She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) (18 page)

Isn’t it?

I thank Ben’s teammate for the beer and spin to find myself chest-to-chest with Chase.
My
Chase
. I look for Tina. Thankfully, she’s disappeared. Instead of shouting, he leans close to me to talk. “You have that look in your eye,” he says.

His breath on my neck ignites a million sparks in me, the nearness causing goosebumps to travel up and down my spine. I angle my head so I can speak into his ear. “What look is that?”

He takes a step closer. Our bodies are no more than an inch apart. His hand settles on my waist as he whispers, “The look I love. I call it First Week of School Juliet.”

I sigh. “That was an interesting week.” I’m in full flirt mode.

“It didn’t suck.”

“Well,” I chuckle, “there were some fun parts that kinda did…” I pull away to appreciate his eyes. He’s staring, talking to me without words. Behind him, Tina wanders. “Your girlfriend’s looking for you.” I hold his gaze.

“She offered to let me crash in her room tonight.”

I nod. “Huh.”

He smiles. “Yeah, you know, so my roommate can get laid.” He points at me and squints. “Oh right…you guys don’t do that.”

I scoff and turn to walk away.
Stupid jerk.
Chase grabs my arm, pulling me back. “I’m glad it’s not because of me.”

I spin around to look into his eyes and, once again, we’re inches apart. His face contorts as he tries to contain the huge, movie star grin that I know is about to emerge. I will myself to either not react or to stay mad, but he’s just so cute up close like this—all smart ass and sure of himself.

I shake my head. “Egotistical jerk.”

I hate him, but I want him. With him this close to me I feel like I’m going insane, and he’s teasing me. His fingers, the ones that were inside of me, grip my upper arm, and my skin tingles under his touch. Dumb jackass laughs as he slides his hand down my arm and circles his fingers around my wrist. Without thinking, I weave my fingers through his and pull him toward the front door.

I push the door open and yank Chase into the cool, quiet night. “Are you kidnapping me?” he asks. I’d asked him the same thing the first time he brought me to the city.

I don’t answer. Instead, I grip his hand and walk faster, more anxious than I’ve been in weeks. My witch hat flies off but I don’t bother to fetch it. “Slow down. Wait,” Chase calls after me as I speed through the streets, dragging him along.

When he realizes where we’re going, he stops complaining.

Monsters, cats, and devils crowd the train station into the city, but I don't care. Neither, apparently, does Chase. I lead him to the far end of the platform—half indoor, half out—where the lights from the station dim into the night sky.

When I finally stop moving and face him, we don’t speak. I know Ben would be devastated if he were to find out about this, but I push that thought aside. I look into Chase’s purple eyes. I plaster on my best sexy smirk, reserved only for Chase.
What happens in the train station…

It does the trick. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls my head into his, kissing me as if his life depended on it. I kiss him back, suddenly drowning in a flood of feelings I’ve never felt for anyone, not even Ben. I push him against the wall and press my body against his. Chase’s hands explore. Every time our mouths meet, a mixture of butterflies and euphoria fills my body, knocking me off balance. His lips are strong and needy, they way I like them.

He murmurs between kisses, “Juliet, you know I can't resist you. I don’t want to be the bad guy.”

I nibble his jawline down to his neck as the train pulls away, leaving us in the empty station. Already a new crowd is forming for the next train. “I needed to kiss you. Thought this would be a good place,” I mumble as I work my way down his neck.

He turns me around. My back hits the cold wall and I shiver. He holds my face as he studies me, his gaze falling on my lips as I catch my breath. “Should we be together, gorgeous?” he asks. “Could it be that simple?”

I sigh and drop my forehead onto his chin. Chase isn’t my simple.
Ben
is my simple. That’s why I’ve loved him since the moment I met him. “I love Ben,” I say to the ground.

Chase pushes my hair back and places his hands on my shoulders.

“But you, Chase. Sometimes, out of the blue, I get this…feeling of…of you…I need you…And that ache I mentioned earlier? It’s overwhelming. Tonight, seeing you, how you look at me…”

His lips are close to mine, our bodies touching. “Every time I see you, you’re more beautiful. I can't help how I look at you."

“Chase.” I sigh.

He rubs my neck. “Every Monday when we spend our fifteen minutes together, every time I run into you in the hallway, or glance at your picture on Ben’s dresser…when I see you, it gives me the strength to get through the week.” He holds my face, his thumbs tracing my jawbone as he kisses a line across my cheek. When he reaches my ear, he whispers, “You’re my color. I love you.”

