Running Lean (19 page)

Calvin couldn’t move. Stacey could have been holding him pinned down in the booth instead of rushing to the trash bin and depositing their tray on the stack. Yeah, he’d encouraged her all right. Saying she looked good made her dump the remainder of her salad in the trash. He’d encouraged her to keep doing the thing he wanted her to quit.

Way to go, idiot
.

But if she wanted to be beautiful, how was he supposed to let her know she already was if he couldn’t compliment her?

She walked back to the table swinging her hips. Or swaying on those spiky heels. The reason didn’t matter. He’d rather have her waddle like a penguin than starve herself to be thin. Well, maybe not waddle.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Calvin pulled himself across the booth seat. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

T
he graphite image, depicting an old man with a lined face sitting in front of a building with weathered siding, didn’t look like anything created by something as simple as a pencil. Stacey stared. The beautiful drawing confronted her. If she had that much talent, could make something look so perfect …

“That’s pencil?” Calvin leaned in closer.

Stacey pulled on his arm. “Stand back and look at it.”

He backed up. “It looks like a picture, I mean, a photograph.”

The artist had rendered the texture of the old man’s coat, individual broken threads along the tattered lapel. Amazing. And the eyes looked alive, like they would follow Stacey when she moved away.

Calvin slipped his hand behind her back and guided her to another frame filled with confidence-crushing perfection.

“Know what?” he said. “I’ll bet your drawings will hang here someday.”

How sweet was he? “Oh, come on.” She pressed her shoulder into the space beneath his arm and brushed her hand across his chest.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because Daddy would call it foolish. Mom would sweetly point out every little flaw. Even if Stacey worked alone,
their voices would haunt her. What if she failed? What if all the people from her past had told the truth and she’d never amount to anything?

Besides, showing her work in a local art gallery meant she’d still be … here. Still in Stiles County or maybe living in an apartment in Rocky Mount. Her drawings weren’t good enough for New York galleries. Or Raleigh. Or even Rocky Mount.

Stacey sighed. “To be that good I’d have to study fine art, not fashion design.”

“Would that be so bad?” He gestured toward the next drawing. “You could do this.”

Stacey took the drawing in, though the gentle image clawed at her heart. An old woman this time, her gnarled hands knitting an afghan. She could envision the woman’s slow movements, stitch by stitch, and imagine the clicking of her needles. She could feel the soft yarn warming her lap.

A desire crept into Stacey’s heart, a longing to feel a pencil in her hand and the textured surface of a clean sheet of Canson paper beneath her fingertips. To fill the empty space with something meaningful, something worthy of Calvin’s awe.

She swallowed. “Daddy says artists don’t make much money.”

A soft grunt showed what he thought of this. “They should. How long did it take this artist to draw that?”

“Hours and hours. Days.”

“My dad charges seventy-five dollars an hour for labor. ‘Course, that pays for the building and utilities and all that other stuff too. Not just what he makes.”

“No one would pay me even twenty dollars.”

“I would.” He swung her around to face him. “More than that.”

She wanted to cry. He was so sweet. Although he’d gotten angry with her at the restaurant—she could tell from the way he pulled his hair at the table and his silence in the truck—bringing her to
the Imperial Arts Center in Rocky Mount was an act of love. When she first met him, Calvin didn’t know a thing about art. He was learning just for her.

She toyed with a button of his shirt. “You’re biased.”

“Hey, I’m serious. I think you’re incredibly talented. Too good for fashion school.”

Stacey edged closer to him. His smile widened and his eyes took on an almost sleepy expression. Like he wasn’t just saying those things to be nice. Like she was special to him. Like he wanted her. His fingers caressed her lower back, brushed the line of bare skin.

He laughed and turned away. Flustered again. Too cute.

Calvin guided her toward the other end of the large, brick-walled gallery and gestured toward a sprawling metal sculpture.

“Now this … I could make this. A few exhaust pipes, some old bike spokes—”

Stacey lightly smacked his stomach. “It’s abstract.”

“Ya think?”

She wanted him to look at her again, with his eyes all sultry and his fingers moving in little circles, the silky lining of her top sliding against her skin. Instead he was making jokes.

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. His cologne was faint, not enough to cover up the earthy smell of him she’d grown accustomed to. The two scents enticed her to breathe in. She did and then gently blew against his neck.

Calvin flinched. “Stop that. It tickles.”

