Tastes Like Winter Read online

  He stared at me long and hard before repeating, “Funny way of showing it?”

  I nodded feebly, and I could see his mind working out a decision before he stalked—and I mean stalked—over to me, pushed me against the wall of cubbies, and took my mouth, along with all the air in my lungs, with his.

  He then quickly stepped back. “Now please let me finish with these boxes. I’ll lock up.”

  His eyes looked desperate, so I let it go.

  I didn’t hear from him again for three days. I counted, believe me.

  I can only describe what he is doing to me as equal parts excitement and pure torture. The scary part is I don’t know if, deep down, I am enjoying the chase.

  It’s a game, a cruel, insanity-inducing game. I should be smarter than this and stop playing along, but I cannot help myself. He makes me feel things an awful lot like love, but he also makes me feel weak. And when I think about weakness and I think about love, I think about my mother and everything she went through, and it terrifies me.

  But no matter how scared I am, he’s an expert game master and has the uncanny ability to keep me playing. He fills my soul and makes me confident, then cruelly turns on me and pulls back until I am on the verge of madness, ready to throw in the towel, before coming back and whacking me with something amazing, an unexpected kiss or a surprising response that I’m sure carries a hidden message, and he sucks me in again.

  Tonight is another perfect example. We have been sitting for a couple of hours, hunched over the computer housed in the small office area in the back of the shop’s storage room. A few nights this week have already been spent in a similar fashion. At first, I thought it was a cute bonding experience, close together, sharing in his interests in the semi-dark of the small, enclosed space.

  I thought it was romantic, but now I am growing tired, frustrated, and bored. “As much as I would love to sit around watching you surf the web, I should get going, Jake.” My arms are crossed over my chest and I am clearly annoyed, but he doesn’t notice.

  “No, don’t. Stay. Check out this video.” He pulls my chair closer to him so I can get a better view of the monitor. It’s one of those indie-band music videos, the type of do-it-yourself production that includes homemade puppets doing the most unusual things. The more random, the better. The video quality is about as good as the sound quality, and, while I love music, there is only so much I can take. Jake bounces his head to the music and, when the video ends, begins searching for another.

  He smells so damn good, and watching YouTube videos together isn’t innately wrong, but I want something more, I want something deeper, and after another week of this surface stuff, I again find myself on my last leg.

  “Well, Jake, thanks for a lovely evening,” I say sarcastically as I push away from the desk, “but I’ve grown weary of being ignored yet again; besides, my bed is calling me.”

  He perks up. “Can I come?”

  I screw up my face and give a quick, rough shake of my head. Reactions like that make me crazy.

  “Why, so you can ignore me there, too?” I reply, my tone full of bite.

  I walk out of the office area to the cubby that holds my bag and coat. I double-wrap my scarf around my neck and zip myself in before slinging my bag over my shoulder and exiting through the swinging doors. I yell a good-bye over my shoulder but don’t bother waiting for him. Let him chase me, this time.

  “Hey, what’s up? What did I do?” He is behind me, and I can hear concern in his voice, but I keep walking. I push through the outside door, and the cold wind whips my face, stinging my skin. He follows behind me a second later. I can hear him curse the cold as he leaves the warm comfort of the shop. He hasn’t had time to throw on a coat, and he shivers beneath his long-sleeved tee.

  “Nothing. I don’t know. Maybe your definition of hanging out is a little bit different from mine. Don’t act so sad to see me go when you’ve paid me little to no attention for the past two hours.” I reach the car and pull open the driver-side door as he catches up to me.

  His hands grip the top of the window between us, and he holds it open, preventing me from shutting it. “Sorry. I should remember that you’re a girl and like to do girl stuff.”

  The comment hurts, but he has delivered it innocently enough and free of any sarcasm or malice.

  Regardless, I reply, “Don’t say it like that. It’s not like I want to give each other manicures and talk about shopping and celebrity gossip, but the occasional acknowledgement of my presence would be appreciated, so I know that you actually care whether or not I am there.”

