by Sam Ledel
I dip my head under the showerhead for another minute, turning off the water once I can’t stand the heat anymore. I wrap my towel around me and step into the changing stall, quickly throwing on my clothes. Scrubbing at my hair to get it dry, I walk out into the bathroom of our locker room. Emily is at the mirror applying lipstick when I move up next to her. She looks at me over the top of her glasses while I run my fingers through my hair, attempting to make it look as presentable as possible for class.
Emily sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
She squints in my direction, then glances around the bathroom. Finding no one, she turns to me, one hand on the sink. “Kyle, I saw your face when Elaine mentioned Joey earlier. It looked like somebody kicked your puppy.”
“I don’t have a puppy.”
Emily hits my elbow. “You know what I mean.”
I smile slightly but shake my head, tossing my gym clothes into the bag at my feet. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Besides,” I say, zipping up my workout bag, “I don’t have room to talk. And I’m happy for her. She deserves to be happy.”
“Who deserves to be happy?” Joey strolls into the bathroom, a towel over her shoulder, nothing more than shorts and a sports bra covering her body. My eyes fall briefly to her taut stomach, but I force my gaze back onto the mirror, though the grin on her face doesn’t escape me.
“Oh, nothing,” Emily says. “We were just talking about, um, Coach Gandy.” Joey quirks an eyebrow at us as she walks over to the shower stall I’d previously occupied. “You know, we were discussing, um, how she deserves to be happy because she works so hard. You know, with us.”
Joey’s incredulous gaze drifts from Emily to me. I just blush and bite my lip, looking anywhere but at her. “Sure,” she finally says, then disappears behind the shower curtain.
I let out a breath, and Emily turns to me. “Thanks for the help, Kyle.”
I grimace. “Sorry.”
Emily sighs, tucking her makeup away into her backpack. I swing my bag over my shoulder, and we head back into the locker room, tossing our workout bags into our respective lockers.
“Come on, Kyle,” Emily says, looping her arm through mine. “I’ll make another attempt at getting you to spill after class. How about a movie night tomorrow? Just you and me?”
I lean my head on Emily’s shoulder as we push through the locker room doors and walk out onto campus. We both pull closer to one another as the chill winter air hits us. I smile. “That sounds perfect.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Are you all right?” I ask, glancing sideways at Jax.
She shifts next to me on the couch, staring down at her phone screen. I change the channel again, landing on one of those cooking competitions that always seems to be on every Sunday afternoon. An angry, middle-aged man yells at a handful of terrified pastry chefs as they run around a cluttered kitchen.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says without looking up.
I nod and resist the urge to glance down at her phone. Ever since New Year’s, Jax has yo-yoed between borderline smothering me with affection one day and being completely glued to her phone the next. Since we woke up today, she’s run to her phone each time it goes off, and once the conversation begins with whoever’s on the other line, it’s like I’m not even here anymore.
“How’s T.?” I ask after a few minutes. Okay, I’m fishing. But she is my girlfriend. Shouldn’t I be able to know some things?
Jax doesn’t respond for a moment, until finally she clicks off her phone screen and sets it on the far side of her. “What? T.? Oh, she’s fine. Why?”
I shrug. “I figured that was her.”
Jax takes a breath and focuses on the TV. I watch her, my head leaning against my hand that’s propped up on the arm of the couch. “No,” she finally says. “That was Steven.”
My jaw clenches, but I fight to maintain a straight face. “Oh. Steven.”
The chefs on TV scramble over themselves. Somebody misplaced the sugar.
Jax crosses her legs, then reaches for the beer on the side table. She takes a sip from it then says, “Yeah. He keeps bothering me about the paper we have coming up in chem. You know, since we’re in the same class.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Well, why don’t you just call him back to talk about it?” My face grows warmer by the second, but I don’t let my voice waver.
Jax shrugs and takes another chug from her beer, finishing it off. “Because. Why would I want to talk to that jerk?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “maybe because you guys were together for, like, two years. And he needs help.”
