by Danica Avet
“No,” Nessie says. “I was reading that more men than women possess this thing called the Dark Triad personality type. Narcissism, psychopathy, and Machiavellian tendencies. They’re the guys who don’t mind doing whatever it takes to get the girl they want, for a little while until they’re off for the next conquest.” She stares off, deep in thought. “Women want to be the ones who tame that type of man, it’s like a trophy. ‘Look what I did!’ and we can wave our flags high and proud. But guys like that… They don’t change. No one person can change another. It has to come from within them, but women are predispositioned to nurture and care, to heal and comfort. We see that part of them and we reach out for them. And get burned because of that.
“But you have a double dose of trouble with guys like that because you’re gorgeous, but you have low self-esteem and they come at you like sharks. Add in your family ‘curse’,” she lifts her hands to make air quotes. “And you keep falling for this self-fulfilling prophecy that you’re trying so hard to avoid.”
We all stare at her, but Becca’s the one who says, “Holy shit, you’re really taking to those Psychology classes, aren’t you?” Then she narrows her gaze on Nessie. “Unless you’re really talking about yourself. And Terrible.”
“Of course not,” Nessie protests quickly. Almost too quickly. “I’m just saying we set ourselves up to fail. The article I read even said that we do that because we don’t really want to be in a relationship, so we search for guys we know we’re not going to stay with long-term. That’s all.”
“Hm,” Becca says skeptically. Then turns to me. “She might have a point though. Think back to all of your boyfriends and tell us honestly if you were truly happy with them, with the relationships.”
I do as I’m told and remember all the sneaking around the boys back home did, the avoidance of anything public. No, that hadn’t made me happy. Looking back, I think I knew they were just using me, but Mama drilled it into our heads that it was better to hurt than not feel anything at all. Then thinking about my relationship with Josef, I start puzzling together how he made me less to make himself more. Putting me down in his subtle, and sometimes not so subtle ways, telling me what to do or not do, demanding my attention even when his was elsewhere. Had that made me happy?
No. There had been a few happy moments, some sweet times, but when I remember how they were always followed by sex, I realize he was manipulating me to get what he wanted. And I let him because I thought that was normal.
Becca nods. “There you go. Maybe instead of trying to create a relationship, you should just have fun. Go out with guys, get what you want out of it, and drop them.” She shrugs. “It sounds harsh, but you’re only eighteen and unless you find a guy like Root, you’ll just keep getting hurt over and over again. And you deserve better than that.”
“What about Crash?” Lena pipes up. She’s been so quiet, we all jump and look at her. “What? You can’t tell me y’all don’t think he’s cute.”
“Well, of course he’s cute,” Nessie answers. “He’s also a player who doesn’t do band girls. It’s a fact. Like the sky is blue and water is wet.”
“Bet he makes lots of things wet,” Becca mutters under her breath.
Lena rolls her eyes. “But think about it. He’s the one who encouraged Jolene to try out for Jazz Ensemble. Maybe he was a little harsh calling you a coward, but it got you to audition and make it. Then when Bryce talked smack about you, it was Crash who defended you.” She sits back as though she made her point. “He likes you, Jo-Jo. He likes you a lot and yes, he has this vow about band girls, but maybe that’s because he never met the right band girl. Until you.”
My heart leaps. Could she be right? Could Crash like me more than as a fellow musician? Thinking about the way his eyes darken when he looks at me, that smirk, that familiar tingle starts again. Could he—?
“Oookay, that’s going a little far,” Becca cuts in. “Crash is not going to date a band girl.” She turns to me. “I think you should just enjoy being single for a little while. Just try it out and see if you like it. Think about it, okay? You can do what you want, when you want. No answering to anyone. If you want to fuck someone, do it. If you don’t, don’t. Simple as that.”
I nod, but part of me is still stuck on the idea of Crash liking me enough to maybe break his vow. Silly of me, right? Thinking about all the girls he’s no doubt been with and never bothered to try to date, my heart sinks. Right. Crash isn’t going to change his ways just for me. No one else has, no matter how hard I tried to be what they needed, so why should he?
