Perfectly Messy (10 page)

Justin: Where are you?

Me: Basement. Why?

I wait a few minutes and he doesn’t respond.

Me: Where are you?

Justin: For real. You’re gorgeous.

I wipe under my eye, black mascara returns on my finger.

Me: Ha, if you could only see me now.

Justin: I do.

What? I spin around, dropping my phone at the site of Justin tapping lightly on my back sliding door. Holy. My heart spins then throws itself, out of control, raging through my chest. Justin’s the only person in the world who can do that.

I bound over the couch, softly sliding open the door. Justin reaches out as he steps in from the night air, taking my hand in his. His dark hair holds a slight curl and he looks like he stepped out of a freaking magazine with his dark-washed jeans and a light gray sweater that he wasn’t wearing before.

“Hey.” Justin says and he steps close, cupping my chin in his palm.

His five o’clock shadow has grown into scruff. I reach out, touching the pricks along his jaw. We lock eyes for a second before he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close. His lips find mine, greeting me in a passionate kiss. My knees weaken as I move up against the wall. Warmth spreads through me, my insides again glowing gold. He pulls out of the kiss for a breath, sweeping my bangs out of my face.

“Lucy, I’ve missed you so much.” Carefully, he wipes the area under my eyes. “Were you crying?”

So unarmed from his surprise and kiss, I nod.

“I did this?” he asks.

“No.” I wipe away the new tears that have formed. “I’m tired and missing you.”

He pulls me into a hug and his fresh scent takes over, relaxing my crazy heart. “What’s going on, Lucy?” His voice warms my ear.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He pulls out of the hug, cupping my chin again. His beautiful green eyes hold me captive. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I miss you, Lucy. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every moment, you’re in my heart and the pain is killing me. I’m sorry I didn’t call.” He leans down, softly kissing my upper lip. “I needed to have you in my arms.”

My soul sighs as his words erase all my doubt.

“That’s exactly what I was crying about. I need to be near you more. These last two months…”

“They’ve sucked. I know. Don’t worry. It’s over now.”

“But there’s still three more days until the election.”

“Yeah, that means three more days of campaign appearances. You like shrimp right?”

“Of course. Who doesn’t?”

“Good. Because that’s pretty much all I’ve been eating this month. Please, come to these stupid fundraisers with me?”

“Will your parents mind?”

“I don’t care.”

“What about studying for your midterms?”

“Lucy,” he says as he runs his fingers through my hair. “If I have to chain myself to the wall to study, I will. But I want you to be there, in the same room.”

My heart swells.
Yes.
“I want to be there too.”

“Okay. This schedule of mine is nonsense. We’ll make it work.” His head touches mine. “We’re together, okay?”

“Right.” I smile easily then and I realize it’s the first one I haven’t forced out in a while.

“Beautiful,” he says, running his finger over my lips.

Goosebumps fly over my body, chased by my racing heart. He leans in, pressing me up against the wall as he takes my hips in his hands. He kisses me softly, until I part my mouth.

I need him. Everything he’ll give me.

He responds passionately, understanding this need. His hand travels up my side as he explores my mouth. He pulls my hips, directing us off the wall. I push him towards the couch, crawling on his lap. There’s urgency behind each kiss, needing to recover our lost time.

A soft sigh escapes from the back of his throat. I shift, noticing the bulge in his pants. I pull out of his kiss and bite my lip, trying not to grin. He smirks back at me. I blush, never having noticed this sort of reaction before. He pulls me close, kissing me softer now. But with that under me, I know it’s too far. It’s not what we want. Not now. I slide off to give him a bit of space. I won’t tease him. That’s just mean.

“No, I need you close,” he whispers, pulling me back, repositioning me so I’m across his lap, with my arms wrapped around his neck. I try not to think about the pressure below.

“You’re addictive, worse than the rush of sinking a winning shot.” Justin sweeps my bangs out of my eyes. “I didn’t think anything could feel more powerful than that.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it?”