She grinned and tilted her head. “You like it.”

“
Hee
-yeah! A little too much.” He pulled away but took her hand. “What’s in this room?”

Exasperating.

Calvin walked, dragging her behind him, their arms fully extended. She whimpered, but it didn’t help. Mr. Proper Behavior was putting up a fight. Yet she’d put a crack in his defenses. The
way he’d looked at her—she’d see that look again before the day was done. She wouldn’t go home without it. She’d put all thoughts of Flannery and that stupid camping trip right out of his head.

Stacey refused popcorn at the theater, and Calvin didn’t say anything. At least he understood she couldn’t eat junk food while on a diet. All she needed was a large cup of ice water to keep her stomach feeling full during the movie.

He held her hand as they walked through the lobby, cradling his popcorn in the crook of his arm and clutching his drink cup in that hand. The buttery smell multiplied inside the darkened theater. She inhaled it, and her mouth watered. It smelled heavenly. Could she be satisfied with just the aroma? The old Stacey craved satisfaction. She willed her stomach not to gurgle in desire as Calvin led her to a seat halfway back. As he got settled, she plopped down and sucked water through her straw.

Be strong. Be beautiful. Power is resistance. Giving in to food is weakness
.

She was seeing the rewards of all her work in the way Calvin looked at her.

He laughed through the idiotic comedy. His hands stayed busy with the popcorn, his eyes and mind on the screen. Did he notice she didn’t laugh as much? Was the theater so dark that it hid her struggle from his view?

Someone behind her rattled plastic wrap, opening a box of candy. She could hear people chewing their snacks. A voice in the back of her mind screamed for control.
Don’t give in! Fight!

Stacey held her breath so she wouldn’t smell the calories; soon points of light burst in her peripheral vision. She shouldn’t have
agreed to come to this stupid movie. Blowing out the stale air from her lungs, she gave up. Just one handful of popcorn would end the private abuse.

She eased her hand over Calvin’s lap and probed into the bag. He’d eaten most of it so she had to reach deep. Calvin turned his head to look at her then tipped the bag toward her. Light from the screen glowed on his face, his smile.

“It smells so good,” she whispered.

“Take it. Finish it.”

“No. I just want a taste.”

Warning!

There wasn’t much left. Stacey dipped her hand into the container and touched the puffed morsels. One handful. Just one. She munched it slowly and licked the salty butter from her fingers, then leaned her cheek against Calvin’s shoulder. She’d lost the plot of the movie but didn’t care what was going on. The lingering taste in her mouth had opened a floodgate of evil desires. Her stomach churned, both rebelling and needful, and the single handful of popcorn seemed to expand like a Mylar balloon.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered.

She lumbered over Calvin’s knees and tried to keep her posture straight as she walked down the aisle to the exit.

Calvin would figure out what she was about to do. All his sweetness would turn to anger and their date would be ruined. Why? Why did all this have to be so hard?

Stacey studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Calvin had gazed at her with longing. Tyler supposedly said she looked hot. Was it true? She breathed in, and the lace top squeezed her bust and torso. Her stomach begged for freedom from the popcorn, from the creamy dressing on her salad and the bits of chicken she’d eaten. All congealed together like a lava lamp rolling, dripping.
Glub, glub
.

Heat rose to Stacey’s face. She ducked into a stall and stuck her fingers down her throat.

Out of money and time, they headed home. Stacey held Calvin’s hand as he drove his father’s rattling old pickup truck. She tickled her lips with wilted flower petals that still smelled sweet.

Calvin let go of her hand to turn the steering wheel, heading north on Turner Creek Road. They’d be at her house in just a minute. The clouds were painted peach on the horizon, which meant they had fifteen minutes or so before it would be dark. And soon after that Officer Varnell and his peers would be on the lookout for teens with provisional licenses cruising around and getting into trouble on a Saturday night.

Stacey gasped. Daddy was working. He wouldn’t be home.

“What? You okay?” Calvin asked.

She turned and gave him a sly smile. “We don’t have to go home yet.”

“We don’t? But your dad said—”

“I know, but he has a shift tonight. So, can we stop somewhere for a while? Just to talk?”

“Uh, like where?”

“Pull over here and we’ll decide.”

Ingersol Produce Company. The parking lot was empty, the building a hulking gray cube against the vermillion sky. Calvin swerved off the road, shoved the shift lever up into park, and left the engine running.

