Fearsome (9 page)

“You started college at what? Fourteen?” Lauren asks. “How many serious boyfriends did you have?”

“Serious ones? None.”

“Have you had your heart broken?” Imogene turns her head away from us and blows another plume of smoke towards the butterflies hovering around us. I imagine them all dropping to the ground with black lung disease.

“No, I’ve never been in love.”

“I think I’m in love with Leo,” Lauren says.

“You have to have a conversation with him for that to happen.” Imogene laughs.

“What are you going to wear on your date with Dylan?” Lauren asks.

“More importantly, should the opportunity arise, if you know what I mean, are you going to sleep with him?” Imogene asks.

I decide to put all my cards on the table. I like these two and, if they can offer any advice on improving my romantic life, or lack thereof, I want in. “If that happens, it will be a first.”

Lauren shields her eyes from the sun with her hand and studies me. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re a virgin. You’ve honestly never fucked a guy?”

“It makes sense,” Imogene says more delicately. “She’s so much younger than everyone, she’s just catching up. But you’re very pretty; you have to expect guys to hit on you.”

“Back up a minute here,” Lauren says. “What about other stuff? Blow jobs and hand jobs. Did you ever go down on a guy? Did a guy ever go down on you?”

“Leave her alone,” Imogene slaps Lauren’s arm.

I’m not bothered by her questions. When I was sixteen and studying with a bunch of nineteen-year-old sorority girls, I was intimidated, but now my confidence is stronger and I’m not terrified to be imperfect. I’m only a little nervous.

“I’ve done plenty, but not the actual deed.” Truth be told, I tried to give a guy a blow job once, but holding his penis in my hand made me realize I really disliked the guy. There was also one time, when a guy pulled my panties down, I suddenly didn’t want his face between my legs. It wasn’t the sexual acts, it was the guys. They always turned me off somehow; they were simply wrong for me.

“You mean the actual fucking, penis in and humping and bumping?” Lauren continues her questioning.

“It sounds lovely when you put it like that.”

Imogene and Lauren laugh and then I join in.

“Maybe Dylan will be your lucky stud,” Imogene says.

“Maybe he’ll hammer it home for you,” Lauren says, still laughing. “I bet he’s good in bed. He probably delivers a great orgasm.”

“I’ll settle for a good grilled steak, heavy on the butter.” I get up while they howl with laughter over my comment. “I’m going to the kitchen to make some real drinks. I found vodka in the freezer.” They’re still laughing, so I toss my sombrero on the ground and walk back to the house.

I’m mixing vodka with cranberry juice as I pour it into tall tumblers when I hear someone’s intake of breath behind me. I turn around and Carson is staring at my legs and working his way up to my face. I’m generally not the kind of person who feels comfortable walking around in a bathing suit unless I’m at a beach or pool with others similarly dressed, I wish I had thrown on some kind of cover-up, but I forgot to bring one outside.

“Hi,” I say. He has that serious face again, not the soft, contemplative expression from earlier in the studio. “I’m making vodka cranberries for the gals. May I make a couple for you and Dylan?”

“No, we’re working.” He’s authoritative, almost scolding me with his eyes.

“It’s getting late; don’t you want to quit and have some of your weekend—”

“Dylan said he’s taking you out tomorrow night,” Carson cuts me off, definitely not interested in my suggestion about ending his workday.

“Yes, that’s right. He asked me out for dinner.”

“Why are you doing this?”

I’m a little insulted that he’s talking to me with accusation ringing in his tone, clearly blaming me for something.

“Dylan asked me out for dinner. It’s pretty straightforward. Is there a problem with me going out with him?”

“Yes.”

Now I am more than frustrated, I want to scream at his stony expression. “Would it be possible for you to use a few more nouns and verbs, so I know exactly
why
you
have a problem with me going out to dinner with your brother?”

Carson takes a couple long strides and is in my face before I can count to one. He has to lean over to be at my eye level. He places his hands on the counter on either side of me so I’m trapped. “He thinks you’re going to stay here for good. He thinks he has a chance with you. I want you to be honest with him and explain that you’ll be going back to your real life in New York.”

