Bright Midnight: A Second-Chance Romance Page 6

  “Don’t you think I could help you?” he says. “I did once before.”

  I exhale through my nose loudly. “Yeah. And look at the shape you left me in. Oh wait, I guess you couldn’t since you left right away.”

  He frowns, looking pained. “I deserve that. I was an idiot.”

  “It’s not the point,” I say quickly with a wave of my hand, not wanting to get into it now, or ever. “I’m just saying…thanks but no thanks. In fact, I should probably get going soon.” I grab my purse from beside me. “My hotel is in the old town anyway, should be easy to find.”

  “Please don’t go yet,” he says to me, reaching across the table and touching my arm. He stares at me imploringly and it takes everything to not get lost in those grey-blues, looking extra rich in the dark bar.

  I’m brought back in my mind to our first fight. It was over something stupid, I barely remember. Maybe he looked at a girl a little too long and I got jealous. He called me paranoid. I called him a liar. We had it out on my front steps and it ended with him groveling at my feet, asking me to stay with him.

  The funny thing was, that should have been my first warning sign. He most likely was looking at a girl a little too long and if I knew any better, he was probably sleeping with her too.

  But hindsight is twenty-twenty.

  I swallow and manage a smile. “I better go check in.”

  “I’ll walk you then,” he says to me, sliding out of the booth. “Just let me pay at the bar.”

  I contemplate just walking out anyway, my memories have brought forth this horrible sense of shame and embarrassment, when Astrid and Lise walk back in the bar, 7-11 bags in their hands.

  “We got you some Norwegian candy,” Astrid says gleefully, shaking a chocolate bar at me. Then she notices Anders paying at the bar. “Is he paying? That jerk.”

  “Jeez, I’d let him if I were you,” Lise says. “Who knows when he’ll be this generous again.”

  But even after everything I just thought, I can’t help but bothered by that remark. It was my understanding that Anders worked the fishing job in order to keep the farm going. It sounded like Anders was far more generous than he ever had to be.

  “Here,” Astrid says, placing the bag in my hands. “There’s Lakerol and Melkesjokolade and what you call gummies. Enough to keep your sweet tooth happy.” She then looks me up and down. “Were you leaving?”

  I nod, giving her a quick smile. “I thought I better go check in at the hotel. It’s somewhere near here.”

  I still take the bag of candy though. I’m not passing that up.

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “We were hoping Anders could convince you to come to Todalen with us.” She exchanges a glance with Lise. “I know we don’t really know each other, but Lise and I are there for a few more days and it would be nice to have someone else to talk to other than Uncle Per and our brother. Roar is staying here in the city. And the girls in the village are boring.”

  “Even if Anders doesn’t think so,” Lise adds with a smirk.

  That comment digs deeper than it should. Astrid gives Lise a warning look.

  “I was going to walk Shay to her hotel,” Anders says as he comes back. He picks up his jacket and shrugs it on and I do everything not to stare at his shoulders.

  “You sure we can’t convince you?” Lise asks me.

  I have to admit, it feels really good to be wanted, even by people you barely know. Really good. But I’ve made up my mind.

  “Thank you, but I’m just going to stick to my original plan.”

  Astrid looks crestfallen. “Ah, well I hope you have a good time in Norway, regardless. It was really nice meeting you.”

  She pulls me into a quick hug and Lise does the same.

  Anders grabs the keys from Astrid and then gives me a nod. “Ready to go?”

  “You know I can find the place on my own, I have my phone,” I tell him as I wave once more at his sisters and head out the door. The rain is falling again, a cold wind whipping up.

  “You’re in a city you’ve never been to and it’s one I know everything about,” he says. “I’m walking you to your hotel. It’s the absolute, very least, I can do.”

  He’s right about that. We head up the small hill to get my backpack from the trunk of the car. I tell him the hotel name and head back to where the bar was, heading to the left on the cobblestoned road. It’s light out still, even though it feels like it should be dark, and despite the rain, more and more people bike past us.