  He frowns. “Trust me. I care that you’re there.”

  I playfully pout back. I wish I didn’t have to pick fights to get a nice response out of him, but I am glad when it comes.

  “Come shopping with me tomorrow. I need to get a birthday gift for Betsy, and I have no idea what to get,” he says.

  Before I can answer, he leans through the window and takes both of my cheeks in his hands. He stares briefly at my lips and licks his own in response, moistening them against the harsh wind. He moves in.

  His kiss is soft at first, but it quickly grows in intensity. The warmth of his mouth is inviting, and the contrast against the frigid air is enticing. I lean into him and wrap my arm around his neck, bringing my hand into his hair. The softest moan escapes him, and I smile through the kiss. How can I go from neglected to completely desired in an instant? My head swims.

  He reaches his cold hands into my jacket, and his fingers nimbly pull up the hem of my sweater, seeking warmth from my skin. The coldness sends shivers up and down my spine, and the sensation is delicious. Several minutes pass, lost in bliss, with his rough fingertips dancing across my skin before our lips separate and he presses his forehead against mine. My eyes are still shut, but I can feel him smiling.

  “I’m afraid eventually all good things must come to an end.” I don’t know if I am talking about tonight or something more.

  “Are you sure? You can always come back in.” He beckons.

  I sigh. His offer is tempting, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I do, of what message I’ll be sending him if I allow myself to come and go whenever he wants. “I really should be getting home. My shift ended hours ago, and my mom will wonder…”

  I leave it hanging, half-heartedly hoping he can convince me otherwise.

  “All right. Tomorrow, then?” He pulls away.

  “Tomorrow.” I force myself down into my seat and, with a turn of the hand, unwillingly start the engine.

  “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He winks.

  I smile back, but as always when leaving Jake, I’m sad to go and I want to frown instead.

  ***

  I pick Jake up the next day, and we head over the mall in search of the perfect gift.

  “Did you have any ideas in mind?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “No, but I want it to be something nice. Something special. Aunt B has done so much for me, and I want her to know I’m grateful.”

  I’m taken aback by the sentiment in his voice. After always being so careful with his emotions, it’s nice to see his guard fall and to see how much he cares for her.

  “I’m sure we’ll find something perfect. A nice sweater maybe or a pretty scarf.” I lead him over to a storefront window with beautifully styled mannequins. “I can picture Betsy wearing that.” I point to a pink silk blouse.

  He stares up at it for a moment in consideration before shaking his head. “No, not special enough.”

  We keep walking, pausing at each window. I point out items along the way, offering ideas, all of which Jake is not sold on. This means a lot to him, I can tell, and I want to help him pick the perfect thing. I’m happy he asked me to help with something so important to him. It feels as if he’s letting me in.

  We pause in front of a jewelry store. Jake takes his time looking at the display, and thinking we might have a winner, I suggest we go in. We stroll around the store, examining each c
ase.

  After more than five minutes of browsing, Jake calls me over. “How about this one?”

  I move to the case he is standing in front of, and he points out a necklace. He has found a delicate heart pendant with a smaller heart inside, covered in tiny aquamarine gems and attached to a thin chain.

  “It’s beautiful, Jake.”

  “That’s her gemstone.” He sounds proud to have remembered.

  “Then it couldn’t be more perfect. I think you should get it.” I motion for a sales associate to help us.

  The necklace is a little pricey, but Jake doesn’t seem to care, and he tells the lady he will take it. After hearing that it’s a birthday gift, she goes the extra mile and wraps it beautifully in a box, setting it in tissue, and places it in a gift bag. Jake holds the bag gently, acting as if it’s a precious treasure. Seeing this side of him causes my heart to flutter, and I lean close into his side, threading my fingers through his.

