Chapter 9

Nine

MARISSA

“Twenty questions. Ask, and I’ll answer honestly. Go.” Xavier fries the bacon and scoops up my chopped vegetables to fry with the eggs.

Okay…so his game seems relatively safe. Maybe he wants me to get to know him. “Really? You’ll answer honestly?”

“Yes. That was question one.” Keeping his back to me, I can see it bouncing up and down slightly with a laugh.

I cross my arms over my chest and blow out a breath. “That’s not fair.”

Not even looking away from the stove, he mumbles, “A fair is what comes around once a year, and you ride rides and eat cotton candy. Next question.”

There are so many I want to ask. If I can delve into his mind, get inside, and figure out what makes him tick, I can use that information to escape his thrall. Why does he have such a hold on me? Xavier’s clever, though. Maybe I can start simple, get him going, then attack with tougher questions. Trap him into telling me something I can use against him.

“When’s your birthday?”

A little snort shoots from his nose while he flips the omelets. “November first. Next.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-three. Next question.”

I huff in exasperation. This is way less fun than I thought it would be. I can find these answers online. My main question, “Why are you so obsessed with me,” seems out of place. Also, quite egotistical.

“What’s your major? What are your plans after college?”

“Business. Getting an MBA. Next.” Compiling our meals, he brings them to the table, then gathers condiments. While I set out the plates, he fills glasses of orange juice, then slides beside me on the bench.

“Will you please expand on your answers? I feel like I’m talking to a robot.” Holding up a fork like a weapon, I wave it at his face.

“No, that was question six. Next.”

“Xavier! Come on…” I whine while his face tightens, trying hard to contain his smirk. Despite that, his shoulders shake with a little chuckle. “I suppose you’ll run your family’s business…” Maybe he’ll have to fill in his answers if I use open questions.

“Tell me about your parents.”

“That’s not a question.”

I let my heavy sigh heave in his direction. “Do you get along with your parents?”

“Somewhat.”

This is not going as well as I’d hoped. When I shovel in a bite of omelet, my taste buds make me pause. An involuntarily moan escapes my lips as I chew. The food is amazing, but I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

“Wow! You can cook. I wouldn’t expect that. I assumed you had butlers and chefs and all that growing up. Did you?”

Pausing with his glass of orange juice close to his lips, he answers, “We did.” He finishes his drink, then continues, “But I got tired of relying on them to do things for me. I learned to cook so I could eat whenever or whatever I wanted. I’ve had pretty bad insomnia since high school, and sometimes I’d fall asleep right after football practice and wake up at three in the morning. I’d go down to the kitchen and cook for myself.”

A piece of bacon falls from my open mouth as I stare at him agog, amazed he actually gave me something of himself.

Turning those piercing blue eyes to me, he smiles, a dimple forming in his left cheek. “Is that expansive enough for you, beautiful?”

Whenever he looks at me, it’s almost too much. Like he’s too handsome. Everything inside me quivers, but I manage to reply, “Yes, thank you. That felt like a conversation.”

He scarfs down his food so fast that I only get three bites before he slides his dishes back and leans on an elbow to scan my face. Watching him be so glib and carefree with me, seeing more of his commanding personality, makes my cheeks flame with heat. I’m starting to understand how he gets girls to do whatever he asks.

Taking a deep breath in, I will my heart to slow down. “Um…you played football in high school. Did you have many girlfriends?”

“Yep, I’ve had a lot of girlfriends, hookups, sex buddies, whatever. No, none of them mattered to me.” Lifting a finger, he tucks a strand of my hair behind one ear. “Not until you.” He says it as if it’s set in stone, a hard fact. With his gentle touch, I feel like I belong to him. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that’s a very dangerous place to be.

I turn my eyes away, forcing my gaze to the table, so I don’t have to see him answer. I have to know, though. “What’s so special about me?”

The silence interrupts our connection until I’m so worried, I lift my eyes back to him. He stares at the ceiling as if he has a long answer, doesn’t want to answer, or is considering how to answer. Whichever it is causes my pulse to pound in my neck, a sweat breaking out at my hairline.

Slowly, his warm tenor cuts through the tension. “Marissa, I’ve watched you for a while, and I feel like we’re compatible in a lot of ways. I think you love your family as fiercely as I do mine.” He places a hand on my thigh and squeezes gently. “I think you notice beautiful things, and I appreciate them, too. You’re generous and want to give back to the world something meaningful. That’s a quality I admire, one I don’t possess. You’re compassionate to the point you would give up your own comfort and safety.” He stares at me pointedly. “To make someone else feel better, be more at ease. I think you need me. And I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” Pausing, he searches my eyes. “Not anymore.”

My jaw falls open.

I scramble for something to say, trying not to allow some unknown emotion to overwhelm me. What is it? Surprise? Longing? Can I see myself falling for this man? My impulse to touch him is strong, but before I do, he continues.

