Love in the Time of Cynicism (10 page)

His lips curl up like he’s hiding some great secret from me.

And, of course (what the hell did I expect?), he has a motorcycle

Specifically, a ‘2010 Hyosung GV250,’ according to its owner. When we reach the end of his driveway, children already spilling out of the house to greet their older brother, Rhett whips the blue tarp off and reveals a silver and black bike. Frankly, the thing terrifies me; I’ve never even seen a motorcycle in real life. Lightfoot isn’t exactly a place for bikers. Most people here drive expensive imported vehicles and abhor those who don’t.

“What do you think?”

“It’s, um…” There are no words in my head as I stare at the bike. I’ve seen shows where people ride them, always individuals with criminal records or authority problems or both. “My brain is still trying to process the idea of actually riding on one of these, ah, beasts.”

“It’s completely safe, I promise,” he attempts to reassure me with a broad smile and a squeeze on the shoulder, which does absolutely nothing to calm my suddenly pounding head. Then he keeps talking, and the ups and downs of his voice manage to calm me. “I know it’s safe because, well, I built it. Or at least put it together. Last year was kind of rough for me-” his voice falters a moment “-and this bike became a sort of therapy for me. I don’t ride it that often anymore, but I’ll take any reason I can get.”

Before I can reply, the twins are all over Rhett. They grab an arm each and Rhett swings them up in the air as they shriek with laughter. When he puts them back down, they run around my legs and spout gibberish like
wow I see why Rhetty thinks you’re so pretty, you’re so pretty are you going to get married and fall in love
until Susie comes outside and hoists them into her arms.

“You two going out on a date, then?”

“Actually, it’s much more romantic than that, mother dearest.” Rhett smirks and kisses his mother on the cheek, so ridiculously full of life. “I’m taking her to work.”

Susie laughs as the two boys twine their fingers through her curly hair, “You two are something else.”

She brings the twins back inside and Rhett gives me some instructions. “When you’re on the back of the bike, don’t be a wuss about grabbing onto me. I don’t want you flying off into the road because you were scared of touching my rock hard abs.”

“I have no qualms about touching your abs,” I reply even though my heart is leaping into my throat and grating against it with each beat at the thought of not only straddling the bike but Rhett as well.

“Ready, then?”

Unable to muster another word from the pit of my stomach, I nod. No helmets. No safety. Rhett mounts the beast, shaking out his dark hair, and motions for me to do the same. With my throat closing and knees knocking, I stiffly toss one leg over the leather seat and sit.

“Hold on tight.” He reaches behind himself and takes me hands, his touch breaking through my nervousness in a strange way I’ve never quite felt before. When he guides my fingers to rest on his stomach, the anxiety racking my chest is muffled by the sudden flipping of my stomach at the movement of his chest as he laughs.

I suck in a breath, which he must assume is from nerves and not from the pressure of closeness.

“Don’t worry; I’ve done this before.”

“What – having girls on the back of your bike?” I joke nervously, “This is seeming more and more like a scheme to have girls marvel at your abs than a simple favor.”

“I can honestly tell you that you are the very first girl on the back of this bike I’ve had any amount of romantic attraction to,” he tells me, then guns the engine before I can respond.

Wind smashes into my cheeks as we shoot out the driveway and onto Eleora. It chills me to the core like the unforeseen winter we never get here. A series of loud expletives rip from me without my consent as houses smudge past, causing Rhett’s laughter to deepen.

Already I can feel myself being pulled in whatever direction we turn, so I clench my body tighter against Rhett’s back, no longer caring about any previous inhibitions as the bike rockets through down. I press my forehead against the nape of his neck

When we finally reach Ebony’s a few minutes later, my hands shake from how tight I was holding on to Rhett. Something about the pull of those turns put the fear of God back in me. I catch my reflection in the half-silvered window and frown. My purplish blue hair is a mess of frizz from the wind and my face is blotchy red as a result of the stinging air.

Nonetheless, I push the door open (Rhett follows dutifully behind), put my hair back, and grab my apron from the rack. This Monday afternoon, the place is typically slow and practically deserted; only a few bemoaned-novelist types lounge as they sip coffee and type frantically. This is good, though. Dealing with a hoard of irritating customers isn’t high up on my to-do list.

