Wished for You

by KD Robichaux

  Oooooh, testy, testy. Sounds like something may have happened in the past and he’s still bitter about it.

  Or maybe he’s just a dick.

  Yeah, or that.

  Interests: Drinking, smoking, playing pool, playing poker, making money.

  Wow, he really did nothing on his profile to try to sell himself. There’s no way in hell if I had read this, I would’ve contacted him. He sounds like the exact type of guy I would have avoided. Oh, wait, I did avoid him—when I set my browsing criteria to comb through the douchebags.

  He wasn’t one though. I mean, sure, he wasn’t the friendliest person in the world, but there was something about him…something that seemed…sad.

  By this time, my eyes are starting to cross; I’m so exhausted. My coffee fuel has official ran out and made this body sputter to a stop, the last five minutes having ran on fumes. I make my way into my room and I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

  Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog

  Blog Post 1/23/2005

  Well, I started my new job a couple days ago. It’s ridiculously easy. Instead of being out in the open to greet customers as they come in, like at my cousin’s car dealership, I’m in the back office. I’ll be working the evening shifts since I go to school in the mornings, and that means I’ll have the entire office to myself, since all the other office personnel get off at five. All I have to do is answer the phone, direct the caller to the correct person, and file completed car sales in alphabetical order. The manager knows there is a lot of down time, so he said he is completely okay with me doing my homework here. Guess I’ll have lots of time to read!

  Anni messaged me the other day telling me to make an account on a website called Myspace. I had heard of it before, but never really paid any attention to it. Apparently, it makes sharing your pictures with family and friends really easy, and she thinks it would be good for my blog. So I made my free account if y’all want to check me out and add me to your friend list. I really like how you can change the background of your profile, and being able to comment of your friends’ pictures is really fun.

  In other news, I’ve been back down to Friendswood a few more times to hang out with the guys. I haven’t done the deed with Gavin ever since the second time failed, and I think he’s getting the hint I’m not really interested in him as more than a friend, the kind without benefits. I just don’t want to burn any bridges with him, because I really do love spending time with all of them. I’m scared if I tell Gavin I don’t want anything more than his friendship, he won’t even want that. I know I’m probably a bitch for using him to hang out with Jason—who, by the way, is still Mr. Broody, but has started speaking to me a lot more—but I can’t shake this pull Jason has on me.

  Jason’s twenty-first birthday party is on Tuesday. It’s weird to have a party in the middle of the week, but when you’re a college kid, I guess it doesn’t really matter. I wanted to get him something, but I also don’t want it to be blatantly obvious that I have such a big crush on him by buying him something extravagant, not that I could afford anything that great anyway. But I found him this really cool lighter that looks like a deck of cards, and when you slide the top card to the side, it ignites the lighter. They had a few different ones, and I happened to get lucky and grabbed the last one with the ace of spades as the top card. He has a thing for spades. He even has a huge tattoo on his right bicep of one with the words Lucky Spade inked in script. The gift is small, but hopefully, he’ll appreciate the sentiment.

  1/25/2005

  I lean against the wall of Jason’s hallway, waiting impatiently for the person to finish using the bathroom, who has been in there for a good fifteen minutes. I’d use the one off the kitchen, but with all of these crazy boys running around, most of who are intoxicated for Jason’s big party, I thought I’d play it safe and use the one at the back of the house to avoid being pranked when I’m most vulnerable.

  Finally, I hear the lock being turned and the door abruptly swings open, revealing an annoyed looking Mr. Broody. When he spots me waiting in the hall, his face softens slightly, and I smile at him. “You okay? I was about to go find help to see if you’d fallen in,” I tease.

  “Yeah, was just hiding out for a while. Sorry. There’s two other bathrooms, you know,” he tells me.

  “Yeah, but it felt weird going into your parents’ bedroom, and there was no guarantee I’d get to pee in peace with all your drunk friends running around the other one.”

  “Good call,” he says, stepping out of the doorway.

