Avoiding Amy Jackson

by N. A. Alcorn

  The gas nozzle clicks, but I’m too wrapped up in dirty thoughts to realize the tank is full.

  “Hey, idiot. Are you just going to stand there all day?” Amy is leaning over the console, her head hanging out of the driver’s side window and a smile encompassing her sarcastic little mouth.

  I chuckle and shake my head, trying like hell to stop thinking about her perfect anatomy. I shut the fuel door and walk over towards the driver’s side, coming face to face with Amy. She’s still practically hanging out of the window, her shirt revealing a wonderful amount of cleavage. Sometimes I wonder if she’s truly aware of what she does to me.

  “You want anything from inside?” I ask as I rest against the door, our faces mere inches from each other.

  “W-what?” she mutters, her eyes still transfixed on mine.

  “You want anything from inside the gas station? Something to drink? A snack?” I get the feeling that she’s just as attracted to me as I am to her. I inch a few millimeters closer, our noses practically touching now. Her eyes get bigger when our proximity becomes nearer, but she doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t respond to my question. “Amy?” I ask, despite the fact that I’d rather crush her mouth to mine and have my way with her.

  “James?” she whispers softly as her eyes move down to my lips.

  Fuck, I need to kiss her. I’m desperate to kiss her, but I know that if I do, I could quite possibly screw things up between us. It’s one thing for Amy to open herself up to me when we’re in the privacy of our own tent, but it’s a whole other thing for her to show vulnerability in broad daylight in the middle of a gas station where anyone could see us.

  “Sweetheart,” I whisper, and she responds by biting down on her bottom lip. “I need you to move so I can grab my wallet.”

  “What?” she asks, her gaze still locked on my mouth, her teeth still sinking into her bottom lip.

  Fuck, I want to bite that bottom lip.

  “I need my wallet…so I can pay for the gas.”

  “Your wallet?”

  “Yes.” I nod in the direction of the console she is so beautifully lying across.

  “Oh… Oh! Shit, sorry!” she sputters as she scrambles back into the passenger’s seat.

  “No worries, doll. I was enjoying the view.” I wink at her as I grab my wallet and slide it into the back pocket of my jeans.

  She lets out a snorting laugh as I walk around the front of the SUV and towards the doors of the small convenience store.

  Why didn’t I kiss her?

  I should have fucking kissed her.

  God, she’s right. I’m an idiot.

  “Hey, idiot! Grab me a Diet Coke while you’re in there!” she shouts as I open the glass door and hear bells chime, notifying the clerk of my presence. Well, I guess I should be thankful that she’s still calling me idiot instead of digressing my nickname back to Limp Dick.

  I’ve made progress. Yes, it’s at a fucking snail’s pace, but it’s progress nonetheless.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “My pussy just went on strike and

  I could really use a hefty dose of Prozac right now.” - Amy

  Three nights alone in a tent I spent with James. Three nights of being wrapped up in his arms and the only thing that occurred between us was one night of kissing. Perfect kisses. Indescribable kisses. Oh my god, the kissing. The perfect, sweet, utterly delectable kisses. James’s lips pressed against mine. His hands clutching the small of my back. His tongue gently entwining with mine, exploring my mouth with affection. His muscular perfection spooning me tightly and making me feel safe and content.

  James. James. James.

  My mind seems to have an affinity for being obsessed with him. My thoughts aren’t of friendship, and they are most certainly not clean. My thoughts are dirty and passionate as they spur a deep-seated intensity of overwhelming lust to have his hands all over my body. I want him on me, over me, under me, and inside me. I want James everywhere.

  This isn’t good.

  No, this is bad. The very worst kind of bad. I’ve fallen hard for one of my best friends, a man I swore I wouldn’t ever fall for. How did this happen? How did I go from calling someone Dr. Limp Dick and making a career out of mean-mugging him at every opportunity to wanting him so badly that I can feel my muff screaming his name? My nipples are hard at just the thought of James’s lips on mine. My panties are wet from reenacting every intimate moment I shared with him.

