Something True (7 page)

I, on the other hand, have no frigging idea. What
were
we doing up here? Because we sure as heck weren't acting like the regular Walt and Ibbie. That's one thing I
do
know.

When I turn back to Walt, needing answers, the expression I catch on his face steals my breath away and stops me in my tracks. There's so much longing in his eyes as he looks at me, though he quickly hides it away, shoving it back behind a blank mask. But I saw it there. He was. . .he was longing for me. For
me
. The guy who hates me was longing for me.

Oh boy, the confusion. It's eating me up.

He moves forward to stand in front of me, putting his forehead on my shoulder. “We should. . .uh, we should get downstairs,” he says quietly. “Don't want the ice-cream to melt.”

All I can do is nod in reply.

+++

AFTER DESSERT, WALT'S grandma hugs me for the longest time and tells me to come back whenever I want. Even without Walt. She's so nice.

Walt and I are silent when we climb into his car. I almost feel like throwing a barb at him just for old time's sake.

“Where are we going?” I ask a minute later when he doesn't take the road that leads back to the city. Instead, he circles back around behind his grandparents' house and turns off on an old dirt road.

“Just wait,” he replies softly. “We're almost there.”

He's not lying. Only a minute later he takes another turn into a field that no one seems to have claimed for years. The grass is overgrown and ahead of us, on the opposite end of the field, an old, wooden windmill stands. “Are you going to murder me?” I question doubtfully. Damn it, I should have slipped a weapon in my purse when I knew I'd be going on a car journey with Walt.

“Yes, Ibbie. I brought you here to kill you and dump your body,” he replies dryly.

I fold my arms, sincerely unamused.

He stops the car just inside the field, leaving the headlights on. The sun has long since set and the cold winter weather has stirred up a spooky mist in the air around us. The fog swirls and dances in the glare of the headlights. With the silhouette of the windmill before us, the effect is beautiful in a creepy, eerie way.

Walt sighs, looking straight ahead and not at me when he talks. “This is where I used to come when I was a kid – the windmill has been abandoned for years and no one bothers to come out here anymore. Aleix and I would camp out in this field during the summer, then we'd hide out and make forts inside the windmill when the winter came and the weather got colder. I still come here sometimes when I need to get away and think.”

I swallow, turning my head to study his profile. Though it's dark inside the car, the headlights cast a faint glow and I can just make out his shadowy face. He looks startlingly handsome like this. His hair and eyes, already as dark as night, are nothing more than shadows. I trace the sharp angles of his jaw with my eyes, the curve of his cheekbones, the soft lines of his lips. I realize that he's choosing to share something with me here, something that's special to him. This Walt, the one I've spent all this time with tonight, is so different to the Walt I've known for the past year. Yet I think it's this one that might be the real him. I. . .I hope it is. I like this Walt so much.

“What do you think about?”

One of his shoulders lifts. “Stuff,” he answers mysteriously.

It doesn't escape my attention that we still have yet to talk about that kiss.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, unbuckling and climbing out of the car.

“What are you. . . Walt! What are we doing?” There's nothing else to do but follow him out. I rub my arms when the icy November air hits my skin. “It's cold!”

Grinning at my pitifulness, he grabs his jacket from the trunk and puts it around my shoulders. His fingers brush the sensitive skin just below my neck for a little longer than necessary as he straightens the jacket out; it sends bolts of warmth sizzling through my veins. I look up into his eyes. He's not overly tall, maybe five nine or ten, and with my heels on I'm almost the same height as he is.

I squeak in surprise when he grips my waist and lifts me up to sit on the hood of the car. The metal is cold on my butt, even through the material of my dress. “So there's that,” I grumble, and he laughs as he hops up next to me.

We lay down next to each other, our heads touching as we look up at the dark night sky. His black hair is such a contrast to my own blonde locks. Though it's cloudy out, I can still see a few stars here and there.

“Blair knows all the constellations,” I say conversationally.

He nods. “Yeah, and the stories behind them too. Except I like her versions better than the real ones. She's pretty cool.”

“Well duh.”

