by CJ Adler
I join the flock of girls surrounding him, taking a seat on an empty bar chair. He has yet to look my way, distracted, as he juggles five shots before landing
them swiftly in front of the fawning girls. He is good at what he does, even if he is just a bartender. I should have never insulted his job.
Great, now I'm feeling that emotion called guilt again...
I cough to capture Jay's attention. His blue eyes flicker over to me as he traces my features, easily recognizing me. His trademark emotionless expression morphs into a frown, his gaze set on me. I'm officially captured in his sights. “What do you want?”
“A tequila for the Aqueela, please,” I give him my order, having spent most of my money on all the ice creams earlier today.
Jay narrows his eyes at me. I can see that he's contemplating something, probably wondering if he should confront me and get it over with or comply and ignore my existence, perhaps treating me like any other girl here.
Then again, I'm technically underage. That could also be running through his mind. Nonetheless, he shrugs and gets me a tequila before setting it in front of me, turning to the other customers to get their orders too. He quickly forgets my presence, fixing his gaze on the pretty girl flirting with him, paying her special attention.
That's a first.
My heart tugs when he smiles at the girl, chuckling at something she said. A frown finds its way to my lips. I sigh, resting my head on the bar table, tired and suddenly despondent.
It was a mistake coming here.
I should have drowned my sadness with ice cream. My visits to the ice cream store always cheer me up, and I don't need anyone's validation on that.
I twist my head so that I don't have to watch them any longer. I glance at the shot glass before me, its contents swirling before my very eyes. I sit up, straightening, and reach for the glass without a second thought.
Hesitant, my gaze drifts back to Jay. However, when I see him leaning over the counter toward the girl with a boyish grin on his face, I don't hesitate to down it.
This is his revenge: ignoring me. Props to him, it's an original, a true classic.
With all that in mind, I order a few more tequilas from the other bartender—the bigger, scarier looking one. Even he beats Jay in this moment.
I gulp down all the tequilas, growing tipsier by the second. I will probably throw up soon at the rate I'm going. Still, it doesn't stop me.
Perhaps, if I wasn't such a lightweight, I might have noticed the light streaking in through the windows, indicating that I've been here all night. I might have also noticed that the bar is now completely empty except for the workers and me.
“I think that's enough.”
I barely recognize the voice, resting my head on the bar counter in refusal.
I close my eyes and make a noise at the back of my throat, pleading for another shot. I need to forget.
Forget what? Well, at least it's working...
“She's been drinking all night, Jay. She's done for,” another voice says.
“She's had enough,” the voice, that can only belong to Jay, insists, pulling rank.
“No, she hasn't,” I whine, my eyes still closed, as I slam my glass down onto the table in protest.
I feel gross. I have never felt so repulsed by myself...well ever. Usually, if I play my cards right, I just feel awesome. My goal is to one day extend my race. Although, I'm not feeling up to Aqueela cones right now.
“Shut up, Aqueela.”
Yip, that's definitely Jay talking.
“She still has to pay for all the shots,” the other voice reminds Jay. “Put it on my tab,” Jay replies quietly. “I'll take care of it.”
“You sure, Jay? We both know that money is tight right now.”
“I said, put it on my tab. I'll make a plan. I always do,” Jay tells him, adamant. “Take my next shift. I'm getting this one home.”
I presume 'this one' is Smeagol?
Two arms slip around my waist. Before I know it, I'm being lifted off of the bar chair and onto a strong torso. I subconsciously cradle myself further into his chest after first meeting him with much resistance. We begin to move and I can tell that he is carrying me bridal style.
I hear him sigh to himself. “Aqueela, I know you are out of it, but please tell me where you live. I know it's close by.”
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh,” I mumble against him.
“Please don't be difficult. You seriously can't go to school looking like this or feeling the way you're feeling. You've already had so many close calls as is. You'll be expelled on the spot. We can't have that, now can we?” he asks gently, a side to him — one that I've never had the privilege of knowing — surfacing.