  Did I just say intimate?

  This is bad. So very, very bad.

  Amy doesn’t think words like intimate. Amy doesn’t fall hard for a guy. Amy is the type of girl who finds a good, hard cock to ride and then walks away before feelings get involved. And apparently, Amy is now a c-u-n-t who likes to talk about herself in third person.

  I think I need to be hypnotized.

  Does that work? Can I have someone hypnotize me into forgetting my feelings for James? What part of my brain holds these stupid fucking feelings? Maybe I can just have that part of my brain removed. That sounds completely doable. I pull my laptop from the coffee table and do what any medical professional would do—I Google. If I can just find the exact part of my brain that controls these feelings for James, I can call a neurosurgeon and schedule an appointment for surgery. STAT.

  Aha! Well it looks like there is no definitive research that points to one specific part of your brain that controls your romantic feelings for someone. My Google exploration has found that there are actually several parts of your brain that may or may not be involved in controlling these stupid fucking feelings. If my research is accurate—and I’m sure it is since I’m on Google—I would need to have my hypothalamus, the ventral tegmental area in my mid-brain, and the Deep Limbic System in the center of my brain removed.

  This seems realistic.

  I may need to be a lifetime supply of dopamine and serotonin replacements—as well as have trouble feeling any emotion at all—but these annoying emotions would be gone! I wouldn’t be sitting here fantasizing about James. I wouldn’t be sitting here dreaming about what spending a lifetime with James would be like. I would probably just be sitting here feeling nothing… Absolutely nothing.

  Ah, the good ol’ days when I actually did feel nothing.

  When I spent most of my nights finding the one guy in the room to take home and then I did just that. I took that guy home, took what I wanted, and then tossed him aside like yesterday’s garbage. I rarely ever went back for seconds. I got my fill and relished in the fact that I never felt an urge to continue any sort of contact or relationship with said one-night-stand guys.

  Damn, I miss that girl.

  I really do. I miss the way things used to be when my annoying fucking emotions weren’t complicating everything. It seems those days are gone now. The only days that are in front of me are going to be filled with me being a stupid sap speaking in third person and constantly thinking about James.

  Good-looking, funny, cocky, smug, egotistical, ridiculously sexy James.

  I hate him and I like him and I hate him and I lo—

  Never mind. I refuse to let that word cross my sober mind.

  The camping trip with James was one of the best times I’ve had in I can’t remember how long. We spent three days fishing, drinking, hiking, and spending time with his closest buddies. I drank my ass off during the day, and every night, like clockwork, James would let me slide into his sleeping bag, where he would hold me until we both fell asleep.

  The first night I was worried things would be awkward, but to my surprise, they weren’t. James didn’t act any different towards me. He acted like the same old James. Smug and cocky and constantly making me laugh while simultaneously pissing me off. Then he’d flash that perfect dimple my way and all was forgiven.

  Why does that dimple have to be so perfect?

  And why am I noticing a dimple on a man? I’ve never in my life swooned over a man’s dimple. I don’t swoon. I’m not that fucking swooning girl. At least I wasn’t th
at girl. Apparently, I am now. I’m that stupid swooning girl with the annoying fucking emotions for her best friend.

  Dear god, I’m a cliché. Someone write the screenplay because I’m the girl in every romantic comedy lusting over her best friend. I think I just felt my snatch crawl up inside of my stomach.

  See? Even my pussy is disappointed in me.

  Shit, I’m disappointed in me. I’m saddened that I let things get this far. I’m upset that I let myself fall this deep. And more importantly, I’m upset that there’s nothing I can do about it. That’s the awesome part about falling for someone. You can’t help how you feel. You can’t go back in time and change your feelings. I always kind of wondered if it was all bullshit.

  Love at first sight.

  Soul mates.

  Spending the rest of your life with one person.

