by Sierra Hill
Carver Edwards Sr. was the one who reached out to me. He promised me help. He told me Carver had given his consent and asked that his father step in to assist. Based on what I now know from my brief run-in with Carver, I’m not sure that was the case after all.
“Oh my God. It smells so good in here!” Alison’s voice squeals from down the hallway of our small apartment on Queen Anne – a neighborhood in walking distance to the Space Needle and Seattle Center - shaking me free from my thoughts.
I look over my shoulder to see her casually stride into the kitchen, throwing her purse down on the table with a thwap.
“Did you leave work early? I was hoping to have these ready before you got home.”
Ali leans over and snags a big scoop of vanilla cream frosting with her finger, shoving it into her mouth, following it with a long moan of satisfaction.
“Oh hell...it’s like an orgasm for my mouth. So good.”
I laugh, watching her face morph into an “O” expression, eyes closed and head tipped back in ecstasy. It’s almost embarrassing witnessing her porn-like response.
“Geez, Al...get a room, will ya?” I joke.
She snickers. “Yeah, it was a slow day. I gotta go take a quick shower because Troy said he’s picking me up at five-thirty for our date.”
I cock my eyebrow. She and Troy have been dating a month, but he seems enamored by her, taking her out to some fancy places around town that neither of us could ever afford. He’s some sort of lead coder at Amazon and if one of those nerdy dudes who could easily be mistaken for a homeless guy based on how he dresses, but has enough money to buy a small island.
He and Ali met where she tends bar at a trendy spot near the Amazon headquarters. He’d apparently been talking to her for months but never got up the nerve to ask her out, so she finally took it upon herself to do it. I love that about Ali. She’s fearless and unconventional.
I wish I were more like her.
“The big turd won’t tell me where we’re going tonight. He just said to dress ‘nice’. What the hell does that even mean? We live in Seattle for fuck’s sake, where nice is a pair of jeans and a wrinkle-free flannel shirt.” She sighs, shaking her head with flummox. “I guess I’ll leave the Chucks in the closet and wear the new knee high boots I got on our last shopping trip.”
“Ooh – sexy. He’ll like that.” I affirm, spreading a thick layer of frosting across a cupcake I have in my hand.
She turns to leave the kitchen and then says, “Are you still going to meet us over at Cal’s tonight? I think Hari, Joel, Kristof and Lara are all coming by around ten.”
Cal’s Place is where Ali works, not far from our apartment complex. It’s great for late nights when we need to walk off the alcohol in our systems. No driving or Uber’s required. Although the climb up to the top of Queen Anne Hill is a killer when you’re wearing heels of any kind. The last time we were out, Ali had to practically give me a piggy-back ride, my feet hurt so bad. I was also not in any condition to walk on my own.
“Don’t be silly – of course I am. I wouldn’t miss your party. I may be a little late, though. I’m going out with Jeff again tonight.” I pseudo-whisper that last part. It’s still a little hard to choke out.
This will be our third official date since the fateful night in March. I’m actually glad for Jeff’s old-fashioned manners. He takes his time with this dating thing. I just couldn’t handle it if he pressured me into seeing him outside of work more often than we do.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Jeff. He’s a decent guy. But I have zero physical attraction to him. He’s annoyingly dull and has very squishy lips.
Yes, we’ve kissed, but that’s where it ended. It was on our second date. He’d taken me to the symphony at Benaroya Hall – yawn. My forearm was red and sore that night from where I had to keep pinching myself to stay awake.
It’s not like I’m so country redneck that I can’t enjoy the fine arts. But give me a rocking country band in an old, beat-up tavern and I’m one happy camper.
That’s another thing about dating Jeff. We don’t share common interests, outside of the dental arts, and there is no passion.
I want sparks. A man that takes control and heats me up from the inside out with his mouth and his hands. A chemistry so strong that there are explosions in my belly every time I’m near him. Over-the-top-desire. Can’t-get-you-out-of-my-mind daydreaming. Hot, no-holds-barred fucking.
