EDGES

  Josh

  HE WAS BEING WATCHED. But what else was new? Plates were banging, and waiters were running, and people were laughing. The restaurant was at capacity. Meanwhile, his thumbs were dancing on the screen of his phone in rapid taps, and his brown eyes hadn’t left it for a moment. Patrick Finch looked so amused by whatever he was sending, he couldn’t feel his best friend’s eyes burning into him.

  Maybe he’s used to it? Having all the eyes on him. Josh Norris held the gaze, wondering about all the secrets Patrick had kept from him over the last few years of college. One in particular stuck out in his mind. One that he’d always known about. One that had the potential to drive him crazy in due time, or maybe even tonight.

  Patrick finally slipped his phone away in his pocket, clapped his hand hard on Josh’s shoulder and smiled. “They’re on their way.”

  A gloomy nod. That’s all Josh could muster. He gulped down most of his beer, and then traced his jittery fingertip around the wet rim of the glass. There’s someone out there for everyone, right? Someone just for me.

  He turned his gaze toward the entrance at all the people pouring in off Main Street, seeking a table. The first warm day of spring was upon Durango, Colorado, and even with the piles of snow melting down to slush, wetting all the sidewalks, pooling in the streets, it seemed like the entirety of the small mountain town had woken up from a deep sleep.

  “Drinks, drinks, and more drinks.” Patrick made a signal to the bartender for two more and she nodded. “It’ll calm you down.”

  Josh’s eyes narrowed on him. “Well, if I could’ve done this alone—”

  Patrick waived his hand dismissively. “This is far more entertaining for me. Besides, you’d have a panic attack alone.”

  “I’m fine.”

  There was a sharp burn of embarrassment as Patrick reached out and pinched Josh’s soaked black button down shirt, which was Josh’s nicest piece in a pretty mundane wardrobe. The sweat was soaking through.

  “All I’m saying is you should’ve at least let me ask her myself. It feels like you convinced her to come.”

  Patrick had already begun ignoring him, glancing off into the busyness of the restaurant. His dark hair was wildly spiked up tonight, and in the soft restaurant lighting his incredibly hand- some features were on display—cutting cheekbones that pressed hard from beneath the skin, a strong abrupt jaw, everything perfectly proportioned. Of course he doesn’t understand, Josh thought. How could he?

  Patrick finally noticed Josh staring impatiently and lifted his beer for a cheers. “Something that might put you at ease in this whole situation—girls get nervous too. Even Simone. I know it’s hard to believe.”

  “Shut up.”

  Patrick shot a big reassuring smile. “I mean they’re probably not as nervous as you,” he said through a chuckle. “But still… nervous. We need to get you loosened up, pronto Tonto.”

  Josh clinked his glass against Patrick’s and finished his beer, and while Patrick paid for the next round, he slid off to the restroom. He locked the door, and immediately squatted down underneath the hand dryer, pushing back his collar so the hot air could ripple down his back and hopefully dry him out.

  It gave him a moment to gather himself, and in the process of sipping in slow deep breaths that horrible memory forced itself back into his skull:

  It was still so clear, even after three months. He could feel the way the December snow had frozen his feet in the sneakers he wore that day, and how the wind had burned his cheeks red as he shoveled out his car. A blizzard had rolled in overnight and all but shut down the town of just under thirty thousand people. Everything was buried beneath a heavy layer of white and not a soul was on the road. Except for Josh, who had to trek, slipping and fish-tailing, all of four miles across town to help Patrick who had stayed the night at his girlfriend Tiffany’s apartment.

  Josh pulled up to the aging, nearly decrepit, apartment building on the northeast side of town, and carefully skidded into the one of the unplowed parking spaces. Snow was up to Patrick’s knees as he worked under the hood of his van, tinkering with an uncooperative engine. Simone, Tiffany’s roommate—who Josh had developed a minor obsession with up to that point—looked on from nearby, shivering. She waived at Josh and he curiously waived back.

