6. Blake

CHAPTER 6

Blake

" S omething on your mind, bro?" Heath asks me, snapping me out of my haze.

Actually it's not so much as haze as a violent storm cloud that's kidnapped my brain, prodding it with lightning bolts. The Heart Thief —maybe not the most original title, but it's stuck —has taken over my life, and I'm pretty sure Amanda's as well. In fact, I've spent the better part of the last two weeks working either with her or by myself on the project, constantly writing and brainstorming, as well as reading as many good books as I can to help my prose along.

I haven't seen Heath once, haven't even gotten a good shag. The brunette with Mr. Mercedes called me the other day and I managed to go out with her for the sake of getting laid but she turned bashful by the end of the night and I was too distracted to try and take it any farther. We both went our separate ways and though I told her we should meet up again, it's getting harder and harder for my brain to focus on anything but the story.

The best part of all this shit is that working at the store now is something I look forward to. Despite my ambitions as a writer I had never really taken advantage of the fact that I have a world of books at my fingertips, that this world of books will soon be my life. Now I'm finding inspiration down every shelf and I'm interacting with customers more and more, rifling through their brains to figure out just how to craft the best work that I can, what exactly they're drawn to in the books they read. It's even made me more inspired for my own work-in-progress and I find myself gravitating toward that when I have nothing else to do.

"I'm here," I tell Heath, sitting back in my chair and watching the traffic flow down Wharf Street, the glittering blue harbor on the other side. In two weeks, spring has become an onslaught and even though it's late March, the cherry trees are in full bloom and everyone is wearing shorts. Right now it's T-shirt weather and knowing it could go back to being cold and rainy tomorrow, we've snagged a table on the patio in the square to have a few pints.

"You're not," Heath says. "You might as well be on your phone like everyone else." He glances around us and indeed, most people are staring at their phones instead of the view or their company. "Last time I saw you, you were present."

"I was drunk," I remind him. "We both were."

He studies me over his beer before taking a sip. "So then tell me, what's the real reason you've been holding out on me these last few weeks?"

I look at him frankly. "It's the truth. Sorry to disappoint you but there is no other reason. I've been writing. I'm caught up in it."

He doesn't believe me. "I've never seen you get so wrapped up in an assignment before."

"I've never had an interesting assignment before."

And, to be honest, I've never had an interesting work partner before.

I'm shocked at how much I've come to enjoy working with Amanda. Maybe enjoy is too plain of a word. I can do better: challenging . The whole thing is challenging. She keeps me on my toes. Not just in terms of writing and trying to better myself, because, let's face it, if she's competitive then I am too. We're both trying to outwrite each other, which is kind of working in our favor (though I'm sure Professor Dumbass will be the judge of that).

No, she keeps me on my toes because every time I'm with her I'm not quite sure what's she's going to say. She's completely predictable until she isn't. She's entirely too serious, uptight and while I retract anything prudish I've thought about her after she admitted she had a large stack of vibrating penises, she's incredibly stiff at times.

And yet, sometimes the strangest things slip out of her mouth.

Her mouth.

Which I can't help but focus on every time she speaks.

Those lips I keep imaging sucking my dick, slowly, loving every wet second of it.

Ignore it, Crawford.

Right. Where was I? Oh yes. She'll occasionally say something that makes me think I may have pegged her wrong. With her penchant for fantasy, I knew she was already on the nerdy side but I had no idea how deep it ran until she admitted she slept outside the movie theatre in order to be one of the first to see the new Star Wars .

"My boyfriend thought I was crazy but I did it anyway," she had said.

"Your boyfriend?" This was the first I had heard of him.

It turns out she did have a boyfriend, someone she was with for four years but they'd recently broken up. I tried to get more info out of her but she clammed up, something I noticed she does a lot whenever the conversation becomes about something personal .

And fair enough. I'm not exactly opening up to her either. After all, we're just class partners and most of the time our conversation is entirely about the novella. It works for us anyway, at this rate we'll be done the project long before it's due, which will give me more time to work on my own stuff.

