Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 5: The Red Hand

EMERY

There are two types of people in the world. Ones that slow down when the red hand at the crosswalk flashes, and ones that speed up, that take the risk, that believe they can make it to the other side in time, and unscathed. I want to be the latter. I want to—

"Woah!" Tom latches onto my jacket and pulls me back to the curb. "Careful!" A black SUV with tinted windows turns the corner, splashing fresh rainfall on the tips of my shoes. He frowns at me, shaking his head. "The light's red, Em. Didn't you see?"

"It was yellow," I mutter, the water penetrating my shoes and soaking my toes. At least something's wet. I glance down at his hand, which is still gripping my arm. "You can let go now."

Tom sighs. "You need to be more careful, Em. Drivers these days can't concentrate on the road. I read this op-ed last week that critiqued the built-in screens in new cars, arguing that it adds an extra layer of distraction. Like those new Teslas with essentially giant iPads built in. The guys in AnonCo were saying that—"

Tom drones on about the hazards of vehicular technology and his little hacker club for the rest of the walk to Thousand Words Book Store. Does he come with an off switch? Or a mute button? I inwardly scold myself. No, that's stupid. Tom is passionate. It's one of the many things I like about him. Hah. Sure. So passionate. He's a regular old Casanova. Not that type of passion. No shit.

"After you." Tom opens the door to the bookstore, the security system chiming as we enter. He removes his scarf, inhaling the scent of stories and fables. "Ahh... Never gets old. So, where should we start today? I heard there's an excellent new spy thriller by—"

"Why don't we browse separately for a bit?" I suggest with a soft smile. "Ten minutes or so?"

"Sure," he says, eyeing the fiction section. "You know where to find me."

Tom likes to read about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. A suave spy who saves the world from a nuclear attack. A fallen knight who restores peace to a sparring kingdom. A chancellor of a faraway planet ending decades of famish. It's all fantasy. He gets a kick from putting himself in their victorious shoes. It's because he's not extraordinary. He'll never do anything that changes history. He'll never experience what it feels like to accomplish the impossible. He's ordinary.

Like me.

My gaze skims the covers of biographies. At least some of these people started out as ordinary. They simply became extraordinary. Whether through circumstance or sheer willpower, the people on these shelves did something. They had a goal. They had a vision. They had a reason to wake up in the morning. Maybe these are also fantasies. Works of fiction. Everyone can't be special. Someone has to be the baseline. The norm. We make others shine. That's our job. Our goal. Our purpose, I suppose. Jesus Christ, you're depressing. Time to double the meds, babe. Reality is depressing. Can't be upset with facts.

"Do you need a recommendation, mami?"

His smoky voice cuts through my thoughts and I'm momentarily taken back to Lux. Oh shit. My stomach drops. It can't be. Is that who I think it is? Hot damn. Should've stayed and chatted, huh? Controlling my breathing, I pretend I don't hear him as I continue reading the titles. Go away. Take a hint and go the fuck away. Fuck that. Stay for as long as you want.

"This one was excellent." The warmth from his body radiates onto my skin as he hovers behind me, far too close to keep pretending he's not here. I swallow, fighting the urge to inhale the scent of his oaky cologne that I dreamt of all night long. Yeah, we did. He chuckles under his breath as I refuse to acknowledge him. "Are we suddenly shy?"