Are You Mine

Chapter 11


Saige


I’ve been waking up every morning for the past week in a haze of stupid happiness. In theory, I should be ecstatic about feeling good, but somehow it gets twisted in my mind, and I start thinking about all the ways feeling like this is going to turn around and bite me in the ass.

And once I start thinking about how it’s going to hurt like a mofo once Fox and I go our separate ways, I begin to think about just getting rid of him now for sake of preservation. But then that idea depresses me because I like Fox. He’s got the best attitude I’ve ever experienced, he’s funny, he challenges me in a good way, and he’s hot.

Oh, yeah, and for some crazy reason, he likes me.

Even though I’m eighteen, most of the time I think I’m too young for the kind of relationship this is turning out to be. I don’t even think Myka and Valentine talk about mental health and child abandonment. Of course, neither of them have the shit in their histories like we do. No death of a parent, no committing of a parent to a psychiatric ward.

But still, there’s something that Myka and Val have that I don’t have with Fox and that’s comfort. I’m always so nervous around him. Even though intellectually, I know if he wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it by now, and intuitively I know that he’s not that kind of guy, I’m still frightened because I have no idea what’s going to happen.

“Just shit or get off the pot.”

“What?” I say as I blink back into the conversation.

“You heard me, Saige.” Myka applies the black nail polish to her last to fingernails with care, screws the cap back on, and levels me with her green eyes. “You never commit.”

“I like keeping my options open.” I glance at the open laptop, at the list of majors offered by New York University.

“But at some point, you’ll have to make a decision.”

“I’m deciding to not decide at this time.”

Although she smiles, Myka doesn’t accept it. “You’re a fantastic writer, why can’t you just be an English major? Or what about Anthropology? There’s not much to piss you off about old dead things. Oh! I know. Art History, then you’ll have a bunch of stuff to talk to Fox about.”

“You know, he’s not even going to college.”

She quits blowing on her nails. “So?”

“So why should I?”

Myka groans. “God, not the California thing again.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a plan, it’s a wish.”

“I could go to college in California, that’s a plan.”

“Nope, that’s a lie because you haven’t done any work to make it happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Okay, what school would you go to?”

I clear my throat as the rising discomfort threatens to choke me. “Any number of schools.”

“You haven’t even done an internet search, have you? There’s this little thing called applying as well. You can’t just show up.”

“I know that, but maybe I take a year off.”

“And do what?” When I’m silent, she continues. “Hang out in Pechimu? In your apartment? Growing ever older with your pessimistic att—”

“I’m not pessimistic. Just because nothing good ever happens, doesn’t mean I’m—”

“See?” she says and claps her hands together once. “Nothing good ever happens? Seriously, Saige, take a step back and examine that statement. Everything good happens.”

“Name one thing.”

“Fox Harrington.”

She has me, so I turn to look out the window.

“He’s been good for you, and you know it. And don’t forget this little fact while you fail to plan your future: While you’re here wasting away, I’ll be in New York, going to school, making new friends, starting my life. I won’t be here to lie about in your apartment with you.”

I’m not sure if she means it this way, but her words sting deep into me. She’s saying that she’s going to get a whole new group of people to hang out with because she’s not satisfied with me as a friend. She’s also implying that I’m boring and never do anything.

I close the laptop and stand. “I’ve got stuff to do, so I’ll see you later.”

Myka falters a bit. “Um, okay. What are you—”

“I’ll go to NYU with you, but quit with the peer pressure bullshit, okay?”

My friend stands and starts collecting her things while I pretend to be busy stacking up books and pages from the graphic novel.

“How’s that going?”

I know she’s talking about “Myka’s Metal Valentine,” but I’m not in the mood to discuss it, so I just say, “Fine.”

“Don’t be mad at me, Saige, I’m not trying to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, but, I mean, making a decision would be . . .”

She continues, but I don’t listen. This whole conversation rankles me enough that I just shut down until she leaves. Once I’m alone, I feel a little better, but the restlessness inside me doesn’t dissipate. I text Fox to see if that helps.

I keep it simple. What are you up to?

After a bit of waiting, my phone buzzes. Workin

Til when? I text back.

430. Bugr Jnt @530 til close.

I’m not sure why the walls are closing in on me or why I’m on the verge of panic, but the fact that I won’t be able to see him until tomorrow has to be a factor. When is close?

130. 2 late 2 c u?