  My full bladder has been completely forgotten as I stand here talking with the birthday boy. I haven’t spent any time alone with him before, and the tension I feel between us is almost palpable. “You sure you’re okay?” I ask. “Why were you hiding in your bathroom?”

  “I just needed to get away for a while. There are so many people here; I just needed to get where it was quiet. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy people came, but I just get anxious sometimes,” he explains. He reaches his muscular, tattooed arm up to rub the back of his neck with his hand, then brings it up over his short cropped hair and down his face, blowing out a long stream of air.

  I hate seeing him so tense at his own party, so I do the first thing that pops into my head to make him feel better. I take the two steps separating us and wrap my arms around his waist, surprising the both of us as I give him what I mean to be a supportive hug. He stands stiffly for a moment, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, but then I feel him physically relax and place one of his arms around my shoulders.

  We stand there for what seems like hours, but what I’m sure is only a few minutes, as I try to send him good vibes through our embrace. I don’t want to let go—one, because I don’t want it to be awkward when we finally do, and two, being in his arms feels amazing. I can hear the thud of his heart in his chest, and I feel so protected and…at home wrapped up in his hold. When his grip loosens, there is no weirdness as we step away from each other. Instead, he looks a lot calmer than he had before my sudden need for a cuddle.

  “Thanks,” he says, “I guess I needed that.”

  I giggle and tell him, “Sorry, I’m a hugger. I thought it was a shame for you to look so unhappy at your birthday party. Oh! I have something for you. It’s small, but when I saw it, it reminded me of you.” I pull my purse open that’s hanging on my shoulder and take out the tiny wrapped box, handing it to him. He holds it up to his ear and shakes it, making me laugh. “You don’t have to guess; just open it,” I encourage, making a shooing motion with my hands.

  “Now?” he asks, already starting to work at the wrapping.

  “Yeah, now. I know I’ve only known you for a week, but I couldn’t come to your party and not bring you something for your birthday.” I shift from foot to foot as I watch him remove the small white box from the blue paper I’d found in Mark’s spare bedroom and then crumple it up in his hand. He steps backward into the bathroom, and tosses the paper out of my line of sight, I assume into a trashcan.

  I find myself holding my breath as he works the lid off of the box, and then sigh as I see a rare smile cross his handsome face. He turns the box upside down in his hand, and the lighter falls into his palm. He absently hands me the empty box as he turns the rectangular-shaped metal over on each side, visibly trying to figure out what it is.

  “Slide the ace to the side,” I hint, stuffing the box back into my purse.

  When his eyebrows furrow and he does as I told him, the lighter ignites with a distinct click and he jumps a little, making me giggle again.

  “Holy shit! That’s awesome,” he says, sliding the top card over and over, making the flame light and extinguish repeatedly. “I’ve never seen one like this before.”

  “Me neither,” I say quietly through my big grin. I’m sure my face is going to split; I’m smiling so hard, feeling overwhelmingly proud of myself that I could make this guy with such a tough exterior react to a gift like a little kid with a brand new
toy. I watch him play with it for a few more moments before my bladder makes itself known again. “Well, I’m glad you like it, but I’ve really gotta go potty now,” I say and move around him to go into the bathroom. As I go to close the door, his hand shoots up to stop it from shutting. I look up at him through the narrow opening, startled by his action.

  “Thanks, Kayla. This was really thoughtful,” he tells me sincerely.

  “You’re welcome, Jason,” I reply breathily, looking into his dark chocolate eyes before he finally pulls the bathroom door all the way closed.

  I stand with my hand pressed against the cool wood for a few moments as I listen for his footsteps to make their way down the hallway, but they never come. I wonder what he’s still doing on the other side of the door, if he too is recovering from the innocent but intense exchange we had in the quiet of his house while his party raged out in his closed double bay garage.

  Finally, I hear the movement I’ve been waiting for and then drag myself over to the toilet to handle my business. As I wash my hands, I glance around the counter top, peaking at Jason’s different products from his shaving cream to his…cologne!