“And I know we want the same things out of life.” He gives me a broad smile as his shoulders straighten up demonstratively.

Clearing my throat, I swallow. “A-and what is that?”

“A simple life filled with love, lots of children, large family gatherings, nights spent reading by the fire.” Shoving some black hair back from his forehead, he purses his lips for a moment. “And passionate sex.” At that, he wiggles his eyebrows up and down.

As I scan the room, I can see it: images of being in this house and us creating a life here. Stockings hung over the limestone fireplace for the children, playing in the lake on hot summer days. Taking pictures of my family’s faces to hang on the walls. Passionate sex on the deck. He’s right. It all feels very much like me, like home.

Warmth spreads through my body. I always fall too hard and fast into every relationship I’ve been in, but I’ve never had this kind of physical or emotional reaction to someone before. He confuses me. One minute, he’s smacking me in the face. The next, he’s exposing my innermost desires. It’s all moving too quick, and I’m still not sure if he’s going to chain me up in a dark basement underneath the ground somewhere.

It certainly feels like he would.

And some piece of me, the idiotic and insecure one that says I’m unlovable or damaged by my past, says that I don’t care that he would. Maybe I’d even like it. If he truly does want me.

Leaning over, his smooth lips brush against mine as his long fingers snake up to hold my chin. Still dazed by his tenderness, I take a quick breath as he pulls me over into his lap.

“What’s your next question?” His voice comes out muffled, his face snuggled into my neck, causing goosebumps to erupt along my arms. Tucking my bottom lip underneath my front teeth, I scoot around on his legs, my clit pulsing.

“Uh…” It’s hard to concentrate, with his woody aroma enveloping me, as well as his thick biceps. “What—what number are we on?”

“Well, that is number twelve.”

When I giggle, he wraps his arms tighter around my waist, holding me as close as he can. I finally gather enough focus to ask, “You said you love your family fiercely, but also said you only somewhat get along with your parents.”

“Is there a question there?” Leaning to the side, he raises an eyebrow.

“Um…care to explain that juxtaposition?”

His white teeth flash at me as I sit straighter, proud of my ability to turn that into a question. “I love my family fiercely. My father demands a lot of me. We often see things differently, and we end up butting heads often. His wife is kind and good for him, but also annoying with her constant need to please people that don’t matter.” He stops suddenly, as if realizing he shouldn’t have said something, and hides his face away from me.

“‘His wife.’ Is she not your mother?”

“No. That’s fourteen.” Shifting on the bench, he sets me down beside him. He gathers our dishes and takes them to the sink, turning his back to me.

“What happened to your mother?” His tight black T-shirt stretches as his muscles tense. The tattoos on his neck twitch as he loosens it with a pop of the bones.

“She died.” Threading a hand through his silky, black hair, he widens his arms, then leans against the sink. His gaze stays fixed out the kitchen window.

Unease gnaws at my stomach, but I still have to know. “How?”

“Suicide.” Despite trying to contain it, a gasp flows over my parted lips. Xavier busies himself cleaning up and wipes off the counters while I sit in contemplative silence. I can’t imagine losing a parent like that. But I’m not sure exactly what to say.

“I’m so sorry, Xavier.” It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk anymore, but I’m desperate to learn more.

“When? When did you lose her?”

“In high school.” His normally honeyed voice is rough, so I decide to move on.

“Do you have any siblings?” The little round muscle in the back of his jaw pops. He turns to me and stares me down with heightened emotion. Perhaps anger? The fear I had when we arrived rages back to the surface, my skin tingling with the need to flee.

“I did,” he says with finality, then leans back against the stove, crossing his legs and arms. Like he’s daring me to ask more questions.

Terror overtakes me, but his expectant looks makes me whisper, “What happened?”

“She was murdered.”

A click at the base of my throat interrupts the tension like a knife. My mind floods with further questions to ask, but mainly my heart aches for the young boy who lost his mother and sister.

Was she older or younger? When did it happen? Did they catch the murderer?

Before I can ask anything else, Xavier shoves off the counter, taking a few long strides to the entry hall. Standing with his arms wide at his sides, he holds up an arm toward the front door. “You ready to head back?”

As the moon rises in the late autumn night sky, the light streams through the tall windows. I do need to get home and suddenly feel so very tired. But part of me doesn’t want to leave.

“You-you’re taking me back home?”

“Yes, and that’s twenty. Let’s go.”

He’s quiet on the way and doesn’t hold my hand like on the drive to the cabin. Turning on some phonk music, he increases the volume until it’s too loud to have a conversation. His car races along the dark, twisted country roads like it’s on a mission, speeding through the night to arrive at our destination.

When he pulls up to my university apartment complex, it’s already well past visitor time, so I know I can’t invite him in. Not even sure why I should. Or why that thought even crosses my mind. He’s not my boyfriend, just some creepy guy, right? One who I want to have sex with and that’s it. A man I may have immoderate feelings toward…

My fingers twist in my lap as I try to figure out how we’ll say goodnight. A hug? Will he kiss me? I don’t have to wait long, as Xavier stalks around the car to open my door, his impatient hand held out for me to take. Popping the trunk, he tucks my backpack over my shoulder.

