Avoiding Amy Jackson

by N. A. Alcorn

  “Thanks, James.” Her soft whisper is muffled against my chest.

  “You owe me, doll.”

  My demand causes her to pull back a little from my embrace and her scrutinizing gaze focuses on me. I’m happy her arms are still wrapped around my waist. I can practically hear the wheels turning inside of her cute, little brain. “Is that so?”

  I nod my head in response, the corner of my mouth twitching up into a small smile.

  Her tiny little fingers pinch my ass hard and I yelp out in shock. “Shit!” Her eyes dance with hilarity, and I quickly lean down in response, throwing her tiny frame over my shoulder.

  “God damn it! Mother fucker! Fucking shit, put me down!” She rambles off another string of curse words, but I just continue walking through her lobby doors, taking the stairs two at a time towards her floor.

  “Such a dirty mouth, sweetheart,” I chuckle. “You better be quiet or you’re going to wake up the entire building.” Her fingers immediately find my ass again and she continues to pinch me with a vengeance. “I had no idea that playing grab-ass was friendship approved,” I announce before placing both of my hands on her ass, giving each firm cheek a nice squeeze. I want to sink my teeth into her perfect ass.

  “Oh you are a son of a bitch!” she attempts to shout, but it’s muffled with her giggles.

  The sound of her laughter brings a ridiculous smile to my face. I love making this woman laugh, especially giggle. And believe me, Amy Jackson is not a giggler. She doesn’t show those types of girly emotions, but when she reveals that side of herself for you, it makes you feel like the luckiest fucking guy on the planet.

  She hands me her key and I unlock her apartment door, carrying her past the threshold. Once I set her down on her feet, I’m rewarded with a small smirk after she flips me the bird and calls me an asshole. Despite the fact that I know this woman may crush me to smithereens, I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop myself from wanting her. Because I do. I want everything Amy Jackson can give me.

  “Come on, Limp Dick,” she goads as she holds up two bottles of beer. “I guess I at least owe you a drink for the ride home.” I take in the sight of her curvy ass and endless legs as she strides to the door that leads out to the balcony.

  I follow her outside and take a seat on one of the white wicker chairs that are pushed against the brick wall. I pop the top off my brew and watch her pull a cigarette out of her pack of Marlboro Lights. I watch her light up and realize that I could probably watch Amy do just about anything. My eyes are always drawn to her, desperate to take in every inch. The faint sound of wind chimes fills the night air as a cool breeze whooshes past in small gusts.

  Amy rests her long legs on the ledge of the balcony. I follow the length of her, my eyes moving slowly up her tempting form. She is the epitome of every physical trait I savor in a woman. Long legs, perfect curves, and sensual lips. Her body is the devil. A seductive, sensual temptress I can’t seem to get out of my head.

  Her full, pink mouth curves around the end of her cigarette as she takes a deep inhale.

  I could find a better place for that mouth.

  I peek down at my hands, one wrapped firmly around my beer and the other resting on my thigh.

  I could find a better place for my hands.

  “That shit is bad for your health,” I admonish as she takes another deep drag and exhales, her breath hanging in the air for a few seconds before dissipating.

  “Thanks, Dr. Limp Dick.” Her hands pick up the worn pack of cigarettes and she holds it out to me, offering to let me join her in the slow destruction of human lungs.

  “I guess I can’t let you slowly kill yourself all by your lonesome,” I respond before grabbing a cancer stick and lighting up. “I think you could convince me to do just about anything, doll.”

  Amy’s laugh echoes in the cool night air. “Cheers to that, friend.” She clanks her beer with mine and grins before taking a long drink.

  Yeah, she’s the devil, and I’m so royally fucked.

  Chapter Ten

  “I can’t even do a to-do list correctly.

  Unless said to-do list is actually a hot guy with nice pecs.

  then you bet your ass I’d DO that to-do list.” -Amy

  I haven’t spoken to James in a few days since he gave me a ride home on his bike from Murphy’s Pub. I kind of hate myself for the absurd bathroom hook-up I engaged in that night. I’m not sure why, but I do. Normally, I would take the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ mindset, but that’s not working. Nothing really seems to be working these days. My usual habits, the drinking and nights of debauchery, aren’t giving me the thrill of excitement they used to. They don’t shimmer with promises of mind-numbing escape. They just feel…wrong.

