Author: Cheryl McIntyre

“Mason?”

“Yeah?” He pivots on his heel and gazes up at me.

“Are you on facebook? Or Skype? Have a Twitter maybe?” He laughs and rubs his fingers along the back of his neck.

“I have a facebook account. Send me a friend request.” He starts walking away and then stops again, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I’ll sign up for Skype, and video chat, and anything else that allows me to see those blue eyes of yours.” He calls for Kellin and heads for the car waving to me before he climbs in.

I’m still standing on the porch, my cheeks hurting from smiling so much, long after he drives away.

I’m on dish duty. I’ve been on dish duty every night since I kicked Christian in the nuts. Annie comes home from cheerleading practice and starts rinsing dishes as I unload the dishwasher. She doesn’t say anything and neither do I. This has become our routine for the past three days. She helps out with the extra chores I was assigned as part of my punishment and then we avoid each other as much as possible.

I know she’s afraid I’ll ask her what happened between her and Christian. I also know she isn’t ready to talk about it. Honestly, I have no intentions of going there. Nothing would make me happier than if we never discussed it. Her situation brings up too many memories of my past. Memories best forgotten.

With the dishwasher now empty, I move out of the way and wipe down the counters as she refills it. I wish I had my iPod. Some heavy, angry music blaring in my ear drums would be great about now. Just having Annie this close makes the urge to cut flare inside me. It’s like an itch that no matter how many times I scratch and dig at it, it just won’t stop tingling until I’m raw and bloody. It may settle down for a while, but it never actually stops prickling and crawling below the surface. Just waiting to flare up and grab hold of my sanity again.

I throw the rag in the sink and practically run to Guy’s room. A low guitar melody drifts through the partly opened door. He’s had this piece of music ready for awhile, waiting for me to put lyrics to it. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find the right words to match the soft, sweet notes. No matter how much Guy pushes for a love ballad for the band, I’m incapable of contributing.

I’m not going to lie; I have a shit load of love songs in my playlist. I know them by heart and sing along with them often. But to write about something I know nothing about? Impossible. Don’t get me wrong, I love my foster family. Guy’s more than a cousin to me. He’s my best friend. I love him deeply. I also love my friends, few as there may be. I even love my car. But who wants to listen to a song about how devoted we are to possessions or our friends and the people we’re ingrained to love due to our DNA or living arrangements?

Guy insists love is love. The emotion is the same even if the receiver isn’t, but I’m not convinced. If I’m not convinced, I’m not inspired.

I tap my finger nails on the door and hear Guy’s hesitation on the next measure. “Enter,” he calls.

Pushing the door open, I shuffle in. He must read something on my face because he leans his guitar against the side of the bed and opens his arms to me. Accepting the offer, I snuggle into him and lay my head on his chest.

Guy runs his fingers through my hair, but doesn’t say anything for a long time. The sound of his heart beating steadily mixed with the slow rhythm of his breathing calms me.

“You want to talk about it?”

I shake my head against his shirt.

“I think he’s in love with you,” Guy murmurs. “I think you could love him too. Don’t be scared of him.” I wonder if Guy is trying to distract me or if he thinks the Mason thing is what is bothering me.

“He’s not in love with me,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering, but I can’t stop. “He told me he likes me, though.” I swallow and take a deep breath. “I do like him, Guy, and it does scare me. He scares me. But I’m not losing my shit yet.” Guy’s hand stills in my hair. I shrug. “I almost feel normal when I’m with him.”

I feel his chest rise when he inhales a long breath. “I think he’ll be good for you. You’re happy when he’s around. You smile, and you laugh a lot.” His fingers brush through my hair again. The gesture relaxing. “I’ll help you. When you start to freak out.”

I nod.

“And I’ll talk to Park.”

I feel my eyebrows draw together as I shake my head. “Park’s not my boyfriend. He’ll be fine,” I say.

Guy laughs. My head bounces with the movement of his torso. “It’s a damn good thing you’re so pretty, honey, because sometimes, you are really quite stupid.”

Chapter 9

Mason

Mom kisses the top of my head and touches my cheek. “Love you, Mace.”

“Love you too.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she says at the door. “Straight home tomorrow. Afternoon girl quit and I picked up her hours. I have to pull a twelve hour shift, but it should be good money.” She shuts the door and I slump forward in my chair, letting my forehead hit the table. Damn it.

Well, tomorrow is going to blow. I pull my phone out for the twentieth time since I’ve been home. Why wasn’t I smart enough to call myself from Hope’s phone? I know the answer to that question. I was distracted, wondering what she was going to name me in her contacts. I am easily distracted by her all the time.

I can’t believe I’m going to have to go a day without seeing her.

I check my phone again and throw it on the table. And then I remember she was supposed to send me a friend request. I start up the ancient computer in the living room and wait for it to load. My knee bounces up and down and my fingers tap against the desk.

