12. Riot
Riot
T he ride home was quiet after she’d asked me about her uncle’s car. I wasn’t a good actor, which was why I was glad my beard covered up my shit-eating grin.
I ran a hand over my face. I should shave it. I never gave much thought to it before. Katie told me to keep my scar covered, so I did, never offering myself a second thought as to how I felt about it .
It covers your smile, that’s all.
Those wordshitme like a truck because I couldn’t even remember the last time Ismiled.
And now IfeltIwasworkingovertime to keep a straight face around Nicolette.
Shemademe want to smile more, and thatmademe want to shave this beard straight off, reveal my whole, full face to her and everyone else, andlettheir judgment fall where it might.
A thin tendril of dreadwoveitself around my brain. Nicolettemademe want to uncover myself like no one everhadand that realizationterrifiedme as much as itgrippedmy heart in sadness.I’dnever be able to uncover myself. Not wholly. Not completely. Not to her. Not to anyone.
I flicked the radio on to drown out my quickly spiraling thoughts.
I flipped through the channels, glancing in her direction to see if anything sparked interest. When I landed on a station, the slow drums of The Wallflowers’ “One Headlight” pumped through the speakers, and I smiled.
My dad loved this song. I was young but I remember him playing the air drums every time it came on the radio .
A smilecrossedNicolette’s lips too, so Iletthe song play.
The musicgrewwhen Iclickedthe volume up a notch.
Nicolette’s eyesfellto the dashboard and her headbeganto bob.
Shereacheda tentative hand to the volume, turning it up one more notch when the guitarcamein.
Itriedto suppress the smile on my lips, but I couldn’t help it.
Her silent challengehadme all butforgettingabout the self-pity thatconsumedme moments before.
When the vocalsbegan, Ihitthe volume up again from the controls on my steering wheel. Her fingersstartedto drum on her thighs and the sleepy, wry grin on her lipswarmedme from the inside out.
When the first chorus came in, her delicate hand cranked the volume up to the point I needed to roll down our windows. The smile that stretched across her face was giddy and unbound.
Weletthe music and air assault us and I couldn’t remember the last timeI’dfeltthis unbridled.
Istolea glance over andreveledin the way shelether arm hang out the window,her palm catchingthe wind.
I imagined what it wouldhavebeen like to hang out with her in high school, young andunburdenedby the darkness the world would throw at her.
My heartthuddedwhen shepeeredup at me through a thin curtain of blonde hair thathadfallenin front of her eyes, wisps of untamed hairwhippingaround that ponytail she alwayswore.
Iletmy mind wander to what her hair would feel like all around my face and chest. How easily my fingers could slide through it.
Her lips moved with the lyrics, and I found myself humming. Her gaze caught on the words I was mouthing but hadn’t given voice to. She leaned over and nudged me with an elbow to loosen up.
Even though shescreamedthe chorus, her voicewasalmost inaudible over the music, but itmademe want to join in. So, I did.Throwingall reservations out the open truck window, not caring how off-tune or ridiculous Ilooked.
We shouted the familiar chorus in unison. Her laugh was infectious, the music blaring .
As shesang, shetappedmybeatup truck’s dashboard, and Igaveher a sarcastic frown, which onlylither smile up further and my heartbeatlike it might jump out of my chest. As the songwenton, my guardbeganto drop.
The way her headnodded, how her foottapped, unforced.
When our eyesmeton the last lyrics, itwasas if the black cloud of the last ten yearswasdissolvedby that one headlight.
I’d be lying if I said that car ride home hadn’t changed something between us.
I wasn’t delusional enough to think she was interested in me but she had warmed to me in the days that followed.
It was strange how one little moment, one song, one lyric, one simple shared experience could shift the tenor of the connection between two people.
We’ddevelopeda light contentious battle of wits, each of ustryingto one-up the other any time weinteracted, whichwasn’taltogether that much. Ihadto work a good amount after one of the guyscalledin sick all week.
Ittooksomegettingusedto, having another person share my space.
Iremindedmyself that Ihadlivedin a six-by-eight cell with another person for ten years.
Sharinga kitchen shouldn’t be that difficult.
But shetestedmy patience. The morning after the hospital, I’dgottenup early to make a pot of coffee.