“You don’t have to be scared with me. I’m not letting
this
go.”

I snuggle closer toward his rock solid chest and relax in the calm of his scent. “Being in your arms is like the perfect burrito.”

“Steak, barbecoa, rice, black beans, hot salsa, sour cream, corn, and cheese,” he says while kissing me between each ingredient. “Delicious.” His lips find mine again, and we lose one another to our lips, tongues, and necks. Eventually, his kisses slow and he slides over, arms wrapped around me while lying next to me on the couch.

“Lucy,” he whispers as he tries to stifle a yawn that only triggers my own. He puts his finger in my mouth, a running joke that he knows I hate.

I pinch him with a growl. “Seems like it’s time for you to go,” I tease. Which sucks, because it’s true. It’s almost two.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning? I want you to meet my family. For real, at my home.”

“What time?”

“Is nine thirty too early?”

“Nope.”

“Awesome. We’re having Sunday brunch.”

He lifts me with him without any strain as he rises from the couch. His lips are on mine as he walks back to the sliding door. “I don’t know if I can make it seven more hours.”

“Me either.”

“Okay. New plan. I’m picking you up at eight o’clock.” He kisses me softly before setting my feet to the floor. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say as he slides out quietly through the back door.

***

Whoa. Talk about a pendulum shift. Mr. Marshall waves at me as he flips pancakes wearing flannel pants, a T-shirt, and a blue dress robe. Mrs. Marshall’s pouring orange juice in yoga pants and a workout tank, glowing after her morning run. The last time I saw them they were all suit and ball gown.

“Lucy, we’re so pleased Justin invited you for brunch.”

“Me too. Thanks for having me.” I keep my hands folded as Justin leads me to sit on the bar stool across from his mom. My kitchen island usually has some soil experiment on it. Here? I can see my reflection in the countertop.

I clasp my hands tight. Do not smudge the granite countertop.

“You want to fry up the bacon, Justin?”

“Sure,” he says, sliding from beside me with a confident nod.

“Lucy, I hope you don’t think it’s rude if I ask you to help?” Mrs. Marshall asks with a look that’s so much like Justin’s. That smile wasn’t at the fundraiser dinner. Seeing it now helps.

“Please do! What can I do?” Yes, helping is way easier. Better than just sitting and staring.

“There’s a spiral ham in the fridge. Do you mind cutting it up?”

“Absolutely, no problem.”

I scoot off the stool and open the stainless steel vault they call a fridge. On the bottom shelf, I find the ham in a netted bag. Nine pounds. Whoa. This is a family-only brunch, right?

“There’s a cutting board in the lower left drawer. You’ll find the serving platter and knife over on the back counter.”

“Thanks.” I slide my fingers through the netting, lifting the ham up on the countertop.

Okay, cutting a pre-sliced spiral ham? No problem. I easily pull open the netting, thankful for the rebuilt muscles from my summer of painting. I’ll slice up and arrange the most impressive spiral ham Justin’s folks have ever seen.

I dig the knife in, slicing quick to release the plastic wrap. Water squirts back at me, spraying my sweater and pooling over the cutting board. Towel-less, I try scooping the water into the middle of the board. Without any edges to the board, the battle turns on me. I bite my tongue as it oozes out, spilling over the countertop and onto the floor. Crap. Crap. Crap.

I clear my throat and force my voice to be steady. “Justin, where can I get a towel?”

“Use the one hanging on the oven, dear,” his mom replies instead. Thankfully, she doesn’t look over.

Oven door. Okay, that’s five steps away, max. I abandon the ham to walk across the kitchen, super-calm-like. Three steps away, then suddenly,
SPLAT!

My gut tightens as I turn around. No, please no.

Like a top, the ham spins on the floor.

“Oh my gosh.” I lunge for the ham. Five-second rule!