  “Where’s Tiffany?” Josh asked as he began assisting Patrick under the hood, his breath heavy puffs of white, all ten fingertips pink and practically numb. There was one of those impossibly long pauses before Patrick spit out, “back home, in Denver.”

  “We just wanted to watch a movie,” Simone chimed in through chattering teeth, still standing with her arms crossed, shifting her weight side to side nervously on the cold snow-covered sidewalk. Josh craned his head back at her, and observed her suspiciously.

  “I fell asleep,” Patrick followed.

  Josh nodded, but couldn’t help feeling heartbroken.

  They got it running before long, and Simone mentioned twice more before they both left, “Next time you should come. Watch movies with us.”

  It felt like he’d been daggered in the chest.

  Finishing up in the bathroom, Josh leaned over the sink and patted his sweaty face dry with paper towels, spent a moment looking at his admittedly boyish features in the mirror and into his green, somehow apologetic eyes. Someone just for me. He shook his head, told himself to stop, just stop, and go back to the bar.

  When Josh returned, the girls were there, standing on either side of Patrick, both holding small clutches. Josh meandered over, feeling like his heart was being squeezed in someone’s hand. All the men at surrounding tables had perked up at the girls strolling in, picturesque in heels and cocktail dresses. They stood out against the room of ordinary people.

  Patrick reached out to hand Josh his fresh beer, and the girls turned.

  Tiffany was classically pretty, always wearing red lipstick, and had platinum blonde hair that typically drew most of the initial attention, but Simone was something else.

  The way she looked at you was unnerving. In her gaze was unshakable steadiness, as if she had travelled the world several times over (she hadn’t), or maybe lived several lives, and nothing and no one could rattle her calm. Coupled with her exquisite appearance—a Persian look of impeccable tan skin and lustrous black hair that hung arrow straight down to the middle of her back, accented by the warm and endearing blue eyes of a home-grown California girl—it was damn-near impossible to feel at ease around her.

  Tiffany greeted Josh with a hug. “Your shirt’s hot,” she said.

  Josh smiled from the rush of positive attention. “Thanks! It’s like my favorite shirt.”

  “Aww, Joshie, you’re so cute. It looks sharp, but I meant temperature hot. Did you just pull that thing out of the oven?”

  The hand drier, he thought, cringing.

  Simone pressed her hand against the sleeve. “Oh my gosh. It burns. Isn’t that burning you?”

  Josh’s smile bent awkwardly as both girls joined in laughter. Patrick was quick to change the topic. The hostess approached, and led them to the table, Josh and Patrick trailing behind the girls.

  Patrick grabbed his shoulder reassuringly one more time. “Hey now, no sulking. She’s going to love you, you know why?”

  Josh couldn’t look at him, not with every emotion in his body teetering on pouring out.

  “… Because you’re the best guy I know.”

  It was those words: Best guy, good guy, wonderful guy. The ones Josh despised above all else. He was sick of hearing people say it. In two and a half years of college it hadn’t done him one goddamn good to be the ‘good guy.’ Not one.

  At the table, Josh and Simone sat down next to each other, and their eyes met for a moment. She flashed him a quick and only courteous smile.

 
Why would tonight be any different? he wondered to himself. How could it be?

  Simone

  PATRICK ORDERED SHOTS FOR EVERYONE. He was doing that thing he liked to do—be the center of all attention and conversation—like he was the sun and wanted all the people around him to be his planets.

  Simone should’ve despised him by now, after all he’d done to her and everything he’d dragged her into. But as the four of them cozied up at the table, she noticed herself admiring him, consumed with each little movement and gesture he made.

  He and Tiffany sat close together on one side of the table, intermittently holding hands. Their status as a couple was precarious. When Simone watched them she didn’t see chemistry, she could only see an old vase, one that had been knocked off the shelf and glued back together when it should’ve been thrown away. Obviously broken, crack-riddled, not something beautiful anymore.

