A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  “I will have you know…” I interrupt with fists clenched. “…that he is NOT my boyfriend.” I am so close to him that I can smell the mixture of salty sweat and cologne radiating from his body. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to raise up. I lean anyway. I never said I was a saint or that I even had self control to begin with.

  Again, let’s revisit. A few seconds ago I wanted to lick his calves. Pretty sure self-control died right along with my dignity when I went careening into the floor.

  “Did you or did you not date him?” He crosses his large bronzed arms as if he’s a freaking prosecutor and I’m on trial.

  “Maybe… I mean…” No words. Since when do I have no words? Stupid, distracting, spray-tanned arms.

  “You mean, you what?” His teeth clench down onto his lips.

  I feel like I’m narrating in my mind about all the bodily attributes I’d worship given the chance. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought?

  “Amanda? Are you sure you’re okay? You can hardly focus right now. Why don’t we move you or something. You’re making me nervous.”

  As he leads me to the bench, I try not to flinch as his hands basically imprint onto my body. Every part of me is heated, from head to toe, and I hate that he’s making me feel that way, almost as much as I hate that time-travel hasn’t yet been invented, meaning I can’t go back in time and slap myself for saying no to him when he was a nerd. I know, looks aren’t everything but… damn it! I should have known!

  “Someone’s cranky.” Preston releases me with a chuckle.

  It’s only then I notice that my teeth are clenched so tight he probably thinks I’m pissed. Either that or constipated. Lovely. He wasn’t looking at me now; he was looking across the basketball court at the two people playing Horse, and now I felt stupid. Why can’t I act like a normal grown up?

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter in a defeated voice. “It’s just been a long day.” I shrug as I make eye contact for the first time since this afternoon.

  Eyes sparkling with mischief, his mouth curls up into a smile. “I bet, what with your boyfriend trying to steal the bride and all.”

  His deep laugh rumbles through my body. Irritated that he makes my body feel anything, I clench my fists to keep from punching him in the side.

  “How do you even know that’s true?” I challenge. “And why do you care in the first place?” What gives him the right to judge me?

  “Um, sorry to break it to you, but the entire town knows the story. Derek spilled it to everyone when he went back into the reception. Perhaps he was hoping for sympathy. It’s hard losing not only one, but two girls in one day.” His gaze turns sympathetic as his eyebrows knit together in concern.

  What? So now he notices my obvious anger at the idea of Derek telling everyone that we dated?

  “I’ll kill him,” I say in a scary voice, as if we are discussing the weather or pumpkin bread or something. His eyes turn speculative, like he’s trying to see if I have it in me to be that violent.

  I turn away to hide my bluff. Okay, fine. I won’t kill him, but giving him a black eye sure sounds good.

  Or maybe just drugging him in his sleep and placing Barbies around his head then posting it to YouTube. I at least had that much in me, right?

  “No you won’t. He’s just being a stupid guy.” Preston wipes his face with the towel from his treadmill and throws it onto the bench. “So, figure out who I am yet?”

  Why is lying a sin? Desperate for any answer but yes, I weigh my options, but I’m a terrible liar.

  My own cat can tell when I lie. When I leave on vacation and promise to be right back, she just looks at me and growls. Growling from Mrs. Butterworth is far worse than your average housecat. Since she’s a Sphynx, she has no hair, which adds to her charm… or lack thereof. So basically she looks possessed most the time; add that to her piercing eyes, and I crack on a dime. If she doesn’t believe me when I lie, why would Preston?

  Gathering my courage, I raise my chin to even the odds but fail miserably as my gaze locks on his chest. Since when did he get so tall? My chin juts out as my eyes slowly rise to meet his piercing gaze.

  “Yes, you’re Preston. I remember you from high school. Good to see you again, nice to know you grew into your head and managed to find new pants. Well! I should be off. I could have a concussion, you know.”

  My body turns as I mentally tell my legs to pump faster, but to no avail. I sense his presence stalking close behind me, too close for my personal comfort. How is it that I can still smell him?

