THATGIRLISMINE

PARTONE

EveCates

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SYNOPSIS

PART ONE - Avery Bishop loves her boyfriend, Josh. She loves him so much, that she's

willing to put college on hold and travel across the country to California, so he can complete his
residencyattheChildren'sHospitalLosAngeles.

Needingaplacetostay,theymoveinwithJosh'schildhoodfriend,DylanThompson,tosave

onrent.Dylanisatattooartistwho'shardlyeverhome-whichsuitsthemjustfine.He'smoody,andgives
Averyastrangefeelingeverytimehelooksather.

Everything is perfect at first. Then Josh's position at the hospital becomes more and more

demanding.It'saffectingtheirrelationship,anditmeansthatAveryalonewithDylanmoreoftenthanshe's
withJosh.

There'snoexcuseforwhathappensnext,butDylanhasalwayswantedagirllikeAveryandhe

wantshertobehis...

FollowDylanandAveryinThatGirlisMine,aforbiddenromance,toldinthreeparts.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

Toeveryonewhotookachance…

Prologue

Dylan

“DidIjusthearyouright,dude?Youhaveagirlfriend–aseriousgirlfriend,andyou’reasking

ifyoucanbothstayatmyplaceforanundisclosedamountoftime?”IaskmyfriendJosh,whomoved
acrossthecountrytoNewYorkaftergraduationtogethismedicaldegreeatDukeUniversity.We’vekept
intouchasmuchasguysdo.Youknow,aphonecalloratexthereandthere.But,Ihaven’tseenhimfor
thefouryearshe’sbeengone.Regardlessofthedistance,Istillconsiderhimoneofmybestfriends.

Joshhesitates,anditcomesacrossasstaticoverthelongdistancecall.“Uh…yeah–butjust

untilwefindourfeet.Idon’twanttoputyouout.”

I let out a sigh. “Jeez, man, I don’t know. What happened to never settling down? We’re

twenty-threeyearsold.Areyoureallysureaboutthisgirl?”

Josh laughs, warm and friendly. “Yeah, I am. Once you meet her, you’ll understand. She’s

reallysomethingelse.”Icanhearthesmileinhisvoice,aswellaswhatIthinkisthesoundoflove.Holy
fuck,howthehelldidmypartylovingfriendendupfallingforsomegirlinNewYork?

“IknewIshouldhaveneverletyououtofmysight.Thisisacatastrophe.WhatamIgoingto

tellallthegirlswhohavebeenpiningforyouwhileyou’vebeengone?”

Helaughs.Hedoesn’tbelieveme.But,themancouldpull,andIhonestlydogetaskedabout

himwhenIrunintosomeofthegirlswewenttoschoolwith.“TellthemI’mtaken.They’llgetoverit.
Canwestayornot?”

Ipressmyfingerstomytemple.“Idon’tknowmanIneverletchicksinmyhouse,andthere’s

onebathroom,she’llstinkitupwithfloweryshit…”

“She’s not like that. I promise. She’s easy to get along with, doesn’t use all the hot water –

you’llhardlyevenknowshe’sthere.”

Reachingup,Irunmyhandthroughmydarkblondhair,pullingitupwardinthoughtbeforeI

movemyhandtosmoothagainsttheshavedportionaboutthebaseofmyskullthatshowsoffthetribal
tattoodesignI’verecentlyendured.Theskinisstillsmoothtotouchwheretheinkhassetintomyscalp.
“Fine,”Iconcede,knowingthatIcan’treallysayno.Afterall,JoshisthereasonI’mworkingasatattoo
artist now. He took my portfolio around to the local studios and ended up getting me an apprenticeship
whenIwastoochickenshittoshowanyonemywork.“I’llmovemystuffintothesmallerroom,andyou
twocanhavethebigroom.”

“Noway.Idon’twanttoputyouout.Thespareroomisfine.I’llbeafirstyearresident–an

intern–,soworkisgoingtotakeupsomuchtimethatI’llhardlybethere,andonceAverygetsajoband
transfersschools,you’llhardlyseehereither.”

Briefly,Iwonderwhythey’reevencomingoutheretogether.Ifthey’renevergoingtoseeeach

other,howtheyhellaretheygoingtohavearelationship?

“It’ll be fine. I’m hardly home myself, anyway. As long as there’s milk in the fridge and hot

waterforashower,I’llbefine.Whenareyouarriving?”

There’sapause.“Nextweek?”
“Nextweek?Jesusman,that’ssoon.Allright,I’llmeetyouattheairport.Textmeyourflight

details, and I’ll be there. Just tell your girlfriend that if I find one ‘feminine touch’ added to my house,
you’llbothbeoutonyourass.”

Helaughs.“Sure.I’llletherknow.And,thanks,buddy,thismeansalot.”
“Sure.Seeyouinaweek.”

Chapter1

Avery

“This is so exciting. I’ve never been to California before. It’s so warm – why did you ever

leave?”Iask,asJoshandIwalkthroughLAXladenwithourluggage,readytostartournewlifetogether
inCalifornia.

I’mbornandraisedinNewYorkCity,andcomingfromasinglemother,wedidn’thavemuch

left over at the end of each month (vacations were out of the question, so I haven’t seen much of the
countrybesidestheoddbustripwhenIwasatschool–Iactuallythinkthattheamountofsunshiningin
fromoutsidetheairportisthemostsunlightI’veeverseeninoneplace).

“IleftbecauseStanfordrejectedme,”Joshremindsmewithasmallsmile.Helookstired.His

golden brown hair is adorably messy, and his soft brown eyes look like they’re struggling to focus and
stayopen.There’salightsmatteringofdarkstubblecreepingfromhischin,andIwonderhowitgrewso
fastwhenIwatchedhimshaveitthismorning.

Joshisanervousflyer,sohedidn’tsleepatalllastnight,andtheplanewassobumpyonthe

wayherefromJFKthathewasonedgetheentiretime.Ididn’tsleepsogreateitherfrombeingworried
abouthim,buttheexcitementofanewcityisbuoyingmyenergyforthemoment.

“Well, Stanford sucks,” I say in reply, while secretly feeling happy that they did reject his

application,becauseotherwise,Iwouldn’tbehererightnow.

Asifreadingmythoughts,heleansincloseandsays,“Although,I’mgladtheydid,becauseifI

didn’tgotoDuke,howwouldIhavemetyou?”Hepressesakisstothesideofmyhead,andIgrin,a
warmfeelingflutteringaboutinmychestasIwishweweren’tcarryingsomanybagssoIcouldhughim.

“Is that for us?” I ask, looking ahead and seeing a small girl with bright pink hair, a nose

piercing and deep red lipstick, holding up whiteboard with ‘Josh & Avery’ written on it in thick black
marker.Underneathisahanddrawnpictureofaskullandcrossbones.“Isthisyourschoolfriend,Dylan?
Doesshethinkwe’repirates,orpoisonorsomething?”Mybrowfurrowsinconfusion.IthoughtDylan
wasaguy.Joshjustlaughs.

“No,that’snotDylan.Actually,I’mnotsurewhothatis.Mustbeoneofhisfriends.Heliftshis

handandwavesatthetinygirl,andshesmileswidely.

“Dylanisaboysname,right?”Iask,suddenlywonderingifIhavethisallwrong.Notthatit

reallymattersifDylanisagirl.It’sjustthatIthoughtJosh’sbestfriendfromhighschoolwasaboy,and
I’dfeelalotbetterlivingwithanotherboythanIwouldwithanothergirl.It’snotthatIdon’ttrustJosh
withanothergirlinthehouse.It’sjustthatIdon’treallytrustothergirlsaroundjosh.Hehasthisairabout
himthatseemstolurewomenin,andI’vehadtowarnmorethanafewoffhiminourtwoyearstogether.
Hethinksmyjealousyishilariousandswearsthatheonlyhaseyesforme.But,Ijustlookintohissoulful
browneyes,andIhopetogodthathe’sright.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithouthim–whichisexactly
whyI’mhere,allthewayacrossthecountryfrommyhomeandmyfamily,abouttomoveinwithsomeone
Idon’tevenknow,allsowecanmakeastartonourownhappilyeverafter.

WhenJoshreceivednotificationthathe’dbeenacceptedintoathreeyearresidencyprogramat

theLosAngelesChildren’sHospital,Iwasbothelatedandupset.Iknewitwasabigdeal–aplacein
thatprogramisn’teasytocomeby;butIalsoknewitwouldmeanthathe’dhavetoleaveme.

I had tried to be strong and understand that it would only be for a couple of years until I

finished college and could maybe move to LA with him. But, when the first tear fell, he couldn’t bear
seeingmeupsetandaskedmetocomewithhimstraightaway.Mymomwasn’thappybecauseIdidn’t
secureatransferbeforeheadinghere.But,IknewinmyheartthatIcouldn’tspendtwoyearswithonly
phonecallsandtheoccasionalvisitfromJosh.SoIdecidedtotakeariskandleavewithhim.

Webothknowit’sgoingtobehard.BecomingadoctorindiagnosticsisJosh’sdream,andwe

knowthathe’sgoingtobeworkingincrediblylonghourswhichmeansIwon’tseehimfordaysatatime.

ButIlovehim,andIsupporthisdream,andseeinghimforacoupleofhourshereandthere,iswaybetter
thannotseeinghimatall.

Even though he’s tried to act as though it’s no big deal, Josh is incredibly excited about

returningtoCalifornia.HegrewupinEncino,andonlyleftsohecouldgotoDuke.Beingtheyoungestof
threeboys,Joshwasthelasttoflythecoopandhisparentshavesincesoldup.They’recurrentlytouring
the country in a massive campervan with a bumper sticker that brags about spending their kid’s
inheritance.Ithinkit’skindoffunny,butJoshandhisbrothersdon’treallyseeitthatway.SoIleavehis
familypoliticstohim.

Hisbrothersarebothoffontheirownadventures.OnelivesinSwedenandisdoingsomesort

ofanthropologicalstudy,whiletheotherisabrokeronWallStreet.Imetthebrokeroncefordrinks.His
nameisAndrew,andheisthespittingimageofJosh.But,Ididn’tgettotalktohimmuch,becausehewas
foreveronhisiPhone.

So,withnofamilytostaywith,we’rerelegatedtostayingwithfriends.Joshsaysrentingon

our own will be too expensive at first, and being the wonderful man that he is, he’s tried to make this
moveaseasyonmeaspossiblebyorganizingallofourflightsandsomewhereforustolive–whichis
wherethisDylanandthetinygirlwithpinkhaircomeintoallofthis...

“Dylanisaguy.Hewasonthebasketballteamwithmebackinschool.Hedidn’tdocollege

andhe’slivinginSantaMonicanow.”

“Whatdoeshedoforaliving?”
“He’sanartistatoneoftheparlorsonVeniceBeach.”
My mouth forms an O shape, and as we get closer to the girl, I see that she’s covered in

colorful tattoos all up her arms and across her chest. From a distance, I’d thought it was her shirt, but
she’swearingastraplesspolkadotnavysummerdresswithalittlewhitefrillaroundthebaseofit.

Shelooksatmeandsmileswarmlyasweapproach.Ismileinreturn,buteyehercuriously.

I’veneverpersonallyknownsomeonewiththatmanytattoosbefore.Imean,I’veseenpeoplewithtattoos
coveringeveryinchoftheirskin.Butmymomkeptmeprettysheltered,soI’veneverevenactuallyknown
someonewithtattoosbefore.

Iwonderwhatmadeherdecidetodothattoherbody?
“Hi!”shesings.“I’mKiera.Dylanhadaclient,soheaskedifIcouldmeetyouguys.Hopeyou

don’tmind.”

SheholdsoutherhandandJoshtakesit,smilingandthankingherfortakingthetime(He’sso

polite,myman!Itmakesmesmile).

Thensheshakesmyhand,andItrytobeaseloquentasJosh.ButIthinkIsqueezealittletoo

hard(Isuckatfiguringouttherighthandshakepressure)andcomeoffsoundinglikeIhaveasetofballs
whenmyvoicecomesouttoodeepandmygreetingisstilted.

Shesmilespolitely,eithernotnoticingorsimplyignoringmyawkwardnessandofferstohelp

with some of our bags. I don’t know how many she can take because she’s so tiny, but I let her have a
backpackthenwefollowherouttoherfireengineredconvertible,which,whenJoshmakesacomment
aboutit,sheproudlyannouncesisa1972MercuryCougarXR7.Ihavenoideawhatallthatmeans,butto
lookat,it’scoolandretrojustlikesheis(Ithinktheycallherlookrockabilly?).But,IwishIhadahair
tieoncewehitthe405,astheopentopsetsmyredhairflyingaboutlikeathousandtinywhipsthatsting
enoughtomakeChristianGreygetahardon.Icatchitupandtrytobraidit,beforeitturnsintoahornet’s
nestoftanglesthatI’llneverbreakfree.

Fortherestofdrive,Iholdtheendofmylonghairsoitdoesn’tfallloose,andI’mgratefulthat

thedriveisn’ttoofar.

Wepullupinfrontofasunsetyellowhousewithaflatroofandbeautiful,well-keptgardens

liningeithersideofalongpathwaythatleadstoawhitefrontdoor.IexchangeglanceswithJosh,asRoxy

cuts the engine. I don’t think this is what either of us expected. It looks more like someone’s muumuu
wearinggrandmotherliveshere.

“Hereweare,”shesaysbrightly,openingherdoorandmovingtothetrunk.Wefollow,andshe

helpsusunloadourbags,takingusinsideandshowinguswhereourroomisbeforepointingoutthemost
importantdetailsofthesmallhouse–bathroom,kitchen,laundryroom,Dylan’sroom(offlimits)andthe
study.Ilookaround,noticingthatthefurnishingsalllookfairlyantiquatedtoo–althoughtheyareamish-
mash.It’sasifthey’veallbeenpurchasedatanestatesale.

Inthelounge,there’sablackleathercouchfacingalargeflatscreen,andeithersideofthatare

two single chairs. One is an emerald green leather recliner, and the other looks like it came from a
doctor’swaitingroomwithbrightredfabriconasquarecushionedchair.Theysurroundacoffeetable
thatappearstobeaslicefromathicktreethat’sbeencoveredinresinandhollowedoutforstorage.And
onthewall,isalife-likepaintingofanelderlygentlemanwithamonocleonhiseyeandamustache.

Thekitchenisbright.Thecupboardsarealllightblueandthetiledsplashbackiswhiteand

royal blue. The bathroom is much the same, and the bedroom we’re staying in has this old looking bed
frame that could very well have belonged to a Viking lord based on the ornate carvings around the
headboard.I’mnotsurewhatDylan’sroomlookslike,butIfigureit’smoreofthesameeclectictaste.It’s
notbad;it’sjust…different.Although,theonethingthatdoesstandouttomeisthatallthroughthehouse
arethesebuiltinbookcasesthatdon’thaveanybooksonthem.Weird.

