But he’s a nice guy and always has been.
Stevie was a geek in high school but the summer after, he got contacts, a better hairstyle, and started wearing clothes that looked better on him. He tried hard, but still lived at home, which was hard because of his parents. His mother and father were nice people - I met them a few times - but they were overbearing. They wouldn’t approve of Becca-Ann and that probably only made her more appealing to Stevie.
“You know she’s still in Paris,” I say.
I reached for the oven behind me to check on a fresh set of bread loaves.
“I know,” he says. “I tried calling her but someone answered in French and they hung up on me. Cost me like five bucks.”
“Why don’t you text her?” I ask.
Stevie is at the counter now and instead of answering my question, he’s chewing on his lip, calling attention to it. It takes me a few seconds to realize what he’s doing but then I see that he has his lip pierced.
Okay, now Stevie is starting to look hot.
I don’t know why but the little silver circle around his lip... just works. It’s like it’s made for him.
Damn.
I turn my head and take a breath, collecting myself.
“When did you get that done?” I ask, trying to avoid eye contact.
“Last week, after I talked to you.”
“Was it because of me?”
Stevie shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Do you...”
He stops and looks down into the glass case. Stevie used to be chunky but not anymore. He stares into the case like he wants something so I turn and find a chocolate chip cookie and toss it at him.
“On me,” I say. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”
He takes the cookie and eats, playing with his lip ring the entire time.
Okay, dude, I get it... it’s a hot piercing.
But it’s not as hot as Colt’s tattoos.
I can’t believe I just thought that.
“You know why I’m here,” Stevie says. “She’s over there, with other guys.”
“You don’t know that,” I say.
That much is true. He doesn’t know... but I do. I know what Becca-Ann is up to in Paris.
“When is she coming home?”
“I’ve answered that a hundred times, why don’t you just text her? Email her?”
“I want to hear her voice,” he says, almost with a poetic tone.
He’s hopeless. It’s almost cute, but Becca-Ann wouldn’t tolerate it.
“Then keep calling,” I offer.
“Or maybe I’ll just fly there,” Stevie says as he tries to laugh but it’s desperate.
“Stevie,” I say. I reach out and take his hand. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I feel bad. Maybe because of the lip ring. “Becca-Ann is in Paris, in school. You know that, I know that. And there’s nothing we can do to change it. You never told her how you felt, did you?”
Stevie shook his head.
“You had your chance too. Right before she left for the airport. You were there, right there, hugging her. And you choked up.”
“I fucked up,” Stevie says. “You know, she once told me piercings were hot.”
“So that’s where the lip ring came from.”
“It hurt like a bitch.”
“And you’re here because you want me to text her that you’re super hot now with your piercing?”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Who thinks who is hot?” a third voice chimes in.
I look past Stevie and see Colt standing in the doorway, wearing a blue t-shirt that hugs every possible muscle on his body.
I want to be angry at him for what I read the night before but I can’t. I need to know the truth of the article. If he really said those things and if he really felt that way...
“Who’s this guy?” Stevie asks and points to Colt.
“I should ask the same about you,” Colt throws back.
I can already feel the tension growing in the bakery. Like two lions ready to fight over a mate. I need to call a testosterone timeout here, but I look down and realize that I’m still holding Stevie’s hand. By then, Colt is right next to Stevie, unafraid of getting too close or in his space.
“I’m Stevie, Isabella’s friend.”
“And I’m Colt, Bella’s good friend.”
Stevie looks at me. “Bella? Good friend?”
“You can let her hand go,” Colt said and pokes at Stevie’s hand.
“Actually, she’s holding my hand,” Stevie says. He opens his hand and wiggles his fingers.
Wow, it’s nice to see Stevie acting like this. All of a sudden he’s so tough and cunning and ready throw fists at Colt. I definitely need to tell Becca-Ann about this.
Colt breaks his stare from Stevie and looks to me. This is my chance to set things straight, explain that Stevie is a good friend who is in love with my best friend who is spending some time in Paris. Then it occurs to me, who in the hell is Colt? And why is he here, again?
So I smile and start moving my fingers along Stevie’s hand, teasing him and torturing Colt.
Colt nods.
“Well, I came by for some bread,” he says. “That’s all I wanted.”
That’s a complete lie but I can see Colt fighting the urge to explode.
As I stare at Colt, Stevie pulls his hand away, managing to get it away.
“Hey, Isabella, thanks for talking to me,” Stevie says. “Means a lot.”
“Anytime, Stevie.”
Holy crap, am I flirting with Stevie? Worse yet, am I flirting with Stevie to make Colt jealous?
“Hey man,” Stevie says, addressing Colt, “have a good one.”
“Yeah. You too, brother.”
Stevie winks at me, nibbles his lip ring, and then leaves the bakery. My eyes follow him and don’t come back until Colt snaps his fingers.
“Boyfriend?” he asks.
“Jealous?” I offer.
“Just looking for bread.”
“Maybe I’m all out.”
“Maybe I see some in the glass case.”
“Maybe I don’t feel like serving you.” I’m a bitch and I don’t care. I’m thinking about the article now and I can’t stop.
“Maybe I’ll come back there and get some for myself.”
“Get some? Seriously?”
Colt touches my hand. “I always get what I want.”
“Please,” I say and pull my hand back. I wipe it on my apron for good measure. Yes, it’s childish, but oh well. “You can try.”
“Fair enough,” Colt says.
