It hits me then.
I’m not sure I can be friends with Grace without wanting to touch her, without wanting more. I’m sweating from just holding myself back.
“Are you leaving?” she asks, surprised when I take a step toward the door.
“Uh . . . yeah. I’d better go. Ivan and MJ are waiting for me back at the apartment.” My voice sounds shaky, and I clear my throat, darting a gaze over her shoulder at Debra, Beverly, and Mark, who are now seated in a booth. Their heads are down, and they seem focused on the large piece of paper—a seating plan for Beverly’s wedding. “Thanks for the dance. Tell Bev, Mark, and your mom thanks, as well.”
Abruptly, I turn around and slip out the door like a coward and jog to my car parked two blocks away. Before I even unlock the door to my truck, fat drops of rain begin to pelt the ground around me, and one hits my cheek as I look up at the darkening sky. I hop inside my car and shut the door, then lay my head on the headrest, mouth opening with a sigh.
I need to keep my distance from Grace for both our sakes. If I don’t, I’m worried I’ll act on my fantasies, and that would ruin everything.
Ivan is going to shit his pants when I tell him what happened. I can already see him laughing and saying, “I told you so.”
I jam the key into the ignition and push my foot on the gas. The rain is coming down hard now, making the wipers sway like crazy. Grace’s words flash inside my head.
It’s going to rain tonight. I can feel it.
Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?
And I’m back to imagining how it’d feel to have her lips moving against mine. My tongue caressing hers.
I groan and shove those thoughts in the back of my head, then force myself to focus on the drive home.
On Friday, which is my normal day off from work, I make it a point to avoid Deb’s Diner because I’m feeling restless. I feel like I’m coming out of my own skin.
I went for a run as soon as I woke up, but it didn’t help. I needed something to distract me, which is why I’m waiting for Ivan’s shift to be over. As soon as he walks out of the bed and breakfast where he works as a receptionist, I drag him to Scarborough with me to ride the go-karts. The fact that he doesn’t press me for information even though he senses something is wrong makes me appreciate him more. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he asks.
Four hours later, we drive back to Portland, but I’m still wound tight. MJ is waiting for us as soon as I park my truck outside our apartment complex. They’re going on a date. She invites me to join them, but I’m in a shitty mood, so I decline the offer and spend the evening playing my guitar and watching YouTube videos. It’s pathetic, really, since I’m the one who put myself in this position to begin with.
I think about calling my uncle for advice. As a priest, he’s always had a good ear, listening carefully to people’s problems and supporting them on their quest to finding solutions.
But I end up chickening out, feeling like I need more time to think about it myself before talking it out with someone else.
I head for the shower, my thoughts a jumbled mess, and before long, I’m rubbing one out. I’m more aggressive than I’d usually be with myself, hoping to ease the tension that has my body in its claws. I come hard with Grace’s name spilling out of my lips like a prayer.
That night, I fall asleep with guilt and confusion as my bed companions, desperate for answers. But no matter how much I look for them, they’re always still too far out of my reach.
On Saturday, I wake up feeling more in control of my life. In fact, I’m ready to discuss it with someone. As I get dressed for Beverly and Mark’s wedding, the need becomes pressing.
I’m watching as the bride and groom—now Mr. and Mrs. Steinman—finish their first dance when Ivan finally works up the nerve to ask about Wednesday. Quietly, I tell him everything that happened.
The party. The questions about kissing. The dancing. Me leaving like a coward.
He smiles and says, “I told you so,” just as I knew he would. Overnight, I’ve managed to convince myself I’ve got everything under control once again and tell Ivan so.
That is, until my gaze veers to the left and I catch a glimpse of Grace walking across the lawn toward the gazebo where the wedding took place earlier. Her off-white, short-sleeved dress draws attention to her rich coloring, accentuating her curves all the way to her legs, where the dress stops a few inches above her knees.
She returns a few minutes later, carrying a large bag, and hands it to her mom, who looks considerably better than the last time I saw her. Standing side by side, the similarities between the two of them are staggering. Both are short with slightly rounded faces and upturned noses. Debra’s skin is a darker shade of brown than Grace’s.
“You have it handled, huh?” Ivan asks, amused.
I whip my head around to look at him, unable to find a retort because he’s right. Mentally, my tongue has been hanging out this whole time as I stared at Grace.
It’s embarrassing really.
The song ends, and the newlyweds leave the dance floor, returning to their seats. The band starts playing “Sway” by Michael Bublé. Soon enough, the dance floor is once again filled with people.
“You should just go ahead and ask her to go with us to watch Sublime Chaos play.”
“I thought MJ asked her.”
“Yes. But I think it’d be more tempting coming from you.”
I rub my palm down my face and stretch my legs in front of me, subtly watching as Grace is led to the dance floor by Beverly and Mark’s twelve-year-old son, Sam. He’s staring up at her with pure adoration as they start to move to the music.
That kid has better moves than me, I realize with a sigh.
“The worst thing she can say is no,” Ivan adds after a beat, one brow rising to his hairline. “Right?”
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. Ivan’s wrong.
The worst thing she can say is yes. And it terrifies me.
God, she looks so sexy swaying her hips like that—
“Dude,” Ivan says, laughing. “You look about ready to eat her right here and now.”
“What?” I turn to him, brows set in a frown.
His gaze darts to my lap, then back up to mine. “Seriously? What are you, thirteen? We’re at a wedding, Callan, and here you are getting a hard-on for some girl!”
“Shut up.” I grab one of the linen napkins from the table and lay it over my lap.
“You need to stop thinking about her that way and actually do it, man.”
“So I’m supposed to take advice from you now? Who are you, Dr. Phil?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I mean, aren’t you exhausted? You’re torturing yourself. You should sow your wild oats before you leave in September.”
I drag my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Can we not have this conversation here?”
“Just looking out for you, dude.”
I stare at him. He raises his hands in surrender, stands, and then backs away. “Just saying.”
He heads toward the table where MJ’s sitting, then ducks his head to kiss her forehead. She smiles sweetly up at him, and he sits on the empty chair next to her, tugging her on his lap. He looks in my direction and catches me watching them and mouths “Go,” before moving his gaze from me to where I know, without having to look, Grace stands.