16. Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby

CHAPTER 16

NOTHING'S GONNA HURT YOU BABY

CIGARETTES AFTER SEX

I don't know where he's taking me, but for whatever reason, I feel safe with him. I would voluntarily follow him into a dark alley—no questions asked. It's rare that anyone is around to help me through these situations with my mother, not since my sister left. There's always pain, hurt, and anger, but this time, I'm not sitting alone and allowing these emotions to consume me. It's…nice having someone else here, and while he may not be who I expected, I'm realizing I was far too quick to judge him earlier.

My mother's wrath is never over, and I'm still convinced that she's lurking behind one of these cars or around a corner, just waiting to pounce on me again. She's waiting to finish what she started so she can push me down further into myself until I break and give in to whatever she's decided my life should be. I check over my shoulder again.

"Here." He pulls me from my thoughts as he strips off his hoodie and wraps it around me.

"I already have a coat."

"Yeah, and you're still shivering, so you need the hoodie more than I do."

I hadn't even realized I was shivering, and I doubt it's from the air since it's not that cold out. I dip my head down just enough to breathe in his comforting scent while I wonder why he's still here. It reminds me of sipping whiskey in a dark room only accessible through a hidden door in a bookshelf—a mystery wrapped in leather, weed, and warmth. He didn't have to stay or look after me.

Sam is the closest I've had to someone watching over me since Bex left. I was lucky to find Sam when I did, and I won't deny that he helped fill the void when my only protector couldn't take it anymore. Sam has an excellent mental health plan for his employees. He added it about six months after I started working for him, and I let him think I believed his reasons. He knew how badly I needed to find someone I would open up to. My therapist likes to tell me about boundaries and safe spaces when she's not trying to convince me that drunken sex isn't what she means by opening up to people more. Apparently, sex isn't actually a healthy way to validate my self-worth or silently fight my demons. It's easy to dream of a different, stable life. But when it's time for reality to make an appearance, the plans and hopes slip through my fingers like sand on the beach.

"So, are you on some kind of weird group text?" I nod toward his phone. "The only time my phone buzzes that much is when Dani puts me into a group text with half her family."

"What? Oh, no it's, uhm. It's junk. I think I signed up for a gym membership somewhere and they sold my number or something. I dunno." He turns it off and shoves it back in his pocket. There's something he's hiding from me, but I can't tell what it is or how bad it is. No one gets this many texts from spam numbers in one day, not unless it's election season.

"Well, are you going to tell me where we're going?" I ask, giving in to the magnetic force that's pulling me closer to him.

I should pull away. I should go home. It's not right of me to use him after I've pushed him away, and that's exactly what I'm doing. Using his protection and kindness is a slippery slope that could lead me to exploiting him to feel good again. Like a drug.

I laugh quietly, thinking about how this must look to an outsider like James. If you boil it down to its most basic elements, I'm a single woman walking at night in Los Angeles and of all the things the world tells me to fear, it's my mother I'm worried most about. I take a quick glance at James, and I wonder what's going through his mind. I wonder if he regrets telling me this morning about his feelings or asking me last night to go out with him sometime. I should give him an out, an escape. I don't want to hear some idiot excuse from him later, like the other dates I've had. But if I'm being honest with myself, I like him here next to me. It's comforting knowing that someone will fight my demons when all I can do is stand there, frozen in place, as they attack me over and over.

He lights a joint for me and the minute I inhale, my mind eases and my muscles relax. We walk, smoke, and talk. The smile on his face is foreign to me and I can't wrap my head around it because it's genuine. He's not pretending to care or even asking me a million questions. It makes me wonder what happened in his life, that he gets it more than anyone else ever has.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that. You don't deserve to be attacked like that."

"Neither do you."

Oh, but I do. I'm just another disappointment in a long line of failures in my mother's eyes. My sister and I stole our father from her and have done nothing but take from her since we were born. She reminds us of that frequently.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice is soft, like he's afraid he'll scare me away. I nod. "Is she why you hold back? Did you say you weren't the woman for me because you're worried I'd be scared off by her?"

