Complicated Read online

  Ray and his boyfriend Dennis arrive immediately after.

  Everyone goes out to the porch since it’s one of the first evenings this year that’s warm enough for short sleeves even as the sun goes down. There’s a cooler with beer and cans of soda, and Brian keeps refilling everyone’s cups with his frozen cocktail. The guys discuss their upcoming show and David informs them I’m making the poster.

  “I have the best photos of our show in Portland,” Brian tells me. “I’ll get them to Dave for you.”

  After a second round of too-sweet pina coladas, I visit the bathroom. As I’m washing my hands, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t see a pale girl with frizzy red hair. I see someone pretty. Someone who’s desirable, whose nose isn’t weird and whose freckles don’t stand out like bad acne. It has to be the booze, seeing myself this way. I feel strong, sexy.

  I stop in the kitchen to get a glass of water. David is standing at the fridge, digging around for something. “I swear we had sauerkraut.”

  I make a face and he smiles.

  “It’s good on bratwurst.”

  “If you say so.” I get a glass and fill it at the sink. “Brian sure makes a strong cocktail.”

  “Yes, he does.” David shuts the fridge and turns. Our eyes lock. And then his gaze roams over me. I’m still in my hideous work clothes but when he looks back up, his crooked smile says he doesn’t mind. “You look pretty today.”

  “I’m not even wearing makeup.”

  “You don’t need it.” He steps closer. “You never need it.”

  “Don’t.” I turn away from him, toward the sink. He puts his hands on my hips. I don’t pull away. I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck.

  I watch everyone on the porch laughing and talking. Someone found a football and Ray is tossing it up and down and faking throws at Mike, who’s shaking his head like he can’t believe what a dork his friend is.

  “Don’t what?” David whispers.

  “David.”

  “Mmm.” His lips caress my neck. He wraps his arms around me. “Hannah.”

  The way he says my name is too much, breathed out like it’s the only word in the world that matters.

  You’re not my boyfriend, I want to say. Because you don’t want to be. You want the sex and the friendship without the commitment.

  But I don’t say it because it feels so good to be pressed against his body, enclosed in his arms. We fit together so well.

  “I think the sausages are done,” Brian calls. He smirks at us through the window. “Stop making out. I’m starving.”

  David’s arms slide back and he steps away. He gives me a knowing smile, only I’m not sure exactly what it knows. That he has me wrapped around his finger? Because he does.

  “Damn it,” I hiss to myself when he leaves. I refill my water glass and rejoin the group.

  While we eat, Katy gushes about her fireman but the guys groan.

  “What’s so great about firemen?” Brian asks. “I mean, sure, they save babies and kittens, but can they play bass left-handed?”

  “I’d run into a burning building for a kitten,” Dennis says, wagging his eyebrows at Katy. Ray hits him playfully and tells him to stop being such a flirt.

  When things wind down and nearly everyone else has gone, Katy and I end up in the kitchen cleaning up. Their house rule that the person who doesn’t cook does the dishes, and after a short argument about whether grilling counts as cooking, we’re left with the plates while David and Brian disappear into the living room.

  “This was fun,” I say, loading plates into the dishwasher.

  “It was. I’m glad you came.” Katy pushes bottles and cans of unopened beer and sofa from the cooler. “I don’t want whatever happens between you guys to mess things up.”

  “Nothing’s happening between us,” I say. “That’s the problem.”

  Brian pokes his head in the kitchen. “Hey, Kate, I’m leaving. Thanks for playing hostess with mostess.”

  “You are not driving,” I say. Brian drank more pina coladas than anyone, or so it would seem. Hard to count when your glass never quite empties.

  “Cab is out front. Want to split it? We’re going in the same direction.”

  And there’s my chance to leave before I do something I’ll regret. I should say yes but my head shakes of its own accord, clearly not listening to my brain. “I’m good.”

  “All right, then.” He winks at me. “Good night, ladies.”