  I still don’t know if James saw what happened. For once in my life, I want to hide that side of myself, and my chest aches with the mere idea of him knowing that part of me. It hurts like hell to think of the possibility that he might have gotten a bird’s-eye view of the dirty, despicable things I’m capable of. Sometimes I really wish I weren’t so fucked up. I wish I had my shit together. I wish I weren’t such a selfish bitch and could act like a normal human being. But I’ve already proved my worth. I’ve shown the consequences of loving and trusting someone like me. It only ends up hurting people.

  I take a stab at creating a mental to-do list in my head:

  Seek therapy.

  Drink.

  Get laid again.

  God, I can’t even do a to-do list correctly.

  I mentally harangue myself over a few much-deserved moments of self-deprecation and come to the understanding that I’m more screwed up than even I probably realize.

  “Are you all right?” The worried tone in Ellen’s voice catches my attention as we walk into the breakroom. I know I’ve been exceptionally distant today and completely unlike myself. I mentally push my trip-to-the-psych-ward-worthy thoughts out of my head and focus on spending time with my best friend.

  “So have you thought any more about the wedding plans?” I ask Ellen as we sit down in the breakroom to grab a quick bite to eat and much-needed time away from ER patients. Trent finally got the balls to ask Ellen to marry him. He had this entire proposal plan worked out that included buying Ellen a puppy and then placing the engagement ring around the puppy’s neck.

  Yes, romantic, but utterly ridiculous.

  From what she told me, the plan didn’t really go as intended. Ellen was too transfixed and excited about her new dog that she didn’t even notice the ring. Trent had bought a brown-eyed Boxer puppy named Georgia after Ellen had fallen in love with her one day while they were shopping at the mall. All it had taken was one glance into those big puppy-dog eyes and Ellen was in love. And from that moment on, Trent had been plotting out the perfect proposal. I personally think it is still one of the worst ideas he’s ever had, but one look into my best friend’s elated green eyes would convince anyone that Trent’s proposal plan was nothing but perfection.

  Her face beams as she looks down at the large engagement ring on her left hand. “Trent and I have chatted a little about it. Nothing is set in stone yet.” She starts to take a bite of her chicken sandwich that is drenched in an insane amount of honey mustard. “Ugh. This does not taste right,” she says as she spits the bite back into her napkin.

  My eyebrows rise slightly at the sight of this. Ellen loves honey mustard. I mean loves honey mustard. She’s a freak for it, and if she could put it on everything, she would.

  “Try this. Tell me there’s something wrong with this sandwich.” She holds the nasty, dripping mess out to me.

  I reluctantly take the sandwich from her hand. “You know you owe me for watching that asshole puppy of yours the night before he proposed. I’m still cleaning up piss stains from that little bitch.” I take a small bite and chew it with apprehension, waiting for some sort of putrid taste to touch my tongue. Nothing. It honestly just tastes like a grilled chicken sandwich with far too much condiment crap poured all ove
r it.

  “Hey! Don’t talk about my dog like that. Georgia is a sweetheart.” She eyes me curiously after I throw the sandwich back down on her plate. “So am I right? Something is definitely off with it.”

  “Uh, no. Your sandwich tastes fine to me, despite the fact that you have a disgusting amount of honey mustard on it.” I shrug my shoulders and take a large bite of my spicy chili. Regency’s hospital cafeteria doesn’t do most things right, but their Tex-Mex chili is crazy good. I look up to see Ellen ogling my food. “What? You want a bite?” She nods her head, snatches my entire cup of chili, and slides it in front of her.

  I’m watching this entire situation with puzzlement. Ellen hates spicy chili. She takes a large bite and moans in appreciation. “This is so good!” she exclaims as she dives back into my chili, nearly inhaling it down in one bite.

