Until Nico

Chapter 2
For the second day in a row, I’m waiting outside the school. It’s 6:02 when the door opens and Sophie comes walking out. Each time I see her, she looks even more beautiful than before. I watch her expression go from surprise to shy happiness as she spots me standing next to my car…just like yesterday.
Yesterday when I left her in the library, I went to the grocery store, bought a pint of Phish Food ice cream and a set of plastic spoons, and took it back to the school, where I waited for her to get off work. She said she didn’t do dinner; she never said anything about dessert. When she saw me standing there with the frozen treat, she said that she really shouldn’t, but I told her that it wasn’t a date and I was just meeting her after school for ice cream. Then I explained how my fragile ego couldn’t bear her denying me her company, making her laugh lightly and give in. We stood outside her car for an hour with a pint of ice cream between us. She was shy but also cute and funny.
Now, I watch as she gets closer and closer, her eyes looking me over then landing on my hand. Today, I stopped at the gas station and got two ice cream cookies. She told me yesterday these are her favorite. I hold one out to her, and she smiles as she shakes her head, making my heart beat a little faster. Yes, I know I’m a f*cking p-ssy, but I couldn’t give a f*ck.
“What are you doing here”—she pauses—“again?” she asks, taking the ice cream from my hand and unwrapping it.
“Someone told me you like these.”
“Someone has a big mouth,” she says, taking a bite out of the giant frozen cookie.
“She does,” I agree, looking at her mouth.
She laughs and smacks me on the chest. She covers her mouth with her hand, chewing while holding up one finger. “What are you really doing here?” she asks after she swallows.
“Just in the neighborhood.” I shrug and take a bite of my cookie before immediately spitting it on the ground.
“Hey! What the hell?” she asks, offended, grabbing the rest of the cookie out of my hand.
“That tastes like shit.” I wipe my mouth before reaching into my car for a bottle of water.
“No, it doesn’t,” she defends with an exasperated look on her face.
“Baby, it tastes like cardboard,” I tell her, watching as her face goes soft at my endearment.
“Well, I guess I like eating cardboard then.”
I shake my head, looking at her smile. “So are you working tomorrow?” I ask her, leaning against my car.
She finishes off her cookie, and mine is halfway to her mouth when she answers, “Yes, but tomorrow I work from home.” She puts her bag on top of my car, leans her side against the door, and takes another bite of her ice cream.
I watch her movements, noticing that everything is so fluid and graceful. The urge to touch her is so overwhelming I have to cross my arms over my chest to keep myself in check.
“What about you? Do you work tomorrow?”
“Nah. I have some time off,” I reply, watching her closely.
She nods her head and looks around. “I never asked you—what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a bounty hunter,” I answer smoothly.
“Wow,” she says, her eyes getting big. “Like Dog?”
“You mean the TV show Dog the Bounty Hunter?” I ask, laughing.
“Yeah! I used to love that show!” She smiles and her cheeks turn pink. She lowers her head so her hair falls in front of her face.
“It’s nothing like that, but yeah, that’s what I do.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine and her face losing some of the color.
“It can be if you’re not smart,” I confirm with a nod.
“Are you smart?” Her words are quietly spoken.
“Always.” I watch in fascination as her eyes go from worried to respect.
“How often do you work?” she asks while taking another bite of the cookie.
“It depends. Sometimes once a month, and others, three times a week.” I shrug.
“That’s cool. I mean, it’s cool if you like doing it.”
“I do. I used to work construction with my brothers, but then I got into this by helping my cousin. I found I had a knack for it and haven’t been able to stop. And you, do you like what you do?”
“Yes. It’s not exciting, but I like it, and it pays the bills, so that’s a plus.”
I nod in understanding. “What about here? Do you like working at the school?” I ask curiously.
“This is what I love doing.” Her face lights up, her voice becoming animated. “I love books. Have since I was a little girl. I used to go to the toy store with my mom and walk out with a book. I guess I’m still like that to this day. I can’t go to the store without buying one.”