“Nope,” I hum, popping the p in my drunken state. “Take me to your place.”
There is some deep contemplation before Jay gives in, not up to argue.
“Fine,” he mutters in indignation, taking me to his car.
“Whoo!” I cheer, dragging myself into the passenger seat of his Gallardo.
“Just try not to wreck anything,” he adds, leaning over to strap me in.
A tired smile filters its way over my lips as I reach up to pat his cheek.
“Look alive, kid.” I yawn, not thinking straight. “It's me and you all the way.”
***
I shuffle awake once the car stops. I hear the driver's door slam shut before I'm suddenly being lifted out of the passenger seat.
“Jay?” I mumble incoherently.
“Mhm,” is his response as he opens the front door to his house.
“I'm really sorry,” I murmur tiredly, stifling another yawn. “I'm sorry I took a slam on your job. I now see how important it is to you.” I open my eyes to find him already staring down at me.
“No worries,” he says tenderly. “Forget it ever happened.”
“Why were you flirting with some of those girls earlier?” I ask, straight up. “I don't think I was,” he answers in nonchalance, unfazed.
“You were. Next time, do me a favor and don't,” I mutter bitterly. “It bothers you?” he asks bluntly, tearing his gaze from mine.
“It does,” I clarify, not bothering to beat around the bush.
“Why?” he questions as he begins to ascend the stairs with me. “Because I like you,” I blurt out on impulse.
Next thing I know, I'm rolling down the stairs...quite literally. I wish it was figurative, but judging by the pain, it's not. My head thumps against each step as I come face-to-face with the bottom of the stairs, landing flat on my back and staring up at the ceiling, my head throbbing from the impact.
He had one job, one job!
My limbs feel like they're on fire. I can't move after that tumble.
Why'd he have to be close to the top of the staircase before choosing to drop me? Smooth, Jay, real smooth.
“Aqueela!” He comes running hurriedly down the stairs and crouches down before me. “Aqueela? You okay?”
I don't react, playing dead.
“If you're dead then say 'yes'.”
On instinct, I respond, “Yes.”
He chuckles.
Snap! He got me.
“Ouch.” I wince, trying to sit up but failing miserably. “Ouchy ouch,” I repeat as Jay carefully pushes me back down, gingerly touching my forehead with his thumb.
“I'm sorry.” He cringes, looking sheepish.
I glance up, blinking once, twice, several times before the blurriness fades and Jay's face comes into view. His blue eyes are filled with worry and concern. If I wasn't in so much pain, I'd smile.
“I'm sorry,” he repeats, panicking slightly when he notices the red on his thumb. “Just stay here and sit tight. I'll be right back,” he rambles before he's off again.
“Not like I have a choice!” I call back angrily.
There is no moving anytime soon.
It's not long before he reappears with a first aid kit. It's then that I realize there's warm liquid dripping down
my face. “Am I bleeding?” I ask wearily. “Do aliens bleed?” he asks, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
I narrow my eyes at him, not finding him funny.
He scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Kind of. Nothing serious, though.”
“Cool,” I mutter, unable to focus. Everything is getting all fuzzy again. “Stay awake,” I vaguely hear Jay order.
“You dropped me,” I say weakly, still in shock, before adding, “down the stairs.”
“I know,” he admits, embarrassed.
“You dropped me down the stairs,” I repeat all together, unbelieving. “You dropped a drunk, fragile girl down the stairs. You dropped Aqueela filled with tequila down the stairs. You dropped me down the stairs!” I raise my tone toward the end, stunned, literally, to the bone.
“It was an accident. You just…” he trails off in thought, dabbing at my forehead, “you caught me off guard.”
“My bad,” I reply sarcastically, annoyed. “Next time, I will make sure you're not carrying me upstairs before telling you that I like you!”
“Please stop saying that,” he mutters, on edge. “Here,” he offers, helping me sit up.