  “Hey! Save some for me, dickhead!” I quickly grab my cup back from her and give her the stink eye. “What the hell is going on with you? You hate this chili.” I cock an eyebrow at her as I gauge her current state apprehensively.

  “No I don’t. I like that chili.”

  I nearly choke on my food at her statement. “No you don’t. I recall last time you telling me it tasted like vomit bathed in hot sauce,” I sputter out with a cough.

  Ellen stares at me in confusion. Her demeanor turns pensive, and a light bulb goes off in my head.

  Oh my god! “Are you pregnant?!” I screech out as I stand up from my chair.

  “Uh…what?” she replies hesitantly with an odd expression on her face.

  “Oh. My. God. You’re pregnant!” My mouth is agape as I closely watch Ellen for a reaction.

  “No I’m not!” she squeaks out. A thousand emotions scroll across her face in a matter of seconds.

  “When was your last period?” I probe as I put my hand on my hip, my foot tapping incessantly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track of that…” She stops midsentence and starts to compute the dates in her head. “What month is it?”

  “What month is it? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  She grimaces slightly at my tone of voice. “Shit. I can’t remember the last time I had a period.” She looks up at me with a pleading expression on her face, like I’m supposed to tell her when her last period was.

  I grab my keys and purse and head for the door of the breakroom. “Come on! Let’s go! We’ve got twenty minutes to go buy a pregnancy test before we’re due back from our break.” I motion for her to get up, and without saying a word, Ellen tentatively follows me out the door.

  ****

  “How many more of these are you going to pee on before you finally start believing what we’re seeing?” I question quietly. I sit on the edge of Ellen’s bathroom tub and watch her with amusement. She’s surrounded by at least fifteen positive pregnancy tests on the white tile floor of her master bathroom. We managed to buy out the drugstore in every brand and came back to her and Trent’s apartment after work. Trent was still scrubbed in at the OR when we left, and Ellen didn’t want to mention the word pregnant to him until she knew for sure.

  She grasps the last pregnancy test she took in her shaky hand. Her eyes are fixated on the word… pregnant. “H-how could this be?” she stammers softly, shock etched all over her face.

  “Well, sweetheart, sometimes these things happen.” I sit down next to her, scooting several piss-stained pregnancy tests out of the way. I really want to laugh right now, but I choose to comfort her instead. I wrap my arm around Ellen’s shoulder, pulling her close to me.

  “I’m pregnant,” she croaks out as she looks over at me. “I’m pregnant?” Now she’s querying me for verification.

  God, the urge to laugh is nearly too much to keep in, but I manage to squelch it down and give her a serious response. “Yes, Ellen, you’re pregnant.” I don’t laugh, but I can’t help the small smile that crests at the corner of my lips. “You’re going to have a baby,” I convey as my mouth creases into a huge grin. I’m kind of wishing I’d had the forethought to record this moment. I probably could have made Ellen a YouTube sensation again.

  “I’m going to have a baby.” Her face beams as she continues to repeat everything I said to her.

  I just hope she can manage to get past this shocked stage when she tells Trent. Although, I know he would just think she is ridiculously cute right now.

  “Holy shit! Amy, I’m going to have a baby!” she squeals in excitement as she jumps to her feet, grasping the pregnancy test she just peed on close to her chest.

  Her excitement is infectious. I jump up and down with her in her master bathroom. Tears fill my eyes as I pull her in for a tight hug. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a mom.” The tears spill from my lids, slowly sliding down my cheeks. “I’m so happy for you, dickhead!”

  ‘I love you so much, cum twat! You’re going to be an aunt! Auntie Amy!” Her eyes glisten and the water works burst between us. We sob and laugh and hold each other as we share this moment together. My best friend is going to be a mom. My heart just got two sizes bigger at the love I have for my best friend and her baby. This is the best news I’ve heard since Trent proposed to her.

  “I wonder how far along you are.”

  “You think we can sneak back to the ER and talk one of the ultrasound techs into scanning my belly?”

  “Grab your shit! We’re heading back to Regency to find out how big our little baby is!”

