by Sarina Bowen
“Ah, yeah. It was fun to be the class freak for a day, I guess.” Rickie crosses his tattooed arms, and Karim blatantly checks him out.
“Hey, I thought your story was so cool,” says my coworker, Rickie’s new fanboy. “We head over to the Biscuit in the Basket from five-thirty onward,” he says. “First we eat two-for-one wings, and then karaoke starts up around six.”
I open my mouth to shoot down this idea. But not before Rickie says, “Awesome, we’ll be there.”
What the…?
“Cool!” Karim says, with a smile a mile wide.
And I can’t believe I’ve just been snookered into karaoke. Although Karim and Jenn have been hinting that I should join them, and it feels wrong to say no all the time. But karaoke? That’s not something you do with new coworkers. Yikes.
I shoot Rickie an evil glare.
He smiles.
“I have to text my family,” I say stiffly. “In case I’m needed at home.”
“Get on that then.” Karim points at the building. “I’d better go in.”
“Right,” I say quickly. “Me too.” I shoulder my pack. “I’ll just be a second.”
I wait for Karim to walk out of earshot. Then I turn on Rickie. “What did you do that for?”
“Because karaoke is fun?” he shrugs, like this is so obvious. “I won’t drink more than one beer, so I can still drive home.”
“You can go ahead and drink,” I hiss, “Because there’s no way I would get drunk with a microphone in my hand in front of colleagues. Jesus.”
He laughs. “Okay. It’s a date. Before that—meet me at the house at five? To see the place. You remember where it is?”
“Yes,” I grunt.
“Great. See you then.” He tugs on my hand and gives me a quick kiss. “Later, gorgeous.”
My cheeks flame. “Later.”
He walks away, smiling.
Naturally, Karim is waiting for me by the door. “You sneaky Pete!” he crows as soon as I enter the building. “You told me you two were just roommates.”
“It’s complicated,” I grumble. “He’s hot, but annoying.”
“My heart is breaking,” he says, sneaking one more look through the glass doors at Rickie’s departing figure. “That boy looks tasty with a suntan.”
Damn it all, he isn’t wrong.
“Does he have a good voice? If he sings some kind of sexy ballad at karaoke, I may not recover.”
“I haven’t heard him sing,” I say. But then I realize I have.
Twice.
Thirty-Two
Rickie
Even with my class finished, my Wednesday is a busy day. I turn in my last philosophy paper, then pick up my keys from the rental agent. Then I head over to the house and check the place out, just to make sure the tenants left everything in order.
They did. The place is spotless. But as I walk around my empty house, listening to my own footsteps, I remember why I always fill the place with roommates. I do better with people near me. Not in my bedroom, but near it.
Christ, I’m weird.
Even so, I practically bounce into Lenore’s office for my session.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” she observes.
“Yeah, it’s been a good week.” I actually drag the chair closer to her desk and prop my feet on it.
“Comfortable?”
“Yup. I got my house back today. I’m moving back in soon.”
She cocks her head. “With or without a new roommate?”
“Daphne hasn’t said. But I’ll win her over.” I give her a dazzling smile. “Short commute to my bed and all.”
“So I take it things are going well in the Daphne department.”
“I’ve got no complaints, and neither does she.”
Lenore laughs. “Noted. How are you sleeping?”
“Apart, if that’s what you mean.”
“I meant generally. Any more nightmares?”
“Well, sometimes.” I kick my feet back down onto the floor. “And now I see his face in them.”
“Daphne’s ex?”
“Yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
“What does he do in these dreams?” Lenore asks me. “Anything new?”
“No—not one thing. I see his face by my bed. And then I always wake up.”
“Okay.” She chews her lip. It’s her tell, so now I’m wary. “Did you pick your classes yet?”
“For the fall? We can’t turn in a schedule until the twenty-seventh.”
“But have you thought it through?” she asks.
