Catching Tatum (12 page)

When my beer ran out, I went for a refill. On my way up to the car I caught a couple boys' eyes and smiled my best “come and get me” smile even though I didn't really mean it. It was colder by my car and I was glad for the hoodie I tossed in the back seat a couple of days before. I shrugged it on, opened my beer, leaned back on my trunk and took everything in. Some engaged in animated conversation back and forth, some made out, some were obviously desperate. One guy had stubble so dark the shadows from the firelight made it look like he was wearing a mask on the lower half of his face. Some people I didn't recognize either from base or the ball field were getting high. I hoped none of my brothers would partake; gladly, they didn't. There were probably thirty people there. I recognized several faces from the base, one airman whose wife played on the softball team with us, seemed to be flirting with all the ladies a little too much for my liking. I assumed everyone was somehow connected to the softball teams in one way or another but didn't take a poll of how everyone ended up there.

Even with the hoodie, it was getting chilly so I finished my drink, grabbed another for later, and went back down to sit in the warmth of the fire, but I wasn't quite ready to dance again. There were logs strewn around the fire and I took a seat on one, pushed my legs out in front of me, and got lost in the fire for a long time, letting the sounds of the night wash over me in waves.

Then my world changed and it started with two simple words.

“HEY YOU ...” HE SAID.

I saw him across the fire, Airman Justin Parker, one of my dad's favorite new transfers. He had been playing a guitar with his head down or I probably would have noticed it was him a lot earlier. He had a face that, like the fire, I could get lost watching. I didn't know he played the guitar; I didn't know anything about him, except that my dad had invited him over for Sunday dinner once and he asked to say a blessing before we ate.

It's funny, though, how someone who is little more than a stranger can become a friend in a crowd of unknown faces. He came over and sat next to me, guitar propped between us.

“Some pretty impressive moves you had going on out there,” he said.

“Why thank you ... I practice a lot ... in the comfort of my own bedroom. Big mirror makes for an awesome practice ground.”

“It works. Did you come alone?”

“No.” I laughed. “I just dance alone. I'm with my brothers. They're over there ...” I pointed to each of them and told him who they were, respectively. “How about you? You alone?”

“Nah, a couple buddies from the base and I came up. It's nice to get out sometimes.”

I guessed that he was close to my age. I wondered if he was single and started fishing for details subtly. He transferred to the base a few months before, after reenlisting. He ran the trail with my favorite Tech Sergeant who had recruited him for this thing called The Rodeo, a training opportunity where soldiers could get together and show off their talents in different fields of expertise, and compete against teams from other bases around the nation. Theirs was a mechanical crew but other than that he didn't know too much about how it all played out. He said it kept him busy and he liked that.

No hint of a girl in any of it.

He smelled good. It was a popular cologne, but I couldn't quite place it. It complemented him well, not too strong but enough to catch my attention. I thought about nuzzling him to get a better memory; that made me think of my lips on his neck and that made my heart start beating faster in my chest. I knew the feeling too well. I could fall for him. I told myself to be careful—it was only our second meeting. I needed to be cool, to act normal, but I didn't have anything else to say. I took a swig, fast, hoping for courage or at least to look cool while we sat in silence. I didn't know where the free and independent me had gone. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be with him.

“You and your brothers came from a ball game, right?”

“Yep, yep, it's a local Jack and Jill team; my mom and I are on it.”

“So ... you play too then?”

“Yeah. Can't get enough baseball. I love it.” I smiled.

“Does your hair get in the way?” he asked, reaching with his close hand to flip a dread. It always amazed me how many people thought they could come up and touch my hair without permission. I didn't mind so much with him. My dreads came to the middle of my back and hung in a thick mane I usually had tied back. I thought they were beautiful but knew some people had great distaste for them and hoped he wasn't one of those people.

“No, I just tie it back and make my hat fat.”

We talked about everything and nothing until my drink was done. Then he walked me up to the car to get another one, guiding me in the dark, with a hand at my back.

“Want one?” I asked, extending a beer in his direction.