Waiting a moment, he says, “I spoke to Aleix before we left.”

“Whappened?” I ask too quickly, fumbling my words. “I mean, what happened?”

“He's gonna talk to Fauna tonight, come clean about everything. He knows he acted like a shit to both of you.”

“Think she'll forgive him?”

“Not that he deserves it, but probably. She loves him a lot, and I guess they weren't technically together when he was seeing you.”

“And we never slept together.”

“Yeah, and there's that. That helps.” That's an odd choice of words, but I choose to say nothing.

“I feel so frigging bad.”

He turns his head to look at me, his eyes sharp. “Don't you fucking dare try to blame yourself for his screw up. It's not your fault.”

“I know.”

WE FALL INTO a comfortable silence as we both turn back to the clouds and the stars, the only noise coming from the rustling of the grass as it moves in the soft breeze. Our breaths mist out in front of us. I tuck my cold fingers into the sleeves on Walt's jacket, wondering how he isn't freezing his frigging nips off right now in that shirt.

I want so badly to ask him about the kiss, to demand where it came from and what it means. Because I don't have any answers, and even though he was the one who instigated, I most definitely didn't push him away. But for the first time in my life I find that words aren't coming easily, like I've spoken so many in my lifetime already that I've simply ran out. Now that would be a tragedy.

“Was your boss pissed about you missing the show tonight?” Walt questions eventually, folding his hands across his stomach comfortably.

“He was pretty cool about it actually. As long as I only make it a one time thing. Not that I'd be wanting to skip again. I'm lucky enough that I actually love what I do.”

“I think it's great,” he confides. “You know, how you're following your dreams. That you've always just known what you wanted to be doing with your life so you worked hard at it, made it happen. Most people don't have your determination to follow their dreams like that.”

“Thank you.” He just keeps on surprising me. I get curious then, so I ask, “What are your dreams?”

His silence stretches on for a full minute before he turns to look at me again. “My dreams?”

“Sure.”

“How do you know being a tattoo artist isn't my dream?”

I tilt my head, because I
don't
know. “A feeling, I guess.”

He stares at me for the longest time. “Funny how well you know me,” he muses quietly. “after everything we've thrown at each other. You're right. Not that I don't love tattooing – being able to create art on a person's body is incredible. But it isn't what I want to do forever, not like Digby and Reid.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I want. . .” He pauses, turning back to look up at the sky as if he's too embarrassed to meet my eyes when he tells me. “I want to be an artist. I don't want to just hide my art at home where nobody else can see it. I want to show it, maybe even sell it.” A long sigh escapes him. “I've never told anyone else that before.”

I'm touched that he shared it with me. Something flips over inside my stomach, because he's such a frigging cutesicle stick when he's all shy and bashful like that. “You've never tried to sell it before?”

“No fuckin' way,” he replies automatically, shaking his head like that's the most absurd idea he's ever heard.

“Why not?”

“I don't know. I'm probably not good enough anyway. It's just a dream.”

“Please, I've seen your work. You're amazing. Your tattoo work,” I amend, when he looks at me suspiciously like he thought I might have sneaked a peak earlier while he was in the shower. But it's true. Fábia once showed me the elaborate tattoo on her back that Walt must have spent so many hours on. The tattoo spanning right across her shoulder blades is of a fiery avenging angel riding on the back of a fearsome Manticore. It's seriously hardcore yet so unbelievably beautiful. I lean up on my elbow over him, suddenly very excited as a thought forms in my mind. “You know one of Silver's best friends owns an art gallery, right?”

“He does?”

“Yeah, Nathan. I think you met him once when he came up to the city. It was the night you told that guy I was flirting with that I was actually a guy in drag and you kept pointing at my crotch and telling him to look for a bump.”

He chuckles fondly at the memory. “Ah, good times.”

I pointedly ignore that. “So Nathan. You gonna give him a call?”

“And say what?
Hey, guy I've only ever met once before. We don't know each other but do you want to show my art in your gallery?
”

I shrug, because it's not like I know how the process goes or anything. Jeez Louise. “Nathan's pretty cool. I just think it wouldn't hurt to give him a call, is all. I can get his number from Silver for you. If you don't do it, I will.”