“Andthat’sprettymuchit,”Roxysmileswhenshe’sdone,holdingoutthekeyforustake.Josh

thanksherandslipsitinhispocket.

Webegintowalkherout,andIcan’thelpbutaskaquestionI’vebeenwonderingaboutsince

shestartedgivingusthehometour.

“AreyouDylan’sgirl?”Herperfectlylinedeyebrowsshootup,andsheturnstomeandbursts

out laughing as if I just said the funniest thing. Josh joins in as well, and I wonder if I’m missing
something.

“No,honey.Dylandoesn’thavegirlfriends.Neverhas,andI’mprettysureheneverwill,”Josh

explainsdutifully.

“Oh,”Iblurtout,realizationdawningonme.Itallmakessensenow–theeclectichomeand

wellkeptgardens...“So,he’sgay?”

AnotherburstoflaughtereruptsfromthebothasJoshputshisarmaroundmyneckandpresses

akisstomyhead.“Youarethecutestthing,”helaughs.“No,Dylanisn’tgay.He’stheopposite–araging
heterosexualwho’safraidofcommitment.”

“Forwantofabetterword,he’samanwhore,”Roxyadds.“Butdon’tworry,heneverbrings

hiswomenbackhere.Thisiswhathecallsa‘pussyfreezone’.”

My mouth falls open, and I blush. Josh notices my embarrassment at misinterpreting the

conversation,andrubshishandupanddownmyarm.

Roxy continues. “I’m only allowed in here because we’re just friends. I’m married and I’ve

neverbeeninterestedinthewholetallandhandsomebadboyroutine.Ilikethemlittleandcuddly,just
like my George.” She pulls out her cell phone and brings up a photo, spinning it around to show us a
pictureofherhusband,wholooksexactlyhowshejustdescribedhim–likeagrowncherub,happyand
laughinginthephoto.

Shelooksatitagainherselfwithalookofadorationthenslipsherphonebackinherpurse.
“Anyway,”shesays,smoothingherhanddownthefrontofherdress.“I’dbettergetback.I’m

sureyoutwowanttotakesometimetosettlein.WelcometoCalifornia.”

“Thankyou,Roxy,”Joshsays,andIthankheraswellassheleaves.
Takingmyhand,Joshpullsmeagainsthimandwrapshisarmsaroundme.Iinhalehisfamiliar

scent,suddenlyfeelingalittletiredandoverwhelmed.

“Welcometoournewhome,babe.”
Ismileupathim.“Ilikethatsoundofthat.”
“Metoo,”hesays,loweringhismouthtomineandkissingmeslowlyandsoftly,causingmy

heartrateandmybreathingtoincreaseasmybodyreactstohis.“Let’sgoandunpack,”hewhispersina
huskyvoicewhenhepullsaway.“AndwhenIsay‘unpack’,Imean,getundressedandmakewildmonkey
loveinourVikingbed.”

“Iknewyou’dthinkthattoo!”Ilaughashereachesdownandscoopsmeupinhisarms.

Chapter2

Dylan

“Everyone get there all right?” I ask over my shoulder as Roxy arrives back at the shop.

Withoutsayinganything,shedropsherbagintothebackroomthenwalksstraightbackouttomeandstops
besideme,leaningovertoinspectthetattooI’mworkingon.It’satribaldesignaroundthisguy’sforearm.
I’ve done so many of them that I could do it in my sleep, but the client is being a bit of a pussy and
wrigglingaroundlikethree-year-oldwithacaseofworms.It’sfuckingridiculous.

“Yeah,everyone’sfine.Girlseemsabitstraightthough.Ireckonhereyesjustaboutbuggedout

whenshesawmeupclose.”

Ianswerherdistractedly,asIshadeinthegeometricpatternthat’sbandinghisarm.“Joshhas

always liked them good and pure. Normally, he corrupts then and casts them aside. Not sure why he's
keepingthisone..”

“CanIcorrupther?”Roxyaskswickedly.
I chuckle to myself, but keep my concentration firmly on the artwork I’m embedding into my

client’sskin.“Ifyouhaveto.”

“OhIdo.Corruptingyounginnocentgirlsisoneofmymostfavoritethingstodo.AndlastI

checked,itwasoneofyourstoo.”

“Ican’treallycorruptmybestfriend’sgirlnowcanI?Fromthewayhetalksabouther,they’ll

likelybemarriedbeforehe’stwenty-five.”

“Nothing wrong with getting married young. George and I were married at twenty-two, and

eightyearslater,we’restillgoingstrong.”

“Yes.Well,youguysaretheexception,nottherule.”
“Maybe,”sheshrugs,beforemovingovertoherstationandpullingouthersketchpad.Fora

moment,shejustsitsonthecouchupagainstthewall,scratchingawaywithherpencilthenshespeaksup
again.“Youdon’tneedtocorrupthersexually.”

“What?Who?”IaskfrowningbeforeIrememberwhatshe’stalkingabout.“Oh,Avery?”
“Yeah.I’mtalkingaboutintroducinghertothefunintheworld.Shelookslikeshecoulddo

withit.I’lltellyouwhat,we’llmakeabet–firstonetoconvincehertogetatattoowins.”

“Allright,Icangetonboardwiththat.Whatdoesthewinnerget?”
IstopasmyclienttakesamomenttorepositionhimselfandIwatchRoxyasshetwistsherlips

tothesideandthinks.“Winnergetsathousandbucks,andthechancetoputwhatevertattootheywanton
theother’sbody.”

Ithinkforamoment,knowingthatshe’sbeendyingtotattooacoilingsnakearoundmycalffor

ages.It’scoolidea,andshe’sagreatartist.But,itwilltakeforever,andIhaven’thadthepatiencetosit
forityet.

“Deal,”Isay,holdingmyhandoutforhertoshake.
Setting her sketchpad aside, she crosses the small shop floor and slips a hand into mine,

grinningbroadlywithherperfectwhiteteethshiningfrombetweenherplumplips(whyhaven’tIbanged
thisgirlyet?Ohyeah–she’smarriedandweworktogether.Ican’tfuckthatup).

“Deal.”Shenods,hersmilestillinplaceasshespinsaroundandskipsacrosstheroomtogo

and talk to our apprentice, who has been quietly listening as he traces common designs on the lightbox
behindreception.

“Youtwoareevil,”myclientsayswithalaugh,asIdiptheneedleintothepotofink.
Ishakemyheadandsmile.“Nah,man.We’rejustmakingtheworldabetterplace,onetattooat

atime.”

Chapter3

Avery

“Maybe we should go shopping for food?” I murmur, lying against Josh’s chest, completely

naked,mybodyhummingwithsatisfaction.

Josh’sarmstightenaroundme.“Sleep.Thenfood.”Hisvoiceissleepy,andhisbreathingis

deep.Idon’thavethehearttoforcehimupwhenheobviouslyneedstorest.

“OK,” I whisper, snuggling into his chest. Lazily, I drift my hand up and down his stomach

soothingly, waiting until I hear his breathing change and even out. Then I slip from beneath his arm,
knowingfromexperiencethathewon’tstirbecauseJoshsleepslikethedead(Onetime,Iwasstayingin
his room on campus, when the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night. I jumped out of bed and
startedpanicking,andtheonlywayIcouldgethimtowakeupwastocallhimonhiscell.It’slikehehas
anoffswitchorsomething).

Takingafewthingsfrommybag,Iheadintothebathroomandhaveaquickshower,beforeI

dressinapairofcut-offsandpalebluetee,tyingmylongredhairupintoahighponytail.ThenIGoogle
thenearestsupermarketasmystomachgrumblesloudly(Ihavearidiculouslyfastmetabolismandeatlike
apigatatrough.It’snotveryladylikeandmymotheralwaysscoldedmeforit,butIcan’thelpit–Iget
hungry).Thankfully,there’saconveniencestorewithinwalkingdistance,soIshovemyfeetinmychucks,
grabmypurseandheadoutintothesun,lettingmystomachmakeallthedecisions.

***

“No,no,no,no,”Imoan,leaningagainstthelockedfrontdoor.Itotallyforgottograbthekey

Roxy gave to Josh, and now I’m locked out while he slumbers upstairs. The groceries are going to be
ruinedifhedoesn’twakeupsoon.

“Josh!”Iyell,hopinghe’sawakeandwillhearme.Noluck.
Turning around, I sit on the concrete stoop and place my grocery bags beside me, before I

squintupattheafternoonsun.Theicecreamisgoingtomelt.Themilkisgoingtogooff,andthemeat
willcookitself,beforeIgetitallinside.

Iopenmypurse,lookingformycellsoIcanatleasttrycallinghim,butwhenitgoesthrough,I

hearhisclearlyfromthefrontroom.Itringsout.There’snowayhe’dhearthat.

“Josh!” I yell one last time, but there’s nothing. All I can do is lean up against the door and

wait.Eventually,he’llwakeandwhenhecallsout,I’llanswerandhecanletmein…sigh.

Dylan

Mybackandneckarekillingme,andI’mlookingforwardtogoinghome,takingahotshower

andeatingbeforeIgetreadytohitacoupleofclubswithsomefriends.IguessI’llsayaquickhelloto
Dylan and his girl. I guess they can come clubbing too if they want – although, I’m kind of counting on
thembeingtootiredfromtheirtravelstowanttopartytonight.Thatway,Idon’thavetofeelresponsible
forthem,andIcangohomewithwhomeverIchoose(atthemoment,I’mquiteenjoyingthecompanyofa
DJ friend of Roxy’s. She’s not interested in anything that involves sleeping, and that suits me just fine
becauseIdon’thavetodotheawkwarddress-and-leave-before-she-tries-to-cuddlemaneuver).

ElektrabyRefusedcomesupinmyplaylist,andIturnupthesoundasIroundthecornerinmy

blackCamaro–myprideandjoy.Myhousecomesintoview,andIletoutaslightsigh.AsmuchasI’m
gladJoshisbackintown,I’mnottookeenonlivingwithacouple.Relationshipsgetmessy.Igrewup
withamotherwhohadastringofuselessboyfriends,andthelastthingIneed,istoendurethatbullshitof
acouplefightingagain.

As I get closer, my brow furrows a little. There’s a girl sitting on the front stoop eating ice

cream with her finger. She’s fucking stunning (if you’re into the idea of a younger version of the flame
priestessfromGameofThrones).Shehasdarkredhairthat’sthrowingoffcooperhighlightswhenthelast
raysoftheday’ssunhit,smoothpaleskin,andlightcoloredeyes.EvenfrommyvantagepointinthecarI
canseehowlighttheyare–I’mguessingthey’reblue.She’sdressedinapairofdenimcut-offs,at-shirt
andapairofchuckswithherhairtiedbackinasimplestyle.IguessJoshwasn’tlyingwhenhesaidshe
wasanofrillskindofgirl.Notthatshereallyneedsallthatextrastuff–IcanseewhyshecaughtJosh’s
eye…

When she sees me pull into my parking space, she sucks her finger into her mouth as she

watchesmethenslowlyplacesthelidbackonthecarton,anddropsitinthebagbyherside.Something
about the way she watches me so openly the whole time causes my throat to thicken a little, so I look
away.Iwasn’texpectingthatandneedtoshakemyheadalittletoclearmythoughts(Ithoughtshewasan
innocent?).

I run my hand through my hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling it upward, composing myself

beforeIgetoutofthecar.

“Avery?”Iask,asIapproachher,mybootsscuffinglightlyalongtheconcretepathwayasthe

chainattachingmywallettomypantsswingsandtapsmythigh.

Sheremainssittingandsquintsupatmewithacuriousexpressiononherface.Fuck,She'shot,

andherskiniscompletelyvirgin–noblemishes,nomarksorsunspots.It'stheperfectcanvas,and
underanyothercircumstancesI’dwanttocorruptherineverywaypossible...

“Yeah,I’mAvery.AreyouDylan?”Inod,andshesmilesthenpointsoverhershoulderatthe

closeddoor.“Ikindoflockedmyselfout.”

I look down at her, her long legs tilted so her toes are turned inward and her knees are

touching.She’skindofadorable.WhydoIhaveanurgetopullonthatponytail?

Reachingout,Ipickuponeofthepaperbagsfullwithgroceries;it’stheonewiththehalfeaten

icecreaminsideit.

“Didn’tRoxygiveyouthekey?”Iaskevenly.
She stands and lifts the other bag, holding it around the bottom awkwardly. “She did. I just

forgotit.Itwasstupid…”

“It’s fine.” Using my key, I unlock the door and hold it open to let her through, watching the

wayshemovesasshecarriesthebagtothekitchen.Asawkwardassheseemedoutside,there’sacertain
gracetohermovement,andareallynicecurvetohershape.She’sslimbutshehasmuscletone.Ifigure
sherantrackforDukeorsomething,becauseshehaspowerfullookinglegs.

Thekindyou’dwantwrappedaroundyour…Idropmyeyes,forcingmyselftocanceloutthat

thoughtbeforeitgoestoofar.

“Idon’tknowifanyofthiscanbesalvaged,”shemuses,placingthegrocerybagonthecounter

beforeremovingitscontents.She’scompletelyoblivioustothethoughtsthatarehoveringinthebackof
mymindassheremovesthecapfromagallonofmilkandsniffs(Ireallyneedtostoplookingatevery
womanImeetwithmydickbeforemybrain).“ItsmellsOK.”Shelooksupatmeandsmiles–honest,
open.“Lookslikeyousavedtheday.”

“I’mnohero,”Iadmit,placingthebagI’mcarryingontothecounter.ThenIpulloutthetubof

icecream.“Lookslikeyouhadonecasualty.”

She smiles and takes the Chunky Monkey from me. “This was never going to last long,” she

sayswithawink,droppingitintothetrashcanbesidetherefrigerator.

Iwatchherforamoment,assheturnsbacktomewithasmileonherface.Shedoesn’thavea

single bit of concern or trepidation or even curiosity on her face when confronted with a man who’s
covered in tattoos all over his arms, as well as on my scalp. Staring at her openly, I wonder if maybe
Roxy’s original assessment was wrong. Maybe she isn’t naïve and innocent. Maybe she’s just a nice
person.Maybeshe’sjustsohonestthatitshowsonherface…

She tilts her head to the side in question, and I realize how long I’ve been staring then look

away.“I’mheadingupforashower.Makeyourselfathome.Justdon’tusethehotwatertillI’mdoneif
youcanhelpit.”

“Sure,”shesmiles,leaningagainstthecounter.“Itwasnicetomeetyou,Dylan.”
Ilikethewaymynamesoundsonhertongue.I’dlovetohearherscrea–Shit.Stopthat!
“Youtoo,”Imumble,asIheadforthestairs,realizingwhenI’mhalfwayupthatIdidn’teven

askafterJosh.