Suddenly, Ali is standing right in front of me, her hands on her hips, glaring at me under her long lashes.
“Remind me again why the hell you haven’t ditched Mr. Potato Head yet?”
A burst of laughter escapes my throat and I cover my mouth with my hand, which smells like vanilla icing.
Ali started referring to Jeff with that unflattering nickname a month ago because she thought his personality is so dry and dull, like an over-baked potato.
“Stop calling him that.” I swat at her arm. “It’s not nice. Jeff is a good guy.”
She uses air quotes. “Nice equals boring.”
I give her an eye roll. She’s not wrong. That’s why I’ve promised myself that I would politely end it with Jeff tonight.
“Logan, you are twenty-two years old. You’re daringly gorgeous and guys drop at your feet where ever you go. I swear, every time you walk into the bar, Kristof and Hari stop what they’re doing and drool. Lara, too, and she’s not even a lesbian.”
“Whatever.”
“Seriously. Why waste your time on Mr. Dud when you can get a Stud?” She wags her tongue suggestively, rotating her hips in a sultry hula-dance. “I get that the good Doctor might be a catch in some circles – dead ones, that is – but you are not dead or desperate, Lo. God, it makes me cringe to think of you ending up with him. Eww.” She shudders dramatically.
No, I might not be desperate, but I am dead. Inside.
I’m numb, like all the blood and life has been sucked out of me.
How can you possibly feel alive when your heart hasn’t beat for years? When it died at the revelation that your only love didn’t want anything to do with you and kicked you and your unborn child to the curb without a backward glance?
“Geez, tell me how you really feel. What if I were really into Jeff? Would you be this brutally honest?”
Ali grabs the top of my shoulders and squeezes. “First off, I say what I think. So yes, I’d probably give it to you straight even then, because I know he’s not right for you. But I do know you aren’t crazy over him. It’s like you’re dating him out of some sense of obligation, which is just wrong. Just because he’s your boss doesn’t mean you need to put out. So why postpone the inevitable? You need to find yourself a hot, single man whose gonna bring you to your knees with just the sound of his voice. Not put you to sleep.”
Wanting to avoid any further arguments on her birthday, I don’t respond to her lecture. Instead, I fold her in my arms for a hug and squeeze the ever-living crap out of her.
Releasing my hold, I shoo her out of the kitchen. “Now go get your stinky ass ready for your big night, birthday girl. And I’ll see you later.”
She hesitates only momentarily, but then leaves me alone with my kitchen mess and my even messier thoughts of Carver.
Ali is right about one thing.
I do need to learn to live again. The last few years have been tough. I’ve gone through a bloody mess of emotions, enduring the impossible and thankfully meeting great people like Ali along the way.
So tonight, I plan on letting Jeff down easy and then going out to celebrate my youth and a bright future ahead of me.
And to forget about my past.
Chapter 8
Carver
It wasn’t my plan to go out clubbing my first night back in town. But my old friend wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I’ve been in town for less than two hours and haven’t even told my parents I’m home yet. For all they know, I’m still hanging out down in Tempe. The last time I spoke to them was when
they flew in for my graduation ceremony two weeks ago. I know my dad wants to bury the hatchet, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.
When I decided to make the trip up to Seattle for the long weekend, I called one of my old friends from high school, Joel, who attends UW. He seemed excited when I told him I’d be visiting and had no qualms about me crashing at his place. Joel already had plans to go out tonight and told me if I didn’t come out with him, he’d make me sleep in the hallway, instead of on his couch.
I could’ve found another place to stay, or paid for a hotel room, but it is Memorial Day weekend. Finding temporary lodging could have proved difficult. I’m only here until Tuesday and plan to leave as soon as my appointment is done. Once that’s done, I can return to Phoenix and prepare for the draft.
My agent, Cristopher Markum, has been blowing up my phone over the last week with possibilities of my draft pick selection.