Maybe Becca’s right. Maybe I should try doing my own thing for a little while. Concentrate on me for once, instead of finding Mr. Wrong.
Lifting my chin, I meet their concerned gazes. “I’m going to try it,” I say defiantly. “I’m going to be just Jolene and see what happens.”
Their smiles are full of the love and support they’ve shown me.
Then Becca glares. “Now, tell me more about this Kimber bitch because I think she needs to have a come to Jesus moment.”
Levi
Saturday
The first full week of Jazz Ensemble is over and that means we’re having our kickoff cookout. Klauss might be a prim band nerd, but the man is wicked with the burner and with the crawfish season underway, there’s no way anyone is going to turn down the chance to pig out. Which means his backyard is packed with our group and significant others. There are even a couple of kids running around, making the air ring with laughter and chatter.
I should be kicked back, sipping on a beer and enjoying myself. Instead I’m sitting in the corner watching Jolene chat with Terrell and Craig’s girlfriends. I’ve tried so goddamn hard not to look at her, or think about her all week, but that’s impossible because I see her every day. A couple of our classes are in the same building, so I even run into her in the halls, not just rehearsals.
And each time she gives me a sweet, warm smile, drawling out her hello in that sexy accent of hers. Is it any wonder that I haven’t been able to concentrate on any of the girls who’d normally catch my eye? Instead of lingering after class to flirt, I hurry into the hall in the hopes of seeing Jolene. Instead of hanging around the quad with my frat brothers before rehearsal, I get to the practice hall early enough that Frosty started asking me if I could help arrange the chairs for symphonic band.
But that isn’t all. Oh no. Jolene follows me home and climbs in bed with me. Well, not literally. I’d be a much happier man if she did. It’s thoughts of her that consume me. And that’s what has my ass brooding in the corner like some Victorian anti-hero. Lord Byron maybe.
And my prof thinks I’m not paying attention during my Romantic Writers class.
“Hey, how’s it going Crash?”
I shake off my thoughts and look up to see Jason “Princess” Simoneaux joining me. He’s in the brass section, but friendly in the surfer dude kind of way, making him a favorite in band. Cool guy. Even if he looks like Jason Momoa, complete with larger-than-life height and muscles and hair that would make a Pantene model jealous.
Hence the nickname. He’s got fuckin’ Disney princess hair.
“It’s all good,” I mutter, taking a sip of beer. My gaze returns to Jolene.
“So what’s the deal with Tight?” he asks, dropping into the chair next to me. “Cube told us he’s definitely going in the first five rounds?”
That’s enough to momentarily divert me from my obsession. “Yeah, lucky bastard’s got a few teams clamoring for him so he’s definitely going pro. He told us Tuesday night.” Which brings me back to my other issue. “We gotta find another roommate.”
Princess curls his lip. “Fuck, I hate vetting roommates.”
I nod. It does suck. I was lucky enough that I only had to do it once. When I was a freshman I answered an ad in the paper which brought me to Tight’s place. The other two guys he roomed with moved out after they graduated and we brought Terrible—yes, that Terrible—in as a filler except that d
ude is seriously fucked. He moved out after one semester and Cube, Tight’s little brother, moved in and we haven’t looked back since.
Except now we’d have to start hunting for someone to pick up Tight’s portion of the rent. Sure, he could probably buy the house with his signing bonus, but neither Cube nor I want that. The guy’s going to have enough on his plate without having to take care of us. I just wish he were here to help with this side of things, but I rarely ever see him anymore. It sucks balls, to be honest. Losing my best friend, having to find a new roommate, and trying to figure this thing out with Jolene.
“There’s a dude in one of my art classes who mentioned he was looking to move houses,” Princess says, drawing my attention. He shrugs. “He’s okay. Foreign, but other than that, he seems pretty cool.”
My body tensed when he mentioned the guy is a foreign art dude. “His name isn’t Josef, is it?”