Chapter4

Avery

“You went shopping,” Josh comments, slipping his arms around my waist as he nuzzles his

noseintomyneck,whileI’mcookingussomegroundbeefpattiesfordinner.

Ileanintohimandsmileathisattention.“Idid.Andthere’dbedesserttoo,butIgotlockedout

andsomeonedidn’thavetheircellinthebedroom,soIcouldn’twakeyoutocomedownandunlockthe
door.”

“Shit,babe,I’msosorry.”
Iturnaroundinhisarmsandslipmyarmsaroundhisneck,curlingthemintohisthickbrown

hair.“It’sfine,ImetDylanandheletmein.”

Josh’smouthturnsdownwardalittle.“Ohyeah?Andhowdidthatgodown?”
“Fine,” I shrug, thinking back to the tattooed man with a messy looking blond mohawk-type

hair-dowhoapproachedmeoutside.I’dwonderedhowhewascopingwearingblackjeansandablackt-
shirtinsuchstiflingheat.Didn’tblackabsorbtheheatandmakeyoufeelhotter?“Heletmeinsideand
helpedcarrythegroceriesin.”

Josh’seyebrowsrise.“Hmm,”hesaysthoughtfully.
“What?”Iask,wonderingwhatthatnoisemeant.
“Nothing,hejustisn’tnormallythatnicetogirls.I’mgladhewaspolitetoyou.”
“Webarelysaidtwowordstoeachother.Butyeah,hewasnice.”
“Talkingsmackaboutme,buddy?”Dylanaskswithachuckleasheappearsatthebaseofthe

stairs.Joshwhoopsloudly,happytoseehisfriend.Theymanhugandsmilelikethelonglostfriendsthey
are,chattingforalongtime,whilerepeatedlytellingeachotherhowgooditistoseetheother.

“YoustartworkingonMonday,right?”DylanasksandJoshnods.
“Yup.Norestforme.Canyoujoinusfordinner?”
“There’splenty,”Iputin,knowingthatthesimplemealofgroundbeefpatties,saladandbread

willeasilyspreadtothree.

“No.Notforme.I’mheadingouttoaclub.Youguysarewelcometocomeifyouwant.Wecan

haveafewwelcomehomedrinks.”

Joshlooksbackatme,andIshrug,happytogoalongwithwhatwithwhateverhewants,while

knowingmyenergywillbegintowansoon.But,I’mwillingtotoughitout.Thismaybetheonlyweekend
he gets to hang out with his friend before he starts work, and his job becomes so demanding that he’s
rarelyhome.

AsIturnandplacethepattiesonaservingdish,IlookovertoDylan.He’swatchingmeagain

inthatcuriouswayhewasbefore.Itmakesmefeelstrange,andIwonderifmyhairlooksweirdorifI
havesomethingonmyface.Ireachupandsmoothmyhandovermyhairthenwipethebackofmyhands
acrossmyface.Itfeelsfine...

“Doyoumindifwestayintonight?IthinkAvery’sprettysmashed.MaybeFriday?”
DylansmilesandmoveshishazeleyesbacktoJosh.“Sure,man.Noproblem.It’sgoodtosee

you.”HeslapsJoshonthearminafriendlygesturethengrabshiskeysbeforewavingoverhisshoulder
andheadingoutthedoor.Wewaitforafewmomentsbeforeweheartheengineonhiscarrumbletolife
ashedrivesoff.

“Iwouldn’thavemindedifyouwantedtogo,”Isay,carryingourfoodovertothetable.Josh

helps,andwesitdowntogether.

“Andforgoanentirenightinahousewithjustthetwoofus?Nocollegedormsormothersto

interrupt–I’mnotpassinguponthat.”

Ifeeltheheatofablushcreepupmycheeks,asImeetthehungerinhiseyesandfeelastirring

lowinmybelly.“I'mstartingtowishI'dhadanaptoo.”

***

“This one?” Josh asks as we stand in front of a 1999 Pontiac Sunfire SE. It’s black, but has

obviouslyhadthebonnetreplacedatsomepoint,asthatismoreofamattecharcoalcolor.

“It’sonlyathousandsoit’sinourbudget.Maybeyoushouldaskforatestdrive?”
Helooksinthroughthewindow.“There’sovertwohundredthousandonitandadentinthe

side.Maybethey’llknockthepricedownalittle.”

“Well,aslongasitgoesandit’ssafe…?”Iask,lookingatthecarwithtrepidation.Beinga

NewYorknative,I’veneverhadcausetogetadriver’slicense,andneitherdidanyofmyfriends.Thisis
allverynewtome.

The dealer walks over and begins to talk to Josh, completely ignoring me as they speak

gibberishaboutthecar’sspecifications.It’sFridayafternoon,andthecaryardisfairlyquiet.Istepaway
andleanupagainstthedoorofthecarbesideusandtakeoutmyphonetoplayabitofCandyCrushtokill
sometimewhiletheytalkshop.

Supposedly,thebackseatsareonlyspaciousenoughforasmallchildoradwarf,sowhenthey

takeitforatestdrive,I’mleftsittingonabenchseatwithonlymyphoneforcompany.

“Hey!”Ihearafterawhile.WhenIlookup,it’sRoxyandshe’swalkingalongthestreetwith

the man I remember as her husband from the photo she showed me. When she said he was little, she
wasn’tlying.He’sevenshorterthansheis,andsheonlycomesupmyshoulderheight–I’m5’7”.Looking
atthem,Irealizethey’retheyexactrightsizetofitinthebackofthePontiac.

“Hey,whatareyoudoingoverhere?”
“JusttakingabreaktovisitGeorgie.”Shelooksatherhusbandadoringly.“We’retakingsome

foodbackforeveryoneattheshop.Youwannacomeandseeit?”

“Oh,I’mwaitingforJoshtogetback.”
“Youcan’tsitthereonyourown.Callhimortexthimandtellhimtomeetyouthere.”
Ishakemyhead,notwantingtoleaveJoshtofeellikehehastomakethedecisiononthecaron

hisown–notthatIcanactuallybeofanyhelp–andit’shismoney,andhiscar…I’msurehe’dpreferit
ifIwaswithsomeoneweknowinsteadofsittinghereonmyown…Itapoutamessagetohimthenstand
tofollowRoxyandGeorge.

“Sure.Soundslikemorefunthansittinghere.”
Roxygrinsthenintroducesmetoherhusbandwhilechatteringawayconstantlywhilewewalk

afewblockstowardVeniceBeach.Thereseemtobeseveraltattooparlorshere,andshetakesusintothe
onenamed‘FleshArt’.

I’veneverbeeninsideatattooparlorbefore,andwhenIwalkinside,it’snotwhatIexpected.

Ihadthoughtitwouldbekindof…dirty,Isuppose.But,itisn’tanythingofthesort.It’sallbrightlylit,and
thewallsaredecoratedinahugepaintedmuraldepictingvarioustattoostyles.Thebuzzoftattoogunscan
beheardtomyleft,butarejustoutofsightuntilI’mledpastreceptiontoawaitingareawherethere’sa
couchplacedagainstawall,andthere’saraisedplatformwheretherearesixdifferenttattoostationsset
up.IcanseeDylanhunchedoveraclientwho’sleaningforwardwhilehetattoosarowofflowersacross
herlowerback.

“Wehaveavisitor,”Roxysings,andIwonderifsheisevernothappy.
Dylan pauses and turns around to meet my eyes. “Hey,” he says with a slight nod but little

reactiontomypresence–notthatIexpecthimtoreacttome.I’msureI’mfartooaverageforamanlike
himtofindinteresting,andredheadsaren'tforeveryone…Plus,heseemstohavethatwholebad-boyfeel
about him, which doesn’t gel with my follow-the-right-path-and-plan-your-future persona. Not that I
shouldcareaboutanyofthis,but,Idohopethatwe’llfindawaytobecomefriendsintime–atleastfor
Josh’ssake.

“Hey,”Isayback,steppingalittleclosertoadmirehiswork.“Thatlooksreallybeautiful,”I

comment, and he nods as if he doesn’t want to be interrupted. So, I walk back over to where Roxy is
standingandchattingtoanotherartistwithGeorge.SheintroduceshimasMark,andheshakesmyhandin
greeting.

Heseemsnice.He’slittletallerthanmewithdarkhairthatiskindoflongandshortallatthe

sametime.It’sstyledsoitallsticksoutinoddangles.Liketheothers,he’scoveredintattoos,although
onearmlooksasthoughit’saworkinprogress.Andhehasfriendlybrowneyes.

Forawhile,weallchat,butthenhehasaclientwalkin,andGeorgetakesthatashiscueto

leaveandtellstheothersthathe’llseethemtonight.IlookatRoxycuriously,wonderingwhatitisthey’re
planningtodo.It’snotthatI’mexpectingtobeinvited;it’sjustthatI’mcuriousbynature.Sometimesit’s
agoodthing;sometimesitmakesmecomeoffaspushyandrude.

“Youshouldcomewithus,Avery.YouandJosh–we’regoingtotheopeningofanewclub

tonight.It’scalledVibe.Itshouldbealotoffun.”

IglanceoveratDylan,whoI’venoticedhaspausedwhathe’sdoingandturnedhisattentionto

usasheadjustssomethingonthegunhe’susing.Hiseyesflicktomemomentarily,soIcan’ttellifhe’s
OKwithusgoingornot,andIdon’tfeelcapableofmakingthisdecisionwithoutatleasttalkingtoJosh
first–heknowsthisworldbetterthanIdo.

“Soundsfun,butI’llhavetoseewhatJoshwantstodofirst,”ItellRoxy,whosmilesandnods

inacceptance.

When I look back over to Dylan, he’s fixed whatever problem he was having and is back at

workinkingthewoman’sskin.Maybehewasn’tpayingattentionatall?

I talk with Roxy some more while she shows me some of the process they go through while

gettingatattoodesignreadyfortheclient.It’sallveryinterestingandtakesalotofskilltomaster,andI
lovegoingthroughtheirportfolio’stoseethedesignsonactualskin.Really,it’squitebeautiful,andthe
moreshetalksaboutitthemoreIseeitasaformofart.

It’snotlongbeforeJosharrivesafterpurchasingthePontiacforonlyeighthundred.“Inever

doubtedyournegotiatingskills,”Isaytohim,asIwrapmyarmsbehindhisneckandkisshim.Beforehe
cantakemedrivingalongtheOceanRoadinournewcar,Roxytellshimabouttheclubopening.

“Youwanttogo?”heasksme.
“I’mhappytogo.Itcouldbefun.”
“Sure,”hesayswithasmile.“We’llmeetyouthere.”

Chapter5

Dylan

“Heretheycome,”Roxypointsout,asJoshandAveryspotuswaitingforthemoutthefrontof

Vibe.“ThatJoshisagoodlookingman.Averyscrubsupreallynicetoo–she’smissingsomeartworkon
hershoulder,Ithink.”

Smiling,Inodinagreement,watchingthemastheymoveclosertous.Joshiswearingapairof

darkjeansandawhitebuttonupshirtwiththesleevesrolleduphisforearms.AndAvery,well,shejust
about takes my breath away. I mean, she’s pretty normally, but dressed up for the club she’s…she’s…
well,she’sbreathtaking.

Shehasonthisfittedgreendressthatdoesn’thaveanysleeves.Thebustareaisthatloveheart

shape,soit’spushinghertitsupandout,soit’sreallyhardnottolook.Thereamatchingbeltjustbelow
herwaistandthedresscontinuesdown,huggingherfigureuntiljustbelowherasswerethere’sarowof
ruffledmaterialthatkindofflaresout.She’sinheels,soshe’saboutthesameheightasJoshrightnow.He
walks along, smiling like he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have his arm resting around her slender
waist,andIfindmyselfthinkingthatmaybeheis,becausethere’ssomethingabouther…

“Gladyouguysmadeit,”Isay,noddingtoJosh,whileonlyglancingatAverysomyeyesdon’t

getstuckonher.

Fuckshelookshottonight.
Iholdmyhandout,gesturingthateveryoneshouldheadinside.We’reinagroupofnine,and

Roxyhangsbackattherearwithme.“Isawthatlook,”shesayssoonlyIcanhear.“Itwashungry.”

Ifrownbutdon’trespond,uncomfortableinthisconversation.Butshecontinuesanyway.“Just

rememberwhoshebelongsto.”

“I’mnotstupid,Roxy.Iknow.OK?Shejust…tookmebysurprise,”Isay,notreallysurehow

toexplainwhatitisabouther.

“Prettierthanyouexpected?”
Ishakemyhead.“It’snotthat.It’sjustsheisn’twhatIexpected.”
“Whatdidyouexpect?”
IwatchasAverylooksupatJoshandlaughsaboutsomethinghesays.Hereachesahandup

andgentlymovesherlongauburnhairbehindhershoulderthenlowershisheadtopressakisstothesoft
skinofhershoulder.Shesmilesandlooksathimwithadorationinhereyes.Theylooksodamninlove
thatitcausesmyhearttoache.

“I don’t really know. I guess…I just didn’t expect them to be like this. They’re so fucking

perfecttogether.”

Roxyshrugs.“They’reinlove,”shesays,asifthatsimpleremarkshouldexplaineverything.

Butitdoesn’t.I’veseenpeopleinlovebefore,andnormallyIdon’tgiveashit.Whatisitaboutthesetwo
beinginlovethathasmetiedupinknots?

Avery

Asweentertheclub,astrobelightgoesoffandmakeseverythingappeartobemovinginslow

motion.ThenLanaDelRey’svoicestartssingingSummertimeSadnesswithin a dance remix. I look at
Joshandsmile.Inormallydislikeclubmusic,butifthey’remixingthingslikethis,Icandefinitelygeta
littlemoreexcitedabouttonight.

He grins and nods, allowing me to drag him straight to the dance floor. We push through the

crowd,andsettlingintoagap,webegintomovewithalltheotherbouncingbodies,pressedupagainst
eachother,thebasevibratingwithinourchests,andthescentofartificialsmokeandwarmbodiesfilling
ournoses.Thecoloredlightsflash,andJoshplaceshishandsonmyhipsasheletsmedomything.I’ma
danceratheart–it’swhatIwasstudyingatDuke.Mypreferenceiscontemporary,butI’mtrainedinother
stylesaswell.Soaslongasthemusicisgood,I’llfindawaytomovetoit.Andthemusichereisgood–
it’sreallygood.

“IthinkIloveithere,”IyellintoJosh’sear.
“ThecluborCalifornia?”
“Both.I’mjusthappywithyou.”
He grins and slides his hands into my hair, bringing me to him for a kiss. It’s deep and

passionate,andithasmyheartbeatingsofastthateventhebassisn’tregisteringinmybodyanymore.

