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It’s weird. I thought my explanation of my mom’s particular brand of matchmaking crazy would make Whit happy, but she looks sort of disappointed.

“I guess I got overexcited. I’ve never been to the ocean before.” Whit puts her hand back in her lap and eyes my mother shyly. “I’m Whit, by the way.”

“Whit.” My mom pulls her name out like she’s enjoying the taste of it. “I love that. It suits you perfectly. So you were a land-bound girl before coming here? I can sense it. I was born and raised in the flat farmland of Michigan.”

Whit’s smile is warm and relaxed. “I’m from Pennsylvania, right by Amish country.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know a lot about preserving jam and raising livestock. I’m really happy I got to trade goats for starfish.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, hon.” Mom laughs and it brings out a reactionary bubbly laugh from Whit. I love that sound, the mingling laughter of these two awesome women in my life. “So, you have that brilliant college girl vibe about you. Am I right?”

“I don’t know about brilliant. But I’m a freshman at Imperial Coast College, just getting my core done this semester and sitting in on some lectures in areas I might be interested in. So no major yet. Everyone always wants to know my major,” she explains, tucking her hair shiny, dark hair behind her ear.

I never even thought to ask her major, and now I feel like a jackhole.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve been to enough college classes to have two BAs by now, but I never could settle on a major. I just have a ton of credits and a crapload of student debt.” My mom shrugs and chuckles. “All that college led to one of the most exciting romances of my life, Deo, and an unexpectedly useful semester as a business major. So, you know, don’t sweat the major thing too much. I get an amazing vibe from you, Whit. You’ll find your path.” My mom winks.

Before Whit can answer, the bell over the door jangles and a clutch of old biddies comes in, calling to my mother in high, excited voices. “Ah, my senior gals are here. Listen, why don’t you kids come by on Saturday? I was going to make some risotto. Maybe Rocko can come by, too.”

The idea of a double date with my mom and my tattoo guy is kind of creepy, but Whit says, “That sounds like a lot of fun.” Since I’m down for more one-on-one time with Whit, I guess I’m also down for a double date with my mother. Not exactly my idea of romance, but I’ll make it work.

Whit and I leave the store before the laughing, screaming, demanding grandmas hopped up on herbs can trample us. “Your mom is so cool,” Whit gushes as we walk to the Jeep.

“I’m glad you like her. You remind me of her.” I check out her ass in those little black bikini bottoms, hanging out of the bottom of my shirt. I like the view. A lot.

“Really?” She nips her bottom lip between her teeth and hops into the passenger seat. “Because she’s basically who I want to be.”

I slide in the driver’s side and start the engine. “A hippie?” I never would have pegged Whit for a Grateful Dead groupie.

“No,” she laughs as I pull onto the highway. “An independent woman. Someone who chooses her own path and makes her own decisions without regrets. Your mom didn’t do everything perfectly, but she’s happy with what she did and where she’s at. She has her passion, her store, her life. Her own life, with no one else’s expectations pressing on her. I think that’s amazing.”

I grip the steering wheel and grit my teeth. “Yeah, well, she’s cool, but it’s not all rainbow flags and psychedelic music with my mom.”

Whit slides her feet out of her flipflops and puts them on the dashboard. “We all have issues, Deo.”

“Not all of us go into month-long depression tailspins over the same fucking asshole every year or two.” My words bite out harsher than I mean them to. Whit wrinkles her forehead and bites her lips, and I’m suddenly pushed to confess all kinds of things I’ve kept buried deep forever. “My dad has been yanking her chain since before I was born. When he’s around, he’s all she can focus on. When he’s gone, she does her thing, but underneath it all, she’s just waiting. Waiting for him to come back, for him to call, for him to throw her a fucking bone before he goes off and ignores her again.”

Whit drops her feet to the floorboards. “Rocko said he was kind of dating your mom?” Her voice is careful after my little outburst.

“Oh, she dates. You know, that whole ‘casual fucking to tide her over until her true love comes back’ bullshit.” I see Whit’s shoulders go tight, and feel like a scumbag on so many levels. “Sorry, Whit. I’m sure you don’t want to hear all this. My mom’s cool. It’s just frustrating that she gets caught up in that crap over and over. You’d think she’d learn.”

“I guess some relationships are just like that.” Whit pulls her hair back like she’s making a tiny ponytail, then releases it so it swings back around her chin. “I get you, though. If someone is going to suck you in and wring you out like that, is it worth it to be with them? I’d rather just keep things casual and keep a handle on who I am than fall so completely in love and lose myself.”

“Agreed. Very sensible of you, College Girl. So, I never even asked your major or any of that. I guess that was pretty shitty of me.” We’re back at the parking lot next to her car. She looks over at me and throws this sweet-as-hell smile my way.

“That was pretty non-boring of you. I don’t really feel like talking about school. And right now? I don’t really feel like talking at all.” Her voice is low and inviting.