  “So that’s it? No, oh hey, Preston, what are you doing with your life? Or, sorry for lying to you in front of the entire school four years go. Must have sucked when all those YouTube hits went viral…”

  I winced. Whoops, totally forgot that someone sent that clip to Leno.

  He continued talking, "Or maybe this one — thanks for punching the creep I call a boyfriend in the face and saving my ass in front of the entire town? Seriously, go ahead. Choose any one of those phrases. I’ll wait.”

  Four years. Four years. Four years.

  He stops behind me. Annoyed, of course I had to turn around and face my now ENEMY. I can’t believe I ever thought he was hot, he and his wow body. Please. I want to ruin his body with my nails right now.

  “Thanks…” I grind my teeth and force a smile, “for punching him in the face, and yes, sorry about high school, but let’s face it, that was four years ago, and technically I didn’t lie. Well, I did, but I didn’t want to make it worse by saying no in front of the entire school. Come on, you got your revenge on me and everyone else. I mean, look at you.”

  I snorted and waved my hand up and down in front of him so he knew that I was talking about his hot body then felt myself immediately pale. Crap.

  No, stop talking, Amanda. But it was too late. When I get started, there is no alarm that goes off in my head that says, Hey, Amanda, maybe that’s an over-share! I think Google or Apple should invent an app to put on cell phones so alarms go off right before I reach the point I have been talking too much or am about to embarrass myself.

  He leaned in close enough for me to see the perfect line of his irritating jaw. “What do you mean I got my revenge?”

  Does he really, really not know? Doesn’t own a mirror? Camera? Eyes?

  Biting my lip and fighting the fluttering feelings his close proximity brings, I try to figure a graceful way out of this situation. It can’t get much worse. I have now admitted twice to him that I think he is the hottest man on the planet, and he still doesn’t have a clue. Could it be? Is he one of those guys who are actually humble?

  “You know what I mean.” I wave between us.

  “Oh, you mean this?” He flexes a bicep, kisses it, then winks.

  Ah, I’ve just been Kaepernicked. Nice.

  “Amanda, I’m kidding. Geez, you need to lighten up. How much caffeine do you consume anyway? It must be a lot with how high-strung you are.” He leaned in, “Then again, you could be drunk…”

  Glad we are moving on from embarrassing to just plain offensive.

  “I’ll have you know that my caffeine levels are completely normal as is my BMI and IQ!” Wait, maybe the IQ comment made me sound dumb, because now he’s trying not to laugh.

  I may as well have just given him my measurements as well as my grade point average. Kill me now.

  Frustrated, I stomp my foot. Unfortunately my heel collides with his toes, totally an accident by the way, and I run down the stairs. Clearly his foot is made of steel, much like his freaking calves, because before I know what’s going on, he’s chasing me out of the building.

  “Did you just stomp your foot?” He’s incredulous as he rests his hands on his hips. Preston’s eyes widen in scrutiny, and he waits for my answer.

  “No,” I lied, crossing my arms.

  “You need sugar or something, or maybe a stress pill. Ever try herbs? Or massages? Say it with me, W-I-N-E.”

  Aw, mockery, I know you we
ll, my friend. I know you well. With a saucy glare, I walk up to him and lean in, as close as I can get without brushing my mouth against his. “Massages, hmm? Why? You offering, Star Wars?”

  His mood immediately turns serious as he advances in even closer to my face. “Do you want me to be offering?” His lower lip brushes mine. “Kind of digging the sexy pet names. Does that mean I can call you Foot Stomper? Because, I find that type of aggression really hot.”

  Note to self: never flirt with an expert, even if he did used to wear Star Wars shirts.

  Horrified, I step back, nearly colliding with the edge of the sidewalk. I flirt, and people think I’m kidding. He flirts and makes me want to sell my parents just to be in his presence.

  “Amanda! There you are. I’ve been calling you all night.” The voice breaks our moment, and we both turn to see Derek hanging out of his car window, waving his cell phone at me.

  Small towns, be damned!

  “It looks to me,” Preston’s eyes narrow, ”like someone's still not over you. That a problem you have, Amanda? Turning guys down and just waiting for them to come crawling back?” He smiles and strolls away, his cheerful whistle penetrating the night air.