  Mysteriously, Simone felt self-conscious in her sexy white dress and wanted to cover up but couldn’t. She always carried herself like she was far more proper than she was, usually overdressing, looking her best in this small town when really there was nothing to be gained by it, other than constant attention from men.

  So as she sat there, with just enough space between her and Josh to feel at ease, ready to take a shot of all things, she kept her back perfectly erect, unrolled the silverware before anyone else and laid the black napkin across her lap, and fixed her face into an easygoing, close-lipped smile.

  Appearances matter, was what her mother had always repeated growing up. On the surface, everything about Simone appeared fine.

  For a moment before the shots arrived, she took note of Josh. He was her date, after all. He was cute, not really handsome or hot though. It looked like he was still growing into his body a bit. Slender and often wore clothes too big for him, but he kind of had the look of a snowboarder, with his wavy long hair that laid over his ears and curved up at his green-hazel eyes. He had nice teeth, which was a must. And there was something mildly refreshing about how innocent he was.

  Tiffany and Patrick had sung his praises, and talked endlessly about how easygoing he was, but tonight he was fidgety. Simone could sense it from the corner of her eye, little ticks in his movement, constantly readjusting in his seat. It was beginning to make her uncomfortable. Luckily the shots came just then.

  “I’m thankful to have all my favorite people here around one table,” Patrick toasted. “Joshie, like a brother to me, my gorgeous girlfriend, and Simone, a true friend. Now let’s get drunk. Cheers.”

  They craned their heads back to take the shots, but Patrick was locking eyes with Simone across the candlelight. A true friend. He was a cheeky bastard alright. But it also gave Simone goose bumps when he looked at her like that. Like he would take her out back into the alley and force her against the wall if they were alone. What a disturbing little game she’d willfully fallen into.

  She tore her gaze away. Not tonight. She wouldn’t get sucked into his games. As it was, the guilt had been slowly eroding her for the last few months. She didn’t need to compound that with the two of them making eyes at each other all through dinner.

  She flattened the napkin across her thighs again and looked down at her hands. She felt her heart hitting her ribcage really hard. And disturbingly, it felt good.

  They got on with more beers for the boys and martinis for the girls.

  The alcohol was already stinging in her belly, and she was disappointed in herself that she’d made the choice not to eat since an early lunch.

  There’d been a couple instances where she’d fallen prey to her Mrs. Hyde half, the drunk sister of her sober self, the one that craved partying and made all the decisions that seemingly couldn’t be undone. Yes, she was in college, and yes, she was only twenty-one, but she still felt guilty all the time for having a little semi-reckless fun.

  She’d had a few hazy 6AM goodbyes, and later, sitting around the breakfast table in their apartment, slumped and sipping coffee, Tiffany would just stare at her with judging eyes.

  Tiffany was never alone, always hopped from one boyfriend to the next, even back into high school. That’s how she’d found Patrick. They met one night at a party and in the stretch of twenty-four hours her ex had been replaced.

  They were very different people, Tiffany and she. Being best friends for so long, Simone often felt like they had spent their friendship on opposite sides of the same mountain.

  The appetizers finally arrived and were gobbled up. Simone’s anxiousness receded. All four of them soon melted into a pleasurable bubble. The drinks had done their job. Josh was a little looser now, and actually cracked jokes that she found amusing. Patrick was recounting outlandish stories that everyone suspected were too good to be true, but were so captivating that it didn’t matter. Tiffany was even in a spry mood.

  As dinner wound down, Simone reached out and started holding hands with Josh.

  “See, I knew you guys would get along,” Tiffany said, clasping her hands together like a proud mother.

  Patrick didn’t say anything. He just held a smug look, like he couldn’t be bothered with any sort of real feelings of jealousy. It was an ugly, heavy armor that he chose to wear. It bothered Simone for a few minutes, but the drinks were flowing and she soon got carried away onto other more blissful things.