Behind the counter, my manager, Tracy, lurks. Oh lord. Her black hair is straightened in the typical this-means-business fashion and her thin lips are pursed down in disapproval. I’ve seen this look given out to some of our less inclined employees, but until now I have never been on the receiving end and I must say it isn’t fun.

“Del, can I talk to you before you start your shift?”

“Ah…sure, I guess.” My voice is nearly a squeak I’m so nervous. If she fires me, I will be forced to rely solely on my mother and Michael for money and those conversations never go well or as planned. Even though I really didn’t care about it, I still lost my job at the Country Club and need this one.

Rhett shoots a quick glance my way, worried, before sitting down

“Listen,” Tracy begins, her voice dropped low as she eyeballs the customers, “Kevin told me you gave gang-bang over there a free drink a few nights back-” she nods at Rhett “-and he also told me you did it to get a date.”

That bastard!
Kevin’s got the shift before mine on the weekends. It’s not like we’re BFFs or anything, but I wouldn’t expect him to rat my out like that. My fists ball up at my sides as I say through clenched teeth, “Did he also tell you that right after he was done working he was attached by the lips to some girl and wouldn’t leave for another two hours?”

Tracy smashed her lips even farther together before telling me, “What you did directly violated staff policies and cost the business money.”

“It was three dollars and thirty sense-”

“Still!” Her voice rises about an octave. “You need to pay for the drink and swear not to let him affect you like that again. And if he loiters around here, I expect you to ask him to leave like any sane person would, or we’ll have to let you go.”

“But-”

Like she’s my mother, Tracy cuts me off with a fat finger against my lip. “Not buts! You’re a good, hard worker, Del. You’ve worked here nearly as long as I have and I don’t want that to change. But you have to take is seriously. Wearing the apron is a gift. Respect it.”

It takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Get to work.” She scans Rhett from across the room once again. “And if he doesn’t order anything in the next ten minutes, ask him to leave. I’ll be watching.”

As I take my usual position behind the counter and begin to wipe it down, Rhett plants himself in front of me and doles out a usual grin. He looks so comfortable there propped up on elbows I’m surprised he doesn’t go the whole way with it and sit on the counter. “I hope you enjoyed your brief trip on the bike.”

“Immensely,” I answer quietly, nervous at the thought of Tracy watching me. Rhett’s my ride back to Trent’s truck and I need him to stick around my entire shift or I’ll have to walk back to his house, which is a potentially mortifying situation to think about.

“Hopefully there will be many more occasions in which it would be appropriate for you to hold me so tight.” Coming from him, I’m not quite sure whether or not we’re flirting. He could be completely serious or not. It’s hard to tell when he’s not looking directly at me, but at Tracy. A strange, uncomfortable silence settles in between us while we aren’t paying attention. His tan fingers drum quietly against the countertop but otherwise it’s completely silent. It’s weird and new and altogether something I want to avoid in the future, this not-talking thing.

Since, in my experience, Rhett is a full-of-life talker and not one for sitting and contemplating while I have lived for years perfecting the art of silent warfare, he breaks it first. “Was your manager giving you crap about the free drink? I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I wanted to make sure you know I normally don’t take favors.”

“Then why did you?”

He shrugs like his answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

This makes me hide a smile behind my lips and stop staring at him for a moment. “She’s just…irked, that’s all. She doesn’t like it when the people she sees as abnormal hang around here. Personally, I could not even fathom giving a shit.”

“You wouldn’t even
consider
giving a shit? That’s some pretty strong commitment right there,” he tells me sarcastically. Then, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a couple of folded ones and a five, shoves them across the counter at me. “For the last drink and the one I’ll have today.”

“Rhett, it’s not a big deal. I can pay for the drinks,” I reply, trying to shove the cash back at him.

“I refuse to be in the debt of someone as attractive as you,” he says seriously. I raise my eyebrows and laugh. “This is not a matter to be made fun of, Cordelia Kane. You could hold a power over me I would never be able to repay and I’d probably end up selling my soul to you to pay for those coffees.”

“How about-” I separate four of the ones “-I pay for the last one and you pay for this one, then we move on with our lives. There are more important things to talk about than coffee.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Like what? And by the way, I’ll have a coffee. Black.”

“You take your coffee black but you tolerated having a caramel macchiato the other day. Why?”

