Idle Bloom Page 7

  “Chance thinks we might get the bid on part of the campus beautification. It would be a great job for us and some hefty sales for The Green Pot as––”

  “Enough! I can’t do this anymore.”

  His head jerks back.

  “Say something, anything, but stop looking at me like you don’t notice my face!”

  Oliver’s lips slide into an easy smile. He sits up and holds out his hand. I look at it waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Sighing, I take it. He pulls me over to him and I straddle his lap like I did the other night.

  Brushing my hair back, he finally takes an obvious look at my whole face. “I notice everything about you, but I only see the things that matter.”

  What. The. Hell?

  He has no idea what those words mean to me, there’s no way he could. There’s also no way I can hold back the tears that fill my eyes.

  “Hey, no, don’t cry.”

  I wipe away the tears. “Sorry, it’s just … sometimes ordinary words have such extraordinary meaning. You know what I mean?”

  With gentle hands he cups my head and pulls me into his body, pressing a soft kiss into my hair. “I think I do.”

  I sit up and relinquish an I-should-know-better smile. “I got a chemical peel. I know it looks like something went horribly wrong, but it’s supposed to be like this. By next week I’ll have the most radiant skin you’ve ever seen.”

  “Well you didn’t need the peel for that, but whatever floats your boat.”

  I nod, contemplating asking the question that has been dancing in my head all day. “What ‘floats your boat?’”

  Oliver traces his finger along my collar bone then dips it down to brush the exposed swell of my breasts, sending familiar jolts through my body in the most intimate places. “As of lately … you.”

  I watch his finger, mesmerized by how it makes me feel, threatening to distract my thoughts. “Not sexy waitresses bringing you cold drinks while you’re working?”

  He stills, meeting my gaze. “No.” He smirks. “It’s impossible to float a boat in a puddle when it’s already set sail in the ocean.” He presses the pad of his finger to the underside of my chin and tilts my head back.

  I swallow hard as he leans in and kisses my exposed neck, teasing his tongue along my sensitive skin. “However, it was nice of you to indulge my brother in his twisted take on reality.”

  “He said you told him to come instead of you. Why didn’t you want to see me?” I whisper with a shaky voice as he reduces me to a nearly incoherent pile of needy lust with his touch.

  He stops, rolling his shoulders back. “I did want to see you, that’s why I stayed. I knew he would stand around and flirt with the waitress instead of working and we would end up staying there until dark just to keep on schedule. So I sacrificed a few minutes with you earlier for a few hours with you now.”

  How is it possible for someone to say the right words at the right time and have it sound so seamless and effortless?

  I wrap my arms around him and play my fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re smooth. I mean, Chance is smooth too, but he’s Nestle Crunch smooth. You’re Godiva chocolate truffle smooth.”

  He squints one eye. “Is that a good thing?”

  I give him a slow repeating nod. “Yes. One is mildly tempting during an extremely weak moment, the other is flat-out irresistible.”

  “You just made my night.” He squeezes my thighs with his large hands.

  You just made my entire year!

  “Listen, I know we’ve only known each other for less than a week—” I start to say.

  “Two weeks if you count the week on the subway that you stalked me before the doughnut mishap.”

  I squint my eyes, shaking my head. “Any–way … as I was saying …” I take a deep breath because I’m getting ready to say something I need to say, but can’t explain, and he won’t understand. “What you said earlier … about noticing everything but only seeing the things that matter.”

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  “Will you promise not to take it back?”

  “What do you—”

  I move my finger to his lips. “Just … promise?”

  He nods, kissing my finger. “I promise.”

  *

  After two weeks of facial skin regeneration and casual dinner dates at my place or Oliver’s, hope has popped its head over the horizon. Physically we haven’t made it past kissing and hand holding; it’s like the orgasm night never happened. I know he wants more, but never once has he tried to take the moment beyond my lead. It’s almost too much to imagine or hope that I might not spend my life as the eternal virgin.

  We talk about everything and nothing at the same time with such ease of conversation. Oliver is twenty-nine, which originally I guessed he was a few years younger than that. He, however, doesn’t want to think about my age: twenty-one.

  There’s an indescribable connection between us; it’s first-time excitement and aged comfort all in one. Then there is the door. That Fort Knox door across from his bathroom. I haven’t gathered the nerve to ask him about it, but I know he senses my curiosity as he’s seen me staring at it on more than one occasion. Truthfully, I fear just my asking about it will change what’s between us more than what’s actually behind it.

  Oliver is ninety-nine percent outgoing, funny, sexy, caring, and spontaneous, but on occasion I see that one percent that’s a man consumed by something, someplace, or someone else. The blank stare or forced smile that comes from nowhere and leaves just as quick reminds me of the part of him that is closed to me.

  “You’re staring,” Oliver says as I sit cross-legged on his counter while he scrubs the kitchen floor.

  “I like the view.” I grin.

  On his hands and knees, he looks up at me. “Do I need to put my shirt back on?”

  “That’s like a Broadway director asking the audience if he needs to bring down the curtain in the middle of a Tony Award-winning show.”

  He shakes his head and continues to scrub the sand-colored tile.