  Katy jabs me in the side with her elbow.

  David’s in the living room, lounging on the sofa and watching some weird science fiction murder mystery show. Katy yawns and says she’s going to bed. I give her the “traitor” look but really, we both know I’m not still here for her.

  I sit next to David, leaving a cushion between us.

  “You’re staying.” It’s not a question.

  “For a while.”

  His smile widens. “I like it when you play coy.”

  “David. We should talk.”

  He raises his eyebrows but turns off the television. “Should we?”

  I swallow the small lump that’s forming in my throat. “Yeah.” I’m such a wimp. I need to tell him that I can’t keep doing this but when I’m faced with those smoldering blue eyes, the words die in my mouth.

  He scoots over so we’re close. His jeans brush against mine and he leans in. His fingers languidly trace the curve of my cheek.

  “I’d rather kiss than talk.” He puts his lips to mine. At first I resist but only for a millisecond. His mouth is warm and hot, his kiss fierce and intense. He pulls back slightly. Our faces are so close. His voice is a soft breath on my skin. “See? Much better than talking.”

  I kiss him again. He’s right. It is better than talking, especially when the words will put an end to this.

  He stands up and takes me hand. “Come on.” The words are so delicate they brush over me like a gentle breeze.

  David leads me to the stairs. We stop to kiss again every few steps until we reach the top. Then we quietly make our way to his room at the end of the hall.

  He shuts the door and pulls off his shirt. I tug at the waistband of his jeans. He undoes my slacks. I step out of them and rip off my ugly work polo. At least I wore a lacy bra, I think vaguely as his hands smooth over the fabric to find the clasp.

  I sit on the bed and he pushes me back, climbing on top of me.

  “You are so sexy,” he murmurs. His deft fingers trace my hips. He tugs at my underwear and then slides it off. And then his breath is against my neck. His skin is on fire. Pressed against mine, I want that flame to engulf me. He kisses me again, desperate and hungry.

  “David.” I gasp the name, hands on his chest, as if I could really push him away. But then I slide my palms to his sides and pull him down closer. He makes a noise not unlike a growl and presses his mouth to mine again.

  Thought turns to need and then there’s nothing but our bodies moving together.

  When I wake up beside David the next morning, I don’t regret it. How can I, when being with him is so wonderful? When he makes me feel alive and important and beautiful and wanted.

  He sleeps with his mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Like this, he looks innocent and sweet, not like the passionate, burning lover he was last night. A thought flits through my brain but I won’t let it land, because it uses the “L” word and that’s not what this is.

  This is just sex. Really, really good sex with a very hot man, but nothing more. He doesn’t want more. And if I don’t get over him, this burning infatuation will turn me to ash.

  His alarm clock tells me it’s after nine so I crawl out of bed quietly and gather my clothes. I put on my bra and panties, which were not easy to find. They’d been flung under the dresser. I’m tugging on my jeans when David says, “Good morning.”

  “Hey,” I say. I turn away and slip on my polo.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “
Great.” He yawns and sits up, but doesn’t push off the blankets. “Last night was amazing.”

  “You always say that.”

  “It always is.”

  Then why don’t you want me, I want to ask. I meet his eyes. His inky hair is sticking up in places. I resist the urge to jump back in bed and smooth it down, since I know where that will lead.

  “I should probably get home,” I say instead.

  “Are you sure? I don’t have to work until three. I could take you out to breakfast.”

  “David, that’s not—”

  “Not what?”

  How does he not get it? He’s the one who said he doesn’t do girlfriends. He’s the one who made it clear we are not a couple, just people who sleep together sometimes. So why does he keep trying to act like we’re a couple?

  “Not necessary.”

  “Hannah.”

  “I’ll see you, okay?”

  I leave before he can say anything else.

  Katy must still be asleep because the house is quiet. I shut the front door of Huan residence and walk quickly to the nearest bus stop.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I text Zach and make plans for that afternoon. The best way to break my David habit is to find a real boyfriend. At the very least, I can attempt to date other people.