My foot doesn’t land though. Instead it slides on the puddle of ham juice. I gasp as my back hits Justin’s kitchen floor. A cool wetness slides under my head and neck. Ham juice. Nasty.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp as I roll, grabbing the ham from the ground. I hold it over my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. Is this really happening?

A moment passes before Justin leans over me and I peek upward. “You okay down there?” he asks, biting back a gorgeous smirk.

“Oh, give her room.” Mrs. Marshall pushes him aside and helps me up.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Marshall. I didn’t mean to ruin your ham.” I ring out juice from the back of my sweater, debating how I can save face. As the juice drips out of my hair, the smell of ham overcomes me. Screw it. There’s no way I can make this okay.

I take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry. Listen, that girl you met at the fundraiser in that pretty lace dress? That’s not me. This,” I twist my hair, squeezing the rest of the water from it, “is me.”

Then Mr. Marshall begins to laugh. “Well, that guy in the suit who’s politically correct, also not me.”

“Same with that woman in the red dress.” Mrs. Marshall smiles and nudges me.

Justin steps closer then, pulling me into his arms. “Mmm, you smell like pig. Delicious.”

“Aww, see, Christy? This explains Justin’s forever obsession with bacon. They’re perfect for one another.”

I clasp a hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh. Justin reaches my love handle, tickling me until I crack.

“Welcome to our home,” Mrs. Marshall says as she gives me a sideways hug. “You fit in well here.”

“Hey,” a new voice adds to the mix. Tonya walks into the kitchen towards the ham juice.

“Be careful!” I say as she steps into the wetness. Her foot slides up, landing her butt-down in the puddle.

I rush to her side, sliding again, this time on my thigh, and ending up sloshing more ham juice toward her.

Tonya starts laughing, thank God.

“What is this stuff?” she says.

“Ham juice. Totally my fault.” I squirm to get up before helping her off the floor.

“Yuck.”

“I’m sorry. It’s nasty.”

“Yup,” Mr. Marshall says, throwing us towels. “You fit in well here. Nice choice, son.”

Justin

Jeff Marshall, 28%. Tim Montgomery, 36%. Not all precincts reporting.

My chest rattles as I glance at Dad. He nods at the screen before turning around to the crowd, offering a confident clap. “It’s okay, folks. The numbers are only beginning to roll in. We’re doing fine.” He clasps hands with a volunteer, still building relationships and caring about others’ views. He’s got to win. He’d be such a caring governor.

Mom sighs at me from across the room. In the next hour or two, our life will change completely. It doesn’t matter which way the vote falls. The bile in my stomach turns over. The thought of “living” at the governor’s mansion doesn’t seem fun. Dad reassured me I wasn’t expected to move in and that they’ll be splitting time between the houses. That relief was awesome. I love my basement bedroom. Plus, not living there will make it a bit easier to deal with all the watchers. People assume I’m used to it with all the attention from school. But here? On the political side? The closer Dad gets to his dream, the closer I’m being watched. It’s a bit too creepy for me.

I try to concentrate on my Psych textbook. I still have three chapters to read before tomorrow’s test, but all I can make out are blurry blocks which I imagine must be paragraphs. The more I concentrate, the worse it gets. I rub my eyes as someone pats my back while passing. “Just you wait, Justin,” they say. “Soon it’ll be your campaign!” Nausea takes over as I freeze, the room still moves in circles around me. The walls swell and beat with each humid breath I suck in. No. I’m never going to become a politician. I smile at the guy, which is enough for him so he moves on. Thank goodness. That’s not a conversation I’m ever planning to have with anyone. I try to refocus on the text but the room starts spinning again. Did I eat today? Pretty sure I grabbed a banana on the way out the door. But rarely do I go a few hours without a small bite of protein or super-carb to charge me until my next big meal. The room pulsates again. Dad sips a dark liquid from his tumbler while I rub my damp palms against my dress pants. How does he stay so calm? I’m a mess.

My phone vibrates. A text from Lucy. Finally!

Lucy: Game’s finished. You still want me to come?