“It’s a good feeling, doing something you love,” I tell her, knowing how important it is to do things that make you happy.
“Yeah, it is,” she says and licks her fingers, and it’s in this moment that I know how unaware of herself she really is. She did that not knowing the effect she’s having on me. I doubt she even understands the way she affects men in general. It could be an act, but I seriously doubt it. She doesn’t seem like she’s trying to be seductive; she’s just being herself.
“Where are you from? You have an accent I can’t place,” I say, trying to clear the image in my head of her licking something else.
“I have an accent?” she asks, pointing to herself and laughing. Then she shakes her head and replies, “No, you have an accent. I sound normal.”
“You may sound normal to yourself, but to me—and I’m sure to a lot of other people around here—you have an accent.”
“I never thought of that.” Her head tilts to the side, her smile getting bigger. “I feel kinda cool. I always wanted an accent, though I wished it was a European one, but hey, I’ll settle for this.” She giggles, and my head goes back and I laugh harder than I have in a long time. When I lift my head and our eyes meet, hers are soft and her smile is gentle. “You have a really great laugh,” she says almost to herself.
Words are caught in my throat. I don’t know what it is she’s doing to me, but I feel completely off-kilter. I’m not used to the feelings I’m having. That’s why I tried to walk away from her the first time I saw her, but then she grabbed my arm and I looked down at her, and something in me shifted. I knew if I walked away I would regret it for the rest of my life.
“So I should probably go,” she tells me, looking away quickly.
My chest tightens in response. I don’t want her to leave, but I don’t want to scare her off either. “Can I get your number?”
“Um, I…” She studies me, her eyes searching my face. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“Here. Just program it into my phone.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket and hand it to her.
“Oh…okay.” She presses the button on my phone, and in her concentration, her bottom lip gets a workout from her teeth.
My fingers automatically curve under her chin, pulling her lip down with my thumb so she releases it. Her head lifts and her lips part. Our eyes lock, and I fight the urge to lean forward and press my mouth to hers.
“Don’t do that, baby,” I say quietly before cupping my hand around hers, pulling her concentration back to my phone in her hand.
“Sorry,” she whispers, the pink tip of her tongue coming out to lick her lip, making me groan.
When she is done plugging in her number, I take the phone from her and press the call button. Her phone starts ringing and she pulls it from her bag. I slip it from her hand to look at the picture on the screen, and this time, it’s a picture of the ocean at sunset.
“Good girl,” I tell her, and I smile when her eyes narrow.
“I didn’t change it because of you. I just got tired of looking at that picture,” she says defensively, pulling the phone from my hand. I smile bigger, and I know it’s cocky, but I can’t bring myself to care. She slaps my chest with the back of her hand again, but I catch it before she can pull it away. “I’m serious!” she cries, making me laugh.
I tug her hand and she steps towards me. “I know you are.”
She’s standing so close that her apple-cinnamon smell floods my system. This close, I can see a small scattering of freckles along the ridge of her nose, and I also notice that her eyes have small golden flecks near the center but are almost black around the edges.
“You have a lot of tattoos.” Her softly spoken words pull my attention from her face to where she’s touching me.
“I do.”
I watch as her finger traces a few of the tattoos on my hand that’s holding hers. Her skin is completely unmarked. She’s so pure I don’t even want to touch her; something about her is too sweet for someone like me.
“I use to want a tattoo,” she says, sounding far away. Her face is still bent down, watching as her fingers wander over my skin. I’m so hard I’m surprised my dick doesn’t bust through my jeans to get to her.
“You don’t anymore?” I ask her.
Her head comes up, and she swallows, shrugs, and shakes her head.
Those alarm bells are going off again, but I don’t understand why. “So you never told me where you’re from,” I say, wanting to know as much as I can about her from just talking to her. I can have her background checked, and I will, but I still want her to open up to me.
“I’m from Seattle,” she answers quietly.
“What brought you here?”
“I was just ready for a change.” She shrugs and steps back. Someone who isn’t used to reading people may not have noticed the wobble of her chin or the way her little fist clenched at her side, but I did. “I really need to go. Thanks for the ice cream.” She pulls her bag closer to her body, almost as if she’s trying to protect herself.
