Avoiding Amy Jackson

by N. A. Alcorn

  It’s like my whole body is against me!

  “Now stop trying to harass me so I can go make sure Ellen isn’t still crying about fictional coffee people.” I glance over at Trent, who was amusedly observing the banter between James and me. His reaction is a telling smile and a wink with his blue eyes.

  Assholes.

  I flip them both off and decide it is in my best interest to walk away before either can make any more stupid comments. I briskly stride off to see if Lizzy has managed to get Ellen calmed down.

  I find them sitting on one of the plastic sofas in the ladies’ locker room, giggling about something. Ellen is no longer bawling, but her eyes are still red-rimmed, noticeable remnants of her sob fest. My best friend has become a walking pregnancy cliché. She’s so hopped up on hormones that I’m not sure what will set her off next. One look, one heartfelt commercial, one ill-worded comment about her pregnant belly and she could be wailing like a lunatic or ready to throw down like Mike Tyson.

  I plop down next to them. The two sisters are chatting animatedly about Lucy’s nursery and planning Ellen’s baby shower. Lizzy and Ellen have developed such a close relationship over the past several months. This is a huge transformation from the way they were prior to Lizzy’s relocation from Louisville. Lizzy and Ellen are complete opposites and used to barely speak to each other. But now, everything has changed for the better. Sisters should be close, sisters should share everything with each other, and finally, that’s what these two wonderful ladies have. I’m just thankful that not only have they grown close, but we’ve all grown close. Lizzy and Ellen are like sisters to me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Ellen wipes her nose with the tissue that’s crumpled up in her hand. “Did you happen to see Trent out there? I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder all day.” Her eyes flash with sadness and start to fill with tears again.

  For fuck’s sake! When is her due date again?

  I’m not sure how much longer I can deal with this hormonal woman. She’s one personality short of becoming the real-life Sybil. “That’s enough crying. I’m pretty sure you met your pregnant sob quota for the week before you even stepped off the treadmill.”

  She peers up at me, her eyes still watery, but a teeny tiny smile threatens the corners of her lips.

  I lean beside her, nudging my shoulder against hers. “This pregnancy has got you ten shades of crazy.”

  Her lips start to turn down, her eyes squinting at me in displeasure.

  “I’m well aware that my little comment could be the one thing that sets you off again, but how about you try to tone down the rage over there, Sybil. You’re one outburst away from being inducted into the Crazy-Train Hall of Fame.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Seriously, it’s all good. You know I love you and I’m always here for you, even if it’s to talk about your fictional coffee commercial friends.”

  Lizzy sputters a laugh and I glance around Ellen to see hilarity in her eyes.

  “Anyways, I did just so happen to see your baby daddy. He was worried about you and also slightly at a loss as to how to make you not pissed at him. He’s kind of feeling like he’s walking on eggshells with you all hopped up on pregnancy hormones. If our little Lucy is anything like her mother, I think we’re all going to have our hands full.”

  A small laugh escapes Ellen’s lips. “Poor Trent. He’s been nothing but sweet to me and I get pissed at him for no good reason.”

  I shrug my shoulders and wave my hand, encouraging her not to worry. “Trent’s a big boy. He can handle it. Anyways, I think you need to bust his balls every now and again. Keeps him on his toes. It’s actually a nice change of pace from you constantly gazing at him like he walks on water.”

  Lizzy raises her hand. “I agree with Amy. Every man could use some good old-fashion ball-busting from time to time.”

  Ellen glances back and forth between us, her eyes starting to water again.

  Again?

  I’ve seen Ellen cry more times in the past hour than I’ve seen her cry throughout our entire friendship. I don’t think she cried this much after she found her ex-fiancé balls deep in another woman.

  “I love you both so much,” she exclaims with a slight tremble to her lip. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” She wraps her arms around us, drawing Lizzy and me in for a group hug.

  We both chuckle softly at her sugary-sweet display of affection.