He loves me?
A hot tear falls down my cold cheek. He moves his thumb to swipe it away. “I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper.

Chase pulls back an inch, but the space between us grows to a mile. I want him close. I tug on him, but he doesn’t budge. “I know you tried to give me a chance. But if I’d taken it, you’d always want him. I’m not good like Ben. I don’t deserve you. I’d hurt you. I’d mess up. Ben will never hurt you. What kind of person would I be to keep you from him?”

This is my opportunity to beg him not to walk away. To tell him he does deserve me—it’s me who doesn’t deserve him. I wish I could tell him that I’ll break up with Ben and we’ll go to his little room in the city and be together.

My phone vibrates in my boot. I know it’s Ben—Ben, who is probably worried sick about me. Ben, my boyfriend, who looks out for me, who keeps me safe.
How can I give him up?
I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

He holds me until the next train pulls into the station and a group of costumed party-goers steps off, loud and obnoxious, filling the night with their laughter and noise. One of them yells, “Hey, Chase!” Chase waves and runs over. I see them point to me before Chase jogs back. “Follow them to the school. Text me when you’re back at the party.”

I nod, fighting tears as he kisses my cheek. Without another word, he backs onto the city-bound train, not releasing my gaze.

Before the doors shut, I take a step toward the train. If only I could stick my hand into the doors, stop them from closing, step onto the train with Chase…except I don’t make it in time. The doors close and he touches the glass, reaching for me. I reach out for him too, but my hand shakes. When the train starts to move, I lower my hand and watch Chase speed away.

Chapter Seventeen

Chase

November sucks. I spend most of my time at the hospital with my grandmother. Rob surprises me by letting Gram and me have our time together and not being a total prick like I’d expected. He and I share the apartment, me in my old bedroom, Rob on the couch or in the gallery office downstairs. Neither of us wants to sleep in Gram’s bedroom, even though she told us we should.

For the most part, Gram and I spend our days talking about everything except her illness and her prognosis. When she sleeps or is taken for tests, I sketch. I sketch from memory—every memory I can muster. When Gram feels up to it, I show her my sketches and we talk about the moment on the paper. We pass the days talking and listening to the beeps of the machines, ticking down the time she has left. I fear the beeps will drive me mad until I learn to block them out with my mighty pencils.

Art saves me in November. I blow through more paper than the New York Times.

Whenever I show her something I’ve drawn, Gram comments on my talent. “Keep drawing for me,” she says. Even when she has a particularly bad day, she wants me to draw. I draw as if I’m keeping her alive by doing it. I draw the baby picture of me that she keeps on the mantle. I draw her in the gallery. I draw a replica of the picture she loves of my mother. I draw my grandfather in his war uniform. I draw funny stuff, too—the mean nurse in the cancer ward who hates me; the doctor who looks like Santa Claus and reads us her blood numbers everyday as if we understand their meaning. I draw my friends—my home friends and my new college friends. I even sketch myself behind bars. When I show it to her, she tries to laugh, her blue eyes sparkling with life while her body continues to fade.

She looks at me with nothing but love. My heart breaks because seeing her like this is so fucking sad. I’m coming to terms with what’s going to happen, but I can’t make myself think about after she’s gone. I’m going to miss her so damn much. And I’m scared. Panicked, actually, that any day now, I’ll be losing the one person who’s always been there for me. I’m grateful she can’t tell, or at least acts like she can’t.

During her time in the hospital, I recall all the years I spent being a tough guy, getting into trouble, drinking, smoking, drugs, girls. During this terrible November, I realize I’m not tough at all.

Today, she’s awake when I visit. We sit for awhile, catching up on hospital gossip. When we’ve sufficiently informed each other of the day’s happenings, I say, “Hey, Gram?” My voice cracks.

“Yes, baby?” She looks at me, waiting, listening like always.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. I may not have another chance to tell her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting arrested that night—for all the problems I’ve caused you through the years."

She moves her hand to the side of the bed, and I place my hand in hers. “I should thank you. You kept me young. Besides, I knew you couldn’t help it. You have a lot of your mother in you. She drove me nuts, too.”

“I wish I had a chance to know her better.”

“I’ll get to see her again soon. That’s what stops me from being afraid.”

During my time away from the hospital, I feel depressed and then guilty for feeling depressed. Rob tries to help. He does whatever I need, makes sure I eat, encourages me to keep up my course work. Sometimes during long hospital days, he creates tasks for me to get me out—like sending me to the store or the gallery for something.