"No. Yes. It's…complicated." I shake my head, trying to get the words sorted before I say them. "You're a nice guy, James. You deserve a good person who doesn't come with baggage that includes an unstable mother who's out to embarrass me and everyone I ever…"

I bite my lip before I can't finish the thought because he doesn't need to know the rest. Knowing the rest could give him hope that anything is going on between us. He's making it hard not to like him, though—especially how his eyes sparkle whenever he looks at me as if my mother didn't just call him horrible things and he didn't watch me crumble under her wrath.

"Lex, it doesn't matter if it's as friends or if it's more, your mother isn't going to do a damn thing that will scare me away from you. No one can." He stops and pulls his hoodie tighter around me. I can see in his face that he's holding something back. "I, uhm…I know what it's like, and I'll never blame you for her actions because they're not your fault. I stand by what I said earlier. You were very brave. I…couldn't have done that."

"I should be able to tell her to fuck off, though. To leave me the fuck alone."

"You already know it wouldn't help. She'd probably be offended by your choice of non-Christmas words."

"Non-Christmas words?" I almost choke on the words and the weed.

"Yeah," he laughs, his face scrunching up around his nose. It's adorable. "I accidentally swore at a friend's house once. His grandmother was there cooking us dinner because we'd been out of town for Christmas. She heard me and I thought I was in for it, but all she said was ‘well, that's not a Christmas word' and moved on."

Suddenly, he stops. Pie. The man has brought me to one of the best known pie chains in Los Angeles to help me get over my mother being a controlling, manipulative bitch. I was terrible to him last night, then reject him today. She insults him and embarrasses me. He brings me out for pie.

Maybe I'm wrong about him. What if I am his type of girl, after all? His baggage might go with mine.

It's past nine on a Friday, with most of Los Angeles creating chaos at clubs and parties, but this place is packed. After we order, I pull out my phone, and James stops me before I can pay.

"James!"

"You can only pay for cheer-up pie when you're cheering someone else up or if you're alone. Those are the rules."

"But you paid for breakfast." That's the only argument I can think of. It's weak and sounds more like a whine than an argument against him buying.

He shrugs and says, "Sam paid for breakfast. I'll dig through the couch for coins before I let you buy your own cheer-up food, Angel."

We find an empty table outside as another couple leaves. The restaurant converted a few parking spots into a little patio area with tables, lighting, and a canvas tent covering. They've even put down fake grass and potted ferns to help you forget you're basically sitting in the street. It's cute, and I'm kicking myself for never having come up here before tonight.

"Thanks for, I dunno, not bailing after the whole mom thing."

"I mean, I could have ditched you while you were crying, but then I'd have to come out for pie alone. Where's the fun in that?"

"Fuck, I had just forgotten that I totally broke down in front of you like that."

He breaks off a piece and holds the fork up to me, smirking. "This is one of my favorites, so I'm really curious what you think of it."

"Sugary kid's cereal is your favorite kind of pie?" I smirk, and he chuckles. I even see a slight pink rise in his cheeks. I wrap my lips around the fork, and the sweetness hits instantly. I'm looking into his eyes, and I know how wrong and sexual that must look, but I can't hold back the moan as the flavor bursts in my mouth. I'm transported back to our living room in North Carolina on a Saturday morning. I can practically hear the cartoons playing.

"Holy shit," I don't even care that my mouth is still half full of sinful goodness, "that's the best thing I've ever put in my mouth."

He tries hard to bite back the laugh. I can see him struggling and how his nose scrunches up as the laugh grows. "I'm sorry, I promise. I'm not laughing at you. Sometimes, I'm just a fucking stupid teenager trapped in a grown man's body."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm laughing at myself! I know what I just said, and I mean it!" I'm so wrapped up in the moment that I can't stop the inner dialog from coming out as I add, "Besides, that's a pretty damn spectacular body to be trapped in."

His face cycles through several shades of red as he runs his fingers along the side of his nose. It makes me want to compliment him more to see if he does it every time. It's adorable, but a little sad. Someone like him should receive compliments often enough to know how to handle them.

