Page 97 of Lick
A sudden horrible thought entered my mind. “Are you leaving?” I asked, today’s dirty work shirt clutched in my suddenly shaking hand.
His grip tightened around my wrist. “You want me to leave?”
“No. I mean, are you leaving Portland? Is that why you’re here, to say good-bye?”
“No.”
“Oh.” The pincer grip my ribs had gotten on my heart and lungs eased back a little. “Okay.”
“Where did that come from?” When I didn’t answer, he tugged me gently toward him. “Hey.”
I took a reluctant step in his direction, dropping the dirty laundry. He pressed for more, sitting on my bed and pulling me down alongside him. I sort of stumbled my butt onto the double mattress as opposed to doing it with any grace. Story of my life. Object achieved, he gave up his grip on me. My hands clenched the edge of the bed.
“So, you got a weird look on your face and then you asked me if I was leaving,” he said, blue eyes concerned. “Care to explain?”
“You haven’t turned up at midnight before. I guess I wondered if there was more to it than just dropping by.”
“I drove by your apartment and I saw your light was on. Figured I’d send you a text, see what mood you were in after our talk today.” He rubbed at his bearded chin with the palm of his hand. “Plus, like I said, I keep thinking of stuff I need to tell you.”
“You drive by my apartment often?”
He gave me a wry smile. “Only a couple of times. It’s my way of saying good night to you.”
“How did you know which window was mine?”
“Ah, well, that time I talked to Lauren when I was first came to town? She had the light on in the other room. Figured this one must be yours.” He didn’t look at me, choosing instead to check out the photos of me and my friends on the walls. “You mad that I’ve been around?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “I think I might be running out of mad.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.”
He let out a slow breath and stared back at me, saying nothing. Dark bruises lingered beneath his eyes, though his swollen nose had gone back to normal size.
“I really am sorry Nate hit you.”
“If I was your brother, I’d have done the exact same fucking thing.” He braced his elbows on his knees but kept his face turned toward me.
“Would you?”
“Without question.”
Males and their penchant for beating on things, it knew no end.
The silence dragged out. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. At least we weren’t fighting or rehashing our breakup one more time. Being broken and angry got old.
“Can we just hang out?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Lemme see this.” He picked up my iPhone and started flicking through the music files. “Where are the earbuds?”
I hopped up and retrieved them from among the crap on my desk. David plugged them in, then handed me an earbud. I sat at his side, curious what he’d choose out of my music. When the rocking, jumpy beat of “Jackson” by Johnny Cash and June Carter started, I looked at him in amusement. He smirked and mouthed the lyrics. We had indeed gotten married in a fever.
“You making fun of me?” I asked.
Light danced in his eyes. “I’m making fun of us.”
“Fair enough.”