  We continue through the mall, and I decide to pick up a card and a pack of monogramed stationary to give to Betsy, myself. She is a great boss, and I’d like to show my appreciation as well, even if it is something small. After that, we grab a couple soft pretzels before heading out.

  “Let me take you out next week,” Jake surprises me by asking as we exit the mall and head for my car to drive back home.

  “Okay. I’d like that,” I say while my insides do a flip. “Did you have anything in mind?”

  “I’ll figure it out and let you know.” Jake settles into the passenger’s seat.

  I open my own door, but before I join Jake inside, I do a little happy dance that I pray he does not see.

  ***

  After another week full of school, homework, and bookstore shifts, I help Betsy close for the night again. As I am turning the sign on the front door to read “closed”, my phone buzzes with a text. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, pull out my cell, and read the screen.

  What are you wearing?

  I smile and type back, You know what I’m wearing. You picked out my outfit.

  Genna: Just checking to make sure you didn’t change.

  Me: Wouldn’t dare!

  Genna: Good! Enjoy your night : )

  After our day at the mall, Jake followed through on his promise of another date. He even took the lead and arranged it—dinner and a movie. Genna was kind and let me wear jeans and a sweater, though she did insist on cashmere. Jake wanted to pick me up, but last month he decided to sell his car, since most of his time is spent in Boston where he doesn’t need one, thanks to the many efficient public transportation options within walking distance. My car is a no-go because my mom is borrowing it again. Hers is in the shop, this time investigating a check engine light that has her worried. Betsy has been kind enough to let us borrow hers.

  Since we are closing together tonight, she decides it would be easiest to take me home with her, where I can meet Jake after he gets home from class. Since the ballet, Betsy caught on about me and Jake… Well, me and Jake being me and Jake, whatever that is.

  I broached the subject with her once. Not wanting her to think I was unprofessional, I asked if she was okay with Jake and me being friends. She waved me off and said, “Don’t you worry about that for one second. Jake needs a nice girl like you.” She has since been kind enough to not make me uncomfortable talking about it, and I am happy we have her support.

  But as soon as we pull into the driveway of the Addler residence, I can see Sam throwing a fit through the living room window. Betsy has given me her support, but I do not have Sam’s, a fact she has made rather obvious around school. She is the only girl on Genna’s team that is anything less than friendly towards me.

  I can see her through the window, red faced and shouting while waving her hands around. I can’t make out her words until the door is pushed open and they become clear. Tonight her anger is directed at Jake, who is slumped against the living room doorframe, looking resigned while she flings insults at him.

  “Just because you decided to take my parents and commandeer my whole fricken’ house when you came to live with us does not give you the right to take the car, too!”

  As soon as her mom moves through the doorway, I see Sam move to redirect her anger at Betsy. She shouts, “Mom! Tell Jake he does not get to take the car tonight. Julie and I are meeting up with the team for pizza and then a movie. I told you last week, remember?”

  As Betsy moves into the foyer, she sighs as if this is a recurring debate that she no longer has the patience for. “Sorry, Sam.” She shakes her head. “I must have forgotten. I told Jake he could use it to go out with Emma.”

  Betsy half-heartedly motions behind her, towards where I have frozen, half in and half out of the door. Sam’s eyes are filled with fury, but before she can explode on me, I throw in an attempt at peace.

  “It’s okay. Jake and I can do something else. Or hang out another night?” I do not need any more ill will with Sam. I try to meet Jake’s eyes, questioning if that is an okay alternative.

  “No!” Betsy cuts in, more forcefully. “No, you two go out and have fun. Sam, I am tired of your mouth and your disrespect. I don’t want to imagine what other nonsense you spewed before we walked in, but it is enough! Now go to your room!”

  That puts an end to it, but Sam storms into the kitchen instead and grabs the phone with the nastiest, most hate-filled “Fine!” I imagine has ever been spoken.

