Pieces of Me (11 page)

Chapter 14

I don't remember Holden leaving last night. All I know is this morning I woke up tucked into my bed with no recollection of how I got there. He's already at work by the time I arrive this morning but he doesn't even acknowledge my existence.             
              “Good morning,” I greet him. He just stares stonily at everything but me. “Okaaay.”
              The Java Bean definitely feels a little frosty this morning and it has nothing to do with the temperature outside. It's the middle of November and the weather is still pretty  mild compared to back home where it's already snowed once. Of course the weather in the Midwest is so wonky it can snow one day and be sixty degrees the next. It seems a little more consistent on this side of the country.
              Holden and I complete the opening duties in silence. Anytime I try to say something to him, he walks the other way.
              Finally I can't take it anymore. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
              “No.”
              “Then why are you ignoring me?”
              “I'm talking to you right now. Clearly not ignoring you.”
              “But why are you being so cold?”
              He sighs. “I'm just tired of trying.”
              “Trying to do what?”
              “Trying to get you to let me in.”
              “I don't know what you're talking about.” I feel myself starting to shut down the way I always do.
              “Is there something you want to tell me?”
              Yes, but not yet, I think to myself.
              “No. I don't think so,” I say a little confused about what he could be referring to. What is this about?
              “I saw the shirt Aria. If you have a boyfriend, I don't know why you don't just tell me. I'm not a scumbag, I'd never try to steal somebody's girlfriend.”
              “It's complicated.”
              “No. Actually, it's not. Didn't you think I deserved to l know?”
              “We're just friends, barely that. I don't owe you any explanation.”
              “What happened to you?” he asks like he knows and he's just waiting for me to admit it, but I know that he can't have any idea.
              “What do you mean?”
              “You don't drive. You have a $1500 guitar sitting in your closet that you refuse to play. You have a guy's shirt in your bed—”
              “How do you know that?” That guitar is tucked safely in my closet. There's no way he could have seen it unless he was snooping in my bedroom.
              “I saw it.” He shrugs like it isn't a big deal that he was going through my personal things.
              “You went into my room.” It's not a question and he knows it. He clearly crossed the line. The heat rises to my cheeks in anger. Who does he think he is?
              “You fell asleep on the couch; I simply carried you to your bed. You were shivering so I looked in the closet for an extra blanket. That's all,” he explains. “I just want to know, why won't you just be honest with me?”
              “We're almost out of the creamer,” I say flatly. How many times have I tried to have this conversation with him? It should be easy, four painfully simple words that don't even begin to explain the heartache that I have felt every single day since that one fateful night: My boyfriend is dead.
              I want to tell him everything. Explain why I am the way that I am. But now, when he is looking at me with hurt and disgust because he feels like I've somehow betrayed him, I can't muster the courage to say the words.
              “There's some in the back,” he answers softly. “Top shelf”
              I nod curtly, before heading to the stock room to grab a new box—anything to keep myself busy enough that I don't have to answer his questions or look into those intense eyes for another moment.
              I can’t really reach the shelf so I jump a few times, swatting at the box until it comes tumbling down on top of me.
              Holden catches it just in time with one hand, his other hand wrapped firmly around my waist to keep me from falling backwards.
              My breath  hitches at the sudden closeness of his hard body. I can feel his mouth pressing into my hair and his fingers digging into the soft skin above my hips. An involuntary shiver runs over my body.
              I don’t think I’m the only one affected.
              Holden makes a sound and tightens his grip on my body. In one swift movement, he sets the box of creamer aside and twists me around so that we’re facing each other.
              My body and mind are at war with each other.
              I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that I like the way it feels to be in his arms, to soak in the warmth from his body and taste the sweetness of his breath mingling with mine. But the moment I let my mind go there, the guilt washes over me and I get nauseous.
              I remind myself that it's too soon.
              I’m not over my heartbreak. I’m not over Sean. Holden deserves to know. I need to tell him.
              “Aria.” Holden’s deep voice, husky with desire, tickles my ear.
              I can’t help my reaction. I lean into him, letting myself feel the way his scruffy cheek brushes against mine.
              “Aria,” he says again, kissing me on the corner of my mouth. It’s as though he’s testing the waters before plunging into the deep end.  He kisses a trail from my neck before returning to the corner of my mouth.
              Before I have time to think about it and change my mind, I slide my hands up over his shoulders and turn into the kiss.
              Our mouths meet and a wild heat spreads through my entire body, scorching everything in its path.
              A moan of pleasure escapes Holden’s lips as I push myself further into him, tightening my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me.
              He kisses a hot trail from my neck down to my collarbone. His hands slip lower and his legs press between mine before his lips crash against my mouth again.
              I part my lips to release a strangled sigh and he takes advantage of the opening, darting his tongue into my mouth teasingly. Gripping me tighter around my hips he pulls me closer to him, nuzzling his nose against the hollow of my neck. His breath is warm against my skin yet my body trembles under his touch. I think about what he said before, about if I ever kissed him that he would be the last boy I ever kissed.
              But the thing is,
he
isn't supposed to be the one. Somebody else is
supposed
to.
              At once all I can see is Sean's face. Sean's dark eyes. Sean's smile. Sean's lips.
              The memory of the boy I thought I'd spend the rest of my life kissing suddenly snaps me back into reality. I can tell Holden senses my sudden tension. He doesn’t completely release me from his arms, but he does take a step back from me so I can no longer feel how much he was obviously enjoying our make out session. Once there's space between our bodies a flood of different emotions crash into me.
              “I can’t believe I just did that.”
              “We better finish closing up.” I pick up on a weird tone in his voice but I don’t know him well enough to decipher it so I just nod.  He picks up the box of creamer off of the floor. I don’t follow him when he walks away.
              I don’t think closing The Java Bean has ever been quite so intensely awkward. It's a relief to finally walk out of the building. I know that it's time for me to come clean, to tell him everything about Sean, but I need just one more day.

