, which she ignored.

“You come back home with black hair and a giant chip on your shoulder and you’re just gonna be a bitch to everybody now?”

I scowled at her. Gwen’s bluntness had always been something that I loved about her, especially since it was a trait I never possessed. Now that it was directed at me, I didn’t like it so much. She was fierce and honest. If she was your friend, she had your back, but if you ever got into a disagreement or debate with her, you’d better be prepared to lose.

There was no point in arguing with her now. She was right anyway. What could I do? Deny that I had changed? It was obvious I wasn’t the same helpless little lamb I used to be.

That was the problem with having a friend I knew
before
. Everyone else just met me and accepted the way I was. They never knew the old Scarlett, blond, bubbly and naïve. Gwen did. She saw my past and my present—two extremes on opposite ends of the spectrum. She didn’t know what had happened… nobody really knew… but she wasn’t stupid, either.

Gwen had been a part of my old high school clique. It had consisted of the two of us and Lexi, plus the guys: Nathan, Dirk and Phoenix. We had been a tight group ever since junior high, when we all promised to be “best friends forever.”

Back then, everything was so simple. Having fun meant hide-and-go-seek at Wal-Mart. A wild night meant paintball in the canyon behind my parents’ house. Wreaking havoc meant sneaking over to Miss Yellow’s house with fifty rolls of toilet paper. By high school we even formed our own garage band and spent one entire summer making music together. We laughed and played and stayed out all night. We were invincible. Unstoppable. On top of the world. I had everything I ever wanted and I was confident in my identity and my future.

Our clique didn’t even last until graduation.

It started to fall apart after Nathan and I broke up and could barely be around each other without tension escalating. The guys got more involved in their music and harder partying. Gwen spent all her time with her boyfriend, Hunter, and marrying him became all she cared about. I began dating Miles and pulled away, too. The rest fizzled out through the remainder of senior year. After graduation, Lexi and I moved to the beach for college. She was the only one I’d kept in touch with.

Until now.

When I remained silent, Gwen sighed painfully, and closed the magazine in her lap. “Are you even listening to me?”

College was supposed to be all about finding myself. What I found was a person who was not as smart or strong as I once thought. Miles and I broke up, and in an effort to suppress the pain of yet another failed relationship, I surrendered to Lexi’s influence and left my goody-two-shoes behind. Overnight, I went from one extreme to the other, convinced that alcohol and boys were the only obvious solution.

Numb. That’s how I felt. I was just going through the motions. I worked because I had to. I went to school because I had to. I even got out of bed because I had to. Life was full of obligations with nothing that made me truly happy. It felt like someone had dimmed the switch to my emotions. They weren’t completely off, and I probably could have healed eventually. In fact when the new year rolled around, things were finally looking up. I was ready to get myself back on the right track.