Over the Fence Box Set Page 9

  If I keep walking now, she will only keep screaming my nickname, Caro, or “my dear” in Portuguese, up the stairs. So, head hanging, I trudge into the library where she’s perched with a magazine in one hand, green juice in the other. My mom may have retired from the modeling world years ago, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t constantly dieting and staying up to date with her fashion.

  “Yeah, I’m just dropping my stuff and grabbing a quick shower before I head out.” I start to inch my way out of the room. I’m wasting precious time, time that I could be using to taste every inch of Minka’s skin. It’s been three days and my need for her has me strung so tight, I can actually feel the kinks in my back at not being able to hold her.

  “Excuse me!” She looks up from her magazine and points to her cheek. “I don’t see you all summer and you can’t even give your poor, lonely mama a kiss when you get home.”

  I bend to kiss her cheek, smelling her signature sandalwood perfume. The entire house smells of it. The scent embodies my mother, sophisticated and beautiful, with an underlying hint of wildness and freedom. While she isn’t the most conventional mother, she loves me with a fierceness that I thank God for. Who knows how I would have turned out if only my father had been around.

  “Raq, have you seen my blue striped … Owen, I didn’t realize you were home from clinics. Sit, tell me how it went.” Speaking of Satan himself. My dad is ruthless in his pursuit of getting me signed to a professional team. Criticizing any part of my game is a regular occurrence for him.

  “I actually really don’t have time, I have to be somewhere …” I shuffle my feet, trying to escape this situation as fast as I can.

  “You don’t have time for this? What could possibly be more important than your entire future? You really are lazy, kid, you know that?” His voice raises three octaves by the second and a flush starts to creep onto his cheeks. I want to punch the living shit out of him.

  My entire life I have been told by this man, who is supposed to encourage and support me, that I am a lazy, no good sack of shit. Maybe not in those words, but he laid it on thick.

  No, he hadn’t ever reached the level of a physically abusive parent, but when you’re told your entire life that you’re not good enough, it starts to sink in. I don’t think my father has ever given me one high five, one “way to go, pal.”

  I can feel my blood pressure rising as I ball my hands into fists, physically restraining myself from acting on my earlier impulse to strike him.

  “Are you done with pretending you give a shit how my clinic went or do you need to berate me for another fucking hour? Sorry, we can’t all be you, Carl,” I practically shout in his face. I need to get it together. Focus on getting to Minka.

  “You ungrateful little …” my father starts.

  “Enough. Silencio!” Mama shouts, her head swiveling between both of us. “Carl, enough of this, please. He works so hard, let him be young. He will have time for all of that, his future, if the majors is what he wants.” She soothes my father in her lilted Portuguese accent.

  “And you …” she points her finger at me, “if you ever curse under my roof again, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. I raised you better. Don’t be so quick to yell at your father either, he only wants the best for you.”

  I love her, but she just doesn’t understand sometimes. “He sure has a great way of showing it.” I seethe as I walk from the room. Fuck the shower, I need Minka. No matter what I look or smell like. Slamming out of the front door, I try to lift my mood as I head for her.

  14

  Minka

  I started to get cagey when he was fifteen minutes late. By the time half an hour rolls around, I’m downright paranoid, chewing on my ring finger like it won’t bleed if I bite my cuticle for the thousandth time.

  Thirty minutes. That’s how long I’ve been waiting for Owen. No call, no text. He was standing me up and I knew it. I’m so dumb. I let this happen again.

  I stare at the clock. 7:31 … okay, make that 7:32 p.m. Fuck this. I should go scrub my makeup off and pull my ratty old sweatpants on. Mint chocolate chip ice cream is just as good as Owen Axel. That ignorant jock.

  Just as I’m sweeping my long hair, which I’d actually taken the time to curl into long loose tendrils, up into a ponytail, a soft knock comes on the front door.