“I’mhappywithyoutoo.I’mgladyoucamewithme,”hesayswhenhepullsaway.
“Me too.” Reaching up, I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder,

moving again to the beat of the music as his hands slide down my back and grip my ass. He gives it a
squeezeandpressesmybodyclosetohis.Iliftmyheadandlaughathisplayfulness,butsuddenlyIstop
whenmyeyessomehowfindDylanwatchingusfromthebararea.Mystomachflips(amIembarrassed?)
Ilookawayquickly,andwhenIchancealookback,he’snotthereanymore,andIwonderifperhapsI
imaginedit.

Forsomereason,Inowhaveanervousfeelingrollingaroundinmystomach,andIslidemy

fingersintothebaseofJosh’shair,holdinghimcloserincomfort.Heshifts,movingmesoI’mlookingat
him.‘Iloveyou’,hemouthsinthenoiseoftheclub,andIsmile,mynervousfeelingmeltingawayasthis
beautifulmanshowsmehisheartandkissesmewhilewedance,inthemiddleofaseaofpeople.

***

Afteragoodhourofdancing,JoshandIdecidethatit’stimeforadrink.Pushingourwayto

thebar,weseeRoxyandherhusbandGeorgesittingatatablewithtwootherpeopleIdon’tknow.They
waveusover,andItellJoshtogoandsayhiwhileIgetthedrinks–it’stoohardtoholdaconversation
inhere,andhe’sabetterlistenerthanIamanyway.

“Havingfun?”amalevoicesaysinmyear,asIwaitinlineatthebar.Myfirstreactionisto

stiffen,butthenIrealizeIknowthevoiceandturnaroundtofindaveryintenselookingDylan.

“Iam.Youdon’tlooklikeyou’rehavingagreattimethough.”
Heshrugs.“I’mtoocooltolooklikeI’mhavingfun.”
“Well,youshouldloosenupalittle.Youwantadrink?”Iask,asIstepforwardtothebar.
“Sure,grabmearumandcoke.”
Nodding,Ileanforwardandorderthesameformyself,andabeerforJosh,tappingmyhands

onthecountertobeatofthemusicwhileIwaitforthem.

“You know, that’s a very short dress,” Dylan comments after a moment’s pause, looking

downwardtomybarethighsbeforequicklybeforemeetingmyeyes.

“Not compared to a lot of girls out there. But that’s cool, I’ve got little dancing shorts on

underneath. So no one’s getting up in my junk,” I reply with a laugh, kicking my hip up dramatically,
causingthelittlerufflesaroundthebaseofmydresstoshift.Thebartenderplacesthedrinksinfrontof

me,andIthinkIhearDylanlettingoutabitofachuckle.Ireachintomypurseformymoneyandfrown
whenthebartenderisalreadyservingthenextperson.“Hedidn’ttakemymoney!”

Dylan smiles. He’s even more handsome when he smiles (did I seriously just think Dylan is

handsome?Whouseshandsomethesedays?).

“Howisthatabadthing?”
“BecauseIfeellikeI’mstealing.”
Laughing,hepicksupmydrinkandhandsittome.“It’sfine.You’reonmytab.”
“What?Oh.No.Letmepayyouback.Idon’twanttodrinkawayyourmoney.”
“Considerita‘WelcometoCalifornia’drink,Rusty.”Hesmilesagainandpicksuphisown

drinkandJosh’s…hangon,whatdidhejustcallme?

“Rusty?” His twinkling gaze flicks to my long red hair where I have it twisted over my

shouldertoalleviatetheheat.“Oh,aredheadjoke,Igetit–harhar.”Irollmyeyes,wonderingifthere
willeverbeadaythatI’mknownforsomethingotherthanthecolorofmyhair.

He leans in close to my ear. “It’s not a joke. I quite like your hair.” His voice sends a chill

throughme–inagoodway.ItakeasipofmydrinkasItrytothinkofsomethingwittytosayinreturn.

AllIcancomeupwithis,“Well…sodoI.”It’saslameasfuck,butIpunctuatethecommentby

snatchingthebottleofbeerfromhishandbeforeIturntoheadbacktoJosh.ThenIstop,feelingbadfor
thewayIjustreactedandturnbackaround.

He’sgrinningwidely,obviouslyamusedbyme.Rollingmyeyes,IsmiletoothenIholdupmy

hands and nod to thank him for the drinks. He nods in return and leans up against the bar. It’s a nice
moment,andI’dliketoconsiderasasteppingstonetomelearningtogetalongwithJosh’soldestfriend,
exceptitallgetsruinedwhenthisblondegirlinthetightestdressI’veeverseen,launchesherselfathim
and attaches her mouth to his face like a leech trying to suck out his soul. My mouth falls open and I
almostdropthedrinksI’mholding.Ireallywasn’texpectingthat.

“Hey,youOK?”Joshasks,appearingatmyside.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I got your beer,” I say, smiling and handing him his drink, trying

desperatelytostopmyselffromturningbacktothesceneIwasjustwitnessingatthebar.But,it’slikea
car crash and I can’t seem to stop myself, and it’s even worse than it was before. “Oh god, does he
alwaysdothat?”IaskasIwatchDylanopenlygropingthewoman’sass,assherollsherselfagainsthim
likeshe’shavingsexstandingup.

Joshlaughsandputshisarmaroundmyshoulder.“Prettymuch.He’salwaysbeenaplayer.”

Heturnsmeawayandguidesmetowardthetable.“Comeon,we’vesavedyouaseat.”

Chapter6

Avery

“This bed is so comfortable. Maybe we could become bed people – give up all our dreams

anddonothingbutnapandmakelove,”ImoanonMondaymorning.It's5:30inthemorning,andsince
Dylanhasn'tbeenhomesincewewentoutonFridaynight,thisisthemostalonetimeJoshandI’vehad
sincewestarteddatinginmyfirstyearofcollege(weliterallyranintoeachotheroncampus,smacking
our foreheads together because neither of us was watching what we were doing. That sparked a
conversation, which sparked a friendship, and within a few months, it sparked a romance. We've been
togethereversince).

Ourrelationshiphasn'talwaysbeeneasy.Tosaveondormfees,Ilivedathomewithmom,and

Josh was in the boy’s dorm with a real jerk of a roommate. My mother wasn't comfortable with him
stayingover,andoncampus,Josh’sroommatewouldn’tstopstaringatmytits.Soourintimacyhadtobe
creativelywelltimed,whichofcoursekeptthingsexciting,butitwasrarethatwegottosleepinthesame
bed.Evenwhenwediditwassquishedtogetherinatwin–cosy,butnotthemostcomfortable.

Josh leans over and kisses me, softly, slowly, inhaling as his lips entwine with mine. “Don't

temptme,”hemurmurs,breakingthekiss,hisbreathingalittlefasterthanitwasamomentago.

Ishiftmynakedbodycloserhisandslidemyhanddown,findinghismorningerection.“ButI

lovetotemptyou,”Iwhisper,asIlightlystrokeit.

Hegroanslightly,hiseyesclosingatmytouch.“It'smyfirstday,Ican'tbelate.”
“Youwon’tbelate,”Imurmuragainsthislips,grippingandstrokinghimalittleharder.
“Mmmm,”hemoansbeforeheshiftsbesideme,grippingmythighanddraggingmeacrossthe

bedsoI’munderneathhim.Iletoutasquealasheleansdownandscratcheshismorningstubbleagainst
thetenderskinofmyneckandnibblesonmyear.“Minx.”

Igiggleashesitsbackandpositionshimselfatmyopening,teasingmyarousalwiththetipof

hiscock.Thenhepushesin,andIletoutamoanashefillsme,inchbyinch,thrustinghishipsbackand
forth,overandover,untilwe’rebothcryingoutinsatisfaction.

Outofbreath,heleansdownandkissesmeonelasttime.“NowIreallyneedtogetoutofthis

bedbeforeIreallyamlateforwork,”hesays,beforewithdrawingfrommeandheadingtotheshowerto
getready.Ilookattheclock,seeingthatit’salmosttenaftersix.Heneedstobeatthehospitalbyseven,
soIquicklygetupandwrapmydarkgraysatinrobearoundmynakedbodyandheaddowntothekitchen
topreparehimsomebreakfasttogo,tomakeupforjumpinghisboneswhenheshouldhavebeengetting
ready.

AsI'mpotteringabout,thefrontdooropensandcloses,andIturntoseeDylan,lookinglikea

male model in a fitted black t-shirt a pair of light colored jeans. I wonder where he got his change of
clothes…

Uponseeingme,astrangelookcrosseshisfacebeforehedropshiseyesandclearshisthroat,

butasheapproaches,helookstomeagainandhisfeaturesareeven,soIthinkthatmaybeIimaginedit
andjustfeelalittleselfconsciousbeingcaughtoutinmyrobe.Itightenthesash.

“Hey,”hesays,noddingatmeashewalkstotheothersideofthecounteranddropshiskeys

ontopofapileofunopenedmail.

“Hey,”Isaybackwithasmile,tryingtohidethefactthatwhenIlookathim,allIcanseeis

thewayhewaskissingthatgirlattheclub(Isithotinhere?).“Toast?”

Heshrugs,andreachesuptopullathisblondstripofhairsoitstandsupalittle.“Sure,”he

says,sittingdownonthestoolasifhe’satadiner.

Iputaplateinfrontofhim,andhandovertwoofthefourpiecesthatjustpoppedoutofthe

toaster,andashebuttersthem,Idropinanextracoupleforme,beforeIreadytheothertwoslicesfor
Josh and place them on a napkin. Then I fill a travel mug with freshly brewed coffee, sugar and milk,

screwingthelidonjustasIhearJoshtrottingdownthestairs.

“Oh, hey, buddy,” he says with a smile when he sees Dylan sitting at the counter. “Good

weekend?”

“Yeah,man,I'msorry,Ishould’vebeenhereforyourfirstweekendback,butyouknowhowit

is…”

He tilts his head to the side as if he's pleading for understanding, and I wonder if he's being

vagueaboutwhathewasdoingbecauseI'mintheroom,orifhe'sjustoneofthosepeoplewhodoesn't
talkaboutwhathedoeswhenhegoesoutallnight.

“Don'tsweatit,itwasgoodtorelaxandsettlein.Maybewecandosomethingagainonmy

nextnightoff.”

“Soundsperfect,”Dylansays,ashetakesabiteofhistoastandnodswhenIofferhimcoffee

afterI’vepouredmine.

“Isthisforme?”Joshasks,pointingtothetoastinthenapkin.
“Sureis,”Ismile,pickinguphistravelmugandhandingittohim.“Thisisforyoutoo.”
Heslideshisarmsaroundmywaistandkissesme,murmuring,“HowdidImanagetolanda

girllikeyou?”

“JustluckyIguess,”Itease,reachinguptostraightenthenavytiehe’swearingwithhiswhite

dressshirt.Helookssoprofessionalwhenhe’scleanlyshavenwithhisbrownhairstyledneatly.“You'll
dogreattoday.”IglanceatDylan,halfexpectinghim,asafriendofJosh's,tohavesomethingreassuring
tosay.Butinsteadhehashiseyesdown,andhe'smorefocusedoneatinganddrinkingcoffeethanheison
hisfriend.Mytoastpopsoutofthetoaster.

“Ihopeso.I'llcallyouwhenIcan.”
“Goodluck.”
“Thanks.”Hepressesanotherquickkisstomylipsthenwithhisbreakfastandcoffeeinhand,

heleavesforhisfirstday,sayinggoodbyetoDylanonhisway.

“Gosavesomekid’slife,”Dylancallsafterhimthenthedoorcloses,andI'mherealonewitha

manIbarelyknow,nakedexpectforsomesmoothsatin,tiedbyaflimsysash.Iglanceatmycookedtoast
longingly,mystomachgrumblingloudly.

“Imightgoupandgetreadytoo,”Imumble,suddenlyfeelingwayunderdressed.
“Yourtoastwillgocold,”hecomments,gettingupandgrabbingaplate.Heplacesthepieces

of toast on the white surface and holds it out to me. “And I just heard your stomach growl. Come on, I
won’tbiteyou.”

Conceding,Itightenthesashonmyrobeagainthenwalktowardhim,addingbutterandjellyto

mytoastbeforetakingittothediningtablewithmycupofcoffee.IbarelytakeabitebeforeDylanpulls
outthechairoppositetomeandsitsdownwithhisbreakfastaswell.

“Goodweekend?”heasks.
“Itwas.Yourhouseis…nice.”
“Nice?”
“Interesting.”
Helaughsandsitsbackinhischair.“Itwasmygrandmother’s.Ijusttookdownherpersonal

stuff and kept the rest as it was. I’m not much of a decorator, and I’m really not here much so...” He
shrugs.

“Whyaren’tyouheremuch?”Iask,innocentlyatfirst,butthenIrealizewhatastupidquestion

thatwasandwince.“Don’tanswerthat,”Iadd,holdingupmyhandashechucklesatmynowredface.

Wesitinsilenceforamomentbeforeanaggingquestionforcesit’swayoutofmymouth.“So,

that girl who was all over you on Friday night, is that who you spent the weekend with – is she your
girlfriendorcurrent…whateversheis…or…ordoyou…”Ipause,realizinghownaïveImustsound.

Hefoldshishandsacrosshischestandeyesmecuriously.“Spititout.”
Ishakemyhead.“Thisisdumb.Ishouldn’tevenbeasking…Ijust…”
“Youhaven’tmetanyonelikemebefore,haveyou?”
Lookingdown,Ipullthecrustoffmyquicklycoolingtoast.“IguessyoucouldsayI’veliveda

fairlyshelteredlife.”

“You’resheltered?GrowingupinNewYork?”
Ishrug.“Mymomwouldn’tletmeoutmuch.”
Heleansforward,peeringintomyface,hisgreeneyesnarrowingastheyassessme.Itcauses

metofidgetinmyseat.It’slikehe’spullinginformationoutofmewithouteitherofusspeaking–asif
he’slearningaboutmeinthesilence–it’sdisconcerting.

“Heusedtobejustlikeme,”hestatessuddenly,hisrichvoicebreakingthroughthesilence.
Ifrown.“Whodid?”
“Josh.HeandIusedtobethebadboysinhighschool–anewchickeveryweekend.”
Myfaceburns,andIfeelmystomachstarttoturn(JoshisonlythesecondmanI’vebeenwith,

thefirstbeingmypromdateandacolossalerrorinjudgment).

“Ididn’tknowthat,”Ireply,forcingmyselftomeethisgaze.
“Youhaven’thadthattalkyet?”
I shake my head, not understanding what he means. But he elaborates. “You know? The one

whereyouaskhimhowmanyandheasksyou.He’llgetyoutogofirstsohecanadjusthisnumbersoit
isn’tmuchbiggerthanyours?”