  I honestly never really believed the hype, but now, I hate myself for being in a situation where I’m actually starting to understand. And my snatch, well… I’m pretty sure she kind of hates me too. She’s set up shop somewhere between my stomach and liver and I’m pretty sure she is on strike. My pussy just went on strike. My vagina has officially boycotted being a part of my female reproductive system, and I’m concerned I’m never going to have another orgasm again.

  I’m strongly considering hypnosis or paying someone to slap me silly. Maybe I’ll do both. I could use a good spanking. I bet James is a spanker. Oh my, the mere of idea of James spanking me has my nipples beading up underneath my bra.

  Damnit!

  See? My mind won’t stop thinking about James. I wish my mind would boycott and my vagina would come back from her strike.

  God, I want him.

  I want James all day, every day, on constant repeat.

  I lie back on my couch and place a pillow over my head while screaming into it at the top of my lungs. I might have to take up smoking again.

  ****

  Thirty minutes later…

  I’m back from my trip to the nearest gas station and now I’m sitting on my living room floor with a pack of cigarettes on the table, one in my hand, and swigging from a bottle of wine. If I can’t get rid of these feelings, maybe I can drink and chain-smoke them to death? This seems like a healthy approach.

  ****

  Another thirty minutes go by…

  A bottle of wine and half a pack of Marlboro Lights later, I hear Lizzy and Ellen walk in through the front door. They’re both laughing and carrying shopping bags. They look great. I look like shit and smell like a bowling alley attendant.

  “What the fuck is going on in here?” Ellen asks as she walks her cute pregnant ass into my living room. “It looks and smells and sounds like 1995.” She’s turns off the stereo that was currently blaring Nirvana’s Silver. What? When I get depressed, I go grunge. I can’t help myself.

  I watch Ellen and Lizzy as they sit down on the couch, carefully assessing my mood. I start to take drink from bottle number one of wine and I am sad to find that it’s empty. I quickly pop the cork of bottle number two and take a giant swig. Alcohol seems like a good solution for a lovesick idiot. And that’s exactly what I am.

  My pussy is still on her boycott. I’m contemplating the idea of canceling all of my future waxing appointments and just letting my pubes go au naturel. It’s not like it really matters. I’m basically never going to have sex again. I could probably use the cobwebs in my vagina for next year’s Halloween decorations.

  “So what’s going on? I feel like I’m in a remake of Reality Bites, but only you’re Wynona Ryder and you seem to have developed a dislike for wearing pants.” Ellen cocks her perfectly manicured eyebrow my way.

  “Is Ethan Hawke here? Maybe he can find my vagina,” I respond with a slight slur to my voice. I’m at the point in my quest to become as drunk as humanly possible where my lips are now numb.

  “What are you talking about?” Lizzy’s forehead creases in concern.

  “My pussy is on strike and I’m never going to have sex again because I developed feelings for my smoking-hot best friend.” I decide this next swig of wine should be at least five seconds and I count my seconds the long way.

  One Mississippi… Two Mississippi… Three Mississippi…

  I sputter a little on the wine as I barely make it to my five-second mark. Look at me! I’m like a drinking professional! The alcohol burns the back of my throat, and I decide that another swig seems like the obvious cure to my burning ailment.

  Eh, not so much.

  My throat is on fire, and a small amount of stomach acid creeps up my esophagus, letting me know that it’s probably a good time to take a small break from my own rendition of the Drinking Olympics. I cough several times and swallow hard against the bile in my throat.

  Ellen snatches the wine from my hands and promptly puts the cork back in.

  “Seriously, what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Everything. James is an asshole. I like James a lot. I want to play ‘hide the salami’ with James’s cock.” I lie back on the living room carpet and close my eyes. I’m officially shitfaced and rambling about James’s soup-can-sized tube steak.

  Seriously, his cock is huge. And I’m pretty skeptical when it comes to cock size. I’ve been around town. I’ve seen a lot of peckers, and there are few and far between that have actually impressed me so much that I’ve considered starting a journal where I profess my undying need to be thrusted by James’s supersized soup-can cock.

