12. Chapter Twelve Theo
Chapter Twelve: Theo
“ T hese are straight from Milan,” Eric boasts, holding out the tin of Italian cigars for the guys to take one if they’d like. “They’re the best you can possibly get, I swear.”
With a smile that looks somewhat forced, Elijah takes one—probably just to be polite. “When did you go to Italy?”
Eric laughs. “I didn’t. I order these from a special website. I’ll send you the link.”
“Oh… thanks.”
Elijah frowns down at the cigar. Even for recreational purposes, or masculine bravado, I know that Elijah doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t do much of anything at all in that regard, except enjoy a good bottle of whiskey. And even though I don’t like to boast, I know nothing can top the fresh bottle of Macallan I brought to the party. If that’s what you can call this get-together. It’s more like seven of us guys, most of us Caltech alumni, gathered around the fire pit in Elijah’s backyard.
I haven’t participated in the conversation much, but that’s normal for me. None of the guys I knew from college pressure me to offer my two cents on whatever it is they’re inclined to talk about at this extremely low-key bachelor kickback. I’m grateful for it.
Eric offers me the tin. I shake my head, hoping to politely decline without offering an excuse.
“Come on, live a little,” Eric says.
For some reason, I really don’t like this guy. It’s not that he’s rude or impolite or boisterous. He’s good-looking, well-mannered, and generally friendly. Objectively, I can acknowledge that.
Despite that, he annoys me. I keep thinking about the way he was constantly gravitating toward Lucy at the barbecue yesterday, and the way he so casually and comfortably touched the sleeve of her dress. He’s one of those guys who can match her energy, with all his charm and charisma and chattiness. He makes people laugh with no effort at all, and he never seems to struggle with words.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stand him. Because I’m jealous of him.
Not because of the Lucy stuff.
Just… the other stuff. The social skills.
Then again, I’ve always known that I could overcome my introversion if I really wanted to. It’s not like I’m stuck in my ways. I could learn how to fake it well enough, at least. I’ve just never wanted to. I’m content with who I am.
And who I am is the complete opposite of Lucy. The complete opposite of Eric, too.
Which is why, once again, they’re clearly very suited for each other.
Good.
Fine.
Whatever.
I don’t care. Really.
“No, thank you,” I tell Eric firmly.
Unbothered, he simply shrugs his shoulders and settles back in the lawn chair to take a puff of his fancy imported cigar.
I take a sip of whiskey and subtly check my watch. It’s half past eight. The sun has only barely just set. I haven’t been here for that long. I probably can’t reasonably duck out of here for another hour or so.
But it’s not about me, anyway. Tomorrow is Elijah’s big day. I may have been present at his first wedding, but I’ve never seen him this excited and jittery and… joyful . The man is practically glowing. And after the hard times that he’s been through, I truly am happy for him. If anyone deserves to live happily ever after with their soulmate, it has to be Elijah. He’s a good guy, through and through.
Therefore, I can stop whining about my own aversion to socializing for one night and take this last opportunity to celebrate my friend’s happiness.
Elijah is still looking at the unlit cigar, probably wondering how he can politely avoid smoking it. I don’t know the specifics of his friendship with Eric, but I think I did hear Harry mention that he’s some kind of long-lost cousin that Elijah hasn’t seen in years. Or something like that. Elijah obviously doesn’t want to offend him.
I catch Harry’s eye and, somehow, from one single look, I can tell that he’s also picking up on Elijah’s hesitation around Eric. His personal assistant instincts still haven’t died, even though it’s been over a year since Elijah’s lived and worked in San Francisco as his boss.
“Here, man, I’ll toss you my lighter,” Eric says when he notices Elijah’s predicament.
The bright blue lighter goes flying through the dark evening sky, soaring over the fire pit, but Elijah is a computer engineer, not an athlete. I hold back a chuckle as he stares at the approaching object for a moment too long, and then is too slow to raise his hand and catch it.
With a soft thump, it lands in the dewy grass at his feet.