“Whywouldhelieaboutit?”
“Becauseheprobablydoesn’trememberexactlyhowmany.”
Suddenlyfeelingverydefensive,Ishakemyheadandstandfromthetablequickly,tippingmy

chairoverintheprocess.IleandowntopickitupasIfightthetearsthatareburningbehindmyeyes.
“Whyareyoubeinglikethis?”

Heleansforwardagainandstudiesmewiththoseassessingeyesofhis,lookingrightthrough

melikehe’ssearchingforsomething.“BecauseIdon’tgetit.WhywouldaguylikeJosh,giveupalife
likemineforyou?Imean,thatguycouldpullchicksbetterthanIevercould,andnowhe’sadoctoras
well,hecouldhavethemliningupoutthedoor.Butinstead,theonlygirlhelooksatisyou–what’sso
specialaboutyou?”

Myveinspulseinthesideofmyheadasmyemotionsthreatentospilloveratanymoment,but

I suck it up, and I stare back at him, trying to figure him out – what is his problem? I thought we were
beginningtogetalong–whyishebeinglikethiswhenI’vedonenothingbutbenicetohim?

Thenfinally,IswallowthelumpinmythroatandIshakemyhead.“There’snothing,”Isayina

smallvoice.“There’snothingspecialaboutmeatall.”

Chapter7

Dylan

“So, how’s life with the new roommates?” Roxy asks, when I walk into work early that

morning.Myfirstclientisn’tuntilnine,butIhaveacraptonofpaperworktogoover.Ihandherthetake
awaycoffeeIpickedupforheronmywayhere,andsheacceptsitwithathanks.

“I’vebarelybeenhometoseethem.Butit’sOK,camehometobreakfastthismorningsothat’s

abonus.”IsmileandwinkasItakeasipofmycoffee.IneedatleasttwocupsbeforeIcanfocusforthe
day.Irunoncaffeine.

“Littlemissabitofahomelyone,isshe?”
“Yeah, she’s like a little wifey. They’re playing house, it’s sickeningly cute. I felt like I was

watching some awful ABC family show when Josh left for work this morning. They’re like, picture
perfecttogether.”

“Mustbeconfrontingforthecommitment-phobeinsideyou.”
Irollmyshouldersandreachahanduptoscratchmyback.“Yeah,Ithinktheygavemehives.”
Shelaughsandgetsbacktothelightboxwhereshewasworkingonadesign.
“Imayhavebeenabitofajerktoherthough,”Iadmitafteramomentofreflection.
“Whywereyouajerk,didshedosomething?”
Runningovertheeventsofthismorninginmymind,IthinkabouthowmuchIwanttotellher.

Thetruthis,Idon’tknowwhyIdidit.Ijustgotreallyuncomfortablewatchingthemtogether.They’reso
obscenelyhappytogetherthatitmademe…jealous?No.HowcouldIbejealousofthem?I’veneverbeen
jealousofanythinginallmylife.Itcan’tbethat.ThenwhydidIdoit?Wasitjusttogetariseoutofher?
DidIwanttopissheroff?IkeepaskingmyselfquestionsasIopenthedrawersatreceptionandpullout
thereceiptfolder.ButIdon’thaveananswer,soIsettleforagenericresponseinstead.

“No. She didn’t do anything. I guess I just snapped for no reason. Maybe I’m just tired or

something,andI’mreactingtohavingnewpeopleinmyhouse.”

“Couldjustbeteethingproblems–youhavebeenlivingonyourownforyears.”
“Probably,”Iagree,headingintotheofficebutpausinginthedoorwaywhenshecallsoutto

me.

“Justdon’tbetoomuchofajerk–westillhavetogainhertrust,orthatlilywhiteskinofhers

willremainablankcanvasfortherestofherlife.”

Lookingbackather,Inodthenheadintotheoffice,sittingbehindthedeskbeforeIpoweron

theiMac.AsIopenthereceiptfolderRoxyappearsinthedoorway,leaningagainstthedoorframewith
bothhandssupportingherassheleansforward.“Iforgottoask–whichoneofusgetstotattooher?”

Frowning,Ilookupather.“Idon’tknow.ShemightpreferEvan.”
RoxyburstsoutlaughingasifIjustsaidthemosthystericalthing,notrealizingthatEvan,our

otherfull-timeartist,isnowstandingdirectlybehindher.“Hey,I’mgoodatwhatIdo,”hesays,lookinga
littlehurt.Histhickblondbeardseemstomovewhenhespeaks.He’sbigandburlylooking,buthe’sone
ofthenicestguysIknow.However,herarelytattoosanyofourfemaleclientelebecausehisspecialtyis
pinupsgirlswithgianttitsandroundasses.Theguyslovehiswork,butIcouldneverseeAveryasking
forabustypinupgirlonherskin.

“I’msorry,honey,it’snotyou,it’stheclient,”Roxyexplains,andheshrugsandmovesfurther

intotheshop,outofmyview.Roxyturnsbacktome.“AndI’mserious–Ithinkthewinnershouldgetto
tattooheraswell.”

“I think she should get to choose – it’s her body don’t forget. The artwork and artist for her

aren’tapartofthisbet.”

Sheshrugsandpushesherselfoffthedoorframe,headinginthesamedirectionEvanwent.Iget

upandshutthedoor,givingmyselfsomequiettoconcentrate.AlthoughIdon’tgetmuchworkdone.I’m

toobusywonderingifIshouldjustcallthisbetoff.ItwasmadeinfunbeforeImether,butnow,things
aredifferent,andI’mnotsureit’sagoodideaanymore…Shit,Ineedtoapologizetoherforthismorning.
Ishouldn’thavesaidwhatIdid…

***

Avery

IknowIshouldn’tbeobsessingoverwhatDylansaidaboutJosh.Afterall,Iknewhewasa

lot more experienced than me when we got together – he’s a good looking, confident guy. Of course he
beddedplentyofwomenbeforeme(it’swhyhe’ssodamngoodatitwhathedoes)andtobetruthful,I
neveraskedbecauseIhadafeelingthenumberwouldbehigh,andIdidn’twanttofeelinadequate...

But damn, if that comment didn’t get to me. Because he probably doesn’t remember exactly

howmany.Ugh.Whosaysshitlikethattosomeone’sgirlfriend?

I tilt my head from side to side, cracking my stiff neck before I roll my shoulders. I’ve just

spenthourspouringoverrealestatelistingstoseeifJoshandIcanaffordtolivesomewhereonourown.
Iknowthatlivinghereisn’tpermanent.Joshalwayssaidthatit’sjustuntilwecanfindourfeet.Butthere
aresomeaffordableplaceswithonebed,onebath,andthey’reclosertothehospital.Imightmakethings
easier,andIwouldn’thavetoendureanymoretauntsfromDylan.

Ontopofanaccommodationsearch,I’vealsobeenlookingintotransferringtoSantaMonica

College in the Fall – it’s all so overwhelming and it hurts my head to think about filling out all that
paperwork. Although, in the mean time, I also might try and get a job somewhere – maybe at a dance
studio,or,sincewe’resoclosetoLA,maybeIcouldgotoacoupleofauditionsandseeifIcanmanage
todanceforaliving…Idon’tknow.It’sacrazyamountofthingstothinkabout,andIcontemplatecalling
mymomtounload,butthenIrememberthatshe’sprobablyatworkrightnowandwon’tbeabletolisten.

Instead,IsetmyiPodupandputonmycordlessbeatsthatcanceloutallsound.ThenImove

someofthefurnituresoIcandancewithouttrippingoveranything.Ilimberupalittle,andthenIpress
play, closing my eyes when Sleeping at Last’s 500 Miles begins to fill my ears. Contemporary dance
combines a lot of styles of dance, but it has strong roots in ballet and modern dance. Ballet is my
background, and I studied it for most of my life. But when I was about sixteen, I started shifting more
toward contemporary. I love the free flowing movement of it, and when I’m feeling stressed or
overwhelmed,IlovetojusthitplayonmyiPodandletwhateversongcomesup,seepintomyveinsand
guidemymovement.

I sway, I kick, I leap, I spin, and I even risk a flip at one point, feeling glad that there’s no

glasswareontheshelveswhenIlandalittletooclosetoabookcase.But,I’msmiling,andI’mhappy,and
asthesongrisesincrescendo,Ispotthewallandpirouette,around,andaroundandaround,feelingfree
asallthestressmeltsawayfrommybody.IfeelasthoughIcanconquertheworld,andthatnothingcan
hurtme.Ifeelfree…

Then, just as I come out of the turn, something draws my attention – a certain tall, blond,

tattooed man, who was the reason for my upset in the first place, is leaning up against the wall and
watching me intently. His unexpected presence causes me to falter my step and topple off balance. My
footgoesfromunderme.Ifalltotheground.

Somethingsnaps.

Chapter8

Dylan

“Iwasn’ttryingtoscareyou.Ididcallout,”Isay,aswesitintheemergencyroomatUCLA.

Averyhasherlegacrossmylaptoelevateherswollenankle.There’sablueicepackdrapedacrossit,
andwe’rejustwaitinguntilwegetcalledinsotheycanx-ray.Itrytokeepmyeyesoffit,feelingguilty
forbeingthereasonshe’shurt.

I probably shouldn’t have stood there watching. But she just looked so free, and I’ve never

seensomeonedancelikethatbefore.Itwasn’tthatgayballetbullshit,orthatstupidhip-hopstufftheydo
in music videos – it was something much more…beautiful – like she was dancing her feelings. I was
mesmerized.

“It’snotyourfault;myheadphonescanceloutthenoise.Iwouldn’thaveheardyouevenifyou

yelled,”shereplieswithagrimace.

“Doesithurtalot?”
Shenods.“Ijusthopeitisn’ttoobad.Ineedtoauditionintimeforcollegeadmissions,andI

needtogetajobsoJoshandIcangetourownplace,andIwanttopaymyownway.”

“Yourownplace?Already?AmIthathardtolivewith?”
Shedropshereyesandshrugs.“Idon’tknow.Youjustgavemetheimpressionthismorning

thatyouweren’tverykeenonhavingmethere.”

Ilookawayforamoment,knowingthatIcrossedthelinethismorningandknowingthatshe

deservesanapologyforit.“Aboutthismorning,Iwasanass.There’snoexcuseforthewayItreatedyou.
Ishouldn’thavemadeyouuncomfortablelikethat.”

Focusingonhernails,shefidgetsasshenodsslowly.“DoyouthinkI’mnotgoodenoughfor

Josh?”sheasksblatantly,andittakesmebysurprise.

“That’snotwhatIthinkatall,Avery.Ithinkyou’regreattogether.I’vejustneverbeenaround

ahappycouplebefore.AndJoshisreallyhappywithyou.”Irunmyhandovermyheadandpullthefront
ofmyhair.“Idon’tknow,maybeIgotalittlejealous.”

“Ofourrelationship?”
Ishrugnonchalantly.
“You could have that too, you know?” she says. “If you wanted it. There are a heap of girls

lookingforloveoutthere.”

“Ah,butI’dhavetoquitmanwhoring–that’swhatKeiracallsit,isn’tit?”Sheblushes,andI

knowI’mright.

“Wouldthatbesobad?Imean,you’rethesameageasJosh,andfromthewayyouweretalking

earlier,surelyallthosegirlsstarttobeoneneverendingfacelessfuck.”

Ialmostchokeontheair.“Facelessfuck?”Irepeat,coughingtoclearmythroat.
“That’s what I said,” she replies with a shrug, and I narrow an eye at her, staring at her in

wonder.

“See,thisiswhatIdon’tgetaboutyou.Yougofromawkwardtogracefulthenshytobold.You

blushwhenIsay‘manwhore’butthenyoublurtout‘facelessfuck’withoutbattinganeyelid.Youdress
like you don’t want anyone to look at you, except for when we went to Vibe and you dressed like you
wantedeverymanintheroomtodehydratefromdrooling.Emotionally,youseemsorestrained,except
forwhenyou’rewithJosh.Thenyou’rehappy–likesuperhappy,asifheisyourhappiness.ButthenI
sawyoudancingalone,andIsawmoreemotionthanI’veneverseeninanotherperson.Itwasn’tjustjoy,
therewasmelancholyandhope,and,and...”Istopmyself,unabletogivevoicetoeverythingIsawinher
whenshedanced.Itwaspureemotion-purebeauty."YougavedancinguptocomeherewithJosh,right?”

Shenods,it’satinynod,andIbarelyseeit,buthereyesarewideandhercheeksareflushed–

asshelistenstomedissecthercharacter.

ForamomentIfrown,tryingtofigureoutwhatthatmeansasIlookintoherlighteyes,feeling

asifI’montheedgeoffalling.Itakeabreath,anditshakes.Idon’tknowwhy.Ilookawayandswallow
alumpinmythroat.“Ithinkthat’swhatI’mwaitingfor,”Iadmitafterawhile.

She tilts her head slightly as she studies me in return. “Are you saying you’re waiting to be

someoneelse’shappiness?”sheasks,andIshakemyhead.

“No.Iwantmorethanthat.Iwanttobesomeone’smusic,andIwantsomeonetobemymusic.

Idon’tjustwanthappiness,Rusty.Iwanteverything.Iwanttofeeleverything.”

***

Avery

“Whatthehellhappenedtoyou?”Joshasks,rushingtowardme.Inonehand,Ihaveanewset

ofcrutchesthatI’llhavetogetthehangofusing,andtheotherisholdingontoDylan’sshouldersashe
gripsmearoundmywaistwithhisstronghandandlongfingers,holdingmeup,helpingmethroughthe
door.

Afterkeepingmecompanyduringthelongwaitinemergency,hecontinuedtostaybymyside

duringthex-ray,thediagnosis,andfinally,thecastingofmyankle.

I’mabithoppeduponpainkillers,soIdon’tfeelathingatall.Infact,I’msmiling,andallI

manageinresponseisagiggle.

“She’shigh,”Dylanexplains.
Josh’swarmarmsslidearoundmybody,andI’mbeingliftedoffthegroundandtransportedto

thecouch.Whydoesmywaistfeelcoldnow?

Hekissesmyforeheadandpushesmyhairawayfrommyfacebeforefussingoverme,placing

pillowsundermylegwhilehemuttersabouthowworriedhewaswhenhegothomeandweweren’tthere
andneitherofuswereansweringourphones.Itrytorespondandsaysorry,butI’mfeelingreallyheavy
andwornout.Thosepainkillerstheygavemearestrong,andmymindfeelsasthoughit’sbeingpulled
away.