  Did I just peckers?

  It’s official. I’m drunk and pathetic, and someone should just put me out of my misery.

  Or just give me more alcohol. That would work too.

  I open my eyes to see Lizzy with a grin that’s as wide as Texas and Ellen has a small perceptive look etched all over her face. This is the point in the conversation where they’re going to get a good laugh at my expense and the fact that I’ve been denying my feelings for James for months now…

  “So you have feelings for James?” Ellen questions cautiously.

  “No, I have feelings for our Amish neighbor across the hall. Do you think he’ll let me milk his goat?” Nothing against Amish people, but we do in fact have an Amish neighbor who may or may not have a goat living in his apartment part time. I honestly have no room to judge, seeing as I’ve passed out outside my apartment door too many times to count and the last guy I brought home left my apartment with a giant erection and face that was shining like Mr. Clean’s head.

  Ugh. Moby. Just the thought of my little rendezvous with the nose-rubber has guilt weighing down my stomach. I feel guilty that I let that night occur and that doesn’t even make sense. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I’m single. I’m not with James. I’m not with anyone. Yet, I still can’t deny the fact that I feel like I did something that would hurt him.

  “Stop being such a smartass,” Ellen scolds me as she gently pats her belly.

  “Fine, but I’m only saying this once and it’s only because I’ve chain-smoked nearly an entire pack of cigs and I’m wasted right now.” I inhale deep and tightly close my eyes. “Yes, I do in fact have feelings for James.” I place my arm over my eyes again.

  “I knew it!” Ellen and Lizzy say simultaneously.

  “Shut up. Please, shut up,” I mumble out as if I’m in pain.

  “Why are you so depressed over this? This isn’t a bad thing. James has some serious feelings for you, Amy, and the two of you are perfect for each other.”

  I peek out from behind my arm and see Ellen smiling warmly at me.

  “Ellen is right, Amy. James is head over heels for you.” Lizzy’s tone is full of giddiness.

  “God, I can’t take you two right now. I know you mean well and want me to be happy and all that other happy horseshit, but I’m pretty pissed at myself at the moment. I can’t believe I’ve let myself fall in—”

  I abruptly stop myself before I let that four-letter word slip past my lips.

  “I can’t believe I’ve let myself fall so deep
for a guy I consider one of my best friends. I can’t start a relationship with James. I need his friendship, and if we got into an actual relationship and everything went to shit, well I would be devastated to not have him in my life anymore.” I huff out my irritation and continue lying on the floor with my arm covering my eyes.

  “Holy shit.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m almost at a loss.”

  “I know.”

  What in the hell are they talking about? I drop my arm away from my eyes and quickly sit up, eyeing both Ellen and Lizzy with annoyance. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” I continue to look back and forth between the two of them, impatiently waiting for their response.

  “Well…I… Well…” Ellen sputters out.

  “I think what Ellen is trying to say is that we’re just surprised by what you just said,” Lizzy says quietly.

  “What do you mean surprised? I don’t get it.” I hold both of my hands out in confusion.

  “Well…” Ellen sputters out again.

  “Seriously, if you say well one more time, I can promise you that I won’t be afraid to smack a pregnant lady.”

  Ellen chuckles and clears her throat. “Okay. I’m just a little taken aback. You basically just told me you have extremely deep feelings for James and you also mentioned that his friendship means so much to you that you wouldn’t want to risk attempting to have a relationship with him. A relationship that you actually want. I’ve never heard you talk about wanting a relationship with anyone. And friendship? I honestly don’t think you’ve ever been this close to a guy. This is just a side of you I’ve never really seen before. I like this side of you, Amy. I really, really do.” Ellen pats the cushion next to her, encouraging me to sit on the couch.

  I slowly get up and sit down. My eyes look down at my hands, quietly thinking about everything she just said. “I think I’m having a psychotic episode. Maybe you should take me to the ER and have me admitted to the psych unit.” I glance up at Ellen and Lizzy, who are both giving me small smiles.