“Sorry about that, man,” Eric says.
“S’my fault,” Elijah replies.
He bends down to grab it, but then something else small and colorful comes sailing out of the shadows. Beside me, Akim sits up straight with surprise at the sight of the strange, balloon-ish object.
It smacks right into the top of Elijah’s head as he’s bent forward. I feel a few droplets of water land on my forearm, note the weird splashing sound as something wet spills into the grass at Elijah’s feet, and gape in silence for several seconds before realizing what just happened.
“Is that a…?” I trail off as Elijah sits upright.
He’s holding a neon green scrap of rubbery material in his hand.
“Water balloon,” he murmurs. Then, with a jolt, he twists around and stares into the copse of trees that borders the edge of the yard and forms a tiny forest between his house and that of a few neighbors.
“What—”
“Oh, no,” Elijah breathes.
Harry stands up to get a better look at Elijah from the other side of the fire pit. “Dude, what was—”
The rest of Harry’s question is broken off by another wet smack as a second water balloon collides with Elijah—this time, against his shoulder. A ribbon of highlighter-yellow rubber catches the firelight as it flutters quite gracefully into the dark grass.
A feminine cackle cuts through the stunned silence.
Elijah lets out a long-suffering sigh and mutters, “I should’ve known.”
I have no idea what that means, nor do I have time to ask, because then the sky is suddenly raining water balloons. Dozens of them all at once, pelting us from the shadows of the nearby woods. Each of them as small as my fist and as bright as candy.
Girlish war cries echo from the woods, spiraling up to the starlit sky.
We leap to our feet as they rush out of the darkness. For a moment, I’m struck by the sheer ridiculousness of the sight of them. They’re pretty yet terrifying mythical creatures clad in matching outfits, each wielding bags full of water balloons dangling from their shoulders.
A redhead that I vaguely recognize in the dim light, dressed in orange satin, comes barreling toward me and Akim. I’m still trying to process what exactly is happening, so all I can do is stand there like an idiot and stare. Akim yelps and scrambles backwards, instantly turning himself into much more interesting prey. The redhead launches a purple balloon at him, which smacks right into the center of his chest. She lets out a raucous shout of victory and chases after him when he turns and runs.
The backyard is swarmed with women in silk pajamas, all of them laughing and yelling with mischievous delight. Water balloons crash and pop all around, soaking the grass and turning escape into a slippery, nearly impossible endeavor. To my left, Harry dives at the last minute to avoid an assault orchestrated by giggling blonde twins, but he isn’t fast enough to prevent a deluge from the redhead, who has been swift and merciless in her defeat of Akim.
In seconds, Harry is soaked to the bone.
It’s time to get out of here.
I whirl around, estimating that it’s only about ten steps to the back door. I can slip through the dark, quiet house and disappear while chaos continues to reign supreme out here.
It’s not that I’m disgusted by frivolity, or too much of a baby to handle some wet clothes. It’s just that I’m a grown man and I can’t remember the last time I had a freaking water balloon fight . Maybe never. I didn’t have many chances to mess around and wreak havoc as a kid, given that I was always being toted around from film set to film set by my mother.
I struggle with silliness. Lighthearted, childish fun is a difficult concept for me to grasp. I can’t let go and give in to foolishness like everyone else currently is. There’s something that stops me—something tense and cold in the center of my chest that reminds me not to be so vulnerable. To keep my guard up. To hide away in my comfortable, quiet corner of the world all by myself. Even if it means most people won’t like me, it’s better that way.
I’ll just spoil the fun if I stick around.
As soon as I get the back door in my sights and manage about three steps toward it, an avenging angel blocks my path.
Lucy, armed with a balloon in either hand, stands before me. Her dark eyes are alight with the dampened flames, and her long hair is wild and tangled with leaves from sneaking through the woods.
She grins at me menacingly. I freeze, forcing myself not to take an automatic step back.
“I knew you’d try to make a speedy exit,” she says, creeping a step closer.
For some reason, I can’t bring myself to move.