“Dear God, you call this coffee?”Her facetwistedwith disapproval.
“What’s wrong with it?” I took a sip to make sure it brewed correctly. “Tastes fine to me.”
Her eyes rolled dramatically. “This is so Godot. Just accepting shitty standards because they’re present.”
She still drank the coffee every morning, she just made sure to groan audibly enough so that I knew she wasn’t happy about it.
As the days went on, the more opposite I realized we were.
I used one dish. She used all the dishes.
Ittookme two hours to do laundry.
It took her two days .
I wondered how on Earth she had gotten anything done before. And what her old apartment must have looked like.
“I had a laundry service,” she’d said after I asked her how green her clothes got when they sat in the washer at her apartment in Easton.
I scowled at her, throwing a ball of wet clothes her way when I told her that I wasn’t her laundry service.
She’d stuck her tongue out at me and I’d wanted to bite it off.
For all the grief I gave her, I found myself looking forward to getting out of bed in the morning. To coming home at night. Her presence filled my little double-wide with things I didn’t know it was missing. Air. Life. Color. Laughter. Heart.
Platonic, temporary heart. But heart nonetheless.
Brennan came around more often too. I was still wary of their friendship but I missed my brother. He’d spent so much time holed up in his little adult treehouse that it was refreshing to have him stop over each afternoon while Nicolette barked answers at Jeopardy!
Itbecamea nightly routine, and itwasjust another item on my new list of things Ilookedforward to. The three of usmadeadrinkinggame out of it. The first person to answer correctlychosesomeone to drink. Iwasfar out of my league with those two andwentthrough a lot of beer.
Nicolette insisted her ankle was fine and was still bicycling all over Godot. She hadn’t complained once until this afternoon when a knock landed on my bedroom door.
Fresh out of the shower, Iwascladin a towel,pullingmy bedroom door open.
Shestoodin front of me,soakingwetfrom head to foot, her golden hairplasteredto her face.
Itriedto keep my eyes on her face but the way her nipplesbeadedunder the thin materialmademy groin ache and what I wouldn’t do to drag my tongue across—
“Can I please borrow your truck? I tried riding to my Field Days committee meeting and there’s a goddamn monsoon happening outside.” She pouted, holding her clasped hands in front of her.
“Nope,” I smirked, enjoying the way the fury crept up her neck.
She stomped her foot in that bratty little way she had the first day I’d met her .
“Fine, but if I get the flu I am going to sneeze all over every piece of food in that fridge!” She took a step closer to me, pushing my bare chest with her index finger. I grabbed her finger and glared into her heated eyes.
Her facewasso close to mine that I could smell the rain on her skin.
The deep gold of herwethairleftdroplets running down her chest,disappearinginto the crevice between the swell of her breasts.
Iletgo andbackedup a pace, aware Iwasin only a towel and itwasabout to gettentedif I didn’t step away.
The bratty attitude had all but ebbed away and was replaced by a slow smirk that crept across her face. As if reading my mind, she took a step back, raking her eyes down my body.
“Careful, Riot.” Her tongue darted out, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, trying to mask the satisfied smile on her face. “Your pupils are dilating.”
My face grew hot. She swaggered away like she had that first day and I was acutely aware my cock had thickened against the rough towel. “I’ll be waiting in your truck,” she tossed over her shoulder.
I opened my towel and gazed down at myself.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
After IdroppedNicolette off at the church for the committeemeeting, Ispedaway quickly. Ihopedworkingtogether on the Field Days would quell the tension thatseemedto simmer between her and Katie.
Back at home, I decided to work on a few pieces for the opening weekend of the Farmer's Market. I had acted confident, but the truth was I had no idea if any of it would sell.
My workhadbeenahitamong the socialites and New Englanders whohadtwo homes to furnish but Godotwasa crap shoot.
Iwashopeful the seasonal tourists from Lycon, the resort town on the other side of the lake, would find their way over.
The Farmer's Marketwason the outskirts of Spokane County, whichmeantI could go but I would be too anxious and IwantedtoletNicolette know Itrustedher with this.
My thoughtssurprisedme. Did I trust her? The womanhadan innate need to ask questions, Ihadfiguredthat much out. So, what would happen if pushcameto shove, and shestartedaskingquestions about me? About that night?