Page 7 of Control Freak
“And how long have you lived here?”
“Seven years.”
Dishes clatter in the sink. “Seven years?” Her eyes bug out of their sockets, making me feel like a circus freak. “Damn. I couldn't go seven days without someone coming over. My brother, my best friend, a neighbor dropping off books for me to take to the shop.”
“We’re different.” My own words slug me in my chest.
“Opposites attract, they say.” She doesn’t look at me, rinsing and loading the dishwasher. But I notice the pink tint coloring her cheeks. I start to correct how she’s loading the dishwasher, but realize quickly that what she’s doing isn’t wrong, it just isn’tmyway of doing it. The thought is both a relief and a tipping point.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend or someone who’s worried about you?”
“Well, if I had one of those, I would’ve called him hours ago.” She dries her hands, starts the dishwasher, and turns toward me. Even in her tight t-shirt and jeans, she could win a beauty contest. Her natural glow isn’t something you can fabricate. The woman beams from the inside out. “Not that any of them would’ve actually come to get me.”
“What? Wait, are you being serious?”
“Yeah. I’ve had some real winners in the past, let me tell you.” She laughs, but it’s hollow. A short silence passes between us. I want to pull her into my arms and keep her safe. Tell her that nomotherfucker alive will ever hurt her again. She licks her full lips and grabs the bottle of wine. “But I’ll need one more glass if I’m going to get into all of that shit.”
“I’ll join you.” Normally I stop at one, but tonight it feels right. I feel safe. I’ll still be in control. I pour us two glasses and we retire to the sofa.
“Look, we’re in my bed.” She clinks her glass against mine. Confusion paints my face, and then I realize what she means.
“The sofa.” A lightness I haven’t felt in years melts the anvil in my chest. “Your bed tonight.”
“Correct.” She takes a sip. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than I do right now. Isla sets her glass down and tucks her feet beneath her. “What were we talking about?”
“Your exes.” My fist balls in my lap.
“Oh God, that’s right.”
“Jerks?”
“No. I mean, yes. But I’m not innocent either.” For the first time, I see her perma-smile fade. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a lot. Superfluous. Extra. Whatever.” Another humorless laugh escapes her lips. “It’s easier to keep the peace when you know how to diffuse situations. Besides, my mother always said nobody likes a serious woman.”
“Yourmothersaid that?”
“She was pretty old-school.” Isla twists her full lips. “My feet are cold.”
“Hm?”
“You want a pair of my socks?”
“Can I just…” She stretches her legs out and tucks the tips of her toes under my leg. I flinch at their temperature.
“Jesus, woman.” Isla’s genuine smile melts me. “I took my socks off because they were wet, but they never got warmed up again.” Her eyes flicker downward. “And I didn’t want to be a bother asking to borrow a pair.”
I’ve been a total dick. My social skills have truly suffered, especially around a beautiful woman. I feel like a total ass.
“So, of course, I attract men who love women who smile and laugh through it all. Who, at first, love my vivaciousness, but get sick of my demeanor. I mean, I’m loud.”
“I know.” Isla huffs in fake outrage. “But, it’s who you are. And I think it’s great that you’re so outgoing, so fearless.” I chew on my lip, wondering if I’ve said too much.
“Beck, I’m scared of everything.” She sits up, scooting closer to me. “And that’s truly one of the nicest things anyone’s said to me.”
I’m stunned. A woman like her should be praised. Worshiped. “Any man would be lucky to have you, Isla.”
Her eyes sparkle in the dim lighting. Did I purposely make it a little cozier, a little sexier because she’s here? The answer is yes.
“So, you’re a firefighter?” For the second time today, my blood is replaced with icy water. Isla picks up on it. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s just in the picture….Fuck, that was stupid to bring it up.”