Before I can react, he’s on the move. He’s at the end of the counter a few seconds later, walking to the back of the counter. I dive at Colt, wanting to block the space allowing him behind the counter but that only leaves one thing to happen.
Colt crashes into me. Well, I crash into him. Or, actually, we crash into each other.
I stand with my hands at my sides, looking up at him. He’s standing with a cocky grin on his face. His aroma is blanketing me, leaving me feel ways I really don’t want to feel right now. He leans back enough so he could cross his arms. Yes, I see the muscle. Yes, I see the tattoos.
“Do you have any piercings?” I ask, hoping to take another jab at him thanks to Stevie.
“Do you?” he asks.
“Do you see any?” I ask.
He smiles. “No, but there’s just so much clothing between us right now. I bet you’re a wild one under that little apron...”
He reaches down and behind me, pulling at the string.
Why am I not slapping him? Punching him? Screaming...?
Because I like it.
My apron falls to the floor. There’s something so sexual about it that I scoff and step back. I’m afraid if I don’t, I’m going to jump Colt. Right there, in the bakery.
Oh wow, what a fantasy that would be...
“What are you really doing here?” I ask.
“Okay, fine. I’m not here for bread. Like I said, it sucks. Horribly.”
“You’re an ass,” I growl.
“Maybe. You’d have to spend more time with me to find that out. Outside of the bakery, outside our clothes.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“As long as you’re in my dreams.”
Damn, he’s quick, smooth, and hot.
“Truthfully,” Colt says, “I came in here just to see you. Good enough for me, for now. Have a good one, Bella.”
There he goes with that nickname crap again. But I don’t say a word to him. I don’t stop him, I don’t run after him, I simply just stand there and watch him walk out of the bakery. My body is enraged, stuck between fighting being turned on and wanting to punch him. He’s insensitive. He’s an ass. But he’s also right. Maybe if I could get him outside the bakery, I could ask him questions about his business. And the shooting at his nightclub.
Maybe.
I patiently wait for the sound of the motorcycle to kick up and when I hear it, I swear, I’m drooling. I want to be on the back of the motorcycle with Colt.
He starts to cruise down the street, going slow, and then suddenly makes a wide turn. He’s turning around. That’s when I see Stevie, walking along the sidewalk across the street.
Oh, shit.
I rush from the counter to the door.
What the hell is going to happen?
My hand is on the door handle and I think about leaving the bakery. But I don’t. For two reasons. One, because the bakery is open and I shouldn’t leave. Two, I want to see what Colt and Stevie have for each other. The real truth as to why I’m still standing in the bakery is the latter.
Between Colt’s muscles and attitude and Stevie’s lip ring and hair, this is a freaking mess. I remind myself, again, that Stevie is in love with Becca-Ann and even if she doesn’t like him back, Stevie is off limits.
Colt takes off his helmet and holds it tucked under his left arm. It makes his arm look even bigger. He leans on the motorcycle, keeping his right foot to the ground. Stevie stands facing Colt, his hands in his pockets, not really caring that Colt is bigger, stronger, and on a motorcycle.
Their mouths are moving.
What are they saying?
Are they arguing?
Are they arguing about me?
Gosh, if they fight... it’ll hurt me. If Colt hits Stevie because of what he saw between Stevie and I, that would be horrible. How would I explain that? Imagine if Stevie had a black eye and I told Becca-Ann, because I tell her everything, and then she asks why Colt hit Stevie...
Then I realize, I never told Becca-Ann about Colt. I know our texting conversation was short lived, but still, I should have mentioned Colt. But I didn’t.
Why?
I see Colt’s right hand move and I cringe. To my surprise, Colt grabs Stevie’s shoulder and he squeezes it. It doesn’t seem violent and a second later, Colt’s hand is off Stevie and he puts his helmet back on. Colt fires up his motorcycle, giving me that warm butterfly feeling, that starts in my stomach and travels elsewhere to my body. He turns back around and takes off.
I push on the door, tempted to ask Stevie what Colt said. Stevie looks up at me, his face looking depressed. He looks deflated. As he stares at me, I freeze, my heart starting to break for him. Then I do something so stupid... I wave.
Why the hell am I waving?
But I am.
I’m waving.
Stevie waves back and then continues walking.
Again, thanks to the bakery and the circumstances that put me here, I’m trapped. I can’t chase Stevie down. I can’t track Colt down. I’m here, until the place closes. And after that...
I think about yesterday, my mother.
I need to check on her.
My last image of her was her bottle of whiskey being shattered and she falling to the floor. Not to mention she had a lit cigarette too. Maybe the house burned down.
Yeah, like I could get that lucky...
The thought brings tears to my eyes.
-Chapter 6-
I’m in my car, driving towards the house. I hate referring it to as my mother’s house because it’s not hers. She once had a house, a house she rented. It was beautiful, and I had my own bedroom. But she lost that after forgetting to pay the rent for a few months. Grammie and Grandpa stepped in and tried to pay to rent for the remainder of the lease but the landlord was done.
Off we went, to an apartment.
A small, cramped apartment, where it didn’t matter if you paid the rent or not because it was just that kind of place.
When I finally moved into Grammie and Grandpa’s house, it was a relief, like being saved. Even when my grandparents put me to work, in the house and in the bakery, I took it as still living better than alone with my mother.
She took the house after they passed, her sister so disconnected from the family, she really didn’t care. I never understood how things became such a giant mess and I probably never will. Not when the only person who can tell me is always heavily induced thanks to drinking.