12. Alice
12
Alice
I will never ever get used to this. It’s like this dumb ol’ dress and my giraffe are just lumps to bug me on top of my quilt and this tiled floor. How is it that I added more padding and my makeshift bed is worse than before?
It’s like instead of sleeping on a quilt on the hard ground, I’m now sleeping on a quilt on the hard ground that includes rocks, lumps, and maybe a few land mines.
I’ve slept in twenty-minute increments for a second week now, besides my one night in Will’s guest room. His standing offer looms in the back of my mind. Tonight, I have a whopping zero minutes beneath my belt. I thought for sure I would be so exhausted that the giraffe and the dress would feel like down pillows and memory foam cushioning for once.
I was wrong.
Aren’t I supposed to be young and indestructible?
Clearly not.
I roll to my other side for the eighty-seventh time and blink at the clock. Two in the morning. Two. I laid down two hours ago, but sleep won’t come. Maybe I should have tried going to bed sooner, but I was working. The more I research soccer teams—professional and college—the more I know I’m right about the team’s name. Reno-Tesoro Red-Tails . It sounds right. And it’ll make a great logo. I spent half the night sketching out different ideas on my iPad.
I found this website where I can make T-shirts, hats, even a flag—soccer fans love their team flags. I sent my simple designs to Chase, a buddy from my graphic design class, and he might have turned them into amazing logos. Yes, I know, I’m jumping ahead of the team. I couldn’t help it!
I also might have ordered a few things... I couldn’t help that either. I needed to see them on something. And I want Billy to see something more concrete. Of course, it all went on the credit card I’m trying very hard not to use, but I’ll pay it off in two weeks—as soon as that first check comes.
Yep, I’m buying soccer merch using a logo that may never exist, food, and possibly a couch. I could sleep and sit on a couch. Oh, and of course, I’ll need to pay the monthly fee for Mom’s storage unit.
I lift my gaze to the clock once more. Two sixteen.
Ugh.
My back hurts. My head hurts. My eyes hurt, but that’s not due to the hard floor beneath me.
Can I do this for two more weeks?
What would Lula say? … the nice guy across the hall wants to loan you his bed. NO brAINER .
She’s nineteen… should I really be taking advice from her?
She’s lived on her own longer than me. So maybe I should take Lula’s imaginary advice.
My giraffe’s hard button nose stabs me like a knife in the middle of my back before I can answer my own question.
So—yep. I think I will listen to make-believe Lula.
I pick up Gerald the giraffe and hug him about the middle. I don’t bother changing—I’m in cutoff sweats and a tank top, nothing too revealing. I tiptoe out my door and over to Will’s.
I tap on the front of his door, knowing I am making little to no sound.
I’m going to have to knock. Again. And loudly, if I want any rest tonight.
I lift my fist, but Will’s door swings open. Almost as if he’d been waiting for me.
“You heard that?” I say.
“Ah—yeah. I’ve been working in the living room.” His eyes drag from the messy bun on top of my head to my bare pink toes. “Did you change your mind about the bed?”
“Um—yeah. Maybe . If it’s okay.”
“Of course. My back hurts thinking about you over there asleep on the ground?—”
“On Gerald.”
Will’s brow furrows.
“The giraffe,” I say, lifting my childhood stuffed animal. The one Coco bought me at the Denver Zoo twenty years ago.
“Oh. Right. I knew that.” He shakes his head, his brows still lowered menacingly.
A small chuckle escapes my delirious, exhausted lips. “No, you didn’t.”
Will huffs out a laugh with me. “No, I didn’t.”
I nibble on my cheek and look at him. I size up the man. His gray sleeveless tee shows off his toned arms, and unlike the day I knocked on his door and caught him wet and shirtless, I study them. Defined muscles, lean and beautiful, make up the entirety of his limb, shoulder to finger.
“Come on in,” he says, turning and giving me a better glimpse of the ink on his upper left arm.
I swallow, my head tilting, following that arm, attempting to get a better view until I almost fall over. I straighten myself up and tell my feet to move.
He’s walking me down the hall one last time—because it MUST be the last—and then, this opportunity, it’ll be gone.
