Spill Over (23 page)

“Dad, you’re way late on the sex talk. Yes, I have. No, she has not. And I didn’t think I was pushing anything too far.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter what
you
think, does it?”

“What?”
             

“It matters what
she
thinks.”

It’s so obvious, and it somehow still got lost.
“Yeah.”

“
Also, do you want the car to pick up
Hélè
na? She’s coming in tonight
, right?
”

“
What
?”

“I got an email that said
she’d emailed you tons of times. S
he found me on my author site,
so she dropped me a line saying she was coming to visit.
I assumed you knew.
”
Dad sits back, and I can’t believe he’s holding his tongue on my lack of email checking finally biting me in the ass.

Dread starts to seep in. How will I explain
Hélèna
to Amber or Amber to
Hélèna
? “It’s pronounced Ellen-ah, Dad. She’s French.” It’s all I can say right now.

“Well,
I would’ve said something sooner if I thought you didn’t know
.”

Hélèna
. In a Prius. And me without a decent haircut since I got here. Also, I’ve totally let myself go, wearing nothing but
t-shirts and jeans. It’s just…
in
Podunk
, Washington, what the hell else
am
I supposed to do? “You know what her flight info is?” I ask.

“Check your email, son.” Dad
smiles and then continues typing away
.
Guess that’s my dad’s version of an ‘I told you so.’

My
email’s a mess. I have
over
a thousand
unread messages. I
do a
search for
Hélèna
’s address and come up with the letters from her.
I
don’t look at what she wrote—
just scan until I see her flight info. Shit. I have three hours to get ready and make the hour and a half drive to pick her up.

What about Amber? The thought scrapes around in my head as I shower and shave. Do I tell her? Do I not tell her? Is she speaking to me? I mean, I think she is. It was weird when she left last night, but she said she’d call, and
it’s noon, and she hasn’t
.
What does that mean? Now I’m pulling out clothes and trying to find something worthy of
Hélèna
. When I start to take off my third pair of jeans I realize I
’ve practically lost my balls
. No one but girls should spend this much time worrying
about relationships and getting ready to go out
.

I grab my wool coat and step into the living room. “I’ll be back… I don’t know, later.”

“You look good. Back to your New York self.” Dad leans back, still in front of his laptop.

“Uh… thanks. I thought I’d take her to dinner or something, while we’re still in Seattle.”

“Sounds good. We’ll see you when we see you. If you’re going to be past midnight, I’d like a call.”

“Okay.” And this is the cool thing about Dad. He really does treat me like an adult, or an equal, or something. It’s nice. Makes me feel good.

My phone’s in my pocket in case
Hélèna
calls, or Amber calls
,
and I really hate that these two girls keep ending up in the same freaking sentence.

Amber’s not on the docks, and I drive by the coffee place to see if she’s there. She isn’t. Guess we’ll talk later.

For the first time since I got here, I kind of hope she doesn’t call. I need some time to get my head on strai
ght so I know what to say
.

- - -

Hélèna
looks like she al
ways does—
too cool
to talk to,
and
too beautiful to touch. Her sho
rt dark hair is shiny and flawless, even after her long flight. She’s perpetually in heels and the tightest jeans she can fit her tiny ass into.

“Antony!” Her hand comes up in a small wave. Her Louis Vuitton is bigger than she is
,
and
I have no idea where I’ll put the
thing once we’re on the boat.

“Bonjour.” I lean in to kiss her cheek, but her lips meet mine.

And
Hélèna
knows me, knows my body, my mouth. Before I can make a coherent thought to step away our tongues are swirling together in the way
she
taught me.

“Merci.” She cocks a brow as she pulls back. Her elfin face and smooth lips looking nothing but smug. “
Tu
veux
parler
fran
ç
ais
?”

It’ll feel good to speak in French. I’ve used no language but English since arriving. “We can speak French if you like.” My accent’s sloppy, but not terrible.

“Very nice, I’m glad to s
ee you haven’t lost your touch…
in anything.” She winks.

“I don’t.
I mean, I can’t…” But now I’m not sure what words to use, even if we were speaking in English. How do I tell her no kissing? No touching? I have someone else?

“So, Antony is living on a boat with his estranged father.”

“Yes.”

“You need to start answering your emails.”
She raises her brows.

“I know.” And as we walk toward the car, I realize that
Hélèna
and I really are friends. We’re more than that, or we have been until now, but at the core of our relationship, we’re friends. Funny that I didn’t really see that
past
all the other stuff we do together. Sometimes the physical feelings sort of take over the rest of it.

“I’m so sorry
about your mother
. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I really am. No one had a cooler mom than you.” Her hand pulls my arm more tightly.

“Thanks.”

“You feel different.” She pushes her lower lip in a pout.

“What do you mean?”
Even though I sort of do. Normally I’m a shameless flirt around her, knowing how we’ll be finishing off our evening.