I try to keep up with my classes but rarely go to Sheridan Hall. I don’t want to see everyone laughing and enjoying life, and I can’t deal with seeing Juliet with Ben. Ben texts me often, asking how my grandmother is, when I’ll be around, if there’s anything he can do. I never ask him for anything, but always text him back to thank him or to apologize for being a shit roommate. He probably thinks I’m apologizing because I pretty much abandoned him, but really, I know there are other things I should apologize for.

Despite the blueness of her colors during those days, sometimes I catch that gleam in Juliet’s eye—the gleam I saw on Halloween. The mischievous Week One Juliet, when she had a plan and a purpose. I wonder if the look is reserved for me or if everyone gets a glance of it once in awhile. Right or wrong, I hope it’s mine only. I want her to want me, even during those dark days of November. When I imagine Juliet’s sexy smirk, I love life again.

One Friday afternoon, I stop at the dorm to meet Tina. Ben’s gone and I don’t see Juliet, but any time I show at the dorm it turns into an event. The Fives come to say hi. Winston, Maggie, Megan, and Frank all wander in asking how Gram is doing and if they can do anything for me. I look around and can’t believe they care. I haven’t been the best friend to any of them, but still they’re trying to help me.

Eventually the crowd whittles down to Frank and me. “You know, I was raised by my grandmother, too,” he says.

“I didn’t know.”

“No Dad. Mom took off. Granny still lives in the house she grew up in on the Jersey Shore. She got me into weight training.”

“Your grandmother?” The look on my face must be priceless.

Frank smirks. “I got bullied a lot. You know, gangly redhead, freckles, no parents. She got pissed and signed me up for a gym membership. Lied about my age and got me a trainer. I’ve been working out ever since.”

“She sounds like a cool lady.”

“She is. I’m sorry about yours.”

Frank’s comment brings tears to my eyes. “Thanks, Frank.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to run today?”

Frank and I had started running every Monday afternoon. Then we’d hit the free weights in the lounge. He’d convinced me I’d get fat from hospital food and have the muscle tone of Rodrigo if I didn’t do something, and that physical activity might help me deal better. “Nah, man. I have to go to the art studio. It’s the only grade I’m trying to save.”

Suddenly, music blares from the hallway—loud, thumping, fast Indian music. Frank and I look at each other and shrug. He jerks his head to the beat, and I can’t help but smile as he starts to dance around my room.

A voice yells over the bass. “It’s not belly dancing, Juliet! It's not supposed to look slutty!”

Pooja.
At Pooja’s use of some awesome words—Juliet, belly dancing, and slutty—I lift my eyebrows at Frank, curious as all hell. He nods toward the door, and we explore.

In the lounge, Pooja and Juliet dance to the Indian music, dressed to the nines in colorful saris—Pooja in pink and Juliet in purple.
Sweet Jesus.
I bite my fist as I stare.

The two of them prance around barefoot in front of us. Frank smacks me in the chest and joins in. The three of them laugh as they move in circles around the lounge.

I can’t take my eyes off Juliet.

I love Juliet in purple; especially purple beaded silk that’s strategically placed to expose my favorite parts of her—her flat stomach and belly button, her long neck, and her hair, which lays in waves over her back with some sort of gold headband thing dipping down over her forehead. I watch, mesmerized by a Bollywood fantasy as she spins and shakes her hips, her waist twisting and bending to move her amazing ass.

She catches my eye. Hers are fully made up and colored to match the purple silk. Her delicious lips are painted a deep pink. She looks like a fucking goddess, and I’m certain she knows it.

Instead of stopping and running over, saying how happy she is to see me, yelling at me for avoiding her, or asking me how Gram is like everyone else, her gaze locks with mine. She bites her bottom lip and sexy smirks as she looks me up and down. Her hips shake as she extends a long arm. She points to my chest then motions me over with a curl of her finger.

Jaw dropped, hard as a rock, trying not to think about her pink bra and her tits in my mouth, I stare at Juliet like an asshole. Frank shakes his way to Pooja and dances with her as Juliet approaches me.

Without a word, she gazes up through dark, fake lashes. I see it—the look: the “I’m Juliet—I’m in room one” look; the “how’s this for dramatic?” look; the “I’m-dropping-my-towel-so-look-at-my-incredible-naked-ass-as-I-step-in-the-shower” look. Juliet is on fire with flirtatious color.