I hear the gentle rumble of Dylan’s voice. It feels like a calming vibration in my chest as he

tellsJoshaboutmydancingmishap.Joshpeersdownatmewithaworriedlookonhisface,ashesays
somethingtoDylanthatgetslostintheairthenDylanleansdownandlooksatmeaswell.Mygazedrifts
betweenthem,landinglastonDylan’sconcernedfeaturesbeforeIclosemyeyesandmurmur.“You’reso
handsome.”

Chapter9

Avery

“Hey you,” Josh whispers, when I open my eyes the next morning. It takes me a moment to

realize where I am as the room is still dark, and I’m still on the couch. “I was just checking on you.
How’reyoufeeling?”

“Hey,” I smile, trying to readjust myself a little. My ass is numb from being in the same

positionallnight,andmyankleisnowthrobbing.Iwincealittle.

“Here,” he says, offering me a glass of water and my pain meds. “Do you need me to do

anythingforyoubeforeIgetreadyforwork?”

IlookdownatmypurplecastasIswallowthepills.“HelpmeupstairssoIcanpee.”
Grinning,heslideshisarmsbeneathmeandliftsmeasthoughIweighnothing.“Holdon.”
Islidemyarmaroundhisshoulderstobracemyself,ashecarefullycarriesmeupthestaircase

andintothebathroomsoIcandomybusiness.Heofferstohelp,butIassurehimIcanmanagetopeeand
washmyhandsonmyown.Sohewaitsformeoutsidethedoor.

When I’m done, I stand in front of the mirror for a moment, balancing on one foot. I look a

wreck. My hair is a mess of wavy tangles and there are dark circles under my eyes. I pick up my
toothbrush and give my teeth a good clean, so at least something about me isn’t horrible. Then I splash
wateronmyfaceandclosemyeyes,wishingthepainmedsworkedalittlefaster–beinguprightmeans
the blood has rushed down to my foot, and it’s now pulsing like a second heartbeat. “Josh,” I call out,
bracingmyselfagainstthesinkasIwaitforhimtoreenterandhelpmeintoourroom.

Hesetsmeuponthebedandsitsbesideme,runninghishandthroughmyhairasIleanbackon

thesoftpillow.“AreyouOK?”

“Yeah.Justalittleembarrassed.DidDylantellyouwhathappened?”
Henods.“Yeah,youwentdownwhenyousawhimentertheroom.”
“IhadmyBeatson.”
He smiles, knowing how much I love those things. “Dylan also told me you were looking to

startworkingASAPsowecouldmoveout,”hesays.“Ithoughtyouweregoingtosortoutschoolfirstand
thengetajobaroundthat.Don’tyoulikeithere?”

Ishrug.“Ilikeitherejustfine.Iwasjustreacting...”
“Towhat?”
I shake my head, not really wanting to cause a rift between two friends by telling him what

DylansaidifIdon’thaveto.“Idon’tknow.IguessIwanttopaymyownwaysoI’mnotsodependenton
you.”

Hepresseshisforeheadtomine.“Iliketakingcareofyou,Avery.”
Ireachupandcuphisface,runningmyfingertipsoverhismorningstubble.“Iknow.ButIneed

tofeellikeI’mcontributing,andnowIfeelbadbecauseIwon’tbeabletoauditionforanythingforat
least a couple of months, and what happens if the local colleges won’t accept my transfer without an
audition?Icouldbefucked.”

“It’snotthatbad.Ilookedatyourx-rayandit’sacleanbreak.It’llhealinnotime.Andevenif

itdoesn’tandyouneedsomephysicaltherapy,itwillbeOK.Iwanttotakecareofyou,Avery.Letme
takecareofyou.”

Leaningback,IletoutasighasIlookupintohisdarkeyesandseethesinceritywithinthem.

“OK,”Iconcedeinawhisper,feelingthepainkillersbegintolullmeintosleepiness.Istifleayawn.

“Thankyou,”hesays,placingakissonmyforehead.“Now,doyouneedanything?Ihaveto

getreadyforwork,butIcancarryyoubackdownstairsorbringupsomefoodifyoulike.”

“I’llbefine.IthinkIjustneedtosleep.MaybejustbringupthecrutchessoIcangetaroundif

Ineedto.”

“Sure,”hesays.“Justbecarefulgoingdownthestairs.
“It’stheshorteststaircaseintheworld,Josh,IthinkI’llbeOK.”
He smiles. “Says the girl who just broke her ankle falling out of a turn I’ve seen her land

perfectly,atleastathousandtimes.”

“Can’twin‘emall,”Ishrug.Thiscauseshimtochucklebeforehepresseshislipstomineand

getsoffthebedsohecanshower.“Youdidn’ttellmehowyourfirstdaywas,”Icalloutbeforeheleaves.

Hestopsinthedoorwayandturnsbacktome,atiredexpressiononhisface.“Itwasgood.I

wasoverwhelming.Anditwashard.”

“Worthallthestudy?”
Heshrugs.“Timewilltell.”
PressinghislipsintoasmileheturnsawaybeforeIcalloutagaintostophim.“Oh,andJosh,

canIaskyousomethingreallypersonal?”

“Sure.Youcanaskmeanything.”
“Doyouknowyournumber?”
Hefrowns.“Mynumber?Youmean,like,mycell?”
“No.”Mycheeksburnforamoment,andIalmostchickenoutfromasking.But,nowthatit’sin

myhead,Ican’tgetitout.“Thenumberofgirlsyou’vesleptwith.”

Hisbrowshootsupthenfurrows.“Whydoyouwanttoknowthat?”
“I just realized I’ve never asked. The number doesn’t really matter, but it’s something we

shouldknowabouteachother,right?Especiallysincewe’relivingtogethernow.”

“I suppose. What brought this on? Were you reading Cosmo or something while you were

waitingintheER?”

“Somethinglikethat.”
He twists his mouth to the side a little then looks out of the window in our room before he

looksbackatmeandanswers.“Idon’tknowhowmany,Avery.It’snotsomethingIeverkeptcountof.”

***

Iwaketothesoundsofasofttappingonthebedroomdoor.Lookingoverattheclock,Iseethat

it’safternine.Mycrutchesareproppedupagainsttheendofthebed,andmycellisonchargebesideme
andthere’saglassofwater,anapple,awrappedsandwich,andmynextdoseofpainmeds.Ontopofthe
sandwichisafoldedpieceofpaperwithaloveheartdrawnontheoutsideofit.Inside,Joshhaswritten
–Restwell.WillcallwhenIgetabreak.J.

Iplaceitbackwhereitwas,beforeIhearthetappingagain,followedbyasoftvoice.“Avery,

youup?”

“Ah, yeah. I’m up. Come in,” I call out to Dylan, who opens the door, carrying a tray laden

withfood.

“Thoughtyoumightbe–oh,Joshalreadygotyousomething,”hesays,whenheseesthefood

sittingbesideme.He’slookingdeliciouslywellputtogetherinawhitevintageprintt-shirtandapairof
blackjeans.Thatever-presentchainisswingingfromhiship,andhisundercuthairstyleisgrowingouta
little, but the long top is standing up in its usual way. I wonder if that’s just what it does, or if he puts
somethinginittomakeitlooklikethat.

“Wait,”Isay,ashebeginstoturnaway.“I’lleatit.”
Hesmilesandbringsthetrayovertome,settingitonmylap.“Ididn’tknowhowyouliked

youreggs,soIjustmadethemthewayItakemine.”

Ilookatthetray.There’saplateoftoastwithscrambledeggsthathavechoppedupredand

greenpeppersinthem,aswellasaglassoforangejuiceandacupofcoffeewithmilkandsugaronthe
side.

“Wow.Thankyou,”Isay,pickingupmyknifeandfork.“Youdidn’thavetodothis,butthank

you.Areyoueatingtoo?”

Heshakeshishead.“No.Ihavetogointotheshop.But,sinceit’sonlytwentyminutesaway,

I’llcomebackbetweenclientstocheckonyou.”

“Youdon’thavetodothat,Dylan.I’llbeOK.”
“It’snotrouble.”Heglancesdownatmycast.“IjustwanttosayI’msorryagain.Inevermeant

forthistohappen.”

“Itwasn’tyourfault.”
“No.Itwas.Ishouldn’thavestoodtherewatchingwhenyoudidn’tknowIwasthere.Thatwas

kindof,um.”Heclearshisthroatwithacough.“Weirdofme.”

Ismile.“Ilikeweird,Dylan.”
Hesmilesinreturn,wipinghishandsdownthefrontofhisjeansasifhispalmsaresweatyor

something.“OK.Well,Ihavetogo.I’llseeyouaroundlunchtime,Rusty.”

He steps out the door, and I thank him again for the breakfast. When he leaves the room, I

suddenlyfeelverylonely.

Chapter10

Avery

ThedoctorstoldmethatI’dbeinthecastforsixtoeightweeks.Ihatemylackofmobility,and

every day, I go through my ups and down, feeling stifled without the ability to dance. Dylan was right
whenhesaidallofmyemotionscomeoutthen.Itseemstobetheonlythinginmylifethattrulyallowsme
toexpressmyself,andwithoutit,Ifeelempty.

Josh has been doing his best to cheer me up when he’s at home. But he works so much, and

neitherofusareinthemoodtogoout,sohe’llsnugglewithmeonthecouchandwatchmoviesuntilIfall
asleeponhischest.Thenhe’llcarrymeuptobed.He’ssweetandhe’scaring,andIlovehimforit.But
it’snotenough.Ineeddance.

Dylanhasbeengreattoo.Everyday,heeatslunchanddinnerwithme.Hereturnsduringthe

daywithlunchforthebothofus,andImakesomethingforustosharefordinner.Eachtime,hesitswith
meforaslongashecan,talkingaboutanythingandeverything,justhelpingtopassthetimebeforeJosh
getshome,whichiswhenhetendstogoout,soJoshandIcanhave‘coupletime’ashecallsit.He’sthe
idealroommate–neverintheway,andalwaystherewhenyouneedhim.He’seventakentocallingme
‘Rusty’allthetimenow.Normally,Ihatenicknames,butIdon’tminditcomingfromhim,becauseIknow
there’snomalicebehindit.Itmeanswe’vebecomefriends.

IfindmyselflookingforwardtoourlunchdatemoreandmoreeachdaybecauseI’vereally

growntoenjoyDylan’scompany.IcancompletelyunderstandwhyheandJoshhavebeenfriendsforso
long. Dylan is so easy to talk to and seems to never run out of interesting conversation. I find myself
laughingwithhimmoreoftenthannot,askinghimabouthislife,learningabouthisandJosh’supbringing.
Basedonthestorieshetells,I’msurprisedeitherofthemmanagedtofinishhighschool.

Sometimes,togetmeoutofthehouse,hetakesmebacktotheshopafterlunch,soIcanhang

outandtalkwithRoxyandsomeoftheotherartists.EveryoneisreallyniceandnowherenearwhatIused
toexpecttattooistswerelike.Tomakemyselfuseful,Ihelpbehindreception,orIhelptocleanthetattoo
stations,orwhateverelseIcanmanagewhilebalancingononefoot.Roxyspendsalotofhertime,trying
to convince me to get some ink done (I keep declining), and they all sign my cast and add some really
fancyartwork,givingmewhatIthinkisthemostenviedbrokenankleintheentirestate.

Afterbeinginthecastforamonth,I’mgivenabootsoIcanwalkaroundwithoutthecrutches.

IfiguresinceI’malittlemoremobilenow,Dylanwillstopcomingbackeachdaytohavelunchwithme.
Butitstillcontinues,andthewaymyheartdoesalittleflipflopinmychestwhenIhearhiscarinthe
driveway,tellsmethatperhapsI’mbeingalittletoodependentonhimforcompany.Ionlyhaveacouple
ofweeksleftinthiscast,soit’stimetobecomealittlemoreproactiveandprepareformyreturntothe
dancingworld.IstillreallywanttogotoafewopencallstoseeifIcangetajob,soIneedtoworkon
my form. I was lucky that my college transfer went through without the need for an audition, but I still
havetoprovidemedicalproofthatmyankleisheeledbeforethey’llletmebegin.

“IhavetogooutsoIwon’tbebackfordinner.Isthatallrightwithyou?”Dylansays,ashe

standsandclearstheburgercontainersfromthetable.

I try to hide my disappointment with a laugh. “Why wouldn’t that be all right? I don’t own

you.”Istandandgrabaspongetowipeupanycrumbsleftbehindfromourlunch.

Hedropsthecontainersinthetrashandchuckles.“Areyousureaboutthat?”
Iturnandfacehimwithafrown.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?Idon’tforceyoutospend

timewithme.You’redoingthatallonyourown.”

Hemovestowardme,stoppingrightinfrontofmeashelooksdownatmewithasmile,his

greeneyessparkling.“Iknow,Rusty.AndIloveeveryminuteofit.I’llseeyoutomorrowmaybe.Callme
ifyouneedto.”Thenheleansdownandgivesmeakissonthecheek,andthesurpriseofitcasesmeto
flinchandsuckinmybreath,myhandflyinguptocoverthespotwherehislipstouched.It’sburningwith

aheatthatsetsmyheartbeatingatouchtoofast.

Whenhiseyesmeetminetheyseemalittleconfused,orperhapshurt.Ohgod,whydidIhave

toreactlikethat?Friendskisseachotheronthecheekallthetimeright?Itdoesn’thavetomeananything.

Iforcemyhandbackdowntomysideandletoutalittlelaughbeforepressingmylipstogether

thenrisinguponmyonegoodsetoftoestokisshimonhischeek(hisskinisreallysoftbeneathmylips–
Ididn’texpectthat).“Havefuntonight.”

Onesideofhismouthquirksinagrin,andhiseyesseemtolighten.“I’llseeyoulater,Rusty.

Don’tgothrowinganywildparties.”

“I’lltrynotto,”IreplyasIwatchhimleavethehouseandhearhiscarstartupanddriveaway.

ThenIstandthereallalone,wonderingwhatthehellI’msupposedtodowithmytimeuntilJoshgetsback
fromworkateleven.I’mnotusedtobeinginthehousebymyselfforhoursonend.

Dylan

Whatthehellwasthat?Ifuckingleanedinandkissedherwithoutthinking.Iwasaimingfor

herfuckingmouth,butsheturnedherheadslightlysoIgothercheek–whatthefuckingfuck?!Anditfelt
sonaturaltoo,likeitwashowwe’resupposedtobetogether.Fucking.Weird.I’mobviouslygettingway
toocomfortablewiththischickinmyhouse.Shit.Andthelookonherface!ItwasasifIwasburninga
god-dammedhole,rightthroughthesideofherface.Jesus,imagineifIhadhavegottenherlips…Whata
nightmare!