Jax stands up. “Please. He’s a complete douche. Want another beer?” she asks once she’s in the kitchen.
The swish of her hips as she saunters up to the fridge momentarily hypnotizes me. I slam my eyes shut and take a deep breath, turning my attention back to the show. One chef is yelling at her teammate about adding too many eggs to the batter, while another one just dropped a bag of flour. For a second, I flash back to my mom doing the same thing, then picture her staggering around to clean everything up.
Jax’s phone dings, and this time I cave and reach over for it. Steven’s name is on the screen, over the background photo of Jax and me that we took after a practice one night. In it, she’s looking up at the camera, and I’m looking at her. My hair is flying over my face. We’re laughing.
“Sorry, babe,” Jax says, reappearing and grabbing the phone from my hand. “I’ll tell him to stop.” She hands me both of the beers and plunks down beside me. Then she types out a quick message and places the phone down emphatically on the side table. “There,” she says.
“Thanks.” I smile at her as she settles into the couch. Her playful gaze roves over me, making me blush. “What?” I say, fidgeting.
“You’re just really hot.” I laugh as she pushes herself up onto her knees. “You laugh because you know it’s true,” she purrs as she moves toward me. I put the beers on the floor next to the couch and lean back, letting myself slide under her as she tugs at my hips, straddling me in one quick move.
“Well, you’re not so bad yourself,” I say. She leans down and kisses me, the bitter taste of beer on her tongue. I kiss her back, and she moves against me. Her hands start to move down my waist. But I pull back and catch my breath. She just smiles and kisses down my jawline, then my neck. Her fingers dance along my stomach as she inches up my shirt. My hands wrap around her back, and my hips thrust upward to meet hers. She kisses me again.
Ding!
I tear my lips from hers. “Really?”
“No, babe,” Jax says, rearranging herself so that one of her legs is between both of mine. Her index finger finds my chin, and she turns my head so that I have to look at her. She presses her thigh against my center. “It’s just me,” she says, her voice low. “Just you and me.”
Her eyes are locked on mine: cagey pools of blue in their sea of black. Her lips are parted, the bottom one swollen from kissing me. I bite my lip, my mind swimming with both lust and irritation. I want to forget about him. I want to forget about New Year’s. I want to forget about what we’ve become.
Jax’s leg begins a rhythm against me, and I close my eyes, forcing myself to fall into her. Just this time, I tell myself, I’ll let her. I’ll let her help me to forget.
Chapter Forty
“Jax, have you seen my phone?”
“No,” she hollers back from the kitchen.
“Maybe I left it in the locker room?”
“I have no idea. But hurry up, will you? The pasta’s almost done.”
Frowning, I shovel through the bottom of my closet, raking through pairs of running shoes and old soccer socks. I grab my workout bag and turn to empty its contents onto the floor. Several rolls of athletic tape spill out, along with a water bottle, my geology textbook, and my phone.
“Aha!” I toss the bag aside and crouch down to sift through everything. “Foun
d it!” I shout, untangling the headphone cords. I move to stand back up when a small pouch underneath my water bottle catches my eye. I lean one knee to rest against the floor and reach down to pick it up.
“That’s great,” Jax shouts. “Time for dinner!”
“Coming!” I glance at the doorway but don’t get up. Instead, I hold the pouch in my hand, memories rushing back to me. I can’t help but smile when I tug open the top of the pouch and drop the necklace into my open hand. I turn the stone over. And even though I know it’s not possible, it still feels cold, just like the night Joey left it on my windshield.
“Kyle?”
I quickly shove the necklace back inside the pouch, tucking it into the top drawer of my bedside table. Out in the living room, Jax is dishing spaghetti onto plates at my tiny kitchen table that doubles as my homework desk. She scurries back to the counter and grabs a bottle of wine as I sit down. Reaching over me to pour a glass, her other arm stretches around and sets a blank envelope next to my plate.