Good grief. “Lenore, why are you suddenly so interested in my course load? Avoidance is not a good look on you. Whatever you have to say, just say it.”
She blows out a breath. “I called the Academy. I made another attempt to find out more.”
“Oh.” My blood stops circulating. “I forgot about that.”
“It wasn’t helpful,” she says quickly. “It was merely infuriating.”
Something inside me relaxes, and I’m not even sure why. “Okay. Were they dicks?”
“You could say that.” She picks at a fingernail. “I went off script, Rick. And it didn’t even help.”
“What did you ask?”
She lifts her eyes to mine, and they are so sad. “I said you had PTSD, and we couldn’t discover the source of it.”
“That’s not, uh, inaccurate,” I point out.
“Right. But then I said that it might be sexual in nature.” She presses her hands together, as if trying not to fidget. “This guy was a stone wall. So then I implied that I was treating you for symptoms that a rape survivor might exhibit.”
I feel a nauseating rush inside my chest, and the question screaming through my brain is, Why would you say that?
Then again I’d asked Lenore to shake things up. “And what was their response?”
“He said…” She puts her head in her hands. “He said—that’s ridiculous. A man can’t be raped.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. It takes me a second to realize that this doesn’t have a thing to do with me. But Lenore is upset. Her eyes are red, and her lips are tight. “That’s a shit thing to say, right?”
“It’s a horrible thing to say. It negates a very real problem and perpetuates a societal stigma. I’ve treated men who have been assaulted, and they don’t need that kind of bullshit in their lives.”
“You’re right,” I say quickly. “It’s awful.”
“So bad.” She rubs her temples. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wheedle anything out of them. They said to call the hospital, which I will do. But the hospital won’t actually have any kind of incident report. Just treatment details.”
“Okay. It’s all right, Lenore. You tried. I’m sorry it was upsetting.”
She looks up at me, her expression sad. “I sit here all day asking my patients to deal with difficult truths, you know? It’s hard work to tell the truth. And some asshole at a military academy tells me that sexual assault doesn’t happen to men.”
“It’s outrageous,” I agree. “What a shittastic place. Good thing I don’t remember a single thing about it.” I give her a sly smile.
“Stop,” she says. “You’re not supposed to have to cheer your therapist up. I’m sorry. I’m just angry.”
“Me too, lady. But not today.”
She smiles. “No? Why?”
“Got nothing to be angry about. My girl is slowly coming around. I’m not free and clear yet, but I’m getting close.”
“I see.” Her smile reappears. “And what’s your big plan there?”
“Karaoke. It’s the secret to life.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Lenore giggles.
“Daphne thinks she has to always have her shit locked down. Like it would kill her to show any weakness. But her coworker invited us for karaoke tonight. She didn’t want to say yes, but I forced her hand.”
“Women love that,” Lenore deadpans.
“Yeah, yeah. She needs t
o be social with these people, though. She already admitted that. And karaoke has this way of making you realize you don’t have to be amazing all the time to have fun and be loved.”
“You went all guru there, didn’t you?” She waves a hand toward me. “It’s a good look on you. This poor girl doesn’t stand a chance. What are you going to sing?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Something devastating.”
“Looking forward to the video of this,” Lenore says. “Feel free to share.”
I spend the afternoon unpacking my first-floor bedroom. It’s satisfying to stack my winter clothes back inside my empty dresser drawers. I make my bed, too, with the mattress pad I’d stored away, and my clean sheets.
This house is a rift between my father and me, but I sure like having a place that’s all mine. I’d actually wondered if letting strangers rent this house for the summer would bother me.
But, nope. This room still feels like my sanctuary. The shelf over my bed is just waiting for me to stack the reference books there in a tidy row. I have framed maps on the walls of all the places I’ve been—the city in Germany where I lived for a few years. And the one in Japan.
And there’s a box of knickknacks that I save for last. It’s full of souvenirs from various trips I took over the years. There’s a carved set of dragons eating each others’ tails that I found at a flea market in Hong Kong. And a weird little mermaid figurine from Copenhagen.