I don’t move; I know she’s running, but I just don’t know what from. I definitely don’t want her to run from me.
“Any time, sweet Sophie,” I tell her gently. “Send me a text when you get home.”
She nods and opens her door. When it’s shut, she rolls down the window. “Bye, Nico.”
I lift my chin and watch her take off. I’m still standing there watching when she pulls out of the parking lot.
“She doesn’t date.” F*ck. My head drops, and I know exactly who’s speaking. “I tried, and a few other guys have tried, so don’t waste your time.”
“Did you ever think maybe she just doesn’t want to date you?” I turn around to face the guy from the office.
“Did you not hear me? I said she didn’t want to date me or anyone else that’s asked her.”
“Yeah? All that means to me is she’s got taste,” I tell him with a shrug.
“Whatever,” he says, walking off.
I shake my head in revulsion. I have known guys like him my whole life; they think if a woman doesn’t want them, then there must be something wrong with her, when in reality, it’s them.
I get in my car and watch as he gets in his. He puts on a pair of sunglasses and looks at himself in the mirror before taking off. I pull out my cell and dial Justin, our computer guru. He knows how to find information on anyone and anything.
“Hey, man. How’s it hanging?” I ask him.
“A little to the left,” he says, laughing at his own joke. I smile but don’t laugh along with him. “So, I guess your calling for a reason.”
“Yeah, I have a phone number I need you to run for me.” I give him the number, listening as he plugs it in on his keyboard.
“Is this about the girl you’re seeing?” he asks with a grin in his voice.
“Jesus, you f*ckers need a f*cking life.” I lay my head back against my headrest.
“Hey, I just know because Kenton said you turned down the chance for a stripper to stay with you. I offered him my place and told him she could share my bed with me too.”
“Man, shut up and run the number. You wouldn’t even know what to do with a woman if she sat on your face.”
“That’s not true. I’ve watched plenty of educational material.”
“I’m sure you have.” I can’t help but smile.
“All right, so on a soft run, it says her name is Sophie Grates. She’s twenty-three, owns her house, which she paid in full, and has a credit score of seven twenty. She drives an Audi and owes six thousand on it. She has two credit cards in her name—one American Express and one Victoria’s Secret—both paid on time. Her mom passed away in a car accident when Sophie was fifteen. She got emancipated when she was sixteen and went into Job Corps.” My stomach is in knots. Her mom passed away when she was so young, and not long after that, she moved out on her own. “Did you hear me, man?”
“What?”
“I asked if you wanted me to do a hard run on her.”
“Nah. Thanks, man. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he says and hangs up.
I pull out of the parking lot thinking about sweet Sophie being on her own for so long. When I reach my house, my phone buzzes, and I pull it out after shutting off my car.
Sophie: Home ?
I feel my heart thud in my chest when I see it’s her.
Me: Where’s home?
Sophie: Nice try.
I grin when she doesn’t give in so easily.
Me: If I don’t know, how can I bring you ice cream?
Sophie: You can’t.
My eyebrows pull together as I try again.
Me: What about taking you out?
Sophie: I don’t really think that’s a good idea.
She clearly doesn’t like the idea of going out anywhere, so I try a different tactic.
Me: What about dinner at my place? Or yours?
Sophie: How do I know you’re not a serial killer?
I laugh aloud as I type out my response.
Me: I’m not. You can even call my mom ;)
Sophie: LOL! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but okay. Dinner at my place. Is tomorrow okay?
Me: I wouldn’t miss it. What’s your address?
Sophie: Um, I’m going to give it to you tomorrow, if that’s okay?
She’s catching on, I think with a grin. I probably wouldn’t be able to wait until tomorrow to go see her if I knew where she lives.
Me: Good girl.
Sophie: You should probably be running as fast as you can. I could be a crazy person.
I don’t want to scare her away, but I give her a little taste of the intensity I feel when it comes to her.
Me: I never run, Sophie. NEVER.
