by J P Books
I always said I was going to play for Pittsburgh, but that obviously didn’t happen.
She really left though.
But now she’s back. And she might be coming to the party tonight.
God, Darren’s going to flip when he sees her.
He was the only other person on earth as obsessed with her as I was, though neither of us realized how the other felt until years later when we finally confided in each other.
Miranda’s back.
What’s he going to think when he sees her?
Suddenly, I’m looking forward to the party tonight. I promised Darren a birthday to remember, and it looks like I’m going to deliver!
CHAPTER 3
Darren
The party at Moe’s has the place filled to the brim, but for some reason, Sam has been watching the door like a hawk. I have no idea who else he expects to show up. I’m pretty sure the entire town is here.
It’s going on 9 o’clock and I’d be happy to call it a night, but I know how important this is to Samuel, and I don’t want to disappoint him by being a drag. So, I keep a smile plastered to my face and I socialize.
Socializing is Sam’s thing. He loves people. All people. All the time. I’m pretty sure he only became a lumberjack because I did, and he didn’t know what else to do with his life. He’d be better suited to some sort of career that involves interacting with people somehow.
I love the quieter life. Just me, Sam, the team and the forest. I can lose myself in my thoughts. My dreams of the future when we’re old and grey, surrounded by grandchildren screaming. My mundane plans for tomorrow. My brain doesn’t shut off very often and keeps me in good company.
At a loud, crowded event like tonight though, I’m distracted. I turn off my imagination and settle for the entertainment of watching Samuel and essentially the entire town get drunk and crazy. It’s better than TV, that’s for sure.
He had brought out the cake about an hour ago. A beautifully decorated 3-tier birthday cake covered in little pine trees and the numbers 32 balancing on an ax. It was delicious.
As I’m considering whether or not to go back for another slice, a commotion picks up near the door. I see Samuel trying to push his way through the crowds to get to whoever has just arrived.
What is that man up to?
I stay put, knowing that he’ll come to me eventually and, sure enough, a few minutes later he’s parting the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea, dragging someone behind him.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” he shouts, over the din, pushing the woman towards me.
She looks familiar, but it takes me a moment to place her. “Miranda?” I say, surprised.
She nods and looks a bit shy, but exactly like the girl I remember.
Well, not exactly. She looks different. The same, but different. 15 years obviously makes a difference, especially the transition from teenager to adult.
She was always thin as a kid, and she’s thin now, but the kind of thin that comes from drinking too much coffee and eating too little food; not the kind of thin that comes from being full of energy and pep.
She looks much more serious than she used to when Sam and I were chasing her around the lake too. Her laugh lines have been replaced by a few frown lines in the middle of her forehead. I guess growing up takes its toll on people. Suddenly, I’m wondering how different I must look to her.
She’s dressed up for the party, looking smoking hot in a little black dress. It’s a very modest number compared to most of the other women’ here. Almost down to her knees and with a high neckline. But it’s very fitted, emphasizing every single curve she has and being all the sexier for leaving the imagination to do some work for itself.
I lean in to give her a hug, inhaling her perfume. The same as she wore in high school, I’d recognize it anywhere. I have no idea what it is, but it’s Miranda. “Oh my god! You look great! I can’t believe you’re here!”
Yelling over the crowd isn’t ideal, but it’s what we have to work with. She smiles and looks a bit awkward.
“It’s so good to see you!” she yells into my ear. “When I saw Sam today, I was thrown back to the good ol’ high school days and couldn’t pass up an opportunity to wish our baby a happy birthday.”
When she says “our baby” I feel a little burst of happiness. I know she’s talking about the fact that I’m the youngest of the 3 of us. It was always a joke that I was the baby of the trio, and they loved to remind me.
But when I hear it this time, it reminds me of the way Samuel and I call each other “baby” these days.
A lot has changed since the last time I saw Miranda.
I wonder what brought her back here but it’s so loud, I can’t imagine having a decent conversation to catch up tonight.
“Are you in town for a while?” Hopefully, we’ll be able to meet up again on a less festive occasion.
“Yeah, I actually just moved back. I’d love to catch up with you both, get the gang back together for a brunch or something?”
Sam jumps in now. “Can you even believe it, Darren? Miranda’s back! And she needs a drink!” He happily pulls her away to hit up the bar.
Miranda’s back.
This should be interesting.
I watch her and Sam at the bar, lining up shots. It looks like she’s here to blow off some steam.
Even though it’s my birthday, I’ve never been into drinking as much as Sam has. I’m just as happy being the DD and watching him discard his social inhibitions, one layer at a time.
He must be in heaven right now. We both had huge crushes on Miranda when we were younger. He was so shy back then, but he always overcompensated by being the center of attention. As if he could act away his discomfort.
I think I was the only one who knew how in love with her he was, even though he didn’t know I could tell. That was one of the main reasons I never acted on my crush. It would have destroyed him, and I loved him too much even then to hurt him like that.
