21. You can be a little spicy sometimes.
21 /
you can be a little spicy sometimes.
rafael
Zach:
She’s a little thicker than I usually go for, but damn… great tits
I don’t respond. Fuck, Zach. That’s bullshit. Charlie’s body is perfect. Also, fuck him for making me think about her tits when I was finally starting to get them out of my mind.
I’m a fucking liar. I haven’t stopped thinking about them since I saw them. The image is burned into my retinas, and I hope that shit is permanent.
Zach:
Do you think the carpet matches the drapes? I bet it does.
Why the fuck is he texting me and not paying attention to Charlie? And is he for real?
Zach:
Might find out tonight.
Abso-fucking-lutely not. Nope. No way.
My fingers are itching to text Charlie and tell her to get the fuck out of there, but I can’t do that. Not unless she asks me to. But damn it, I want to. I check our text thread for the twentieth time. Still nothing.
Charlie will be fine. She can do this. I told her as much, and I believe it. She doesn’t take shit. She’ll put Zach in his place if she needs to. I know that. I just really wanna be the one to do it for her.
I swear the minutes tick by at an unbearable pace. By ten o’clock, I’m about to walk to Charlie’s place like an obsessive creep to see if her lights are on. Is she home? Why didn’t she text me back? I sent that apology twenty minutes before the date was supposed to start.
Fuck it. I’m texting her.
Yo, red, you still there?
Yo? No, I can’t send that. Delete, delete, delete.
Good date, red?
Ugh, that’s not right, either. Try again.
ME:
Hey, Chuck. Hope you had (or are having) a good time.
I throw a smiley emoji in there for good measure and hit send. It still feels lame as fuck, but I can’t overthink this any more than I already have.
CHARLIE:
Hi
I was just about to message you.
I’m home.
It was a great first date!
Thanks again for setting this up .
Okay.
Okay, okay, okay.
She didn’t go home with him. And she said was , so he’s not at her place either.
Good. Good? Good. Yeah.
I’m not ready to let our conversation end, though.
ME:
Glad to hear it. What are you doing tomorrow?
Her reply comes right away, and the relief washes over me like a tropical rainstorm. Warm and unexpected.
CHARLIE:
I wanted to go to Ojai to see Maeve.
But I don’t know how I feel about driving all that way.
Wrong side of the road, and all that…
ME:
Honey bun, it’s quite literally the RIGHT side of the road.
I add an emoji with the tongue sticking out. I’m an emoji guy now, apparently.
CHARLIE:
Ha. Ha.
What are you doing tomorrow?
ME:
I’m driving up to see my family for the day.
Before the thought is fully formed, I’m typing the words.
ME:
Ojai is on my way. Why don’t you come with me? I can drop you off and pick you up on my way back.
The three little dots appear, then disappear, then they’re back.
Come on, Charlie.
CHARLIE:
Are you sure?
Is it actually on the way?
I don’t want to impose.
I do eventually have to get over this whole driving on the right side thing.
I never drove in New York, but it seems inevitable here.
ME:
I’m sure. I basically drive through Ojai to get there. And you can learn when you’re comfortable. On calmer roads and not these unhinged LA streets. Cool?
CHARLIE:
Thank you.
What time are you leaving tomorrow?
Please don’t say some outrageously early hour.
Anything before 8, specifically.
I laugh at the sequence of texts.
ME:
I’m at your disposal. I just gotta be there for lunch or my grandmother will have my head.
CHARLIE:
I need something so much more specific than this.
ME:
How’s ten o’clock?
CHARLIE:
That’s great.
Thank you.
ME:
Pick you up at 10. Goodnight, pumpkin.
Her first response is an eye-roll emoji, which I don’t even try not to picture because I fucking like her eye rolls a whole lot.
CHARLIE:
Goodnight.
I’m in front of Charlie’s building at ten on the dot, an iced coffee waiting for her in the cupholder. Smitty most definitely gave me a sly look when I ordered it, and I most definitely flipped him the bird. That old guy thinks he knows everything.
I stand outside of my car, trying to look like I’m not insanely eager to see her. At 10:07 a.m. she steps out, shoving something into a bag, her phone in one hand as she tries to push her still-straight hair out of her face. I miss her curls.
Walking toward her, I reach out to take the bag from her, and her face snaps up.
“Blimey, you scared me!” She hands the bag over easily and blows a strand of hair away from her face, but it just flops right back down .
That’s when I get stupid. I run my index finger along her forehead, then tangle my fingers through her silky, bright red tendrils as I tuck them back.