I can, however, be a rude idiot.
“I don’t like stupid, childish pranks,” I retort.
Behind us, the backyard is a symphony of shouts, laughter, swishing footsteps through damp grass, and occasional splashes as balloons find their target. It’s a wonder the neighbors don’t bellow at us to stop. Then again, it’s barely nine o’clock. Plus, practically the whole town will be in attendance at the wedding tomorrow. It’s not like they’re going to chastise the bride and groom for having a bit of fun the night before.
Lucy rolls her eyes at my comment. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you.”
Her grin twists into a smirk. She lifts her balloon-loaded hands. “I hope your fancy Rolex is waterproof.”
It is , but that’s definitely not the point.
I glare at her, my knees instinctively bending to prepare for a quick getaway.
“Don’t you dare,” I tell her.
Somewhere not far behind me, a sharp smack-splash is followed by a defeated bellow from one of the guys.
“Have mercy!” he yells. Akim, I think. I don’t dare take my eyes off Lucy to check. “I surrender! Please!”
“We take no prisoners!” croons his lady attacker.
Another smack-splash.
I find my lips twitching, the urge to smile almost winning out over my annoyance at Lucy. This whole thing is pretty funny.
Lucy reels back, preparing to chuck a balloon directly at my face.
“ Don’t ,” I growl.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve tried reverse psychology.
With a cackle, she lobs a balloon straight at me.
By some miracle of agility I didn’t know I was capable of, I step back and duck quickly, just narrowly avoiding getting hit. I’m not fast enough to avoid the second balloon, though. It collides against the side of my face before I can straighten back up to my full height.
I splutter, shaking my head like a dog, and feel the cold water trickling down my neck and seeping into the fabric of my shirt.
Lucy giggles as if she’s never been more delighted by anything in her life.
She reaches into the plastic bag looped around her elbow, ready to wage all-out war against me. Just me. She clearly came here tonight with one mission.
I expect to feel anger at being smacked in the face with a water balloon—and by her , of all people—but there’s a weird bubbling sensation in my chest and a strange lightness coming over me.
I think I want to laugh.
I glance to the side, looking for a second escape route. Just as I step to my left, a blur of white satin and black cotton come rushing toward me. I’m barely able to dodge out of the bride and groom’s way before they come careening in my direction, then tumble into a tangled heap in the grass. Both Josie and Elijah are shrieking with laughter, and then the bride lets out a squeal as her almost-husband wrestles her gently to the ground and breaks a balloon over the top of her head.
Lucy is laughing at the scene, temporarily distracted. I could run.
I could .
Except… in the chaos of Elijah attempting to even the score against Josie, she dropped one of her bags full of balloons. Right at my feet.
Before I know what I’m doing, I stoop down to pick it up. I’ve got about twenty colorful ammunitions, practically begging for me to get my revenge.
Lucy tugs her attention away from her cousin and the groom to focus back on me, her chosen victim. In an instant, she realizes what I hold in my hand. My eyes dart down to her own bag of balloons, which looks sorrowfully depleted.
Her smile falters.
I reach into the bag for a balloon.
She takes a tentative step backwards.
My lips curve into a grin of their own volition.
“Now, wait just a minute,” she says.
I launch a water balloon at her. She lunges out of the way, causing it to glance off her arm and splatter against the side of the house. I dig into the bag for another balloon. With a shriek, she starts running, taking off across the now-muddy backyard in her flip-flops.
A breath of laughter whooshes out of me.
Then, because I’m apparently not quite in control of my body right now, I take off after her. I lob a second balloon at her as the chase begins. Lucy lets out a surprised yelp as it explodes against her back. Around us, it seems that at least a couple of the guys have also managed to gain ammo for themselves and are gleefully fighting back.
I pay them no attention.
All I can think is Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.
She ducks into the woods, glancing over her shoulder with a breathless smile on her face.
I don’t think. I follow her like it’s pure instinct. Like there is nothing else in the world I could possibly need to do in that moment besides go after her.