  It can’t be him. Who would show up this late into what was supposed to be a date? Moving toward the door, I peer through the peephole. Hercules himself stands on the other side, looking mussed up, but I can’t make out his outfit in the shadows of the front porch. He looks lickable no matter what clothes adorn his body. And that makes it hard to stay in bitch mode, though I’m trying here. I have a right to be freaking pissed.

  Okay, so maybe Owen Axel shows up thirty minutes, no make that thirty-two minutes, late. Jeez, he was going to have some stupid excuse. I shouldn’t even open the door, he’s just going to try to manipulate me into …

  “Minka, open up, I know you’re there … I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand through his golden-brown locks, causing the muscles in his biceps to flex. My heart gives a squeeze in my chest. God, he looks incredible.

  I have to open the door or I really will qualify as some immature high school girl. Edging toward the knob, I slowly turn it, feeling the anxious tingles in my stomach spreading through my body. I don’t want to be excited that my very hot, very late, crush is on the other side of this door, but I can’t help it.

  I have a witty jab ready on my tongue, but it dies on my lips the minute Owen steps into the light spilling onto the porch from the foyer. He looks exhausted. He still has his baseball uniform on, swoon, which have hand-print sized orange dirt stains running down his thighs.

  I’ve never been jealous of dirt stains before, so this was a new one. His hair sticks up haphazardly and my fingers are suddenly itching to run through it, to massage his scalp. Do whatever I can to wipe that defeated look from his face.

  But it’s more than that. He looks haunted. It scares me. Not because I don’t know how to deal with it, but because the look he wears, with his eyes drawn together and his mouth bracketed by lines of sadness … it’s the look I see on my father’s face each and every day.

  “Hey,” he breathes at the same time I ask, “Are you okay?”

  His lips curl up at our railroading of each other, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. I suddenly would sacrifice anything to plaster that charming grin he usually wears back onto his lips.

  He moves toward me, not uttering a word and swoops me up so that my feet leave the floor while he embraces me. Talk about sweeping a girl off her feet. Literally.

  His hands go around my waist as he eliminates any space that remained between us. My arms go to his strong shoulders and he buries his face into my neck. I realize that I didn’t know how not okay I’d been for the last couple of days without him. Not until he picked me up in his arms.

  He keeps me there, suspended, for a few minutes, each of us just feeling the other under our fingertips.

  And I slowly begin to acknowledge that I’m getting in way deeper than I had bargained for. And that I am too weak to stop it.

  “Come with me somewhere?” he mumbles into my neck, pulling away to look into my eyes.

  “Sure,” I mutter, mesmerized by the flecks of turquoise in his baby blues.

  We walk hand in hand out to his truck and climb in. After he reverses out of my driveway, he takes my palm, lacing my fingers through his own rough, callused digits. He doesn’t let go the entire drive, as if I were some thread that would slip away if he didn’t hold on for dear life.

  Owen maneuvers the car through Mitchum’s busy Main Street, which is coming to life on this beautiful Sunday night in July. People line the sidewalks, specialty lattes in hand, checking out menus displayed in front of the chic restaurants abundant on this stretch of town. I have never observed the main drag much; I tend to shy away from it. Seeing it now, from the passenger seat of the town superstar’s truck, I cou
ld almost understand that need to be out among other people. That craving to catch up with friends you bump into in town.

  My body jostles as Owen makes a sharp right, veering away from the hobnobbers in the town square. I fall into his big body with an oomph, and he looks down to give me the most genuine, despite it being small, smile he’s thrown my way all evening. I lean up and kiss his cheek trying to soothe whatever he’s warring with inside himself. I really have missed him these past couple of days.

  Since the day he brought dinner over and also supplied some dessert, there has been a shift in our interactions. No, I am not calling this a relationship. Yet.

  But something has changed. We texted and talked the entire time he’d been away at his clinic, something I definitely wasn’t used to, not even with Gregory. A boy had never taken a genuine interest in things I like or have to say. With Owen, it’s just different. He’s different. So damn different than I’d ever given him credit for.