Stacey played with her lower lip. “No, um, drive around back. If my dad is on patrol and he sees us parked here, he’ll come banging on the windshield.”

“
Chuh
, yeah! And slap me in handcuffs for messing around with his daughter.”

“Calvin Greenlee, are you telling me you’re afraid of my father?”

“Afraid? No. I’ve been in back of this building, though. It’s a stinkin’ loading dock. You’d hate it.” A crooked grin slid onto his face. “I know where we can go.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “What are you thinking?”

Calvin pulled the shift lever back into drive. “You’ll see.” He drove the truck back onto Turner Creek Road, going the other way.

Stacey couldn’t keep her eyes on the road or the landscape outside the truck. Calvin sat on his side of the bench seat, wearing that quirky grin on his face. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel and sometimes drifted up to tug his hair. Nervous?

Stacey trembled inside. Calvin wouldn’t try anything. Maybe he’d take her somewhere they could watch the sunset together.

Guys never say they love you unless they want sex
.

Zoe’s words came back to her. Isn’t this what the day had been leading up to? Hadn’t she started it with her sexy outfit, so he’d look at her and forget about Flannery or any other girl? He’d never tried anything with her. Ever.
Why not?

He drove past the high school and turned onto Victory Church Road. Stacey sighed and settled back in her seat. He was taking her to his house, where they could sit inside the backyard gazebo. Sweet. Safe.

Maybe he didn’t really want her.

“I can’t be too late,” she said. “My mother will tell my dad.”

Calvin ran his tongue over his lips. “I can turn around.”

“No! It’s okay. I’ll just call her and say I’m at your house for a little while.”

“We’re not going to my house.” He shifted in his seat as if he couldn’t get comfortable. “No privacy there.”

He turned left, and the truck rattled down an uneven dirt path.
In the dimming light, Stacey wasn’t sure where they were. The cotton field by his house? Yes. In the distance, maybe a quarter mile away, was the silhouette of his house with tiny rectangles of light at a few windows.

Stacey rocked side to side as the truck bounced along the path. Dark woods loomed ahead. No sunset watching. It was nearly gone.

“Calvin?”

He tugged his hair and looked at her. “Just for a few minutes.”

She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if he still smiled. He turned the headlights off as the road curved toward the house. No one would see them there.

Was this really happening? Stacey quivered inside, pressed her knees tight together, and smoothed out her skirt and the lace top.

Calvin stopped the truck beside the woods, put it in park, and turned off the engine. He was a shadow behind the wheel now, but she heard him take a deep breath. He unsnapped his seatbelt, the click loud enough to make her wince.

“Come here,” he said.

She undid her seatbelt too and scooted to the middle of the bench seat. Calvin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her the rest of the way to his side. He kissed her so deeply that her back slid against the vinyl seat, pushing her off balance. His fingers brushed the skin at her waist then slipped beneath the blouse. She gasped, and a giddy thought entered her mind: the blouse wasn’t so tight that his hand wouldn’t fit.

“You’re so beautiful.” His breath warmed her cheek. “So beautiful. I love you, Stacey.”

Beautiful! Say it again
.

His curls at the back of his head were soft and lush in her fingers. “I love you too.”

Stacey shifted to get more comfortable but instead slipped farther down the seat. Calvin caught himself before his body could squash
her, but his new position left Stacey’s knees bent at an extreme angle, both feet still touching the floor. Suddenly, all the musty smells of the old truck were stronger. Motor oil and gasoline, cracked vinyl and dirt.

Germs. Not here. Surely he won’t—

She could barely see Calvin’s face above her in the dying light. This whole thing was crazy. Calvin said they’d only be a few minutes. They’d laugh about it later.
Remember when we were in the truck and we tried …? Were we stupid or what?

But he continued kissing her deeply, and her stomach convulsed. His dark form covering her, he could be Uncle Murray, fondling, telling her he liked a little extra flesh on a woman.

No, no. This so wasn’t happening. This was Calvin, and Calvin was safe.

He moved, trying to maneuver around the steering wheel, and the truck’s shocks squeaked. No way. Not here. Not anywhere.

Stacey closed her hand on the fabric of his shirt. Her fist pushed weakly against his chest. She wiggled her other arm beneath him then pushed his shoulders upward with both hands. “Calvin, I don’t think we should.”