"Oh yeah, there she is," I laugh, reaching out for the other fork and holding it up for him this time. "Queen of saying embarrassing shit out loud! Okay, I want to try this, but I'm kind of scared. Sometimes, I'm too white for Mexican chocolate. I know that sounds dumb, but?—"

"I get it, but I won't be the best judge for you. I was raised in Los Angeles, remember?" His voice drops as he leans forward, eyes locked on mine, and he winks. "I like things a little…spicy."

My smile melts, and my heart skips as I watch him the way he had watched me. His full lips wrapping around the fork isn't accidentally sexual—it's blatant, and his eyes darken as they lock on mine. I have an urge to climb on the table and let this man have his way with me, but part of me is still hearing my mother's voice screaming at me from earlier about being a whore.

I think, just maybe, I could be a slut for James Barton and those steely blue eyes and cheesy pickup lines.

"Why are you single?" I shrink away after the words escape. "Sorry, I didn't… I mean…fuck."I take a big bite of my pie while he watches me. I realize it's far too hot for my taste too late, but I try to hide it.

"I, uhm, I don't have much to bring to the table when it comes to relationships." He holds my coffee up, tilting the straw toward me and I take a huge drink, trying to stop the fire in my mouth. "I'm shy, nervous. I don't really like people. Most people in LA like the whole night life scene, but I'd rather stay in. I'm also a dick."

"Dani told me you were nice."

"No, Dani is nice. I'm a panicky, overthinking mess that constantly gets compared to that grouchy cat picture on the internet. I'm on medication that I consistently forget to take. I freelance because I've been rejected for every solid job I apply for, and our boss gave me the card for a shrink yesterday because I'm such a mess."

"None of that describes the guy I've been hanging out with for the last couple of days. Hours. Whatever."

"No? Because I'm pretty sure I'm making it all worse now." He winces. "I just can't help it. I'm sitting in front of a pie shop telling all of this to a beautiful woman I can't get out of my mind."

I blush and bite my bottom lip, debating on whether I should tell him how loud I screamed his name in the shower this morning. I may have to tell him that someday, but I think it would melt his brain right now.

"Fuck, I'm so bad at this. Did I mention I have absolutely no game at all? Guess that's what I get for being the permanent wingman."

We talk and laugh together long after the pie is gone, and I can't help but notice that the longer I'm with him, the quieter my mother's voice in my head becomes. He's unlike any man I've ever dated before—and most of the women. According to my sister, my type is dumb, toxic, and only around for a good time, not a long time.

But Jamie doesn't fit those descriptions. He's got the kindest eyes and the sweetest smile…when he smiles. He's also smart, charming, and witty, even if his jokes are dad-level lame.

I barely even notice when the employees start closing up, and we're still outside talking. I could listen to him talk for hours, or until someone shuts off the lights.

"Shit, guess they're kicking us out." He laughs as our eyes adjust to yellow streetlights, and we finally head back.

As we walk, his fingers graze mine. I convince myself it's happening by accident, but it's hard to fight the urge to grab hold of his hand each time. Until he wraps his pinky around mine. Neither of us says anything or looks at the other as he threads the rest of his fingers with mine. We walk together in a rare, comfortable silence.

We're back at my building too soon, and I gaze at the door that marks the night's end. I should have walked slower or taken a longer route. I don't want this night to end, and I don't want him to leave. I'm already addicted to the safety and protection he offers, but there's more to it than just safety.

"I can run up and bring your stuff down. Save you a trip," I offer him a way out while praying he doesn't take it.

"I should come up and make sure the coast is clear, if that's okay with you."

At some point, while we were walking and talking, I somehow forgot about my mother and what she'd done earlier. I was so focused on James and how he was making me feel. Something tells me that had been his plan all along, and I can't help but wonder how he knew to do that with such ease.

"I know a few more late-night dessert places we can hit if your mom wants to go for round two." He squeezes my hand, reminding me he hasn't let go yet. "If you want to call it a night, that's fine, but I'd like to know you're upstairs and safe before I leave."