  “Traitor!” I yell as I watch his feet carry him to a large black truck.

  “Hey, is that the guy who punched me?” Derek asked as I will myself to look at him.

  His nose looks broken, though it actually does him a favor in the looks' department. He looks tougher.

  “What do you want, Derek?” Does he have no shame or self-respect? asks the girl who was just ogling some stranger's body parts. Yes, I see my reflection in the mirror kettle, love pot. Trying to get to my car as fast as possible, I wonder if there is any way this night can get worse.

  “Well, I just thought that if I gave you a little time to forgive me, then we could, I don’t know, start dating again… soon.” His face looks hopeful, eyebrows drawn up, a smile forming around his lips. Holy crap, he’s actually serious! Irritation, seeps out of every pore.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have another wedding you were planning on breaking up? Need another partner in crime? Derek, we hardly know each other. I mean, I don’t even know your favorite color, for crying out loud!”

  “Yellow.” His chest puffs out. Seroiusly?

  I hold up my hand. “Stop, just… stop. Pretty sure you were clear when you stood up in the middle of the ceremony that there were other pastures to plow.” Run along, crazy, we’re all full-up here!

  “I just th-th-thought, that we had something…” He pulled out a hanky — yes, a hanky — and blew his nose, or at least tried to, while tears streamed down his face.

  Drugs. I finally come to the conclusion he’s on drugs; clearly he’s suffering some sort of withdrawal. I mean, what man cries this much?

  Sympathy is not an emotion I can offer Derek at this point. “Derek, have a good night.” With that, I slam my door leaving a heart-broken Derek alone. I peel out of the parking lot and glance in my rearview mirror. Derek's yelling into the night sky.

  And Mr. Fireman, Preston, is gone. No wonder he was making fun of me, I was dating that.

  ***

  After I park my car, I run up the stairs to my apartment and slam the door behind me. While the outside may look a bit sketchy with it’s peeling paint and only semi-workable lock, the inside boasts of hardwood floors and vaulted ceilings. I’ve only been living here for a few months, since college graduation. My mom and stepdad offered to let me stay with them until I was more stable at my job, but the whole idea of living under the same roof after having my freedom for four years? Not so much. Besides, their idea of fun is watching the Discovery Channel and imagining what it would be like to travel. True story. They’ve never even been out of the state.

  Mrs. Butterworth meows at me as I pass by her and throw my purse onto the counter. Crap, I left my cell here. I pick it up and notice the battery is almost dead. Of course it is. Ten missed calls, seven voicemails. Did someone die? My chest immediately constricts.

  Beep. “Hi, Amanda. This is Derek—” Erase.

  “Hi, Amanda. It’s Derek again. Where are you?” Erase.

  “Amanda, really. I mean, why don’t you—” Erase.

  Are all of these from Derek? It isn’t until I get to message eight that the annoying person on the other end isn’t Derek. It is my best friend and co-worker, Kristin.

  “Hey girl, I heard about the wedding. I am so sorry. I had no idea he was such a creep! Call me, no matter how late. I just put the kids down to bed, so make sure you call the cell, not the house phone. Love you!”

  Kristin is a gem. So what if she set me up with Derek? It’s my fault for being desperate and saying yes. A shower is necessary before calling her back, and I can't help but groan at the reflection looking back at me in the hallway mirror. Not only does my hair scream homeless, but my face is all blotchy from stress. I pull my long dark hair from the ponytail and feel immediate relief. My hair is too thick to keep up for so long. It always ends up giving me headaches.

  What is it about me that makes Derek think I am easy prey? Vulnerable is not how people describe me. High-strung, outspoken, unladylike… those are terms I am familiar with, but vulnerable? Easy? Never. Re-evaluating my dating strategy is a conversation I need to have with Kristin.

  The shower does nothing to wash off my shame from earlier, but it does make me feel a lot more positive about tomorrow when I am planning to spill my entire guts to my book-club ladies. The group usually consists of Kristin and her ridiculously good-looking husband. Though he claims he doesn’t actually read the romance novels. He’s just there for support. He also claims the Cosmo subscription was an accident. We don’t judge him though, and Kristin especially doesn’t, considering he’s one of the most understanding and romantically invested guys out there.

