Say Yes by Kandi Steiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Mixed Signals

I tossed and turned in a fitful sleep the rest of the morning, and I didn’t actually peel myself out of bed until just after noon. Even then, I felt like I could sleep the rest of the week and still not feel rested enough.

But as exhausted as I was, I still had a sleepy smile stuck to my face as I padded barefoot into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

Angela was singing along to a Salt-N-Pepa song as she worked on a to-scale model of what looked like a skyscraper of some kind.

“It’s cold now,” she said. “You’ll have to nuke it.”

I popped the mug into the microwave and set the time for forty-five seconds, leaning a hip against the counter as I turned to Angela. “Good morning.”

She arched a brow. “Good afternoon. How are we feeling?”

“Tired,” I croaked. “But… inspired.”

“I bet,” Angela said with a snort. “You missed class.”

I smiled. “I did, huh?”

“I, on the other hand, woke up around six this morning and got to work on my project.”

“Early for you.”

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed. “Imagine my surprise when I came out of my room to find Liam Benson sneaking out of yours.”

I flushed, biting back a smile as the microwave dinged. I used it as an excuse to turn my back to Angela, carefully removing the mug and adding a couple spoonfuls of sugar before I stirred it all up.

“Care to tell me what happened?” Angela asked when I didn’t respond to her initial observation.

I giggled. “No.”

“Too bad,” she said, placing a block into the model she was working on before she dusted her hands off and joined me in the kitchen. “Because less than twenty-four hours ago, you hated that boy. So you’ve got a lot of explaining to do to take me from that, to him being in your bedroom at an ungodly hour this morning.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Angela gave me a look.

I laughed. “I’m serious! I ran into him last night, not too long after I left. He asked me what I was doing, and I told him and… he said he wanted to be my Yes Guide.”

“Your Yes Guide,” Angela deadpanned.

I nodded. “So we ate some weird stuff and stumbled upon some free tickets to a concert and, you know…” I shrugged. “Other things.”

“Other things like…?”

I smiled, sipping my coffee.

Angela huffed. “Did you have sex?”

“No.”

“Did you hook up?”

I looked up at the ceiling. “Define hook up.”

“Alright, brat,” she said, grabbing me by the arm and steering me into the living room. I laughed as I focused on balancing my cup of coffee, and when we were both seated on the old couch, Angela smacked my thigh. “Spill. I want to hear everything. The whole night, starting from when you walked out that door. No corners cut.” She looked at the dainty watch on her arm. “And you’ve got about forty-seven minutes before you’ve got to head to the museum, so talk fast.”

Talking fast was out of the question for my sleepy brain, but I did start from the beginning of the night and told Angela everything. Well, almost everything — I kept what Liam had shared with me about his past to myself. And by the time I wrapped up the story, Angela’s jaw had hit the floor at least a dozen times.

She followed me into my bedroom as I got ready for the afternoon at the Uffizi, spitting questions at me like a machine gun.

“So, he kissed you?”

“He did.”

“In the shower.”

“Indeed.”

“You were both naked.”

“That’s usually how showering works.”

“And he just kissed you?”

“Yes.”

“Like… just on the lips? Nowhere else?”

I laughed, spraying a little perfume once I had my uniform on. “Yes, you perv.”

“Well, can you blame me for being confused?” She threw her hands up. “You were both naked. And hot. And wet. And naked. And he just… kissed you?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand straight people.”

I snorted.

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… are you friends? Are you… dating?”

Her question made my smile slip for the first time all day, and I swallowed, ducking into my closet long enough to grab my sneakers.

“I don’t know what we are,” I admitted quietly. “Other than a couple of people who spent a night together.”

“Well, you need to get some clarity on that. Because trust me when I say nothing good comes from undefined relationships.”

“It was one night of hanging out,” I said, hoping I sounded as casual as I was aiming for. “I don’t think I need him to sign a marriage contract.”

“Look,” Angela said, popping off the edge of my bed. “You can act all cool and unaffected with him, but I see right through it. You like him. And you want him to like you. And I think you need to ask him what page he’s on before you just assume it’s the same one as you.”

“It’s not like I have his number or anything,” I shot back defensively. “If I see him around this weekend, I’ll talk to him. If not, then I’ll see him Monday. Okay?” I shrugged. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Fine,” Angela said with a huff on her way out of my room, but she stopped at the doorframe. “But wipe that lovestruck smile off your face if you’re so cool about things.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not lovestruck. I’m just tired.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Goodbye, Angela.”

“Let’s get dinner tonight,” she said as I grabbed my purse and headed for the front door.

“Maybe,” I said. “I might have plans.”

“With Liam Benson?” she asked in a sing-song voice, clutching her hands to her chest and batting her lashes.

“No,” I said on a laugh, pausing at the front door. “With my canvas.”