He moves so close to my face, I find myself staring back into his beautiful eyes that never leave mine. He is nothing like Dylan; I can see that in this moment. Carson is only three years older than his brother; however, he might as well be twenty years older. He carries a weight—a burden in him—that is marked by a serious, unwavering demeanor. I think a part of me remembers this about him and another part of me remembers trying to coax the fun side out of him. I know I have seen him laugh, the memory is there, buried with all the other fuzzy images, yet right now, I only see a man who is trying to look strong because there’s something that worries him.

If he’s trying to be intimidating and rouse my anxiety, it’s working. After a short stare-off between us, he moves back. My small victory is that he seems to be at a loss for words, too.

“I haven’t decided what I’m doing. My boss gave me a great opportunity to work from here, from this house.”

Carson looks surprised and crosses his arms. “So you’re staying here? You’re going to live in the house full-time?” He doesn’t sound convinced at all.

“That’s my plan, at least for now.”

“Ah, at least for now and how long do you think ‘for now’ will last?”

“Well, Carson, I don’t know that,” I snap. “I want to try something new and fun; something where I get to work from home and I can have a real studio for painting. Besides, what the hell business is it of yours anyway?”

“It’s my business when it involves my brother.”

“He’s not a child. He’s twenty-three-years-old.” I’m getting angrier. “He’s older than me and can take care of himself.”

“You don’t know anything about Dylan. This may be a new, fun thing for you. Isn’t that what you called it? Something new and fun? This is Dylan’s life.”

“It’s my life, too.” I’m good at sounding like a petulant child. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

My sudden rage startles him; I see him physically back off and gather his thoughts, bringing it down a notch.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” His tone is nicer, though forced. This is a painful subject for him to talk about and it will probably put me on his permanent shit list. “The thing is, I don’t want Dylan to get his hopes up and then get hurt.”

“Hurt by me?” I sound incredulous. “Dylan, the big flirt? He’s somewhat of a womanizer from what I’ve heard. You think I’m going to hurt him? That’s rich.”

Carson shakes his head and rubs his hand back and forth on his jaw. It’s a good move on him, very cool and sexy. I wonder what he’s hiding.

“This is too difficult to explain.”

“Hey, I’m the woman who does quadratic equations. You said so yourself. I think I’m capable of understanding whatever dilemma you think we have here.”

“I wish it was that simple. But I know you’ll get bored living in this little town. You’ll want to go back. New York has more to offer you.”

“Really? You’re a psychic, too? That’s amazing. 5 Alpha could probably use your abilities.” My sarcasm is almost palpable. I have been fighting for years to be taken seriously as an adult and here I am behaving like a child.

“I’m not trying to be an ass. I’m sorry. You’ve made a lot of people happy coming here.” I believe him, although I also don’t think he’s one of those happy people.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want you to break Dylan’s heart,” he mumbles.

As much as I want to scoff at that hilarious concept, I don’t. I shrug, feeling completely naked in this vivid red bathing suit that is meant for someone more glamorous, so I cross my arms.

Carson senses my discomfort. “You look really good, Jess. You were a little hellion when you were a kid, but you’ve become a very beautiful woman.” He instantly looks like he regrets saying that and heads quickly for the door.

I love that he says that to me while, at the same time, I know I want more of that from Carson.
From Carson
, my big fat brain tells me.

“I’ve never broken anyone’s heart,” I blurt out before he’s out of earshot.

At the kitchen door, he turns back around and produces the slightest smile as though it distresses him.

“Yes, you have,” he says and leaves.

Whose heart? Aunt Virginia’s? My parents’? The last guy I dated who slept with the neighbor girl after I kicked him out of bed? Carson is using a code I can’t decipher. I want to chase after him and demand that he explain what he’s afraid of between Dylan and me, or more accurately myself in general.

I want to be near Carson, end of story. However, experience has taught me that guys are turned off by brainiacs. Even if I wear a push-up bra and sex up a dress, I invariably let something slip; an innocuous comment about science or math, it doesn’t matter, it’s enough to send the gorgeous, good-looking guys for the hills.

