Chapter 5
Five
Denise
“Pink is definitely your color.” Amiyah nods her head excitedly as I give a quick little spin in the dressing room mirror of our favorite boutique in the Ellingbrooke Mall, Tea Top.
This week’s current pop music plays in the background, the bass vibrating off the pink-striped walls of the dressing room.
“You don’t think it’s too much?” I look down at the deep cowl neckline that would have my father telling me to go change but because I’ve never listened to him anyway, I continue to admire myself in the mirror.
“Since when have you ever cared about doing too much?”
“Fair enough.” I smile, turning back around to face the mirror.
I flatten my palms against the silky chiffon and admire how the shade looks on my freshly spray tanned skin and compliments the gold accents on my white acrylics.
“You sure you don’t want to come tonight?” I look at Amiyah through the mirror as she sorts through the pile of clothes sitting next to her. “I’m sure it’d be more fun than hanging out with Brian.”
She laughs. “You know there’s more to Brian than just his money.”
I turn back to face her. “Is there?”
Amiyah drops a yellow crop top onto her lap, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Clearly, she’s not impressed with my lack of care for our stepdad.
I still think five years is a very short time to know somebody. Granted, I don’t think I’ve ever really tried but that’s beside the point.
She sighs, shoulders dropping. “He’s not a bad guy, you know?”
“Never said he was.” I step away from the mirror and move toward the center of the room where Amiyah sits on the gold velvet couch. She and her hoard of clothes take up the otherwise empty round sofa.
Desperate to ignore the topic of Brian, I begin digging through her pile of clothes, holding out shirts to her chest. She again doesn’t appear thrilled at me changing the subject to how harsh the lighting from the centerpiece chandelier is.
And I know she’s right. Brian isn’t a bad guy. He makes our mom laugh, which we thought would’ve been impossible after divorcing our dad. He brought Amiyah and me into his home, never treating us like burdens or a packaged deal.
But he’s a reminder that good things come and go.
More often than not, it’s the latter.
Why bother getting attached to him?
Sure, his marriage with my mom has seemed picture perfect for the past seven years but I thought the same thing when my dad and her were married.
I never would’ve guessed that neither of them was happy.
That it took therapy and retreats for them to come to the conclusion that they’d have to settle for being just friends who have kids together.
It’s not a terrible setup but it’s not the one I dreamed of when I was a kid.
Amiyah takes the cashmere top from my hands before I can start fiddling with the buttons. I don’t turn to face her, my nails now seemingly more interesting than ever.
“If you give him a chance—”
“Miyah.” I lean my back against the soft cushions behind me, still not daring to look at her because I know when I do, I’ll see her eyes, the same shade as mine and Dad’s.
Or I won’t be able to help but notice the way she knows me more than anyone.
How when she looks at me, she sees someone who’s frantically trying to pick back up pieces of herself.
“We’re civil toward each other, isn’t that enough? ”
She’s one of the few people that knows that most of what comes out of my mouth is a lie. No matter how pretty I try to make it sound.
No one needs to know the thoughts that dance around in my head. I’ll happily keep my vulnerabilities to myself, thank you very much.
I feel the weight of her stare. In my peripheral vision, I can see the tilt of her head, the crease between her brows, the way she’s studying me like I’m a book she’s grown up fluent in.
But I can’t take her gaze. Or her accurate knowledge of who I am.
So I reach for the cashmere top again, messing with the gold buttons, slipping the fabric over my shoulders—despite it not being my style—and continuing to act like I can spend the rest of my life never talking about anything that really matters.
“Fine.” I walk back over to the mirror. The shirt doesn’t go with my dress so I take it off. It was more of a distraction anyway. “Don’t come to the party but just know that I will be drunk texting you.”
She remains sitting, watching me dig through clothes for a second longer than I’d like before rolling her eyes. An easy smile now takes over her features as if she’s decided to drop whatever it was she wanted to get into.
“Trust me,” she says. “I’m aware.”
It doesn’t take us long after to decide we’re done shopping for the day and it’s time to head out. You know, with me having to get ready for tonight’s frat party and Amiyah’s betrayal of hanging out with Brian rather than me.
I stand near the entrance, waiting for Amiyah to finish checking out.
My thumb mindlessly scrolls through my phone, more of a distraction than looking for anything useful.
