My Favourite Mistake

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He got back into bed. I rolled over so I faced him. He was sitting up, his back against the wall and his legs over the edge.

“They’re dead.” The air left the room, and I found it impossible to breathe. I couldn’t find words to say to him. Nothing I said would mean anything. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said after a few moments of my silence.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t want to say something stupid. I was trying to think of something to say that wasn’t stupid. Guess I failed.”

To my surprise, he laughed.

“You don’t have a filter. It’s one of the things I like about you. Don’t start now. Say whatever you want.”

“I’d say that’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard, and it explains a lot.”

“Yes, it does,” he said, looking down at his hands. “And you’re one of the only people who has said they were sorry and I really believe you. People say things they don’t mean all the time. It’s easy to spot the bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is.” I was a professional bullshit spotter. It was one of my hidden talents.

“What happened to them?”

“Someday I’ll tell you,” he said, rubbing the top of his head with his hand, as if he was rubbing a lucky spot. I decided to change tactics and ask another burning question I had.

“Okay, then tell me about your tattoos.”

“I told you I didn’t believe in fate. I believe in luck. So I figured, why not have all the luck I can with me?”

“How many do you have?”

He turned his arm and showed me the seven. “One,” he said, and then pulled his left ear so I could see the ink behind it. “Two.” He turned his back and pointed to the one between his shoulder blades. “Three.” He pulled his foot up and showed me another that I hadn’t seen before, which was a star. “Four.” He pointed to the one on his chest. “Five. I want to have seven when I’m done, but I only do one when I get the urge, so I haven’t gotten one in a few months.”

“What are they? I can’t really see from here,” I said. It wasn’t a ploy to get him to come closer in his shirtless state, I swear.

He got off his bed slowly and walked toward me. The look on his face wasn’t confident. It was open, as if he was showing me a piece of himself that he rarely shared. I knew this moment was precious, easily broken, like a finger through a soap bubble.

“This one you can see is a seven. It’s a lucky number in many cultures. This,” he said, pulling his ear forward, “is your standard horseshoe. Sailors used to nail them to the masts of their ships to help them stay out of the path of storms.”

He turned his back, and I finally saw what the one on his back was. If I hadn’t done a project in sixth grade on Egyptian mythology, I might not have known it was a scarab beetle. The beetles would shed their outer skins, carapaces, and the Egyptians saw that as a symbol for rebirth and thus thought the beetles were immortal.

“You’re really mixing up your mythologies there, Z.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the nickname. “I’m all for diversity,” he said drily.

I got out of bed and went to study it closer. It was beautiful, the colors nearly shimmering on his skin. Whoever he had gotten this from was a real artist. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it to see if it was real.

“So, there you have it,” he said, turning around. “And then I just have a little star on my foot. Now you have my ink history. Show me yours.” His mouth turned up at the side, and Mr. Cocky was back. What a shock.

“Sorry, dude, none to show,” I said, hopping back in bed.

“I wasn’t asking about your tattoos, Missy.” He leaned forward and braced his hands on either side of my legs, almost, but not quite touching my skin. Even though he wasn’t touching me, my skin tingled as if he was.

“Why, Hunter, are you asking to see my lady parts?”

“Asking is putting it mildly,” he said, and there was the tiniest growl in his voice.

The want to push myself forward and mesh his body with mine was so strong, I had to grab on to the sheets to stop myself from doing it.

“You’re just messing with me,” I said, my voice a little breathy, like I’d just run up the stairs. “You said you didn’t screw girls you liked.”

“Oh, Missy, if you only knew,” he said. He slowly moved forward until his face was right in front of mine before pulling back and walking out the door.

Damn him. Damn him and his blue eyes and his interesting tattoos and his take-what-I-want attitude. The fact that he had a tragic past just added to the mystery of Hunter Zaccadelli.

***

“Hey, Kid!” Tawny said, hopping out of her Volvo convertible. I ran to smash her in a hug. I had seen her only a week ago, but I’d missed her.

“Whoa, you okay?”

I’d hugged her a bit too enthusiastically. She also must have read the tension on my face.

