Page 15 of See Her

“Beer. But won’t necessarily say no to wine.”

“Me, too.”

“You prefer beer over wine?” he says, turning.

“Oh yeah.”

He steps back, clutching his chest at my response. “Where’ve you been all my life?”He chuckles and I shyly look away before he speaks again. “What would you take with you if you had to stay on a deserted island for a month?”

“My Kindle Fire.”And a vibrator.

“What, no sugar?”

“Shut up! Your turn.”

“Call me a cliché musician, but my guitar,” he says, shrugging.

“Are you kidding? It’s cool that you wouldn’t want to be without it for a month.” We go on like this for a long while. We walk around, learning more about each other. He tells me about growing up with two sisters and learning to play guitar when he was thirteen; about his friends that are in the band with him, and how they got together right after high school.They just got rightdown to it, writing songs and practicing anytime they didn’t have a job to be at.His best friend, Matt, plays bass, and they co-write a lot of the songs.They have recorded a demo, and the next goal they are hoping to attain is playing at The Black Fire, which is the top rated club in downtown Detroit.Getting to play in any other downtown club would be a huge stepping stone leading to that.

I tell him about how I tried college to appease my parents, but never really wanted to go and it really did not turn out to be the right path for me.How I started dance class when I was seven, and kept going with it all through my school years, even coming back to it after the college failure. I tell him how I could never stand regular ballet, but love modern ballet because there is less structure and poise, and more freedom to express yourself.And lastly, I tell him how my love of reading sparked my interest in writing.

“So does your dad still take your mom out on the bike?” I ask, as we adopt a lazy stride.

“No. Actually, my mom passed away a long time ago,” he says casually, looking out at the river.

“Oh, I’m sorry. How long is long?”

“Really long. I was four.”

“That sounds like a tough age to lose your mom.”

He shrugs. “You’d think, but I actually don’t remember it happening. It was a car accident. I think it was harder for my sisters.Sarah and Melanie were seven and six at the time, so they have more of a solid memory.”

“Do you remember her at all?”

“Yeah, a little, but only a few vague memories,” he answers. “Good ones, though. She was always smiling and playing with us.”

“Just enough to remember she was a good mom. That’s nice.” He simply nods, and I decide to change the subject. “So how was it, growing up with your sisters? Did they look out for you, or pick on you and boss you around?”

He chuckles. “They weren’t too bad. There was the occasional attempted makeover, but my dad had my back and always put a stop to it.” I laugh out loud and hard at the visual, and he joins me. His laugh is heavy with warmth and endearment, and gives me that wonderful fuzzy feeling in my chest.

“I did that to Ian once,” I offer through my residual giggles.

“You’re shitting me,” he says, smiling disbelievingly.

“Seriously. It was only once, when he was sleeping,” I explain, rolling my eyes as I plead my case. “We’re only a year apart, but he was seriously bigger than I was, and he was always so rough when he picked on me. I wanted to get back at him but couldn’t do it physically, so I had to pull pranks.I think we were nine and ten, and one night I took my mom’s makeup bag into his room and gave him the works when he was out cold.”

“And how did he react when he woke up?” Jack asks, genuinely laughing at the story.

“He just woke up clueless, and when he came down to breakfast it was all smeared. My mom freaked out and asked why he screwed around with her makeup while I pretended not to have a clue what happened. In the end, I think it was just chalked up to him sleepwalking and experimenting with his drag side,” I conclude with a chuckle, but Jack is full-on laughing, the sound of it the same depth and warmth as before. I think I’m in love with it.

This day is just throwing one grenade after another at my barricade of defenses. Our shoulders brush briefly as we walk, the closeness giving me a small thrill that I fight to tamp down, afraid it will take over.I get quiet as we approach a lookout area, and walk up to lean against the rail to look out over the water. Spending time with him like this feels so good, but it’s so damn scary.I’ve felt this way before, more than once, and it’s always been a precursor to heartbreak.

Jack is standing out so far apart from all of those guys, though.

From his genuine introduction, to the Harley, to the fact that he has not laid a freaking hand on me, once.

Every guy that has duped me in the past was all over me within the first twenty-four hours, and I always fell for it because I liked the affection and feeling wanted. But Jack? Not a finger.

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