But scrolling on social media usually ends up with me seeing some friends from high school posting about the ballet schools they’ve gotten into and professional shows they’ve been a part of.
I do this to myself. I don’t talk to those people anymore so why I follow them is purely out of self-pity apparently.
“Hey, Stryker.”
I look up from my phone to see Lucas now standing nearby, shoulder leaning against a wall, a pleased look on his face at my clearly disgruntled one.
“For fuck’s sake.” I say the words more to myself but he laughs anyway. “Don’t you have a life outside of stalking me?”
Before I even realize I’m doing it, I drop my phone into my purse, shift my shopping bags into one hand, and give Lucas my full attention. And because I can’t look like I don’t have control over my damn body, I cross my arms and pretend that I intended to engage with Lucas.
It’s only been a few days since I last saw him at the hockey game. I should not be having withdrawals.
He’s just a man, I have to remind myself.
Amiyah comes up behind me, her own bags in her hand. Her eyes shift between me and Lucas, a grin forming that I want to tell her to put away.
She always found my situation with Lucas funny.
Says I should give him a chance.
I wholeheartedly disagree.
“You could act a little more excited to see me, Denise,” Lucas teases.
I scoff, hands moving to now rest on my hips. “I’d rather wake up to find out that my highlights increased my hair porosity than act excited to see you.”
Lucas’s brows furrow, his attention turning to Amiyah. “That a bad thing?”
She quickly nods her head. “Catastrophic.”
I take Amiyah’s wrist, trying to step past Lucas but he follows, apparently not getting the memo that I’m done with conversation.
Well actually, I’m more fed up with the way he looks at me. Okay, maybe not how his attention is always on me but the way my body reacts to his gaze.
I’m wearing a skirt and crop top—I should not be this hot right now.
“You coming to The Clone House tonight?” he asks, casually walking alongside me and Amiyah.
Of course I was already planning on going to said frat party tonight, but I don’t feel the need to share that information with Lucas.
I try to keep my focus straight ahead, weaving past people walking around the mall. Amiyah falls a little behind but when I turn my head to look at her, I become fully aware she’s doing it on purpose.
Fine with me. We’re at a mall. She can buy walking shoes.
I steal a glance at Lucas but he’s already watching me. “Why would I tell you and make following me around easier?”
He grins. “’Cause I think you like it.”
My whole body comes to a halt, causing Amiyah to collide with my back. I turn my head to look at her when I hear her giggle. My glaring doesn’t deter her.
I’m glad one of us finds this whole thing amusing.
I whip my body back around to face Lucas and that was a mistake because he’s standing close enough for me to smell the woodsiness of his aftershave and the mint from the gum he’s chewing.
The act pulls my attention to his lips. Round. Full. His defined cupid’s bow not helping much with pulling my eyes away. One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right? People kiss all the time. Doesn’t mean it has to lead anywhere.
Oh god, I really want it to lead somewhere.
Before I can collect my thoughts and tell Lucas that he’s out of his goddamn mind, my phone rings. I busy myself with digging through my purse, fishing out my phone.
Dad’s name pops up on the screen.
Needing the excuse to not acknowledge what just came out of Lucas’s mouth or scold Amiyah for her laughter because that’ll just give her answers, I answer.
“Hey, Dad.”
Lucas’s eyes widen, taking a short step back from both me and Amiyah, his head jerking around as if my dad is going to appear out of thin air.
I grin, finally feeling like I’m back to having the upper hand.
The ‘hands-off’ rule was the very first thing my father made clear when Amiyah and I started coming around the ice rink more often during practices.
My dad thought that somehow being surrounded by hockey goons would help distract me from a failed hip surgery and an eventual end to me attending Joffrey Ballet School.
I knew my dad was just trying to help get me out of my own head, but seeing a bunch of hockey players being able to do what they love did the opposite, actually.
But it’s how I fell in Lucas’s line of sight a few months ago. Before then, I was busy with classes at Kingswell and running back and forth to ballet classes.
All it took was one day and a curious look at the jock to set him off and follow my every move.
I like to think that I’m nice enough to not have mentioned any of this to my father because technically Lucas hasn’t done anything. It has nothing to do with me sometimes getting a kick out of his stalking tendencies.
“Hey, DD,” Dad greets. “You busy?”