“Of course, you can.” He dipped in for a kiss. She wiggled away.
“We’ve got to talk, Stan.” She tossed her purse on the sofa. It landed off-key on his guitar, which sat beside his packed bags. So Stan was leaving? Confusing emotions bumped around her chest. She’d been going to break up with him. But right now, one thought surfaced. Just me. Alone.
“You got your apartment?” she asked, unsure if she was relieved or…
“No. Just a gig in Austin. I’ll be home Sunday.”
Home. This wasn’t his home. “I think…”
He moved in again. “Tell me you love me.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Come on. We’re good together.” His hands moved to her breasts.
He twisted her nipples as if they were turn-on switches. Another thing she didn’t like, but hadn’t told him. Nipple twisting, ear licking, and that thing he did with her navel. The longer she stayed with Stan, the longer her list got. And she wasn’t even a list person.
She attempted to step back, but he held her there, and continued his nipple assault.
“Stop!” She pushed her hands against his chest. “I don’t love you.”
He released her, but his nostrils flared, and something flickered in his violet eyes. Something not so pleasant. She inhaled, seeking calm, but the air tasted like cigarette smoke.
Had he started smoking?
“So you’ll take my gifts, but won’t put out?” His gaze cut to the bracelet on her wrist.
“That’s why I can’t keep it.” She tried to get it off, but the dang thing wouldn’t release.
“How long do I have to go without?” he snapped.
She raised her gaze. Anger brightened his eyes. “It’s over. Leave.” She used her teacher’s voice, then darted into the kitchen and tried again to get the dang bracelet off. It wouldn’t give. She waited to hear the door slam. It didn’t. She swung around. His large frame loomed in the doorway. Her breath caught.
Panic cat-walked her spine, and she’d never been clearer about what she wanted. Or rather, about what she didn’t want. She didn’t want the Cubic Zirconia bracelet. She didn’t want Stan. Earlier, when she’d seen his bags, she’d mourned being alone; she hadn’t mourned losing Stan. And along came another epiphany. Fear of being alone had jump-started this fling. Even when her mom was alive, Cali knew she was dying. And Cali hadn’t wanted to be alone.
She opened her mouth to apologize for using him because that’s what she’d done. She’d used Stan. She didn’t want to have sex with him. Had she ever wanted sex with him? No. Oh, this was so bad. She had to give him his bracelet back.
“This isn’t working.” She meant the relationship and the latch on the bracelet. She looked up to say she was sorry, and to tell him he needed to leave, but the flicker in his eyes stopped her. She dropped her hands to her sides.
“What the hell do you think isn’t working?” He slammed his fist on the counter.
She jumped. Her toaster jumped. She considered making a mad dash to a room with a lock. But when you ran, things tended to chase you, and Stan looked ready to give chase. She met his gaze and hoped she appeared braver than she felt. Right then, she knew who her mama meant when she’d asked if Stan reminded her of anyone. She pointed to the door. “Go.”
“It’s not over.” But he grabbed his stuff and stalked out. The door slammed.
“Leave. Leave just like Daddy did,” she said, her breath shuddering in her chest.
~
“Cali! You’ve got to get out of here.”
Another dream. Cali tried to push it away. She needed sleep. Deep sleep. Not dream sleep.
“Cali Anne!” Her mom’s tone got stern.
“I’m so tired. Can we chat about lesbians later?” She burrowed her face into her pillow.
“He’s coming back. He’s a bad man. Up to his ying-yang in trouble.”
Cali jerked up on the bed. She heard it. Someone tried to open her door. But she’d set the deadbolt. Stan didn’t have that key. The doorbell chimed. Half asleep, she hot-footed it into the living room.
“Who is it?” She clutched a fistful of her Mickey Mouse nightshirt in her hand.
“It’s me!” Stan sounded panicked …or drunk. “Open the door!”
“I don’t want to see you now.”
“Fuck it, Cali! Open the door!”
“Don’t open that door.” The voice came from behind her. Her mom’s voice.
Was Cali still dreaming?
“Move baby. Move!”
Cali didn’t move. She froze. Afraid of what was in front of her. Stan. Afraid of what might be behind her. Her dead mother. But that was silly.
Cali swung around to prove ghosts didn’t exist. Of course, ghosts didn’t exist. Nothing was there. Nothing.
“Let me in.” The door jarred with a splintering thud. A loud blast exploded.
It sounded like. . .
The lamp on her end table lamp banged against the wall and crashed to the floor. She swung around and stared in horror at the hole in her door.
Oh, God. Good shoulders, nice-guy-to-the-elderly Stan had just shot her door.