"I think between my mother and the sugar, I won't be going to sleep anytime soon." I catch the smile he tries to hide, but I can't blame him—I'm smiling too. I want to stop being afraid. I want to stop pushing people away. I want to let someone in for the right reasons for once. "Any chance you like movies?"

I've never invited a guy to my apartment on a first date, and now, for the second time tonight, we're walking to my door. I keep reminding myself that it's alright because this isn't a date. It's two co-workers hanging out together—maybe friends—perfectly innocent. What isn't perfectly innocent is the fact that I want him to stay. I want to listen to him talk into the early morning hours. I want to stare into those pretty eyes until one of us is forced to look away. I want him to wrap me in his strong arms and tear my fucking clothes off.

Flipping on the lights, I hang up my coat and his hoodie on the hooks by my door while James gives a low whistle. I panic, thinking my mother is back or worse, but when I turn to see what he's looking at, I find him staring around the apartment with wide-eyed surprise.

"Wow, nice place."

"I guess you didn't really get a chance to see it before." I cross my arms and lean against the back of the couch while he continues scanning the room. "It's alright." I pick up a candle and sniff it before lighting a long match.

"You have the whole place to yourself, no roommate?" He purses his lips and shakes his head, "Wow, that didn't sound all serial killer or anything, did it?"

"Well, at least if you're going to kill me, you got me pie first," I giggle. He's staying across the room, keeping some distance between us. Maybe neither of us trusts ourself to be alone together. "I do live by myself, but don't spend much time here. My mother and stepfather own it, so the rent is cheap. She claims it's helping me out, but she just wants to keep me firmly under her thumb. I was just dumb enough to fall for it. Now I'm kind of stuck here."

"You're not dumb, Lexi. She's manipulative. It's hard to get out from under that kind of thing." His head tilts to the side as he looks at the three large art pieces leaning against a wall. "Did you make these? They look like your style."

"Yeah, they were an art project I started in college that grew into those three monsters," I gush proudly, like I'm talking about my kids or something. "They're mixed-media, so I collected pieces along the way and created them over the years to keep my mind off things. I just finished the redesigned RENT poster last year; I've been working on it for seven years total. That one took the longest."

"Weird place to keep it," he frowns as he looks over the mantle and the blank walls around it. "Why not there where it would be easier to see? A focal point?"

"I'm trying to figure out how to get it to Sam's so he can put it up there. I'm worried my mother or stepfather would take it down and burn it if they found it hanging up. They don't approve of that…lifestyle."

They don't approve of me.

"That's too bad. It's a great play. I've seen it five times, I think. This is beautiful and really captures the complexity of the message. It's brilliant. Like you."

"Fancy words for saying it's alright. It's not that special, but it makes me happy."

"You do that too much."

"What?"

"Play yourself or your work down. You're talented. Not in the corporate, boring, stuck-in-a-box kind of way, either. You've got some amazing skills." He bites his lip, and his eyes soften. He steps closer to me, and I feel myself stop breathing when his hand comes up. He wipes at the corner of my mouth. "Pie."

"Oh." My knees try to give out as I watch him lick it off his thumb.

"Lexi, I'm sorry they disapprove of you and your work," he says in a low, gravelly tone. "They're wrong, and it's not fair to you."

I breathe again and blurt out, "So, still up for a movie?"

"I'll take any excuse to spend time with you. What kinds of movies do you like?"

"Uhm, you're going to think I'm weird, but uhm, Action-Adventure, Horror, Science Fiction. I'm team blow things up and make me laugh about it . Dani calls it disaster porn."

"You have got to stop being so incredible. Favorite Science Fiction movie?" He's leaning against the arm of the couch now, a little more relaxed again.

"You can't ask a girl that! Probably Alien or The Martian. Yours?"

"Both excellent movies. I gotta go to classic Star Wars, though." He narrows his eyes and asks, "Thoughts on Starship Troopers?"

"What? Why that movie?"

"I've learned a lot about people from their answer. My buddy Steve thinks it's cinematic gold."