  “Are we going to your place later so you can scrub your floor, topless?”

  “Hmm, let me think … no.”

  Oliver keeps his head down. “Am I ever going to see the tattoo on your back?”

  He doesn’t skip a beat in his motions nor does he look at me. Good thing because I’m certain all color has drained from my face.

  “I’ve seen the edges of the ink when you wear tank tops and pull up your hair.”

  I used to make sure all my shirts covered the tattoo, but in the past few months I’ve allowed parts of it to be revealed in exchange for getting to wear the shirts I like best. I’m sure other people have noticed it, but no one else has ever asked to see it.

  “Only an elite group of people have seen it.”

  Oliver looks up again. “What are the qualifications for the group?”

  “Basically you have to be my tattoo artist, my doctor, Alex, or Kai.”

  “Kai’s seen it?”

  I nod.

  “How did he get in the group?”

  I’m looking at the exception to every other man alive. Oliver can handle it—at least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. I should have showed him when we first met. A proverbial laying down of the cards to say take me or leave me. But I didn’t. Now I’m too scared that I could be crushed because not only do I like him, I’ve built him up to be the man I want him to be. What if he’s not? What if it’s too soon?

  “Kai was … inspiration for the tattoo.” That sounded different coming out of my mouth than it did in my head.

  “Lucky guy.” Oliver continues with the task at hand. If I knew him better I’d say he’s mad, but I haven’t seen Oliver’s mad side yet, so I’m not sure this is it.

  “I think he would disagree.” I cringe at the thought of Kai hearing Oliver’s words of envy.

  “Yeah, well no girl has ever permanently marked herself for me.”
<
br />   Closing my eyes I shake my head. “It’s not for him, it’s because of him. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’d rather be in your shoes of not knowing than his.”

  Oliver dumps the bucket of dirty water in the sink. “It’s no big deal. Some doors are better left unopened.”

  O–kay.

  This coming from the guy who has a mysterious locked, unopened, door upstairs. Secrets. That’s what we’re agreeing to without saying the actual words.

  “Are we talking about my door or yours?”

  He pauses with his back to me. “I need to take a shower before I go to my parents’ house for dinner. You want to grab some breakfast in the morning?”

  I hop off the counter. “I’m leaving in the morning to stay with my parents in Hartford since Alex’s are coming to visit for the next week.”

  He turns. “You’re leaving for a week? Don’t you have to work?”

  “No, I’m leaving for two days, and no I don’t have to work. That’s the upside to Alex’s parents coming to visit. They think she works for Maggie so she actually has to when they’re here.” I flash a smile and a wink.

  “So where will you stay for the rest of the time?”

  “Kai’s.”

  He folds his arms against his chest and widens his stance. “Kai’s? Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

  “Yes, but she won’t be back for another week and they don’t live together anyway. She’s fine with me staying there. I do it all the time.”

  “I see. Have the two of you ever been …”

  I’m relieved he’s curious, maybe even jealous. “Yes, and no. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but we were never more than that until our junior year in high school. But that only lasted a couple of years.”

  “So you’ve been …” He looks at me with big questioning eyes.

  “We’ve been … what?”

  Oliver rolls his eyes. “Intimate.”

  “You mean sex?” I laugh because the alternative hurts too much.

  “I don’t need to know.” He turns and heads upstairs.

  “Wait!”

  He looks back at me.

  “We haven’t had sex—”

  Oliver holds up his hand. “I said I don’t—”

  I walk partway up the stairs to meet him. “I know what you said.” Wrapping my hand around his neck, I pull him to me. Our lips connect for a slow kiss. “But I needed you to know. I haven’t been with Kai … in fact, I haven’t been with anyone.”

  Yep, that did it. Frozen, eyes wide with slow exaggerated blinks, Oliver is in shock. I could wait to see if he finds his voice, but I’m not anticipating that happening anytime soon.

  “So … enjoy dinner with your parents. I’ll call you when I get back in town.”

  Nothing.

  I smile and walk down the stairs with an occasional glance back at the stone statue that is Oliver.

  *

  Oliver

  I like this amazing woman that’s eight years younger than I am. She’s an adult and old enough to drink. Age shouldn’t matter, until she flashes her V card! I’m not that old, but I’m too old to be taking anyone’s virginity.

  My head yelled at her to stop because we needed to discuss the bomb she dropped on me, but my mouth could not move. Now she’s leaving for the next two days and I’m going to go crazy. Chance would think I hit the jackpot, not the case for me. That damn V card has too much fine print on it.

  Expectations.

  Words like love, cuddling, fairy tales, forever, marriage, babies, and minivans are stamped all over it like a passport to Hell. I can’t be Vivian’s Prince Charming, and even if that’s not what she wants, it’s what she deserves. It sounds so shallow, as if looks are all that matter, but twenty-one-year-olds that look like Vivian are not virgins. Was she abused? Is she religious? What is her story?

  “Hi, Mom.” I give her a big hug as she greets me just inside their front door.

  “I was hoping you’d bring your neighbor friend.” She rubs her hand up and down my arm as we walk out back to see Dad and Chance.

  “Someone has a big mouth,” I say loud enough for Chance to hear as my mom hands me a beer.