“Don't touch me, Jay!” I yell, startled, falling into panic too. “I can't move! I think I'm paralyzed!”
He's literally a ladykiller.
“You can't go to bed after a head injury,” he explains, recollecting his thoughts as he tunes my complaints out.
“I'm dying!” I whimper as he finishes cleaning my forehead and bandaging it. He's awfully good at this. He could be a doctor. He'll just have to work on his bedside manners.
“You're not dying and you're not paralyzed. Just in a lot of pain,” he clarifies as if it needs to be said.
“And you would know,” I mumble, shooting him a fierce glare. “Most people do suffer pain once they've been drop-kicked down the stairs!”
I just told my crush that I like him and he responds by throwing me down the stairs. Way to let me down easy. Jay is the master of rejecting girls. And here I was, scared of telling him for nothing, not! I got thrown down the stairs as punishment for confessing!
“I'm so furious, I could just huff and puff and blow this damn house down!” I rage.
“Could you try and act like an adult for just a second?” he asks with a sigh as if I'm in the wrong here.
“I don't think being an adult is going to work for me. Ever. No adulting today, especially not now!” I shout, fuming.
“What does that even mean?” he asks in frustration.
I shake my head at him, crossing my arms over my chest as I get to my feet. I stare at the dreaded stairs before my eyes land on the empty wall. No pictures, no nothing. Empty.
“Yeah, alright, your head seems fine—on the outside anyway. Time to sleep.
Probably way past your bedtime,” he mocks, picking me up against my will as he begins climbing the damned flight of stairs once again. All the while, I'm fighting him, still arguing that I'm indeed paralyzed.
He sets me down on his bed and switches off the lights, turning to leave. I interrupt in protest, “I sure hope that you don't plan on leaving a delirious, paralyzed girl all alone!”
Jay sighs before turning around. “Sorry's not gonna cut it?”
He's never living this one down!
“Oh hell no!” I say, moving over to make space for him. “You can't just drop a girl down the stairs and then leave. If I start bleeding out in my sleep, I need you here to keep me breathing and alive…alive and breathing—you get what I'm saying?!”
Jay obeys without further debate. He knows that he's in no position to argue. As of now, he is officially the one in the dog house. I'm a free girl!
The bed dips as Jay sits beside me, refusing to lie down. I scoot further away from him, not wanting him to be too nearby. I close my eyes and roll over, feeling safe. Maybe I can catch a good night's rest, or a good day's rest, for once.
“Good night, awful, terrible, deadbeat of a lowlife human being,” I mumble dreamily, talking into the pillow (my version of pillow talk).
“Good night, Klutz.”
Chapter 17
Full Throttle
I shift position as a pounding migraine stirs me awake. I grumble to myself and lazily move my head to the right, seeking comfort. My neck clicks. I wince, slowly opening my eyes to take in my surroundings. I feel disoriented; everything is spinning.
I force myself to sit up, only to see Jay sleeping in a sitting position, his head resting against the headboard. I cringe as some of the memories come back to me. I'm never drinking again.
I stretch out my arms, accidentally whacking Jay in the face in the process, and let out a much-needed yawn. It's enough to disturb him from his sleep. He groans in pain before his eyes flutter open.
“What the hell?” he asks, bringing up his hand to touch his nose.
He has no right to complain. I barely touched him. He's the incarnation of pure evil who dropped me down a flight of stairs. “You should be killed,” I state, still half-asleep.
“And you should seek professional help,” he states, moving his neck from side to side, clearly in pain from the odd position he fell asleep in. “You're high maintenance.”
I roll my eyes at him, my head throbbing. This isn't just from the hangover.
As if sensing my mood, he shuffles from slouching to sitting upright. “I should probably get you home.”
“If you just bought me my own car, you wouldn't have to. It's getting kind of annoying sharing the whole time,” I joke.
“Your audacity never ceases to astound me.” He shakes his head. “I'm not
some trust fund baby like Montry. I actually work for what I have. Now move, it's
time to get you home.”