As if he can read my thoughts, Heath asks, "So have you pushed aside your book in the meantime?"

I take a long sip of my beer and tilt my head back to the sun. After a long and dark winter, the early spring feels good. "No, I'm writing it on the side. If anything I'm more motivated."

Heath is one of the few people who know I'm trying to finish my science fiction horror novel, Blood Aurora , something I've been working on for a few years now. When Amanda poked fun at my Lord of the Rings reference at the library, I had to laugh it off even though it's not something I advertise. Believe me, as much as women love a good fucking shag and a British accent, there's something about nerd boys that turn them off. I thank the Big Bang Theory for that.

He runs his hand through his shaggy hair and smirks. "I'm guessing it's the company you're keeping that's really motivating you." His head swivels as two fit blondes in yoga pants walk past the patio and take a seat at the bar adjacent. "Two for two," he comments.

The blondes don't interest me. I mean, they should. One looks like she does porn to fund her education, the other has small tits on alert and skin that gives off the "I spent winter vacation in Cabo San Lucas" glow. But it's Heath's comment that has my attention.

"You mean Amanda?" I ask, bringing his attention back.

"Maybe she's good for you. You still haven't fucked yet?"

I snort. "Right. Like that's on the agenda."

"Still a stick in the mud?"

"Uh, still something that hasn't even crossed my mind. "

Not really.

"I'm impressed," he remarks, his eyes going back to the blondies. "I think."

"She's become easier to be around," I admit. "But in this situation, we're strictly partners."

"Are you just saying that because you've already tried to get in her pants and you failed miserably?"

"Heath, dear, you know I don't try anything. I just do."

"That sounds borderline rapey."

I ignore that. "All I have to do is be myself and the rest is up to them. Why do you think I'm not making eyes at the girls over there? It wouldn't be fair to you otherwise."

"You're full of shit," he says, flipping around his coaster. "I think I liked you better when you were with Rachel."

"Of course, less competition," I say glibly even though his remark felt like a hot poker to my gut. There were a lot of things that were better when I was with Rachel.

Heath lowers his sunglasses and waggles his eyebrows and I glance over my shoulder to see one of the girls giggling behind her menu. "Seriously," I say. "You're going to woo her from afar?"

"Whatever works," he says, flashing her a grin before turning to me. "Hey I'm renting the cabin near Sooke again this weekend, Watchtower and Damon are coming. You in? You can borrow my spare drysuit again, you practically stretched it out last time." I open my mouth. "Not in the cock area," he quickly adds. "That would be impossible."

Even though I'm not as good at surfing as Heath and his surfer buddies Watchtower and Damon, I'm a fast learner and have been picking up the pace each time I go. The last time we packed up Heath's jeep with the boards and rented a cabin up north on the coast, we discovered a cabin of surfer chicks nearby. There was a bonfire, loads of booze and drugs, and things got pretty out of hand. I ended up having sex with two of the girls at low tide. It was pretty fucking magical – until one of the girl's boyfriends showed up. I'm not proud of my naked run down the beach and to safety but he was wielding a piece of driftwood like a fucking baseball bat.

"This time will be even better," Heath says, trying to tempt me.

"I'm sure it will. But I have to pass."

"Dude, what? Why?"

"I have plans," I say and hope he'll leave it at that but of course he won't.

"Don't tell me it's because of that bitch."

I'm surprised to find myself glaring at him. "She's not a bitch, she's just…prickly. And yeah, I do have plans with her. We've both got exams coming up – as do you, by the way – and we need to get together on Sunday to start finalizing things while we can. One more chapter each and it's almost done."

He groans and leans back in his seat, shaking his head. "It's like I don't even know you, man."

"That's because I'm Bruce Wayne."

His forehead crumples in confusion. "What?"

"Never mind," I say, picking up my beer. "I'll pay for the drinks. You just go say hello to the blondes before they lose interest. I'll catch you later."

"Works for me." He finishes his drink and gets up. "Thanks, bro. See ya."