I glance at the clock. It’s after three. Can I meet you at BJ’s b4 ur shift? I usually don’t type text-speak like b4 and ur, but I figure it might help him read the message.

Yes plaese

I ignore the obvious mistake in the word please and type Cool. C u soon.

I’m at the Burger Joint at 4:30 even though I know he’s just getting off work at the warehouse. I wait in my car, listening to The Avett Brothers music I downloaded the night before for the next fifteen minutes. I get out as soon as I see his blue clown car.

A little rush surges through my body when he walks towards me. He’s so sexy.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say back, before launching myself impulsively into his arms. We spend the next forty minutes kissing in my car.

“I’m going to be late,” he says after pulling back a bit. I glance at the clock on the dash and see it’s nearly 5:30. “I still have to change and inhale some food before . . .” He lets the sentence hang unfinished for a few seconds before he kisses me again.

After another minute or two, he releases me, licks his lips, looks at the building, and says, “For real now, I’m going to be late.”

“Do you think I lack direction? Or that I’m boring or uncommitted to anything?”

He thinks for a moment as he presses his lips together before answering. “I don’t know. I don’t think you’re boring. Why are you asking?”

“Because Myka’s trying to bully me into committing to NYU, and I’m just not ready to pick a major and get all crazy with planning.”

“I guess it all depends on what you want to do with your life. You want to be a writer, so do you need a degree for that?”

“Depends on what kind of writing I’m going to do. To be a novelist, I don’t need a degree, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

“So is it NYU you’re unsure of or what you want to study or what you want to do?”

“All of it, but I mean, like I told her, I could go to California and live on the beach and go to school out there.”

“So why did you apply to NYU?”

“Because my parents went there.”

He takes my hand and rubs circles on my palm. “So are you trying to make your parents proud of your decision?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe your parents would’ve just wanted you to be happy, regardless if it’s at NYU or at any college. Maybe if living on the beach is what’s going to get you to smile more, they’d want you to follow that.”

“How am I supposed to decide?”

He shrugs. “You just do.”

“How do you know what to do?”

“I go with my gut.”

This doesn’t help. “My gut never tells me anything.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t listen. You analyze too much until the question you ask is too overwhelming to deal with.”

“Maybe you could come to NYU with me. That would make the decision easier.”

He glances at his watch, but doesn’t seem perturbed that he is now officially late. “No, that would take the decision out of your hands and into mine.”

“But college would be good for you. You could—”

“College isn’t for everyone, Saige. It’s not for me.”

“But you have so much talent. You could go to art school.”

“What would it teach me? How to appreciate art? I appreciate it just fine right now.”

“Maybe it will strengthen your talent and stretch your—”

“I’m not going to college, Saige. I’ve planned my trip for the end of August. I’ve saved enough money to visit the U.K. for at least a month, if not more. I’m not going to change it to go to a school I don’t want to go to, and I’m certainly not going to go into debt for some piece of paper that says I went there. I’m sorry.”

I sigh, but it’s not like I expected him to agree to it. “Myka, Val, and I are going to visit NYU this weekend. We’re getting a hotel room and everything. Will you at least come with me to keep me from being the third wheel of the new aged hippie steampunk motorized bicycle that is Myka and Valentine?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

“Do you already have the weekend off?”

“Nope.”

“Then how—”

“Someone will take my shifts, and if not, I’ll call in.”

“You might get in trouble.”

Fox flashes that charming smile. “I’ll get in trouble a hundred times over if it means I get to spend more time with you.”

***

It amazes me how easy decisions are for Fox, and even more so, how he can make things happen. I bet he didn’t even have to break a sweat to get someone to take all of his shifts for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Myka doesn’t drive, Valentine doesn’t have a car, and I doubt Fox’s would get us far. We have too much stuff to go on the bus and train, so on Friday afternoon, we pile in my car and head into the city.

The drive is filled with nothing but steampunk. Fox is good enough to indulge Myka, but I’m tired of even thinking about it. The whole world doesn’t revolve around the subgenre. I don’t say anything though, and as soon as Fox’s hand wraps around mine, my thoughts are on other things anyway.

I count at least eight graffiti foxes on the drive, not including the one with the green leaf behind it. He was right; it’s definitely a thrill to see a semi-permanent representation of us.

Since I’m the one with a ton of disposable cash, I picked the hotel when Myka and I planned this trip. The Plaza isn’t anywhere close to a regular hotel, in my estimation, so to say we feel out of place walking into it is an understatement. I would be fine if not followed in by Myka in her corset with her blazing orange hair and a long-haired hippie with beaded bracelets and necklaces. And then there’s Fox, who is not quite a freak show, but can’t stop staring at the grandeur of this place. He nearly trips on a very obvious piece of furniture.

