Page 11 of Bed of Roses

“You can’t just take me back to your house. Who do you think you are?”

She pulled out her phone again, finger at the ready to dial some unknown person when some sort of realization must have hit her.

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

It was so matter of fact, I actually did laugh—well more like a shocked exhalation of air, but close enough.

“Was never even an option but thank you for clarifying.”

8

Of all nights for there to be a snowstorm it would be tonight. I’m cursed. I just know it. I checked my phone for the umpteenth time and of course not a single return call from anyone I had sent messages to. I bet the power is out, like Bear suggested.

“I’m sure Raven won’t mind if you wear these.”

He handed me a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt and used his foot to push open the door immediately to my right, revealing a bathroom. Once I was out of my dress and had entire conversation with myself in the mirror about what a terrible idea this was, but also arguing I had nowhere else to go while it still snowed, I met Bear in his kitchen, where he had a giant mug of hot chocolate waiting for me.

“I didn’t know if you liked tea and figured it’s too late for coffee.”

He too had changed, and leaned against the other side of his kitchen counter in a T-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. The short sleeves on his shirt revealed even more ink, and once again I was mesmerized. There was so much of it. They covered almost all of his arms on either side, plus one wrist and up onto the back of his hand. I noticed in this light that his sandy brown hair had some streaks of gray it in—especially at the temples, as did his scruff. Despite the rollercoaster of our acquaintanceship, he had me feeling all kind of delicious feelings in my lady parts.

Our eyes met over our mugs, and I know he caught me gawking. With a labored sigh, he set his coffee mug down and extended his arm across the countertop, palm up. He pointed to what I can only describe as a ninja star looking tattoo on the inside of his wrist, inked in all black.

“I got this one after losing a bet with James Hatfield, backstage at Metalland. James Hatfield is the front man for a band called Metallica.”

“What was the bet?” My fingers itched to trace the star, but that would be super weird so instead I just gawked from afar.

“It doesn’t matter. It was salacious, and probably not in the best taste.” He dragged his finger a bit further north, on his inner forearm to a picture of an angel leaning against a dilapidate brick wall, knees drawn up, with a cigarette in one hand a bottle of booze in the other. “When I had this one inked,” he began, tracing it with his fingernail, “I thought that it was symbolic that everyone had a vice—even people who appear to be good.”

“And now?” My focus shifted from the tattoo to his eyes, and I was ensnared—lost in their color—like caramel over coffee. “I think that there is so much shit in the world that even angels suffocate under the burden.”

I had no response. I couldn’t fathom coming from a place where I believed that the world had more shit than good. It didn’t compute.

“What has the world done to do you?”

He withdrew his arm completely, crossing it over his chest.

“Chewed me up and spit me out,” he replied.

There was an ice in his voice and the warmth that had been in his eyes just a moment ago had been snuffed out. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I said that out loud.”

Again, an uncomfortable silence settled between us. I was just about to ask where his guest room was when he turned towards his stove, grabbed his kettle and refilled my mug.

“Are you and Raven, like a couple?”

I pulled at my sweatshirt to remind him he gave me her clothes. He laughed so hard he spilled cocoa all over the counter which we both rushed to mop up. His splayed hands across the washcloth revealed that tattoo on the inside of his finger again. It was three words that I couldn’t make out, in really sweeping script.

“God no. I love Raven, don’t get me wrong. But it’s a platonic love. She’s like my sister. My ride or die. She and I have been on the air together for over a decade—like we climbed the ladder together and fell off the pedestal—together. She and I are way too similar to ever have a chance of succeeding romantically. Plus, she likes to be in control, relationship wise. I butt heads with her enough every day about our show, I couldn’t imagine doing it twenty-four seven.

“When we lost our gig in Manhattan, the station here only wanted to hire me. I told them no way no how would I do a show without her. So, I came out first to get everything settled, and she joined me a few weeks later once we were ready to launch the show, and she lived here until she found a place of her own. Which, incidentally, is the industrial lofts we passed at the light.”

I tried to hide a yawn behind a sip out of my mug, but Bear seemed pretty cued in, and showed me to the guest room. Once he situated me with guest towels for the attached bath and extra blankets from the closet,because the old house got drafty, he said goodnight and turned towards the door.

“You know, you and Raven are a lot alike. Not only with your glass-half-full despite wading through shit attitude, but also your aversion to accepting help.”

I went to open my mouth to argue with him, but he held up his hands, palms exposed in surrender.

“That’s just an observation. Not an affront, or an argument. I probably should have phrased it differently. You take great pride in your ability to take care of yourself without any help from anyone.”