Page 6 of Out of Focus

She nods. “Yes, you may.” Another swallow. “Thank you for asking,” she whispers and moves her injured arm toward me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier. When you fell. I should have.” My stomach turns with the realization that I touched her so easily, as if we’re not almost strangers to one another. Though to me, she doesn’t feel like a stranger at all, I would imagine that to Charlie, that’s exactly what I am. She hardly looks at me while I’m always watching her. Every chance I get.

I get to work on cleaning up her arm, focused on the task at hand rather than on the person I’m currently touching. Thankfully, none of her scratches are deep, but she hisses when I wipe them with the peroxide.

I’m careful not to get any of the sticky parts of the bandages on the broken skin, and with a final caress of my thumb over the adhesive strip, I finally look up at her face again. “All set, carrot cake.” Her name is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t let myself say it. Call it a defense mechanism, cowardice, whatever. It’s one of the small ways I keep some semblance of emotional distance from Charlie. Saying her name out loud, especially after years of nothing but nicknames, which started as a joke, would feel so intimate. And we aren’t that. Ever.

Our heads are so close I can feel her breath on my cheek. In an instant, the soft look on her face disappears, and she rears back, furrowed brows firmly in place.

“Ugh. Are you ever going to call me by my actual name?” She pulls her arm away from my hands, and I miss the contact immediately.

“You really want me to call you Charlo?—”

“No! Forget it. Never mind.” With a shake of her head, she pushes her chair back and rises. “I’m going to go home now.” She starts to walk toward the gate, and I stand and go after her.

“Do you want me to walk you home? Do you know how to get back?” I do my best to keep the minor panic out of my voice.

“I’m fine, thanks. I looked up the directions when you were inside, and it’s very close. An eight-minute walk.” She gets to the gate and turns her head, not making eye contact.

I nod dumbly. She can’t see me, but it doesn’t matter because she’s gone.

It’s always like this with Charlie. Even when I get a small piece of her, it slips through my fingers.

4/

i thought he looked more like a ken doll.

charlie

two years ago - the first new year’s eve

My lips tingle, and I’m giggling. I don’t giggle. Ever. It’s a telltale sign of having too much alcohol, but I told myself I’d have a good night tonight, and I am. Even if he’s here. Ugh, just the sight of him is enough to make me want to drink until I blackout, and I hardly ever drink.

Rafael is dancing with someone I’ve never met, and she’s throwing her head back, laughing like she’s having the time of her life. I’m not a jealous person, but I’m jealous of her. And of him, too. Just once, I’d like to know what it’s like to live the easygoing life Rafael seems to. I certainly would like to have someone to make me feel like that woman probably feels. Beautiful. Sexy. Wanted.

I want someone to make me laugh like that.

Robert. It should be Robert making me laugh like that.

Not him, though.

I could sit here and watch them, use their joy as inspiration for my next book, but the thought of watching Rafael makes me nauseous. I’d much rather look at someone else to give me a little inspiration.

A tall blond man making aggressive eye contact with me interrupts my thoughts. He’s walking over here. Oh dear.

“Hey.” Yes, that’s all he says as he looks me up and down, about as subtle as a punch in the face. In an effort not to roll my eyes, I take a sip of my drink.

“Hi there,” I bite out as he walks closer. He has hazel eyes, a visibly fake tan and there’s a lot of product in his hair, which makes it look shiny, like one of my old Ken dolls I played with as a kid. I have the urge to touch it, but I am also scared I’ll lose my hand in there or that the sticky mess will end up all over me.

“You having a good night, beautiful?”

I could do without the generic question and calling me beautiful, but sure. Let’s go with this. I’ll give Ken a chance. If nothing else, for the book content. And the possibility of an orgasm. Thank goodness small talk comes a little more easily with the help of alcohol.

“I am now,” I whisper to him, and the loser falls for the bait. His eyes sparkle with the idea that he is actually enticing enough to make me interested in him. I’m about to step closer and put my hand on his forearm when I feel a massive warm body beside mine and then a matching massive hand on my lower back.

“Chuck. There you are. I need to talk to you.” I turn my head and deep, dark eyes are staring me down. “Right now, please.” He doesn’t even acknowledge Ken; he just guides me away from my potential one-night-stand, and I’m so stunned that I let him. His hand never leaves my back, fingers wrapping around one side of my waist. It’s the kind of intimate touch I’m completely unfamiliar with.

We make it to a quiet area of the garden, and I come to my senses. “What do you think you’re doing, Machado?” I step away from his scorching, fiery touch and stumble forward, only to be caught around the waist. I hardly have time to process the warmth in my lower belly before my back is up against a tree, and I nearly smash my face against Rafael’s massive chest.

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