I signal over the waitress to get the check and she's halfway to my table before I realize her shift must have ended and there's a new girl on duty.

The Nair girl.

Bollocks.

"Blake," she says coldly, stopping by the table, one hand on her hip, a tray of beer in the other. "Didn't expect to see your face around here again." She glances at the top of my head. "How's your hair?"

"You're lucky I don't keep conditioner in my hair for very long. One minute and it's rinsed."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she says, though I see the flash of anger and disappointment at her revenge not working.

I decide to push it. "In fact," I tell her with a grin, tugging at a strand. "I think it's shinier and thicker than ever."

I know I'm playing with fire here but I just can't help it.

"Do you even remember my name?" she asks, her tone pure ice.

"Do we have to go down this path?" I tell her, shooting her another smile that I know makes my dimples pop, one of the things she kept commenting on when I took her out. Because, no, I don't remember her name. Susan comes to mind but I think that's because she's the character in The Heart Thief .

She takes a few steps until her petite frame is right beside mine and brings the tray of beer dangerously close to my head. "Tell me my name or this beer is going all over you."

"You wouldn't dare," I say to her in a hush.

She raises her brows to say she would.

Cindy? Sandra? Cersei? I wish she was wearing a nametag.

"Stella?" I offer, wincing because I know it's wrong.

"Stella is the name of the other waitress you fucked over here," she seethes. The tray wiggles. I shut my eyes. "It's Magdalene."

You think I would have remembered that. "Like the biblical hooker?"

Her eyes narrow. The tray tilts. The pint glasses slant toward me.

Crash !

Beer goes everywhere, over my head, over my shoulders, my lap, my legs.

I'm legit sitting in a beer shower.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," she cries out in a string of lies.

She pretends to fuss over me while I sit there, soaked from head to toe, the beer pints rolling on the table. She's lucky none of them broke and I'm lucky one didn't knock me on the head. The last thing I need right now is a concussion, though with everyone on the patio, plus onlookers, staring at me, losing consciousness would be preferable.

"Oh dear, I'm so clumsy," she adds, bringing her washcloth to my crotch and patting it there — hard . It's like she's playing Whack-A-Mole with my dick.

"Jesus," I hiss, trying to protect my balls. "Do you want me to report you for manhandling the customer?"

"I'll get Stella, the manager , to clean this up," she says smartly before turning and storming into the pub.

Stella too? Fuck me. I get up, absolutely dripping pale ale and porter, and yell after her, "Luckily beer is good for my hair too!"

I throw a few twenties on the table and get out of there before something worse happens.

"Dude!" Heath yells at me, laughing, as I pass by him and the blondes. "It's Karma, dude."

"Shut the fuck up," I growl at him as the blondes giggle and quickly head home to shower.

After the bar antics, I play it safe for the rest of the weekend. Last I texted Amanda she was still down for our meeting on Sunday night, so Sunday morning when my dad says he needs someone to watch Kevin while he and Angelica go to a friend's for lunch, I volunteer.

When I pull up to the house, I'm not surprised to see Kevin sitting glumly on the front stoop, plastic sword in hand that he's whacking against the steps. With his glasses and cape sprawled around him, he looks like a nerdy and bored warrior waiting between battles.

I grew up in a small house in the woods on the Saanich Peninsula. It was up on a small crest, didn't get a lot of sun, though you could kind of see the ocean through the giant cedars if you squinted hard enough. It was an upscale neighborhood though, with lots of whitewashed mansions and groomed acreages, many waterfront with their own docks. Our house was this tiny little ugly dot, like a tick amongst everything fresh and healthy, but even though my mother was glad to get out of there when she took me to England, I was heartbroken. I didn't want to leave my dad and I loved that small, dark place with the mossy roof and the rain collection barrel where I'd watch bugs drown.

The minute my dad met Angelica though, he sold the house. Now they live in one of those sprawling houses my mother had envied and my dad is living the charmed life.