  Chance tips back his bottle taking a long pull while hiding his grin. “You’ve been blowing me off to spend every night with her, so I assumed this would be the week we’d get to meet her.”

  “We’re just friends and that’s all it’s ever going to be. She’s too young for me and bringing her here could give her and everyone else the wrong impression.”

  “Oliver, a few days ago you acted like the age difference didn’t matter. What’s all of a sudden changed?” Chance asks.

  I take a swig of my beer. “She’s just young and has a lot to experience in life, that’s all. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Your dad and I are thinking about flying out to Portland next week. Would you like me to get you a ticket too?” My mom is talking to me with the ease and confidence she would have while spewing off a grocery list to my dad over the phone.

  “No.”

  “You do realize it’s the—”

  “Yes, Mom, I realize!” I drain the rest of my beer. “Find a new subject or I’m out of here.”

  She sips her wine and looks at my dad. He gives her a slight head shake and takes the food off the grill.

  “You boys both going to the game with me?” My dad knows how to change the subject and keep the peace.

  “Yep,” Chance and I reply in unison, relaxing the tension that’s heavy in the air. This is what I need: no-brainer emotionless conversation.

  *

  Vivian: On my way to my parents’. Hope you had a nice time at yours. Call you when I get back :)

  This is not how I want to start my day, but I need to make a clean break. A text seems like the coward’s way, but the last thing I need is Vivian building us up in her mind over the next two days.

  Me: I think we should stick to being neighbors/friends. Okay?

  Vivian: Did I do something wrong?

  Me: No. The age difference is not going to work for me.

  Vivian: WTF?

  Me: Please don’t be mad.

  Vivian: Am I not old enough or do I not have enough experience?

  Me: I don’t have what you want.

  Vivian: I don’t recall telling you what I want, but UR right, UR an ass and that’s not what I want!!!

  Me: I’m sorry, don’t be this way.

  I wait for a response, but receive nothing. As much as I want to call her, I don’t. She’s pissed and rightfully so. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not worthy of her. The hardest part is figuring out if I’m worthy of anyone. The past few weeks I haven’t felt alone, which is all I’ve felt for the past three years. Now, it’s back and so is the shell of the man I’ve become. Maybe my mom’s right. Maybe I need to join a support group for “healing”. Although I know everyone in those groups is there for the same unspoken reason: misery loves company.

  I know just a few miles away my dad is watching the sunrise too while my mom continues to sleep. He’ll be here soon to pick me up. Unless he gets called into the hospital, this is our new routine: sunrise, coffee, and rowing. My dad has rowed his whole life. In college he was on the heavyweight crew and I followed in his footsteps in college after he introduced me to sculling in high school. He’s been a member of the Cambridge Boat Club for years and quickly moved through my membership application as soon as I came back to town.

  “Looks like a perfect morning,” my dad comments as we stare at a few other sculls already gliding along the river while we finish our coffee.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re quiet this morning.” He’s always been a man of few words but very direct.

  I shrug. “Tired, I didn’t sleep well.” We both continue to stare at the water.

  “This about Portland or the girl?”

  I give him a one-grunt laugh. “Neither, both, hell if I know.”

  “Let’s g
o, then. You just need to clear your head.” He finishes the last of his coffee and gestures toward the water.

  *

  It’s been four days since I’ve seen Vivian. Uncontrolled nerves have hijacked my body like a goddamn smoker having withdrawals. I’m short with Chance—fidgety, unfocused, and miserable. It doesn’t help that my mom keeps reminding me that they’re leaving in three days for Portland.

  “Easy, bro, that’s the fifth paver you’ve busted today.” Chance shakes his head. “What the hell is going on with you? Did you tease your dick with that girl one too many times?”

  I toss the rubber mallet to the side and grab my water. “We never had sex, dipshit.”

  “What? Why the hell not?”

  Wiping my brow, I shake my head. “Virgin.”

  Chance drops to his knees, bends over, and pounds his gloved fists on the ground. “Why, why, why does everyone think you’re the smart one? You are a total dumb fuck!”

  I grab another brick and continue working. The only thing surprising about Chance’s reaction is that it’s not more extreme. I expected him to beg for her phone number.

  He stands back up and grabs his shovel. “It doesn’t change your fucking moron status, but I’ll let it slide today since I have a date this weekend.” Chance grins and I see the canary feather sticking out of his sly cat grin.

  “A date, huh? As in you called a girl and planned something in advance as opposed to the usual last minute drunken pick up?”

  “Yep, well, actually she called me. But that’s not the craziest part. As you know I’m not really a wine and dine ’em kind of guy, but the one girl who I’d like to take to dinner and savor my time with, told me dinner was the optional part of the date.”

  “She sounds like a real gem, the kind you bring home to meet the parents.” I chuckle.

  “That’s just it, she is that girl. You know her.”

  I sit back on my knees and squint at him. “Who?”

  “Viv.” He grins.

  “Vivian?”

  “Yeah, Vivian Graham from The Green Pot.”

  I shake my head in disbelief or maybe to clear it, because there is no way I’m hearing him correctly. “You’re full of shit.”