  And, of course, I can’t get enough of him. Besides his obvious attractiveness, yes, he is insanely, panty-meltingly hot, he’s smart. Really smart. He can debate me on a number of topics and is well-versed in numerous subjects, whether it’s politics or pop music. I never get tired of my conversations with him. And for someone who is an admitted introvert, that’s a big feat.

  Owen drives us slowly around a bend in the road and I suddenly know where we are headed. Giving an exasperated sigh and not caring what’s going on with him for the moment, I voice my objections.

  “Seriously? You take the girl who hates high school, during the mandatory school day and beyond, to the high school? You would think this was a sick date spot, golden boy.” I huff, yanking my hand back from his.

  And this is why, besides being so damn different this past month, he’s the same. The same as all those people who stripped me of my pride, my self-worth and left me as this shell of a person. A person who would never, ever so easily trust anyone again.

  I stare out the window, calculating the distance between the football field and my house, seeing if it’s plausible to run for it once he stops the truck. I wasn’t putting myself in another situation like I had two years ago. I’m smart enough to cut and run this time.

  As we near the familiar building with its all glass front, I actually start to sweat. I need to put my head between my knees for the fear of throwing up, but I have enough dignity left in me to not blow chunks all over Richie Riches’ leather seats.

  But then he speaks, for the first time since we’ve been in the car. “Trust me, okay? I would never take you anywhere that you didn’t feel comfortable.”

  I look over to find his penetrating gaze on me, a slight smile playing on his deliciously full lips. Can I trust him? I would never admit this to him or any breathing soul on this planet, but I do. Which equally intrigues and scares the shit out of me. I just hope he isn’t leading me down a path of humiliation, because, at this point, I am too far gone to turn back now.

  “Okay,” I breathe. He nods at me and scoops my hand back into his.

  Owen brings the truck to a slow stop and maneuvers into a parking spot on the outermost row of the lot facing the wooded perimeter of the school.

  Turning the ignition off, he reaches down and unfastens his seatbelt. “Ready?” He brings his thumb up to graze my cheek in a sweeping motion. I can feel the touch all the way into my core, where a slow burn has started from just that gentle swipe. I have to stifle a moan. My body is so wound up from not seeing him in days.

  “Yes.” I sigh, moving into his hand that is now firmly holding my chin.

  We climb out of the truck and Owen rounds it to help me out. Grabbing a bag from the bed of the pickup, he wraps an arm around my shoulder and starts leading me toward the woods. I stare up at him curiously, raising one eyebrow.

  “You’re awfully cute when you do that, you know?” He winks, my first indication that the Owen I know is on his way back from wherever he disappeared to.

  “Well, it’s not every day a guy lures me into a dark wooded area. You don’t have a knife in that bag right, or a noose?” I joke, pretending to peer around at his backpack.

  “Just keep walking, smart-ass.” Owen pinches my nose with the hand wrapped around my shoulder.

  When we walk about fifty feet into the woods, I spy something ahead that looks like a clearing. As we move closer, my eyes catch on a sign hung on one of the big pine trees. “Welcome to the Stone Shack,” it reads. But above Stone, someone has written the word “bone” in red Sharpie. Classy.

  Looking up, I see a pretty elaborate treehouse high up into the pine. How had I never known about this place?

  “What is this place?” I look over at Owen who is smirking.

  “Some seniors built it when I was a freshman, they snuck out here to get stoned during school hours. And apparently engage in some other debauchery as well …” he snickers.

  “Um … news flash, I don’t smoke. And if you really think you’re getting me naked in some seedy hookup spot, you clearly haven’t gotten to know me at all.” I start to feel cagey again. What the hell are we doing here?

  “Relax, goody-two-shoes. You’ll see why I brought you here when we get up there. Now up you go.” Owen gives my butt a gentle smack, heat firmly replacing the sadness that resided in his eyes just minutes ago.