  I make it all the way into the house and shut the door behind me. The tension between them is on a completely different level than I expected, and I am afraid their issues are larger than misdirected snootiness because Jake and I are dating.

  I cross the foyer and lean into Jake’s ear. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

  I continue pleading, and it takes Jake a while to answer, but he eventually lets out a deep breath and asks, “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  “B, it’s okay. Let her have it,” he says to his aunt, who shakes her head, full of defeat, but doesn’t speak. He then grabs my hand without another word and leads me upstairs.

  When we reach the top of the stairs, I brace myself. I haven’t been in a boy’s bedroom before, so I am not sure what to expect when he opens the door and pulls me inside. On the right, I notice a small desk with a lamp and an open laptop. The computer already has a playlist going, a soundtrack playing to an empty room. There is a half-full bottle of soda and two empty water bottles, along with a stack of journals like the ones I have seen him carry around before and a few pens scattered about.

  On the left side of the room, the wall tilts in at a long, deep angle, not high enough to stand under. There is a simple bed frame tucked underneath it. The comforter is plain blue and is pulled up in a half-made attempt. There is a television tucked in the opposite corner, perfectly lined up to watch while lying down.

  I scan the walls, which are covered with band posters. Popular bands, indie bands, bands I know and love, bands I have never heard before. Some of the pages are past concert fliers, while others are cd inserts with lyrics and photos. They hold my attention, and Jake gives me time to take it all in.

  “Welcome to my abode!” He gestures around the room as he flops into the desk chair. I gingerly sit on the edge of the bed, unsure of myself. He picks up his guitar, which was propped in the corner beside his desk, and mindlessly strums a few notes, playing a chord here and there while pausing now and again to scroll through an endless stream of music on his computer, searching to find the right song.

  “How about you play me something instead?” I ask.

  “Nah, these guys do it much better than I ever could.” He picks a song I’m not familiar with before turning back to me. “So…”

  “So,” I repeat.

  We stare in awkward silence for a minute, his fingers moving along the guitar neck in time with the music while not actually playing it. I distract myself by looking at his walls again, trying to ignore the fact that I am sitting on Jake’s bed and that th
e whole room smells like him.

  My gaze returns to the journals in front of him. For someone who doesn’t speak about himself much, there sure are a lot of them. What I wouldn’t do to find out what he has written inside. As I sit, I debate various plans to get Jake to leave me alone for a moment in his room so that I can flick through them and see if they hold any secrets about his feelings for me, feelings he refuses to vocalize.

  “Sorry about that.” He brings me back into the room and away from my scheming while pointing downstairs. I nod and divert my eye to a particularly colorful graffiti-designed poster to my right, hoping he won’t notice the holes I was burning through his Moleskines.

  “Sam doesn’t like me being here.” He sounds remorseful. “I think she used to like me, but now that I live here—not so much.”

  “Why?”

  He casts his eyes downward and toes the carpet with his shoe. He doesn’t answer.

  “You know you can talk to me, Jake, about anything.”

  He keeps his head down, and I don’t know what else to say. I grope around inside my head for a minute, scrambling to find words, but instead he saves me by looking up and smiling.

  “Want to watch a movie?” The sadness is completely gone from his eyes, and I wonder how much of Jake is an act.

  “Okay, whatever you want.” I can’t force the man to talk if he doesn’t want to.

  With renewed purpose, he powers down the music, jumps up, and heads to the console, where the DVD player rests. He picks up a newly released comedy, throws it in the player, and starts it up. Joining me on the bed, he props himself up against the wall. He tosses me a pillow, and I slide myself into position next to him.

  Any uneasiness lingering from Sam’s outburst downstairs passes, and we are soon leaning against each other, laughing. Betsy pops her head in to check on us halfway through, and after seeing that we are watching a movie, offers us popcorn and sodas, which we gladly accept. By the time the credits roll, I am tucked under Jake’s arm with one leg wrapped around his. Neither of us moves to get up while the credits end and the screen goes black.