Page 26 of Love Always

Laurel

Laying my hand on Mateus’s chest felt completely normal, but the moment I touched him, the moment my hand felt heat under his shirt out there on the porch, my knees nearly buckled. His collar was slightly open, there was the hint of chest hair, the promise of hard muscle and bone beneath the shirt and I could feel his body heat. He smelled raw, salty, musky.

I drop my hand and take a step back. He has no idea how I burn for him.

“Really, its fine,” I say, not sure what the hell he’s talking about. He’s apologizing for something. My face is hot and flushed. Does he mean his prosthetic? Kevin? The fact he dribbled melted butter on my jeans?

Thank God Colleen emerges from the porch door.

΅

The drive back to her place in Thomaston takes about fifteen minutes. As unanimated as she was at the party, she chooses now to come alive. I don’t know her all that well, but my goal this semester is to make friends. I volunteered to be her note-taker in class because she has some kind of learning disorder and we met that way. She’s my age, but she seems so much younger. To be fair, everyone my age seems younger.

“I think that Jackson guy is hot,” she says brushing out her hair.

“Really?”

“God yeah. Did you see the guns on him?”

I must look confused.

“Muscles, Laurel.”

“Oh, he’s good looking for sure, I just don’t feel that way I guess.”

She sighs. “I tried to get his number, but he wouldn’t give it to me. He kept making excuses, which is weird because he seemed into me.”

“Well, maybe he’s just shy.”

“Nah. He was into me. He wanted to know where I went to school and what classes I was taking and how we met, where I lived, and what I did for work. He was into me,” she repeated.

A little worry started to grow in the back of my brain. “He asked you all that in the time it took to dump out the trash?”

“Yeah, weird huh?”

It wasn’t weird. These security guys had been woven into our lives for the last year and I was beginning to learn how they operated. It sounded to me like Jackson was pulling information from her. But why?

“What did you tell him?”

“I made some shit up,” she says laughing. “Hey you want a hit?” She takes out a joint.

“I’m driving,” I say.

“Such a baby. It’s fine. No one’s going to find out.”

“No, really. I’m good thanks.”

“It’s from Colorado from my cousin. Great stuff. It gets you high but it’s got something else in that keeps you awake. It’s all legal,” she says, taking a long pull, as if smoking weed in a car had absolutely no implications.

“My parents were killed by a guy under the influence.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she says, starting to choke on her pull and rolls down the window to release her plume of smoke. She pinches off the joint and puts away the lighter as well.

After I had Cory, I found this was a good way to keep people from driving and drinking when I was in the car with them. Another trick I learned was to say I was getting sick to my stomach and they needed to pull over and let me out or I’d throw up. As soon as Cory was born, I changed my life.

“How old were you when it happened?” Colleen voice is soft.

“It was a week after my fifteenth birthday.”