Imakeittotheendofourblock,beforeIstopthecarandcontemplateturningbackaround.I

thinkIshouldprobablyexplaintoherthatitdidn’tmeananything.Anditdoesn’t,right?We’rejusttwo
friends that get along really well. She’s Josh’s girl – she’s fun to be around, and while I find myself
organizingappointmentsaroundmytimewithher,that’sjustbecauseshe’sfuntobearound,andit’skind
ofmyfaultshecan’tgooutandworkandmakenewfriends.Plus,Iliketalkingtoher.Ilikegettingto
knowher.Everythingcomeseasybetweenus,andIlikethatIcanprettymuchjustsayanythingandshe’ll
getitwithoutmyhavingtoexplainittoher.

But,she’sJosh’sgirl…She’sgorgeous,soI’mattractedtoher.Butthen,whowouldn’tbe?I

eventhinkRoxymighthaveabitofaladybonerforher.AndthemoretimeIspendwithher,themoreI
getit.IgetwhyJoshissoheadoverheelsforher.Averyisoneofthosepeoplewhodrawsothersin.It’s
likeherlightcanfeedthesoulsofthosearoundher.(Butwhofeedshers?)

She’sJosh’sgirl.
Myfingersgripthesteeringwheel,flexingandrelaxing,flexingandrelaxing.Ishouldtellher

itdidn’tmeananything.IshouldtellherIdidn’tmeantokissher–anditwasjustthecheek(thankgod).It
didn’tmeananything…

Before I can think about it anymore, I turn the car around and head back home. She has the

music turned up really loud. It’s a little distorted from outside the house, but I think she’s listening to
StoneTemplePilots.AtfirstIwalktothedoorslowlythenIrememberwhatshewasdoingthelasttimeI
camehomeandshewaslisteningtomusic,andIquickenmypace.Shestillhasherfootinacast–surely
she’snotdancing?

Iopenthedoor,myeyesgoingstraighttotheloungeareawhereIfoundherlasttime.Butshe

isn’tthere.Ifrownandturnmyheadtheotherwayandfindherstandingatthecounterinthekitchenwith
herbacktome.She’sstandingonhergoodlegwithoneofthoseexercisebandstiedbetweenherfeetas
shemovesherbadleginandoutatdifferentangles,kindoflikeshe’sdoingballetwarmupexercises.

Istandandwatchherforamoment.Shemovesherarmandheadinthatsamegracefulwaythat

balletdancersdo.Howdoesshemanagetomovelikethatwhiledoingasimpleexercisetorockmusic?

Myeyestraveldownherbody,pausingonherpertass,lookingsnuginapairofyogapantsas

itjumpsslightlywitheachmovement.It’skindofmesmerizing.Untilofcourse,shebeginstoturnaround
andIpanic(I’msupposedtobehereexplainingthatthekissdidn’tmeananything,andhereIamstaringat
herass!).

Stillstandingintheopendoorway,Ishutthefrontdoorwithabang,startlingheralittle,butat

least she isn’t mid-spin this time, so instead of falling and breaking a bone, she turns to me in surprise
thensmileswhensheseesme.

“IthoughtIwasn’tgoingtoseeyouuntiltomorrow?”
“Uh,youweren’t,”Isay,lookingdownatthestrengthbandthathasnowfallentothefloor.“Is

thiswhatyoudoeveryafternoonwhenIgobacktowork?”

Shenods.“Yeah.Well,exceptforwhenIgobackwithyou,ofcourse.Butyeah,Iexercise.I

trieddancingbutthatdidn’tturnoutsogreat.Sostayinglimberisthenextbestthing.”Leaningdown,she
picksupthegreenbandandplacesitonthecounterbeforeslidingherhandoverthetopofherhair.

Istandthereandlookatherforamoment,tryingtofindawaytostarttheconversationIcame

heretohave.Butforsomereason,thewordsdon’tcomeoutandinsteadIhearmyselfsaying,“Wouldyou
liketocomeforadrive–ifyou’renotbusyofcourse?”

Shedoesn’thesitate.“Sure,”shesays.“Justletmegrabmypurse.”
Iwaitbythedoorforherasshehobblesaroundthensmilesatmewhenshe’sready.Iusherher

outthedoorandholdherhandtosteadyherasshestepsdownthefrontstoopandheadsformycar.Iopen
thedoorandholditforher,assheslidesintothecomfortableleatherinterior,beingcarefulnottoknock
hercast.

“Allgood?”Iask,andshenodssoIclosethedoorforherandwalkovertothedriver’sside,

tossingthekeysupintheairandcatchingthembeforeIslipinnexttoherandstartthecar.

“Sowherearewegoing?”sheasksoncewe’reheadingbackdownthestreet.
“Toseemygrandmother.”
“Yourgrandmother?Ithoughtshedied.Didn’tyousayyouinheritedthehousefromher?”
Iglanceatherandsmile.“Idohavetwoparentsyouknow.Andtheyhadparentstoo.So…two

grandmothers.”

“Oh,thatwasreallydumb.I’msorry,Iwasn’tthinking.Ionlyknewmymom’smombecause

myparentssplit,andmydadtookoffwhenIwastooyoungtoremember.Ijustassumedbecauseyousaid
youwerefromasinglemothertoo.”

“Singlemom,andanabsentdad,yeah.Butmydad’smomistheonewhodiedandleftmethe

house.Shewasalwaysprettygoodtome.Shedidn’tleaveathingtomydadbecauseshewasangrywith
himfortakingoffonhisfamily.Butmymom’smom–mygrams,she’sstillalive.Butshe’sinanursing
homenow.Mymom’salwaysbeentoobusywithherownselfishlife.SoImakesureIgoandvisither
everymonth.”

“That’sniceofyou.”
“Is it?” I shrug. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to know who I am most of the time. So I

wonderifI’mjustconfusingher.”

“Doesthathappenalot?”
“Moreoftenthannotthesedays.But,it’sagoodvisitwhensherememberswhoIam.When

it’snot,Ijustgowithit.”

“Soyouplaythepartofwhoevershethinksyouare?”
Glancingoveratherbriefly,Igiveherahalfsmile.“Basically,yeah.”
“Thereusedtobeahomelessladywhospentalotoftimeonourblock.Shealwaysthought

everyonewasherdaughter.”

“Shedid?”
“Yeah.Ithoughtitwasreallysad.Imean,howtorturoustoseethefaceofsomeoneyoulove

allovertheplacebutforittoneverbethem.”

She lets out a sigh and looks out the window at the passing scenery, and I watch her when I

can,asifjustobservingherwillhelpmefigureoutwhylisteningtoherspeak,resultsinacravingpain
thatresidesbetweenmychestandmyguts.WhatisitIwantfromher?

She’sJosh’sgirl.
After driving for an hour, I pull up outside the nursing home and help Avery out of the car,

keepingahandrestinggentlyaroundherwaistprotectivelytomakesureshekeepsherbalance,andIcan
easilyhelpherwhenwehavetogoupacoupleofstairs.

“Dylan!”Katie,oneofthecaregiverscallsoutwhenwewalkthroughtheglassdoors.She’sin

herearlyfiftieswithgrayingbrownhairandanamplebosom.She’ssmallandroundwithwidehipsthat
she says bore her six children. She always has a smile and a hug for me, saying that I remind her of a
youngversionofherlatehusbandwholosthislifeoverinIraq,fightingforourcountry.

ShewrapsherarmsaroundmeasIleandowntogiveherahug.Thenshetouchesthesideof

myheadlightly,whereI’veallowedmyundercuttogrowthroughenoughtoconcealthetattsonmyskull,
andshesmilesasIstarttorolldownthesleevesofmydressshirt.Normally,Iwouldn’thideanyofmy
tattoos from anyone. I’m proud of my profession, and the art I have on my body. And when Grams
recognizesme,she’salwaysinterestedintalkingaboutmyart.Butwhenshedoesn’t,thetattooscanscare
her,andthat’sthelastthingIwant.

AverystandsbyandeyesmecuriouslyasIsecurethecuffsaroundwrists,andKatiebrushes

outthecreasesonmyshirt.“Perfect,”shesayswithasmile.ThensheturnstoAverywithanevenbigger
smile,andIcanseehereyestakeinthevibrantcolorofherhair,thepiercinglightblueofhereyesand
thesmoothperfectionofherskin.Avery’spresenceseemstoaffecteveryone,butAveryseemscompletely
oblivioustoit.

“Andwhoisthis?”Katieasks,hereyesleavingAverytoreturntome.“You’vebroughtagirl

withyou?Youhaveneverbroughtagirl.Isthisserious?ShouldIbuyanewdress?”

IlaughandshakemyheadasAverydoesthesame.“ThisisRusty,”Istartbeforecorrecting

myself,callingherRustyhasbecomeahabitoflate.“Imean,Avery.She’sJosh’sgirl–rememberItold
youtheywerecomingtostaywithme?”

Her mouth forms an O shape. “Of course. I’m sorry, you just look so lovely together, I just

assumed,”shesays.“Butyouknowwhattheysayaboutassuming.”ShelaughsitoffandAverytellsher
it’sfine.IslipmyarmaroundAvery’swaistagain,tellingKatiewe’dseeheronourwayout,andIguide
Averytowardmygrandmother’sroom.

“Grams?”Isayquietly,asIpushopenthedoorandpeerinside.She’ssittingbythewindow

staringout–whichisn’tagoodsign.Whenshelooksoveratme,herfaceisblankforamomentbefore
recognitiondawns.

“Henry!”shebreathes,holdingoutherhandsformetogotoher(Henryismyuncle.Inevergot

tomeethim,butI’vealwaysbeentoldIresemblehim.HediedinahitandruncaraccidentbeforeIwas
evenborn).

A slight pang of disappoint hits me in the chest, before I smile at her and give her what she

needs.“Himom,”Isay,myhandshiftingfromAvery’swaisttoherhandasIpullhergentlyintotheroom.

As I lean down to hug her, she looks at Avery and her eyes light up. “Oh! And you brought

Natasha.”(IactuallyhavenoideawhoNatashais,butInodandcontinueon.)

“How are you?” I ask her, pulling out a seat from the small table for Avery to sit on before

grabbingoneformyself.

“Oh, I’m fine. But they won’t let me walk to the store so I can buy supplies to make your

graduation cake. I know how much you like cake. And Natasha, I was going to make chocolate cake –
that’syourfavoritetoo,right?”

Avery smiles and nods, then tightens her grip around my hand, reassuringly. “Yes. That is

definitely my favorite,” she says, before engaging Grams into a brief conversation about finals and her
plansforcollege.ButIdon’treallyheartoomuch.I’mtoobusylookingatourentwinedhands.Ididn’t
evenrealizeItookaholdofherhandagain…

She’sJosh’sgirl…

Chapter11

Avery

Dylan is really quiet on the drive back home, and I worry for him. It can’t be easy seeing

someoneyouloveandhavingthemnotrecognizeyou.

“YourGramsisreallynice,Dylan,”Isay,turningtolookathimashefocusesontheroad.
Hepresseshislipstogetherandnods,glancingatmebriefly,apainedexpressiononhisface.I

reachoutandplacemyhandonhisforearmincomfort.He’srolledhissleevesbackupnowandIcansee
theintricateartworkonceagain.

“AreyouOK?”Iask.
Henods.
“Isthatwhyyouletyourhairgrowout–tocoverthetattooforyourGrams?”
HenodsandIwonderifhe’severgoingtospeak,asInoticehisteethworryingathislip.I

removemyhandandletoutasmallsigh,wishinghe’dtalktomeinsteadofstayingsilent.IfeellikeI’ve
donesomethingwrong.

Heglancesdownathisarmwheremyhandwasthenbackatmebeforeturninghisattention

againtotheroad.“Theyscareher,”hesayssuddenly.

“Whatdo–thetattoos?”
Henods.“Ifshe’slucidandremembersmetheydon’tbotherher.Butifsheisn’t,shecangeta

little upset when a strange tattooed man walks into her room. She’s the only person I’ll cover them up
for.”

“Soyouletyourhairgrowallmonththenshaveyourundercutagainafteryou’vegonetovisit

her?”

“Pretty much,” he says as we pull into our street and he stops in front of the house. “Listen,

willyoubefineuntilJoshgetshomeonyourown?”

Hekeepshisheaddownandfocusesonthecenterofhissteeringwheel.Icanfeelmelancholy

radiatingoffhim.IgivehimareassuringsmileasIopenthedoor.“I’mabiggirl,youknow.Icanbeon
myown.Youdon’thavetoworryaboutme.”

Helooksupatme.“Rusty,Iworryaboutyouallthetime.”
Thenhereachesacrossthecarandpullsthedoorclosedbeforehepullsawayfromthecurb.I

thinkhe’sdrivingoff,buthejustturnsthecararoundandwaitsacrossthestreetwiththeengineidling.
Curiously,IliftmyhandandwavebeforeIhobbleupthepaththenintothehouse.OnlythendoIhearhis
cardriveaway.

***

“Is Dylan out tonight?” Josh asks when he gets home and practically falls beside me on the

couch.It’safterelevenandhelooksabsolutelyexhausted.ImovesohecanputhisheadonmylapandI
runmyfingersthroughhisbrownhairashesighscontentedly.

“Heleftbeforedinner.SoIjustmadeasandwichformyself.Howwaswork?”
“Busy.Oneday,Ithinkmyheadisgoingtoexplodefromaninformationoverload.Thekidsare

suchtroopers...”Asmallfrowncreaseshisbrowandhegoesquietforamoment,andIwonderifhe’s
goingtotellmewhat’sonhismind.Buthedoesn’t.

“Tellmeaboutthem.Iwanttoknowwhatit’slike.”
Reachingup,hetakesmyotherhandinhisthenpressesakisstomypalmbeforeholdingitto

hischest.“It’sjusthard,Avery.It’sreallyhard,”hesays,andIfeelapangofdisappointmentinmychest.
He’salwayssovagueabouthiswork,andIwishhe’dtellmemore.I’dliketoknowwhatit’slikeand
howhe’sfeelingaboutworkingwithsickchildren.Doesithurthimtoseethemsounwell?Ishecoping?
ButthisisallI’mgettingfromhimandasmuchasIcanseethathe’stakingcomfortinmypresence,Ijust
wishhe’dletmedomore.

“How was your day?” he asks, closing his eyes as he wriggles his head a little to get more

comfortable.

“Itwasgood.Dylantookmeouttoseehisgrandmother.”
“TheonewithAlzheimer’s?”
“Yeah.ShethoughtIwassomeonecalledNatasha.”
“Hmmm,”hesays,asIcontinuetostrokehishair,andrelaytheconversationIhadwithher.

ThenItellhimhowquietDylanwasinthecar.

“Ithinkit’sreallyhardonhimtoseeherthatway,”Isay,lettingoutasighasIrememberthe

painedexpressiononhisfaceonthewayhomeinthecar.

