Say You'll Remember Me

It’s not an explanation, but it is, and he inclines his head to the game. I move to stand in front of it, and as I go to retrieve money from my pocket, he shakes his head, and pulls out his wallet. “It’s on me.”

The anger that had been boiling in me retreats because him paying for this game feels old-school James Dean. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t expect much from me. Odds are I’m going to lose.”

The urge is to perform a sweep of the area to see where my tormentors have settled. Predators like that don’t give up easily on their prey.

“They’re off to our right,” he says as if reading my mind. “Next to the popcorn stand, but don’t look at them. Don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they have power over you.”

“They don’t have power over me.”

“Good.” He lays five dollars on the table. The carnie takes a long look at him and then a long look at me as if we’re a defunct science experiment, and eventually places three balls on the ledge.

The two of us are different. Complete sliding scale different. The only thing we have in common, as far as I can tell, is that he appears about my age and that we are both wearing shoes. My sandals to his scuffed combat boots. His sagging jeans with rips and white T-shirt to my ironed khaki shorts and fitted blue top. My diamond earrings and gold bracelet with a heart charm to his black belt that has metal studs and silver chain that hangs from his belt loop to his wallet.

By looks, I should have more in common with the loser college boys, but it’s this guy I’m comfortable with. “What’s your name?”

He throws the ball, and he’s right, he sucks at it. While he has unbelievable power, his aim’s completely off. The ball hits the back curtain with a loud thud, then drops to the floor. “Drix.”

“Drix?” I repeat to make sure I heard him correctly.

“Drix. It’s short for Hendrix. Like Jimi Hendrix.”

“That’s cool.” Because it is.

I wait for him to ask for my name, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Are you here alone?”

He throws the second ball, and this time he hits the top of the three bottles, sending that one to the ground.

“No. My parents are here. I’m supposed to meet them at the convention center. What about you? What happened to the people you were with? Or are you here alone now?”

“Yes, but no.” Drix pulls his arm back, releases the ball and when the ball hits the bottom bottles, my heart lifts with the idea that he won, but only one of the bottles goes flying. The other stays completely untouched.

He turns in my direction, but his gaze roams over my shoulder, then flickers to the left. Drix then glances behind him, and when he returns his attention to me he raises his eyebrows. “They appear to be gone.”

That’s awesome news, but I’m still stuck on his answer of “yes, but no.” Honestly, I’m stuck on him. He’s a million questions without a single answer, and he makes me incredibly curious. “My parents weren’t thrilled about me hanging out alone at the midway, but I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. It’s just Whack-A-Mole, you know?”

“And a ball toss.”

“And a ball toss. None of it should have been complicated.”

“Shouldn’t have been.”

“Elle!” Part of me is relieved to see Andrew craning his neck over the crowd. Another part of me is majorly disappointed. There aren’t many times in my life I’m left alone. Not many times I’m able to explore new places and people without someone hovering and not many opportunities when I would meet someone like Drix.

“Elle,” Andrew calls again. I wave at him, hoping it will buy me a few seconds, and he waves back in a way that tells me he needs me to walk in his direction. That works well for me.

“Is that a friend of yours?” Drix asks.

“Yes, but no.” I borrow his answer because it’s apropos. Andrew’s a few years older. More friend of our family than a personal friend of mine, and I don’t like the idea of explaining that my parents think I need a babysitter.

Drix’s mouth twitches at my words, and my lips also edge upward. “I just made you smile a third time. Is this a Guinness Book of World Records thing?”

“I liked your answer.”

“I’m just creative like that.”

This time, there’s a short chuckle, and I like that sound almost more than I like him smiling. I kick at a rock before gathering my courage to meet his eyes again. “Thank you for helping me out.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I’m waiting, and I don’t have much time. He needs to ask my name. He needs to ask for my number. I’ll give him both—in a nanosecond. “I’ve got to go.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he says with all the smooth edginess that can only belong to a gentle rebel. It’s like his voice was created to slay unsuspecting hearts.

Adrenaline courses through my veins because if I do this and he rejects me, I might as well tattoo a big fat L to my forehead and die of humiliation. “I’ll give you my number if you want or you can give me yours...if you’d like. If you’d like to talk again or...hang. My name’s Elle, by the way.”

Drix rubs the back of his head like what I said made him uncomfortable, and I seriously want to crawl behind the game and die. I’m being rejected.

“Look.” He hesitates, and my entire body flashes sickeningly vomit hot. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re out of my league. Way out of my league. And it would be easy for you to think I’m a good guy because I stepped in.”

And because he paid money to let a little kid win, but hey...who’s keeping score?

Me. I’m keeping score.

“I just got home from being gone for a year, and I’m only interested in making friends. Besides, I don’t want you to think I stepped in because I wanted your number. I ask for your number, and it’ll come off that I’m saving the day to get something out of it. That’s not why I did it. I stepped in because not all guys are assholes.”

His voice just doesn’t melt hearts, his words do, too, and this guy doesn’t want my number. As far as rejections go, it could have gone worse.

“Let’s go, Elle.” Andrew cups both of his hands to his mouth. The sand must be narrowing down in the hourglass.

“Well...” Find something graceful. “Thanks for stepping in when you did...both times.”

Drix inclines his head, and his dark eyes soften in such a way that I may as well become a puddle on the ground. “Anytime.”

Why doesn’t the world have a million guys like this? That should be one of my father’s political agendas—create more gentlemen.

Drix turns away from me and walks toward the midway. I stay rooted to the spot because I don’t want this moment to end. Some people live their whole lives for the past few minutes I just had, and I want to savor it a little longer.

This time, though, he glances over his shoulder to look at me. I smile. He smiles. That would make it number four. Guess I’m just talented like that, and then with a sigh, I leave.

Hendrix (#ua40580ab-2e09-500c-88a2-fbd8fd0c2fe2)

“Let me make sure I have this correct.” Cynthia leans forward, places her elbows on the table and has this starry-eyed take-me-to-bed expression that’s going to get me into trouble. So far, my brother isn’t nibbling the bait, but I don’t have much luck left. Axle hooking up with someone involved in my future won’t do me any favors.

“You’ve taken on custody of not only Hendrix, but your younger sister, as well?”

Axle is in the folding chair next to me, and he draws his long legs in as she edges farther in his direction. Cynthia introduced herself as my “handler” when we arrived ten minutes ago for the press conference. She’s in a pink dress top, black pants and suit coat, and she’s good-looking. Not as beautiful as Elle, though. Not as charismatic either.