  “Everyone here must be super healthy,” I remark, as a girl with long, wet blonde hair bikes past, looking totally fresh-faced.

  “We need to work off all the beer,” Anders says, grabbing hold of his belly, even though he probably doesn’t have anything other than lean muscle on him.

  I wonder how much his body has changed. If there are more tattoos. If my hands were to touch him again, would they recognize his skin?

  Stay focused, I tell myself. Almost there.

  “You know the offer is on the table,” he says to me. “If you change your mind. At any time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, I’ve thought about you a lot.”

  Oh god. Please don’t start.

  I make a small grunt, the only response I can muster.

  He goes on. “I often thought about getting in touch with you, but I didn’t know how.”

  “You became Facebook friends with Everly,” I point out.

  “And honestly, it was just to get closer to you.”

  Oh fuck. Why is he telling me this?

  My throat feels thick and I have trouble swallowing. “Well, you’re pretty close to me right now.”

  “And I’d like to get closer.”

  I stop walking and give him an incredulous look. “Are you hitting on me?”

  He stops too. Stands tall, eyeing me with a faint smirk. If it weren’t for his beard, I would see his dimples. “You’d know it if I was hitting on you, Shay. I’m just being honest, that’s all.” He nods at something over my shoulder. “That’s your hotel right there.”

  I turn around and see a red boathouse done up like a B&B. He’s right.

  “So,” he says, holding out his hand. “I guess this is goodbye. We never got to do it right the first time.”

  Damn. Part of me wishes he’d keep on fighting.

  I stare down at his hand. It’s a peace offering. It’s closure.

  It’s wishful thinking.

  “All right,” I tell him. I put my hand in his and he grasps it, hard.

  It’s just a handshake. Just a way to say goodbye.

  Just skin on skin.

  But it’s so much more than skin on skin.

  It’s the way my hand fits into his, like it always did.

  It’s memories, both bitter and sweet.

  Suddenly, the last thing I want to do is let go of his warm, strong grip. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so grounded and untethered at the same time.

  “Goodnight,” I whisper. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, Shay,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “It was very nice to see you again.”

  Then he lets go and it’s like I’m missing a limb.

  He turns and walks down the shiny, cobblestone street.

  I want to yell after him.

  But I don’t know what I’d say.

  There’s still too much to say.

  Instead, I turn around and head to the hotel to check in.

  That night, I lie in bed, unable to sleep, feelings ripping through me, leaving me hollow.

  They are hungry feelings.

  I feel reckless and wanting. Like I want to give in.

  I’m reminded of a poem I read once.

  She wants so much, too much

  for things that don’t want her

  for things that aren’t things

  for hearts that aren’t hearts.

  She wants so much,

  that I give her all of me

  and she barely noticesr />
  that it’s what she wanted all along.

  6

  Shay

  Then

  Sex.

  It’s all I think about.

  All the fucking time.

  And to be honest, I’m not even sure if this is normal. Everly and I talk about sexy very loosely. I know that she’s had sex with her ex, Jeff, but other than a few basic details, she never brings it up. Though she talks about dick all the time, it’s usually in a humorous way.

  Then there’s my other friend, Jen Brown, who proudly sleeps around. She’d understand my crazy sex thoughts, but she has this way of making you feel particularly uncool if you ask her anything, as if you’re much younger and she knows everything. I’m not going down that road.

  And anyway, I’m not going to talk to my sister about sex either. Hannah may be older, but I guarantee she’s a virgin too. I’ve never seen a boy around her, even now with her going to university. Sex, boys, makeup, alcohol—anything remotely cool and Hannah doesn’t even bat an eye. She’ll probably grow up to be the scientist who discovers the cure for cancer, but she won’t be able to find her own G-spot.

  Not that I have. But I’ve tried. Cosmo magazines are a wealth of knowledge.