“I mean, usually
I can’t keep your lips or
hands off me.”

“Have you ever tried?” I tease.
The moment the words are out, I know I shouldn’t have said them. I just don’t know how to be around Hélèna as
just
friends. It’s not how we are.

She laughs.
The open-
mouth carefree laugh that only she can do.

We st
op next to the car. “It’s Dad’s,
”
I explain.

“I live in Paris. Everyone has small cars, remember? Or has it been too long since you’ve come to see me?”

“Too long, ché
rie.” I kiss her cheek as I open the car door.

The way she looks at me is questioning. If I didn’t have Amber, I’d probably have pinned her against the car and kissed her until she begged for breath. And I will have to find a way to stop having these thoughts if I
don’t want to screw up
.
Though, I kind of already have.
It adds to the constant weigh
t in my chest. I
push it down with all
the stuff I can’t deal with right now
.

Louis fits in the trunk. Miraculously, and after folding down the backseat. Maybe after she unpacks, Louis can stay out here. My chest sinks. How long will she want to
stay
?

“You okay?” she asks as I take the driver’s seat.

“You’re awar
e of the accommodations?”

“A sailboat. An O
yster. They’re nice.” She smiles, resting a hand on the inside of my thigh. Very high. “I’m sure we’ll find room.”

I’m strung up so tight I almost run into two
cars on our way out of the lot, but how do I tell her to move her hand when it’s usually me seeing what I can get away with?

“You look older, Antony.”

“I am older.” I allow myself to glance at her. Nearly black hair, incredible jaw
line. She knows she’s the perfect stereotype of the hot French girl who lives in Paris. She loves every glance, every look, and has always, always, been older than her actual age.
Her mother is single, wealthy from I don’t know what, and seems to always know people in high places.

“You know what I mean.”

I do know what she means.
She means because of
Mom, and I have to stop the thought there, because crying in front of
Hélèna
is not an option
.

I take
her
to the restaurant Dad, Lynn, Amber and I all went to. All I can think about is Amber’s legs.
Hélèna
keeps telling me how sorry she is that she didn’t come sooner, that I look lost. I try to brush it off. My mouth opens to tell
her about Amber, but I can’t. I
t won’t work.

Hélèna
’s twenty-one. She drinks a bottle of four hundred dollar wine with our dinner. She even tries to pick up the check.

We get c
urious looks all through dinner. W
e
continue
speak
ing
French.
It feels great.
Hélèna
and I always speak French together. Mom didn’t speak well enough to keep up, especially with the amount of odd slang
Hélèna
’s always used.

We
head for
Dad’s car. Again, she stands by the passenger’s door, waiting for me to make a move
on her
.
She slowly lowers to sitting when
I don’t.

“I’m so t
ired.” She leans the chair back as I climb in.

“Go to sleep.” I rub her shoulder a few times.

“You’ll have to carry me when we get there.”

“I think I can manage.” I smirk.
But as soon as I do, I realize I’m falling back into our flirtation again, which I really need to quit. I just don’t know how to be around her in any other way.

“There you are.” Her finger touches my dimple
. “My Antony.”
Her eyes close and she
drift
s
off as I drive.

I’m wound up tighter than I’ve ever been. What am I going to tell Amber? What will I say to
Hélèna
? This whole thing is a disaster.
I pick up my phone and flip it in my hands, knowing I need to call Amber, knowing I need to try and explain, but I don’t know how to do that wh
en
Hélèna
’s sleeping in the passenger’s
seat.

I’m pretty sure I’m screwed here.

- - -

Hélèna
’s still asleep or passed out when I get back. I grab her trunk first and haul it onto the boat.

“Wow.” Dad’s brows go up as I lower the trunk in.

“You’ll see why tomorrow.”
Because
Hélèna
will look impecca
ble, even though we’re in small-
town
,
Washington.
She’ll
stick out here
as someone who definitely doesn’t belong
, but she won’t care a bit.
In fact, she’ll
thrive on
it.

I walk past Amber’s boat, and almost knock, but chicken out and c
ontinue up to the car
.

I pull
Hélèna
out
of the car
and cradle her in my arms. It makes me feel strong, like a man. Good. Her head lolls against my chest.

“I sorry, Antony. Drank too much at dinner.”
Her voice is soft and sloppy.

“I got ya.” I chuckle. “You weigh nothing.”

It’s tricky getting through the door and I walk very slowly down the ramp and nearly run into Amber.

My first instinct is to drop
Hélèna
, but she’s miraculously still in my arms. A
mber and I stand, still staring, my heart banging this moment into my memory.

“I didn’t know
Hélèna
was coming. I found out hours ago.” I shift to make sure I don’t drop her, and she’s incredibly still asleep against me.

“
Antony
.”
Hélèna
’s hands clasp me more tightly, but her head’s still solidly resting on my, and her body’s still limp.