Erin McCarthy - Believe

“Wow. Impressive.”

“I’m good with my hands.”

If another guy had said that, I would have either rolled my eyes or giggled, depending on my level of interest, assuming he was flirting. But Phoenix didn’t seem to be flirting in any way. He just seemed like he had needed to get out of the house and I was a convenient way to do that. Like he was mildly curious about me, but not much more than that.

He used the chocolate syrup sparingly, tinting the white milk a soft caramel color. “What’s the point in using any at all?” I asked, squeezing hard to create an inch of chocolate sludge at the bottom of my glass.

“Subtle flavor, that’s all. Just taking the milk up a notch, not drowning it out.” Then he raised his glass in the air and waited for me to do the same. “To the Clean Club.”

“Cheers.” We tapped glasses, and I thought that I should feel uncomfortable around him, considering how little I knew him and how different he was from other guys I’d known, but I didn’t.

We sat on the couch, and the space between us felt natural, a foot or two so we weren’t touching, but not an awkward gap of huge proportions where we both hugged the arms. Scrolling through our movie options, we settled on an action movie and we watched, silent, drinking our milk. I drew my feet up under my legs, and he propped one foot on the coffee table and slumped down in the couch.

It was entertaining enough to hold my interest, and when it was over Phoenix said, “That didn’t suck.”

“So generous in your praise.”

“Cynic. Told you.”

I smiled. “That means its time for a romantic comedy.”

“Really? Do I have to?” He gave me a pained look, but I wasn’t buying it. I had seen how long he had lingered on a Julia Roberts movie in the queue when I had let him have the remote to scroll.

“Yes. It’s mandatory. Like taxes and Taco Tuesdays.”

He gave a laugh. “What? How the hell are tacos mandatory?”

“Because my grandmother says so, that’s how, even though they aren’t Puerto Rican.” I smiled back, pleased that I had amused him, and happy that I actually had wanted to crack a joke. I felt almost . . . normal.

“She the boss in your family?”

“Oh yeah. She has always lived with us and she is totally in charge. She’s my dad’s mother, and she was born in Puerto Rico, though she came here when she was four.”

“So you’re half Puerto Rican? What’s your last name?”

“Yes, though it drives my grandmother crazy how totally American my dad is. Basically the only Latino thing about him is his religion and our last name—DeLorenzo. My mom’s family is a mix of European.”

“That’s a cool name. And now I see where you got your dark hair.” He pointed to my head.

“Where did you get your dark hair?” It was as dark as mine.

“My mom and my aunt Dawn both have—well, Dawn had—light brown hair, but my grandmother’s hair was black, so probably from her. I couldn’t tell you about my father since I’ve never met him and I’ve never seen a picture of him. My mom didn’t even give me his last name, nor did she ever tell me what it was. I’m a Sullivan.”

“How did you get the name Phoenix? We’re both named after birds. How random is that?” Reaching forward, I drained the last of my milk, which was warm, and licked some chocolate off the rim.

“I wasn’t named after the bird. My mother just had a thing for River Phoenix, and he died right before I was born.” Phoenix rolled his eyes. “Nothing like being named after a dude who OD’d on heroin and cocaine. Seems right for my mother, though.”

“It’s still a cool name,” I said truthfully. “It makes you unique.”

“Or a freak.”

“There’s that cynical thing again.”

He smiled slowly. “I’m a lost cause.”

“You’ll change your mind after you’ve watched Mamma Mia!” I lifted the remote.

“You’re really going to make me watch this?”

“Yes. ‘Dancing Queen’ will change your life. But first, we need refills.” Taking his glass and mine, I went for more milk, plus chips and salsa.

Then we watched the movie, and I didn’t resist the urge to sing along. I probably never would have done that with a guy before, but now, in grubby shorts and a T-shirt, no makeup, my hair in need of some serious shampoo, what difference did it make? So I sang the crap out of every number while Phoenix steadily munched tortilla chips.

“What did you think?” I asked him when it was over.

“I only wanted to commit suicide three times, so it was a success, I think.” He looked at me from under that lock of hair. “I admit, I was watching you more than the TV. I dig that you dig those songs.”

