Stir Me Up Page 15

  “They’re to keep your hands safe,” Julian says, slightly concerned. “They seemed better than the thin ones.”

  How thoughtful—and adorable. I glance at Dad; his mouth twitches a little. “Cutting gloves are a good idea,” he says. Though no self-respecting chef in his kitchen ever would wear them.

  “They are. They’re perfect,” I reassure Julian. “Thank you.”

  Dad runs back into the kitchen to invert his sticky bun pan, and when Estella goes to lend him a hand, I sneak over to Julian.

  “I wanted to get you something you needed,” he says, kind of defensively, once we’re alone.

  “You did. The gloves are an excellent idea.” I work up my courage and kiss his temple.

  He smiles a little and closes his eyes.

  “You like that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Try it again and I’ll see.”

  “The sticky buns are served!” Estella shouts out. And what can we do? We both go in for breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty

  Because I’m actually pretty spoiled—or maybe because I work so hard on other holidays—Dad lets me leave work at 5:00 p.m. on New Year’s Eve. I head home and ask Julian if I can use his bathroom, because my curling iron and most of my makeup, other than the mascara and lip gloss, are still down there. Also, it’s an excuse to be with him. I leave the door purposely open, not minding if he watches me get ready.

  “Where are you off to?” he asks.

  We haven’t kissed again, but at least he hasn’t steered clear of me since that night he first came home. We’re close again. It’s a start. “Taryn’s having a New Year’s Eve party,” I tell him. Suddenly, a thought hits me. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “What?”

  “Come with me.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I’m not going to a high school party. Especially one thrown by the world’s biggest drama nerd.”

  “You only met her once,” I say with mock scorn. “Come on, Julian. There will be all sorts of dangerous beasts at this party.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I need a fierce warrior to protect me and keep me safe.” I give him my best smile.

  “Yeah, I’m sure I’d do a great job of it. On crutches.”

  “You would. Please? Please please?”

  “All right, fine,” he says, very grudgingly.

  “Yay! Go put on something nice.”

  He frowns. “I have to dress up for these people?”

  “Jeans at least.”

  “Why, what are you wearing?” He eyes me. Because I got out of the shower recently and am still in a bathrobe.

  “I’ll find something. Get ready, okay?”

  He grumbles his way to the closet, and I go racing out into the hall. “Estella, guess what? Julian’s coming with me to the party.”

  She peeks her head out of the laundry room. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. He’s being social.”

  “Wow,” she says, impressed. “In his wheelchair?”

  “On crutches.”

  “That’s fantastic—as long as he won’t get too sore. I’ll just check with him while you get ready.”

  “Right.” I head upstairs. What I didn’t tell Julian is that I actually bought a new dress for this party. It’s a little ivory lace cocktail dress, tight through the body, with capped sleeves and a big ruffle at the hem. It’s completely cute and wasn’t all that expensive. I slip into my shoes, nothing fancy, just little heels, and then go downstairs.

  Julian’s already there and waiting for me. He catches a glimpse of me when I’m about halfway down, and his eyes go wide. Then Estella comes up behind him and his face goes blank again.

  “You look sensational,” she says to me. “Right, Julian?”

  “Mmph,” he says. He’s in dark jeans and a black dress shirt. Nice.

  Estella looks over at him. “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just about to go to a high school New Year’s party filled with drama nerds.”

  “Perfect,” she says with a smile. “Have fun.”

  Julian rides with the front seat pushed way back for his legs. I help him with the crutches and notice his wheelchair’s in the back.

  “Just in case I need it,” he says. “Estella insisted.”

  “Sure.”

  We start the drive in silence, possibly because of the need for the chair.

  “How big a party are we talking about?” he asks after awhile.

  “Pretty big. Taryn’s popular.”

  We get to the house and the party is even bigger than I expected. Forty, maybe fifty kids are inside. Taryn’s folks are hiding in their bedroom. They usually come out later in the evening though, to make sure everyone’s safe to drive home.

  “Hey babe, look who you brought with you.”

  “Hi, Taryn,” Julian says. “I’m gate-crashing.”

  “Impossible, you’re at the top of the list. Come on, come in!”

  Taryn, while hosting a party, is like one of those big glittering disco balls they have on certain ceilings—all the light spins and reflects off her. She is, in every way, the life of the party. People are smoking out back, the punch is spiked, the music is blaring. Couples are involved in various stages of making out in different corners. “I remember this,” Julian says with a smile.

  I’m suddenly fidgety. “Want some punch?” We start working our way into the crowd. I, of course, know all of these people—small town, after all—and I start introducing Julian around. He is, in a word, charming. All sarcasm and defensiveness are gone. It occurs to me this could be because no one here knows his leg is missing. To look at him in loose jeans and sneakers you’d think he maybe suffered an athletic injury of some kind because of the crutches. That’s about it.

  As people start getting drunker, the karaoke machine goes on. Most of the people here can seriously sing and love to show off, so this is definitely a party favorite. Though there are the occasional joke singers who just suck, most of the people who take the mike are great.

  “Come on, Cami,” someone cries. “Your turn.”

  Julian looks at me. “Go on.”