“No, I don't drink.”

“Really?!”

“Really.” He smiled unapologetically.

“You smoke?”

“Nah, not for years. I don't mind if people do though; it's just not for me.”

“Oh, good, I thought you were going to be a boring toker. But if you don't drink ...and you don't smoke ... why are you up here?” I laughed.

He shrugged, straight-faced, and said, “To have fun. You don't have to get high or wasted to have fun, right? And ... I guess it reminds me of home, only without the yelling and fights and such.”

“Oh ...” Something about the way he said it told me there was more to that story.

“Where's home?”

“California.”

“Huh! I've never lived there. Which is pretty amazing because I've lived like everywhere.”

“Where all have you lived?”

“Let's see ...” I said. My words were slurring. I hoped he wouldn't pick up on it but I knew he could. “North Carolina—I was born there—here, of course, Texas, Delaware, and Virginia.”

“Wow! I grew up in the same house almost my whole life until I joined the Force. I've been a couple places now.”

“It's a brat's life for me. I think I'd go crazy in one house.”

“It just about drove me crazy.”

The silence again. I shivered.

“You're cold,” he said and guided me again, with his hand on my back, down to the fire. I looked over to my brothers. They were all busy: Thomas and Brett were hovered around the hood of a lifted Chevy with several other guys shining a flashlight onto the engine parts. Theo and his girl were dancing around the fire. All of them were too busy to pay attention to me. I took a long pull from my new drink before remembering I needed to slow down. I was already plenty good. When we got to the fire, I wanted Parker, not the fire, to keep me warm and he kind of obliged.

We sat close, but he was quiet. There was a faraway look in his eyes and he situated the guitar between us again. He carried a lot inside.

“So ... Parker, what do they call you off base?” I asked trying to get conversation to flow again.

“Still Parker.”

“What's the J. for?” I asked, hooking his dog tag with my index finger.

“Could be anything,” he joked.

“But what is it?”

“Justin.” He shrugged.

“I like Justin.”

“I like Parker. I was Justin in a different life.” I wanted to know him, his life now and the different one he talked about. I was about to ask why when a slow song came on that gave me a better idea.

“Dance with me?” I asked.

I saw the look in his eyes: he wanted to but he couldn't. Something was stopping him. Then I knew—the distance, the guitar between us— he wasn't a free agent. Good, I told myself, I didn't want him anyway. All I wanted to do was dance with a member of the opposite sex, who happened to look like a model and smell like heaven. We stared at each other. “C'mon, it's just a dance, Parker,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder, “I'll be good, I promise!”

He looked at the fire, pursed his lips, and then nodded, resigned. “Just a dance.”

And we danced, and he was a good, strong leader like my dad told me to watch for and my soul longed for him. I'd dated plenty since my senior year but none of them made me feel that way. It was the alcohol; it had to be. Unless there was something special about him, I told myself. I reached my arms up to his neck and nuzzled my nose into the crook of it like I had been tempted to earlier. He was warm and rough and smelled so good. His hands tightened around me and I reciprocated but then he pulled away and looked at me apologetically. “I got a girl. That's why this has to be just a dance.”

“Where is she?”

“California ... she called it off, but I know her; she'll come around. I'm sorry I led you on like that.”

“Wait ... she broke up with you?”

“Yeah,” he said; pain fresh in his firelit eyes.

“How long has it been?”

“Months.”

“How many months?! Have you talked to her?”

“Seven months and eleven days and, no, she won't answer my calls or letters. Our friend, Lizzie, told me she has a boyfriend. They're pretty serious, I guess.”

He was as hopeless a romantic as I was. My heart went to him even though I didn't want it to.

“You fall in love easily, too,” I accidentally mused aloud.

“No, I don't. I fall in love for life. She's the only one I've ever loved or wanted.”

“And she dumped you?”

“Yeah, but she doesn't mean it. I know she'll come around. I just have to wait for when she does ...” He sighed. “I'll be right there for her.”