Princess shakes his head, his man bun not budging. “Nah, Torben Wolfe.” He grins. “You know, as in Torrent? The former Olympic snowboarder?”
I vaguely remember hearing about some athlete coming to Sauvage, but the gossip got swallowed up by Coach “Steady” Decker’s arrival as assistant football coach. “He the one who got booted from the team for failing his drug test?”
I know shit all about winter sports. Hello? We’re in south Louisiana. It snows about as often here as it probably does in hell, so what’s the point of watching any of it? And I don’t need another Billy Badass moving in. Cube’s too fucking easily led to bring that element in the house. Yeah, I know, I sound like a mother, but I like the kid and wouldn’t want to see him get in trouble trying to be cool.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Except I think they found out his coach was secretly doping some of his athletes, so he was cleared, but he gave up the sport.”
I snort. “Moving to south fucking Louisiana would pretty much ensure you never snowboard again unless you fly somewhere else.”
He lets out a laugh. “Yeah. So if you want, I’ll give him your number. You can talk with him, then meet him. He’s a fucking amazing painter. You should see the shit he comes up with.”
I’m not into art. Especially since it just makes me think of Josef the Jackass. But Princess is something of a Renaissance Man. He plays soccer, music, does photography and sculpting, plus he’s like a genius or something. In other words, he’s a freak. But the kind of freak everyone likes.
And he likes to talk.
“Little piece of Hungarian shit talking trash about Jolene,” he’s saying, which once again grabs my attention. Princess, another easy going guy, looks pissed. “I told him to shut his mouth or I’d shut it for him.”
“Who?” I ask although I know who he’s talking about.
He slants me a look from under his thick eyebrows. “That guy, Josef. Saw him after my Ceramics class on Monday night and he knows I’m in band so he started talking about how Jolene’s a whore and trash and all kinds of shit. So I told him if he wanted to keep breathing, he’d shut up.” His massive shoulders lift in a shrug. “She’s a nice girl. Doesn’t need that pissant talking about her behind her back.”
I’m on my feet and striding across the deck before Princess can even finish telling me about that jackass. Jolene’s still talking to the other girls, but I snag her wrist, towing her behind me without losing momentum.
“What-What are you doing?” she protests, tugging on my hold.
I’m not gripping her tightly, but I’m not about to let go either. “We need to talk,” I growl.
Fury pounds through my veins. Her relationship with that motherfucker is ridiculous and not just because I want to fuck her so much I feel like I’ll die if I don’t. No, this is about respect. He doesn’t show it to her and she deserves better than that.
Ignoring the curious glances people shoot our way, I direct Jolene to a quiet spot at the back of Klauss’s property. It’s nice. Trees and flowers and shit, but most importantly it’s somewhat private.
I bring us both to a stop and turn to face her. And lose my breath. Her face is pink, probably from embarrassment and anger, but the impact is like a punch to the stomach. Why the fuck does she affect me so much? How? Why is it I want to cuddle and shield her when I’ve never bothered with thoughts like that before?
Without meaning to, I let my eyes take in everything about her. Now Jolene’s one of those girls who could probably wear whatever she wants, but today she’s wearing a pair of snug jeans, a pink long-sleeved shirt that opens in a V at her throat, and sneakers. Basically, she should look like a normal, everyday girl. Like the others here. But to me, she may as well be wearing lingerie from Victoria’s Secret because it looks that good on her, making her skin glow and her hair shine like gold.
“What in the Sam Hill are you doing?” she demands, finally pulling her wrist out of my hold.
Her question effectively brings me back to what’s really important. “You need to break it off with that jackass.”
Those pretty blue eyes blink at me. “What?”
I’m not gonna tell her what Princess told me because I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but she can’t keep dating that asshat. She just can’t. “The Hungarian. You need to break it off with him. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”
She does this thing where her breathing hitches, her eyes widening as though I’ve shocked her. Then she tilts her chin at me in a way that makes my palms itch with the need to snatch her off her feet and kiss the shit out of her.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business who I do, or don’t, date,” she says primly. I feel my blood pressure rising, a vein pulsing in my forehead and I’m sure I look like my dad when he’s about to go full Italian. She must realize the same thing because she continues with a little sniff. “But I broke up with Josef last week.”
