The Years After (9 page)

“You screwing with her? You going to do this,” she indicated the bed, “you know, be her boyfriend for an entire weekend and then disappear on her?”

“What if I am? What are you going to do about it?”

“Tell her that everyone at the party knew who you were. And tell her there is something off about you.”

He held her gaze and his eyes narrowed.
How much did she know?
“You should. You probably should tell her that.”

“She’s not like us.”

“Us?”

“Screwed up. She’s not pretending. All that sweetness and absence of guile? It’s real. Don’t ruin her.”

“Yeah, sweetness and absence of guile isn’t anything like you.”

“It was. And then I met a guy. A guy a lot like you, I think.”

“Then why don’t you tell her?”

“Because,” she shrugged and shook her head, “First of all, I don’t think she’ll listen; and second, it will come between us. And maybe she needs to make a mistake. She’s always been so perfect her entire life. Maybe a mistake like you is just what she needs.”

He watched her when she said “met a guy” because her entire body stiffened. Something happened and it seemed like much more than just heartbreak. “If anyone ever fucks with you, tell me and I’ll get them to back off.”

Her gaze narrowed in on his. “What the hell are you?”

“Bad news. But I know people.” Quentrell would screw with anyone on his say so.

She swallowed. “Do I thank you? Or try to kill you?”

“You shouldn’t thank me.”

“You know, she never kissed anyone. Not until you. She never falls for shit-ass guys. How did you get past her?” Kylie asked as she got up. She thumped around the room, grabbing her things, and exited without him answering.

His stomach knotted. He had no idea she’d never kissed a guy before. There, in that dumpy theatre, that was her introduction? He didn’t spare an ounce of finesse or smooth moves.
Shit.
What was he doing with her? There were plenty of innocent girls, and then there was Olivia. The door opened with a soft click as she slipped in. She set her basket of shower items down and lifted her head up to him. Her hair was wet and slick down her back, leaving her t-shirt damp. Her jeans hugged her slender legs and her bare feet were small. She glanced towards Kylie’s bed and then at him. Her smile even lit up her eyes as she bit her lips and stopped dead in middle of the room.

He should have gone, but he sat there and waited to see what she did. “Feel better?”

She shrugged. “I can almost pretend the rooms are not spinning. So, maybe a little.” Her gaze traveled around the room as if she’d never been there before.

“So… would some coffee help?”

Her eyes looked up to meet his and her eyebrows rose in surprise. “With you?”

He shrugged, “With me. Unless you got something else going?”

“No. Nothing. I need to practice my flute and do my homework, but other than that, nothing.”

He rose to his feet. How could he hang out with someone whose two goals for the day were studying and practicing a flute? He crossed his arms over his chest. “So… coffee?”

“Yes. Want to just go to the student union?”

“No. I’ve had enough of the college experience to last me awhile. How about I drive?”

She frowned, as if surprised he’d have any issue with the college campus. Their stares lingered and her anxiety heightened as he stepped closer. He meant to go right past her. He should have let her get her socks and shoes on, but he stopped and wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. Their heads fit perfectly. Way too much, he wanted to touch her. He pressed his lips on hers again and then drew back and rested his forehead on hers. She stared at him without a smile, but the intense look in her eyes matched the way he felt. What was going on? They barely knew each other. Despite the little time they’d spent together, he could not physically restrain himself from touching her, or connecting with her. Never with the intention of having sex, but because he couldn’t stop himself. They had nothing at all in common. He could only lie and cheat, yet he wanted to continue standing there, just holding her.

Her hands encircled his neck and she finally rested her head against his shoulder. They stood there for several long minutes like that. Doing nothing, and doing everything. He nearly pushed her away and walked out the door. He should have. That is exactly what he deserved; to be ripped away from her forever so she could live a decent and upstanding life, as he already knew she would. But his hands simply tightened around her waist and drew her even closer. She finally eased away from him and smiled. Turning, she quickly grabbed a pair of socks out of the drawer next to her and sat on her bed to slip them on.