"Okay, it's fucking stupid, but decent when you're high and just want to watch something dumb."

"Right answer. Steve's a fucking moron. So, do you have a movie collection or just streaming?"

I lead him to the cabinet where I keep my stash of DVDs. I like to display books, but DVDs are like strange relics from a long ago past—or just a few years ago. Thanks, streaming service. So, I keep those neatly tucked away.

He moves next to me, his hand on my hip, and part of me wonders if he's actually reading the titles or using them as an excuse to be near me. I'm okay with either answer.

"Wait! Do you like horror?" I turn to face him, and the reality of how close he really is pushes my heart into overdrive. He nods, but I'm not sure he even knows what I just asked him. "H-Have you seen this one about the cute guy who ends up being some kind of crazy cannibal serial killer living a double life and selling people meat to the rich?"

He slowly shakes his head and for a moment, I think he's about to kiss me.

"I, uhm, I think that's become one of my favorites." I'm stuttering, and the words keep leaving my mind before I can say them. "Or they just put one out about the Queen Mary, and we were right there today. Although I heard it was only good if you're really baked."

"Still got those edibles?"

"Yeah," I squeak out.

"Both."

"Both? Wait, you want to watch both movies?" I try hard to act surprised instead of giddy. I don't think I should come across as too desperate, but deep down inside, it's precisely what I am. "I mean, it's just, it's pretty late."

"I'm a night owl, and like I said, I'll take any excuse you give me to spend time with you."

I take a minute to float back down to reality. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I would really like him to throw me on the couch and ravish me. But neither of us does anything but stare until we eventually sit beside each other awkwardly.

"Do, uhm, do you want popcorn or something to drink?" I ask, handing him my bag of edibles. I shouldn't be this nervous, especially since I practically dared him to take one from my damn mouth earlier today. But that was before. He shakes his head with a smirk. "Good, cause I don't actually have anything to eat."

We're a little over an hour into the movie when I try to shift and realize my foot has fallen asleep. I hiss at the pain from the pins and needles, and before I know what's happening, he's pulled my leg up into his lap and is giving me the most amazing foot massage I've ever gotten. I should be freaking out; I usually hate when people touch my feet.

"Oh, that's not good. Don't do it, girl," he says to the TV, which I haven't even looked at in the last two minutes since he picked up my foot. He glances over at me. "Can't trust men. We're the worst."

I can't even speak; I just nod at those blue ponds, staring at me and asking me to drown in them. After a few minutes, he puts my foot down and motions for me to turn my back toward him. As I turn, he takes my hips and pulls me backward so we're closer. "It's okay, Angel. I only bite if you're into that." He chuckles. "I swear I have got to be racking up some kind of record on terrible lines today."

"I think it's funny," I giggle. It's true; he's had me giggling like a teenager all day. I didn't know I still remembered how to giggle. Laugh, sure, you can fake those if you need to. But a giggle is real; it's pure and innocent. It also feels good.

"Okay, take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

I do as he says, and as I breathe out, his large hands on my shoulders squeeze my muscles, pushing down with his thumb. "Oh, my god."

"Nice to know I still have the touch." His warm breath tickles my neck, and I know he can feel my heart racing as he gently massages my shoulders. This man could take a knife, cut out my kidney, and sell it on the black market. I'm willing to take the risk so long as he keeps touching me. When he's done, he lays back, pulls me down on his chest, and starts watching the movie again. "Do you want anything? We walked a lot today, and you might be dehydrated."

I shake my head, and he nuzzles against my head. I'm going to die right here from an emotional overload. Time ticks by, and my eyes are getting heavier. I'm losing more and more of the movie, so I know I must be dozing off. I curl against him, too comfortable to fight the urge to let sleep take me.

"Promise you won't kill me in my sleep," I mumble against his chest, his arm wrapping around me.

"Why would I kill the most perfect woman I've ever met?" His words are barely a whisper as he brushes through my hair with his fingers.

I'm sure that was just part of the movie I misheard as I drifted to sleep.