by KD Robichaux
My heart begins to pound. Sure, I’ve been in here before, me and the guys hanging out and watching TV back here if Mr. Robichaux was watching something different in the living room, but I have never been in Jason’s room alone with Jason. He flips on his light and toes off his boots before plopping down in the middle of the bed. I watch nervously as he sets his beer on his nightstand and then places the party tray of snacks in front of him, at the foot of the bed. He looks up at me and asks, “You gonna stand there all night, or are we going to get this party started?”
A quick, painful-sounding laugh escapes me as I think, Oh, there’s a party in my pants right now, before I finally propel myself forward. I sit my wine next to his beer and then begin emptying the bag. I hand him the DVD to wrestle open while I tear open the bag of potato chips. I pull the lid off the dip and then remove the clear film from the tub and place it in the center of the tray of snacks. I make my way around the bed and carefully get on, being sure not to knock over any of the goodies in front of me as he stands back up to put the movie into the player.
All set up for our veg-fest, I can’t help but smile a secret smile, thinking about how I got my third wish after all.
We ate, drank, and ate some more, until all that was left was a few broken chips in the bottom of the bag. We got up a couple of times, pausing the movie for smoke breaks and to refill our drinks, but when the food was all gone and I was happily full and buzzed, I laid back on his pillow to watch the rest of the movie while he laid on his stomach, facing the screen. I teased him that his feet stunk, and he immediately got up and changed his socks, plopping back down on the bed and assuming the same position. The last thing I was conscious of was a sexy Irish accent saying, “Get your fucking rope,” before I passed right out, the scent of Jason’s intoxicating cologne surrounding me.
I’m stirred out of my delicious dream as I’m lifted into strong arms and held close to a hard body. I’m aware of being carried down a dark hall before being placed on the comfy couch in the living room. It’s pitch dark, but he still manages to find a pillow to gently place under my head and a blanket to cover me with. I could still be dreaming, but it feels like he lingers for a while, running his fingers through my hair, tracing a line down the center of my eyebrows and over my nose, all before leaning over me to press a sweet kiss to my forehead, and then he’s gone..
March 4, 2005
It's been a while since I took myself out on a date, so I wake up on Friday with a plan to go to back-to-back movies all day. I log onto Mark's computer, check out the times, and come up with a schedule. First, I’ll watch The Pacifier, because duh, Vin Diesel, and then I’ll see Cursed and Boogeyman, because I like to scare the crap out of myself, only God knows why. They are all playing at the dollar theater down on the south end of town, so maybe afterwards, the guys will want to do something.
As always, I jam out in my little blue Malibu the entire drive there, but as I'm leaning forward, looking to the left to wait my turn to hop out into traffic from the NASA Road 1 exit, I'm suddenly jarred forward, hitting my face on the steering wheel. A loud gasp leaves me, and I look up into the rearview mirror, seeing I've been rear-ended by someone in an SUV. What the fuck? It's lunchtime, a busy part of the day, so I'd been stopped at the top of the exit ramp for a few minutes waiting for a break in traffic. So had the cars behind me. The person behind me had straight-up rammed me for no reason!
I rub my cheekbone where my face hit the wheel, and reach across myself with the other hand to put my car in park. I glance in the mirror again to see a skinny, middle-aged brunette coming toward me from the open driver’s side door of the SUV. She has her cellphone to her ear, and when I open my own door, I hear she's obviously reporting the accident to the police. After giving them the location, she hangs up and immediately starts gushing.
“I am so sorry! I don’t know what happened! I was waiting to get out into traffic, and for some reason thought you had gone. I pulled forward still looking left without looking straight ahead first. I feel like such an idiot! I’m so, so sorry!”
By this time, I’m shaking, the rush of adrenaline from being caught by such surprise wearing off. She looks at my face and a look of panic crosses over hers. “Oh, my God, you’re hurt! Are you okay? What happened?”
I feel sorry for her; she’s obviously embarrassed by her driving blunder, and also looks really upset for having hurt me, so the lingering bit of anger I felt for being rammed disintegrates and I try to console her. “I’m all right. My cheek hit the wheel. I think it’ll just leave a little bruise, nothing major.”
The police arrive, and it's then I turn to look at the back of my car. The entire rear is smashed to bits. I'm surprised the trunk is still closed because of the way the metal is bent; it looks like it would have popped right open. When the policeman gets off his motorcycle, he comes over and immediately asks if there is anyone hurt. He jots it down on his notepad when I tell him my cheek is just bruised, but there is no actual big injury, and then he begins asking questions about what happened.
I've never been in a wreck before; I don't really know what to do, so I'm grateful when he tells me he just needs my license and registration, and asks the same from the woman who’d hit me. He writes up the report, first asking me what had happened, and then after I am finished, I hear him ask the woman the same questions. It surprises me when she tells him a completely different story than she had told me when she first walked up to me after the accident. She tells the police officer someone was trying to make their way around her on the exit, so when she tried to pull forward to give them room, that’s when she rear-ended me. It's clear there is no other person on the ramp beside us, because it is only a single vehicle wide lane, so he gives her the same unbelieving look I give her. He then tells me to get all of my stuff I need out of the car and to call someone to come pick me up. I see a couple of tow trucks are already sitting on the side of the road, waiting to pick up my car to take it where I want it to go.
