Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Three weeks. That’s how long it’s been since graduation and since Esme and I had that awkward-as-hell conversation about what I’d overheard—that Victor apparently had a thing for me back in the day. I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster ever since, feeling everything from anger and regret to relief and confusion, especially when it comes to figuring out how to act around Victor and Esme. I’ve managed to steer clear of Victor, but avoiding Esme is impossible since we’re roommates. They’ve probably both moved on from the whole secret-spilling drama—it seems as if Esme has—but me? I’m still struggling to let it go.
But now, I don’t have a choice. I can’t dodge him any longer, not when I’m about to crash at his place for the night.
The spa appointment with Isabella’s mom and sisters ran longer than expected, so I’ve been sitting in my car outside Victor’s loft for half an hour, waiting for her text. Mrs. James invited me to tag along, but I had to decline because of my shift at Posh. Meeting up with Victor’s mom before Esme could meet her didn’t seem appropriate either.
Isabella
We’re almost finished here. Where are you?
Me
Still in my car.
I crank up my air-conditioning, acutely aware of the fuel I’m burning by letting my car idle for thirty minutes. But the alternative is melting into my leather seats.
Isabella
What? In this heat? Oh, hell no. One sec.
Switching out of my messages app, I pull up the e-book I was reading before receiving her text. After a refreshing sip of my iced coffee, I dive back into my reading.
Isabella
Victor’s home. Wait for me inside.
I already knew he was home. I parked a few spots down from his car. Waiting for Isabella in my car seemed like a better idea.
Me
What time will you get here?
Isabella
It takes twenty minutes to get home. And we’re leaving soon.
Me
Okay. Hurry up.
Isabella
Pretty promise I will. And I told Victor to make you a strawberry daiquiri. I bought all the ingredients this morning. Okay, byee!
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my hand hovering near Victor’s front door, poised to knock. Come on, you can do this. Just leave it all in the past—no more ghosts of unsaid stuff or old feelings creeping into now. I take a deep breath and rap my knuckles against the door, hoping I can keep that promise to myself. But that hope pretty much nosedives when Victor swings the door open. There’s this weird charge in the air, like we’re both suddenly super aware of each other, and it’s all kinds of awkward.
“What’s up?” he says, stepping aside to let me into his gloriously air-conditioned loft. Just as Esme had described, his place is a perfect blend of concrete, brick, steel, and dark wood, giving off a masculine vibe. His bedroom is on the second level, visible behind a steel railing.
“Hey.” Walking past him, I catch a whiff of his clean scent, a tantalizing blend of soap and something uniquely Victor that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Long time, no see.”
“I’ve been staying over at Ian’s a lot. How was your Fourth of July?”
“It was all right. Hung out with some friends.”
“Cool.”
He studies me for a moment, squinting his piercing blue eyes. “You look…different.” Before I can answer, he cuts in with his observation. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”
My hand instinctively goes up to my face, self-consciously rubbing where my frames usually sit on my nose. “I thought I’d try contacts, but I’m not a fan yet.”
“I like the glasses. They make you look smart.”
“ Look smart?”
He chuckles. “You are smart. One of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”
A swarm of butterflies flutters in my belly. “That’s quite the compliment. Thank you.”
He started going on and on about how pretty and smart you were back in high school, and how you were still fucking stunning in all your IG pictures.
The air between us seems to shift, charged with unspoken feelings and memories. But as quickly as the tension builds, it dissipates, his expression turning guarded and distant. “You can drop your bag by the door, or I can show you to Izzy’s room.”
“I see she’s made herself at home, then?” I remark, trying to regain some of the playful banter we had before.
His face softens with a smile he can’t hide. “Something like that.”
“You can show me to her room.” I follow after him, dropping my bag at her door and wondering what now as we stand just inside the doorway. Do I stay in here? Or?—
“She told me to get you started early on the daiquiris,” he says, answering my unasked question. Daiquiri it is . I could use a little buzz to help me chill.
“Show me where everything is, and I’ll make it myself.”
“Even better, because I have no fucking idea how to make a strawberry daiquiri.”
I chuckle. “Didn’t think so. You don’t seem like the daiquiri type. You’re a scotch man, right?”
He cocks his head to the side. “How did you know?”
“Esme told me.” She did not. It’s just one of those things I picked up on during my crushing years.
He lifts his backward Houston Astros baseball cap from his head and runs a hand through his luscious dark hair before shoving it back on. “Scotch is still my poison. But I don’t drink it as much as I used to. It’s gotten me into a lot of shit.”
“Like streaking the football field for homecoming.”
He tosses his head back in laughter, and the sound sends a thrill through me. “Shit. You remember that?”
“Doesn’t everyone from Covington remember that?”
“Were you there?”
“No.” Unfortunately. I would’ve loved to see naked Victor live and in color. “But there were videos.”
“Yeah.” He sighs, a mild cringe crossing his face. “There were. And no, I was one hundred percent sober for that stunt.”
“Do I sense a bit of regret?” My chin rises in a challenging gesture.
“I regret a lot of things, Skylar. But that’s not one of them.”
We lock eyes, and it’s as if we’re stuck in this moment, neither of us having the willpower to look away.
My phone goes off in my pocket, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the interruption. “It’s probably Isabella.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen.” He rushes out of the room as if he can’t get away from whatever that was fast enough.
Isabella: Leaving in about fifteen.
Leaving in fifteen? She is killing me.
