Page 20 of No Place Like You

“So Nat and Hayden have no idea you’re here?” Dexter asks, confirming the last bits of my story. I told him everything. From my decision to come to Brooklyn for this internship to the lies I told my sister right before coming here. And he sat next to me, listening patiently the whole time while I barely took the time in between my words to catch my breath.

I shake my head. “And they can’t know.”

He shifts in his seat, opening and closing his mouth as if worried he might say the wrong thing. “Lucy, you know Nat wouldn’t be mad. She’d?—”

“You know my parents help me pay my rent?” I blurt out, cutting him off. It just projectile vomits out of me after I held it down as far as I could. I’ve grown sick and nauseous with it, and I can’t hold it back any longer.

The furrow between his brows deepens.

“My sisters don’t know this,” I continue. “My parents started doing it about four months after I lost my job. I was a few days late to pay my roommate, and I didn’t know what else to do, so I told them I needed money. And even after I started working at the coffee house, they still helped me. Every week, my parents call me, asking if I’ve found a job yet. And I can hear the disappointment in their voices when I tell them no. They try so hard to hide it, and it kills me a little every time I have to tell them I haven’t found anything. I’m worried—I think…They’re getting tired of helping me out.

“Nat’s out here doing things on her own. My mom’s so happy she’s engaged. You should’ve heard her talking about how happy and proud she is of both Nat and Hayden. Carmen’s afreakingdoctor, for crying out loud. My parents don’t have to send them a dime. But me…I feel like such a damn failure.”

I splay it all out in the open. This messy, muddled pile of runaway marbles, each one a symbolic representation of why I’ll never be the person I thought I would be. One marble for the college degrees collecting dust in a drawer back home, wasting away and looking at me with shame. One for the guilt of having to take money from my parents. Another one for falling so low on the measuring stick of the adult I thought I was going to be when I moved out of my parents’ house. And they’re everywhere, scattering away from me, making it near impossible to wrangle them together so I can work through them properly.

“I know you think Nat would understand, but I’m not too sure. And I want to be the good little sister who listens to her parents and does what they say, but this internship…I couldn’t turn it down. It’s something I can really picture myself doing. And it’s scary, but it’s also really exciting and new. But if I end up back where I was before I came out herewithouteven the cushion of my job at the coffee house, I don’t know if I can face my parents and Nat while they tell me ‘I told youso.’”

Dexter nods, showing a little more understanding this time. “I won’t say anything,” he finally says. We sit in silence for a minute before Dexter’s lips shift into an arrogant little simper. “Your hair looks even better in person.”

My hand lifts to the side of my head, feeling suddenly shy from his narrowed gaze. “Uh,” I say, tucking my chin toward my chest, “thank you.” My hand slowly glides down my neck before my fingers toy with my necklace.

“It looks good on you.”

Our eyes lock. Suddenly, all the panic from running into someone who isn’t supposed to know I’m here has subsided. A new type of panic, something that aligns a little closer to embarrassment, along with the realization that Dexter knows what I look like naked, has taken its place.

Did he always have that adorable mole at the corner of his right eye, making him look boyish yet dreamy? And how come I never noticed how, even in the dusky light shining above us from the streetlamps, his brown eyes look like honey? He smirks again, and a small peek of his teeth shows his pointy canines, only adding to the sweet charm that first attracted me to Dexter three years back. A lifetime ago.

Why the freaking heck does he have to be so good-looking? The perfect mixture of handsome and cute, making me want to rumple his hair while biting his lower lip. Seriously,why?!

Dexter reaches up and lightly tussles my hair, lifting a few strands between his fingertips. His hand comes close to the skin on my cheek, and I can feel his warmth skate over me. All of this, his close proximity, his hands inches from my face, and I’m suddenly back at his apartment, his hands gliding over my skin with purpose and knowledge. Like he already knew how I would react to his touch as he moved with a level of dexterity I didn’t even bother to question.

“Well,” I say a little too loudly, smacking my hands to my thigh. “It was great catching up, Dexter. I hope this doesn’t become a regular thing.”

Dexter leans back, looking at me as if I just told him the shirt he’s wearing looks ugly on him, when in fact, it’s the complete opposite. His shirt looks good on him. Too good. It’s tight enough to show off his broad shoulders but not too tight that it seems he did it on purpose.

I seriously need to stop checking him out.

“So you’re going to spend three months in Brooklyn and never see me again?”

I nod. “That’s exactly it.”

“Lucy,” he calls with an incredulous plea in his voice.

“Well, hello, neighbor.” I didn’t realize how close Dexter and I are sitting next to each other, but it’s suddenly so blatant when I turn to face my eagerly friendly neighbor and I can still feel Dexter’s entire body inches from mine.

“Gary,” I comment, sounding more like an acknowledgment rather than a greeting to his sudden appearance.

Dexter and I both stand, and I notice how in the process of moving down the last step and landing on the sidewalk, Dexter has inched even closer to my side.

“You remember my name. I’m feeling a little flattered.” Gary winks at me, and I hold back the sudden grimace that crept up my face, hiding it with a forced smile. I should’ve pretended I didn’t know his name and called him Gavin or Gilroy instead. Why men find the need to misinterpret something as simple as remembering their name as flirting is beyond me.

I move to the side, and instead of parting the way, Dexter steps even closer toward me. “You want me to walk you up?” he asks in a hushed voice.

I eye Gary still standing in front of us on the sidewalk as if waiting for an invitation.Whyis he still there?

“No, I’m good. I’m just going to go…have some stale Cheez-Its,” I answer, suddenly remembering I didn’t get to buy the bottle of wine I was looking forward to after the shock of running into Dex.

Dexter takes one last sideways glance at Gary and faces me. “Call me while you’re here,” he whispers. “If you need anything.”

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