Being on this side of town, I don't want to call my brother, who is at work at this time of day, so I call Gavin hoping he'll pick up, even though he is in class right now. But after a couple of calls go unanswered, I know I have to call the only other number I have in Friendswood—Jason’s house phone. I mentally cross my fingers and pray his mom answers. I’m all jittery and freaked out at the moment, and could really do without Jason picking on me for getting in an accident, even if it was completely not my fault. Plus, I think adding all those butterflies to my already frayed nerves would not do well for my psyche at the moment.
After two rings though—just my luck—he answers, surprise lacing his voice over seeing my name on the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Oh, crap. Hey, Jason. Um…someone rear-ended me on NASA Road 1. Is there any way you can come pick me up?” I ask, cringing as I wait for him to laugh at me.
“Are you okay?” he asks gruffly, and I hear movement on his end of the line.
“Yes, I'm fine. I'm just stranded with no one else to come pick me up. Can you come?
“Yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes,” he says reassuringly, and then asks with more force, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I'm a little shaken up, and my cheek hurts because I hit it on my steering wheel, but other than that, I'm fine. It was just a little fender-bender,” I tell him to pacify him, because he sounds genuinely worried.
“Okay, I'm on my way.” And with that, he hangs up the phone and I wait with the police officer until he arrives. I’m embarrassed as hell when I become aware of the rest of my surroundings. We are on an exit ramp from 45 South, and this road is a pretty busy one, leading to not only tons of restaurants, the movie theater I was headed to, and shopping centers, but it’s also the main way to get to the Space Center. There’s a line of cars behind us the length of the ramp, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see another policeman has pulled up at the tail end to start directing drivers as they back out of the exit ramp and carefully reenter the highwa
y.
When Jason squeals to a stop on the side of the road, gets out of his truck, and takes a look at the back of my car that is now sitting on the flatbed of the tow truck, I'm shocked when he turns toward me with a look of absolute fury.
The look on his face makes me take a step back as he storms toward me. His anger is coming off of him in waves, and I'm worried he might be upset he had to come pick me up, interrupting him from whatever he was busy doing at home, until he reaches for me, his left arm going around my waist, pulling me into his protective embrace while tilting my chin up with his other hand. He turns my face to the side so he can examine my hurt cheek closely, and I'm mesmerized as I stare at his dark brown eyes taking in what is probably now an ugly bruise. He lets go of my chin and traces his fingertips gently over my cheekbone, his touch sending sparks across my flesh, making me shiver against him. His face softens as he tucks my hair behind my ear and then looks into my eyes. I can't breathe. I'm...I'm wrapped up in Jason's strong arms, unable to speak, hell—think. All I'm conscious of is the man holding me; everything else has faded into nothingness.
His voice is soft as he says, “You’re trembling.”
I know it probably has more to do with his presence than anything else, but I tell him, “The wreck scared me, came out of nowhere.” I don’t even recognize my own voice. It comes out breathy, like an imitation of Marilyn Monroe telling JFK happy birthday.
My response seems to put the anger back into Jason’s system though, because he turns, still keeping one arm around my waist as he faces the woman who rear-ended me, who is standing with the police officer near the other, empty tow truck. “What the hell happened?” he asks her loudly, startling her into explaining the story she’d fed the policeman. When she gets to the part about the person behind her trying to get around her, he calls her on what we all knew is a lie. “That’s bullshit. There’s not enough room for anybody to try to make their way around anyone else on this ramp. You tried to pull forward to give them room? You’re a goddamn liar. How about we ask them right now?”
Jason lets go of me and starts to make his way to the lifted Silverado that is behind the woman’s SUV. Not yet having its turn to navigate back down the exit, the truck still sits perfectly aligned in the narrow lane. Before Jason has time to even reach her SUV though, the woman yells out, “Wait!” and he halts his furious stride, turning back toward them.
“Okay, I didn’t tell you the truth. I hit her when I wasn’t paying attention. I was glancing back and forth between the traffic and my cell phone, and when I saw a break, I just gunned it, not looking forward before I went,” she says, ashamed.
Jason storms back over to me, wrapping his arms around me once again. “Well, thank baby Jesus there was break in traffic then, because what if there was a car coming? You could have forced her in front of the oncoming vehicle! It might’ve smashed right into her side. All because you weren’t fucking paying attention,” he says heatedly, his rage almost palpable.
“Okay, sir, calm down,” the officer says, and then directs the woman to talk to the tow truck driver about where to take her car after he gets it all rigged up. Her SUV isn’t nearly as damaged as my car. There’s just a little dent on her front bumper. When she moves to do what he said, the policeman walks up to Jason and me. “Wow, young man. Have you ever thought about joining the force? I could really use people like you to play ‘bad cop’ with these lying assholes,” he jokes. Seeing Jason is still too riled up to find humor in the situation, he clears his throat and says to me, “If you’re sure you’re all right, sweetheart, you can just follow the tow truck to the shop your insurance adjuster said to send it to. When you get there, you’ll have some paperwork to fill out, and according to your insurance plan, they’ll let you know if you get a rental car or not.”