My head swirls in a fog from everything inhabiting my brain recently. It’s almost too much for me to handle. I’d never admit that to anyone. Well, maybe Cade, but definitely not Lance. He’s too sensitive to deal with losing all of us all at once and I don’t want to add to his issues.
So maybe coming out tonight with Joel isn’t such a bad idea after all. Have a few drinks. Laugh. Dance. Meet some girls. Maybe get laid. Feel like my old self again.
Now that would be nice.
I guess you could say I’ve been in a bit of a rut. In the months since the failed championship game, I haven’t been laid. And it isn’t for lack of interested partners.
My notoriety on campus and nationally, has chicks hanging from me left and right, and practically on top of me twenty-four-by-seven. My old MO is to bang as many as I can and move on to the next batch.
But you know how many chicks I’ve slept with in the last two months?
Zip.
Zilch.
Absolutely zero.
I’ve had no interest in fucking random girls. My dick went from getting daily flagpole sitters to a limp dick with the flag hanging half-mast. I think I’m in need of some motherfucking psychotherapy.
It doesn’t take a genius to know what my problem is. A shrink would tell me what I already know to be true. I’m stressed over the uncertainty of my future – uncertain where I’ll end up, what team I’ll play for – or if I’ll even be playing at all.
It’s all fucking with my head.
There’s also the tiny matter of all the shit that went down between Logan and me, and the unfinished business we’ve never dealt with properly. All we did was shove it under the rug and forged ahead. Now it’s like I’m unpacking the boxes of my life and all that shit’s spilled out over the floor, keeping me from getting to the door.
I guess it’s true what they say. The past really does have a way of catching up to you, and when it does, it knocks you on your ass.
That’s why I’ve been sitting around like a sullen, angsty sonofabitch, crying in my beer, when I should be living it up and enjoying my freedom. Damn, I should’ve gotten a degree in Psychology instead of Business - because I’m a freaking Sigmund Freud.
We’ve been at this little bar downtown for an hour now, and Joel is over at a corner table laughing and joking with a group of school friends. I met a few of them already – they’re all cool. Some are recent graduates like me, but others are still in school with Joel, who is studying to become a lawyer. We’re here to celebrate a birthday of a girl he used to hook up with. Ali something-or-other. She’s over at another table chatting with the guy she came with and a cluster of girls. One of them has been giving me fuck-me eyes for the last twenty minutes, licking her lips like they’re covered in sugar and fluffing her hair with her hand.
Classic flirtatious behavior. The same thing I get from a hundred other chicks. I’ve never had to chase a girl. If not for my basketball prowess, it’s because they identify a man in need of solace. I swear girls can smell a brooding man like sharks sniff out blood in the water. There’s something about the vibe guys emit when we’re off-limits that has girls salivating to get their hands on our dicks.
And let me tell you, if I were in any mood to hook up tonight, I’d be all over that chick in a New York minute, because she’s fucking hot.
But her hair isn’t the right shade of blonde. Her nose doesn’t have the slight bump in it from breaking it when she was sixteen from a fast-flying soccer ball. And her eyes aren’t the same shade of sky-blue that I love. The eyes I’ve missed gazing into the last four years.
Hot girl looks like she’s about to make her move. I glance away, swiveling in my bar stool and taking another sip of my beer, hoping to avoid her overt attention. In all honestly, I don’t want to try hard with anyone tonight – even with one as hot as she is.
I scan the bar crowd from the mirror above the bar. There’s a titter of excitement and energy as people celebrate the start of the long weekend. Aside from tonight, Joel and I made no plans for my visit. He invited me to join in on a camping trip that he’s taking with his friends, but I haven’t decided yet. Downtime has been lacking for me, as I’d been working like a dog up to graduation in May.
Alone time this weekend, with nothing on my schedule to do and nowhere to go, sounds perfect. I may just hang out and watch Netflix all weekend.
I set my empty glass on the counter and grab Joel’s attention, who’s looking in my direction but talking to the girl next to him. The girl that’s been eying me all night has now moved her attentions elsewhere. Good thing for both of us.