  Then there’s my mother, whom I probably wouldn’t even speak to even if she were here with us and not acting like a fool over our father in Mumbai. Ever since she took him back (fuck, she didn’t even take him back, she begged him back after all he did to her. Who does that?), I’ve resolved to never take a word of advice from her again. Choosing dad over us—again—when she should be running for the hills and asking for a divorce.

  I don’t get it, and the more I think about it, the angrier I become.

  So maybe it’s a good thing I’ve got sex on the brain.

  I mean, how can I not when I have Anders to distract me.

  I’ve been seeing Anders for one month now.

  We’ve only kissed.

  Okay, I shouldn’t say we’ve only kissed.

  His kisses are more than any kisses I’ve had before. They are soul-searing.

  Imprinting.

  And highly addictive.

  Of course, he’s also felt me up more than a few times, and by a few times, I mean last night, and I wasn’t about to bat his hands away because he knows exactly what he’s doing with them. He doesn’t paw at me the way that Phil Hadzocos did when we were dating, as if my boobs were to be treated like a stress ball.

  Maybe it’s because Anders is foreign and has that ridiculously sexy accent, and that gorgeous slim body, and those wonderful words he purrs into my ears.

  You taste like stardust.

  I have heaven in my hands.

  You’re going to feel me even when I’m gone.

  See what I mean about imprinting?

  I’m sure his words are cheesy to some, maybe. But not the way he says it. Not with those intense eyes of his, the ones that rip through me, that taunt me with secrets I may never uncover about him. His words are him and I believe them with every part of me.

  I want nothing more than to lose my virginity to Anders Johansen.

  Some might even say I’m in love with him.

  But how terribly tragic it is to be in love, especially when it’s your first. Because that can never work out. People don’t marry their high school sweethearts anymore, and if they do and they make it work, I’m sure they’re one of the lucky few. I’m a realist. I know what the world gives us. I know that if you fall in love once, you should be prepared to fall in love over and over again. With as many different people as possible. Because how do you know it’s love if you have nothing to compare it to?

  But that’s why it’s so scary and why currently, as I sit in my bedroom, stacks of magazines in my feet, freshly painted toenails, I refuse to entertain the topic. I’m all about sex instead. Sex is easier to handle. I think. I hope. Because what if you fall in love, lose the guy and then later on in life, many loves later, you realize that first love was the only one to really stick.

  Then what?

  That can’t be me.

  I refuse to fall in love with my boyfriend.

  But mark my words, I will sleep him before the week is through.

  7

  Shay

  Now

  I can’t sleep.

  I toss and turn, my blankets wrapping around me to the point of near strangulation.

  Ever since I checked-in to my hotel, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Anders. Not even for a second. I don’t even bother updating my social media or texting back Everly like I should, or emailing my mom like she asked.

  I just pace around my room or stare out the window at the river below, wishing I wasn’t so alone.

  Wishing I had said yes.

  Stubborn. I’m stubborn and stupid. In the dregs of my subconscious, I know I’d been hoping, praying, that I would run into Anders, as much as I was hoping I wouldn’t. Now that I did, it feels so…petty…just to leave it like I did.

  Maybe it was fate, maybe it wasn’t—but something tells me whatever force placed him on my path meant for something more to happen. After all these years, all the things I imagined saying to him, none of them were said. There was no closure. Nothing was resolved. All my run-in with Anders did was remind me that I had a chance to finally talk to him, put the past behind me, dare I say, get over him, and I was too stubborn to even entertain his offer.

  By the time three a.m. rolls around and I’m half-off the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain with a heavy, thumping heart, I know what I have to do.

  It’s not over.

  And with that in my head, I finally fall asleep.

  When morning rolls around, the first thing I do, beside rubbing my bleary-eyes and wondering for a moment where the hell I am, is pick up my phone and get on Facebook. I hadn’t even thought to give him my number or ask for his last night, not even any way to stay in touch.