I check in, using a voice I’ve heard my grandmother use on the phone. Fox leans his elbow on the wooden concierge desk. He’s recovered from his almost-spill and has replaced the look of lost wonder with a charming, Mr. Perfect expression. Out of nowhere, he strikes up a conversation about the age of the hotel with a snooty looking man, and before I have the room keys, Fox has the guy laughing.

I swear, there’s nothing Fox can’t do. People like his easygoing attitude, and his confidence allows him to play himself up. If I could do that, my life would be much easier.

Once inside the hotel room, he turns to me, grabs my shoulders and says, “What the hell, Saigarina? I thought we were just staying at the Econo Lodge or something. This has to cost so much money.”

“It does, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got tons of it.”

“But you should save it for something that. . .”

His voice fades away as I shake my head. “I’ve got money sitting in an account that makes more money. Every time I look at it, I’ve made a ton more money. Believe me, Fox, this hotel doesn’t even make a dent in what I have.”

For a moment, he looks like he might get sick, like somehow the money I have, or the way I’ve spoken about it, disgusts him, but then he swallows hard and says, “This is going to spoil me for my trip.”

I know his England trip is important to him, and I don’t want this luxury experience to take away any satisfaction he has about planning his stay over there. “I doubt you could be spoiled.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, my God!” Myka’s voice interrupts us so loudly we can’t ignore. “You have got to see this terrace view!”

By the time we make it out there, Myka and Val have already made themselves at home on the loveseat. They’re making out. No, they’re more like having a dress rehearsal for sex because they’re so close I can’t tell where Myka ends and Val begins.

All of the sudden, I’m very aware of Fox standing next to me. I want to believe he’s looking at the view, but since I can’t pull my eyes off my friends who are almost doing it in front of us, I imagine he’s getting an eyeful too.

This is the first time I actually think about this weekend in terms of having a boyfriend. We’re in New York. In a five-star hotel. In a suite that only sleeps four people in two beds. I don’t know why I just assumed I’d be sharing a king-sized bed with Myka, but now that seems childish.

“Let’s go out,” I say loudly, then turn around to go back inside. Fox’s very solid body stops me as I run into it. His hands are at my shoulders, and as much as he tries to get me to look straight at him, I can’t do it.

My original plan was to hang out in the hotel tonight because Fox made plans for all of us to go out with some of his friends tomorrow night, but the pressure I feel is too great to keep me inside. After letting the others explore the rest of the suite, I manage to herd them back out onto the New York street. We walk through Central Park, then walk many blocks to Times Square where I feel my claustrophobia kick in a bit with all the people bumping around me. Then we walk to a little pizza place to eat, and then walk all the way back to the hotel.

Lucky for me, Val and Myka don’t hop right back into kissing and groping. The exercise of hoofing it around New York did what I wanted it to do: wear us all out. Myka opens the champagne that comes with the room and all of us start drinking except Fox. We get high out on the terrace with the weed Valentine brought, and after my second glass of bubbly, all my anxiety about what this weekend might mean falls away.

I let myself snuggle back into Fox’s warm body as we sit together outside. I don’t let my mind start freaking me out that something sexual might happen this weekend, because if it does, it does. He may not even be thinking about it. I mean, we are a new couple, and he’s a respectful guy, so maybe he doesn’t have any intentions of trying anything.

Even if we do share a bed.

“God, you’re funny when you’re drunk.”

“What?”

Fox smiles back at me. “I want to cut you off from drinking more, but I don’t want to seem like I’m being parental.”

The words he says go to mush in my mind, and somehow I get something different from them. “You want a drink?”

He looks away, and I follow the line of his gaze over to our friends who have occupied themselves by sleepily naming all the objects in the room the way they’d appear in a steampunk novel. Just as I think I should be writing them all down, Fox’s low voice startles me back into awareness. “Yes. I do want a drink.” He plucks the champagne flute from my hand. “I’ll take this one.”

“Hey,” I say in weak protest, but go silent when he takes my hand and pulls me up. The fact that he set down the glass even though I thought he wanted to drink doesn’t even hit me until we’re in the bedroom.

