He wraps his arm around Reese and heads toward the swaying crowd, but I’m still stuck on his cryptic words. I’m not sure what things Ace and I have to talk about, but I’ll assume they have to do with rowing, his career plan now that he’s in college, and the future—his, not mine. I’m well past that collegiate career plan part of my life, and ironically I’m still second-guessing the future. But I won’t be discussing my past with Ace or anyone else for that matter. I don’t need to talk about it. Hell, I don’t need to think about it.
I glance to Caleb who hasn’t stopped eyeing me suspiciously since I’ve arrived. That jovial smile he shed moments before has long since dissipated. I nod over to Kennedy. “Get out there with your girl. It’s a nice night. Make it work in your favor.”
Caleb’s expression sours as he examines me. “Let’s do dinner. I don’t like that you’ve been up here and we’re still hit-and-miss.” That morbid look I’ve sponsored in him lets me know he’s worried. I’ve never been one to wander off to find myself. Even as kids, I was the pragmatic one, with my nose in a book, a goal forever dangling before me like a carrot. And now here I am, the jobless wanderer doing an about-face in life.
Kennedy pulls him away with a laugh. That was the first thing I noticed about her once they got together last year. Kennedy and Caleb are perennially happy. They’ve been floating along like a couple of helium balloons, growing steadily higher with their elation in one another. A sharp contrast to my dark and bitter heart. That analogy alone makes me want to laugh.
I spot Zoey downing shots over at the refreshment table and head her way.
“The music’s right,” I whisper over her shoulder as she knocks another one back. She bites down over a lime and winces.
“Ken really does go all out.” She hoists a shot up in my direction. “Good news. Your brother didn’t spring for the cheap stuff.”
“He never does.” I step in front of the bar and make her face me. Zoey’s eyes are like cats, completely committed to doing whatever they want. Even if she’s having a conversation with someone, looking at them seems to be optional. But I don’t need to be gazing deep into her eyes to know that she’s hurting right now. I recognize the invisible fortress she’s built around herself, because I happen to have one wrapped around my own life at the moment. “Come on.” I pick up her hand, and her cool fingers wrap softly over mine. There is something to be said about holding the hand of a beautiful woman. Zoey is like a work of art, fragile and stunning. People would happily pay the admission to gaze at her for hours.
“I’m not much of a dancer. But then, you should know that by now,” she says as we make our way down the sand, away from the sorority hustle happening at the heart of the dance floor. Her fingers lock over mine, and I can see the smile she shed quickly fading. “In fact, I think I just need another drink.” Her eyes close involuntarily as I wrap my arms around her.
“In celebration of the great news?” I know otherwise. With some people, you can see the pain in their eyes, but on Zoey you can feel it emanating off her like a heat wave.
Zoey sighs with her whole body, and I can’t help but study this gorgeous woman in my arms. Only twice before have I felt so instantly connected to another human being. Once in a grocery store, there was a woman doubled over in pain, vomiting in the middle of the frozen foods aisle. I had just recovered from the worst flu of my life—norovirus, which happens to attack at both ends—I helped the manager get her to her car, and I called her husband myself. I figured I was immune to the crap-fest by then. And I remember the ripe humiliation of having to go through that with Elizabeth in the next room. I could imagine how she felt in a crowd thick with onlookers. The other instance was a friend from college. I helped out with his divorce. That was one of the last legally inclined things I did. I got to witness his demise front and center—watch as his ex—also a friend from college—emasculated him so thoroughly. She took the house, the good car, the timeshare, the kids, and more than half the money. To the naked eye it seemed amicable—fair even, but it left my buddy a shell of who he was. Little did he know I was right there with him. When you’re hiding something damning from the world, the shockwaves are less present to those around you. But you still feel them. I’m guessing that’s what’s happening with Zoey.
“Tell me a secret,” I whisper into her ear as her soft body relaxes over mine. Zoey is not so much dancing as she is supporting herself against me.