The doorbell rings, and I realize I’ve lost track of time. It’s five o’clock already. And I am more than ready to see if Daphne is still pissed at me. I hope not. I’m ready to drag her off to eat two-for-one wings and sing in front of her coworkers.
I trot through the house and pull open the front door. “Hi, gorgeous. Miss me?”
“Looking for compliments, McFly?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Still pissed about the karaoke, huh?”
“Only because you didn’t ask me first.” She cocks her head to the side. “I should go out with those guys. They’re good people.”
“I’m glad,” I say, waving her into the foyer. “You deserve good people around you. Like me.”
She sniffs. “Give me the tour, McFly. Then we can eat some chicken wings and I can listen to you sing.”
I take her hand. “I was thinking we could do a duet.”
“Nope. You’re the only one who’s going to sing.”
“Huh.” I guess I can press this issue later. “This is my living room.” I wave a hand into that room. “It needs new furniture, but I like to throw parties, so I’m afraid to upgrade. We really only sit in there on the weekends, when we’re trying to get over our hangovers.”
“My weekends don’t usually include a hangover,” Daphne shares.
“Well, that’s your loss, then, because I make an excellent hangover tea, and I’m pretty good at soups, too. Come and see my kitchen.”
I lead her toward my favorite room in the house, with its sturdy wood floors and its old-fashioned windows. The appliances are old, but in a fun way. There’s a curvy green refrigerator and a matching range. There are orange Formica countertops in a spacious L shape, and a roomy nook for the mid-century diner-style table and the chairs I’d picked out.
"Oh. This is so cute," Daphne says.
"Isn't it?" I agree. "It's my favorite room for studying or cooking or just wasting time with your brother.” I park my hip against the counter and study Daphne, who is trying so hard not to like my kitchen, or picture herself in it. I can see the fight raging behind her brown eyes.
My girl is so afraid to settle in to anything. She thinks that if she trusts me, I might betray her. And if she makes herself at home in this kitchen, she's afraid she might not want to leave again. “Take a breath, baby girl. You don't have to plan your whole life today.”
Her eyes narrow with irritation. "I wasn't trying to plan my whole life. Just the next year."
“Yeah, my bad. Come on. I'll show you the best stop on the tour."
“The empty room?”
“Nope. Even better. My room.”
“I should have known.” She gives me a quick smile, and when I hold out my hand, she takes it.
As I thread our fingers together and lead her toward the back of the house. I congratulate myself for having made the bed. Well done, subconscious. This is the most privacy she and I have had together in a while. Possibly ever.
"Nice,” she whispers when I lead her into my sunny bedroom overlooking the backyard.
"I got a lot done today." That’s why it’s so tranquil in here already. The books are back on the shelves. The empty boxes are already gone. The only thing left is the remaining knickknacks I've half unpacked.
That box is on the bed, so I pick it up and empty the last few things onto the top of my dresser, to sort later.
“What's this?” Daphne picks up a large coin and turns it over on her palm.
“That's from Thailand.”
“God, I want to travel,” she says with a sigh. “So badly. But there hasn’t been time. Or money.”
“I took a gap year. Worked a bunch of jobs. Took some trips.” It was amazing, and I wish Daphne could do the same.
“What's this? And this?”
She touches each of my trinkets with gentle hands, while I explain every coin and object. “That’s just an ordinary espresso spoon from the flea market on Portobello Road in London. I try to find something small to bring back from a market in every county. Bonus points if it’s something useful. If I don’t find the right object, I keep a coin instead.”
“And this?” She taps a little wooden box. “Where's this from?”
“Ah, that’s from Vermont. But it’s a mystery.”
“What do you mean?”
“That got shipped home from the Academy with the rest of my stuff. I had some Christmas presents in there—a book for my dad, and something for my mom. But this thing didn’t have a tag on it. I don’t know who it was supposed to be for. And it’s weird as fuck. Open it.”