“You kind of make me want to throw up. Why is it that all the good guys are stuck on girls that don't want them and the rest of us are left with the arrogant pricks who just want to get in our pants?”

“I don't know what to tell you about that.”

“Can you forget her?” I asked.

He shook his head no, but I felt his arms tighten around me again. When the song was done, we held each other. I leaned up to look at him.

“Not for forever, just for tonight,” I offered, meeting his gaze with an intensity hotter than the fire. He was defeated. He leaned down to kiss me. My stupid body and my stupid heart ... they were betraying me. This was not in the rules. My hands laced behind his neck and I pressed into his body. I think I fell in love with him right then, knowing full well his heart belonged to another. I knew it was all wrong. My game, my rules, and I couldn't follow them. His head dipped closer. I convinced myself in a second that I could make him forget his girl, who didn't want him anyway, and he would move on and see that I was the one for him. Who needed rules anyway? I could blame it on his broken heart and my desire to ease his pain, or the alcohol, or anything.

But, no! I had the rules for this very reason. I forced myself to remember them: the first kiss came after the date; a random meeting at a bonfire didn't count. Our lips met. I should have stopped it. I forced Cole into my head. I told myself to remember what a mistake that was. How I gave him too much too fast, and how it hurt me. It took all my effort. Whether I wanted to or not, I had to stop the kiss, but I wanted it too much.

I heard him groan low and deep in his throat. It reminded me of a cat's purr and it was enough to shake me loose of his spell on me. I pulled away and, in the same instant, he loosened his grip. Pursing his lips together he shook his head and looked at me apologetically.

“I want to … but I love her.”

We stared at each other.

“I want to …but I have rules about kissing ... But ... you make me want to break them,” I answered truthfully, afraid the words would burn my lips if I held them in.

“It won't be just a kiss,” he said. The thought electrified me.

“It could be.”

“No, you're not a '
just a kiss
' kind of girl.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked, stepping back. He had me all wrong. I wasn't that kind of girl anymore.

He took my hand and held it on his heart. His chest was firm; the beat was fast and strong. “You could make me forget her not just for tonight. I don't want to.” I couldn't take my eyes from his. There was pain and love and desire. He was torn like me. We were both in anguish of our own making.

“I don't want to make you forget her. Remember her, treasure the memories you have with her … but maybe let's see where this goes. I felt something, too. I haven't been this attracted to anyone in years.”

He chuckled. “You tell it like it is, don't you?”

“It's a fault of mine. My filter is damaged; if I think it, I say it. But I'm serious. You're hurting and not in a hurry. Neither am I. I got hurt badly. I swore I'd never let anyone hurt me like that again. I made rules.”

“What kind of rules?” he asked, obviously intrigued, and walked me back to the log.

We spent the next several songs going over my rules.

“How far?” he asked after a long stretch of staring into the fire.

“What?”

“How far have you gone?”

“Since him? So far no one's gotten past second base. See, I don't want to go fast. I won't hurt you. I know how it feels.”

“But I'll hurt you because I'm hers and she will come back to me.”

I hated to ask it but I did. “What if she doesn't want you back? What if she stays with the new guy? What if they get married and have a family and live happily ever after, forever? What then?”

“If she doesn't want me, then I'm wrong about everything. She does; she's just confused.”

“I would make good company in the meantime.” I was totally selling myself to him.

“I believe you,” he said and ran his thumb down my scar. “What happened?” I looked down, away, embarrassed that he pointed it out.

“Accident when I was a kid. I tried to karate kick my brother and missed.” He stared at me hard, suspicious, looking for a different truth. I didn't know why, but I felt like I had to justify my answer. “Ask them.” I pointed to Theo—I couldn't find Thomas—“They're the ones I was fighting with.”

“It's OK.”

“But you don't believe me.”

“I don't believe a lot of people.”

“You can believe me.”

I spent the rest of the night dancing with and for him and listening to him play songs. There was another guy with a guitar and they popped out a couple old classics together. Parker could sing too. It wasn't radio perfection, but he was good.