I look up at her. “What’s this?” She smirks and shrugs. I turn it over and pull out two tickets. “Oh, wow. Tickets to see Rocky Horror live?” Jax looks satisfied, placing the wine bottle in the middle of the table and scooting her chair closer to sit next to me. “But what’s the occasion?”
“Well,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. “It’s March. Our nine months is coming up. Plus,” she looks down, toeing at the carpet, “I still feel bad about New Year’s and everything. I wanted to get you something.” Her eyes flicker up to mine. “Besides, I know you’ve mentioned wanting to see this.”
I stare at the tickets. “April twenty-second, that’s in three weeks.”
Jax nods. “I figure a weekend trip right before the last few weeks of school will be good for us. What do you say to a road trip to the city?”
I look at Jax. Her eyes dance between my own. As I watch them, I can’t help wishing they’d stand still for just a moment. I wish I could read what always seemed to be just behind them. And I wish I was ecstatic about her gift. The last few months haven’t been easy. When I open my mouth to speak, Jax stops me, her hands landing on my knees.
“Hey. Kyle, look. I know things haven’t been great between us lately. I know that. But let me make it up to you. Please?”
I place the tickets down next to my fork, the food steaming on our plates when I place my hands down on top of Jax’s.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
Her smile spreads and she kisses me. Then she reaches for our glasses, handing me mine. “I think this calls for a little toast.”
I eye the white wine shimmering back at me. “Just one, right? You know I have that test in Spanish tomorrow. My grades have been slipping enough as it is.”
She winks. “Relax, babe.” After another swallow of her drink she replaces our glasses on the table and tugs me closer to her.
“Jax,” I say when she stands up and over me, settling herself down on top of my thighs. “What about dinner?”
She runs her hands through my hair, leaning my head back so I have to look up at her. “We’ll get to it,” she says before pulling me into a kiss. “But for now,” she whispers next to my ear, “let me make things up to you again.”
Chapter Forty-One
I stand behind Jax with one of my arms curled around her waist, sipping from my vodka cranberry with my other hand. My eyes close as the burn of the liquor hits the back of my throat. Jax presses into me, and I open my eyes to her head bobbing along to the eighties cover band currently playing. It’s a modest but energetic crowd inside the small bar we’d wandered into about an hour ago, courtesy of the fake IDs Jax borrowed from Haley.
After The Rocky Horror Show—which had been amazing on all sorts of levels—we had walked down Sixth Street hand in hand to check out the famed Austin nightlife. We strolled along the sidewalks taking everything in: the burger patties sizzling on their corner grills, the gold-painted bodies glittering under the dancing streetlights, and the muscle-shirted men hollering outside of bars. “Ladies’ Night! First one’s on us!”
Eventually we had been drawn into this bar, pulled like a ship toward the howling of a siren.
“I love this song,” Jax breathes into me, turning her face to whisper in my ear. Then she plants a quick kiss on my cheek. I look down at her and feel like we’re almost back to where we began last summer. Jax looks stunning in a simple black tank and her signature ripped jeans over a pair of dark Converse. As she turns back to the band, raspberry perfume and Dove shampoo invade my senses.
“Thank you for tonight, Jax.”
She squeezes my hand that I have wrapped around her waist. The drummer bangs out the final notes and the crowd cheers. Jax takes a sip of my drink, licking her lips as she eyes me.
“Anytime, hot stuff,” she says, then nudges the drink up to my mouth. “Drink up.” She winks and turns back to the band. Then the bartender, who had been hovering nearby for the last three songs, slams two shots down on the bar behind us.
“Two Vegas bombs,” he says before tossing a rag over his muscular right shoulder. “Courtesy of the gentleman at the end of the bar.”
We both turn to look down the bar; a tattooed guy smirks and glances down at Jax’s cleavage. Jax waves at him and grabs the two drinks. “Jax,” I say, holding up a hand. “Come on, I thought we were going easy tonight.”
Jax’s eyes are like stars under the heavy eyeliner and mascara, and they have that familiar glint in them. “We can’t be rude,” she says, still smiling.