“Anything for the beautiful girl.”

I bite my lip as if I’m suddenly a real proper teenage girl looking into the eyes of a real handsome teenage boy. I almost laugh at the thought while I pour out coffee from one of the pots already prepared; Tracy must’ve done me a solid she normally wouldn’t have because every kind of coffee (half caf, regular, and decaf) are already brewing behind the counter. “Well, Doctor Sullivan, the anthropology teacher, he, ah, gives me special assignments instead of the work they do in class, and he wants me to work with someone on this one. Specifically someone who-”

“Is thrillingly attractive and talented in many areas including writing and wooing, in equal parts?”

“Precisely.” I smile at him briefly and continue, “The only specification he gave me was that the writing had to be ‘stylized reality,’ which is basically what most of the writing in anthro is, anyway, but he didn’t say what he wanted us to write on or anything like that. If you’ll help me, that is.”

He beams, and I’m struck once again by how he’s the first person I’ve seen do this. “I would love to help you with your dumb writing project, Cordelia Kane.”

I grin, feeling his happiness breaking through my usual veil of contempt for the world. “It’s not stupid. Very serious and of the utmost import.”

He guffaws whole-heartedly now. “Import? What are you, a seventeenth century knight?”

I turn mock-serious immediately. “Yes. Are you willing to be the damsel in distress?”

“The role I was born to play, surely,” he responds, equally humorless. Then, his bright smile returns and Rhett asks, “What were you thinking? For this whole project deal, I mean.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“No better time than the present.”

As I’m about to speak, a group of youths come in. I sigh heavily. “Can I just, like, call you to talk about it later or something? We could meet up some place.”

Loaded with flirtation, he answers, “How will you contact me without my phone number?”

I give the customers an utterly fake warm smile and push over a napkin and the pen behind my ear to Rhett. “Give it to me when I’m done with these guys.”

He nods, gives me a wink, and settles in at a chair in the corner. He then proceeds to drink his coffee and to pull out his small notebook, scribbling down his phone number first and then moving into to writing what I assume is poetry.

Then the group approaches me. They’re courteous and friendly and talk and laugh with one another, completely comfortable. I’m making white mochas (chocolate, steam milk, pour espresso, pour syrup, mix in milk, top off with whipped cream) and chocolate frappuccino (basically blending chocolate, milk, ice, and vanilla) as well as some fru-fru crap we recently started carrying. No drink made primarily with fruit and corn syrup should be sold in a coffeehouse. It’s disgraceful.

They move past me, still chattering pleasantly, and settle in the big circle of chairs at the center of Ebony’s main room. There’s a loft upstairs that looks down on us, though it’s really only used as overflow seating for the shows we have on the weekend, when the place actually becomes cool to work at. Whoever has the first morning shift gets to rearrange the chairs however they want, and I’ve never had the honor. It seems like a massive waste of time and an excessive use of energy to me, but I enjoy seeing everyone else expend the effort.

While I’m cleaning off the counter (I’ve never managed to make a drink without spilling some amount of liquid) and blenders, I quietly watch Rhett. He’s paying me no attention now that he’s in the writing mood, so I only feel a little creepy looking at him. I wonder, for the first time, what he’s writing about, if it’s for the poetry reading next week or about me. The thought captivates me, the ache to know what he really thinks of me; it must be serious, considering he’s letting me hear a personal poem in order to go on a date with me. Nobody’s ever done something like this for me.

Imagining Rhett getting up in front of a crowd and reading some gushy poem for me, even if it was the worst poem ever written, makes my heart skip a beat. I let the scene play out in my head like some sort of dream.

He takes the stage. Taps the mic. He introduces himself nervously and reads the title. Then, the words start. They bump each other on the way out from his unprepared lips but gain confidence and rhythm as he continues, those impossible words bathing me as our eyes meet. At this point, it doesn’t even matter what he’s saying because I’m so caught up in how he looks at me from the stage, like I’m the only one he cares about in the room and like it doesn’t matter that he’s in front of crowd. These words are wholly mine as much as they are his.

And when Rhett finishes and the audience erupts, despite the rules, into applause and whooping cheers, he ignores them and comes over to me. For the first time, he kisses me and it’s the most flawless kiss I’ve ever experienced. Fireworks, strings in the background, the whole deal.