  ****

  “If management finds out about this, I’m blaming this on you two assholes.” Allison says as she squirts a large amount of ultrasound gel onto Ellen’s belly. “I’m still saying we should have done the vaginal ultrasound, seeing as you’re probably not very far along.” Allison places the ultrasound transducer to Ellen’s belly.

  “I’m sorry, but there is no fucking way I was going to let you shove the ultrasound dildo up my impregnated snatch,” Ellen replies.

  We lucked out that Allison was the ultrasound tech working tonight in the ER. She is probably the only one who would have let us get away with this and actually been more than willing to help.

  “Holy shit,” Allison declares with her eyes fixated on the screen.

  “What? Is something wrong?” Ellen’s voice is engraved with concern.

  “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be saying holy shit when you’re scanning a pregnant woman’s belly, Allison.” I turn my attention towards the screen and I’m immediately transfixed. “Holy shit.”

  “What? Oh my god! What’s wrong?” Ellen squirms to the right to see what has Allison and me so surprised. “Holy shit,” Ellen whispers when she finally gets a look.

  “Well, I’d say you’re at least eleven weeks along, maybe closer to twelve weeks.” Allison’s face beams as she takes in Ellen’s reaction. “I’ll print off a few pictures for you.”

  “Eleven or twelve weeks! You’re that lady! You’re that lady who doesn’t realize she’s pregnant until she’s literally pushing a baby out of her vagina in her kitchen!” I shout far too loudly for the small room.

  “Calm down, fucko,” my best friend urges as she continues to look at the tiny heartbeat on the screen.

  The tiny heartbeat fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings echoes in the room. I continue to stare at the sweet little profile of her baby. It kind of resembles an alien, but you can still make out the little nose and belly. “I can’t believe that’s your baby. That’s your baby, Ellie Belly!” I grab her hand and squeeze it tight.

  “Oh my god! That’s my baby.” She looks over at me, her eyes filled with tears again.

  “No more crying. Seriously, I can’t do another sob fest with you.” I laugh out as tears roll down my face. “Look at your beautiful baby, Ellie. I’m so happy for you.”

  Ellen’s hand covers her mouth as happy tears tumble down her face. “I can’t believe that’s my baby.” She looks over at me again and her eyes go wide. “How in the hell am I going to tell Trent?”

  I giggle at her shocked expression
. “Trent is going to be thrilled, I can promise you that.” She smiles at my words. I know for a fact that Trent Hamilton is going to be the happiest man on the planet.

  Chapter Eleven

  “No one wants a furry pussy.” - Amy

  “What do you mean you have the flu?!”

  “I’m sorry, Amy. I can’t come in today. We need to reschedule your appointment.” A fit of coughing loudly echoes into the phone and the sound of mucous rattling around in Marie’s chest fills my ear.

  “What? Oh my god. You have to come in today! I can’t go another day without getting my palomita waxed! I look like a ‘70s porn star! I’ve had the flu shot. Just come in and do my Brazilian and then go home. Please. Please. I’m begging you, Marie.” I’m in full-on panic mode, desperately asking her to make an exception for me.

  “Amy…” Another fit of coughing pierces my eardrum through the receiver and I instantly pull the phone away from my face and grimace. “I’m way too sick to come in today. Just call the shop and reschedule for next week.”

  “Next week! Are you kidding me? Marie, I can’t wait another week! I’m going to look like I’m smuggling Lionel Richie’s jerry curl between my legs if I wait another week!”

  “I’m sorry, Amy. Call the shop and reschedule. Maybe Jenny can fit you in this week.”

  “No way. No how. I cannot let Jenny do it. You’re the best, Marie. My little honey pot needs the best!”

  “Goodbye, Amy.” Marie rudely hangs up the phone, leaving me shell-shocked and more than frustrated.

  I jump out of my Honda Civic and proceed to stomp up my apartment stairs, slamming my door with a loud bang. Son of a goat fucker! I can’t wait another week! Another week and I’m going to have to seriously consider taking my vagina to the barber shop for a buzz cut. Seriously, it’s that bad. I’m pretty sure my pussy has sideburns. I’ll never get laid again looking like this. I would need a search team equipped with flashlights and weed-whackers to find my pink taco.