“I’m sure the nice tattooed man will live if we don’t drink his shots.”
Jax stares at me then downs the red liquid. “Kyle, come on,” she says. “Let’s have fun.”
I shake my head. “I already have a drink.”
She looks at me for a second then shrugs. “Fine. More for me.”
“Jax, wait—”
But she’s already pouring the second shot down her throat, then makes a show of wiping her mouth clean. The bartender takes the glasses away when I pull Jax closer to me. The crowd jostles around us in anticipation of the next song, and Jax squirms to break free from the grip I have on her arm.
“Come on, babe,” she says, turning to the crowd. “Let’s have fun! This is our night.” She kisses me hard, then steps back, laughing.
“I thought we were already having fun,” I tell her as the band starts up another song.
She bumps my hip with hers. “Kyle, it’s okay. Loosen up.”
Something over Jax’s shoulder catches my eye before I can respond. A flash of red.
Jax stumbles and turns to look behind her. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just thought I saw…”
“Who? Emily?”
“No.” I stand on my toes to look over the crowd. It couldn’t have been. I scan the faces in the bar. But nothing. “Sorry. I just…I thought I saw Joey.”
Jax crosses her arms and leans against the bar. “Joey? Really?”
“Jax, I just thought I saw her. That’s all.”
“Sure, Kyle.”
I sigh and finish off the rest of my drink. “What now, Jax?”
“Like you don’t know?” She sneers, signaling for another drink from the bartender.
I watch her guzzle down half a beer, searching her face. “Jax, what are you talking about?”
“Kyle, everyone knows she was crazy about you last year. God, I remember her flirting with you at every practice, that tall freak.”
I blink as her words hit me. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Whatever,” Jax mutters, another gulp of her beer gone. “I’m the one who got you, so it’s all good.”
“What do you mean, ‘the one who got me’?”
She swallows and sets her beer down. “You know what I mean, silly. Come on.” She nudges me playfully. “Let’s just watch the show.”
I shove my hands into my jeans pockets. The room thumps as the music slinks between the c
rowd and up over the grungy walls. Frustration rises inside me, and I can’t take it anymore. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Jax grabs my wrist as I start off toward the other side of the room.
“Bathroom,” I tell her, swiping my arm away from her. “I’ll be right back.” I push through the crowd, Jax’s calls disappearing behind me.
With my head down, I make my way through hordes of people, inching my way into a narrow hallway off the main room. Several leather couches line the walls and the two bathroom doors are on the left.
“Kyle, wait!” I hear Jax call behind me. She must have followed. I just push open the door into the bathroom.
“What did you mean, Jax?” I finally ask, spinning around at the sink counter. A woman who had been drying her hands turns to look at us as Jax rushes into the room. She’s wide-eyed as she hurries out, leaving us alone. “What…was I some freshman game you were trying to win? A new trophy for your shelf, or notch in your belt?”
“Of course not,” she says, stepping toward me. Her voice drops lower, and her false sincerity suddenly comes through loud and clear. “I mean, you have to admit,” she grabs my hands, her face inches from my own, “you had no idea what you were doing until I stepped up to show you.”
I yank my hands back from her grip. Before I can reply, she cuts me off.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Jax says. “Kyle, they’re just words. You know I can get carried away. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “I know, Jax.” I look up at the ceiling. “But that’s all I’ve been hearing for months now. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Honestly, I’m getting sick of it.”
“Hey,” Jax says, moving closer, her hands on my hips. “Kyle. Don’t talk like that.” Standing so close, I smell the liquor on her breath. She must have taken another shot before chasing after me. Her eyes are hazy, and she wobbles a little.
I look down and realize just how exhausted I am. My drink from earlier starts to churn in my stomach, and I hate how it feels. I hate the headache forming in the back of my head. I hate the false elation swimming in my gut that will desert me at the first signs of daylight. And I hate this never-ending cycle I’m stuck in with Jax. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”