Things are different now, of course. We’ve been together almost as long as Miranda has been gone. In all honesty, I think part of the reason we finally got together was that we were commiserating over our shared grief.
I’ll never forget the time he walked in on me masturbating. I was 18 and my hormones didn’t understand the difference between my love for her and my heartbreak over her. I just needed a release and I needed it all the time.
I can still picture Sammy’s face as he stood in front of me, absolutely stunned as he watched my hard cock disappear into my right hand as I jerked myself.
“You do it too?” he had asked, making me snort with laughter. At that point in my life, I jerked off so often that my dad had told me, I’m sure after being prodded by my mom, that I was going to have to start doing my own laundry.
I had tossed him my bottle of lube, too far gone to care if he saw me come or not. He had stood there, looking at the lube for a good 30 seconds as I continued to work my dick. Finally, he had moved to the chair, dropped his pants and pulled his cock through the fly hole without taking off his boxers, like I had done.
He watched me as if looking for direction. It had turned me on more than I ever would have expected. So I watched him back.
As he got harder, I started to pant. Back in those days, a 3-minute jerk off session was my idea of tantric, and I had blown my load before his first moan.
He didn’t stop though, and he came even quicker than I had.
Once we were cleaned up, he had admitted that he missed Miranda and that he often jerked off to fantasies about her. He had thought he was twisted or perverted. I guess no one in his tight ass family had ever had the birds and bees conversation with him. Or at least not the free love version my dad had given me.
Neither of us had ever really had girlfriends. We were too hung up on Miranda to even notice other girls. So Sammy, the poor guy, was pretty sexually frustrated by that point in his teenage life.
&n
bsp; We started jerking off together daily after that and one day he asked me if I thought it would feel better to have someone else jerk me off. I have no idea where he got the courage, but we started experimenting that day. First with our hands, then with our mouths.
It was months before we kissed each other, but he instigated that too.
Our relationship filled a part of the void she left, and we learned a new way to live. We learned to love each other and we’ve been together ever since.
But having Miranda back could change everything.
I’m desperate to talk to her more. It’s been so long and I have so many questions. Part of me just wonders if she still sounds like a tea kettle whistling when she laughs.
But another, more altruistic part of me is thrown back 15 years to the teenage boy who always stepped aside to let Samuel take the stage. I usually don’t mind, but tonight… Well, tonight I guess I’ll watch, remember and wonder what’s going to come next.
Miranda and I always had our heart-to-hearts over brunch anyways, the most important meal of a weekend. “Only psychopaths can say no to brunch,” she used to say.
I keep my eyes on them as the night goes on, oddly feeling like I’ve gone back in time. She matches Sam drink for drink. They laugh and dance and drink some more. Every now and then they look over and wave enthusiastically.
I have a strange feeling that she must be drowning something. As if she wants to escape from something. Sam’s twice her size and he’s starting to sway on his feet, I realize. She must be ready to fall over.
As if by telekinesis I see her start to tilt backward off the stool she’s sitting on. I stand up and hurry over, knowing that the night is coming to a close. Samuel catches her before she leans so far over that she really does fall, and by the time I get to them, he’s got her standing up and heading for the door.
“I don’t know where she’s living, and she’s not making any sense.” He looks at me shamefaced and a little bewildered. “I didn’t realize how far gone she was. We were just laughing and then suddenly she was falling, and gibbering.”
Sam had sobered up instantly, but Miranda had gone in the other direction.
She looks up at the two of us now as we each take an arm. “My boys. I’m back with my two favorite boys. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” She pats our cheeks and looks happy. She’s not going to look happy tomorrow when the hangover hits.
“We’ll have to take her to our place,” I say. “Can you get her into the truck? I’ll go pay the tab and say goodbye to everyone.”
Sam nods and I head to settle up the party.
This isn’t quite how I envisioned taking her home someday, but at least now I know we’ll be able to have a proper conversation tomorrow when she wakes up.
CHAPTER 4
Miranda
Oh no.
Oh god.
My body does not feel good.
If I hold my breath and refuse to open my eyes maybe this feeling will disappear. Maybe I can just die now.
But my head is pounding too loudly to focus enough to black the world out. It’s like colors are shooting through my brain and the colors are each different levels of pain.
And my stomach. Oh god, my stomach.
I breathe deeply, trying to calm it, wondering if I’ll be able to get to the bathroom in time after I start moving. Wondering if it will go away or get worse if I just lie here. Wondering if I’m ok with the idea of just leaning over the edge of my bed and getting sick right there. And then try the dying part again.
I focus on deep breathing until the urge to throw up all of last night’s alcohol subsides a bit.
And then I realize I don’t remember how I got home. I don’t know my new address well enough to have told a cab where to take me.
Still refusing to open my eyes or move, I try to work out what happened last night.
I was drinking with Sam. I was drinking a lot with Sam. It was so nice to let loose and just have fun with an old friend. A very sexy old friend.