As nervous as I was thinking about the implications of sex just a few hours before, I find that there’s nothing else I want more. I squeeze his hand and tug him down. When his face is close enough, I kiss him. His lips are soft and the stubble on his chin scrapes my face. With my hands on his waist, I try to press closer to him, but Fox pulls away.

He moves his tongue out quickly to lick his lips, capturing the flavor of mine, but then he presses them together. He cups my face in his big hands and gives me that smile I think I love. “You’re so pretty, Saige,” he says in a whisper as he lets his hands slide down my neck to my shoulders and down my arms to my hands.

Fox guides me to the bathroom and drops my hands as he reaches for the toothpaste and our toothbrushes. While I’m looking at the gold trim everywhere, my mind races as fast as a drunken mind can race, but then it hits me. Of course, we should brush our teeth because I probably taste like pizza, pot, and sweet alcohol. Not a pleasant mix.

I make sure I brush carefully so the foam doesn’t drip down my chin and hand because that would be disgusting, and I want Fox to be attracted to me, not find me repulsive. He finishes before I do and leaves the bathroom. Before I rinse my brush, he’s back, placing my pajamas on the vanity.

I’m all sorts of confused as he retreats, closing the door behind him, but I do my normal bathroom stuff and change into my nighttime clothes. When I’m out in the room, he pulls the drapes closed. He’s in a pair of dark gray sweat pants and a tight, white t-shirt.

Emboldened by the alcohol still cycling through my system, I walk directly to him and put my hands on the sides of his waist again. He kisses me on the forehead, and when he’s finished, I push my hands up under his shirt, feeling the taut sculpted muscles of his abdomen.

He encircles my wrists with his hands, and when I look up at him, I see his jaw is so tight and his eyes are closed.

“What’s that?” I ask in reference to his jaw.

Fox opens his eyes, locks them with mine and gives me a smile I can’t figure out. With his hands still on my wrists, he leads me to the bed. He lets go, lifts the blankets and sheets up, and waits for me to slide in. I’m facing him as he gets in. There’s a flutter in my stomach because I want this to happen, but when he turns out the light and lays his head down, he doesn’t make a move to touch me again.

I inch closer to him, placing one hand on his stomach and using the other to prop up my head. Fox rolls onto his side, facing me, then runs a hand down my hair. The light pressure of his hand urges me to lie down, and when my head hits the pillow, he leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips.

He nudges me to turn away from him. I do, and he drapes a heavy arm over my waist, keeping the fingers of his hand entangled with mine. “Sleep sweet,” he says, whispering.

***

I don’t know what to say to him in the morning, so I slip out of his arms and into the bathroom before he wakes. When I come out, he’s blinking into consciousness, but I tiptoe out of the room before he can see me.

I have coffee in my hands when he comes into the kitchen. I wait until his back is turned before I head out into the living area, but then he sits down next to me on the gray-green sofa.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” I say in return, then take a hasty sip of coffee.

“Sleep okay?

“Uh-huh.”

I don’t have to look at him to tell he’s smiling at me. It’s like I can feel his happiness radiate out of his body and splash onto mine. But my skin is like a duck’s feathers, it’s not meant to absorb things like positivity and happiness, so I can feel that good mood of his slide right off me.

“Not hung-over?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but beyond a slight headache, I feel fine. “Nothing a little coffee and silence won’t cure,” I say as I stand and make my way through the suite to the terrace. I know what I’ve done is rude, but I just don’t think I can be next to him right now.

Gratitude fills me when he doesn’t follow and I’m alone on the terrace. It doesn’t take me long to finish the small cup of coffee, but I’m not interested in going back in to awkwardly stand next to Fox, the sun god. How ridiculous is it that he’s so damned cheery in the morning?

Yeah, he didn’t drink or smoke anything and therefore not hung over, but I have a feeling that he’s this happy every day. It’s annoying. When I think about what happened last night, how I was ready to just jump into bed with him, and how he wouldn’t even consider it, I’m super embarrassed. I mean, I know that had I not been drinking I would’ve been too nervous to pursue it, but I never expected him to be all fatherly and put me to bed.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing; all I know is that it’s uncomfortable.

When I can no longer sit out by myself with an empty coffee cup, I go back inside and fix another cup of coffee. Myka and Val are up now and talking to Fox. I hate that everything is so easy for everyone but me. How can Myka have such easy conversations with him and I can’t?

As soon as I hear a footstep behind me, I realize how long I’ve been staring at the coffee machine. I spin, and my coffee sloshes in the cup. “Damn.” My word is but a hiss. When I look up at Fox, he looks like I wounded him with it.