“Really?” I nod her over. “You never cashed in on that snuggle I offered you before.” I raise my eyebrows and she giggles, even though she’s trying hard not to. “Come sit over here by me.”

“You mean on your lap?” She narrows those sweet brown eyes my way.

“You’ve never sat on a lap until you’ve sat on mine. You know Santa Claus? I taught him everything he knows.” I crook my finger at her.

She plugs up her ears and laughs. “Stop it! You are corrupting my childhood.”

“Why? Have you been a bad girl this year?” I love that I can make her laugh. I love that she’s considering coming over to me. And then, though she’s acting like it’s pure torture, she moves from her seat to mine, squeezes herself between my body and the steering wheel and presses her face close.

All the joking around comes to a sudden total stop. “This is stupid idea,” she says, her voice a whisper.

“I’m known for my charming stupidity.” Then I stop talking. I run my hands up from her knees to her thighs and let my fingers press just under the edges of her bikini bottoms. She pulls a breath in through her teeth.

I catch that pouty bottom lip and suck it in, loving the salt and sweet taste of her mouth. I slide my hands around the curve of her ass, under my Pixies shirt, up her back, and pull her tighter, kissing her fast and hard so she won’t have time to change her mind.

Not that she seems like she will. Whatever doubt she might have had flips off like a switch, and Whit spreads her legs wider so she’s crushed against my instant hard-on. She moans into my mouth, tugs her hands at the bottom of my shirt and pulls it half over my head, leaving it hanging off one shoulder. I tear my mouth away from hers and kiss along the soft line of her neck, back behind her ear, right over that ‘W,’ the one that doesn’t stand for her name.

And mid hot-as-all-fuck makeout, I wonder if ‘W’ stands for a guy? Someone she left behind in Amish country? First love, first heartbreak? We talked a good game about not getting tied up in any one person and she knows I know about her booty calls with the random douchebag. But this is rattling my cage for some reason.

It all is, suddenly. I realize that every minute I spend with Whit makes me more possessive, and I fucking suck at sharing.

My fingers tug at the strings of her bikini top and loosen it at the back. My hands come around and coast over her soft, hot skin, moving up under the loose fabric of her top and filling with the perfect weight of her tits. Every shred of testosterone in me is full-drive ahead. Her hands are in my hair, running over my shoulders, moving down to unbuckle my jeans. I skim along the inside of one thigh and slip my finger under the fabric of her bottoms. She’s slick already, and my mind loses any control over where we’re going or what we’re doing.

The barking hoorahs of a bunch of fucking jarheads jogging on the beach cracks the quiet of my Jeep and makes Whit’s head fly up. Her eyes lose their sexy glaze and snap, bright and totally full of regret.

“No. No, Deo. This…I haven’t been honest with you about…I just can’t…” She trails off, desperately trying to tie her top back on under my shirt. She scuttles back off my lap and onto the passenger seat, sticking her feet into her flipflops.

I’m still half in a sex daze, and reason is blurry. Why isn’t she on my lap? Why aren’t my hands on her? Why does life suck so much suddenly? “Is it about the other guy? The call you took last night? Because, trust me, Whit, I’m no fucking angel.” I watch her pat her hair down and look around, frenzied, like she’s afraid we’ll get caught together.

“It’s that. It
is
that, but other things. You’re…you just aren’t like him. That other guy. And I don’t want…what we have is not the same as what I have with him, and I don’t want to mix it up. Or fuck it up. God, I’m fucking this all up.” She puts her head in her hands and her dark hair slides over her pale fingers. “I didn’t expect this to happen, and I think it was a mistake. Okay. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I’m irritated as all fucking hell.
That’s all
. “So it’s back to your fucking fuckbuddy tonight?”

“That’s none of your business, Deo.” Her voice is icy.

“Maybe it wasn’t. Then we had this day together, and you and me make a hell of a lot of sense, Whit. What we had today was real, and I’m not about to go in reverse for no reason.”

“Everything is real.” Her voice is the unexpected jagged puncture of glass in my foot at the beach. “Every fucking thing we do is real because we’re here living right now.” She’s close to tears.

I drop the attitude. “Okay. Back up, alright? I’m just confused, Whit. We were together, right? We were having a good time, right?” She nods and relaxes, her breath less labored and her hands less shaky. Good. “Then a bunch of fucking soldier clones ruined the mood and now we’re here. What the fuck happened between all that, cause something doesn’t make sense, and I can’t connect the dots.”

She’d been calming down, but her eyes snap and her lips curl. “Don’t say that! You keep your goddamn mouth shut, Deo!”

She grabs the door handle and slams her shoulder against the door, popping it open. She tumbles out and rushes her car, snatching the little bundle of clothes she shed this morning. She yanks the shorts over her hips, rips my shirt off and throws it at me, then pulls her tank on.