He smiles sweetly over at me, a strange look on his face.

“What?” I want to know.

“Just. . .” He shakes his head. “. . .you hate me, yet you still get excited over the idea of me following my dreams. I just think you're incredible, that's all.”

Despite the cold night, my cheeks warm considerably at the compliment. Nice Walt is harder to handle than asshole Walt on so many levels. “I don't hate you.”

“You don't?” He raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Fine,” I admit. “The other Walt – the one who calls me mean names and steals my underwear – maybe a little. But the Walt who's sweet to me and takes me to dinner at his grandparents' house and punches a guy in my honor – that Walt I definitely do not hate.”

His eyes light up like I've just made all his dreams come true. I don't know how to handle an expression like that. “Well that's. . .good to know.”

“I like this side of you,” I tell him softly. “It's new. I feel like most people don't get to see it often, which is just a damned fine shame.”

He glances down at my lips, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me again. And in that moment I realize I'd probably let him. But instead he quickly sits up and slides off the car. He bows dramatically in front of me and holds out a hand for me to take. “Milady.”

Pursing my lips in amusement, I take his outstretched hand and let him help me off the hood. Without a word, he reaches into the car to steal my iPod from my purse, and a second later What's Up by 4 Non Blondes comes on over the speakers. I grin, because this is my favorite song and I had no idea he even knew that.

“What are you doing?” I demand, laughing.

“Asking you to dance.” He holds out his hand to me again.

Unable to hold in my smile, I take it, and Walt pulls me out into the overgrown grass. The long blades are damp and they brush against my legs, soaking my cold feet and calves, but in this moment there's no place else in the whole world I'd rather be.

We sway to the music, grinning uncontrollably at each other. Walt spins me around and out, then pulls me back to his chest as he laughs. The tall grass doesn't exactly make an ideal dance floor so mostly we just sway, but I like the way he holds me close against his hard body.

This is. . .perfect. Too perfect.

Suddenly I can take it no longer. I drop his hands like they're on fire and step back, ignoring the hurt on his face.

“Ibbie, what-”

“Shut your face hole for a minute. Just. . .what the eff, man?” I demand. “What was that kiss about?” Waving my arms around me at the field and the car and the music, I add, “What is
this
about?”

“I. . .” His mouth opens and closes as he fights internally for what he wants to say. He runs a hand through his neatly combed hair, spiking it up again. That little bit of familiarity is oddly reassuring. “Can we sit again?”

I nod and follow him back onto the hood. We sit at the edge this time, our legs dangling over. Walt is so close to me that our thighs and knees press tightly together and I don't find myself moving away. The heat coming off of him seems to seep into my skin; it feels incredible. One of his hands come up to cup my cheek and he turns my face, making me look at him.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks huskily. “Before we talk?”

Obviously I should say no, because if I let him kiss me again then I'm not going to be able to put two coherent thoughts together and that would be bad, as none of this is making sense as it is. But instead of being a sensible girl, I find myself tilting my face up to meet his and parting my lips. He takes my mouth softly this time, savoring me. His teeth graze my bottom lip as he pays that one attention first, and then my top lip. He kisses my chin, my cheeks, and then my lips once more.

Our kiss quickly heats up until we're practically lipbanging as we try to get more of each other. Walt presses forward and soon we're laying down again. Like a wanton hussy, I hitch my leg over one of his, gasping into his mouth when he grips my thigh with his strong hand. I kiss a path down his cheek and chin, wanting desperately to feel the skin of his neck with my mouth to find out if it tastes just as good as it smells. It does. His stubble scratches at my skin in a way that makes my whole body break out into goosebumps and sends sparks of pleasure shooting throughout my entire being. Oh man, how did I ever dislike his stubble? His stubble is the best thing ever. A soft moan escapes from the back of his throat when I kiss his neck, his hot breath brushing over my skin. He grabs my face between his hands, crushing my lips back onto his.