Without Scars (9 page)

Part of me kept hoping he’d let his douchebag flag fly soon, before I allowed him more space. Because I was getting used to where he was starting to fit in my life.

I was slipping on a pair of wedges an hour later when Tyler burst into my room with my cellphone. “So, who’s Charlie? He keeps texting. And before that he called. Is that why you’re all dressed up for go-karts?”

“Um…I have a few questions about why you’re all up in my phone before I answer
your
questions. He called while I was in the bathroom?” I motioned for him to hand my phone over.

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded and lay on my bed. “And, like, five minutes ago.”

Charlie: You said nine right? Trying to get the roommates out of here.

Me: Sharp.

Charlie: Fuck. Get over here already.

I was grinning too much. I could feel it. “He’s a friend. He has this cool web series,
How to Fuck up a Friendship
, and he invited me over to watch the second season premiere.”

“Whoa…really?” He sat up. “No fucking way. You’re gonna find out if he fucks Sami before the rest of us!”

“You watch it? How was I the last person on Earth to see it?”

“Yeah…Lola introduced me. I thought it was going to be whiny shit for girls. But it’s really good. Like, real life shit. Everyone at school watches it. I heard they’re doing two versions this year—a PG-13 one for YouTube and an unrated one on another website.” Tyler balanced on his elbows. “No wonder you don’t want to come with me.”

“Oh, no, that’s
not
the reason I don’t want to go to Delray, matchmaker. So…how about I call you tomorrow and fill you in on spoilers?”

Tyler tossed his keys in the air and caught them as he stood. “
Fuck yeah.
”

“And, um, maybe you can come by on premiere night and watch it with me? I think it’s coming out on a Tuesday. Come over early, and we can re-watch the last few episodes of season one…if you want…” Shaking with embarrassment now because oh, you know, I was just asking the person whom years ago I took to the E.R. after he jerked off with Icy Hot for an hour, and who was now too cool for me, if he could
please
grace me with his presence again.

He shrugged. “Yeah, we could do that. I’ll let you know.” I swung my arm around his shoulders, relief spilling over me as I guided him out of my bedroom.

****

Charlie’s place smelled like lasagna and weed. There was just a square of lasagna left, on account of the marijuana, probably. Deacon and Brody, who were discussing their plans for the night when they walked into the kitchen, had partaken in both.

“You brought...
pie?
” Charlie’s eyebrows went up as he took the store-bought dessert out of the grocery bag. He set it on the kitchen counter next to the lasagna and stepped back like he expected it to explode.

I shrugged, giggling. “My mom says to never go to anyone’s home for the first time empty-handed.” It was a last-minute purchase. Wine or a case of beer probably made more sense, but I tried to stay out of the liquor store when it wasn’t therapy related.

Brody set a plate in the sink and made a polite reintroduction as he shook my hand. I didn’t remember much about him from Coco’s, but Deacon was hard to forget. Charlie told me that after I left that night, the security threatened to toss Deacon out for taking off his shirt, dancing on the furniture, and irritating other patrons by trying to mosh on the dance floor.

“Chick from Coco’s
,
” Deacon said, giving me a chin raise, his pink-tinged eyes struggling to focus.

Oh, wait. Correction: they found my boobs and ass just fine.

“Nikki,” I said. “And, thank you, my eyes
are
lovely.” Charlie snickered.

Deacon was wearing a shirt with all the letters of the alphabet, except one, an arrow pointing down, and a message that read, “The only D you need.” He looked away from me momentarily to rip the plastic cover off the pie, pull a fork from a drawer, and dig it deep into the middle. Just looking at him and taking in his bedheady dark hair and soft brown eyes, his perma-smirk, bro attire, and hearing about his devil-may-care attitude, I could tell he was the type I’d partied with once.

“Uh…so that wasn’t for you…” Charlie hooked a finger into the pie pan and slid it across the counter away from Deacon.