  What can I say? My best—and extremely hormonal, pregnant—friend Ellen has more personalities than MTV has reality shows. She’s a walking, talking, sobbing, scowling, bipolar, pregnant, crazy lady.

  Good thing I love her so much.

  “All right.” Ellen lets go of us and wipes her eyes. “We need to talk about something that isn’t going to make me cry,” she says with a throaty laugh. “This doesn’t leave us with much, seeing as I cry at everything these days, but how about we talk about Amy’s latest hook-up?” She peers over at me in anticipation.

  My latest hook-up? When was my last hook-up?

  I start racking my brain and come to the slightly unsettling realization that I haven’t hooked up with anyone since…November. This means that it’s literally been over five months since I’ve received a good, hard pounding. My jaw drops in shock and my eyes go wide as I make eye contact with Ellen. “Um…” I bite down on my bottom lip and abruptly yank my eyes away from hers when I notice that she’s studying me closely.

  “Amy?” Ellen questions with inquisitiveness. “What’s with the shocked look on your face?”

  “Well…I… Well…I’m shocked because I just realized I haven’t hooked up with anyone in a while.” I stumble over my words, my mind still trying to grasp the mere idea that the only orgasms I’ve received in over a five-month time frame have been self-induced.

  “A while? Like, how long are we talking here?”

  I peek over at Lizzy and her smile is damn near blinding me. Bitch.

  I hold five fingers up.

  “Five days?”

  I shake my head.

  “Five weeks?”

  I slowly shake my head again.

  Ellen’s jaw nearly hits the floor. “Five months?” she blurts out loud enough for the entire gym to hear. I nod my head as I wince slightly from a combination of Ellen’s deafeningly loud voice and the fact that I’ve somehow managed to get myself into some sort of sex drought.

  “Are you sick?” Ellen places her hand on my forehead, observing me with concern.

  I swat her hand away. “No, I’m not sick. I’ve just been busy with work and hanging out with my friends and—”

  Ellen immediately holds up one hand, stopping me in my tracks. “Your friends? What friends? I know you haven’t been hanging out with me, seeing as I’m fatter than a dairy cow. Has she been hanging out with you, Lizzy?”

  “Nope. Definitely not with me.” Lizzy has a telling look about her. She’s practically giddy with enjoyment at this entire conversation.

  “Then who in the hell are you hanging out with?” Ellen’s eyes are scrutinizing my every move. I’m not quite sure how to answer this question. Obviously, I’ve been spending a lot of time with James.

  You spend all of your time with James.

  I take a deep breath, dramatically blowing the air from lips.

  Lizzy decides to speak on my behalf and chimes in. “She’s been spending all of her time with James.” She waggles her eyebrows encouragingly.

  Ellen’s head snaps back in my direction and a giant grin spreads across her face. She shoves my shoulder with her arm. “You have got to be kidding me! Is there something you’re not telling me? I mean, I know he stayed the night at your apartment that one time, but what else is going on?”

  “It’s not like that between James and me. We are just friends.”

  Lizzy immediately chimes in. “Yeah, friends who have sleepovers after watching scary movies and stay up on the phone all hours of the night. Friends who call each other in the mid
dle of their dates and order takeout at least three times a week.”

  Why is Lizzy such a nosy, prying bitch?

  My eyes glare at her as I feel my cheeks flush a little at the idea of James in my bed.

  Am I honestly blushing in regards to James? I mean, come on! How old am I? I’m not the type of girl who blushes. I’m notorious for being selfish and greedy and demanding. I don’t blush. I don’t get nervous. I take men by the balls and tell them exactly what I want from them, and if they can’t give me that, then I leave their asses in the dust.

  “Why is your face all red? Is Amy Jackson blushing? Holy crap, this is something I never thought I would see!” Ellen claps her hands together in excitement; her pregnant ass bounces up and down on the plastic couch.

  I stand up hastily. “That’s it! I’m out of here!”

  “Amy! Don’t be like that!” Lizzy yells from behind me as I stalk towards my gym locker.