“Now that’s a date night I can get behind.”

I waved goodbye, trotting down the stairs two at a time until I pushed through the building door and out into the warm afternoon sunshine.

I counted down the hours until I could get back home to paint.

And then I pulled another all-nighter doing just that.

“Don’t grumble at me. You have to eat. And if you have to eat, you might as well have a glass of wine with your roommate while you’re at it,” Angela said the next evening after quite literally dragging me away from my painting.

I’d been holed up in my room all night working on my assignment, slept most of the morning and afternoon, and then awakened to spend the rest of the day and evening working again. This was my favorite part of the artistic process, when everything was all-consuming, when creation bled into obsession. I was content to stay there all weekend, especially now that I felt like I had a fresh view on the project.

But she was right, I did need to eat.

And some fresh air probably wouldn’t hurt either.

“I was just in the groove,” I explained. “It’s hard to leave when it’s all flowing like that.”

“I get it. I’m the same way when I’m locked in. But breaks are important. You can thank me later when you’re tipsy and inspired again.”

I chuckled as we sidestepped a group of students walking the other way on the narrow sidewalk, careful to avoid the taxi driving by on the cobblestone road. Florence was even busier than usual, the energy of a young summer Saturday night buzzing through the air.

Angela was ready for a night out, and I knew without asking that when I went home after dinner, she wouldn’t be coming with me. Her braids were pulled up in a high ponytail that swished and swayed as she walked, her makeup dark and edgy, complete with a maroon lipstick that brought out the warmth in her eyes. She wore a bright yellow tube top, and light baggy jeans ripped up at the knees, and the hem of her Tommy Hilfiger underwear peeking out above the belt. She looked like Sporty Spice and Posh Spice combined, and she turned more than a few heads as we walked through Florence to our favorite wine bar.

Vino di Fiume was already bursting at the seams when we squeezed in, but Angela managed to find us two barstools at the back corner of the bar. We ordered a bottle of chianti to share, along with a board of meats and cheeses and breads, half of which we devoured within five minutes of the waitress placing it in front of us.

“How did it go with her, by the way?” I asked between a mouthful of sausage and cheddar.

“Who?”

“The bartender,” I said, nodding toward the same girl Angela had stayed behind with last time we were here.

As if on cue, she looked our way from her section of the bar, flushing a little before tucking her hair behind her ear and turning back to her customer.

Angela sighed. “She’s straight, sadly. And has a boyfriend. But she did hook me up with free drinks the rest of the night.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Hitting on a woman only to find out she’s straight? Of course.” Angela shrugged. “But you never know if you don’t put yourself out there. It’s not like lesbians are proudly flaunting their sexuality on their t-shirts.”

“That would make it all easier, wouldn’t it? If everyone just wore their status and what they were looking for?” I took a sip of my wine. “Would save a lot of time and mixed signals.”

“Gay bookworm seeking athletic man,” Angela said, waving her hand as if across a billboard.

“Playboy looking for a one-night stand,” I added.

“Straight woman looking to experiment with a very non-straight woman.”

I snorted. “You’d be all over that one.”

“What would yours say?”

I cocked my head. “I don’t know. Maybe… Deformed dreamer seeking adventurous boyfriend.” I paused. “Who’s funny and handsome and not afraid to be sensitive.”

A laugh bubbled out of me, but when I looked at Angela, her brows were bent together, eyes sad.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re not deformed, Harley.”

I waved her off. “I was kidding.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Well, let’s be honest — it’s true. If I ever find a boyfriend, he’ll have to be okay with this,” I said, holding up my right hand and wiggling my thumb and pinky. “And not everyone is.”

“Anyone who isn’t is a jackass.”

“It’s not their fault. I’m just different. Some people just don’t know what to do when they see my hand, when they meet me. They either look at me with pity, do everything they can not to look at me for fear of being caught staring, or just blatantly come out and ask me about it.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I’d get so peeved.”

“Sometimes I do. But it’s part of me, of who I am.” I swallowed, tracing the lip of my wine glass with my forefinger. “Liam kissed it, you know.”

“I knew it!” Angela hissed. “I knew you did more than just some PG-13 shower kissing.”

“Not it, you perv,” I said on a laugh, gesturing to my pelvis. I held up my right hand next. “It. My small hand.” I smiled, the memory clear in my mind. “Every finger.”

Angela’s shoulders deflated, but she smiled, nonetheless. “That’s sweet.”

I nodded, mindlessly grabbing a piece of cheese and popping it in my mouth.

“Have you talked to him since?”

I shook my head.

“Do you want to?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Well, here’s your chance.”

I frowned, snapping out of my daze to find Angela staring somewhere behind me. When I turned, I found Liam in that same dark corner he’d been in the first night we saw him here.

And just like then, he had a beautiful girl hanging on his arm.