Just as quickly as it flared to life, my temper dissipates, leaving me a little dizzy. Relief such as I’ve never felt before sweeps over me. I slump against the tree I dragged her to and run a hand through my hair. I can’t look at her. She’s gotta think I’m as crazy as I’m starting to feel.
She clears her throat delicately. “Thank you though,” she says softly. “For lookin’ out for me. It’s nice to know people actually care. But I’d like you to know right now that I’m tired of men telling me what to do, so if we’re gonna be friends, you need to stop doing that.”
I rub my hand over my face and give a self-deprecating laugh. “Shit, Peaches, I’m an asshole.”
“I’ve heard most men are,” she murmurs and I look at her in surprise to see her giving me one of those sweet smiles. “Just try to curb the urge, please. Friends support each other, not order each other around and I really do hope we can be friends.”
Friends. With her. It should be the death knell to every sexual fantasy I have, but I find I like the idea. My dick likes it too because some friends are closer than others and I want to be the kind that gets real close.
Funny, but the fact that she’s a band chick? It’s no longer in the forefront of my mind. She’s fuckin’ single now. Single and smiling at me, smelling sweet and looking prettier than any girl has a right to.
“Sure, I can do friends,” I respond. Not sure what expression’s on my face, but her cheeks flush again. “Now how about this friend show you how to eat crawfish?”
Her nose wrinkles. Fuckin’ adorable. “I don’t know if I wanna try that,” she demurs. “It looks messy and like a lot of work for not much of anything.”
“Some of the best things in life are messy and a lot of work,” I tell her without thinking of anything but how I’d like to get her all hot and bothered and sweaty.
Her eyes widen dramatically, the blush in her cheeks deepening. For a second, I think I may have gone too far; I’ve never actively flirted with her before, but then she throws her head back and lets out a peal of laughter that leaves me grinning like an idiot.
“Well, then c’mon,” she says when she gets herself under control. “Show me how t
o… How do y’all say it? Suck the heads and squeeze the tails and I’ll let you know if it’s one of the best things in life.”
It’s a phrase I’ve heard and said many times before, but them sliding over Jolene’s lips in that drawl? Pure sex. And that means as I escort her back to the party, I’m unsuccessfully fighting a hard-on because I more than like the idea of getting her messy. I fucking love it.
Jolene
February
Redding, Indiana
I’m not a fan of basketball at all. I don’t understand the rules and the constant squeak of soles on the court makes me cringe. But I love jazz, so I consider it a fair trade to sit through games for the chance to play.
This is our first away game of the season and judging by the groans of my fellow musicians, the Spartans aren’t playing their best. Even Dr. Klauss looks stressed out, although he has nothing on the basketball coach who’s pacing the sideline like a tiger in a cage.
I shake my head and resume my daydreaming. It’s what I do during games. And in the last month, I’ve had a lot of time to perfect the art.
I wish I could say I’m really taking to the single life. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t awful. I actually like being able to do things when I want, and not having to shave my legs every day is one of the things I’ve taken advantage of. But not everything is wonderful.
I miss being a part of something else. Friends are great. In fact, without a jealous boyfriend hovering over me, I’ve discovered I really enjoy talking to all kinds of people. The others in the ensemble have taken me under their wings, which is a new one for me because they’re all guys and I found out that guys gossip more than girls do. I know more about people in band than I ever knew before—and not all of it is pleasant, but it at least kills the time during games.
Probably the worst part of this new life of mine is that the old one hasn’t left me alone. In other words, Josef is still texting, calling, and pseudo-stalking me. I say pseudo because he just shows up after my Fine Arts Appreciation class. I only took the course for two reasons: for extra electives and because I wanted a better understanding of what Josef does art wise. If I didn’t actually enjoy the class, I’d probably drop it because he’s always in the hallway afterwards, watching me. Okay, glaring at me.