Chapter 15

I still can't believe I made out with Holden in the back room of The Java Bean. But as much as I can't believe I did that, I can't stop thinking about that kiss and the way it felt to be wrapped up in his arms.

             
I haven't seen him in over a week which is weird since we usually work every shift together. He hasn't been in class either so I haven't seen him at all since the kiss. I thought something might be wrong, like maybe he was sick or something but Mason just said that Holden asked to reschedule some of his shifts. There was no way I was going to ask Professor Hilburn if he had heard from him, but I can only assume that, as the lab assistant, maybe he doesn't have to attend class. Maybe he is keeping himself busy with other tasks for Hilburn. Whatever he has been up to, I guess it's safe to say that he has been avoiding me.

             
So I'm taken off-guard when he waltzes into The Java Bean acting completely apathetic towards me. I'm not sure what I expected. I basically have rejected this guy time and time again and he believes that I have a secret boyfriend that I'm not telling him about. Of course he's bound to get tired of it eventually. It isn't as though he doesn't have other girls lined up around the block just to be on the receiving end of one of his smiles.

             
The morning is uncomfortably silent but soon the morning rush filters in and we're too busy for me to even think about Holden or that kiss. Okay, so the kiss is actually on the forefront of my mind but I'm trying my best not to think about it.

             
As soon as it's my turn to take a break I dig out the book I brought from home and  curl up in one of the comfy chairs toward the back of The Java Bean. I'm looking forward to delving right in and hopefully getting lost in another world that doesn't include Holden and his schmexiness.

             
“Are you busy?” Holden asks, handing me an iced coffee with caramel drizzled on top. I recognize it as an olive branch offering.

             
“Thank you,” I tell him as I take the drink. “Um, No, not really. Just reading.”

             
“Obviously.” He sits down on the arm of the chair and peers over my shoulder. “Is it good?”

             
“Yeah, it's my favorite actually.”

             
“Favorite?”

             
“Yeah, I mean, it’s the kind of book that makes you smile the whole time you’re reading it. Even in the most absurd circumstances,” I try to explain but it's really hard to explain just how insanely off-the-wall amazing this book is to someone who hasn't read it and judging from the curious expression on his face, I know I'm not doing a good job at it.