Sophie: Oh.
Me: All right, sweet Sophie. Get some sleep and message me tomorrow.
Sophie: Night, Nico.
I swear I can hear her whisper those words to me, and I let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding and finally make my way inside my townhouse.
*~*~*
Sophie
Oh God, what was I thinking? I put down my phone and look around my bedroom and then at my bed. I doubt Nico could even fit on the thing. Wait, why the hell am I thinking about him fitting in my bed? We’re not going to be in bed; we’re going to be eating in the kitchen. An image of me sitting on the counter and Nico in front of me with his head between my legs has me groaning and covering my face. Dinner… Think about dinner. What could I make him to eat? I don’t think he would be impressed with a meal consisting of Lean Cuisine.
I pull out my laptop and type in ‘food that men like to eat.’ Half the things on the list of guy-food has me gagging, like lamb. There was no way I could make lamb without thinking of a cute little lamb face. Other things on the list—like calf liver and hog trotters—just leave me feeling nauseated and wondering if men really eat that kind of stuff. After thirty minutes of searching, I decide to just make pasta with meat sauce, which seems to be a common ingredient in all the meals I’ve looked through. Meat, meat, and more meat. I lie down on my bed and start giggling. Men with meat like meat. Okay, I need help. I’m definitely nervous about tomorrow.
I haven’t dated; I have always been too scared. My mom passed away when I was fifteen, leaving only my dad to raise me. Not long after her passing, my dad started drinking. At first, it was a beer here and there, but then it turned into an every-night thing. When I was sixteen, he started going out nightly to a local bar. The bar closed at one, and thirty minutes later, my dad would come home, bringing the party with him. I never felt safe; I was constantly on edge, never knowing if someone would stumble into my room drunk or high. I told my dad that I didn’t feel safe, but he just waved it off as me being a dramatic teenager.
Then one night, I was sick—like really sick. I had a fever and needed water and Tylenol. I got up and made my way into the kitchen, and once I was there, a guy who often attended my dad’s parties cornered me in the kitchen. I remember the fear I felt when he shoved me into the corner near the fridge, away from the view of all the others. I tried to get free from his hold, but he only held me tighter, and when I attempted to scream, he covered my mouth with his as he tried to force me to kiss him. I fought back as much as I could, and when another man showed up, I felt relief—until he started helping the guy who was holding me. They were both mocking me, telling me all the horribly disgusting things they were going to do to me.
I can still remember seeing people coming in and out of the kitchen, either oblivious to what was going on or not caring. When one of them stuck their hand between my legs, I reared my head back, busting the guy who first cornered me in the nose. Blood went everywhere. His hands let me go, as did his friend’s, and I ran out of the kitchen to my room, locking the door behind me. I hid in my closet with my phone and called the police. Not long after that, my dad came into my room and found me in the closet. He looked distraught, apologizing for everything that happened, but I couldn’t care anymore. I was done making excuses for him.
Two weeks later, I got emancipated from my father and joined Job Corps. It’s what I needed at the time, the environment almost military. We had schedules we had to keep, things we were responsible for, and school, which I excelled at. I’ve never regretted what I did. The only thing I have ever regretted is losing contact with my father, but part of me felt like if I were important to him, he would have gotten into contact with me.
My phone rings, bringing me out of my thoughts. I look at the name and roll my eyes, smiling.
“Hello, Maggie,” I answer my phone, exaggerating a put-out voice. She’s always teasing me that I lead the most boring life ever, so I play it up for fun.
“Hey, bitch. What are you up to?” she asks.
We were roommates in Job Corps and have been the closest friends ever since. She still lives in Seattle and is getting married in a couple months to her longtime fiancé, Devon, who was also in JC with us.
“Nothing much.”
“Geez, girl. It’s always ‘nothing much’ with you. When the hell are you going to have some good gossip for me?”
“Not everyone is a gossip slut like you,” I tell her, laughing.
“Hey, now. I’m not a gossip.”
“Sure you aren’t.” Maggie knows everything about everyone, and because of her, I know things about people I have never even met in my life—and a lot of those things are details I wish I never, ever knew.