  I quickly dry my hands and then carefully pick up each bottle of cologne he has neatly lined up against the backsplash, bringing them up to my nose for a quick sniff, looking for the one that was so intoxicating the first night I hung out with him at Legends. And then I find it. I feel my eyes cross as I inhale the scent that instantly soaks my panties. I remain breathing in the delicious smell like a creeper for a ridiculous amount of time before I’m snapped out of my stupor by loud laughter making its way up the hall toward me. I pull the black bottle away from my face and look down at it to read the label: Realm, and below it in a white rectangular box: Contains Real Human Pheromones.

  And there we have it.

  A couple hours later, I’m in a huge circle of people sitting around in lawn, camping, and dining room chairs out in the garage. The doors are closed and there are a couple of space heaters running, the night being a little chillier than usual. Not a single person in the group is without a drink, including me. Mrs. Robichaux and I are the only ones with glasses of wine, but I’m no less tipsy than the rest of the people who are drinking beer and mixed drinks.

  Before she had handed me my second glass, she’d made me call my brother to let him know I’d be sleeping on her couch tonight. Wednesdays, I only have US History I, but seeing how the professor never took attendance and said our only grades for the entire semester would be our midterm and finals, which will both be five-page papers on any topic of our choosing, I figured it’d be all right to skip class in the morning.

  Jason is opening his presents from all his friends. Most of them are bottles of liquor or six-packs of beer, but there are a couple gifts that are quite…inventive. His mom hands him a gift bag full of tissue paper, and when he pulls out the folded fabric inside, we see two t-shirts. When he unfolds one to read the front, it’s a picture of him and Gavin on the front with the words The Seagulls at the top, and then Eat, Sleep, Shit across the bottom. We all laugh as he tosses one of the shirts at Gavin, who proceeds to strip out of his jacket and hoodie to put it on.

  “Put yours on too, dude,” Mrs. Robichaux tells Jason, holding up her camera to indicate she wants to snap a picture of the two of them wearing their new shirts. He sets the gift bag on the floor beside his chair and stands up.

  That’s when my world stops turning.

  It happens in slow motion. Jason’s arms crisscross in front of him before grasping the bottom hem of the long-sleeved Henley he’s wearing. As he begins to lift it, his undershirt clings to it, rising along with it, as inch by delicious inch Jason’s taut and tan stomach is revealed to my wide eyes. I catch a glimpse of a tribal tattoo around his belly button, and then a light smattering of chest hair before the Henley and undershirt are tugged apart with a crackling of static electricity as he pulls the white cotton back down into place.

  I start to feel dizzy and immediately think it’s the wine, but then I realize I haven’t exhaled and inhaled any fresh air in a while. I expel it with a whoosh and then gasp quickly, feeling instantly better. Jason looks over at me and gives me a smirk, apparently knowing I’d just watched him like my own personal peep show. Gavin is too busy striking ridiculous looking poses in the center of the circle to notice me drooling over his friend like the Looney Toons’ wolf over Jessica Rabbit.

  When I look back up at Jason, he’s pulling the new shirt on, and then he joins Gavin in the middle of the group to pose for some pictures.

  “What’s up with the shirts, Miss Barbara?” Jason’s friend, Michael, asks.

  “When we went to Steve’s cousin Phil’s house in Louisiana last summer, these boys had too much fun. He lives on a huge piece of land with swamps and a lake, and Jason and Gavin became ‘The Seagulls’, because all they did the whole time was just eat, sleep, and shit. That’s it. They occasionally left the house to hunt alligators and fish, but then they’d come back and start the cycle all over again—eat ‘til they’d almost pop, fall asleep with their full bellies, and then wake up only because they’d have to shit,” she answers, and the garage erupts with laughter.