Brushing a piece of my hair back, he lifts my chin and gently taps his lips to mine. As he steps back, he quietly says, “Goodnight.”

Then he slides back into his rocket ship and flies away while I stand in the parking lot for long minutes, wondering if maybe he’ll come back and be that overly affectionate man who took me to the cabin.

But he doesn’t.

And I hate the void in my soul that he leaves behind. Making my way up to my apartment, I try to analyze everything that happened today. Maybe it was my fault for asking questions I shouldn’t. What if he lost interest in me now? I don’t understand why I feel so abandoned. Or worse, why I already miss his presence.

Kinsley’s the only one home, sitting on the couch watching some reality TV show. Sharice is probably practicing her violin or maybe had a concert tonight. Elle is likely with her latest hookup.

Kinsley glances up when I walk in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Setting my stuff down, I snag a couple of cold bottles of beer from the fridge, then join her on the couch, handing her an open one.

“Where’s Xavier?” she asks, staring at the TV, simultaneously flipping through her phone.

Taking a swig of my beer, I swallow, then ask, “Uh, who?”

“Xavier, your boyfriend?” She looks at me with her head tilted.

“Xavier Cardell?”

With a little lift to her upper lip, she snorts. “Yes, Xavier Cardell.”

Has everyone gone mad? “Xavier is not—He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Her eyebrows lift to her hairline. “Oh. Sorry. He said he was yesterday.”

“He said that? When?” That nauseating feeling hits my stomach again.

“When he came over yesterday afternoon. Invited him to pizza with us, remember? Told you guys to stop fucking and come have pizza?” She pauses, her brown eyes scrutinizing my face. “Are you feeling okay? You look pale. I mean, I know things with James just ended, but there’s no judgment. Xavier said⁠—”

“Xavier said what?” I feel like I’m about to lose my ever-loving mind.

“He said you two had decided to start seeing each other after James and Jackson. I thought you’d moved on. I figured he was who you and Elle were whispering about last night.”

She places her hand on my thigh to get my attention. “Hey, like I said, no judgment. James has been a good friend to you. I just didn’t see you two being in love, you know?”

My head nods like a robot. So Xavier had come here knowing that James was with Jackson that morning. He knew my friends would let him into my room if he told them we were dating. He hadn’t used my balcony at all… He’d just waltzed right in.

“And you see Xavier and me…”

With a little giggle and smile, she says, “Falling in love, yes.”

Ugh. First, Elle said we would get married and have babies, and now Kinsley says we’ll fall in love. I just hooked up with him for the first time two days ago! He said he’s been stalking me for a while. He read my diaries. After today, I do feel closer to knowing a little of the enigma that is Xavier, but I’m not ready for anything serious. And serious seems to be all he understands.

Downing my beer, I let the cool suds wash down my worry, then announce that I’m retiring for the evening. After my nightly routine and shower, I change into a tank top and panties. I stare at the ceiling once I’ve settled into bed, hoping I can sleep better than the last few nights, but my mind won’t let me.

James and I just ended things yesterday. Yes, he’s truly been a great “friend,” as Kinsley called him. But had I been in love with him? I’m not sure. I said the words to him plenty of times. I’m drawn to his personality, his charisma, and his take-no-shit-from-anyone attitude. I admire his tenacity and his capacity to feel for everyone. But did I love him…like, romantically?

That moment tonight when Xavier listed all the things about me he thought were special jumps into my brain. He knew just what my dream life is, and described it in detail. Even the cabin is crafted perfectly to my tastes. There’s some inexplainable pull to be touching him or to feel him deeper inside of me. And not just physically. A nagging impulse to know everything about him constantly invades my thoughts. Even just being near him causes me to feel more alive. Like colors are increasingly vibrant and sounds livelier.

No, I don’t think I did love James. Not in a deeply romantic way, at least. Maybe my friends can see me better than I can see myself. Just like Xavier seems to be able to…

But why do I let him get away with the things he does and how does he already have such control over my body?

Rolling to my side, sadness fills my heart thinking about Xavier as a boy too young and innocent to lose his mother to suicide and a sister as well. Growing up with great expectations. I guess he never had a choice in where his life would lead. Here I am complaining that I don’t know what will happen with my future, but that’s because I have choices.

That’s exactly what my painting of the girl was about: choices. I have them. Lots of people don’t. Knowing I have the privilege of selecting something different for myself makes me feel more in control.

I’m going to report Mr. Hall. If I see James and Jackson together, it could possibly hurt, but I will handle it. A surge of assuredness overtakes me. I’m going to make decisions about my career and create the life I’ve always wanted. It’s not typical of me to be this decisive, but I can change because I have options.

Oddly, I think Xavier Cardell has a lot to do with that.