But I also know that not everything is as it seems. With Crawford's Books losing money, they're a single income family. They may have this giant house with the brick driveway and fruit trees in the garden, but Angelica has no choice but to work around the clock to keep it.

"Hey bud," I tell Kevin as I lock the car and stroll over. "Where are the rents?"

He shrugs lazily. He doesn't look at me. "I don't know. Getting ready."

"Feeling pissed off they didn't invite you?"

"No," he grumbles, then stabs the sword between bricks. "I hate the Chaunceys. "

"That's a strong word," I tell him, sitting beside him. I practically have to shove him over to make room.

"Yeah well they're a bunch of turdburgulars," he says.

I can't help but smile. It reminds me of the insults Amanda lets loose every now and then.

"Turdburgulars are the worst," I tell him.

I totally get it though. In the time I've been here, I've met the Chaunceys on a few occasions and they're straight out of the Lord and Lady Douchebag sketch from SNL. The funny thing is, I lived in England all my life and I know just the kind of people they're trying to be. Sometimes when I look at Amanda I wonder if she was brought up by people like this, ones who think they own the land because they were part of the British stock who arrived here at the turn of the century. What they need to be told is that colonial Canadian history is so short and minute compared to the centuries we have going on overseas. If you have an important bloodline in England it's because you can trace your family back to the bloody Dark Ages and beyond. Here it's if someone's lived in the same house for a few decades.

"Ah, you're here," my dad says as he and Angelica open the door, stepping out behind us. "Thought I would have heard your car from a mile away."

"I still don't know what you were thinking letting him buy that thing from Uncle Mike," Angelica says derisively, flicking her long dark ponytail over her shoulder. Angelica looks like a lesser version of Kate Beckinsale and she's still out of his league. Come to think of it, so was my mom. There must be something to the Crawford charm.

I let her comment about the car slide. So does my dad. His face goes red briefly but he keeps his mouth shut. "We'll see you in a few hours," he says tersely and the two of them slip past us, heading for their Lexus. I wonder if my dad knows how silly it is to be driving a car like that while on the verge of bankruptcy. With how crabby he is lately, I'm assuming he does.

They've just driven out of sight, disappearing behind a row of budding maple trees, when Kevin quietly announces, "They're getting divorced."

It takes me a moment to process this. "What?"

He looks up at me and nods, mouth set in a firm line like he's determined not to cry. "It's true."

"What? Kevin, what are you talking about? They aren't getting divorced." Though the moment I say it, I know I'm wrong.

"Yes they are," Kevin says, stabbing the ground again for emphasis. "They fight all the time and when they aren't fighting, they don't talk to each other."

"That's just marriage, buddy."

"No," he says sharply. "It's not. I keep hearing them talking about ‘when do we tell Kevin?' and ‘wait until school is over' and ‘you're an asshole, Paul.'"

"But—"

"And then I found letters from lawyers. Two different ones. I googled them. They're divorce lawyers!"

Bloody hell, this kid is resourceful.

I shake my head. "Oh, Kevin. I'm sure there's some explanation."

"There is no explanation!" he yells at me, getting to his feet. "You're just like them! You don't tell me the truth, all you do is bullshit."

I get to my feet. "Watch your language, Kev."

"Blake! Fuck! You!" he half-yells, half-sobs, and then starts running around the house, the cape flying behind him. I stand where I am, completely gobsmacked. I'd never heard him swear like that before but I guess this is as good of a reason as any.

My dad and Angelica, getting a divorce. No wonder my dad has been so grouchy, why I've been watching Kevin and working at the store more and more. They've got a divorce in the works and my stepbrother will be caught in the middle, again, since he already had to go through a divorce when he was younger.

I can only hope that whatever agreement they have that my dad doesn't get completely screwed over. Angelica isn't the warmest, or nicest, person but she has to know that she's holding all the cards and my father has practically nothing.

I sigh, knowing I have to find Kevin even though he probably just wants to be alone. I walk around the house, hands in my pockets, feeling terrible that everything my dad wanted will once more be taken away.