She lifts the lid of the little wooden box to reveal the world’s strangest piece of jewelry. It’s basically an ugly insect-like critter cast in silver, on a silver chain. “Apparently I mailed a photo of this thing to my mom and asked her to get one of her friends from the League of Craftsmen to make it. But I don’t know why.”
Daphne makes a strange sound. Like a choked gasp. When she looks up at me, her brown eyes actually fill with tears.
“Whoa now,” I say, wrapping an arm around her. “What did I miss?”
“It’s a water flea.”
“Um…” That means nothing to me. A tear escapes from her eye, and I catch it with my thumb.
“The other name for it is a daphnia.”
“Wait, what?” I lift the strange pendant out of her hands and stare at it. I see a strange creature with awkward appendages near his head. “Are you joking?”
She slowly shakes her head. “We had a discussion about my name. I told you that it was three things—a boring flower, a really depressing myth, and…”
“A water flea,” I finish.
“You remember?”
“No,” I choke out, dropping the pendant onto the dresser. “But I know me. And if I really liked you, it wouldn’t stop me from propositioning you. But I would also go to the trouble to get a damn water flea cast in silver, and bring it to you on our date. So where the fuck did I go instead?” My hands are suddenly balled into fists. I’m sick to death of not knowing.
“Hey now,” she says gently. “It’s… I think it’s really neat. This was waiting here all this time. And I found it.”
“Yeah, so neat,” I bite out, still angry. But I throw an arm around her and haul her against my chest anyway. “My little water flea.”
One of her arms wraps around my back, and her hand lands on my abs. “No, it was sweet. It is sweet. I want to keep it.”
“It’s yours.” I drop a kiss to her temple, but I’m so angry with myself that I’m practically burst
ing out of my skin.
“Nobody ever gave me such a thoughtful gift,” she says, and her voice is almost as soft as her hands that are stroking me now. Calming me.
“Babe, maybe you didn’t notice, but I failed to give it to you. You told me you have shit taste in men, right? And I had the balls to argue.”
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t do that. Don’t take back all the things you’ve said about us. Some bad things happened. But you’re not allowed to pretend like none of the nice ones happened, either.”
I let out one more angry curse, but I’m fighting a losing battle. Because Daphne is kissing the underside of my jaw. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m not in the mood to be soothed, because her mouth is soft and generous. My next harsh breath loses steam, becoming a shudder as she kisses her way down my throat, and into the V-neck of my T-shirt.
My anger is no match for her loveliness, apparently. Because suddenly I’m kissing her. And then—when her hand finds its way onto my thickening cock—I lose this little contest of wills.
Maybe it makes me a selfish bastard. But her hunger is all it takes to burn away my hesitation. I dive into the next kiss. I’m greedy for it, and I let her know, yanking her close as our kiss deepens. Bullying my tongue into her mouth.
If she wants this wreck of a man, she’s going to get him. And I’m not in the mood to be subtle.
She isn’t either. She tugs my T-shirt up, slipping smooth hands across my back. And I up the ante by grabbing the fabric and hauling it up and off my body. “Is this what you’re after?” I growl.
She doesn’t speak. But her serious eyes assure me that it is. Then she dips her head to taste the tattoo at my collarbone.
Once again I pull her in. Her hair is so soft between my fingers. And her tongue curls across my skin with a lovely stroke. She’s making it hard to stay angry. She’s making me just plain hard.
Especially because Daphne never does this—she doesn’t come for me. I’m the one who has to ask for it.
But not today. She’s kissing my neck. Her hands are in my back pockets.
I back her up toward the bed, since that’s where this is headed. I lift off her blouse and toss it onto my desk chair. She’s wearing a plain black bra, and the sight of it gives me a possessive rush. Daphne doesn’t like to show her cards. But she shows them to me.