AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Can I pay?” Scarlett asks from her spot on the floor. I blink at her, remove a few bills from my wallet, and hold them out to her.
She laughs. “Not with your money, with mine.”
I blink again. “Never.”
Then I open the door, feeling her eyes on my profile as I exchange money for bags of food, and two bottles of wine, leaving the delivery driver with a generous tip.
After locking the door, I turn to Scarlett, lifting the bags. Her eyes are wide, and I swear she licks her lips. “That smells so good.”
I nod, realizing one crucial mistake. I look in the bags, then up at her. “Bad news.”
“The Italian food has arrived and bad news are not two things I like in the same sentence,” she says, rolling the waistband on her sweats after getting to her feet. She peers in the bags and looks up at me, our faces just a few inches apart.
“Wine bottle opener,” she says, blinking at me. I can’t help but smile.
“Yep.”
She makes her way to the door, sliding her feet in her sandals. I place the bags gently on the floor and grab her hand, waffling our fingers together.
“You set up on our floor-table, I’ll go to the corner store for a corkscrew,” I say, sliding my sneakers on, nabbing a baseball cap from the counter. I only own one, and I rarely wear it, because it’s from my other life. I couldn’t bear to toss it, and it’s the only thing I kept. I tug it down over my still damp hair. “Lock the door, I’ll be right back.”
She peers up at the emblem on the hat, then back down into my eyes. “Okay.”
I stand outside of my own door until I hear the chain slide into the grooves, locking the door. Then I shove my hands in my pockets, take the stairs two by two, and head down the street.
“Siblings?” she asks, holding out her styrofoam cup for me to refill. We’ve already killed a bottle of wine. I haven’t drank in so long, just two glasses has my veins buzzing.
“None. And my parents passed away when I was fourteen.”
She lowers the cup, her lips stained ruby from the booze. “Oh my god, Cohen, I’m so sorry. What did you do? Where did you go?”
I pass her the styrofoam clamshell with the lasagna. We decided to open each course, one at a time, and take a few bites until we were ready for the next. We started with the salad, which was good, and now we’re on lasagna.
“I stayed with my grandfather until I was seventeen, but then he died, too.”
“Jesus, Cohen,” she drawls, draping her hand on my inner thigh. We haven’t touched since we stopped holding hands earlier, and even though she’s not making a move on me, her hand on my thigh tells my brain otherwise, and my cock begins hardening. I don’t have a pillow to place on my lap, and I’ve already passed her the lasagna, so I sit there, willing my growing erection to stop. But she keeps her hand on me as she takes a bite, and my cock has been starved for so long, he doesn't listen to me.
If she notices, she doesn’t let on. She squeezes my leg, eyes wet, and says, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
My stomach roils with sickness at her words. She has no idea who she’s apologizing to. The things I’ve done, or haven’t done. What my past is really like.
Her kindness stings me, but I try to focus on my therapist's words. That I deserve happiness. That I have to stop punishing myself.
“I lived on my own from there on out. Fortunately, I inherited my grandfather’s house and money, so I got through college just fine.” I take a drink of the wine. “What about you?”
She stares at the spinach lasagna for a moment before bringing a forkful to her mouth. I reach out, pushing her hair behind her shoulder so it doesn’t get into her food. When she’s finished her bite, she looks at me. “My parents, well… I think they’re doing good.” Her smile is sad. “They kind of cut contact when they realized I’d dropped out of school to…act.”
“You told them?” I ask, somewhat surprised. I’ve overheard plenty of the actors at Crave say they tell their parents they’re extras in mid-grade films. I don’t fault them for lying; I understand wanting to preserve a relationship, even if you’re going about it in all the wrong ways.
“No,” she says, her tone snarky as she passes me the clam shell. I take a bite, and holy shit is it rich. The ricotta is in the lasagna is smooth and buttery, the noodles the perfect mix of soft and al dente, the spinach fresh. I’ve been eating sandwiches and soups from the deli near Crave for… years. “Pete told them. Once when we were in a fight, he texted my dad and…”
I nearly choke on the delicious lasagna. “Hewhat?”
She nods, taking a long pull of red wine. “Yep,” she says after a loud swallow. “And yes, I stayed with him for another year after that.” When she looks at me, I see the booze coloring her cheeks, weighing down her eyelids. “A story for another day. Or a story for a day where there’s more wine, I think. Because it makes me sound way too pathetic to tell you about this sober.”
“You’re not pathetic.” I smile at her. “Or sober.”
She points at me. “That is true.” Extending her arm, she wiggles her empty cup. “And I have no plans to sober up. Fill ‘er up.”