I make it to her and grab her by the thin shoulders, trying to steady her, but she’s a ball of rage, slapping at my arms and pushing against me. “Get the hell away from me!”

“Whit. Wait, what did I do? What did I say? Don’t leave like this. C’mon, you’re upset. Let me drop you off. This is crazy, Whit. Whit!”

But she isn’t listening to me. She pushes me hard enough that I take a step back, then slides in the driver’s seat, smashes the key in the ignition, and pulls her car in reverse. I can see her face through the windshield, streaked with tears, and I’m left feeling like I just got jumped and beat to hell.

I don’t know how long I stand in the sandy parking lot, but I finally realize she’s not coming back and I’m not accomplishing anything by being here. I bend down to pick up my t-shirt, and when I bring it up to my nose, her smell clings to the fabric.

I get in my Jeep and drive back to my grandpa’s, the smell and taste of this girl on my body and in my mouth, and her number snug in my phone. I want to call her, find out what the fuck short-circuited, why we went from bliss to meltdown in three minutes flat.

But when I get to the privacy of my room, shades of my parents creep up. The tantrums. The fights that ended with fist-shaped holes in the sheet-rock and piles of gasoline-soaked clothes and pictures burning on the front lawn before the inevitable apologies and vases of roses and long, locked interludes in the bedroom.

I know what crazy emotions like that lead to, and I don’t want it. I can’t have it. Going through it once was enough for me. I consider calling Cara, my go-to friend-with-benefits, but I know no girl is gonna do it for me after I had Whit in my arms so recently.

I spend the next few hours on the back porch with my grandpa, trying to drown my pissed-off fury and regret in as much powerful liquor as we can find in his cabinets. Not the way I was hoping my first day of being twenty-two would end.

              -Eight-

Whit

I blow off my evening class because that’s what you do when you almost fuck some guy in his Jeep and then he offhandedly insults the one institution that, if you think about it for a single second, has the power to gut you. It’s my day off, but I call Rocko to see if he needs me anyway. I’ve got to find something to do to keep from thinking about Deo and the feeling of his tongue grazing across my collarbone and that hungry look in his eyes that made me want to give him anything in the world just to make him feel as good as he was making me feel. And then he had to fuck it all up.

But Rocko insists things are fine at the shop. No one’s come in for ink all day. He tells me to go out and have fun. I don’t really know what that means anymore. Fun hasn’t been on the agenda in a while. Unless you count my twice-weekly hookups with Ryan. That gives me an idea. I text Ryan.
              You up for round two? My place this time.
              I know he’ll say yes. He’s never let me down. I get that sex isn’t a good coping mechanism for grief; I’m not a total moron. That’s not why I’m doing this thing with Ryan. I’m doing it because it feels good. The main reason I left Pennsylvania was that there was too much emotion all the time. Too much feeling. It’s exhausting. There’s none of that drama with Ryan. It’s just pure fun. I can detach from everything else and just enjoy the ride, figuratively speaking, naturally. There’s a line, though. Ryan never asks me out, we don’t go to the movies or even to Taco Bell. Deo tried to cross that line, and I won’t be stupid enough to let him that close again.
              I peel back the wrapper on a sticky pastry and cram it into my mouth just as Ryan replies, saying he’s on his way. Before I shower, I grab my phone one last time. And, with a shaking hand and a burning lead ball in my gut, I delete Deo’s number.
              “Come in!” I yell from my cozy spot on the sofa. After my shower, the effects of having been out in the sun all day do a number on me. I stifle another yawn as Ryan lets himself into my craptastic apartment. By the time I decided to take the free ride to Imperial Coast College, rather than my first choice school, the University of Delaware, all of the dorms were full and my financial aid and the money I make at Rocko’s shop don’t exactly afford me a penthouse. Still, it’s mine, and that was the whole point of the move, right?
              “Looking fancy,” Ryan says. He motions toward my choice of attire. Not the usual form fitting, uncomfortable skirt and heels. No thick layer of pin-up style makeup. Just me. Freshly showered in cotton shorts and a tank top. I laugh and wave him over, glad that things are back to normal for me.
This
is what I want; easy, no-strings-attached Ryan.
Not
complicated, drive-me-crazy Deo. My hand is bandaged, and I notice Ryan glance at it. He doesn’t ask what happened. I don’t know why I sort of thought he would, and I’m not sure if I’m okay with the fact that he doesn’t ask or not. But that’s not our thing, I remind myself. Just like I don’t ask what he does the other five nights of the week, he doesn’t delve into my life outside of our meetings. That’s what makes this all work.
              Right?
              “I think I like this look even better.” Ryan smiles appreciatively at the minuscule shorts.
              “Just for you.” I force a smile. Ryan knows exactly how to walk that fine line between complimenting me in a way that I appreciate and saying anything that takes my breath away and makes me feel all light-headed. Deo has no concept that there even is a line. And I’m usually good about tossing little blase compliments back and forth with him, but what I just said is a bold lie.