The Brightest Light of Sunshine

Unlike at Paulson’s party, this time I put a bit more effort into my appearance. And right now, I’m so glad I did. I’m only wearing a pair of black wide-legged pants and a red top, paired with the nude sandals I stole from Emily, but at least it’s something. I can’t deny that the heels give me a boost of self-confidence, even if I’m still shorter than average.

Callaghan turns his head at the sound of my voice, and when his eyes land on me they widen for half a second. A black man with a short beard and hipster glasses sits with him, beer in hand, but his smile looks kind enough, so I don’t panic. Yet.

“Hey, sunshine.” Callaghan throws me an easy grin and that nickname he gave me the first time we met. I kind of like it. “Did you change your mind about the tattoo?”

“Um, not really,” I admit sheepishly. “I’m a bit scared that it will be too painful.”

“Depends on where you want it,” his friend chimes in with an equally friendly expression on his face. “And how high your pain tolerance is, I guess. You look tough enough.”

“Thanks.” Great, and now I’m pretty sure I’m blushing like a child in front of two grown men. So much for not embarrassing myself tonight.

Callaghan’s friend nods at me. “I’m Trey, by the way. I work at the parlor with this one.”

“Oh, you do? That’s cool.” And because that’s not a socially acceptable answer, I add, “You two are friends?”

“Sadly,” Callaghan mutters, but he’s smiling.

Trey shakes his head with amusement. “Been friends since our teens. We grew up on the same street.”

“And now I get to see his annoying ass at my shop five days a week,” Callaghan jokes. “It’s a privilege, really.”

Their easy dynamic feels so genuine and refreshing that I don’t find myself wanting to flee. Trey throws me another dashing smile before patting his friend on the shoulder. “Gonna talk to Oscar and Johnson for a bit. Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

And just like that, I’m alone with Callaghan and my heart starts to beat faster, although not from uneasiness.

“So, Grace. How was your week?”

His casual question surprises me, but I don’t show it. “Piled up with too many assignments, unfortunately. How’s your sister?”

His dark eyes light up at that. “She’s doing great. Maddie really loves your ballet lessons, you know? She wants to become a professional princess-ballerina now.”

I can’t help but laugh at his sweet words. “A princess-ballerina? Well, sign me up for that too.” Then, a thought crosses my mind, “Are you coming to our Christmas recital? We sent an email to the families last week, but maybe you didn’t have time to read it.”

He takes a tentative sip of his… Is that a soda? Why am I so surprised he’s not drinking alcohol on a Saturday night?

When he speaks again, his voice sounds slightly tighter, “I’ll make sure to read it later, but count me in. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That makes me smile. “I take it you’re close with Maddie?”

“We spend a lot of time together,” he says, but his tone doesn’t sound quite right. Perhaps I’m only imagining things. I’ve only seen them interact once, but I’m sure anyone can see how devoted he is to his little sister and how much she loves him back. “You got any siblings?”

“Nope. I’m an only child.” And because for some dumb, unknown reason I want him to know this, I blurt out, “I’m adopted. Gay parents.”

He doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “Neat. You get along with them all right?”

A rush of emotions builds up in my chest at the thought of them. “I love my dads. They’re the best, but I don’t see them as often as I’d like. They live in Canada.”

He nods. “Canada must be amazing in the winter. I don’t think I’ve ever visited, actually.”

“Oh, you’d love it there.” Before I know what I’m doing, I’m sliding into the empty stool next to him. “Winters are crazy, trust me. It’s a pain in the ass to plan Christmas trips because there’s always a blizzard or a snowstorm or something and flights get canceled left and right. Where did you grow up?”

I have no clue why I’m making conversation with this guy right now. Or why I don’t feel like running away or throwing up, for that matter. There’s something about Callaghan that puts me at ease, as if my brain somehow knows he’s not a threat.

Which makes no sense because I don’t know him. He’s bigger, older, and I should probably be intimidated by his mere presence—but I’m not. Not anymore.

“Here in Warlington.” He takes a quick sip of his drink. “It might be a fun city for you college kids, but it eventually gets boring.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” I tease him. I actually tease him. What the hell? “I love it here. I think I might stay after graduation.”