“You friend-zoned Charlie, right?” Deacon asked me. He licked the fork clean. “I would have put you in my phone as ‘Never Fucking Answer.’ He’s too pussy to do that, though.”

“You’re such a goddamn idiot.” Brody laughed awkwardly.

“He is…” Charlie said, a flash of annoyance crossing his face.

Deacon frowned. “What the hell? Y’all taking a vote?”

Charlie wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You remember Douchebag, don’t you?” he said.

“You’ve heard my name screamed out enough through the walls to know it’s not Douchebag,” Deacon retorted. Charlie’s expression darkened further. I knew some friendships were a back-and-forth of constant insults. But I could sense that the relationship between these two was actually strained.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Nikki, this is Are You Sure It’s In? I think that’s what the last one called you.” Charlie cocked his head at the front door. “Bye.”

Once they were gone his mood shifted. He stuck a USB drive into the back of his fancy television and used the remote to pull up a video. I did a quick, nosy stroll around the place while pretending to check out the art when he went into the kitchen. The past few weeks, we’d been all over Miami: hole-in-the-walls, movie theaters, chic Ocean Drive restaurants, and smoke-choked bars. I had been looking forward to seeing his place. He lived in a neighborhood that was undergoing major changes. His modern building (and the adjacent Whole Foods) stuck out kinda mockingly aside seedy-looking motels, a liquor store, and a few little bodegas. The apartment was gorgeous, though, with views of a small garden and a glimmering pool from the balcony. All of this was probably why he had two roommates.

My cellphone buzzed.

Darla Lyons: I’m trying to reach Nicole Johnson. This is Darla from SCB. I hope this is still your number. I’ll be in Miami this summer. It’s still a few months away but I’d love to see you. Please let me know if this is you.

Darla was a first soloist who was promoted to principal after I lost my contract with SCB. We hadn’t talked since I left Los Angeles. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for having a conversation with someone whose hair I’d thrown up in and whom I had drunkenly, um, called a stupid fucking cunt after I lost my job. I didn’t think you could just send a card.

“Do you want anything? Water?” Charlie asked from the kitchen. I smiled. The beverage offering to me at people’s homes was always very short. “Pie? I’ve got pie.”

I laughed. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He plopped down on the couch and watched me with amused curiosity. “You can sit, Nik,” he said, tapping the cushion next to him. “God knows what happens on this thing, and I seriously thought about just burning it before you got here, but it’s Brody’s. Febreze was the best I could do legally.”

“Oh, I just wanted to establish the perimeter of the friend zone first,” I joked as I walked over. I stayed as relaxed as possible, but my blood was pounding in my ears at the sight of him.
Whew.
He had a great personality and our friendship had really grown the last few weeks, but my eyes (and vagina) couldn’t discount that Charlie Dara was also gorgeous. His dark gaze was pinned to me, his smile curving up on one side. He hadn’t shaved in days. He was Nikki bait, basically.

“I’m really sorry about Deek and that friend zone bullshit. He just likes to say shit like that to fuck with me,” he said as I settled into the crook of his arm and the serenity of his body heat. He immediately began stroking the underside of my arm. Charlie was a very physical person when he talked. Like he wanted to constantly reassure you that he was present. That
you
were present. “He doesn’t know anything about my personal life. In fact, I kept my girlfriends away most of the time.”

“Girlfriends,
plural
, huh? Were you worried about them bumping into each other?”

He smiled. “Shut up,” he said. “Nik, I want you to feel comfortable here. So, have some lasagna…and relax. Take your shoes off...”

I shook my head. “No.
Nooo.
Dancer’s feet. They’re a badge of honor to us but just plain gross to everyone else,” I said, but he was already swinging my legs up to his lap and unbuckling my wedges. I put my bare feet back down and curled my toes against the carpet.

“How bad can they be?”

“Bad. Really, really bad.” I wore polish on my toenails as much as possible but that was pretty much the same as putting lipstick on a pig.

He gestured for me to put my feet back onto his lap. “So they’re like dudes’ feet?”