I let her pull me into the lounge and dance around me. I’m not much of a dancer, especially to loud Indian music, and my body is so tight that I probably can’t move anyway. Pooja yells over the music to Frank that she and Juliet are dressed to go to a wedding.

In the hospital with Gram, every blip of the machines makes me more sad. Here with Juliet, every beat of the music makes me want her more. She’s the color and the life that I forget exist during the long nights by Gram’s side. My heart beats as I watch her twist and turn in a pool of purple, the sparkle of her dress flashing me in the eye, waking me up, the shake of her hips reminding me of our night, the way my fingers felt inside of her, the way she fell apart around me, with me.

She looks at me from under those long lashes, teasing me, torturing me, reminding me there’s life in me yet. I fight every muscle in my body to keep from touching her, but I’m only human, right? I reach for her and graze her skin with my fingertips. She spins out of my grasp, but snaps her head to look me in the eye. The corners of her lips turn up into the smirk that melts me, and I grab hold of her bare waist, her skin hot under my hands.

Like a paddle to the heart, her touch jolts me alive and I pull her hips to mine.

She wraps her arms around me, still moving to the beat, her breath in my ear. I bury my nose in her hair.
This. This is where I want to be. This is where I want to hide forever.

Then she tenses and pulls away, and I’m cold. She continues dancing, as she points behind me to Tina, standing in the hallway with her art supplies. Tina grimaces and holds up her phone, flashing the time. The fantasy fades. We’re back to reality.

Juliet moves to Frank and Pooja, but watches me over her shoulder. I miss her. I miss all the things that we shared. I miss her crazy reds and giggling pinks, our Monday mornings, the way she kisses, the way her skin feels.
It’s better this way
, I keep telling myself.
Ben is good for her. She needs someone like him—stable, on the right path, someone who can give her a family.

I look her up and down one last time, imprinting her in my mind. Later, I’ll sketch her.
It’s better this way,
I think again. Hopefully someday I’ll believe it.

Juliet

On Tuesday afternoon, I sign in under my fake name and spend time with Gloria. Even though she’s not my gram, being around her feels natural. We talk about school, and I tell her about my classes. I pull out my new lipstick and ask her what she thinks. I give her the PG-rated Sheridan basement gossip. She says my descriptions and Chase’s sketches help her picture everyone. I wish we had more time.

Since she seems chatty on this particular Tuesday, I ask her about Chase’s mother. She beams as she tells me stories. I comment that Heather sounds a lot like Chase. She agrees. “The thing about Heather, and also Chase, is that she had a hard time expressing herself without a paint brush. When Chase was little, whenever he’d get angry at me, which he did often, I’d ask him to draw it out because he couldn’t find the words.”

I picture a little Chase with a box of crayons and a drawing pad. “I don’t know what to do for him.”

Gloria reaches for my hand, and I give it to her. “Just don’t give up on him. I need you to help him through this.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and I fight some of my own as I squeeze her hand. “I don’t give up easily. I’ll keep trying. For you.” I take a deep breath. My lip quivers, but I force myself to ask. “Can you do something for me?”

“Whatever I can.” She curls her fingers around my hand.

I swallow the tears. “I had a sister. She died.”

Gloria gasps. I keep talking so she doesn’t interrupt me with condolences. That’s not what this is about.

“We were twins, identical. I was goofing around on the Internet and met this man.”

My voice quivers as I try to put the awful memories into words.

“I made plans to go to the mall and meet him, even though I knew it was wrong. When I told Justine, she tried to talk me out of it. I told her she was no fun. She was worried about me though. She didn’t like to do things that were wrong. We fought, and she yelled.”

I shudder thinking of that fight with Justine, how our last hours were so unlike the thousands we’d shared prior. But I force myself to continue, looking at the wall because I can’t look at Gloria. “When I got over the idea that this was some romantic thing and figured out he was bad news, I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone until I met with him, so I told Justine I was going. She decided to take charge, to get me out of trouble like always. She pretended to be me and went to tell him that she…I…wasn’t interested. At the mall, I hid and watched. I saw her say something to him, and he said something back. She looked back where I was hiding and pointed to the exit, then left with him.”

Gloria’s voice shakes, and her eyes water. “Oh my.”

Hearing the story out loud makes me sick. A tear falls down my cheek, but I keep going. “I didn’t understand what was happening, you know?” I sniffle and wipe my face, determined to get it out. I don’t look at Gloria as I continue, “I followed them out to the parking lot. She yelled for me…”