I’m in love—with Victor’s blender. Seriously. I want one. I’ve seen it advertised in one of those infomercial commercials on QVC. For just ten payments of $29.99, it can be yours too. “Did you buy this blender online?” I ask, pouring the blended contents into my cutesy cocktail glass—courtesy of Isabella’s shopping trip to Target.
After Victor pulled out all the ingredients and supplies I needed for my daiquiris, he made himself comfortable on one of the stools at his kitchen island. “It was a housewarming gift from my mother. She’s obsessed with those QVC infomercials.”
I gasp. “Me too!” My enthusiasm causes him to chuckle. “Are you and your mom close?” I shake the can of whipped cream before adding a dollop on top of my daiquiri.
“We are.”
“I love that.” Taking a sip of my deliciously crafted drink, I beam with pride at my bartending skills.
“Were you close to your mom?” He knows she’s no longer with us, but I’m unsure how much he knows.
“I’m a daddy’s girl.” I grab one of the empty daiquiri glasses. “Want some?” There’s enough in the blender to fill half a glass. When Isabella gets home, I’ll make plenty more for us.
His face hints of distaste, suggesting he’s about to refuse my drink for being too feminine. But then he shrugs, surprising me. “Why the hell not?”
“Whipped cream?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” I pour his glass, noticing how we skillfully avoid touching each other’s fingers when I give it to him.
I watch him with eagle-eyed focus as the frozen daiquiri slides down his throat. I expected him to take only a sip, but he downs the entire thing. “That’s goddamn delicious.”
I giggle, his response tickling me. “Told ya.”
He tips his glass back again, trying to get the last few droplets of strawberry slush.
“I can make you another one.” It seemed like a good idea in my head, but when the words come out and his demeanor tenses, I wish I could take it back.
“It’s, uh?—”
“It’s okay if you don’t?—”
“No, it’s…it’s fine. I’ll have another.”
“Sure?” A part of me wants him to say no, and a part of me wants him to say yes.
“I’m sure. I’ll even help.” He cracks his knuckles and pulls up his sleeves, revealing all that tattooed flesh.
“All right, then. Let’s do it.”
Leaving in fifteen, my ass.
I don’t know what time it is, but if Isabella had left in fifteen minutes, she’d be home by now. Not that I particularly mind. For the first time in months, Victor and I have coexisted in the same space without one of us getting on the other’s nerves. It could be the daiquiris—we’ve had two each now—but my anxiety is long gone.
Neither Victor nor I have addressed the conversation I overheard from my bedroom. We’ve talked baseball—we’re both huge Astros fans—high school, his dreams of opening his own shop, and why I want to become a social worker. He listens without judgment or shock when I talk about my parents. And I listen attentively when he talks about his relationship with his stepbrother and how one of Quentin’s best friends, Conner Brathwaite—the heir to Brathwaite Hotels—helped them mend their relationship.
“Where have you been all week?” he asks, rolling the stem of his cocktail glass between his fingers.
My hair falls around my shoulders as I release it from its claw comb and massage my scalp. “At Ian’s.” I close my eyes as a yawn escapes me. When I open them, he’s watching me, his gaze indecipherable.
He wets his lips before darting his gaze away. “So you and Esme are okay?”
“We’re fine. What about you guys?”
“She says we’re good, but I’m not buying it. I hurt her, and I’m unsure how to fix it while still being honest.”
“Vulnerability doesn’t come easy for Esme. Even if she’s hurting or angry, you have to read between the lines to decipher what she’s not saying.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“You care about her, don’t you?”
“I do. We have fun together.”
I roll my eyes with a smirk. “Yeah, I know.”
“Not just that. She’s beautiful and spontaneous, and she accepts me for who I am.”
Why wouldn’t she? You’re perfect. “What do you mean?”
The corner of his lips twitches. “I can be a lot.”
I wet my lips. He’s not too much. He’s everything. But he’s also Esme’s . “Then it’s worth the work. And you can’t blame her for being guarded after all that was said.” Or not said.
“When we first got together, we agreed to have fun. I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I’m still not, and she knows that. I’ve told her.”
“Things change, Victor. People change, and feelings change. It sounds like you two still have some things to talk about.”
“But that’s the thing. She won’t talk to me.”
I furrow my brow. “I thought you talked all last weekend.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Nah. She won’t talk about it—not even the stuff she said about you and me.”
I clear my throat, my gaze drifting around the room. “She said she knows you’re over me, and she knows I’m over you. So?—”
“Over me? You were into me?”
My breath catches in my throat as a perplexed expression crosses his features. The confusion. The shock. And something else I can’t place. Anger? No. Maybe heat? No way.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
He didn’t know. Esme never told him I used to be in love with him.
A knot forms in my stomach, and I rest my elbows on the counter, pressing my wrists against my forehead. “You didn’t know.” My eyes squeeze shut.
“When?” His voice is raw, mirroring the emotion in his eyes when I finally dare to meet them.
I take a deep breath and tuck my hair behind my ears, a nervous habit I thought I had outgrown. “Junior and senior year, mainly.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Mainly?”
“Maybe a little longer?”
He takes his hat off again, tossing it aside before stabbing a hand through his hair. “I had no fucking idea.”
“That was the plan.” The laughter on my lips falls away at the pained look on his face.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Is he for real? “Why didn’t you ?”
He darts that tongue out again, wetting his bottom lip. “I wasn’t…” He sighs, shaking his head. “I thought I had time.”
My heart squeezes in a vise grip.
“But I guess…I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“No. I wasn’t it,” I say, returning his sad smile.
The front door opens suddenly, snapping my and Victor’s attention away from each other to Isabella, who barges through, apologizing profusely.