7. Darwin
ITOUCHED HER.
I put my hands on Savvy’s skin, in her hair, on her face, and nothing happened.
Well, something happened, but it wasn’t the grotesque reaction that my disorder has trained me to associate with skin-to-skin contact.
What’s truly remarkable is that I didn’t realize what I was doing until after the fact. My panic for her safety eclipsed every other thought in my mind, compulsive, antisocial, or otherwise. Then, when it was all over and I felt confident she was only moderately downplaying her injuries, it hit me.
I touched her, and all it felt was good.
It’s one thing to know, objectively, that your mind is playing tricks on you, but it’s a whole other to have evidence of it. That’s what I’ve been doing all week at Galactic Guild, showing myselfthat the things I fear are lies. It’s a slow, exhausting process, but there is progress. Today proved it, because I haven’t felt another person’s skin against mine in years—nine,to be precise—and I didn’t fall to pieces.
During the periods when my mental health was at its best, my therapist encouraged me to “get out there.” Apparently, even to a licensed psychologist, my being totally disinterested in a relationship was not possible.
There were times when I considered it, but just the thought of dating seemed impossible. Most people my age have been married, they’ve had kids and traveled and found friends… What would I say to a well-adjusted, normal woman sitting across the table from me? How could I possibly divulge to a near stranger just how limited I am or the terrible partner I would make?
Shame crowds my throat, and it’s an effort to keep my eyes on the machine I’m repairing when they seem to drift so easily to Savvy.
She’s standing across the room, focused on the new prices she’s painting on the big board behind the register. There are tiny specks of white all over her face and her hair is tied up in a messy bun, but she’s somehow still adorable and sexy all at once.
Sexy.
Fuck. I have no right to think of her that way, but the memory of her warm, soft skin beneath my fingers makes it ten times harder not to. It’s an embarrassing, ridiculous position to find myself in. Me, a forty-five-year-old man, getting worked up over touching a woman’s arms, face, and hair while checking for injuries from an overturned game-show wheel.
Not just any woman, either.
So much time has passed, she’s so different and so am I, but that doesn’t change the fact that Savvy is practically my niece. I’d known Stone since childhood. He was my friend—my only friend—and I’m panting after his little girl when he’s barely cold in the ground.
I should feel guilty, should be disgusted with myself, but with every brief glimpse I get at the person she’s become, I care a little less. Meanwhile, Savvy is clearly committed to ensuring those glimpses are as far and few between as possible. She’s so guarded with me, constantly bracing for an emotional blow, and it’s not a mystery why.
I should have cleared the air that day she came to my house, or when I showed up here and told her I wanted to help. If I had… Well, I’d still feel guilty. God knows what happened nine years ago isn’t the only reason nothing will ever happen.
In the back of my mind, though, I know why I didn’t.
I needed to keep a wall between us, but the joke’s on me because now all I can think about is the best way to kick it down.
Maybe it would be easier to get past this attraction if it were just physical, but it’s not. Her reappearance in my life has made me feel… off kilter. The organ in my chest, that I once believed to be purely functional, seems to be making itself known more and more readily.
Then there’s the fact my cock is now hard about three quarters of my waking hours, which is painful on top of inconvenient.
The wrench I’m using to re-tighten the bolts on the side panel of this game slips and clatters off. I turn to reach for it, and, like they’re magnetized, my eyes move to Savvy.
She’s painting a higher place on the board now, her lips pursed in concentration.
Her T-shirt, the same one with the cut-out sleeves she was wearing the other day, lifts away from her skin when she reaches up, and I catch another glimpse of black ink.
The tattoo. It’s none of my business what she thought was important enough to get permanently etched on her skin. So why can’t I stop thinking about it?
Irrationally irritated, I turn my eyes back to where they belong. I’m fucking losing it. None of this situation is logical, or ordered, or controlled, and I have no experience in this shit.
This thing hanging over our heads has become unbearable.
What would happen if I walked up to her and ripped off the proverbial band aid right now? Would it make things more uncomfortable when she’s beginning to relax around me? Maybe this is a time thing, and I just need to fight through this awkward period so we can get to… What? What do I think is going to happen here?
It seems dangerous to even consider.
A knock on the glass front door has me looking automatically to Savvy again. She’s frowning at me. “Are you expecting a delivery or something?”
I shake my head. “Stay there, I’ll get it.”
She doesn’t listen, of course, and lingers at my side as I unlock the paper-covered door and pull it open.
After spending so long in the dim lighting of Galactic Guild, it’s disorienting to step into bright afternoon sunlight, and I blink down at three of the teenagers from the other day, standing just outside.
“Hi,” chirps the girl with the dark hair and ear piercings, beaming at us.