“You okay?”

“Great.”

Neither of us speaks for a moment, then he points to the coffeemaker and holds up his cup. I move out of the way and as he steps up to the machine, his voice is low, just barely there. “You don’t seem great.”

“Well, I am.”

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Morning, Saige!” Myka comes waltzing in, her arm linked with Valentine’s. She is the sunshine with her glowing brightness. No doubt she had sex last night.

“Eh.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Eh? Really? What’s got you grumpy this fine New York morning?”

I grunt and leave the room. Three people with rainbows and flowers shooting out of their asses is about three too many for me. No one follows me, so after my second cup of coffee, I take a shower.

When I emerge, I feel better and realize how stupid I am. Fox is a gentleman and probably wouldn’t have sex with me because I was drunk. It’s amazing how well my mind can work when not sluggish from alcohol.

I lean down to pull my shoes on.

“What do you call a short psychic who escapes from jail?”

I’ve heard this one before, but as I tie my shoe, I play along. “What?”

“A small medium at large.”

When I sit up, he places a knee on the mattress behind me, and takes my damp hair in his hand. He’s holding my hairbrush in the other. Without a word, he starts brushing through the wet tangles with all the care of someone who has done this a million times before. As he brushes, tension drains from me, and I’m left with a gentle calm.

“Better?” he asks when he’s finished. Fox twists the length of my hair twice and lays it on one shoulder.

I nod.

“Won’t tell me what was wrong?”

I shake my head.

“But it is better?”

I nod.

Somehow, I find myself lying back on the bed with him, my head pillowed on the junction of his shoulder and chest. I fit perfectly in this space and there may not even be a word in the English language to describe the feeling I have when he brings his arm up to curve around my shoulders.

“Big day?”

“Not really. I’m supposed to be super excited to walk around NYU and all that, but I don’t really care.”

“Myka does.”

“I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

“Why don’t you just let Val and Myka do the NYU thing, and we can go do something else?”

“Because Myka will be bummed and then it’ll become this whole big deal, and we’ll have to talk about how I can’t make decisions and how uncommitted I am and how she’ll just get new friends if I don’t tag along. It makes me tired just thinking about it.”

“Okay, but since it’s a Myka and you kind of thing, maybe I should just hang out here or go—”

“No. Please come.”

“Yeah?”

I prop myself up and study the lines of his face. “Of course. Why are you surprised that I want you to—”

“Because you were acting like you couldn’t get far enough away from me this morning.”

“That’s because I’m an idiot or at least acted like it last night,” I say as I sit up and turn toward the window.

“When did you act like an idiot?”

“When I was drunk and—”

“Oh, please. I think you forget who my friends are. Those guys act like idiots when they’re drunk. You didn’t go streaking around the principal’s house or TP the police station.”

Okay, so maybe I didn’t embarrass myself as much as I thought I did, but I don’t bring up that I was ready to jump him last night. If he didn’t catch it, I’m not going to tell him how hot I was for him.

I get off the bed, grab his hands, and haul him up. “If you’re coming with, you’d better get ready. Myka will be a total freak if she thinks we’re dragging our feet.”

***

All day while wandering around New York, Washington Square Park, and inside the NYU buildings, I daydream about California. As Myka and Fox strike up conversations with total strangers, Val and I hang back. The new wrinkle in my imaginings is now Fox on the beach with me. In it, he’s topless.

I follow along the others and engage enough to keep Myka off my ass, but it’s not until Fox slides his fingers between mine that I come back to this reality. My racing nerves calm the longer his palm presses against mine. It’s amazing how after holding his hand for fifteen minutes, I almost forget that he’s a super hot guy who makes me jumpy and anxious.

After a half hour, it’s like his hand is a part of mine. After forty-five minutes, it feels like a huge loss when he takes his hand away from me to pick up a piece of trash and put it in the garbage can. He’s so perfect that he picks up trash from the street! I don’t even care that his hand probably has germs the size of Jersey on it now; I’m the one who initiates the hand-holding now.

By the time we’re back at the hotel, there’s no way I’m letting go. In fact, I take his other hand in mine and walk backward toward the bedroom. When my legs hit the bed, I fall back and bring him down with me.

His weight on me is new and wonderful, and when his lips find mine, I’m sure there’s nothing better in the universe. He moves his mouth lower and his tongue touches the hollow of my neck. I can’t stop shivering. I close my eyes when his lips are back to mine, and I tighten my arms around him.