  I hold my middle finger up in the air and keep on walking. I can hear Lizzy and Ellen giggling faintly behind me. Assholes.

  I’m not even sure why I’m mad right now. And why was I blushing? My cheeks turned bright red at the thought of James lying next to me in my bed. My thoughts went directly to how sexy he looked in his black boxer briefs, every single muscular contour on full display.

  And his stupid, awesome sex hair.

  And that one perfect dimple.

  And those intense emerald eyes.

  What is going on right now? James is my friend. Our relationship is purely platonic, right?

  The rage and possessiveness I felt towards seeing slutty Kendall standing at his doorstep weren’t normal feelings to have for a man you deem nothing more than a friend. The way he looked at me when we were dancing in his apartment—that didn’t feel very platonic. That felt intense and passionate and undeniably, overwhelmingly hot. The way he felt tonight at the gym when his chest was pressed into my back—that didn’t feel very friendly. The warmth of his hard, muscular chest. The feel of his skin touching mine. His breath on my ear. His hand gripping my waist. The way he caused shivers to stir up from my toes. This… This right here—all of these thoughts that are taking place right now are making me feel slightly panicked.

  Okay, really panicked.

  My snarky subconscious is telling me things I honestly don’t want to admit.

  I roughly throw my gym shoes into my duffle bag in irritation. I’m about five seconds away from having a full-on temper tantrum. Why am I so upset? I’m mad at myself, I’m mad at James, and more importantly, I’m mad that I didn’t get to feel his lips on mine when he was looking down at me with a palpable intensity…

  What?

  I grab my duffle bag and stomp through the locker room, passing Lizzy and Ellen.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” Ellen shouts towards me.

  “Out! I’ve got some hooking up to catch up on!” I holler back to her and continue out of the gym until I reach my car, where I continuously slam my palms down on my steering wheel until I’m pretty sure I’ve bruised my hands. This entire situation is a mind-fuck, and my only solution is to forgo my original plan to stop having one-night stands and bring my ‘find the biggest cock and obtain the most orgasms’ plan back out of retirement.

  Looks like the greedy cunt is back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “My vaginal secretions are a great facial toner.” - Amy

  “Amy!” Johnny shouts from behind the bar. “Where in the hell have you been, babe?”

  I hop onto a barstool and signal for him to get my usual.

  He pops the top of the bottle of beer and slides it my way. “Seriously, where have you been these days? I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

  I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly and take a swig of brew. Johnny’s right. It’s been months since I’ve stepped foot in Murphy’s Pub, my old stopping ground. I used to frequent this bar nearly every Saturday, and honestly, the last time I was in here had to be over five months ago. The famous night I hooked up with two twenty-somethings in the bathroom.

  That sounds really pathetic.

  It does. Just thinking about that night makes me cringe, and that really isn’t a normal reaction for me. Over a year ago, I would have been proud of that hook-up, but now, I’m most definitely not. I used to be the girl who didn’t care what people thought and took pride in the fact that I enjoyed to party. But currently, I’m kind of disappointed in myself. I’m nearing thirty and my snarky subconscious is telling me it’s time I grow the fuck up. Hooking up at bars with random guys is something you do in college. This is not something you should be doing when you’re almost thirty years old and most of your friends are either married, pregnant, or both. Things were so much easier when Ellen was single like me. She was my wing-woman. My drinking partner-in-crime. I enjoyed the days when we’d party all weekend.

  But do you honestly still want those days?

  No. I really don’t think I do.

  My favorite wing-woman is now pregnant and engaged. Her exciting plans for a Saturday night include watching movies with Trent and maybe a causal dinner out with friends. I used to make fun of people like that, always thinking that they were boring and lame. I am actually finding myself a little jealous of what Ellen has. It would be nice to have a constant man in my life, someone I could come home to. Someone who will always be there for me, no matter what.

  James is always there for me. He seems to be a recurrent thought in my head these days. Thoughts of him are always lurking around in my brain, ready to pounce on me the moment I start reevaluating my life.