She looks up with those sleepy eyes, moist with tears, bloodshot from a combination of booze, lack of sleep, and heartbreak.
“You first, hot stuff.” Zoey giggles, and her body strums over mine like a tuning fork. It feels good, like a healing balm, and I almost want to laugh.
“I’m an open wound.” There. The truth swims out of me like a poltergeist, shrieking as it writhes between us.
Her brows rise in amusement as she presses her chest to mine—so very soft my boxers twitch to life. “Well then, I suggest you let me heal you.”
I bark out a laugh without meaning to. “Two open wounds don’t make a right. They make one hell of a mess.” Zoey and I could never heal one another.
Her mouth falls open. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?” Zoey ceases all movement in one lucid moment as she struggles to examine me.
“Just calling it like I see it.” I stretch my neck in a moment of piousness. I’m not backing down from this one. The old me would have apologized, made some lame joke about wanting to spread the misery around, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. There’s not a person on the planet I’d want to sip from my bitter cup.
“Okay, maybe I do think two open wounds can find a little respite in one another.” She’s back to frowning, and even with that discontented look on her face, she could place as Miss America. Zoey is her own odd irony, beauty and the beast, pleasure and pain. “But what’s wrong with fun among friends?” Her hands swivel down my back with promise, and my boxers blink to life once again. “Just something to dirty up the night.” A smile pumps through her as her finger bounces over my lips. “You and me”—she whispers—“we can be one another’s best kept secret.”
A laugh starts in my chest and dies there. The moon sprays over her features and bleaches them like paper, leaving a hot pink mouth, bright eyes that shine like blue topaz. Zoey looks like a hologram. Like the idea of a woman—perfect nonetheless.
“I’ve got plenty of secrets.” The words expire from me, slow and damning, each one sounding lonelier than the last. My hands fasten themselves over her tiny waist, and I press her to me tight. Both my body and my mouth giving her opposing messages to work with. That’s not like me. I’m composed, levelheaded, in control, and this night, with this woman, I seem to be anything but.
Zoey hikes up on her tiptoes, her peppermint breath blowing softly over my lips. “I want to be another one—the hottest secret you’ll have to date. Add me to your list, to your bedtime routine.” She gives a little wink, but her affect remains unmoved as stone. “I promise, you will not regret it.”
The song comes to a close and the music ratchets up again, but my arms are still settled at the base of her hips.
“You never told me a secret.” I swallow hard because a part of me is already regretting pulling her in that direction. Zoey lives in a fortress of invisible walls, so high they reach the stratosphere. I doubt she’s willing to spill it all at the feet of a virtual stranger.
“I’ll let you in on the biggest one.” She kisses her finger and touches it to my lips. “I’m a killer.” She turns and drifts into the night, her body evaporating into the darkness as if she had the ability to dematerialize like a ghost.
An arm falls over my shoulder, full dead weight, and I turn to find Warren by my side.
“Dude, she is into you. You’re going to get lucky.” He bobs his head matter-of-factly. “And then, just as fast as she whipped into your world, she is going to fly like a bat on fire leaving the depths of hell. It’ll be a short ride but a wild one. Enjoy it.” He pats my shoulder before heading back to the party.
I can’t help but swallow down a laugh at Warren’s cryptic words. I know Zoey slept with him. I know she tried to sleep with Caleb, too. I’m not delusional. Zoey wants something quick—something to dirty up the nightsas she put it.
Her blonde hair flickers in and out of existence like a flame as she skirts the shoreline.
Zoey says she’s a killer. What the hell kind of an admission is that? Killer of hearts? Killer of her own heart? Her soul? Her liver perhaps, judging by her alcohol-soaked night. She can’t kill me. I’m already dead.
Maybe dirtying up the nights with someone like Zoey is just what it might take to kick-start my heart once again.
Maybe unlocking her secrets will help heal mine.
I’m betting it won’t.