With his hands jammed into his pockets, he stood there, feeling like a schmuck for how intensely he held and kissed and freaking cuddled up to her. He was like a lost, lonely puppy in need of a good pat.
What shit!
He was setting himself up for trouble. Why? He couldn’t even articulate any reason.

He nodded at a framed photo. “That your family?”

She stood up with a boot in her hand. “Yes, my mom, Gretchen, and my dad, Tony. The older lady over there is my grandma.”

“You lost a lot as a kid.”

She was still lacing her boots when she nodded. “Yes, but when I lost one, I always had another. Even after my grandma died, I had Gretchen and Tony. I was very lucky. So lucky, they loved me. Otherwise, I would have ended up in foster care. There was no one else.”

She was lucky. He agreed wholeheartedly, having known many a kid from foster care. Most of them ended up on drugs, or in trouble, or working for him, or sleeping with him. So yeah, she was lucky. But then, the thought of Olivia becoming like the girls he knew, who sucked off strangers, or were strung out on shit, made him want to grab her again. She was meant for so much more. There was no reason for the delicate, fragile, strong spirit of Olivia to suffer. He stared at the two people who took her in. They must have seen what he saw in her. The woman was crazy hot for an old chick. The man, almost fierce-looking as he glared into the camera, his missing arm making him all the more intimidating. He’d hate to meet him anywhere. He looked confrontational, which Derek wasn’t. He fled or hid to avoid any altercation at all costs.

And that always included his emotions, or girls. So why was he still there, getting all entangled with Olivia? He started to turn back and say, “See ya, I got better things to do,” but Olivia was standing by then. She stepped forward, taking his hand before he could speak. He stared at their clasped hands. They were nearly the same size. Hers were just slightly smaller than his. His dark skin looked much darker against her alabaster complexion. She smiled, and he knew her timidity was back. Her gaze wavered as she met his scowl. He was a breath away from shoving her off. Doing the right thing. Running away. Like always. Like he should have. To save the girl from him. But when he saw how timid she became with him, he didn’t want her to feel that way. His hand tightened around hers and she grinned and led him out of her dorm room.

They spent the entire day together. Derek didn’t expect to like it, but he actually loved every moment of it. He’d never spent a whole day with another person. Not like that. He literally had no friends. Or girlfriends. He had no one, but Max. And Max and he didn’t have a great relationship. It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t fun. It was the first fun day Derek Salazar could ever remember spending. They did nothing really, and yet, it was better than any of the days when he did serious or intense, scary stuff. They ate breakfast out, and later, had lunch at her school. She was funny and talked a lot. When she wasn’t quiet and serious, she became kind of goofy and strange. He found himself lying around in her dorm room, fully content while she played her flute. Closing his eyes, his thoughts began drifting all around as he relaxed, listening to her. He almost bolted off the bed with a,
what the fuck
? and left. But he didn’t. He lay there for a long while and just listened to her play. Today’s music was what he expected to hear the other night. It was formal with soft, classical tunes that were nearly a foreign language to him. Her fingers flew when she played her sections. It was like a mini, private concert. She glanced at him frequently at first, as he’d been watching her, and her ragged nerves were obvious. But at some point, she managed to lose herself in her music. She seemed to forget his presence and he lay down on her bed and let the melodious hours pass.

When she finally stopped, her dorm room was strangely quiet. His eyes were closed and he might have dozed off. When the crap did he ever nap during the afternoon? Never. Nor had he ever felt so relaxed either. It was like their own private world, and so small, and secluded and unreal. It was so unlike the rest of his life or any reality he’d ever been a part of. He barely lifted his eyelids to peek at her. She flittered around instantly, clearly ill at ease. The well-spoken, accomplished woman of a few hours ago, vanished once again and the young, naïve, sheltered, little schoolgirl returned. She was fascinating. For a guy who never befriended either type of girl, she was completely intriguing.

Clicking a small desk lamp on, she turned the overhead light off as she started her music. It wasn’t hers, but regular pop melodies that played low and filled the small room. She finally sat down on her bed; there was nowhere else to sit but in her office chair. She crossed her legs under her. Derek quit pretending to sleep and opened his eyes. She visibly swallowed as she stared hard at him. Daylight was fading fast. Her long hair fanned around her back and shoulders before landing on her chest. Her black, skinny jeans were the focus of her attention as she picked at the hem near her ankle.