  Picking up my phone, I dial Kristin’s cell number. Ten o’clock shouldn’t be too late, I hope. Ring — ring, voicemail.

  Her kids wake her up at the crack of dawn. Sometimes I wonder if they’re somehow related to roosters. I tried to babysit them one time. Those kids seriously almost ended up on milk cartons, and it wasn’t because I lost them. Nope, I was like five seconds away from leaving them at the damn mall and walking in the other direction. They tried the patient of a saint, meaning that girl deserved a freakishly large medal around her skinny little neck.

  Why voicemail? I groan and place the phone back on the counter.

  Rat bastard. She’s probably not answering the phone because she knows that today did not go as planned, by any stretch of the imagination. Since the whole town is aware of what transpired, it wouldn’t surprise me if my barista in the morning gives me a free coffee and pat on the hand. I walk over to the computer to turn off the monitor but lay my hungry eyes on Mr. December.

  So what if I stomped his foot? He deserved it. Looking at the monitor again, I click on Order Now. As I’m taken to the payment page, I justify my actions — or try to. The money is going for a good cause. Our firemen are underpaid, and the donation to the local homeless shelter only sweetens the deal. Feeling significantly justified, I smile until I see how long it will take to arrive: two to four weeks! Groan.

  Time for sleep — after one last peek at Mr. December — I shut down the computer. Tonight I’m testing the theory that people will dream of the last thing they think of. Maybe in my dreams he won’t talk as much. He is more attractive with his mouth shut.

  Unfortunately for me, the last thing I remember as I go to sleep is Derek’s pitiful face.

  Chapter Three

  Three a.m., four a.m., five a.m. Ring! Ring! Ring! Who in their right mind? Whoever they are will wish for death after I am done with them. It’s Sunday! I groan and flip over onto my stomach as the ringing continues. Mother of all that is holy, if that’s Kristin, I’m going to strangle her.

  I peer through hazy eyes at my blinking phone and listen to the voicemail.

  “Amanda?” Silence. “This is Derek. I just wante
d to tell you that I am over you — you and your stupid cat. I hated your cat, by the way. It’s the ugliest cat, ever. And I didn’t really mean it when I said I loved you. So there. Go, talk to that stupid fireman again. See if I care. You are so—”

  The voicemail cut off, meaning only one thing: either he hung up or was hit by a car. Don’t judge me for praying for the second. You would too. Where the hell was my good judgment with this guy? Were there really no signs? No red flags? When will I ever learn!

  My phone rings again.

  “WHEN WILL IT END?” I yell into my pillow, my hands slamming against the mattress.

  Six a.m., seven a.m., and again the phone rings.

  “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!” I scream as loud as possible, but it’s not the phone, and the doorbell continues to ring. Running to open the door, baseball bat in hand, of course, I’m ready to show I’m in no mood for conversation.

  “Easy, killer,” Kristin says as she holds out a fresh Starbucks coffee. “I come in peace.”

  I close my eyes and inhale greedily. “I will so kiss you full on the mouth if that extra coffee’s for me.”

  She hands me the coffee and winks.

  “Where were you last night? I had a crisis!”

  She snorts, “Pretty sure even CNN heard about said crisis last night. Sorry about that. Wasn’t aware Derek was an escaped convict from Gotham Asylum.”

  “Batman reference.” I nod. “Well done.”

  “I try.” She blinks innocently and takes another sip of coffee. “But really, I’m so sorry. His mom said he was so—“

  “What?” Coffee sputters out of my mouth. “His mom? That’s what you went off of?”

  Kristin blinks and then shrugs. “Of course, why?”

  “My mom thought I should be president when I was six.”

  “Amanda, I hardly—“

  “—because I knew how to pronounce politician.” I finished, “When I was eight, she thought I should be an architect because my toothpick castle didn’t collapse after standing for three seconds. Just last week she said I was going to be the first woman in our family to get her masters.”