I glance at Savvy, who looks just as bemused as I am. “Uh, hi. We’re not open yet.”
She isn’t put off. “Oh, we know. We’re here to help.”
“I’m sorry, we’re not hiring yet. I’ll post something online when we start, but it’ll be at least another few weeks,” Savvy explains, and I step back, allowing her to take the lead on this.
“You don’t have to pay us!” interjects one boy, his eyes widening. “We just thought that if you had some more help, you could reopen sooner.” The other boy in the group elbows him, and he grins sheepishly. “Okay, maybe some free laser tag too. But that’s not a deal breaker!”
“Shut up about the laser tag, Luke. We’re here to help,” scolds the girl.
I bite back a smile. It’s unusual for me to form an opinion after such a brief interaction, but I’m finding I like them. “What are your names?”
“I’m Marley,” says the girl. “This is Luke, and that’s King.”
Luke, who is blonde, almost as tall as I am, and dressed in a bright-purple anime T-shirt, beams. “We love your books, Mr. Wilder. It’s so cool you live in the same town as us. Marley writes a ton of fan fiction for them, but they’re not exactly family friendly”—he drops his voice conspiratorially—“if you know what I mean.”
“Oh my god, Luke!” squawks Marley as she slaps her hands over her bright-red face, and I’m actively trying not to laugh now.
King, undoubtedly sensing he won’t be getting much help from his friends, chips in, “My dad is a contractor, so I know how to fix stuff.”
A compelling sales pitch, but Savvy still looks unconvinced. “Listen, it’s really sweet of you guys to offer, but we’d need to talk about it.”
“You should be made aware that I’m from a super poor family. We buy some of my clothes at the thrift store and everything,” Marley adds cheerfully. “In case you want to look at it as mentoring underprivileged youth instead of exploiting teenagers for free labor.”
Savvy snorts, and I sigh. “Give us five minutes.”
The moment the door closes, I turn to face Savvy. “Okay. We need to hire them. If only for the entertainment value.”
Her hands move to her hips. “You want a group of nerdy sixteen-year-olds running around here, Dar?”
I love it when she calls me that.
Grinning, I cross my arms. “I think you’ll remember that you were a nerdy sixteen-year-old once. They don’t need to do anything big, but if we get some extra help with the cleaning, they’ll get their DnD hang-out spot back sooner. We’ll need to hire help soon anyway.” It seems ominous that even the reminder I knew her when she was sixteen doesn’t make me want to end this conversation.
Savvy’s eyes sparkle, and her lips curl into a teasing smile. “I wasn’t as nerdy as you were.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Not the point.”
Something tightens low in my abdomen as it occurs to me how close we’re standing. Is it nearer than platonic business partners would? It feels close. I could reach out and touch her again, just like I did before.
My heart jolts.
With difficulty, I swallow. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, of course, we’ll tell them no. I trust your judgment.”
Something behind Savvy’s eyes flickers, and whatever warmth was kindling between us is gone so quickly, I’m left questioning whether it was there at all.
She turns away, heading back for the paint. “Sure thing. It’s fine, Darwin. Tell them whatever,” she tells me over her shoulder.
Wonderful. I’m Darwin again. Never before have I disliked the sound of my own name.
I want to argue with her, want to demand she tell me what she’s thinking, what she wants… I would do it—would do anything—if it meant I could step back in time just a few seconds.
The kids are still waiting outside, and all three look up hopefully. Once again, I glance at Savvy, but she doesn’t lift her attention from the board.
I clear my throat. “Why don’t you come back on Monday, and we’ll have some stuff for you to do. You’ll get paid. I’m not using teenagers for free labor.”
They’re pleased, but I only half hear the rush of thank-yous and hell-yeahs as they wander off; my mind is on the woman behind me.
When the door closes, I find Savvy kneeling on the back counter again, and my mouth goes dry when she pushes up on her knees to reach a higher spot.
For fuck’s sake. Does she own a pair of shorts that aren’t made of skin-tight material? If I can’t stop looking at her ass, that means other men sure as hell are too. There seems little point in denying that pisses me off when the possibility alone makes my blood pressure skyrocket.
There’s plenty for me to do, but I still linger awkwardly by the front desk, scrambling for a reason to talk to her again. I check my watch. “Are you hungry? I was going to order something for lunch.”
She doesn’t turn. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“Are you sure? I thought I’d get a Reuben.” It sounds like an offhand comment, but is really more of a desperate plea. Savvy loves Reubens, or at least, she used to.
Watching her as closely as I am, I catch the tiny pause. “That’s okay.”
Fuck, this is unbearable. Is this how other people feel when they’re forced to communicate with me?