“I’m hitting the head.” I mouth to him, motioning my head in the direction of the bathrooms. He nods and turns back to continue his discussion with his female companion.
There’s a couple guys at the urinals, and another guy in a stall that sounds like he’s taking a dump, so I wait for a few minutes as the others finish up. I run a hand through my hair at the sink as I debate whether to head back to Joel’s now or return to the party. I’m not usually like this. I’m known as the life of the party. Crowned king of the keg.
I give myself a stern lecture as I head out of the bathroom, telling myself to get my head out of my ass and figure out how to have fun again. Life is too short and my youth can’t be wasted on regrets.
I’ve finally reached a decision to stick around when I round the corner and my eyes snag a glimpse of long, honey blonde hair.
It’s loud in the bar but in my head it’s quiet – like I’m underwater. I blink a few times. It’s got to be a hallucination. An apparition. Maybe I’m more drunk than I realize.
My feet don’t want to move. Like some mystical vine has risen from the hollows of the scuffed wooden floor and wrapped its steely ropes around my leg, anchoring me to that spot. She’s standing over by the table where all of Joel’s sit, leaning over some girl, showing her something on her phone. When her head pops up, it turns in my direction and our eyes latch on to each other, and that vine creeps up to my neck and begins choking me.
Now I can’t breathe or move. Fuck my life.
The only good thing to come from this moment is that Logan appears to be just as freaked out as I am. Her eyes grow wide as the ocean – a very deep, blue ocean- and I can see every ounce of hesitancy in her features.
I don’t know what I expected from tonight, but it certainly wasn’t this. Running into Logan out of the blue. Again.
For one tiny second, I consider finding the nearest exit and getting the hell out of here. This is just a fucked-up twist of fate. It no longer feels like a coincidence. It freaks me out.
As I remain there dumbfounded and debating what to do, Logan whispers something to the girl, and then slowly stands tall. Her friend’s head snaps up, catching a glimpse of me at the bar and drops her mouth open. Then she swats Logan on the ass, as Logan walks toward me.
She maneuvers through the crowd toward me at the bar, my focus never leaving her. My mouth is dry and I wish like hell that I’d gotten another beer right away.
She gives a small smile. “Well this
is very weird and just a tad bit awkward.”
My lips twitch. “You could say that again.”
Logan laughs briefly, her eyes twinkling with humor as they move from my face down to my chest, scanning my T-shirt. Her laugh is carefree, and shakes away the tension, as her smile grows broad.
“Nice shirt, Carver.”
I look down because I don’t remember which one I wore tonight. I’m kind of known for my filthy and foul-mouthed attire. It’s good for some laughs and conversation starters. Cheesy fashion pick-up lines.
The one I’m wearing now says, ‘All This and a Big Dick too.’ I quirk my eyebrows and give a casual half-shrug, plastering on my signature smirk – the one I know releases my dimple.
“At least it’s not false advertising.”
Then all hell breaks loose as she doubles over with laughter. Like full-on belly laughs. Luckily, my ego is shatter resistant. And I know my dick is an impressive piece of equipment. She just got the early version of me when we were kids. I’ve come a long way, and have only gotten better with age.
She guffaws. “Oh shit. When did you become so full of yourself?”
When we ended and I had to overcome my insecurities.
“I’m not conceited,” I confess, lifting my chin with indignation. “It’s a well-known fact that I have many talents known worldwide. I’m a damn-hot commodity, if you don’t know. I learned a lot in college.”
She stares at me blankly, her smile fading, and now I feel like an asshole. Logan glances off to the left, sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth, as if concentrating on some difficult task.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. She’s messing with my head. This is not my normal mojo. I’m usually smooth, charming and a lady killer. Not a bumbling idiot ex who has to extol his own virtues.
She seems to recover, her beautiful eyes sparkling and her smile returning, as her fingers slip a strand of golden-hair behind an ear. “I bet you did. Smart college boy.”