“Sorry,” I say as I stuff my unruly, very bad hand into my jeans pocket. And I am sorry. For scaring her. For touching her.
“You’re fine.” Her blue eyes are so light in the sun that they’re nearly silver. “Should we go?”
I open the back door and set her bag down, giving myself a moment to chill out. We have nearly two hours alone in this car ahead of us.
When I get in, Charlie is already in the passenger seat, buckling herself in. She freezes when she spots the iced coffee next to my hot one. “Is that for me?” I smile as her eyes widen, still locked on the cup.
“It sure is, carrot cake.” I buckle my own belt, and her baby blues lock on mine for half a second. Then, she licks her lips and lifts the cup to her perfect, pouty mouth. And here comes those goddamn noises. I shift in my seat, mentally telling my dick to settle the fuck right down. Now!
She clutches the cup to her chest with both hands. “You are wonderful, and I love you so, so much.” Her eyes are closed as she talks to her drink. It’s adorable. So unlike the Charlie I’m used to seeing. I chuckle as she rocks side to side.
Wide eyes meet mine again, almost as if she’d forgotten I was here. Her gaze moves down to where I know my dimples are. I always know when people are looking at them. I was made fun of as a kid for having two deep dimples on one side of my face. Because kids fucking suck and will find anything to make fun of someone for. The way she is looking at that spot, though, is almost like she’s in awe of them. But it’s probably just the coffee-induced euphoria I’m seeing on her face.
I push the ignition button and put the car in drive. My playlist, which I picked out a little too carefully, consists of Khalid, John Mayer, and some Brazilian songs. I hope she likes it.
“So, how was dinner last night? Give me the details.” But not if those details include Zach putting his hands on you.
“I get why Adam and Lainey are obsessed with that place. Literally, every single thing looked amazing, and the lasagna was incredible. And homemade tiramisu?” She pinches her fingers together and brings them to her lips, mimicking a chef’s kiss.
“I’m glad you liked the food, but tell me about the date.” I feel the anger rise inside me, thinking about Zach’s texts. I’m only asking because she said last night that things went well. I need to know what that means.
“Oh, right. The date. It was good.” She pauses, looking down at her lap with a small smile on her lips. Is that smile for Zach? “Really good.”
I don’t like the way that answer makes me feel.
Really good? What does that mean?
“Go on,” I manage to bite out.
“I don’t know, I mean, you were right. He loves his family. Loves American football. Or just football. He wasn’t rude to the waiter. Didn’t get too handsy, and the kiss was nice.” Cue the loud record scratch in my head.
“Kiss?” The question comes out a little screechy. Okay, a lot screechy.
“Mm-hmm. He walked me to my door, said he wanted to see more of me, and kissed me.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “It wasn’t like, earth-shattering or anything, but it also wasn’t my worst kiss. Not all first kisses are super amazing, right? Not like in the books, anyway.”
I hate the resigned tone in her voice. This was the first date she’s gone on in a while, and she’s already settling for not her worst kiss ? Nah.
“I think first kisses can be earth-shattering. With the right person, I think every first could be. Not that I have any experience with the right person. I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. At the first sign of things not feeling right, I end it.” How’s that for an over-share? I hope that doesn’t make me sound like an asshole.
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Wow.”
“I’m not always the one that ends it, but I mostly have been. I refuse to settle, and I refuse to string someone along if I don’t see it being long-term.” Yeah, I’m that guy.
“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” She nods, looking down at her hands.
“So, you’re going to go out with Zach again?” Yeah, I’m still fixated on that asshole.
“I think so.” Her brows furrow as she pulls her lips in between her teeth—a move that tells me she’s not sure. “I mean, if he wants to. Do you think he’ll want to?” She looks up at me, and I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my fingers start to ache. Thinking about his texts last night won’t do me any good, but I can’t exactly tell Charlie about them, can I?
“He’d be an absolute dumbass not to, pumpkin pie!” I keep my voice as jovial as possible, despite the thoughts of how many ways I could break Zach’s hands running through my mind.
“Ugh, you had to add the pie onto it, too?” Charlie shakes her head, but I don’t miss the way her hands relax and her lips curl up slightly.
“I was gonna say pumpkin spice. Would that be better? You can be a little spicy sometimes with your eye rolls and that bit of sass you reserve for when I act like a real jackass.” Maybe we can just do this for the rest of the drive. We can talk about all the things I notice about her. Make her almost smile at the dumb shit I say.
She giggles, but she’s looking out of the window, and I don’t turn my head fast enough to see it. Damn.