  Zach and I both arrive in front of Coffee Harbor at the same time, five minutes earlier than agreed. He’s in jeans and a button up shirt, but wearing his leather jacket over it. He put silver rings in his ears rather than the studs. I admit, the piercings are growing on me. Normally I’m not a huge fan but on him they’re extremely sexy.

  He’s holding two separate bouquets of flowers.

  “Rob a florist?” I ask.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘you look dashing today.’” He offers me that crooked smile that makes his lip ring stick out.

  “I thought that was the guy’s line.”

  “How antiquated of you. But you also look stunning.” He winks.

  I felt like a bit of mess when I left the house. Trish had me try on five different homemade skirts before I decided to go with jeans. I compromised by agreeing to wear a blue blouse she made with ruffles on the neckline. The way Zach looks at me, though, makes me feel like a million dollars. Like someone who deserves a lot of flowers.

  He thrusts one of two large bouquets at me. It’s spring flowers with yellow daffodils, white tulips, and tiny pink flowers wrapped in green paper. “Those are apology flowers for showing up at your work place like a stalker yesterday.”

  I laugh. “Apology accepted.”

  “And these,” he hands me the other bouquet, one of red and white roses, “are date flowers.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I find the best things in life aren’t obligatory.”

  I run inside Coffee Harbor and put both bouquets in one of the plastic tubs our coffee arrives in. It’s rinsed out and I figure any residual caffeine can only help (I don’t know much about flowers but when does caffeine hurt?).

  Zach and I walk to the aquarium. He tells me about his job working part-time security for a large office park. “They pay me to sit in one place and call the real cops if anything actually happens.”

  “Does it?”

  “Never,” he says, with a look of disappointment. He’s so expressive. David, despite being the lead singer of a rock band, is fairly quiet and usually wears one of three expressions: neutral, happy, or horny. I’m a fan of all three but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. With Zach, it’s like he can’t help but broadcast his feelings all over his face. It makes a nice change.

  We walk to the aquarium and Zach buys our passes before I can protest. “I’ll buy the drinks after.”

  “So I haven’t scared you off yet. Excellent.” He steeples his fingers together and grins.

  “’Yet’ being the operative word.”

  Zach doesn’t pause to study the signs or the map. He heads straight for the otters. We squeeze in between other onlookers and watch the otters carry toy balls around and float on their backs. They’re adorable and it’s hard to tear myself away, but eventually we wander inside to see the tanks filled with colorful fish and tiny seahorses.

  “So what’s with the accent?”

  “You don’t find it irresistible?”

  “You know what I mean.” I elbow him in the side. He feigns a wound and claps his hands over his side. “Have you been here long? Where are you from? Why’d you leave?”

  “My American cousin needed a roommate, and I needed to get away from things.”

  We reach a tank filled with jellyfish. They swim up, propelling themselves with their stringy limbs, and then let themselves sink. It’s mesmerizing, a living lava lamp. Zach gently tugs my arm and takes me into the next room. One whole wall and the ceiling are made of glass. Large fish and sharks swim around above us.

  “I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” I say.

  “You haven’t? And you call yourself an artist.”

  “You called me that. And what’s marine life got to do with art?”

  “Everything has to do with art. That’s the thing about art.” He watches a large tuna swim by and then gives me a side-long glance. “Want to see the seals?”

  “They have seals?”

  He grins and takes my hand. His hand is warm, even the metallic rings. We walk through the dark hallways back outdoors, where the large seal tanks are. A chain link fence separates this part of the aquarium from Puget Sound and wooden piers that lead to the open water. I wonder how the seals feel, being able to see the world just out of their reach. But the seals seem happy. One of them swims around while another sleeps on a rock.

  After we walk through the whole aquarium one more time, stopping at the little tanks we missed, we head outside. It’s bright but the sky is Seattle-gray and the air smells like rain. The ground is wet. We probably missed a light sprinkle.