“I can’t help it if people want to open up to me. I’m like Dr. Phil or Oprah.”
“This is true,” I say as I lie down on the couch, and I can’t help but laugh when I think about the position I’m in.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, Dr. Phil, I met someone, and I’m now sprawled on my couch, so you wanna shrink me?”
“What?!” I hear the shock in her voice. Maggie has been trying to get me to date for years, but I have never felt comfortable with anyone before. That’s why it surprises me that Nico—Mr. Tattoo—is the one to make me feel this way. “Well, spill it, girl. Who is he? Tell me everything!”
“His name is Nico, and he is gorgeous, funny, and sweet. He asked me out and I turned him down, but then the last two days, he’s been waiting for me by my car with ice cream when I got out of work.”
“But you turned him down?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going out with him?”
“Well, tomorrow he’s coming over for dinner,” I clarify.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, knowing how big this is for me.
“I know,” I whisper back, smiling.
“Girl, I’m so happy for you. Even if things don’t work out with him, I’m glad you’re at least going to get out of that bubble you’ve placed yourself in and try to live a little.”
“Well, I don’t even know what I’m doing, and I doubt he will stick around for long after he realizes I’m a crazy, but I want to see what happens,” I tell her, meaning it from the bottom of my soul.
“You’re not crazy, Sophie. You had a traumatic experience. You just need to realize you’re not broken and that the past has made you a stronger person. I love you, and Devon loves you. You deserve to be happy.”
“I’m happy,” I say, feeling a little defensive.
“I know you think you’re happy, honey, but you’ve been locking yourself up for way too long. Living a life in solitude is not happiness.”
“I’ve gotten better,” I whine.
“You have. I agree,” she concedes.
“I just need time,” I add quietly.
“You’ve had plenty of time, girl,” she says, sounding frustrated.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask exasperatedly.
“I want you to talk to someone about what happened.”
“I talk to you.”
“I know you’ve told me everything, but this is something I can’t help you with. You need to talk to someone who deals with this kind of thing,” she says gently.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go out with him until I figure things out for myself,” I say, my stomach pitching. The feeling surprises me, making me realize I how much I do want to see him again.
“Do not use your past as an excuse to not live your life. This guy is the first one you have been interested in. To me, that says it all. Date him and see what happens. Maybe you can open up to him about your past, but while you’re doing that, find a professional to talk to as well.”
“I know you’re right, but I’m afraid,” I admit.
“Which tells me you’re still living in that moment. Honey, that was years ago. Yes, it was a horrible thing that happened to you, but luckily it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
Her words make me shudder, but I know she’s right. I think my mom’s death and the events that happened after I lost her are still plaguing me. It’s hard to get close to people when you realize how quickly they can be taken away.
“I know it could have been a lot worse, and I need to start living again… I just don’t know how.”
“One day at a time. Every day, push yourself to do something you’re afraid of. And find a group or a counselor to talk to!” She practically yells the last part.
“I’ll try,” I promise.
“Don’t try. Do.”
“Okay.” I sigh.
“So, are you still coming home for your fitting?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Yes.” I smile. “And my dress better not be ugly.”
“Girl, you should know by now your dress is going to be hideous. I do not want you to outshine me at my own wedding.”
“Like that could ever happen.” I laugh.
Maggie is one of the most beautiful people I know. Her long, lean body with skin the color of dark chocolate makes her honey-colored eyes pop; that, along with her long reddish-brown hair she has kept in thin dreadlocks since she was little, makes her even more exotic-looking.
“Oh please, girl. You know you’re hot,” she says, growling the end.
“I love you,” I tell her, feeling tears sting my eyes.
“You know I love you too, girl. Okay, enough of this mushy shit. Tomorrow, when this guy leaves, I expect you to call me and tell me every detail.”
“Promise. Talk to you then,” I say, listening to her goodbye before hanging up.
I close my eyes and then open them up, looking at the ceiling feeling a sense of hope when I say aloud to myself, “Don’t try. Do.”