She felt nervous and scared and terrified to have him there. He determined all of that in the swift glance she gave him. He moved to the edge of her bed and could have sworn he heard her breath catch. Her body was tense and her face downcast. She only did that with him. He knew her well enough to know that Olivia Lindstrom didn’t drop her head with anyone else. She was nothing less than fearless with adults, professors, friends, and the people she played her music for. There was never a trace of shyness or insecurity. That only happened with him.

Yeah, he liked it. He liked how he affected her. He made her uneasy because she didn’t know how to react to him. She couldn’t control it. That was the only time he was her equal; and it was the only thing he could outdo her in.

He turned so he was facing her and touched his hand to her neck. Tilting her head forward so her face was near his, he leaned in and barely touched his lips to hers. He looked deeply into those odd, limpid blue eyes of hers. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she barely gasped out. Her voice was gone. She stared, nearly bug-eyed, at him, which would have been humorous with anyone else, but Olivia. Her eagerness, and unsure demeanor twisted his heart and made him feel like he’d been handed a precious gem. He had: her trust.

He pulled her forward and fit his mouth over hers as she moved her head so their lips had more freedom. He slid his hands down her thin back. She was such a skinny girl. Anyone could control her. He could feel the vertebrae of her spine as he ran his fingertips along them. She arched into his hands until both of them encircled her waist. He continued kissing her to keep her distracted, gathering the hem of her shirt in his hands. He finally leaned back to slowly slide up the material. Her eyes were luminous and fixed on his. She swallowed and drew in a breath. But she let him proceed. Lifting her long, slender arms over her head, she let him slide her shirt off. Her collarbone protruded beneath her white, soft skin. Her bra was also white and had lace along the edges.
Sweet and innocent.
He slid his hands down the center of her chest, between her breasts. Her neck vibrated as she gulped. He gently slid his hands toward her back and found the clasp of her bra. He undid it, while keeping his gaze pinned on her eyes. He was watching for signs she wanted him to stop, or was ready to freak out.

She stared back, unsmiling. Her obviously frayed nerves became apparent in her rapid breaths. The bra slid off and he pulled the straps down her arms, grazing his fingertips softly over her skin. She was so small. Her breasts were just bare mounds with a cap of nipple. She didn’t hide or cover or apologize. She observed him watching her.

He leaned forward and touched his tongue to one nipple. She gasped at the contact and her hands tousled his hair. He closed his eyes and made her emit soft, little moans. He laid a hand over her other breast and could hear her heart pounding hard. She was very turned on. Or was she scared? He couldn’t tell for sure.

Then her hands slid down his torso and stopped at the hem of his shirt. Surprised, he leaned back far enough to let her lift his shirt off him. He shivered when her hands slid over his chest. She dropped the shirt and her eyes beheld him. She put a hand out and touched his chest as she glanced up into his eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”

She wasn’t kidding. Or flirting. Her eyes were deep and dark and serious. His heart filled with something he never experienced. What was it? Tenderness? Maybe. But it filled him with deep tenderness because of her honesty. Her surprising forwardness. Her soft, light touch. When was anything in his life ever soft? He wasn’t beautiful. He was short, compact, and lean. He never worked out much and didn't eat regularly enough to beef up. His skin was dark and clear.

Her eyes sought his again. It was odd. He was doing something to her, but she kept looking to him for reassurance. No one ever needed his reassurance before, so he was unsure how to deal with it. However, it filled his chest with a strong urge to pull her forward and protect her from every evil he knew lurked in the night, and every abusive and profane influence that characterized his life. Strongest of all was his urge to protect her from
him.

Having been selfish for his entire life, naturally, he intended to be selfish again. He didn’t want to stop, so why should he? However, he couldn’t make himself walk away from her like he knew he really should. And now, not later. But in his gut, he decided to take whatever she offered to give him. It’s not like he was a good guy. After all, good guys don’t deal drugs for a living.