             
“Take this part for example.” I read out loud the scene where Buttercup tells Westley—who she thinks is the Dread Pirate Roberts—to die a slow death, cut up into a thousand pieces. “See what I mean? Something like that shouldn’t be remotely funny, but at the same time it’s just so absurd you can’t help but smile while Buttercup is wishing the love-of-her-life’s violent death. I mean, really? Are we expected to believe that she didn’t recognize him simply because of a mask?”

             
“If you thought someone was dead for years, I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to recognize him in a mask either. I mean, by this point Buttercup has completely given up hope of Westley ever returning which is ultimately why she agreed to marry that douchebag Prince Humperdink.”

             
“You’ve seen the movie?”

             
“Who hasn't? The book is way better though.”

             
“You've read
The Princess Bride
?” I ask in disbelief.

             
“Why would I lie about something like that?”

             
“Prove it.”

             
“Really?” he scoffs.

             
“Yes, really. Hardly anyone I know has actually read the book but everyone's seen the movie. So no, I don't believe you. Tell me about a scene that is only in the book.”

             
“Hmm,” Holden says thoughtfully as he takes the book from me and reads through the rest of the scene before flipping through a few pages.

             
“Hey! No cheating!”  I try to pull the book back out of his hands but he brushes me off, ignoring me as he continues to look for something. “Don't lose my spot,” I warn him.

             
“I think this one’s my favorite.” He hands the book back to me and points to the passage he was referring to.  It’s the scene in the beginning of the book where Westley declares his love for Buttercup, explaining that if her love was a grain of sand then his would be a universe of beaches, and so on.

             
Holden clears his throat rather dramatically before winking at me and nodding toward the book in my hands. Then he recites, word for word, Westley’s entire monologue.

             
Truth be told, I'm a little blown away by the skill at which he delivers Westley’s monologue so authentically. The emotion behind the words he says are so real. It's as though he really is professing his love.

             
I don’t know what to say to him or what to think of him when he finishes. I'm completely flustered and I can’t explain why.

             
“Wow.”

             
“Surprised?”

             
“Shocked, actually. Why—how, I mean, how many times have you read it?”

             
“More than I can remember. It was my Gran’s favorite. She made me read it out loud to her every day when I’d visit in the summers.”

             
“Yeah, but how did you memorize that whole passage?”

             
“I told you I have knack for memorizing shit.”

             
“Well, I’m impressed.”

             
“Mission accomplished.” He offers his hand and I take it so he can pull me up out of the chair. “Come on slacker, break’s over.”

             
There's a moment where we stand, face to face, just inches apart and I think about telling him that I can't stop thinking about the way his lips felt pressed against my own and how right the world was, no matter how briefly, while I was in his arms. But before I can gather the courage to say anything he speaks.

             
“Listen, I'm sorry about last week. You've made it perfectly clear from the very beginning that you just want to be friends. I never should've let it get that far. Can we just forget about it and move on? I don’t want things to be all awkward between us.”

             
Moving on is exactly what I want to do, but I just can't seem to make myself okay with pretending that kiss never happened. I find myself looking longingly at his lips as the memory of the way they tasted washes over me.

             
A part of me wants to forget about it to, but another part of me wants it to happen again.  But if he reciprocated those feelings, surely he wouldn't ask me to forget about it. Maybe he realized that he didn't want to waste any more time on me.

             
“Consider it forgotten.” I smile at him and try to feel as relieved as I should that this isn't going to be an issue any more.  I’m disappointed and embarrassed that I let myself think that there was a chance I was ready for us to be something more.

             
“You have a pretty big test next week,” he says with a pointed look.
 

             
“Yeah, I know—?” I ask confused by his random

statement.

              “I didn't know if maybe you still wanted me to help you study.”

             
“You'll still help me?”

             
Holden smiles, visibly relieved. “Yeah, of course.  I'll come over tonight after work. Or would you rather go somewhere more public?”

             
“No, it's okay. You can come over to my place. I'm pretty positive you aren't the next Ted Bundy.”

             
“I'll take that as a compliment.”