We were drinking. And dancing. And…
And then what? I can’t remember leaving.
My stomach sinks into a pit of embarrassment when I realize I can’t remember paying my bar tab, which must have been enormous.
How did I get home?
Wait. Is this my bed? I’ve only slept in my bed a few times, but this doesn’t feel right. The sheets are wrong. And the smell…
Is this what my new apartment smells like?
Oh god, I’m going to have to open my eyes.
I carefully peek one eye open. It’s so bright in the room that I groan and shut it immediately. My hands fly to my face, my eyes water and the movement has made my head feel like a basketball is bouncing around inside it.
I start gulping deep breaths again, the urge to get sick returning.
“You’re alive,” a distinctively masculine voice says quietly beside me.
Freaking out, I fling my arms wide and sit up, regretting it immediately.
My brain registers that it’s Sam in the room with me at approximately the same time it tells me I’m going to be sick. I cover my mouth with my hands, and stand up, looking around wildly for a bathroom. My head threatens to explode but I can only focus on one crisis at a time.
Samuel jumps up beside me, thinking he frightened me. He figures out quickly what I need and points to a door. “Turn left. The bathroom’s the only door at the end of the hall.”
I run out the door, praying to god I make it in time.
I do, barely.
And I spend the next five minutes emptying my guts into the toilet of a man I haven’t seen since high school who, by the way, is drop-dead gorgeous.
Great way to start your new life, Miranda.
Thankfully, I feel much better after the alcohol is out of my system. It’s amazing how quickly getting sick can change things. My head is still pounding like an entire brass band is practicing inside of it, but at least my stomach feels settled.
And empty. I’m starving suddenly.
But I don’t think I can ever leave this bathroom, as humiliating as this is. I rinse my mouth and wash my face.
I look in the mirror and cringe. I look like hell.
And I’m wearing a men’s t-shirt! Oh god, what happened last night?
I have never been much of a drinker and, though I have suffered a minor hangover or two after celebrating exams, I’ve never had chunks of memory disappear on me. What did I do?
I guess hiding in the toilet won’t bring my memory back.
I turn off the water and try to pull the shirt down as low as it will go, not caring if I stretch it out.
I tiptoe to the door and peek out. Maybe I can make it back to the room I was in without being seen. Maybe my dress is in there. Maybe I can face Sam with at least the slightest bit of dignity.
I dart out into the hall, holding onto my pounding head so it doesn’t explode, and rush to the door I came out of. Before I get there, Darren shows up in the hallway, looking like a golden god.
“Oh god,” I whine and rush into the room, slamming the door shut behind me.
Darren taps on the door. “I thought you might want some aspirin, it’s just outside your door. Sam and I will be in the kitchen when you’re feeling better and want to come out. Take your time.” The door muffles his voice a bit, but he sounds empathetic.
Great. Two gorgeous men. Probably the two men who I would least want to make this impression on.
When I saw them yesterday, I had a tiny glimmer of hope that being back in my hometown might actually have some perks. But last night and this morning have dashed all those hopes. I’m going to have to move again. Maybe change my name. Does witness protection help with this kind of thing?
I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. I pull off the t-shirt, so thankful to see my underwear is still in place. My dress is hanging over the back of a chair, so I put it on and zip it up.
I open the door as quietly as I can and see there’s a glass of water and a little plate with 2 small white round pills.
I grab them both and sit on the bed, swallowing the pills and the water in a single gulp.
Damn.
This is why I don’t drink. This is the exact situation I never wanted to put myself in.
I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. How am I going to face them?
I guess sooner is better than later, I may as well get it over with.
I take a deep breath, stand up and square my shoulders. With all the confidence I can muster, I leave the room and turn right, in the direction Darren came from.
I follow their voices and find them in the kitchen, as he had promised.
They both stop talking as I walk in the room. I give them an embarrassed smile and wave.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I say, my beet-red face testament to the fact. “I’m so, so sorry for ruining your party and being such a mess. I’m not like that usually, I swear!”
“Please, you made the party great,” Sam says, grinning at me. “And it’s not like I haven’t seen the inside of a toilet bowl on many a morning after.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but I just get more embarrassed.
Darren can obviously tell, “Sam, shut up and get her some food.”
Darren was always better at reading the people than Sam, but Samuel means well.
I can smell bacon and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. I’m practically drooling, but I don’t want to impose on them and make things worse. “You don’t have to feed me,” I protest. “I can just call a cab and we can maybe all pretend this horrific morning disaster never happened?” I beg the last part of the sentence, wanting to put this morning out of my mind forever.
“What you need is grease,” Darren says ignoring my plea. “Trust me, I’ve nursed this one through enough hangovers to know that you’ll feel like a new person after some bacon, eggs, and hash browns.”
Part of me wants to simply escape, but Sam is already scooping food onto a plate for me and the sight of it makes my mouth water. I sit down at the bar table across from where Darren is leaning on the counter.