There’s something frenetic, yet measured in the way he kisses me. It’s not hard to figure out that I’m the wild frenzy, and he’s the calm, dignified restraint. I can’t move much because the weight of him limits me, but I’m able to shift just enough to free my legs. It’s instinctive to wrap them around his waist, but that brings about a whole other rush of sensations.

I inhale deeply the moment his lips part from mine, but it’s only a moment of freedom. Fox sweeps his tongue out over my bottom lip, and it’s all I can do to let out my breath in a slow, but stuttered exhale.

It’s crazy how much I want him. It’s insane how just being with him changes everything.

I no longer care where Myka and Val are. I couldn’t care less about why we’re in New York, or how just this morning my fear and insecurity forced Fox away from me until I got it under control.

The only thing I care about right now is Fox. His body on mine. His tongue against mine. The waves and waves of his energy crashing against me, flooding me in the sea of his being.

I can feel his hands on my torso. Fingers just under the bottom of my shirt. My heart speeds up even faster and my breath quickens.

But he never moves his hands up. Instead, I’m faced with the sharp loss of his lips and his body against mine. Braced on his arms, he shines a smile down at me. “That was surprising.”

I want to ask him, but good, right? Instead, I stay silent, eyes fixed on him.

Fox might see the question hidden somewhere in my expression because he bites down on his perfect bottom lip and makes a “Mmmmhmmm,” sound.

I don’t know what it means, and I’m not sure how to ask. I let my hands fall away from his torso as I slide my eyes away from his. Before I have the chance to focus on anything, he kisses me again. It’s different though. Short, quick, but powerful.

A stupid smile curves my lips this time as he retreats. “I guess now I don’t have to tell jokes to get you to smile.”

With closed eyes, I say, “Nope. Just kiss me, and I promise I’ll smile every time.”

Fox moves off me, pulls me up to sit next to him, and brushes my hair out of my face. He runs his hand over my hair, letting two fingers slide over a strand caught between. When his fingers are at the bottom, he asks, “What color is this?”

“Huh?”

“Your hair. I’ve been trying to perfect it for my paintings, but no matter what I mix, it doesn’t come out exactly right.”

“My grandma says it’s auburn.”

“Hmmmm. That’s the only thing I could think of too, but it’s not the right word. Maybe I’ll use a light brown, let it dry, then use a delicate red over it and a yellow to finish it. See if that does it.” He studies my hair for a moment more before saying, “You’re the only person I know who has complicated hair.” Fox drops his hand, but moves his other one up to my face. The rough skin of his thumb brushes underneath my eye, along the bone, and follows it all the way back to my ear. The thought of his rough, callus skin excites me for reasons I don’t understand.

A buzzing sound with an Avett Brothers ringtone splits the peace that’s settled in the air, and Fox takes his hands away to dig in his pocket. He silences it, but holds it out to me just a little. “It’s a text.”

I nod at the obviousness of his statement.

He uses the thumb that was just against my skin to scratch at his collarbone as he studies the phone. Turning his eyes back up to me, he asks, “Will you read it for me?”

My stomach plummets at his question. I don’t want to be a crutch for him, but I have no idea if he really needs a crutch or not. I don’t want to be insensitive, but if he knows how to read, he should just power through it. “No,” I say with a shake of my head, then add, “but I’ll help you.”

He pulls the phone back and stares at the screen.

“Do you want—”

“No, I’m fine. It’s from Gage.”

It takes him a while to read the short text and even longer to compose a reply. When he’s done, I try again. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. I can do it, so it’s not a big deal that you didn’t. I mean, I understand.” He gets off the bed. “I don’t want you to think I’m stupid or lazy, so it’s cool.”

“I don’t think you’re—”

Fox stands up and like usual, interrupts me. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” I play along, but if he’s doing this to make me smile, I’d prefer the way we just discussed. Kissing is better than jokes.

“Broken pencil.”

“Broken pencil who?”

“Ah,” he says, waving his hand, “doesn’t matter. It’s a pointless joke.”

I roll my eyes once I get it.

“Are you going to be okay going out? I know you don’t like Gage, but he’s my friend and he’s getting us into some bar Myka seems stoked about.”

“Of course. I don’t, like, hate him or anything. I just don’t—”

“People change, you know. He’s probably not the same guy you remember from high school.”

