Wrangled

Even as it is, I’m gnawing on the inside of my lip suddenly. Despite all my pep talks, I’m shaking in my shoes and trying not to just run away screaming for help.

I hear him shuffle his feet. “Runnin’ off so soon?”

“I’m not running,” I finally state, surprised to hear how firm and level I managed to keep my tone of voice. I sound so … strong.

“Why are you facin’ away?”

Because if I look at you, I’ll lose all my resolve, I could say, if I were the kind of honest man who lets it all out and keeps nothing back. Because if I look at you, I’m going to have all these confusing feelings, and I don’t want any part of that right now.

Especially not right now.

But despite my thoughts—or perhaps in spite of them—I turn myself around.

Well, I wasn’t wrong.

Chad Landry stands there at the door, lit directly above his head by a building light, stark and yellow. The light pours over his cowboy hat like molten gold, highlighting with painstaking and distracting precision his shapely pecs, revealed by his tight plaid sleeveless shirt that so exquisitely hugs them, buttoned from the base of his pecs downward—the perfect amount of male cleavage—nicely cinching his V-shaped form and hugging his tight abdomen. The light continues to bounce down his body, shimmering off his big belt buckle, his muscular farm-boy thighs, and the tips of his boots that peek out from the bottom of his dusty jeans.

His face, however, is shadowed entirely by that cowboy hat.

A total mystery, veiled in darkness.

And it’s just as well because the breathtaking sight of his God-given body is enough to handle without seeing his equally heart-crushing baby face and bright blue eyes.

It’s dangerous to feel so attracted to someone like that, who stands in a pool of light and dark, dark shadow. To be alone with that someone, with no witnesses around. To have a twisted history with that someone that involves any kind of aggressive acts—even if they were playful, or humiliating, or never so much as drew a drop of blood from me.

I always found that curious, the method of Chad’s torment. He never beat me up. Neither did his friends. Chad never punched me in the face, nor kicked me in the ribs, nor used any weapons against me. The most physical he got was wrestling me to the ground once in the locker room, pinning me to the floor, and then dangling a slimy, half-spit loogie from his taunting, plush lips that never quite landed on my face, egged on by his buds.

It was always a game of dominance with him.

An ongoing taunt. A lot of barking with little bite.

And I have to wonder: why am I just now realizing this subtle but suspiciously significant fact?

“Man.” Chad blows air out his lips and lets out another soft, dry chuckle. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come, honestly.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Well, I did.”

“But you’re leavin’ so soon. I didn’t even have a chance to say hi to you or nothin’.”

“Here it is.” I lift my chin. “Hi.”

Chad finds that funny, apparently. He laughs, shakes his head, then leans against the brick wall by the door. “Some things never change. I thought you’d be all hippie-dippie now, living all the way out in Hollywood for so long. Instead, you’re—”

“Los Angeles, actually,” I say, “and … hippie-dippie? Really?”

“Oh, I don’t know what you’d call it. The kind of dude who’d wear sunglasses at night, or drink fancy wine, or … live in his own little make-believe world, anti-government, anti-establishment …”

I shrug. “I am who I am.”

“You’ve always been,” Chad agrees with a subtle nod.

The air feels strangely cool. Hot, cold, hot, cold. This is how I get when I’m nervous. I shiver when I’m hot. I feel like falling over when the ground is perfectly level. My fingers start to wiggle like they have goo all over them.

I have to get out of here. “Well, you’ve seen me. I’ve seen you. You can go back to your friends now, and I’ll go back to my—”

“Nah, I’ve already seen everyone. It’s a perk of actually living here in Spruce. Ten-year reunion? What’s the point? All my buds stayed, even the ones I don’t like. Who the hell’s reuniting, except the folk who ran as far away as they could?” He pushes away from the wall and takes two steps toward me. “People like you.”

I drop my arms to my sides. I put my hand in my pocket. I take it right back out. I can’t seem to figure out what to do with them.

Chad stands in front of me. “So I’m curious what you’ve been up to. I wanna catch up.”

At once, I resent my nervousness. I hate how flustered Mister Wrestling Team Captain Chad makes me feel. I can’t stand that stupid, sexy cowboy hat, or his tight, sleeveless shirt, or that smirk on his beautiful face I know exists in the shadow beneath his hat.