I stubbornly stay put, refusing to cooperate with him. Next thing I know, I'm flying through the air before landing ungracefully on the floor beside his bed.
I have a thing for falling for him, apparently.
“Ouch!” I yelp, flinching in pain as I meet the ground. My headache has just intensified.
“She's alive!” He grins, conniving, finding it comical.
I glare daggers at him when he bursts out laughing, thinking it to be hilarious. “This is nothing personal, but you're just an awful human being and I hate you,” I mutter, sitting up on the floor, still scowling at him.
He shrugs, unfazed. “Misery loves company.”
“Misery needs comradery,” I argue, detesting his opinion.
“Should have got up when I said so,” he tells me, carelessly brushing off my remark.
I rub the back of my head and wince. “What?” I glare at him when noticing him staring. “Was throwing me down the stairs not enough for you?”
“Damn,” he says sheepishly as he gets off the bed, scratching the back of his neck in discomfort. “I was really counting on the tequila to make you forget.”
“Well, get ready to bob and weave. The fight is on. I never forget,” I warn him, holding my fists up, ready to attack.
“I beg to differ.” He chuckles again before offering me his hand. I take his hand in mine and he easily helps me up to my feet before insulting me. “You look like hell.”
“Drop the arrogance. You're not better than me,” I say, folding my arms across my chest in stubborn defiance.
“Oh, but it's a fact, I am.” He smirks in pride. “Street walker.” He scans my appearance before winking at me.
I suppose I do look like a flesh-eating vulture right about now. “Don't call me that!” I snap at him. “I even prefer Klutz to that.”
He smiles before changing the subject. “So you cuddled up to me, huh?” “Huh?” I repeat dumbly.
“You asked me to stay,” he begins to explain. “I accidentally fell asleep. When I woke up earlier, you were asleep on me. Talk about boundaries and good conscious, I had to move you back to your side of the bed.”
“Shut up,” I mumble, pushing myself further away from him to create mo
re distance between us. “I'm a cuddler by heart, not by choice.” I don't recall any of that, but knowing me, it's highly possible.
“Well, I prefer my space for future reference,” he replies back cockily. “Well, sorry for finding your chest comfy,” I improvise. “Take that as a sign, buddy. You might need to work out some more.”
Jay gives me a look before lifting up his shirt, motioning down to his defined eight pack. My eyes widen as he cocks his head to the side playfully. “You're right, Aqueela.” He grins down at me tauntingly. “I am getting chubby.” He humors me. “I look like a Teletubby, definitely gotta hit the gym some more.”
I jump forward and move his shirt back down. “Enough of that.”
He stifles a chuckle, holding his hands up to me apologetically.
I move my hand up to my forehead in frustration, only to feel a soft cotton bandage. “What the hell is wrong with my face?” I ask incredulously, trying to remember everything that had happened.
He shrugs. “I don't know, a lot of things apparently,” he jokes, in an especially good mood this evening.
“Not funny.” I slap his chest as the memory comes back to me.
“Okay, okay,” he gives in, blocking my hits. “You hit your head…a few times…on the way down the stairs.”
I stare up at him blankly, still enraged.
“You were bleeding a little, so I bandaged you up,” he reminds me.
“How sweet!” I reply in sarcasm. “You bandaged me up after you threw me down the stairs.” He opens his mouth to respond but I just talk right over him. “Then you throw me off the bed despite my head injury and despite my migraine so that I can suffer triple the pain. You're just the greatest, Jay, a real pocket full of sunshine!” I huff, beyond annoyed.
All three injuries sustained to the head are his fault—the stairs, the hangover, and now, the floor.
Jay places a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. “I try.”
I can't help but smile, but I'm quick to hide it when I realize that I'm supposed to still be mad at him.
He nudges me teasingly. “Saw that.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further before chucking a towel at me. “Take a shower or something. Just freshen up. I think you need it.”