One man I met at a glitzy party on the Upper Eastside seemed terrific, intelligent and handsome. I thought it was a sign that my bad man-luck had changed. After a nice dinner at Cesca, he swooped me into his arms for a kiss. I was overjoyed and started to say something I thought was clever when he covered my mouth with two fingers and actually said, “Please don’t talk. I really want to take you home and fuck you.” His balls got to meet my knee up close and personal before I stole his cab.

Nine

“What took so long, partner? I’m mighty parched,” Imogene says as I set the tray of drinks on the grass.

“A little hold-up with Carson. Apparently, he is not happy about me going out with his brother.”

“Carson is very protective of Dylan,” Lauren tells me.

“Why? Dylan seems pretty capable of fending for himself.”

“He is,” Imogene adds. “But they went through a lot together as kids. First their mom died when they were very young, then their dad was pretty useless and Carson had to take over at a young age.”

“That’s the summer they moved in with Ginnie. You and your mom were here,” Lauren says.

“Shit, I have to call my mom,” I say and then immediately brush the thought away. “Okay, so they moved in here that summer and then they moved back with their dad?”

“That’s just it; their dad never really came back. Not to parent them at least. Carson took Dylan back to their home and he did everything. Carson has always been the parent to Dylan,” Imogene says. “They had a trailer home and not a nice one. Their dad would float back into town when he felt like it or when the money from his sales job ran out.”

“He was a drunk,” Lauren adds. “I remember him stumbling into Dylan’s class to pick him up and he was so intoxicated that the school had the police pick him up.”

“Then that part of their life ended when their dad killed himself,” Imogene interjects.

“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

“It was pretty rough for them. They were close to their mom. When she got sick, that whole family fell apart, especially their dad. When she died, that was the first time their dad disappeared,” Lauren explains. “That’s why Ginnie had them come spend that summer here, so she could help them figure out what to do next. They could have stayed in Ginnie’s house forever, but Carson wanted to show he was brave and strong. I think it was more likely that he was really afraid to be dependent on people again. Besides that, though, he wanted to move Dylan back to the trailer park and get him back in school. Carson believed he could make things normal for his brother and himself.”

“And he did,” Imogene says. “Although, I think the only reason they got under the radar of the state was because Ginnie would help out with groceries and utility bills. I was in awe when I’d see them walking to school, doing everything on their own. Carson was very serious about being in charge and keeping his brother in line. Then their messed up dad came back and blew his brains out behind the trailer one day.”

“Oh, God,” I exclaim. “I can’t believe what they’ve gone through. Why didn’t they go into foster care when their dad died?”

“Because Carson was eighteen, he got approval to be Dylan’s legal guardian or something so they could stay there. Between their parents’ deaths, they spent seven years raising themselves; well, with the help of Ginnie and my mom who did a lot of cooking for them. Really, the whole town was watching over them,” Imogene says. “It seems so long ago, but it really wasn’t. Then, when Lauren and I went off to college, Dylan was already gone. He got into Colgate. We came back every summer to work at Grandma’s diner and by then, Carson’s business was growing really well.”

“Wait a sec, Dylan went to college and Carson stayed here?”

“Carson couldn’t go to college,” Lauren answers. “He had to stay here. Dylan was only fifteen, so Carson forfeited his scholarship to Columbia, but he made sure Dylan went to college. They’re both smart, but Carson has something wicked going on in that brain of his. Dylan went to Colgate on scholarship, too, while Carson helped pay his bills. By then, he had started his furniture business. He learned the trade from a local guy who was retiring. Carson was like an apprentice before his furniture and woodworking skills became very popular with some of the wealthier residents and tourists so he got good contacts at high-end stores in the city and around the country. He did go into the city for part-time classes at Columbia as well, but he never got his degree.”

“Carson is doing all right for himself. As well as for Dylan,” Imogene says. “Lauren and I should go work for Carson ‘cause so far our college degrees are not landing us jobs. And Carson pays more than my grandmother.”