“O-oh, burn,” the burly guy murmurs.
“Come on, cowgirl,” Davy says. “Don’t be that way.”
I can’t get through the door fast enough. Too fast. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I slam straight into another human being. The real Artful Dodger would be so disappointed in my slipshod getaway skills. My cheek smacks against a breastbone made of steel. I jerk back, overcorrecting, and nearly lose my balance. Hands grip my forearms.
I’m staring at a Quiksilver Surfboards logo. I crack my jaw and raise my line of sight. Now I’m staring at the angry face of Porter Roth.
“For the love of rocks,” I mumble.
The hard lines around his eyes soften when he sees me. Just slightly. Then he looks above my head and gets pissed again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” He’s not talking to me. That’s when I realize he’s not angry at me either; he’s angry at the person standing behind me.
“Who are you, my mom?” Davy’s raspy voice answers. “Relax, man. Ray and I were just grabbing something to eat then heading to Capo’s place.”
Porter’s hands are still gripping my arms. I can’t tell if he’s holding me up or trying to keep me away from Davy. But standing so close, he smells strongly of coconut oil and wax—which smells pretty freaking good, frankly. And while I’m busy being intoxicated, he’s still drilling Davy. “You mean to tell me that I didn’t just see you walking out of Déjà Vu?”
I turn my head to see Davy backpedaling. “Julie asked us to come inside. It was nothing. We were just chatting about Capo’s new dog. Get your panties unbunched.”
Umm, he’s lying. But there’s enough testosterone flying through the air to start a war, no way am I tattling on Davy. And what do I care? Not my business. I just want to get out of here and go to work. And why is Porter still holding on to me? He seems to finally notice this too, and at the same time I shake him loose, he lets go of me and holds his hands back like I’m radioactive.
“And what are you doing here?” he asks me.
“Buying a scarf,” I say, moving away from him. Why is he always in my personal space?
“You two know each other?” Davy asks, absently rubbing his right leg. Looks like that’s the injured one—the cause of the limp.
“We work together.” Porter eyes Davy, and then my bag, like he doesn’t believe either one of us. I’m insulted to be lumped in with this loser.
“Small world,” Davy says, grinning. “You gonna tell me your name now, cowgirl?”
“Seems to me you’re going to call me whatever you want, so what’s the point?”
“Damn, girl.” He hikes up his shorts. “Is she this mean to you at work?” he asks Porter.
Porter slides a glance down at me. I dare him with my eyes to say something smart. Go on, buddy. Show off. Tell him how you riled me up, acting like a pig, called me a snob, and I almost got myself fired. Make yourself look tough in front of your dirtbag friend.
But all he says is, “She’s cool.”
Huh.
Davy gives me another slow once-over and then snaps his fingers. “You should come to a bonfire. Saturday night at sunset, the Bone Garden.”
I have no idea where that is, nor do I really care. Especially not after that dubious exchange I heard inside the shop.
Porter snorts. “Don’t think I don’t know that’s where you first hooked up with Chloe.”
“So?” Davy challenges. “Chloe’s in LA now. Why you gotta bring up the past?”
“Why are you inviting her to the bonfire?” Porter jerks his thumb toward me.
Davy shrugs as his friend Ray urges him down the boardwalk, away from the vintage clothing shop. “It’s a free country.”
I’m not sure what that was all about, but I’m feeling pretty awkward being left alone with Porter. “I gotta get to work.”
Midday sun lights up golden streaks on top of Porter’s dark curls, and when he turns his head toward the ocean, the scruff on his face almost looks red. “Yeah, me too.”
Crap. We’re both working together again today? I forgot to check the schedule in my rush to get out of there after everything that happened yesterday. I’m not sure how much more of this strained togetherness I can handle. But he’s looking at me sort of funny, scratching the back of his neck, like he wants to say something else. And now I remember the cookies he left me, and I’m wondering if he’s remembering them too. Sure, as far as gestures go, it was okay. But for all I know, he could’ve stolen them from the café. I should have just thrown them in the trash, but I gave the chocolate chip one to Grace and ate the others.
Feeling uncomfortable, I mumble a good-bye and turn to leave. That chick from the shop, Julie, is standing outside, both arms and purple dreadlocks crossed over her chest, warily watching us. I avoid eye contact and keep walking.
“See you later, cowgirl,” Davy calls in the distance somewhere behind me.
Let’s hope not. As I pass the churro cart, I notice Porter heading in the same general direction, but his muscular legs carry him faster. Someone whistles, flagging him down. It’s a middle-aged man, maybe my dad’s age, with wavy, gray-brown hair, closely cropped. He’s dressed in board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt and looks like he could have been handsome when he was younger, but he’s had some hard knocks. One of his arms is covered with faded tattoos; the other arm is missing—as in, completely gone.
I’m surprised to recognize Porter’s eyes in the man’s when I pass, then I glance at the puckering pink scars where the arm once was. Porter catches me staring. I quickly look away and keep going, face flaming.
I think this is probably Porter’s dad and the “horrible” thing that Grace was talking about.
What in the world happened to that family?
LUMIèRE FILM FANATICS COMMUNITY
PRIVATE MESSAGES>ALEX>ARCHIVED
@mink: What do you want to do after high school?
@alex: You mean, with my life?
@mink: I mean college. When I was younger, I used to think I wanted to go to film school. Be a director. But now I don’t think I’d be so good at being in charge. I don’t want that kind of pressure. Now I think I’d rather be behind the scenes, cataloging something.
@alex: Professional film hobbyist?
@mink: blink Is that a real job? Hopefully, it pays huge sums of cash.
@alex: Right there with you. My dad expects me to take over the family business, and I don’t want to. Don’t get me wrong: I like the family business. I enjoy it as a hobby. But I don’t want the pressure of doing it full-time for money. What if I want to do other things, you know?
@mink: I hear ya. And I guess we have to start applying for colleges in the fall. Sort of scary. Too many schools. West Coast? East Coast? I don’t know.
@alex: Enjoy your multitude of choices. Meanwhile, I’ll be stuck at the local community college, working two jobs. My future is already mapped out for me.
@mink: That can’t be true.
@alex: Some of us aren’t so lucky, Mink.