“Worse. Like if you combined the feet of every guy you know and
then
put them all in a blender.”

“Well, our feet are just ugly for no reason. You said badge of honor. It means you worked your ass off. And what, you’ve had, like, five callbacks in two weeks?” He smiled when I nodded. “So, you should be damn proud of these hammertoes…and bunions…and blisters…and calluses. Holy shit, are those two crossed?”

“Okay, Charlie, you’ve made your point,” I said, slapping the back of his head.

“When’s your final SoBe Sexy audition?” he asked. SoBe Sexy was a small-scale cabaret and Cirque de Soleil-esque show at SoBe Lounge. They’d held an open call for a new production called Sinners & Saints, which was about a post apocalyptic society run by rival female-led gangs. They’d whittled three hundred dancers down to fifty, and I’d made the cut each time. That hadn’t happened….since So Cal Ballet. I was so excited.

“Next week. We have to run through the performance of an entire show. Costumes and everything.” I pulled my phone out and showed him what the dancers regularly wore. Everything was somewhere between stripper and swimsuit, and made of leather and lace and pearls. There were feather fans and tassels. Garters and fishnets. Red lips and big hair. The show itself was mild and there was only the illusion of nudity. All the dancers were formally trained, and I’d get to show off some of my classical dance technique and learn some contemporary moves, with just a touch of naughtiness and suggestion. There were also a few stunts, too. But nothing raunchy. At least recording the show was prohibited. My future kids were safe.

“God, I want it so bad,” I whispered.

“And they’re gonna want
you
so bad…” Charlie said, his breath tickling my ear when he leaned over to click the lamp next to my head off. “Remember that move you were showing me the other day, where you bent over—”

“I don’t like where this is going…”

“I’m just saying you probably bent over better than—”

“Definitely don’t like where this is going,” I said, laughing.

“Dammit, Nik, let me just say I think you could bend over professionally, okay?” Charlie could barely speak without laughing.

“I hate you.”

I flinched when his lips flattened on my cheek. He always caught me off guard with those kisses. The fucker. But they were sweet. It took way longer than a minute for the butterflies to stop stirring in my stomach.

He started the video. The scene opened with him and Samira sitting on a bed on a set with scripts on their laps. He had told me that it wasn’t the final footage, and that there would be a lot of talking between the takes. Almost like the behind-the-scenes extras on DVDs.

“Are you directing this episode?” I asked when Samira needed clarification on how she was supposed to portray Sami in this particular scene.

“Yeah, officially. I mean, technically, I was doing it before, with every episode, but when Hillington offered to hire someone, I put a term in the contract. I wanted to direct at least four eps this season. And leave it open for more.”

On screen, Samira was in the tiniest black dress, one that took some work to keep from riding all the way up when she sat astride Charlie’s lap as he lay down.

Oh, we were going to start with a sex scene.

She dropped her palms to his chest. The camera followed her hands as she drew them down his torso. She raised his shirt a little, exposing a chiseled lower abdomen. Her fingers stopped right at the trail of hair between the V-lines peeking out of his jeans.

Damn. I was sitting next to
that
. My heart slipped into a pace that made the room swing around for a few seconds. Chuck reached up for the back of Sami’s neck and pulled her a little closer. The camera panned out, so we could see her undo the button of his jeans. I was aware of Charlie’s breathing all of a sudden, the expansion and retraction of his body against mine. His arm tightened around my waist. On screen, his hands made a slow crawl from Sami’s thighs to her waist as her hand disappeared into his jeans. Chuck groaned and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. I almost moaned back. I leaned closer to the TV when they began speaking. I was trying so hard to listen and be engaged. But I could not ignore how Charlie’s palm had drifted down my back. He left it resting on my lower spine. I arched slightly. He glanced at me once and everything below my waist filled with so much heat that I squeezed my legs together. His fingers bumped over my bra when his hand trekked back up. His thumb continued along my neck.