  Okay, so maybe if he tried to get me naked up there I wouldn’t exactly resist …

  Nearing the tree, I put my foot on the first makeshift rung, essentially a slab of metal that had been driven into the tree. It’s going to be a long climb, the treehouse looks to be almost twenty feet off the ground. I grab the rung above my head and pull myself up, careful to go slow in the pitch-black that has now set in around us.

  “That’s it, baby, take your time, go slow …” Owen taunts from below me. He wants to play that game, huh? I’m not the only one who could get hot and bothered from innuendo.

  “Oh yeah, baby? Just try to keep up with me, I want us to get there at the same time.” I peer under my outstretched arm. I can’t see him well like this, the moon obscured by so many branches, but from his intake of breath I know I’ve accomplished my mission.

  I make it to the top, despite a few missteps and shaky hands and pull myself up through the hole in the boards comprising the floor of the treehouse. Owen follows shortly after, pulling the backpack off once he stands up and spills its contents onto the floor.

  “Okay, so we have … a blanket.” He winks as he spreads it out on the dirty wooden floor. “Juice boxes, every kid’s picnic favorite … and …” Owen roots around in the bottom of the bag, finally pulling the item he was looking for free. “Swedish Fish!”

  He smiles, taking a bow and then plopping down on the blanket, ripping the straw off one of the juice boxes and taking a large gulp.

  I blink, stunned at this weird, yet adorably cute turn of events. And then a trickle of doubt niggles under my skin. Is this his play? This is how he gets me to completely fall?

  “So, this is where you take all the girls, right?” I say, trying to keep my voice void of any emotion.

  Owen snaps his head to me, his expression unreadable from where I stand in the moonlight.

  “Actually no, I have never taken any other girl, let alone person, up here with me. Jeez, you must really think that little of me.” He shakes his head, staring out over the trees.

  Instant guilt floods my system. I have to stop doing this. I have to stop second-guessing him. I have to stop letting the events of my past rule my present. I sit down on the blanket next to him and fold my legs Indian style.

  “I’m sorry. I just … it’s not easy for me to trust. Especially someone like you.” I play with the frayed edges of the blanket.

  “Someone like me? We’re back to this again? I’m just me, Minka.” Owen edges his fingers close to mine, not quite holding my hand, but just laying his fingers there. “Who made you like this?”

  His question is almost a whisper, almost as if he didn’t even want
to ask it. Does he really not know? Maybe he hasn’t realized that the girl who was humiliated was me. Was I ready to tell him?

  Looking at him in the silent, dark night, his fingers drawing circles into my palm, I realize I’m not. I can’t reveal what had happened, not yet. I can’t stand to think of the day he looked upon me with pity or maybe even evil humor in his eyes. It was a mix between the two looks that my classmates gave me. I’m not ready to give this up. I want Owen to see me as he sees me right now, for as long as I can hang on to it.

  “It’s … in the past. I’m sorry for snapping.” I need to change the subject and fast. “What was wrong earlier?”

  Owen lies back on the blanket. “Join me?” He motions for me to lie back with him, so I do. “This is what I come up here for.”

  Following the direction Owen’s muscled tricep is pointing, I stare straight up. “Oh my …”

  Overhead the tree’s formed a canopy, with an opening directly above where we lay in the treehouse. “I’ve never …”

  “Seen the stars so clearly? I know. It’s like you’re sitting in the clouds. It’s addicting, this view.” He reaches out to find my hand on the blanket where it lies in between our bodies.

  I’m starstruck, literally. I can’t even seem to form a sentence. It feels like the sky is inches from my face, like if I was to reach out, I might be able to hold one of those burning balls of light. Butterflies explode in my stomach as I realize, Owen brought me out here. Obviously, this spot is special to him and he’s shared it. With me.

  We lie there holding onto each other in peaceful silence until Owen speaks up.

  “I have felt like a failure just about every day of my life.”

  If he didn’t sound so goddamn sad just then, I would have thought he was joking.