I tore my eyes away before he saw me, angling my barstool so my back was to him.

“What are you doing?” Angela asked. “Go talk to him.”

“He’s with someone.”

“So?” She yanked on my arm until I was out of the chair. “Go say hi.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

The way Angela watched me, I knew she knew the answer. She just wanted to hear me say it — especially after I insisted nothing happened with me and Liam.

And really, nothing had happened.

But she and I both knew I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him every minute since he left my bed Friday morning.

“Look, the sooner you clear things up, the better you’ll feel,” she said, turning me in place and then giving me a little shove. “Now, shoo.”

“I hate you,” I grumbled.

“Love you, too.”

I sighed, rolling my shoulders back and holding my chin as high as I could as I made my way through the crowded bar over to where Liam stood. I recognized one of the guys next to him because he’d been there last time, too. He was shorter than Liam, more pale than Liam, and stockier — with chubby cheeks and an adorable grin that revealed a singular dimple.

He was the first to notice me approaching.

“Well, hello, beautiful,” he said, standing up straighter when I made it to their group. “Please tell me you traveled across this bar all for me.”

I chuckled, looking from him to Liam, who might as well have been in another universe for how much he noticed me. He was too busy twirling a strand of the brunette’s hair on his arm, and she traced the line of his jaw, blowing a bubble with her gum and grinning up at him when it popped.

My stomach sank at the sight of him grinning down at her, too.

When I looked back at other guy, he was frowning, his eyes flicking to Liam and then to me. He offered his hand. “I’m Thomas, Liam’s roommate.”

He had his right hand out, so when I offered my left, he looked at me confused before changing hands and giving me a firm shake. His eyes slipped to where I had my right hand buried in my pocket, but he didn’t press.

“Harley Chambers,” I said in return.

“Uh, you two know each other?” Thomas asked.

“We have class together,” Liam answered without so much as glancing my way.

“Ah,” Thomas said with a smile. “Another painter. What’s your medium of choice?”

It was rude not to answer the question, but then again, it was also rude to stand there with my mouth half-open as I stared incredulously at Liam. He still hadn’t looked at me, but the way he’d dismissed me as just a classmate told me loud and clear everything I needed to know.

I could have let it go. I could have told Thomas that it was nice to meet him and slipped quietly back through the crowd to the bar.

But I wanted answers.

At the very least, I wanted the bastard to look at me.

“We have class together,” I repeated, crossing my arms. “That’s it, huh?”

The girl on Liam’s arm looked at me, then, arching a beautiful, dark brow as she popped her gum again. I couldn’t tell if she was a student or a local, but the way she eyed me up and down told me she wasn’t the least bit threatened by me, and her tight little body in the equally tight dress she wore was further proof that she needn’t be.

If anything, she seemed annoyed by my presence.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Liam finally looked at me, too, with lifeless eyes and a smug smile. But he still didn’t say a word.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Do you want a drink, Harley?”

Liam watched me stand there, unamused, as I tried to put the pieces together. He was the same boy who’d spent an entire night with me not even a full forty-eight hours ago. He had the same shaggy hair, the same crooked smile, and the same confident stature. But his eyes were glazed and darker than I remembered. The playfulness I’d tried to resist, and then ultimately fell victim to, was nowhere to be found.

He looked at me like I was a stranger, like he couldn’t care less about anyone in the world.

Like he didn’t know me at all.

Like he hadn’t asked to kiss me.

Like I hadn’t said yes.

I shook my head, eyes welling with tears. “I hope you drown in all that bullshit you spew, Liam Benson.”

The girl laughed through her nose, unimpressed, as Thomas muttered ouch under his breath. Liam didn’t respond, but his smile faded, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his lips flattened.

I turned on my heel, shoving through the crowd and back to Angela with steam rolling off my neck.

“What?” she asked, alarmed, eyes wide as she took in the sight of me. “What happened? What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” she remarked as I flung my purse over my shoulder and dug out my cash before slapping it on the bar.

“He didn’t say anything, Angela!” My chest heaved. “And he didn’t have to for me to get his point loud and clear.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, and she cracked her neck to the left, and then the right, before shoving her barstool back and standing. “I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t bother,” I said, looking over my shoulder. Liam’s eyes bore into mine, an unreadable expression on his face. “He’s not worth it.”

His nose flared, but he didn’t look away.

I hoped he could read my lips.

“I’m going home,” I said when I turned back around to Angela.

“I’ll come, too.”

“No,” I insisted. “Stay. Have fun. I’m going to paint.”

“Why do I feel like your canvas needs a bodyguard right now?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Probably because I’m on my way to trash it.”

“Trashit?! You worked on it all night! And all day!”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m starting over.”

“Feeling inspired again?” Angela mused.

I nearly snarled in response. “Oh, you have no idea.”