Reagan
I want to go back to the quiet, quaking silence I had with Pete, but he’s one aisle over when Chase spots me poring over the pain relievers from the end of the aisle. He calls my name and starts in my direction.
“Reagan,” Chase says, like he didn’t just see me yesterday. “I was just thinking about you.”
He’s always full of platitudes. I can’t tell if he’s sincere or not, which is one of the things I don’t like about him. “Hi, Chase,” I croak out. I look left and right and don’t see Pete. “What’s up?”
“I was just about to call you. My dad got tickets for tomorrow night to the dance at the country club. Do you want to go with me?”
“She’s busy tomorrow,” someone calls from the end of the aisle. Pete comes toward us, his gait slow and ambling. His body is loose and relaxed, yet I know it’s not. Not really.
“Who’s he?” Chase asks.
Pete holds out his hand to shake. Chase looks at it like it’s dirty. Pete pulls his hand back and reaches for mine. I pull mine back and cross my arms beneath my breasts. “Chase, this is Pete.” I lean my head toward Chase. “Pete, this is Chase.”
“Nice to meet you,” Pete says.
“Chase and I go to school together,” I rush to say.
Pete smiles. “Lucky bastard,” he says.
Chase’s eyebrows draw together. He looks at me. “So, you’re busy tomorrow night?” he asks. He ignores Pete, which pisses me off. Pete’s been nothing but nice until now.
But there’s steel in Pete’s voice when he replies. “I told you she’s busy.”
Chase flexes his hand, balling it up into a fist. Pete still appears relaxed. But he’s not. He doesn’t need to posture to seem fierce the way that Chase does. He just is. And he’s so much more. “I’d like to hear that from her.”
“I’m—” I start to say.
But Pete puts his arm around me and says, “I’m taking the liberty of speaking for her.”
I look up at him. “Don’t speak for me,” I say. I lift his arm from around my shoulders. “Did you get everything you need?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he says slowly. His eyes dance across my face. “Why don’t I go finish my shopping?” he asks. He raises an eyebrow at me in question. I nod. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear before he leaves.
“Who the hell is that?” Chase barks. He watches Pete’s prideful swagger all the way down the aisle until he disappears from sight. Chase looks down at me.
I shrug. “He’s a friend.”
“Since when do you have friends like that?” he asks. He steps toward me, and I step back, until my back is against the shelves behind me. I don’t like to be cornered, but Chase has no way of knowing that. I skitter to the side so that I’m not hemmed in.
“Friends like what?” I ask. I know he’s referring to the tattoos. Pete walks by the end of the aisle and waves at us, and then he winks at me. A grin tugs at my lips. I shrug again. “He’s really very nice.”
“Where did you meet him?”
I can tell the truth or I can lie. But then I hear Pete one aisle over as he starts to sing the lyrics to Elvis Presley’s “Jailhouse Rock.” I grin. I can’t help it. “He’s helping out at the camp this week,” I say instead of the truth. Well, it’s sort of the truth.
“Where’s he from?” Chase asks.
“New York City,” I say.
Pete’s song changes from Elvis to AC/DC’s “Jailbreak.” I laugh out loud this time. I can’t help it.
“Your dad’s all right with you hanging out with him?”
My dad is covered in tattoos, too, but most of his are hidden by his clothing. “He likes Pete,” I say. “I do, too.” Chase puts one arm on the shelf behind me and leans toward my body. I dodge him again, and he looks crossly at me. “Don’t box me in,” I warn.
He holds up both hands like he’s surrendering to the cops. But he still looks curious. “So, about tomorrow,” he says.
“I can’t,” I blurt out.
I think I hear a quickly hissed, “Yes!” from the other side of the aisle, but I can’t be sure.
Chase touches my elbow, and it makes my skin crawl. I pull my elbow back. “Don’t touch me,” I say.
Suddenly, Pete’s striding down the aisle toward us. His expression is thunderous, and I step in front of him so that he has to run into me instead of pummeling Chase like I’m guessing he wants to do. I lay a hand on his chest. “You ready to go?” I ask.
He looks down at me, his eyes asking if I’m all right. His hand lands on my waist and slides around my back, pulling me flush against him. He’s testing me. And I don’t want to fight him. I admit it. Chase makes my skin crawl, and Pete makes my skin tingle. It’s not an altogether pleasant sensation, but only because I can’t control it. He holds me close, one hand on the center of my back, and the other full of breath mints and assorted sundries. He steps toward Chase, and Pete and I are so close together that I have to step backward when he steps forward.
I repeat my question. “You get everything?”
He finally looks down at me. “I got everything I need,” he says. His tone is polite but clear and soft as butter.