***

I should’ve taken the out when Fox gave it to me. I thought I’d be fine, but now outside this pseudo-industrial bar, I realize how very out of place I am. The moment I see Gage, I remember how much I despise him. It hits me like a bucket full of cold truth. The annoyed anger I usually carry around with me doesn’t creep back, it floods in.

“IDs,” the big guy at the door says. Almost in unison, Myka, Val, Fox, and I flash our perfectly forged licenses, and he lets us in.

I have no clue what Fox sees in Gage, but I try to keep quiet and let him visit with his friend. As we sit down in a horseshoe shaped booth, I act like I don’t hear Gage say to Fox, “So I heard a funny one the other day.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you call a virgin on a waterbed?” He doesn’t wait for Fox to respond. “A cherry float.”

I don’t need to look at Fox to see how uncomfortable he feels, but he doesn’t say anything back to Gage. A gentleman would remind his friend there are ladies present, but I guess a real gentleman might tell his douche of a friend that his jokes aren’t funny and are inappropriate.

“Here’s another one. What’s the square root of 69?”

A little pride blooms up within me when Fox says, “I’ve heard that one, and it’s stupid.” He pauses for a second. “Haven’t seen you in a few. How’s life, man?”

“Awesome now that summer’s here.”

“How’d your finals turn out?”

I turn my attention to Myka and Val because there’s no need to listen in. I’m sure he’ll say something idiotic, and I don’t need any more reasons to hate the guy. But it doesn’t take long for me to grow bored listening to my friends either, and pretty soon I’m lost inside the world of waves, sunlight, and old fashioned typewriters by the beach.

I’ll be typing away, enjoying the sun and salt air while Fox paints the landscape on his massive canvas. Shirtless, of course. Perhaps in speedos. No. No man beyond Michael Phelps should be in speedos.

So nice board shorts it is. He’ll have a great tan and his skin will glisten from sweat and sunscreen. I’ll wear a cute little bikini because I’ll be about five or ten pounds lighter. He’ll try to maneuver me into a position for making out, but I’ll playfully push him away because I’m right in the middle of an important scene, but as soon as the sun starts sinking into the watery horizon, I’ll be all over him.

He’ll grab my waist and press his stubbly face against the tender skin of my neck. Then I’ll—

“Saige!”

My focus snaps back to Myka. “I said Val and I are taking off.”

“What? We just got here.” I glance back at Fox who’s animatedly talking to Gage. “Don’t leave me alone with—”

Myka leans in close, “Saige, Fox will take care of you.”

“We’re only at this stupid bar for you!” I sigh in a much more dramatic way than is necessary.

“I would like some private, naughty time with Val.”

“In a hotel I paid for.”

She gives me her unimpressed face. “I’ll pay you back. Val and I only have a few months until he leaves, and I’d really like to show him how much he’s gonna miss me.”

There is no way for me to win this. “Save the details, just go.”

My friend wastes no time and before I know it, I’m alone with the boys. Somehow a beer has appeared in front of me, so I start drinking as I wonder how long I was lost in my daydream. After what seems like forever, Fox turns from Gage and drapes his arm around my shoulders.

“Doing okay?”

“Super,” I say.

“Lies.”

“No, I’m fine. Just—”

“Bored out of your freakin’ mind?”

Even though he speaks the truth I deny it with a shake of my head. “I’m good.”

“I have to go to the bathroom. Will you be okay?”

“I’m sure I can survive without you for a minute or two.” His little kiss on the end of my nose forces a girlish giggle from me.

“So you’re Saige?”

I turn to Gage after watching Fox disappear into the sea of dancing bodies. I don’t bother adopting a pleasant expression. There’s nothing about Gage I like. “You don’t remember me from high school?”

“It was a long time ago,” he says before chugging half of his beer.

“Pretty sure it was only two years ago for you.” He gives me little half nod, but I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean. “Maybe I just didn’t rate high enough to remember.”

Gage laughs like it’s a joke, finishes off his beer, then drains what’s left of mine. “A*shole,” I say in a stage whisper.

He laughs again, waves a skinny little server over to us, and orders another round of longneck beers and a couple of tequila shots. He says nothing until after the drinks are in front of us, but when they are, he levels me with a look meant to destroy me or at least diminish me.

“I don’t know what you did to get him to like you, but you’d better pick up your game.”

“My game?”

“All the other girls he’s dated have been fun, not boring little wallflowers. You act like you’re too good to have fun like the rest of us.”

I knock back the shot because it’ll make this night a little more pleasant, but then he ruins it by saying, “There you go. Maybe a little alcohol will make everyone like you a little bit more.”