“Really? Most students flee the city the moment they graduate. What could possibly keep you here?”

“My job, for one.” I shake my head when the bartender asks me if I want anything. “I love working at The Dance Palace. And I don’t know, there’s something about this city that makes me feel at home. Maybe it’s because Aaron lives here.”

“He said the same thing after he graduated,” he says with a small smile. “Couldn’t see himself living anywhere but here.”

“How about you? You never thought of moving away?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t find my company annoying. God, what if he does but he’s too polite to shoo me away?

“I lived in Boston for a while,” he tells me and takes another sip. “A family friend took me under her wing and taught me the whole tattooing thing. Then I came back, worked for a bit, and eventually opened my own place.”

“That’s impressive,” I say, truthfully. “I take it the business is going well, then?”

He smirks. “You ask your cousin about that. He could single-handedly keep it afloat.”

I snort. Three years ago, Aaron got it into his chaotic head that tattoos were badass, and he wanted both of his sleeves done because ‘he’d absolutely rock that motherfucking ink.’ And sure, he does, but my cousin literally texts me a photo of a new tattoo every few weeks. His bank account must be bleeding right now. I know mine would.

“Don’t tell me about it. My aunt almost had a heart attack when she saw those flames you inked on his biceps.”

Callaghan laughs. “Well, then she’d definitely pass out if she saw me.”

At that, I can’t help but marvel at the intricate artwork on his skin—both of his arms are covered in skulls, snakes, poker cards, flowers, and other jaw-dropping designs I would need a whole hour to analyze. I spot a rose on the right side of his neck, and inked vines coming down his sleeves until they almost reach his long, thick fingers.

It’s only now that I notice how stupidly ginormous his hands are, and I fight back a blush.

There’s something wrong with me.

“Your tattoos are impressive,” I say with honesty. I’m pretty sure I’m gaping at him because he chuckles in that deep rumble I’ve come to appreciate already. “Seriously. Did you do any of them yourself?”

“Just this one.” He points to a minimalistic chain of mountains on his forearm. “I’m not a fan of tattooing myself. Too tiring.”

“I can only imagine,” I half-whisper as I narrow my eyes at the mountains to scan them more closely, and hide the sudden urge to run my finger along the ink with a cough.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” he asks me then. “It’s on me.”

“I’m all right. Thank you.” A beat of silence passes between us, and suddenly I can’t keep this a secret anymore, “Actually, there’s something I want.”

His eyes pique with interest. “Shoot.”

I don’t know why I feel so self-conscious about this now. I had no problem walking up to him, or actually talking to him. He seems like a naturally nice and laid-back guy, so why am I freaking out so badly over this?

What if he thinks I’m weird? He would never tell me to my face, not if he thinks I’ll run to Aaron, and that makes me even more anxious.

“Okay, so,” I start, catching my breath before I embarrass myself in front of the only man I’ve felt safe enough to be around for more than two seconds in four years. “My friends wanted me to come up to a guy tonight and get his number because they thought it would be good for me, but I don’t feel comfortable talking to any random guys, let alone asking for their number, which—”

“Hey, hey. Easy.” He smiles warmly at me, which means he doesn’t find me weird, right? Right? “Let me see if I got it right. Your friends dared you to talk to a guy tonight?”

“It wasn’t a dare, it was more like a trust exercise,” I correct him.

“My bad.” His eyes twinkle with amusement under the fluorescent lights of the bar. “And you came up to me because…?”

“Well, I already have your number from when I called you to pick up Maddie, and I need to show my friends proof, but it felt weird to flaunt it around without asking for your permission first. Plus, it was for a work thing so I’m sure using it for bragging is illegal, or something.”

“Or something,” he repeats with a toothless smile. He smiles at me a lot, I notice. It’s comforting, a contrast to his imposing body. “Tell you what, I give you permission to show my number to your friends as long as you know you can use it.”

Holy shit.

Is he flirting with me?

“S-Sure.” I give him a tight smile of my own because I don’t know how to act anymore. My palms get all sweaty and disgusting, so I wipe them discreetly on my pants hoping he doesn’t notice.