  “No.”

  “Come on. I want to hear you.”

  “No. You do it.”

  He frowns. “No chance.”

  “Julian will do it,” I say—and then make a little face at him. “Ju-li-an! Ju-li-an!”

  A few join in the chant with me.

  “All right,” he says, much to my surprise. “Fine. Give me the thing.”

  My friend Chad is cuing up the songs.

  Julian reads through the list. “How about this one?”

  Chad peers doubtfully at Julian. “Sure.”

  “What did you pick?” I ask him.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Okay!” Chad yells. “Quiet for the newbie!”

  Julian props his crutch under his armpit and holds the mike in his hand. He just kind of chants through the beginning. I’m watching him, not the screen, but suddenly I realize this song sounds very familiar. There’s a musical riff...and then a call for mother—in a clear, round tone. Eyebrows go up in the crowd. Heads turn.

  Holy shit. Julian’s singing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” And he sounds great.

  Julian sees my expression, and gives a wink.

  We’re in a room full of drama geeks who all know the song completely by heart, so of course before Julian even hits the halfway mark, everyone’s singing full-blast along with him. As soon as it’s finished, the room erupts in cheers, and Julian’s instantly engulfed by his new adoring fans.

  “If you don’t want him,” Taryn kids, “I do.”

  “It’s not a question of what I want.”

  “He’ll come around.”

  “You think?” I ask.

  “Yeah, of course.” Taryn goes over to where he is in the center of the crowd. “Okay, Julian. Spill. You did musicals in high school.”

  “One.” He look
s momentarily sheepish.

  “One?”

  He nods.

  “You’re a closet theater geek.”

  “It was only once.”

  “HE’S ONE OF US! HE’S PART OF THE TRIBE!”

  I smile at him.

  “Oh no,” he says. “Here it comes.”

  “What musical was it?”

  He hides a smile. “Uh-uh, I’m not telling.”

  “Bye Bye Birdie? Fame? Footloose? Little Shop of Horrors?” Taryn asks.

  Julian winces.

  “Were you Seymour?”

  “Maybe,” he admits, embarrassed.

  “Ahhh, I knew it!” Taryn cries. Soon everyone’s singing songs from the show. Julian slips away from them and comes over to me.

  “You can’t leave, you’re the lead.”

  “I had to before they started making me sing Suddenly Seymour for them.”

  “Suddenly Seymour...” I sing.

  “Not you, too.”

  He’s swallowed, once again, by the crowd.

  Okay, my friends like Julian more than they like me. He’s swarmed by girls in particular, and I stop watching him, so I won’t seem like a stalker. And also so he won’t notice I’m doing it.

  “Hey,” he says, coming up behind me a few minutes later.

  “Hi. Having fun?”

  “Actually, I could use an aspirin.”

  “I have some in my purse. Want it?”

  “Please.”

  I go to Taryn’s room to get it for him, and he surprises me by following me there.

  We go in and he shuts the door.

  “Do you think Taryn would mind if I sat down here a minute?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  Julian transfers to the end of the bed and sighs when his weight comes off his legs.

  “How much pain are you in?” I ask.

  “Not that much.”

  “We can go home. I don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t want us to leave,” he says. “I like your friends. They’re fun.”

  “So are you. You sing really well.”

  “Not that well. But thanks.”

  He takes the aspirin and I think of how I was in his arms that night he came back, and how I want to kiss him again. I come up behind him on the bed and tentatively start rubbing his shoulders. He sighs, obviously enjoying it.

  “What made you decide to do a musical?” I ask.

  “I did it for a girl.”

  “Hmph.”

  His eyes close. “Before that, I wouldn’t sing for anyone but my mom.”

  “Did she like you singing for other people?”

  “Yeah, she was thrilled. She was always trying to get me to do more with it.”

  “Oh shit. Sorry,” Taryn says, walking in and seeing us. She hurriedly leaves, shutting the door behind her.

  “Is it all right that we’re in here?” Julian asks.

  I’ve been in this room before at a few of Taryn’s parties. With Luke. The thought makes me uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

  “We can go back out to the party,” Julian says, possibly sensing my discomfort.

  “If you want.”

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  It sounds like the karaoke has moved up a decade to hits of the eighties. Soon we both hear a long string of everyone singing Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah...

  Julian and I both smile at the sound.

  “To stay here,” I say in answer to his question.

  He touches my arm. “There are many good reasons why that’s probably a very bad idea.”

  “But?” I say, hopefully.

  “But...” he says, “the truth is I’d like nothing...”

  TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX!

  “...nothing better.”

  FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!

  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  He moves in slowly, and then gives me a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle. “Happy New Year,” he whispers against my lips. I wrap my arm around his neck, and he draws me into his arms and moves his mouth against mine. I smile. Because he tastes so fine I hope nothing ever passes my lips again. I mean, what good is food when you can taste this? A mouth so rich and laced with hints of...

  “Browned butter.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You.”

  “Brown what?”

  “Nothing,” I breathe and I’m treated to more.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I’m hung over,” Taryn says the next morning. “I just threw up.”

  “Lovely. Thanks for sharing.”