“Thanks.” I took the comment at face value. “You can pick the next movie.” It was after midnight, but I wasn’t tired. I had slept so much all summer, and I felt awake for the first time in two months.

He picked a drama about a mentally ill couple and it made me cry. Watching them fall in love, two lonely people in a world that didn’t understand them, was sort of the ultimate statement of optimism, and my heart both broke and felt happy for them. I expected Phoenix to make a crack or tease me, the way the usual guys I hung out with would have. But he didn’t. He just said, “I need to think about this one before we discuss.”

“It was sad,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“Yeah, but there was hope. Interesting.” He stared at a chip in his hand before tossing it back down uneaten. “I guess I should call a cab. It’s too late for you to drive me home.”

“It’s only two. I’m not even tired. I can drive you home or you can just crash here on the couch. Since no one else has moved in yet, it won’t matter.” I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want the thoughts, the guilt, to crowd back into my head. With Phoenix around, I could ignore those feelings, my personal recriminations.

“Are you sure?” He had taken off his shoes and was now almost lying on the couch and he looked totally comfortable.

I nodded. “It’s no big deal.”

“Okay, cool.” He laughed. “I don’t really have money for a cab. I was going to walk to the bus stop. Which is stupid, because the bus only runs on the hour at this time of night.”

“So why would you tell me that then?”

“Because I didn’t want to be a jerk and make you drive me back to Riley’s.”

For some reason, that touched me. The guy that old ladies shied away from at the drugstore was worried about inconveniencing me. Me. I hadn’t felt worthy of consideration lately.

“I don’t think you’re a jerk.”

“You don’t, do you?” He seemed puzzled by that. “You don’t seem scared of me either.”

“Should I be?” I eyed him directly, boldly, wanting the truth.

But he just shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I believed him. I also knew that he couldn’t hurt me any more than I already hurt myself.

So we stayed on the couch together, talking a little, mostly watching TV, for another three hours, until my eyelids were droopy and I finally felt ready for sleep.

“Are you okay here on the couch?” I asked him as I stood up and stretched.

“Is there another option?”

That was a loaded question, and I didn’t know the answer.

Seeing Robin’s face freeze, I realized I shouldn’t have said it like that. I wasn’t talking about sex, but that was obviously what she heard.

It was easy to read her expressions. She wore them all on her face clearly, and what amazed me about her was everything she said seemed so honest and totally free of bullshit. The other thing I noticed was that she seemed as totally lonely as I was. I couldn’t figure out why.

“I’ll be fine on the couch,” I said. “I’ve slept in worse places, trust me.”

That eased the tension in her shoulders a little, but now the pity was back, which I hated. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me, for my shitty childhood, or my criminal record.

“I guess so. Let me get you a blanket and a pillow.”

When she eased past me, my hand shot out before I could stop it, and I grabbed hers. “Thanks.” For the pillow. The blanket. For answering my texts. For talking to me. For the milk and the movies. I didn’t say any of those things, but I stared at her, hoping she could read it in my eyes.

“Sure.” She nodded. “It’s not a problem.”

“I got a job tonight,” I said, having no fucking clue why that popped out of my mouth, other than that I clearly wanted to impress her or at least prove I wasn’t a total loser. “I’m going to apprentice at a tattoo parlor I used to work at. Gave the owner a call and he said I can start on Monday.”

Her face softened, and her hand, so small and warm in mine, relaxed, fingers entwining with the callused ones that belonged to me. “That’s awesome,” she said, and I knew she meant it.

I also knew that I shouldn’t have stayed so long.

Because now all I wanted to do was pull her down onto my lap and taste her lips. I wanted to see how her eyes would change then, with passion or with something more.

It was dangerous but oh so fucking tempting.

That she was as chemical free as me was only the beginning of what I found amazing about her.

I hadn’t expected her to have an opinion on much of anything, but she did, and a solid one, too, every time.

I had also counted on the fact that she was a suburban college girl and I would be intimidating to her, the dude just out of jail, so it would be easy to stay disconnected. But she hadn’t been nervous, and she hadn’t been bothered by my sitting next to her. She hadn’t glanced at the clock on her phone or worried that I was going to attack her in a fit of lust or rage or both. She didn’t even ask why I was in jail in the first place.