“You have a tattoo,” I blurt just before we reach the door to my room… is it presumptuous to call it my room? I’m guessing no one else has slept here. And while this is for sure my last night, I’ve grown attached. Calming gray walls. Comfy queen-sized bed. That desk in the corner that looks older than Will.
“I do,” Will says, concerning the tattoo I just asked about. That’s it. Nothing more. He’s not even offering to show it to me.
Bummer.
I twist my lips and hold back a yawn. “Your arms are very muscular.”
A grin plays on his lips. “Thank you.”
I lift one shoulder. “Just an observation. When do you work out?”
“My third bedroom is a weight room.”
“You have a third bedroom?” I bark. “Not that I need a third bedroom. Or even a second. I don’t have visitors, beds, or weight equipment.”
Will snickers, reaching past me and opening the bedroom door for me. The scent of fresh linen fills my senses. That’s another thing I like about my room—the one that isn’t really my room: it smells great, like dryer sheets and warm blankets. I blink and peer at the arm and shoulder that just reached over me.
“So, what is it?” I ask. “I saw a bird…” Okay, I saw two birds and a heart… but I want permission for a better look at the thing. “Your ink?” I say, and the words don’t sound quite right in my mouth. Was I shooting for cool? Or slang?
I fail at both.
“My ink ,” he says, and I’m pretty sure he’s making fun of me, “is just a nature scene.”
I cinch my brows. Liar . It’s clearly more than that. Dropping Gerald to the ground, I wrap my fingers around his forearm. “Can I look?”
Will’s throat bobs with a swallow, his gray-blue eyes locking on mine.
“Your shirts always cover it.”
He turns his body, his left shoulder facing me, his head turned and bent, eyes still on me. His arm slips through my hold, and my hands drop to my sides. My gaze locks on his black ink. There’s a wide heart with a looping tail where two birds perch, their heads together.
Are Will Henley and I the kind of friends that touch each other’s tattoos? Because I’d kind of like to trace it. I am sleeping in his guest bed. We shopped together once. I told him about my parents…
I ball my fingers into fists at my side and tell myself to keep my hands to myself.
Only my hands do not listen. I’m not even sure what happens, but my right pointer traces the heart down to the tail’s end.
“When did you get it?” I ask.
“A long time ago.” His voice is low and gravelly.
“How old are you, Will Henley?” I lift my eyes to his.
He swallows. “I’m thirty.”
I squint, watching him. “So, a long time ago means…”
“Twelve years,” he says. His eyes drop, peeking down at his own tattoo. The one that I still hold in my hands. Warm, minty breath mixes in with the fresh linen of his shirt.
“Why did you get it?”
Will’s gray-blue eyes stare down at me. “There has to be a reason?”
“Yes. You’re athletic and muscular and, well, it’s kind of feminine, isn’t it?”
“ Hey ,” he says, trying to move away from me.
I snatch both my hands around his bicep. “That wasn’t an insult. I like it.” I drop my eyes to the birds once more—their heads together as if they’re in love. “A lot. But it’s not a skull, or a snake, or even a soccer ball. I wouldn’t ask why if it were any of those things. This tattoo has a purpose.” I am certain.
Will swallows and wraps his right hand over the one I’ve wrapped around his arm. “It does. You’re right.”
When he doesn’t explain right away, I pinch my lips shut. I don’t want to speak and spoil this moment. I want to know what it means.
Will clears his throat. “It’s for my parents. They passed away several years ago.”
I gasp, taking one hand from his arm and covering my mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay, Alice,” he says. “It was a long time ago.”
“The other night, I went on and on about living in a different world than you. Sure, my mom is difficult, but she loves me. I have three living parents who love me, and you—” But I can’t finish that sentence.
“That’s different. We were talking about different worlds financially.”
“I guess no one’s living in the same world. We all have our struggles.”
Will nods. “I think you’re right. You might always be right, Alice Taylor.”
My cheeks bloom with warmth. I step into the dark bedroom where the most comfortable bed I’ve lain in seven years awaits. “Not always right.” I turn back to Will.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Maybe you should tell Billy that. If I’m always right, then Red Tails is the right way to go. Decision made.”
Will’s mouth parts in a grin and a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I’ll let him know.”