  “I can’t hear about romantic kisses now. My head hurts. And it depresses me.”

  “Okay, sorry. Go back to bed and try to sleep it off. Feel better!”

  “I hate cheerful people,” she says and hangs up.

  The restaurant is closed on New Year’s Day, so Dad and Estella have decided to drive up to Hogback. Hogback is this mountain with big panoramic views. To be honest, I never thought much of it, but it does have long winding roads that I think must be pretty fun to drive. Anyway, they walk out around eleven, and I decide to camp out in Julian’s bathroom with various beauty products.

  “Which one do you like better?” I ask, holding up two bottles of nail polish.

  He’s in the doorway, in his wheelchair, watching me. “The pink. You always do your nails while sitting up on the counter like that?”

  “Yep. Why? Problem?”

  “No,” he says with a smile.

  “You can watch TV or something. Isn’t there football?”

  “Okay.” He turns to leave. “You know, you do have your own bathroom.”

  “Estella gave me one drawer up there. That’s not nearly enough room. Why, do you need to use the facilities or something?”

  “No, you can have the facilities,” he calls out.

  I put the nail polish aside—and eye my jar of Fango mud. Hmm...

  Julian looks up from his book and notices my jar of mud and mischievous smile. “What are you up to?”

  “You know, your pores are really enlarged.”

  He peers at the jar in my hands. “What’s that?”

  “Mud mask. Your skin could use some rebalancing.”

  “Nope. No way. You’re not girling me up with that crap.”

  I take the TV remote away. “How about if I just give you those stripes they put under your eyes for football?”

  “Nope. No eye black.”

  I shut the TV off. “War paint then?”

  “Let’s put the mud back out in the yard where it belongs.”

  “Not this stuff. It’s too expensive.”

  “Expensive?” He takes the jar from me, opens it, sniffs it—and I push the jar onto his nose. “Ach.”

  “Oops,” I say with a grin.

  “All right, that’s it.” He takes some mud and tries to smear it on me, but I intercept his hand and make a grab for the jar.

  “Let go,” I cry, laughing and struggling for it.

  “Not a chance.”

  I get some anyway. “Hah!”

  “No, don’t come near me with that,” he says—and I paste him. “Ach!”

  “Ooh, the big fierce warrior’s upset.” He comes in for the kill. “Wait!”

  “No.”

  “Yes!”

  “No. No mercy.” He tries to smear me—and I wind up smearing him instead.

  “HAH!” I cry. “No mercy for you! Nice nose.”

  His muddy hand touches my stomach.

  “Hey, faces only.”

  “That’s not in the rule book.”

  My eyes close as his hands smear mud across my stomach.

  “There,” he says. “Now your innie’s a little mud pit.” His hand trails across my middle. I squirm slightly, and his eyes meet mine. They’re darker now, heavier. “Where next?”

  My breath catches, and my mind goes blank. I can’t think of what to say in response. He reaches for more mud and smears it on my right cheek, on my forehead. Then he lowers his
face down to mine, so his lips brush lightly against my lips. Our mouths briefly meet—then he looks at me. “Are you sure about this? Being with me?” His eyes are complicated. Unreadable.

  “God, yes. Are you?”

  He lowers his mouth back down to mine. “Yes.”

  His muddy hand trails into my hair as he pulls me in against him, as his mouth truly finds mine. I wrap my arms around him, mud forgotten, mouth lost, body longing to be held closer just as his arms tighten around me.

  “Julian...”

  He cradles my head more possessively in his hands.

  “HELLO? ANYONE HOME?”

  My heart gives way—to a heart attack. “Uhh!”

  “I thought they’d be gone for hours,” he says.

  “Me, too.” I glance down at myself—I’m covered in mud.

  We stare helplessly at each other.

  “JULIAN? CAMI?” Estella calls out.

  “What do I do?” I ask, growing frantic.

  “JULIAN?”

  “Shower,” he says. “Go. Go go go!”

  I leave him, run into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The hot water hits me and as I scrub off the mud, I realize something obvious—that Julian’s amazing—maddening, insightful, intelligent and surprisingly tender under the gruff exterior. I come out of the shower and change into spare clothes I still have in the closet. Julian’s in his wheelchair when I come in. Mud is still smeared all over him and all over the bed. I can’t help but smile.

  “Did Estella see you?” I ask.

  “No, I hid my head and pretended to be asleep.”

  “Good thinking. What are they doing back so soon?”

  Julian rolls his eyes a little. “From what I overheard, she got carsick.”

  “Ahh...” I straddle his legs so they’re between mine.

  He looks up at me. “Dangerous position.”

  “Hmm...is it?”

  There’s the sexy tug at the corner of his mouth again.

  “I can move,” I offer.

  “Up higher?”

  “You wish.”

  “Down lower?”

  I bend down to him.

  “This is the first time,” he murmurs, gazing at me, “that I haven’t hated being in this chair.”

  I laugh and kiss him and then move away so he can get washed and I can change the sheets. Fortunately, there’s a spare set—my old set—in the room. I tiptoe down the hall, slip the muddy sheets into the wash and turn on the machine. “Oh good,” Dad says, coming in with a full laundry basket.