  At one point the conversation had broken off to where Patrick was whispering in Tiffany’s ear and Josh and Simone were turned toward each other. Josh leaned in to kiss her, and Simone jerked back, not feeling quite ready for that yet. He clumsily planted his lips on her cheek and then turned away and ordered another beer.

  Simone excused herself to the bathroom, but as she stood up she felt all the drinks oscillate through her petite body and realized how drunk she’d gotten. Once she got to the bathroom hallway she pressed her fingertips into the walls to keep her balance. She freshened up and then crossed paths with Patrick on the way back down the hall as he was going to the men’s room.

  He stopped her and wrapped his rough hands around her slender arms and pulled her close. Simone let out a little gasp and felt an excited electricity shoot all through her body at his touch. Her skin prickled up and she felt weightless while he stared at her. Patrick had golden caramel eyes in the daytime, but at night they changed, turned much darker than they actually were, and they filled up with something, a mesmerizing confidence that she couldn’t really explain, but it was hypnotic.

  “You’re doing really great with Josh.” Patrick said, not for a moment looking away. “I know he’s not the easiest to warm up to.”

  “We’re getting along great,” she said back.

  “You are?”

  She nodded. “Swimmingly.”

  “Right.”

  “Is there something else?”

  He just stared at her and his hands clenched a little harder on her arms.

  “Then I’d like to go back to the table,” Simone said, suddenly feeling more self-assured staring right back at him.

  He put that smug look back on and let her go. She turned away slowly while he just stood there. Why did his touch make her feel more alive than she had in weeks? Was she sick in the head? Why wouldn’t he just say something if he felt something? She rubbed her arms where he’d held her and walked back to the table, trying not to cry.

  She plopped down in her seat, took a big drink of her vodka martini, and then leaned into Josh, placing her hand on his thigh for balance, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  Tiffany seemed infinitely pleased and suggested they go back and watch a movie.

  “Is that okay with you?” Simone asked Josh. “Do you want to watch a movie with me?”

  Josh’s eyes lit up and she could feel the blood pumping through his leg as she continued to lean on him. She cocked her head to the side, laid it on his shoulder, and smiled across at Tiffany.

  Maybe things can be different, she thought with the scent of Josh’s cologne filling her nostrils.

  But within a few m
inutes as the boys walked them both out onto the curb, her holding onto Josh’s arm and with his light coat wrapped around her shoulders, Simone didn’t feel like smiling anymore. There was a hollow ache in her chest. She felt like all the hope had been drained from her twenty-one-year-old body and her twenty-one-year-old life. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to run away.

  Patrick

  HE WAS NAKED AND WANDERING down the stairs through the darkness, feeling the walls to guide his way, taking careful steps. Tiffany and Simone’s apartment was black and hot, and someone had left the heat on high. Patrick found the thermostat, and did his best to adjust the setting.

  Beads of sweat had sprouted on his brow and were now forming on his hard abs as he continued down the stairs and went into the kitchen where he plucked a glass from the cabinet and filled it with cold water. It went down in three big gulps, and dribbled off his lower lip. The clock on the stove glowed just past three in the morning. He stood there staring at it for some reason, spellbound. It was hard to tell whether he was still drunk.

  As he finished another glass of water, a twinge of hunger gnawed his belly, and he reached into a jar on the countertop for a raisin cookie.

  He stood there munching and took an assessment of his feelings. It was often at times like these, late at night, that he would feel an inner compulsion to gather his things from the apartment and sneak off into the night. To not even confront a formal break-up with Tiffany, but to just phantom away and cease all communication with her—a rush he always felt when he sensed someone getting closer and closer to him.

  He pulled the fridge open and closed his eyes to slits as a spray of light came forth. It was, as always, a cornucopia within. For a second, Patrick laughed.

  Tiffany’s parents were filthy rich, and she was beautiful, popular, and occasionally funny. But still he felt it, a tingling sense that popped up repeatedly, like some suggestive voice whispering, ‘Go. Go Now! While you still can!’

  As he rummaged, he thought, She loves you. Shouldn’t a girl loving you make you feel happy?