“Let’s get you a drink and I’ll tell you about it.”

We walked into Margaritas, the only decent Mexican place in downtown Orono. It was crammed between a clothing store that sold fashions for larger women and a real estate office. It was ridiculously narrow, but it had two floors so there were plenty of cozy nooks and private places. The tables were hand painted, and there were tons of sombreros and chili lights strung on the wall. Soft music played in the background.

Tawny and I went upstairs and found a table for two in a corner behind a large beam. I ordered a Coke, and Tawny got a margarita.

“I’ll give you a sip when no one is looking,” she said.

I filled her in on the whole Hunter saga while we waited for the waitress to come back so we could order.

“He sounds like an ass,” was her assessment.

“He is,” I said, laughing

Tawny paused with her drink midway to her lips. “Oh no.”

“What?” I said, looking around.

“You like him.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

She put her drink down, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “Yes, you totally do! Jesus, Kid, what are you thinking?”

“I do not like him,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know your face better than anyone else. I also know every single tone of your voice. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you’re not lying to me. So, tell me about him.”

“He’s…” I said, struggling to find words to describe him. “He’s a jerk, and he says whatever is in his head and he is always pushing my buttons and pushing his luck. He says he doesn’t sleep with girls he likes, but then he’s always coming after me. He’s complicated.”

“He sounds complicated. Good-looking?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?” she said as the waitress came to take our order.

We paused the conversation. I ordered nachos with extra guac, and Tawny went for the steak quesadillas. I tried to think about my answer to Tawny’s question.

“You know what the problem is.”

“Kid, that was so long ago. I got over it.”

“You never get over something like that,” I said softly.

“No, you’re right, you don’t. But you learn to live with it. Like a scar. You need to stop hating everyone.”

“I don’t hate everyone,” I said.

“Close, Tay, close.”

I changed the subject, and Tawny let me. We didn’t come back to Hunter until we were sharing our fried ice cream, which was ice cream covered in a crunchy topping with honey drizzled on one side and chocolate on the other. I had the chocolate side.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You know what the worst is,” I said.

“You can’t let one bad apple ruin the whole barrel. There were a lot of signs that I chose to ignore. Does Hunter make you feel unsafe? Is he controlling?”

“No,” I said. Hunter had never made me feel like he was going to hurt me physically. Kiss me, yes. But those were two different kinds of fear.

“You know the signs. You know the red flags. Have you seen any of them?”

“No.”

“Then why not stop being so hostile?”

“He likes me hostile, I think.”

“Okay, I’ve gotta meet this guy. I also want to see your new place.”

I hadn’t planned on taking Tawny to the apartment. In fact, it hadn’t even occurred to me to do so.

“I guess. I can’t promise he’s going to be there.”

“Text him. I didn’t come all the way up here from Belfast and bring your clothes to not see this guy.”

I sighed and pulled out my phone.

U home?

Maybe. Y?

Bringing my sister by.

If she looks like you, she’s welcome.

And if not?

I’ll vacate the premises.

U ass.

He didn’t answer, so I shut my phone.

“He said he’ll be there as long as I said you looked like me.”

She laughed. “Yeah, that guy totally wants you, Kid.”

“He’s just pushing my buttons.”

“That’s not all he wants to push,” she said, pointing her fork at me. Ugh. Maybe Hunter and Tawny would get along. That would be the worst.

We left Tawny’s car downtown and took mine back to campus.

“Stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” I snapped.

I was freaking out, and I couldn’t exactly say why. Maybe it was because Tawny’s was the opinion I trusted the most. I trusted her judgment more than my own. If she didn’t like Hunter, really didn’t like him, that was it.

“Aw, this is so cute,” she said when I opened the door. “Not nearly as scuzzy as I was expecting.”

I glanced around, but I didn’t see Hunter. Guess he’d decided not to be home after all. I heaved a sigh of relief, and then the bathroom door opened and he emerged in a cloud of steam, wearing only a small towel around his hips.

He saw us, and his face spread into a grin.

“Hello there, you must be Tawny. I’m glad I stuck around. I figured if you shared the same genes you would be just as hot.”