  Life was much simpler when I wasn’t contemplating wanting more. Contemplating the idea of wanting to find someone to spend the rest of my life. Considering the idea of possibly wanting a family of my own. God, when did I get so philosophical and deep? I wish I could turn off my brain for a few hours and just be the Amy I used to know. That Amy didn’t give a shit about most things. Her top priority always included having a good time, especially if that good time included a hot guy I could take for a ride. The same Amy that was convinced she could never let anyone close to her for fear of hurting them. But I’ve started to let James close to me, and so far, things have been great. He’s great. No, he’s fucking perfect. He’s one of my best friends and I’m more than thankful that he’s in my life.

  I don’t even why I’m here tonight.

  Yes, you do.

  Okay, I do know why I’m here. I came here because I thought I’d bring the old Amy out of retirement. I’d spend a few hours dancing with a random stranger and possibly bring him back to my place to spend a few more hours rolling around in my sheets.

  I watch Johnny serve a few beers to three guys at the end of the bar. They’re good-looking, probably close to my age. They’re dressed in suits and chatting about the baseball game that’s on TV. One of the guys glances in my direction and grins slightly. He appraises me with interested eyes and seems to like what he sees.

  I used to get a thrill out of this.

  What girl doesn’t like when a guy checks her out and appreciates what he sees?

  I used to love the chase. Finding my conquest for the night and using my best assets to own their asses. Yeah, that was always the best part. I feel like I don’t even know myself anymore. Who in the hell am I? Why do I find myself wanting and thinking and feeling things I’ve never allowed myself to even consider? What’s caused this life reevaluation and examination of all of the things I’m feeling like I want, like I need?

  Oh my god! It’s like I have Dr. Phil or Oprah in my head. Or some weird hybrid combination of the two of them. Dr. Phil-prah. I have Dr. Phil-prah in my head and the she-man won’t leave me the fuck alone!

  Sweet Jesus, I need more alcohol.

  “Johnny!” I yell down to him. “I need some tequila shooters ASAP!”

  “Oh I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He grabs the bottle of Patron and pours the delicious liquid in shot glasses. He slides three my way and I down e
ach one in record time. I decide that I’ll just drown out Dr. Phil-prah by filling my body with copious amounts of alcohol.

  Hey, I never said my coping mechanism were healthy.

  ****

  Six shots of tequila and several dances with random strangers later, I find myself back in my apartment with the suit guy’s face between my legs. His name is Moby.

  Wait, that’s not right.

  Maybe, it’s Coby? Cody? Ah, fuck it. Does it really matter at this point?

  I can at least remember that he’s an investment broker and thirty-fourteen years old.

  Thirty-fourteen? I think that’s a number.

  You know what’s a weird word? Number. Do you ever think about a word so much that it doesn’t even seem like a real word anymore?

  How do you spell number? N-U-M-B-E-R.

  I think I’m giving myself a field sobriety test while Moby is going down on me.

  By the way, Moby is eating my pussy like he’s in a watermelon-eating contest. This is the messiest, sloppiest oral sex I’ve ever received and I think my snatch has lost all feeling.

  Can your vagina go numb?

  What if my vagina has fallen asleep? Think about when your foot loses all sensation after sitting on it weird for a prolonged amount of time. You know that feeling you get when all the blood rushes back? That extreme tingly sensation that makes you feel like crawling out of your own skin because it’s too intense… I bet that’d be the best orgasm ever.

  Note to self: After Moby finishes eating your pussy, try to make your vagina fall asleep.

  Moby gazes up at me; my arousal is all over his face.

  Jesus, does he have my juices on his forehead, too?

  He’s diving into my snatch like a deep-sea diver looking for buried treasure. The man needs goggles. I feel like screaming, “Someone get this man some goggles! He’s got an oyster to find!”

  Moby looks up at me again; his face glistens and instantly reminds me of Edward the sparkly vampire from Twilight. “Did you just scream oyster?” he asks, incredulous.

  “Uh…yes! Keep going! Eat my little oyster. Find my pearl.”