When I’m finally signed in, my stomach muscles clench. I click on the friend request and there she is. It’s a picture of her and Guy. Her arm is around his waist, his is around her shoulders. Their shadows stretch out in front of them. Hope’s looking off to the right. She isn’t smiling like Guy is, but she doesn’t look sad. Preoccupied, maybe. I wonder what she saw when this picture was taken. What was off camera that caught her interest? And now I’m wondering who took the picture. Is it weird that I’m jealous it might have been Park? Never mind. I know it’s weird. This girl is turning me into a lunatic.

Obviously I don’t mind being a basket case because I click the confirm button and start checking out her page. I don’t realize she’s online until I get the I.M.

I WAS GETTING READY TO NICKNAME YOU LYING BASTARD WHEN I REALIZED I NEVER GAVE YOU MY NUMBER.

I laugh as I type. UH, YEAH. THAT OCCURRED TO ME AS WELL WHEN I WENT TO CALL YOU.

My phone starts vibrating across the table and I’m thinking about ignoring it when I get a reply.

ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

I jump up and hurdle over the back of the couch. I snatch my phone up and attempt to pretend I’m not trying to catch my breath.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m a little concerned about your lack of male companionship,” Hope says. “I mean, it would appear Guy is your only same sex friend, and he’s gay, as you know. Although he is a masculine gay, you should at least have a couple more male friends. Oh, wait, there’s one. Oh, no...that’s a girl. She should consider waxing the mustache.”

I’m grinning at the wall. “Is that a note of jealousy I detect in your voice?”

“I was going to stick with concern, but...do you really know all of these girls? It says you have over eleven hundred friends. According to your profile, you’re only eighteen. How could you possibly know this many people?”

“Yours says you have three hundred and eight friends. Which mostly appear to be guys, by the way. Do you know all these people?”

“Most of them follow my blog or added me after a show. I actually only know maybe twenty of them.”

“We’ve moved a few times in the last five years, so I’ve been to a few schools. That’s how I know them. But I don’t really know them. They aren’t really my friends. It’s not like I can really talk to them. Not like I talk to—you.”

“Why?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“But why me?” Her voice is low, nearly a whisper, and I have a hard time swallowing.

“I don’t know,” I say again. I don’t want to scare her away. I can’t tell her that I feel good when I’m with her. Or that she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. Or how she makes me feel things I’m not used to feeling. So I say the only truth that I don’t think will terrify her. “You’re special.”

She makes a noise and I have no idea what it means. My palms are sweating. The girl even makes me nervous on the phone.

“What are you going to name me on your phone?” she asks. It doesn’t get by me that she changed the subject. I don’t know what that means either, but I go with it.

“No way. I’m not telling you until you tell me what you named me,” I protest.

“I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Shit. “I can’t come over tomorrow. Mom has to work a double. I won’t see you until Friday. If I can come over Friday, that is.”

“Yeah, you can come over Friday. And we’re having a party Saturday night if you want to come. It’s for Alec’s birthday. There’s going to be a ton of family and Alec’s friends, so it might not be much fun for you, but having you there will make the experience more enjoyable for me.” She clicks her tongue. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

I put my hand over my mouth because I want to laugh with joy, really freaking loudly. I can’t believe she just said that either, but for a much different reason. Hell, yeah! Hope is into me. “I’m glad you did.”

“Let’s pretend I didn’t.”

“Why?” I ask.

She sighs and it sends a chill down my spine. I wish I could see her expression. I start clicking through her pictures just to see her face.

“It’s embarrassing. I don’t usually say stuff like that,” she explains.

“You’re embarrassed? Well what if I told you something humiliating about me? Would that make you feel better?”

I can hear the smile in her voice when she talks. “I don’t know. I guess we can give it a try.”

I chuckle. “All right. Um...okay, I buy my mom’s tampons on a regular basis.”

She laughs, but says, “That’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet in a weird way.”

“Trust me, it’s embarrassing. I’m a guy and she’s my mom,” I explain.

“Hmm. That’s it? It doesn’t make me feel better.”

I suck on my bottom lip. “All right. When I was eleven, I went to my neighbor’s pool party and her brother pants’d me in front of everyone while I was on the diving board.”

She laughs, making me laugh at myself. “It’s not funny,” I announce. “The water was cold. It was very unflattering. I still have issues. If I even smell chlorine I tighten my belt.”

“What else?”

“You want more? No way.”

“Fine, but you’re going into my phone as Pantsless the Boy Wonder,” she says.

“That’s just wrong,” I mutter. “I’ll tell you one more if you tell me one of yours.”

She’s quiet for a moment, so I wait patiently for her response.

“Okay. One,” she agrees. “Then you give me one more.”

“Promise.”

“Ugh. I can’t believe I’m going to actually tell you this. You can never, ever repeat this. Ever. Not even to me. As long as you live.”