“Thank you, sir,” I tell him, and then look up at Jason. I gasp lightly when I see he’s looking down at me, almost through me, trying to determine for himself if I’m truly okay or not. “I’m fine,” I reassure him once again. “Can we go now?”
After he takes in a deep breath, clearly calming himself, he nods, putting his arm around my shoulders to guide me to his truck. He opens the passenger door and helps me up into the tall cab, closing it after he sees me buckle my seatbelt. I use the time it takes him to walk around the front of the truck to settle myself, flexing my fingers in my lap, arching my back as far as I can before relaxing into his bench seat. My heart is racing a mile a minute, and I know it has nothing to do with the car accident anymore, and everything to do with the man who just opened the driver’s side door, sliding his muscular frame behind the wheel. I watch the sinew under the scorpion tattoo on his forearm work as he twists the key, starting the ignition.
We follow the tow truck to a collision center at a Chevy dealership about ten minutes away. The entire process takes about two hours, filling out paperwork, going through insurance policies, and all that jazz, but by the time everything is taken care of and it’s time to leave my Malibu in their hands, I’m sitting pretty in a brand new 2005 burnt orange Nissan Murano, fully covered by insurance until my car is all fixed. I’ve never driven an SUV before, but this thing is nice.
Jason stands outside the driver’s side, his corded muscular arms balancing him as he leans in the window to talk to me. “Well, you’re all set. They said it should take about three weeks to get it fixed, so when they call you to come pick it up, you tell me and I’ll come with you to make sure they didn’t do a shit job.”
“Yes, sir,” I agree with a grin. “Hey, thanks for coming to my rescue. What can I do to thank you?”
“It’s all good. You don’t have to thank me,” he says, looking down at his booted feet as they shuffle the gravel of the parking lot.
“No, seriously. I want to do something for you. This has taken hours. Let me at least feed you. I’m starving,” I insist.
“All right. I could really go for a hot dog,” he tells me.
“For real? I’m treating you to grub and you choose a damn hot dog?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I fucking like hot dogs,” he scoffs.
“Okay, okay…I’ll meet you at James Coney Island off 45,” I say, and he stands up, taps the top of the SUV, and I see him walk toward his truck.
March 12, 2005
I pull into Jason's driveway and wait in my rental car for Gavin to come out of the house. When I look up, he's coming from the backyard instead. He makes his way around the front of the vehicle to the passenger side, where he opens the door and sits inside next to me. He looks down to his lap, where he twists his gawdy gold nugget ring around his finger, looking like he's trying to find the right words to say.
After a few silent minutes without even him greeting me, I can't take the awkwardness anymore and finally ask, "What's up?"
"I don't think we should see each other anymore," he says with no emotion in his voice. I had a feeling coming over here this was what he wanted to tell me, but I'm curious...
"Okay, can I ask why?" A panicky feeling starts to slowly simmer inside my belly, along with a sudden sense of dread creeping up the back of neck.
"I just don't have feelings for you the way a guy dating a chick should. That, and I don't get the sense you feel that way about me either," he says honestly.
"When did you come to this conclusion?" I ask.
"I was just in the shop with the guys, and they asked me what I was doing with you. It made me realize that we aren't going anywhere; it's been fun and all, but I know you're not the person I'm supposed to be with, so what's the point?"
Since when does he and his friends talk about serious stuff like the girls they're dating? I have mixed feelings as I sit here wrapping my head around what's happening. I am not upset in the least about Gavin and me not casually seeing each other anymore. I'm just scared to death about what this could mean for the friendships I've made.
And, of course, not seeing Jason.
He picks that exact moment to verbalize what I was
dreading would happen. "I don't think we can be friends. It would be too weird trying to be friends with a chick I've slept with. That's just a line that can't be erased once it's been crossed."
"Okaaaaay...well, that sucks, because I really love hanging out with you and the guys—"
"That's another thing," he cuts me off, more venom in his voice than I've ever heard there before. "I don't want you coming around here anymore. Adam, Jason, the Robichauxs...they're all mine. They're my friends, and I let you come and spend time with them, but they're mine. So now that we aren't together, I don't want you coming to hang out."
With that, he opens the passenger door, gets out, slams it closed, and makes his way back from where he came around the side of the house. I stare in shock at the place where his retreating back disappeared, and slowly, achingly, a sob from the depths of my cracked-open heart comes bubbling out of me.
I don't know how long I sit there bawling my eyes out over being told I was to never see not only Jason again, but his family too, who I have grown remarkably attached to in such a short period of time. By the time I'm conscious of the fact I'm still sitting in my rental in the Robichauxs’ driveway, my face is covered in tears and my shirtsleeves drenched in snot. It's not my most attractive or sanitary moment, I'm sure, but as I back out onto the street, a sense of rebellion washes over me. Who the hell does that Jack-off think he is, telling me my friends are "his" and I can't hang out with them anymore? Fuck him! When I pull out of Friendswood and onto 45 north, I am determined to keep Jason and his family in my life.