But he does, and quickly adds, “You know, in case you need some guidance about your tattoo.”

I give him a curt nod. “Sounds good.”

There’s nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirting. Callaghan looks harmless himself despite all his muscles and tattoos, and my friends are literally right behind me. I hate myself for closing off like this, damn it.

Is this what awaits me for the rest of my life? Not being able to have a proper conversation with a man without panicking?

Eventually, he finishes the rest of his drink in one big gulp and wipes his hands on his jeans in dismissal. “It was great seeing you again, Grace. Where are your friends?”

I turn my head in time to see the three dumbasses lowering their gazes. They totally weren’t spying on us, of course not. I point at their table with my thumb, “Just over there. It’s a short walk.”

He nods. “I’ll see you around then. Take care.”

And because I can’t exactly keep him glued to his seat, I let him go just as yet another loud alarm goes off in my head.

Why did I want him to stay in the first place?

***

Callaghan

I fucked up, and I can pinpoint the exact moment I threw it all out of the window.

Most of the time, I have zero issues keeping my mouth shut. Hell, too many non-compulsory social interactions a day (two) drain my energy as it is. I’m the textbook definition of an introvert when I’m around most people, or at least I thought I was—because I definitely don’t know Grace well enough to suggest she uses my number.

And, seriously, flirting? When was the last time I flirted with a woman? A much younger one, at that.

I should’ve bitten my fucking tongue. It’s obvious that Grace feels some kind of way about talking to strangers, and I shouldn’t have pushed my luck. If she doesn’t speak to me ever again, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.

Sitting at the table with Trey, Oscar and Johnson—who are regulars at the parlor and close friends of Trey—I let the conversation flow around me while I try not to turn my head to look at Grace, who’s now standing at the bar with a bunch of girls I assume are her friends.

“You’re sulking,” Trey says and bumps his knee with mine.

“I’m not.” I totally am, but I’m not about to admit it out loud. I take a mozzarella stick and pop it into my mouth. It’s gone cold and it tastes rubbery, but at least I won’t have to speak while I chew on it.

Trey looks over my shoulder in a not-so-discreet manner. “You tappin’ that or something?”

I don’t need to follow his gaze to know who he’s talking about. “No,” I say, perhaps a bit more harshly than intended. “She’s Aaron’s cousin. Came by the tattoo parlor the other day but ended up backing out at the last minute.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He’s still looking at her through his glasses, and for some reason it bothers me. “What’s Aaron got to do with anything, though?”

I take another mozzarella stick and force myself to snap out of it. This is my best friend and Grace is practically a stranger, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t care if he looks at her or not. “He’ll rip my dick off if I tried anything with her. And why do you think I’m into her, anyway?”

Trey shrugs. “Just gave me that vibe.” Before I can even begin to ask what the hell he means by ‘vibe’, he adds, “Yeah, no. You’re definitely not tapping that. Or I hope you aren’t, at least. She’s talking to another guy right now.”

My traitorous head turns at that and, sure enough, a kid I don’t recognize has one elbow resting casually on the bar and is engaged in conversation with Grace. She doesn’t look all that uncomfortable, but what do I know?

And most importantly, why do I even care?

Luckily, it becomes quite evident that I’m not interested in continuing our chat about my sulking, and Trey turns to our friends and starts talking about some upcoming video game release.

It’s been weeks since I pulled an all-nighter just to play with the guys, but now that plan is looking infinitely better than my current one—which involves sipping on a lukewarm drink, eating cold mozzarella sticks, and wondering why the hell I’m so worked up over Grace talking to a guy that isn’t me.

If I hadn’t noticed her sudden stiffness, I would’ve continued our chat until the bartender kicked us out. She’s easy to talk to, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a soft spot for the girl already. She stayed after hours with my sister so I could finish a tattoo, for fuck’s sake. That’s a solid ten in my book.

But, after tonight, I’m probably a solid four in hers. If that.

“Yo!” A strong, cold hand suddenly rests on my shoulder. I don’t need to turn around to recognize Aaron’s presence. “Man, if you wanted some good food you should’ve come to The Spoon.” He picks a mozzarella stick between his fingers and shakes his head before tossing it back on the greasy basket. “Can’t believe you’re wasting money on this frozen shit.”

