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Flirting with Lizzie was going to kill me. I knew my skin was red; I could feel the burn her humor brought without looking in a mirror to tell I’d turned into a frustrated tomato. I wrote back with one more message about my shift ending around one in the morning, but she didn’t write back. I tried not to overthink things. I wanted her but hardly knew her…and that was exciting as hell.
The rest of my shift was an anxious balance of babysitting recruits while snuggling my dog, whenever the traitor chose me over the chief, and trying to let thoughts of Lizzie and her tattoos distract me from reality. When I finally left the station, I met the pouring rain with a crowd of students stumbling along the sidewalk on their path home. I waited on the pavement, stuffing my phone into my pocket and adjusting Muffin’s leash while I watched the group. The pellets of water hammering against my skin were a welcomed relief as I stood motionlessly, following the group with only my gaze as they approached the Capitol Square. My grasp around the bag of Lizzie’s cookies tightened when I thought of her that night when our simple, sobering walk of a few hours felt like an amble we’d done already for a lifetime.
The itch of needing to resort to Silas tickled its way into my latest ink, but I scratched my stomach with my free hand, sure that the angst was okay. This time. It wasn’t something I wanted to forget. This angst, the uncertainty, felt…exhilarating. Until I pondered the risk of leaving.
I needed to see her, not Silas, not a tattoo, not a drink with Nadia, not a night at home awaiting the inevitable. As Muffster and I followed the path of drunks and roamers across the Capitol toward home, I devised my plan.
***
It was almost one-thirty, and I knew it was risky. But I also knew I wanted to see her, and she wanted to see me. I met Lizzie in the middle of an emotional tornado, our introduction the aftermath of a traumatic event that would linger with her as long as Sean was alive. She needed something to cheer her up, and I had just the idea. It helped me, at least.
I stood at the intersection where just a few nights ago I hugged Lizzie, trying to be an anchor when she thought of Sean. I couldn’t imagine much of the guy, only seeing his lifeless body as I cared for his loved ones, but even the idea of him was enigmatic and enticing. Who was this guy whose life was so intricately woven into the souls of his friends? This guy was everything to them, and I was there for what could’ve been his end, what was our beginning. Lizzie and me. I hoped.Shit.
I was getting too far ahead of myself. I knew better, but…I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. I didn’t want to stop thinking about her. I’d pay the consequences later, but it was right now that I stood outside of her building with my teeth nervously piercing my bottom lip. What if she’s asleep or thinks I’m a creep?She made me cookies. Girls don’t do that for creeps. I looked at her front door, shuffling my feet and wiggling my fingers in the rain. She’s proposed, delivered cookies to my house, and flirted like a minx. The least I could do was politely text to see if she was awake. It took me a few minutes of rattling fingers against a slippery phone screen to figure it out, but I kept to my plan.
Me: Walking shoes = on. Me = waiting for you.
I counted. Five minutes passed. It was pouring, no threat of storm, a perfectly peaceful summer monsoon, and I didn’t care that the toes of my shoes were getting damp while waiting in a puddle feet away from Lizzie.
Lizzie: Me = in bed. You = where?
Me: Outside.
Lizzie: Me = on my way.
Her response was instant, sending my heart and all my blood into my boxers in one hot, sweeping motion that rattled me. I looked at her message a few times to assure myself I hadn’t lost my mind from sleep deprivation, grinning stupidly in the rain while I waited for Lizzie. Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I stared at the sky while trying to pick out individual streams of rain. Really, I was trying to get my shit together and compose myself before her door opened.
