Page 48 of The End of Summer

Fuuuuck.

I study the palm of my hand. That’s, like, probably thecutestthing any guy has ever done – writing on my hand like we’re in the fifth grade. And what the hell? He’ssmarttoo? All that talk of economics… from astripper? Although, it was just twice, really. I mean, this is not hisintendedline of work…. Still, the boy canmove.He was sexy as Zorro, but the group dance with the baseball getup was about all that I could handle.

You asshole! Why did you leave? It was pretty fucking obvious he wanted you to stick around, at least for a little while. What were you thinking?

I inhale, hold my breath, and wait for my heartbeat to slow down. I’m tingly all over. I’m supposed to hate Brady Hawthorne. But, first I found out that hedidn’tactually fire me, and in fact, healsogot fired (which – sidebar – 100%hadto be my fault), and then, just when I wanted to write him off as a complete douchebag for hooking up withsome random chick in front of me, I find outshe threw herself at himandshe also cheated on himway back when.Okay, and so then, I’m likeit’s fine, whatever, we can co-exist as neighbors who occasionally work together,but he goes and feeds me ramen, tells me I’m beautiful, and declares his intentions on my palm.

And, let’s not forget the princess carry.

Okay. Okay! I like him. Whatever. It’s fine. I can be cool about it.

I’m about to head into the bathroom to wash my face when I hear a knock. It’s a light tap, really, but my heart stops, because I know it can only be one person.

I go to the door, my entire stomach lodged in my throat. I open it, trying to keep myself from trembling.

“What’s up?” I say, thinking maybe I left something behind at his place. I scramble to consider what I had on me over there. “Did I, uh, forget something?”

“No,” he says, quietly. “I did.”

Then, he places his forefinger and his middle finger just under my chin and gently tilts my face up towards his. “May I?” he asks.

I’m paralyzed. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me. I can’t even speak. I just nod, ever so slightly.

His kiss takes my breath away. He closes his eyes and leans, slowly, into me. When I feel his lips on mine, they’re soft, moist, full and delicious. His hand slides around to the hairline at the back of my neck, and as he pulls me in closer to him, his long, thick fingers weave their way into my messy waves. He massages the back of my head with the calloused pads of his fingertips. His tongue parts mymouth and he tastes me, tentative at first, then hungrily. As if I’m a decadent dessert, he revels in the meeting of our taste buds with a soft, appreciative moan. I’m instantly overcome with a combination of exhaustion and elation, in much the same way as a triathlon competitor must feel when approaching a long-awaited finish line. Finally, he seals the moment with a soft bite of my lower lip and a single brush of his nose against mine.

Brady exhales, untangles his hand from my hair, and runs his fingers down my cheek. “I’m sorry. I just –” he begins.

“Don’t be,” I say. “Sorry, I mean. That was –”

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Yeah, it was." He lightly puts his lips to my forehead and lingers there for a second. “Goodnight, Gretchen,” he whispers.

“’Night, Brady,” I reply.

I wait until he’s all the way inside to close my door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BRADY

Isleep surprisingly well that night.

In fact, I wake up with a new lease on life. I’m a badass! I grew a pair! I went for what I wanted and it was spectacular!

Today, I get to meet her at the studio for the tow yard thing and to spend some time together in the daylight with clothes on, like normal people.

I feelgreat. I head out for a run, go to the bank to make a huge deposit in my checking account, and hit the fitness trail at the park, where I bang out push-ups, crunches and chin-ups. I have no idea if I’ll keep dancing or not, but keeping my body in shape is important to me either way, if for no other reason than to acquire the endorphins I’m chasing.

I go home, shower, change, eat. Later in the morning, I get another call from Steve checking in. He says he heard good things, and while he doesn’t have anything immediate for me gig-wise, if I want him to, he’ll gladly keep me on the roster for upcoming stuff. Given the fact that I was able to accumulate over $1,800 in two days, I tell him I’d be happy to have him consider me forfuture work.

I run to the grocery store; no more of this popcorn and ramen bullshit if I might be having company in the near future. I get real food, stuff I can cook, produce, meat, and seafood from the perimeter of the store that doesn’t come in cans or freezer bags. Items with expiration dates. I spend over a hundred dollars, something I haven’t had the luxury of doing since I lived here. Also, I buy a jar of pickles, just so I can say that I have my own now.

At 2:30, I leave to head up to Cosmo. It’s a gorgeous day out; I feel bad that Gretchen has to spend it holed up in a dark warehouse. Maybe tomorrow, she’d like to hit the beach with me.I’ll ask her, I decide.

There are four cars in the parking lot when I arrive. One of them, I’ve come to know, is Gretchen’s ridiculous little Ford Fiesta. There’s also a Lexus, a BMW, and an Acura in the lot. Those cars are all gleaming white, reminiscent of new veneers in the mouths of wealthy summer people, lined up all neatly on the gravel like that.

I park my car next to Gretchen’s and head to the door. When I open it, music spills out, wrapping around me like a blanket. It’s a slow song that I don’t recognize, something very reminiscent of Nine Inch Nails’Closerbut sung by a female voice. “How do you want me?” the breathy voice asks. The music and the darkness work in tandem to make me feel like I’m entering some kind of sex den. Which is right on trend for me in my mesh shorts, flip flops, and Hog Island Beer Company t-shirt.

When my eyes adjust to the light (or lack thereof), I spot Gretchen swinging from a pole, attached by long, black silks. The silks come down in a pair, and she haswrapped them around her waist in some kind of knot so that, with one foot against the pole, she can use languid, deliberate movements to hoist herself into a fully reclined position. Straight as an arrow, perpendicular to the pole, she lifts one leg up and grabs it with her free arm, and she slowly spins in a beautiful circle, silks careening off her back like something out of a dream.

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