Defeated, I turn back toward the arcade. Movement in the corner of my vision makes me turn, though, and my heart shoots into my throat.
“Holy fuck!”I stumble backward, hitting the back of my legs on the front desk and—dignity forgotten—clamber up onto the surface.
“What?” comes Savvy’s alarmed voice. Wordlessly, I point toward the hall leading to the bathrooms. Twenty feet away from us, a fucking rat is wandering into the room, sniffing at the contractor trash bags Savvy stuffed with torn-up carpeting.
I know the moment she sees it, because there’s an startled gasp behind me.
This situation is preposterous. I’m standing on the furniture to get away from an animal that would likely run off if I approached it, but I can’t help it. My skin is crawling, and my back is damp with sweat. Have I ever seen a rat before? In person? If I have, I don’t remember.
“What do we do?” asks Savvy, her voice high with panic. At least I’m not alone here. She’s standing on the narrow strip of counter that lines the wall behind the desk, wide eyed and clutching her hands to her chest.
Ideally, this would be the moment where I save the day and impress her with my stoicism in the face of a vermin infestation. Unfortunately, I’m paralyzed, too busy trying to recall the articles I’ve read about rat-borne pathogens to impress anyone.
What if that thing has been walking around on the floor where I was sitting a few minutes ago?
Have I touched rat shit? My stomach rolls.
A white sneaker appears on the desk beside me, and I thankfully have enough sanity left to turn and offer Savvy my hand, helping her over the four-foot gap between the desk and counter. “Holy crap,” she mumbles, her back brushing my chest as she inches to the edge for a clearer view. “It’s huge.”
The rat trots farther into the room, unaware or uncaring that its appearance has caused turmoil amongst Galactic Guild’s human inhabitants. Instinctively, I grab Savvy’s shoulders, dragging her back from the edge of the desk.
“Do we run for it?” I look toward the door. The rat is closer. Are they fast?
Savvy shakes her head. “All my stuff is over there! Oh my god, I’m going to puke.”
Yeah, that makes two of us.
Stooping down, I grab the wireless mouse. “I’m going to try to scare it,” I tell her with more confidence than I feel, then chuck it at the wall above the rat’s head. The device shatters, sending bits of plastic everywhere, but the animal doesn’t seem bothered.
Savvy tries too, throwing a cup of pens that scatter over the floor.
“What kind of rat doesn’t get scared by that?” she wails, looking up at me in horror when this attempt garners no more success. “Wouldn’t you be disturbed by a metal cup the size of your body being hurled at you?”
“It’s probably used to the noise.” I shudder. “That, or it’s gone mad from nutritional deficiency after living off those frozen pizzas Stone stocked.”
“So, we have a super rat?”
“It appears so.”
We fall silent, still crowded together on the center of the desk, watching the rat move over to where Savvy’s backpack is sitting on the floor beside the snack bar. “Oh, that little asshole,” she hisses when it pokes its head in through the open zipper.
A quick scan of the area confirms there seems to be little that could be helpful. “Does animal control respond to calls about rodents?”
Savvy whips around, eyes huge. “Rodents? As in plural? You think there are more?”
It seems likely, but it won’t do us any good to dwell on that now. “I doubt it,” I lie instead, offering her a reassuring smile. “There was something in a nature magazine I subscribe to about large male rats not allowing others in their territory.”
“You are so full of shit, Darwin Wilder.” But there’s no genuine anger in her voice. Suddenly, the preposterous predicament we’ve found ourselves in doesn’t seem so bad.
For one thing, we’re so close that I can smell the fruity gum she likes to chew on her breath and the clean scent of shampoo in her hair.
For another, I touched her. Again.
Come to think of it, the super rat can take his damn time.
Savvy obviously feels differently. Edging to the other side of the desk, she peeks down. I watch as she gets to her knees and reaches over to grab a plastic trash can. “It’s not going to care if we throw trash at it,” I caution as she removes the mostly empty plastic lining.
“Yeah, I don’t think so either.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Promise to avenge me should this go wrong?”
“I—what?”
Before I can say another word or make a move to stop her, Savvy jumps off the desk with the trash bin held under her arm. The rat is still sniffing around in her backpack, its long, worm-like tail poking out from beside the zipper.
“Savvy! Don’t go near it!” I snarl. When it becomes clear she isn’t going to stop, I jump off the desk too. I’ve only made it halfway across the room, however, before Savvy turns the waste basket over and slams it down right over the backpack and rat with a hollow thud, trapping both inside.
We’re both silent for a long moment, staring at it. Finally, Savvy looks back at me, eyes wide. “What now?”
I pull my phone from my pocket, shaking my head. “We’re calling a fucking exterminator.”