I find Kevin sitting with his back against a blossoming cherry tree, playing a game on his iPad mini.

"Are you winning?" I ask him gently, trying to see over his shoulder.

He twists away, trying to not let me see. After a few beats he says, "It's not about winning in this game. There are no winners."

"Are there losers?"

"Yes. You can die."

"That doesn't sound like a very fair game." I pause. "Actually it sounds a bit like life, doesn't it?"

When he doesn't answer I crouch down beside him. "Look, I know you don't want to talk about it and that's fine, but when you do want to talk about it, I'm here for you, okay?" I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. "Okay?"

Finally he nods.

"Tell you what, we'll do whatever you want to do for the rest of the day."

He glances at me shyly before shoving his glasses up his nose. "For real?"

I hesitate, not sure what I'm getting myself into. "For real. I could dress up and we could wage a battle. You know I was thinking of you the other week and I bought some fun props for us to use. Elf ears, witch makeup, a new sword."

"Really?" Now he's excited.

"Just for you buddy," I tell him. "I was saving it for when my school quiets down but we can use them now."

He nods, chewing that over. Then he says, "No, we can save that. You know what I want to do today? Visit Fluffy."

I groan. "Kevin," I whine.

"Please," he says and then adds sternly. "You promised. Anything."

"Okay, fine," I say getting to my feet and hauling him up to his. "I'll take you to see Fluffy. But you are not to take him out of the cage, you got it?"

"It's a terrarium," he corrects me.

"Whatever. It's Satan's playground is what it is."

He smiles gleefully and then takes off running toward the car, arms raised, waving his sword like he's about to battle an enemy. I can't help but feel the same way.

Luckily everything goes well and Kevin was just content to tap on the glass and feed Fluffy crickets, which I was forced to watch with him as he gave the gruesome scene some National Geographic worthy commentary.

When I got back to the house, Kevin was in a lot lighter mood, even though he started pouting when I had to leave.

"Please, stay for dinner," he whines as we stand in the hall.

Angelica pokes her head around the corner. "You're welcome to stay Blake." And if my eyes aren't failing me her expression is practically pleading. I guess she sees how much her son needs a friend right now.

I sigh, unable to say no. "Okay," I say and he shrieks with joy. "Let me just make a phone call first."

Even though I'm glad Kevin's happy I know Amanda isn't going to be. I dial her number—it doesn't feel right to text her this—and head outside to talk.

"Hey," she says, sounding surprised and I can't help but smile briefly at hearing her voice. I wipe it off my face right away.

"Hey, listen," I say and then I hear her groan over the phone. "What?"

"I know what you're going to say," she says flatly.

"Pretty sure you don't. I have to cancel tonight. I'm so sorry but?—"

"Yup, I knew it."

I feel a twinge of frustration. "What does that mean?"

"It means I knew you were going to cancel. Let me guess, hot date?"

"Hot date?" I repeat.

"You're a terrible liar."

I press my palm into my forehead. "Why are you saying all these confusing things?"

"Rio saw you on Wharf Street a few days ago, hitting on some blondes with your friend."

"Did Rio also mention I had a heap of beer spilled on me?" Granted, I wasn't the one hitting on them, or even talking to them, so I don't know what the hell Rio is talking about but since Amanda is already jumping to conclusions, I have no need to correct her.

"She said something about that too," she says.

"And why do you care anyway?"

"Me?" she asks snidely. "I just don't want my grade to suffer because you can't keep it in your pants."

Oh that fucking does it. "Fine," I tell her. "I do have a hot date. Two blondes. Sorry I can't meet up with you but I think a threesome takes precedent over homework."

"Oh fuck off," she says.

"You're the third person to tell me that this whole weekend. It must be good luck."

She hangs up.

I stare at the phone for a while, the triumph over pissing her off slowly slipping away. I really should have told her the truth, but I just couldn't help myself. Let her think what she wants of me, what does it matter in the end? I'm no stranger to judgement and what she thinks of me should be my last concern. There are bigger things to worry about here.

I take in a deep breath and head inside the house.