I clear my throat and turn Pete toward the front of the store so we can pay for the items he’s collected. “I’ll see you, Chase,” I call back. He waves at me. I feel bad because Chase seems confused. He’s pulling out his phone as we walk away, and I’m already expecting for my dad to hear from his dad. I don’t care. If my dad had a problem with Pete, he certainly wouldn’t have sent me out with him.
Pete steps up to the counter and lays his items beside the register. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and opens it up. I see a couple of foil wrappers in with his cash. Heat creeps up my face. He pays, then closes his wallet and shoves it back into his back pocket. He takes the bag from the clerk and thanks her.
As we walk out the front door, he twines his fingers with mine. I look up at him, blinking away the brightness of the sun. “You really need to learn to behave yourself,” I say. But I can’t bite back a laugh. I just can’t. “‘Jailhouse Rock’? Seriously?”
He shrugs, but he’s grinning too. “It seemed appropriate.”
I bark out a laugh so loud that I cover my mouth in embarrassment. “It was so inappropriate,” I say.
He sobers and looks at me after we get in the truck. “Who’s that guy to you?” he asks.
“He’s a friend,” I say with a shrug. “That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell him where I’m from?” he asks. He’s waiting with bated breath, I think.
“I did.”
He shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”
“He asked where you’re from. I said New York City. What more did you want me to tell him?”
“The truth would be a good start,” he mumbles.
“Jail is a place you stayed for a while, Pete. It’s not where you’re from.”
He snorts.
“That would be like the boys saying they live at Cast-A-Way Farms after staying for a week.”
“That’s not entirely accurate.” He rocks his head back and forth as if he’s weighing my words. Then his eyes narrow. “You didn’t let him touch you.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I don’t let many people touch me.” I had better tell him the truth. “We went on a date once or twice,” I say.
“You’ve been on dates with him and you still don’t let him touch you?” He lifts his brow at me.
I nod, unsettled by his question.
“Good,” he says. He grins.
I start the truck and lay my right hand on the console between us, driving with my left. His injured arm comes up to settle beside mine and his pinkie crosses over mine, wrapping around it. It’s comfortable. It’s kind. It’s unsettling in a settling sort of way, and I don’t know what to do with it.
“Quit overthinking it,” he says, smiling out the window. He’s not even looking at me.
“Okay,” I say quietly. I settle back in my seat and scoot my hand closer to his.
My nerves are a mess by the time we get back to camp. Pete looks over at me and smiles. “Honey, we’re home,” he sings, grinning. But then he quickly sobers. He lowers his head, arching his neck, so he can look into my face. “You’re still overthinking it, aren’t you?” he asks softly.
I nod. I blink furiously to push back the tears. He’s so kind and he’s so sweet, but I’ve labored over this the whole way home. “I’m afraid I can’t be what you need for me to be,” I say quietly. “I just can’t.” I’ll never be normal. Never.
“You just met me,” he says. “How in the world could you know what I need?”
He lets go of my hand. I feel suddenly more alone than ever. I look into his eyes. “I really, really want to kiss you,” I say.
He grins. “Good.”
“But what if I can never do that?” Never do it without seeing his face in my mind instead of Pete’s?
Pete tangles his fingers with mine. “Does this feel all right?” he asks.
It wouldn’t have felt all right yesterday, but it’s suddenly all right today. “No.”
He jerks his hand back like I just scalded him.
“Wait.” I need to explain. “It doesn’t feel all right. It feels fabulous.”
His posture relaxes. “You scared me for a second.”
I reach for his hand and hold it tightly. “For me, this might be as close as I’ll ever get to having sex or that kiss I think I want from you.”
“Okay,” he says, grinning. I roll my eyes at him. His face softens. “I happen to like holding hands with you, dummy,” he says. “I like it a lot.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Probably more than I should.” He squeezes my hand. “So, if that’s all you’re ready for, I’m happy to do it. And just that.” He bends again, looking into my face. “I just met you yesterday. Do most men you meet want to get in your pants within twenty-four hours?”
I heave a sigh. He met me long before that, but, technically, he’s right.
“If so, you’ve been hanging out with the wrong types of men.” He lets my hand go and turns to open the truck door.
“Pete,” I call.
He looks over his shoulder at me, smiling. “Reagan,” he says, his tone mimicking mine. But he holds up a hand. “I know you want to sleep with me already, Reagan,” he says grinning. “But for God’s sake, I just met you yesterday. Give me some time to get to know you, will you?” He adjusts his clothing like I’ve undressed him with my eyes. “I’m more than a piece of meat.”
He’s still grinning, and I know he’s joking, but it suddenly hits me how silly I’m being. I’m letting my attraction to this man dictate my actions, and I’m putting up walls, tearing them down, and then building them up stronger. By the time the week is over, I’m going to be a damn fortress. But one thing’s for sure. If anyone can get past my walls and make me want him to be there, it’s Pete. Because I’m already halfway there.