  After we all settle back down, Michael hands Jason the last present. When he unwraps it, he throws back his head and laughs harder than I’ve ever heard him laugh before. I lean forward in my chair to see what’s gotten this reaction out of him. He balls up the wrapping paper and throws it into the trashcan next to the door, and when he lifts up the gift, we all see it’s a package of Depends, adult diapers. His laugh is infectious and has me joining along with him, but I’m confused over the present. Is it an inside joke?

  I don’t have to wonder long because Michael tells the group, “The last time Jason and I drank together, he told me he’s gotten so drunk before that he will pee in all sorts of interesting places. I figured if he has some Depends, he won’t have to even worry about getting out of bed. Just let it flow, brother.” He laughs and smacks Jason on his back good-naturedly.

  “Like what kinds of interesting places?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Well, let’s see. There was the bathtub,” Michael says.

  “And that cigarette butt container outside Legends,” Gavin offers.

  “The fountain in front of that mansion by the high school,” Jason adds.

  “That asshole John’s gas tank,” Adam speaks up.

  We all turn to look at him, surprised by the sound of his deep voice joining into the conversation, and then what he said registers and we all burst out laughing again.

  “So yeah, my gift should save his ass from an indecent exposure charge. You’re welcome, buddy,” Michael says with a chuckle.

  After playing drinking games and listening to people tell more funny stories either about Jason, drinking, or Jason drinking, the crowd shrinks little by little until all that’s left is Jason, Adam, Gavin, and me. We make our way inside to the living room, where the couches have already been opened out into double beds. We pile into them, Gavin and me in one, Jason in the other, and Adam in Jason’s dad’s recliner, and then we scroll through the list of movies on demand. The three guys agree on The Grudge after I tell them it scarred me for life.

  I’m so glad I don’t have to drive home tonight as I’m heavily intoxicated having finished off Mrs. Robichaux’s giant bottle of white zinfandel. It's also because the first and only other time I saw The Grudge, when it was in theaters, I was so terrified that I kept seeing those scary asshole ghosts in my rearview mirror. I ended up calling my mom and making her talk to me the entire way home…that was, until I’d lost reception and my phone cut out. I had screamed bloody murder and pulled into a brightly lit gas station, thinking, This is the part in the movie when the girl always dies. I didn’t move until my phone started working again and I reconnected with Mom.

  She talked me down the rest of the drive home, telling me this cute story about how The Exorcist came out when she and Dad had only been married a coup
le years. She wanted to see it, but he blatantly told her no, saying it was too scary for her. As a big “fuck you”—her words, not mine—she went anyway thinking he couldn’t tell her what she could and couldn’t do. And she said it scared her so badly, she about peed herself. By the end of the story, I was walking into my parents’ living room laughing my ass off, but when I went to bed, my terror was back as I thought about the part in The Grudge when the demonic-looking Asian bitch crawled underneath the covers at the end of the bed. I seriously didn’t sleep for like a week straight.

  And now, here these asses are, making me watch it again.

  Soon, though, Gavin gets up and says he’s going to go home since he has classes in the morning he can’t miss and he won’t be able to get enough sleep on the uncomfortable fold-up bed. He makes a joke about being spoiled by his amazing mattress he bought himself from work before leaning down to give me a hug, bumping fists with Jason, and then heading out the door.

  I find it weird the guy I’m semi-dating left me at his best friend’s house to sleep without him, instead of just spending the night with us, but apparently, he must not be worried…or care…that something could possibly happen between Jason and me.

  A short time after that, Adam also says he’s ready to go home, and leaves after giving us a quick wave. Jason’s parents have long since gone to bed, so I’m left alone with the darkly sexy man I can’t seem to get out of my head.

  I’m not even paying attention to the movie. Instead, I’m intensely aware of Jason’s every movement, every sound, and every breath as he lays only a few feet away from me on the other sleeper sofa. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him as he stares at the screen, his eyes making minute movements as he watches Sarah Michelle Gellar wash her hair in the shower, discovering a ghost’s arm coming out the back of her head and screaming wildly.