“Johnson can’t pick up chicks at your place. It’s too fancy.” I give my friend a knowing smile, and he just shrugs as if to say, ‘Yup, that’s exactly why I’m here.’

Aaron boos and sits down in the booth next to Oscar. It’s too tight for five grown men, but his eyes are scanning the bar so frantically I don’t think he’s even noticed half of his ass is hanging out the bench.

“Looking for anyone, Big A?” Trey teases.

“Yeah. She texted me earlier saying she was— Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aaron hides his face in his hands, shakes his head in desperation, and lets out the loudest sigh known to humanity. He’s prone to dramatic outbursts, but I know him well enough to sense the genuine pissed-off ‘vibes’ he’s exuding right now, as Trey would put it.

“What is it?” Oscar asks.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aaron look angry since I met him three years ago, but the icy rage on his gaze is unmistakable. “That is my problem.”

His problem, as it turns out, is Grace and that kid chatting up at the bar. I give Trey a knowing look that intends to tell him that I wasn’t kidding when I said Aaron would attempt to end my life if I tried anything with his cousin. Not that it’s in my plans, anyway.

Aaron is usually a laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy—except when it comes to Grace. I knew he had a cousin at Warlington University and that he was protective of her, but we’d never been introduced. And now I’m starting to understand why.

“What’s wrong with that?” Johnson asks before taking a sip of his beer.

Aaron runs a hand through his already messy brown hair. “Dax fucking Wilson is what’s wrong with that.”

There’s an edge to his voice, cold and cruel, that I haven’t heard from him before. A sudden burst of protectiveness claws at my chest, and I lean in, “He’s bad news?”

He finally tears his gaze away and locks it with mine. “He’s just some skimpy college kid, but I’ve always thought he was shady as fuck.”

“Explain.” Oscar narrows his eyes. He shared a bunch of classes with Aaron back in the day, and he’s the reason Grace’s cousin got addicted to tattoos a few years ago.

“For one, he’s a hockey player, which is a big ass red flag in itself.” He keeps his voice low, and I know what he means. Playing college hockey in Warlington is one of those merits that inflates egos like no other. “And second of all, I overheard him the other day saying he wouldn’t mind, and I quote, ‘fucking that girl Grace Allen’s brains out any day.’ She’s practically my sister, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t hear that shit.” He fake-shivers, and I feel like going on a killing spree.

“You don’t want him near her,” Trey clarifies.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. He’s an ass,” Aaron spits out. “Haven’t you heard? This is only his second year at Warlington, and he’s already hooked up with half of the cheerleading team, and then some. I don’t want my cousin to get a fucking STD, thank you.”

Trey snorts next to me, but I struggle to find any of this funny.

I lean in and lower my voice into an impossibly deep rumble. “Want me to go over there and tell him to fuck off?”

Aaron looks at me for a second too long. “That’ll only freak her out.”

“They were talking earlier, actually,” Trey chimes in with a smirk, a traitorous finger pointing at me. “Weren’t you, Cal? They’re friends now.”

When Aaron gives me a look I can’t decipher, because I can’t tell if he wants to murder me or if he’s just surprised, I add, “She’s my sister’s ballet teacher and we talked for a bit.”

“Ah.” Grace’s cousin diverts his gaze again. “Don’t worry, man. I got it.”

Next thing I know, Aaron is walking up to her and inserting himself between her and this Dax dude. The flash of disappointment in her eyes doesn’t escape me, and it feels like a punch in the gut.

Who this girl does or doesn’t hook up with is none of my business. My brain should know this shit by now.

Dax, clearly uncomfortable by Aaron’s imposing presence, eventually nods goodbye and leaves. Good. But Grace doesn’t come to our table with her cousin. Instead, she rolls her eyes at him, takes her phone out, and makes her way back to her friends. When Aaron sits back in front of me, the tension is visibly gone from his shoulders.

“Crisis averted,” he says with a satisfactory grin. Then, he glances around the table and back at the bar. “What does a man have to do to get a drink in this place?”