“By everyone, you mean you, because by your own words, he likes me.”

Gage just stares at me as he does his shot then chases it with the beer. With a wave of his hand, he orders another round. “Fox is a special guy.”

“Are you hot for him?”

He cracks up like what I said was something worthy of such a laugh. “Cute. You’re not special though. You’re like every other rich little girl out there who thinks she’s smarter than she is.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t even know me.” Despite my confident tone, my insides are twisting at this abrupt conflict.

“And you’ll like him for a while because he’s the sweet guy. The guy that says the right thing and does the right thing and is so damned loyal, you’ll never need a dog. But you’ll get tired of him because he doesn’t read the books you’re reading, and he doesn’t write you mushy love poems, and—”

“You know nothing about me,” I say again. “And you know nothing about my relationship with him.”

“I don’t need to. All the f*cking girls in the world are the same when it comes to him.”

Almost synchronized, we take our next shot, but neither of us looks away. “So let me get this straight. This is your way of protecting him or something? You think, I’m going to hurt him, so you’re trying to scare me—”

Gage leans in close. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just letting you know that I don’t like you. I do remember you from school. You’re weird. You’ve always been weird. Like I said, I don’t know why he’s into you, but you don’t belong with him. I’ve never liked you. The whole f*cking school never liked you.”

I fight back the urge to ask him why, and instead, I say, “He likes me.”

“That’s because he’s a wishful thinker. We all know how toxic you are. Your attitude is like acid. It eats away at everyone around you. That’s why you have, like, a friend. That’s why you live alone. That’s why your parents—”

“Sorry it took so long. That line was ridiculous.”

I clear my throat, will the tears that have pooled in my eyes at the mention of my parents to dry up, and turn to find Fox sliding into the booth next to me.

“Take care of that beer, girl,” Gage says to me. “I’ll go get us some more.” He gets out of the booth and takes off toward the bar.

“Jesus, he’s drunk.”

“What?” My mind can’t catch up. It’s still stuck on my toxicity.

“Look at him; he can’t even walk straight.”

“Maybe we should leave. Drop him off at his—”

“Nah. He’ll be alright. I’ve seen him way worse. Besides, I don’t get to hang with him much anymore.”

For the next hour, I sit in the middle of the guys, silently drinking everything in front of me until Fox pulls the newest shot glass and beer away. “Stop buying her drinks, man.”

“No! This is Saige. Good ol’ Saige from Pechimu High! Saige. . .Saige. . .Saige Whatsherf*ckingname.” Gage says, words slurred.

“Armstrong,” I say.

Fox adds, “Who is my girlfriend and has had plenty to drink.”

Gage leans over the table, putting his knee on it to reach, and punches Fox in the shoulder. “Just making it easier for you, later.”

I want to vomit when I get his meaning. Drunk girls are easier lays according to douchebags like Gage.

“I don’t need your help,” Fox says.

It takes another hour before Gage gets up again. When he does, I slide out. “Where you going?”

I turn to Fox. “Back to the hotel.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m sober now. I haven’t drank anything for hours or something like that.”

I start to walk toward the door and feel his hand on my elbow. He’s not stopping me, just keeping a hand there. Once outside, he does stop me. “I’m not going to let you walk back to the hotel by yourself. Let me just say goodbye and I’ll—”

“No. Hang out. He probably needs you. It’s cool. I’ll take a cab.” I lift my hand to hail one.

“No.”

“Yes. You, here. Me, hotel.”

“You, caveman now?” He brushes the hair away from my forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I don’t answer, so as a cab pulls up, he says, “I’ll leave with you.”

“No. I just want to go back and be—”

“Alone? What the hell? You shouldn’t drink if it makes you this depressed.”

“I’m not depressed, but I know I’m not the most fun thing around, so stay and have fun with your friend.”

Fox doesn’t get my sarcasm. “Are you sure? I don’t like the idea of—”

I open the cab door. “Yeah.” I get in and slam the door shut without saying goodbye.

“The Plaza hotel,” I say to the driver. He pulls away just as Fox lifts his hand to the window.

It’s not a long drive. I wish it was longer because I don’t really want to go back into the suite and hear Myka and Val’s love echoing throughout the place.

When I get in the suite, I head out to the terrace and smoke a thin joint. The thoughts going through my head are almost enough to drive me crazy. Why can’t I just be fun?

Does everyone think I’m toxic?

Am I toxic?