  I go onto Everly’s page and scroll through her friends list (how the hell does she have so many?) and when I find Anders, I promptly add him as a friend.

  I take a shower and get ready slowly, every two minutes I’m picking up my phone and checking to see if he’s accepted my friend request or not. I know I could send him a message, but it would just go to his “Other” folder on Facebook and I don’t know who remembers to check that. It’s usually full of unwanted sexual advances from men who want you to be their bride in exchange for holding some money for them.

  When eleven a.m. rolls around, I know I’m shit out of luck. I have a half an hour to let the guesthouse know if I’m staying another night or I’m charged for it.

  At 11:16, Anders accepts my friend request.

  I pounce on it like an animal and fire him off a quick message, no time to think:

  Hey, you know I was thinking I wouldn’t mind coming to Todalen after all. How do I get there?

  His response is almost immediate: Stay right where you are. I’ll be at the hotel in two hours. There’s a coffee shop across the street called Beanz if you need to get out.

  Well, I didn’t expect that. I quickly message him back, telling him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to do that for me and I’m happy taking a train if there is one, or a bus. But as I call the front desk from my room phone and inform them that I’ll be checking out early, my message to him goes unread.

  Shit. I guess he’s on his way.

  I sit down on the bed for a moment, folding up one leg under me and feeling every bit the teenager all over again. I’m even biting my lip. My heart is racing and there’s this curious feeling in my chest, like it’s an endless blue sky, full of promise.

  I’m giddy. That’s what it is.

  And fearful.

  And nervous.

  And a million other things.

  Shit.

  This isn’t good.

  I didn’t plan for this.

  Now I’m suddenly filled with the impulse to look better than I ever have before. At least better th
an I did yesterday. I know I have to check out ASAP, but I add a bit more makeup to my face. My skin is paler than normal thanks to that Irish winter, so I up the bronzer and blush, straighten out my bangs and slick a neutral matte lipstick across my lips. It’s reminding me of how crazy I used to go back in the day, trying to impress Anders. I would pour over all the magazines, especially Cosmopolitan, taking all the makeup tips and sex tips to heart, waiting till I could try them out. Most of the makeup tips were for white girls, but I made it work anyway. Funny how I haven’t touched that magazine in years—I don’t even think anyone over twenty-two still reads it.

  I eye myself in the mirror and think I look cute. Not exactly sexy, since I’m wearing a Norwegian sweater I picked up in Oslo, jeans and boots, but good enough. When you’ve been traveling for as long as I have and essentially living out of a small duffel bag and a giant backpack, your “sexy” outfits tend to get thrown aside for anything comfortable and easy to wash. I used to be a girly girl back in Brooklyn, but here I’m in stretchy jeans and leggings and cardigans most of the time.

  I quickly pack up my bags and head downstairs to the lobby. The hotel owner is very nice and doesn’t mind me sitting around, though after a while (and a million photos of the river view and the brightly colored boathouses across the way later) I’m bored, so I pick up my stuff and head across the street to the coffee shop Anders mentioned.

  I feel like I’m waiting for a date to show up. I’m sure if I didn’t have my duffel bag on the floor and my backpack in the chair across from me, I’d look like it too. I keep taking careful sips of my coffee—damn, they drink it so strong here—and glancing out the window. Whenever someone enters the coffee shop, I look up, and when it’s not Anders I feel a curious mix of relief and regret. I wonder which emotion is going to win out in the end.

  At least I’m living in the moment now, because I’m feeling absolutely everything. I have to remind myself to relax, to not get carried away. It would probably be for the best if I did everything I could to forget that I ever dated Anders, loved him, lost my virginity to him, had my heart severely torn by him. If I could just pretend that he was someone new strolling into my life, a handsome, hot, rugged as hell stranger who walks into this coffee shop and sweeps me away, if just to a small village for some local flavor.