“If you’re going to add to your already extensive list of nicknames for me, let’s make it spice and not pie, then. We already have enough food nicknames.” A small smile stretches across her face, causing a fluttering sensation in my stomach. My muscles tighten and release as I feel the warmth of her expression.
“You got it, strawberry shortcake.” I grip the steering wheel tightly again because my traitorous hand is itching to touch her.
Her head whips toward me. “That’s only the second time you’ve used that one.” She goes back to looking out the windshield, and I don’t know what to say. She’s right. The first time I thought of that nickname, I had been at the office doing nothing but looking forward to seeing her. Someone had brought in a strawberry shortcake for a birthday or something, and all I thought was about how it was sort of like Charlie with her creamy skin and her red hair.
Later that day, I was standing in front of her building waiting for her, looking up at the sky and smiling because the color was the exact shade of her eyes. I saw her and the nickname just slipped out, much like it did just now.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, and I catch her bobbing her head along to the music a few times, making a mental note of the songs she seems to like.
She doesn’t push for conversation, so I don’t either. I notice that she perks up when she sees the sign for Ojai.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. Maeve is with the horses, do you mind dropping me there?” Her cheeks turn pink, and I hide my smile behind my hand.
“Of course. You got it.”
Within a few minutes, we’re pulling into Agape Stables. Owen and Maeve finally named it and have started to make things a little more official. There have been a few school groups brought in to learn about horses, and I think using the stables as some sort of rehab center for veterans is in the works .
As soon as we’re out of the car, we can hear Maeve’s voice. I’ve never seen a woman so pregnant and so nimble. I swear you wouldn’t know she could be delivering a whole baby any day now. “Art, come on. They’re my horses!”
“Yeah, Maeve, but it’s my balls I’ll lose if your husband catches wind of this.” Arthur follows that up with a laugh, but I can tell he’s actually a little scared of Owen.
“Hey, party people!” I don’t know why that’s the greeting I choose, but it’s out there now, so whatever. “Maevey, look at you. You’re so beautiful!”
Maeve looks up with a wide smile, and Charlie’s shoulders slump slightly as her sister waddles toward us. Arthur mouths a thank you .
“Raffy! Charlie!” She hugs her sister first, rightly so, then tries to wrap her arms around my waist, but that belly gets in the way. “Ugh, I keep forgetting there’s a whole baby in there. I mean, I know he’s there, and I love our little bean so, so much. But I forget how much space he takes up, you know?”
“I so don’t know, and I have no idea how you forget. That’d be like forgetting you have a watermelon attached to your stomach.” I chuckle, and Maeve does, too. She’s had a great pregnancy, unlike Elaina who basically threw up for nine months straight.
“Well, I hardly notice it. Hey, maybe you can convince your older and grumpier brother to let me see my girls?” She bats her eyelashes at me, and I raise a skeptical eyebrow.
“What does that mean, exactly?” I ask.
“It means she thinks she can ride her horses.” Arthur scoffs, and I understand the comment about losing his balls. Owen would absolutely castrate him if he let Maeve ride while she’s this pregnant.
“Uh,” I start, but Maeve doesn’t let me finish.
“Oh, forget it. Fine. I won’t ride.” She rolls her eyes, and the movement has me immediately looking at Charlie, who’s quietly standing off to the side. “I’ll just go say hello to Scout and Willow. Want to come, Char?” Maeve hooks her arm with her sister’s, beaming with joy, the whole riding fiasco seemingly forgotten.
Seeing that they’re about to take off, I clear my throat. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours then, Chuck?” She gives me a quiet yes . “Text me when you’re ready. I’m only twenty minutes away, okay?”
Maeve cocks her head to the side, squinting at me.
“Yep,” Charlie answers. “See ya.”
When I look back at Arthur, he’s got his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Damn, brother. So that’s the one, huh?”
“The one? What? What are you going on about?” I wave my arms around, and my brother laughs. Asshole.
“Charlie. Your Charlie. The Charlie. She’s the one,” he states blankly.
“Pfft. You don’t know what you’re saying.” For some weird reason, my limbs feel tingly.
“All right. You deny it all you want.” He raises his hands, palms up in surrender, but I know the motion is meaningless.
“Did you breathe in too much ammonia cleaning up horse shit?” I feel my brows tighten, and blood rushes to my face at his accusation.
“The hearts in your eyes are giving you away, little brother.” He pats me on the shoulder and turns to walk into a stall.
“Art,” I call out to him, “you’re coming for lunch, right?” I shoot for nonchalance in my tone, but there’s a hint of desperation there. He hasn’t talked to our dad in months. No one knows what the hell happened.
“Nice try, bro.” He waves at me without even looking back. It was worth a shot, I guess.