  We head a few blocks over to a bar inside a restaurant on the pier. I order a cosmopolitan and show the bartender my ID. Zach orders a beer.

  “I had fun.” I sip the drink. It’s fruity but there’s no missing the alcohol like in Brian’s pina coladas. “I mean, I’m still having fun. This is fun.”

  “How do you usually spend your days off?”

  “Trying to dig my television out from beneath a mountain of fabric so I can be lazy and watch something brainless.” I explain about Trish and her fashion design ambitions. I tug on my blouse. “She made this.”

  Zach looks down and admires the shirt, or maybe my cleavage which the blouse does nice things for. “She’s got talent. What about you? You design stuff right?”

  “Only for the band and that doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?” He flicks his lip ring with his tongue which should not be sexy but it sort of is.

  “Because. It’s not like they pay me.”

  “They should. They make money at their gigs, right?”

  “I guess. I never really thought about it.”

  “Have they even offered?”

  “No, but…” I trail off, suddenly uncomfortable. This is dangerously close to talking about David, and that’s a subject I’d rather avoid. “I don’t mind.”

  “Sorry.” Zach rubs the back of his neck and lets his hand drop. “My mum was a musician and people were always trying to get her to work for free. It’s sort of a touchy subject. What you do for your friends is sweet.” He leans forward and spins his pint of beer around. “And none of my business.”

  “It’s nice that you care,” I tell him. I don’t miss that he spoke about his mom in the past tense but it’s the wrong time to bring it up, so I don’t ask.

  I excuse myself to the ladies’ room. When I return, I notice his beer is still completely full. “Is your drink okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” he says, but he runs his tongue over his lip ring and I can tell he’s lying.

  “You haven’t touched it.”

  “Yea
h, well,” he gives me the same sheepish look he did when he showed up at my work, “the thing is, I don’t actually drink.”

  I gape at him, not sure whether there’s a joke on me and what the punch line could be. “Then why did we come here?”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t want the date to end.”

  “We could have gotten ice cream or something. I just assumed.” I think back to the bar two nights’ ago. “Hold up. You were drinking at the show.”

  “I was holding a beer. Key difference.”

  “Why not just order a Coke?”

  He shifts on the barstool. I’m about to apologize when he speaks, “If I’m holding a beer, no one asks what I’m drinking or why I’m not drinking or if I need a drink. It saves me the trouble of having to explain or endure people trying to push it on me. Is that weird? It’s weird.”

  “It’s not weird.” I wave the bartender over and get the check, putting down cash for the drinks including tip. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”

  There’s an ice cream place a block down. Zach orders a double scoop of chocolate and strawberry and I get mint chocolate chip. He insists on paying. It’s a little chilly for a stroll, so we go inside of the one pier’s buildings and find a bench. I tell him about art school, how I got a scholarship for the first year and when it ended, I didn’t want to take out the loans necessary to continue, so I got a job instead. When we finish, we walk outside. The sun has poked out from behind the clouds and the air has warmed.

  “Thanks for everything,” I say.

  “I really like you,” Zach says and then turns away. “Sorry. I feel like I’m writing the book of how to be a creep over here.”

  “I really like you, too,” I tell him.

  We stand there awkwardly. He leans in and pecks me on the cheek. “So I’ll see you again?”

  “Absolutely. I’d love that.”

  He beams. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I really wish she’d go home,” Katy says, pointing the blonde on the television screen with curly hair.

  Katy, Alice, and I sitting in the living room of her house watching one of those dating shows where fifteen woman or men compete for the love of one woman or man. In this case, it’s one guy with woman vying for his attention. It’s ridiculous. Strangers profess deep love for someone they hardly know and fight with each other for a chance to bask in his presence. No matter how much my incurable crush on David Huan persists, I can’t imagine inflicting this kind of misery on myself. Surely most people go on these shows to be on television, not to find love.