It’sthenthatIrealizethatJoshhasn’trespondedinawhile,andIlookdownathim,seeingthe

steadyriseandfallofhischestashesleepssoundlyonmylap.Forawhile,IjustsitandwatchTVlike
that,andwhenIgrowtired,Islidefrombeneathhim,placeapillowunderhishead,andablanketonhis
body.ThenIkisshimsoftlyandretiretoourlargebed,emptyandalone.

Iletoutasighandturnmypillowtotheside,huggingittome.
Imissmyboyfriend.

Chapter12

Dylan

WhenIwakethenextmorning,I’mfeelingjustasconfusedasIwasyesterday.Ihadhopedthat

afteranightout,I’dbefeelingmorelikemyself,however,thingsdidn’tgoaccordingtoplan,andIended
upcominghomeattwointhemorningtofindJoshfastasleeponthecouch.

PartofmewantedtowakeAveryupandaskifshewasOK(whywasheonthecouch?Where

theyinafight?)ButIletherbe,andinsteadspentthenighttossingandturningandwonderingwhatIwas
goingtodobecausetherewasnopointindenyingitanymore.I’mfuckingattractedtomybestfriend’sgirl
–like,totallyintoherattracted.AndIcan’tseemtostopthinkingabouther.WhatthehellamIsupposed
todo?

Bythetimethesunstartspeekingthroughtheblinds,I’vedecidedthatmaybewhatIneedisa

bitofdistance.ThereareguestspotsavailableatothertattooparlorsandI’vealwayswantedtotravel–I
cangoandspendafewmonthsoutthere,makemoreofanameformyselfintheindustryandhopefully,by
thetimeIcomeback,Iwon’tbelookingatherandthinkinglikeahungryman.I’llbelookingatheras
whosheis–she’sAvery.She’sJosh’sgirl.Josh’sgirl.Thatgirlisnotmine.

AnalarmgoesoffinAveryandJosh’sroom,andIlistenasIhearhergroanalittleinhersleep

then shut off the sound. I wait a little as I hear her go down the stairs. Then I hear a cell phone go off
before she says something to Josh. He doesn’t sound like he wants to wake up at all. When I hear the
showerturnon,Igetupandthrowonashirtandapairofsweatpantsthenheaddownstairs.

I find Avery in the kitchen, playing the domestic goddess and looking perfect as always.

“Mornin’Rusty,”IsayasIapproach,andsheturnsfromscoopingcoffeeintothefilterandsmilesatme
likeIjusttoldhershe’swonaprize.

“Goodmorning.Didyousleepherelastnight?”
“Yeah,Igotinaroundtwo.”
“Nofishbiting?”sheaskswithawink,andIcan’thelpbutchuckle.
“Iwasn’tfishing.”
“Oh,”shesays,turningbacktothecoffeemachinetoclickthefilterinplaceandflicktheon

button.

“Ium…whenIgothome,Joshwasonthecouch.IseverythingOK?”
“What?Oh,yeah.Hewasjustexhaustedandfellasleepassoonashegothome.Poorguy.The

job’sreallyhardonhimIthink.”

Shemovesaboutthekitchenpullingoutmugsandplatesforeveryoneandsheplacesslicesof

breadinthetoaster.“Youdon’tneedtomakeanythingforme.Icandoitmyself,”Itellher.

Sheshrugs.“Ireallydon’tmind.Yougetmelunchallthetime.”
“Butyoucookdinner.”
“Ireallydon’tmind.”Sheturnstomeandsmiles.“Doyouhaveanearlyclient?”
“Uh,no.Ijustcouldn’tsleep.”
“Somethingonyourmind?”
“Kindof…”
Sheturnstomeandraisesaneyebrow,seemingcompletelyoblivioustothetorturethat’sgoing

throughmymind.Iopenmymouthandcloseit,strugglingtofindtherightwords.

“IsitbecauseofyesterdaywithyourGrams?”
Sheplacesaplateofhottoastinfrontofme,andcoffeemadejustthewayIlikeit.Thenshe

handsmethebutterandaknife.

“Stop!”Isnap,andsheflinches,hereyeswide,confused.“Stopactinglikemywife,ormy…

mymother.Thisneedstostop!”

Her eyes shine with emotion and she drops her gaze. “I’m not trying to be either of those

things,”shesayscalmly,althoughhervoiceshakesalittleattheendofthesentence.“Butifthat’stheway
youfeel.Thenfine.I’llstop.”Shetakesthecoffeeandtoastthendumpsthecontentsinthesinkandthe
trash.“Happy?”

Ishakemyhead.“No.I’mnothappyatall.”
She frowns and looks at me as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “What is going on with

you?”

Ishakemyhead.“Ijustthinkwe’regettingtocomfortablewitheachother.”
“Whyisthataproblem?”
I step forward and lower my voice a little. “I don’t know. Because you were sitting there

holdingmyhandyesterdaywhileeveryoneassumedweweretogether.”

“Iwaswhat?Itwasyou–ohmygod.Whatisthisreallyabout?”
Ishakemyhead,pullingatthefrontofmyhairasmyheadachesbecauseI’mfuckingthisup.

I’mtiredandI’mconfusedandIneedforhertostopbeingnicetome.

“Ijustdon’twantyougettingthewrongideaaboutme,allright?”
Shelooksatmeforalongmoment,herhandsonherhipsasshesearchesmyeyes.“Rightnow,

theonlyideaIhaveaboutyou,isthatyou’reanassholewho’stryingtopushawaytheonlypersonwho
reallyknowsyou.”

Thispressurebuildsinmychestasherwordshitmewiththeirtruth,provingthatI’velether

gettooclose.ProvingthatIneedtoputsomedistancebetweenus.

Iopenmymouthtospeak,butJosh’svoiceinterrupts.“Avery!Ineedyoutopickupmyshirts

fromthedrycleaner.IsthatOK?Thisismylastone.Ohhey,”hesays,whenheseesmestandingacross
fromher.“Ididn’trealizeyouwerehome.Howareyou?IfeellikeIseeyoulessthanwhenIwasinNew
Yorkthesedays.”

“Lifegetsintheway,man,”Isay,givingAveryonelastlookbeforeIslapJoshontheshoulder

and excuse myself to use the shower. “I have to stop in to the barber before work to get this undercut
shavedoff.”

“YoushouldgetAverytoshaveitforyou.It’llsaveyouthetrip.Shecutsmyhairsowehave

clippers.Youdon’tmind,doyou,babe?”heasksher,andsheshrugstoindicateshe’sfine.Thenheturns
backtome.“She’squitegoodatit.”

“Seemslikeshe’sgoodateverything,”Icommentalittlesnarkily–whycan’tIstopsnapping

ather?

“Exceptpeople,”sheresponds.“Iobviouslyhaveaproblemwithreadingpeople.”
She sets Josh’s breakfast on the table then returns to the kitchen to get a plate and coffee for

herself,takingtheseatnexttohim.

“Babe, you’re great with people,” Josh says, leaning over to kiss her cheek, exactly where I

did yesterday (it bothers me). Then he turns his attention back to me. “She’s great with people. I don’t
knowwhyshethinkssheisn’t.”

NeitherofusrespondsandIexcusemyselfagaintogoandtakemyshower.
“Oh,beforeyougo–IhavenextSaturdayoff,andAvery’sgettinghercastofftoday.Weshould

gooutandcelebrate.”

IglanceoveratAvery.Shedidn’ttellmeitwascomingofftoday…
“Uh,sure.That’dbeperfectactually.I’mactuallyheadedtoNewYorkforabit.Soitwillbe

mylastchance.”

“WhyareyougoingtoNewYork?”Averyasksquickly.
“Todoaguestspotatanothershop.”
“Forhowlong?”
“Idon’tknow.Aslongasittakes.”

Hermouthdropsopenalittleandsheblinksquicklybeforesheliftshercoffeecupandtakesa

longdrink.

“That’s great news, buddy. That’s got to be great for your career,” Josh says with a smile,

lookinggenuinelypleasedforme.

IglanceatAveryagain.She’snotlookingatme.“Yeah.It’sagoodopportunity.”
Excusingmyselfyetagain,Iclimbthestairstotakethatshower,andendtheconversation.But

beforeImakeittothebathroom,IhearAverycallout,“I’llbeupwhenyou’refinishedtocutyourhair.”

Chapter13

Avery

DylansitsinfrontofmeonthekitchenstoolIbroughtuptothebathroom,asIruntheclippers

throughtheovergrownundercutofhisdampblondhair.It’ssoftandsilkyagainstmyfingersandsmells
cleanandfreshfromhisshower.Iwatchitasitfallsinclumpsontothetiledfloorandslowlyexposesthe
intricatetribalpatternthatadornsthelowerpartofhisskull.

Hedoesn’tspeaktomeatall,andIwonderwhatI’vedonetohimtomakehimfeelangrywith

me.Ithought wewerefriends. Iwasbeginning toseehim asmy bestfriend.I feltsoclose tohimand
rightnow,Ifeelsofarawaythatitmakesmyheartache.

Usingasoftbrush,IflickawayalloftheloosehairwhenI’mfinished,thenIbrushmyhand

overhisscalpfeelingthesmoothskinbeneathmypalm.ThenIpauseandslowlytracemyfingeralongthe
thickblacklinesofhistattoodesign.

“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouwereleaving?”Iask,whenIreachtheendofthepattern.Iunclip

the cape around his shoulders and place my hand on his bare shoulder, firm and broad. I trace my
fingertipsoverthetattoodesignthereaswell;ablackandgrey,gladiatorstylebattlesceneononeside,
thenontheother,there’sacolorfulJapanesekoidesignwithmovingwaterandfloatingliliestocomplete
thescene.Eachisvastlydifferentinstylebutthey’rebothperfectworksofartonhisskin.

His well muscled back is still a blank canvas, as is his chest, however, he has some script

written on his left ribs that is being obscured by his arm so I can’t read it. I take a crazy long time
inspectinghistattoos,knowingIshouldn’t,butwantingtoanywaybecauseI’vealwayswonderedexactly
whattheylookedlikewithouthist-shirtsobscuringthem.

Ilookupathisfacewhereit’sreflectedinthemirror,andIseethathiseyesareclosed,asifit

hurtshimwhenItouchhim.SoIpullmyhandsaway.

“Whywon’tyoutalktome?HaveIdonesomething?Areyouangrywithme?”Iask,keeping

myeyesonhis.Heopensthem,hisgreeneyesmeetingmineviaourreflectionsandjuststaringatmefora
moment.

“Don’tforgetwhoyoubelongto,Avery”hesays,beforehestandsandpullshisteeoverhis

head.“Thanksforthehaircut.”

Thenhebrushespastmeandwalksstraightoutofthebathroom,leavingmewonderingwhat

thehellhappenedbetweenyesterdayandtoday.IknowheheldmyhandwhenwewerewithhisGrams,
andmaybeIshouldn’thavelethim.But,heseemedtoneedme,andIwantedtobethereforhim.Ithought
wecaredabouteachother.Ithoughthecaredaboutme.

Lookingatmyselfinthemirror,Iseetheworryinmyeyesandtheanxietyinthepinkofmy

cheeks.Iwon’tlethimdothistome.Iwon’tlethimtakeawaytheonlyrealfriendI’veeverhad…

Dylan

Inmyroom,Iremovemysweatsandpullonapairofjeansforwork.ThenIsitontheendof

mybedtoputonmyboots,whenmydoorburstsopenandAverystormsthroughitaswellasanyonewith
acastontheirfootcan.

“I’m not letting you do this, Dylan! I’m not letting you push me away over…over fucking

handholding!” she yells, her eyes wide and her hair looking like fire in the morning light. It’s like it’s
takenonalifeofit’sownandisprojectingheranger.Fuck,she’sbeautifulwhenshe’sangry.

“It’s not your decision to make,” I state calmly, leaning forward to tighten my laces before I

standupandslipmywalletinmypocket,attachingthechaintomybeltloop.

“Andit’snotyours.WhathaveIdonetoyou?Noneofthismakesanysense,Dylan.Youdon’t

gettosuddenlyendourfriendshipwithoutsomesortofanexplanation.”

“What friendship, Avery? I felt bad for making you fall and break your ankle. I helped you

while you recovered. Today you’re getting your cast off. My job here is done. I don’t need to feel
beholdentoyouanymore,”Isnap,pushingherawaywithmywords.Ineedhertoleavemebe.Ineedher
togetoutofmyheadandoutofmydreams.

Notwhenshe’snotmine.Notwhenshe’snotmine.
Stubbornly,shemovestowardmeandpokesherfingerinmychest.Icansmellherhairandher

skin.ItmakesmealittlelightheadedwhenI’msoonedgefromhavingherhandsonme,cuttingmyhair,
inspectingmytattoos–tracingthemwithherfingertips.Ihadtoclosemyeyesandforcemyselftostay
calmbeforemycockbetrayedmeandstoodtoattentionattheintimacyofhertouch.Ihavenever let a
womantouchmelikethat.Myinkismyink.

Iclosemyeyesagain,andwhenIdon’trespond,sheslapsbothofherhandsagainstmychest,

inafutileattempttomoveme.Iopenmyeyesagain.Ineedhertounderstand…she’snotmine.

ButIwanthertobemine.
“What is your problem?!” she demands, her ice blue eyes shining up at me with confused

emotion.

Shedoesn’tknowwhatshedoestome.Ineedtomakeherunderstand.Ineed…
BeforeIcanfinishthethought,myinstinctstakeover,andIgrabheroneithersideofherface

and bring my mouth down on hers. I hold her to me, my kiss demanding against her mouth. At first she
respondswithsurprise,tensingupandpushingagainstmychest.Thensomethingchanges,andsherelaxes
intome,herhandsslidingovermyshouldersuntilherarmswraparoundmyneck,andshereturnsthekiss
withequalintensity.

Myheadspinswithamixtureofemotions,knowingthisiswrong,butfeelinganeedsostrong

thatIcan’tseemtostopmyself.

ButIhaveto.
She’smybestfriend’sgirl.She’snotmine…
Forcingmyselfaway,Ilookintohertorturedeyes,andseethesameemotionswhirlingthrough

her.Mychestheaves,andmorethananything,Iwanttokissheragain.Iwanteverythingwithher,allat
once.ButIdon’tdoanythingexceptbackawayfromher.

“Didyoufeelthat?”Iaskinahoarsewhisper,whileIcontinuetoslowlymoveawayfromher,

holdingmyhandsoutdefensivelyasifI’mafraidofwhatmighthappenifIstopmoving.

Shenods,herlipsparted,hereyesbrimmingwithtears.
“Whatwasit?Whatdidyoufeel?”
“Everything.Ifelt...”
Inodslowly,knowingexactlywhatshefelt.“Music.Itfeltlikemusic.”
Shecloseshereyes,andatearslidesdownhercheek.“Itwaslikedancing,”shewhispers.