by Lynne Jaymes
“All right,” I say, my stomach already clenching at the thought. A friend of Nina’s. How am I going to get out of this one?
“Do you want a ride?”
“How about I meet you there?” I say, nodding toward my bike.
“Okay. Just follow me, it’s not far.”
I get on my bike and follow Mitch’s blue pickup truck out of the parking lot, the whole time wondering if he’d notice if I just passed him and kept on going to the apartment. But bailing on him again isn’t going to exactly cement me into his list of friends. Too soon, his blinker flips on and I follow him to the parking lot of McCarthy’s. I’ve been here a couple of times with people from school and it reminds me of Foley’s in Union Square—it’s kind of a trip to see a genuine Irish bar full of dark wood and green accents here in the middle of Texas, but nobody else seems to notice the irony.
The parking lot is full of pickup trucks and American cars, so I pull the bike up onto the sidewalk in front of the bar and set the kickstand down. I get an approving nod from a guy in a huge cowboy hat as he walks by, taking in the perfection of each line and stroke of paint.
“Nina’s already got a table,” Mitch says, as he walks up to the door. He’s got his urban Texas cowboy uniform on—dusty boots, big belt buckle and a beat-up trucker hat, his Saturday night going-out clothes. He’s so Texas he’s even got tiny little cowboy boots hanging from his rearview mirror. I’m not sure the t-shirt and jeans I threw on in the locker room are going to measure up. I follow him through the door and the wall of noise is immediate. The place is packed with people standing three deep at the bar and lined up next to the pool tables in the other room.
“There she is.” Mitch waves to Nina and I slowly follow him over there. As packed as this place is, she’s the only dark face in the whole bar. I wonder if it bothers her. It doesn’t seem to, which is amazing to me.
I say hi to Nina quickly and sit on the other side of Mitch as far away from her as possible. It’s not that I don’t like Nina, but there’s no way I can explain it to them and still keep the secrets the way I need to. She’s insanely pretty with her curly black hair loose around her shoulders and a body that won’t quit. Her skin is a deep, golden color and I have to admit to a tiny pang of jealousy when she leans over with one hand on Mitch’s cheek to whisper in his ear. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of Hailey and I realize that it’s not just the sex I miss—although that’s a big part of it. It’s the little gestures, the tiny indications of possession and desire that go along with it, the outward signs of belonging to someone. I shake my head. I meant it when I swore off women this year because fucking around isn’t what I came here to do. Keep the focus on baseball and avoid complications. And women like Nina were nothing but full-on complications.
I look around the bar as Mitch gives Nina a deep kiss and several of the guys are staring our way. A guy in one group leans over to say something to his buddies and they all laugh. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re saying. So much for college towns being liberal and open-minded. Just another reason to keep my secrets to myself.
Neither Mitch or Nina seem to notice the stares as they sit back in their seats.
“My friend’s in the bathroom,” Nina leans toward me. “She’ll be right back. Mitch texted that you guys had a great game.”
“It was good,” I say with a nod, then turn to see what’s on tap.
“Good?” Mitch says. “Our boy here is on his way to being scouted.”
“Really?” Nina says, her dark eyes intent on me. I don’t like the way she looks at me. Like she’s looking through me almost.
I turn away from her gaze. “I suppose. Let me get some drinks.” I jump up from my seat. “Nina, another beer? Mitch?” There’s a mostly full glass in front of her friend’s seat, so I walk up to the bar alone to get three more beers, focusing on SportsCenter on the TV behind the bar as the guy pulls our drinks. When I turn back around to the table, I see a girl with long, light brown hair sitting in the formerly empty seat and I take a deep breath. How am I going to get out of this without looking like an asshole? I’ll have to just stick to one beer and then make some lame excuse for why I have to be home before ten.
“Here you go,” I say, balancing the three beers in my hands as I lower them onto the table.
“Thanks Ty,” Nina says, wiping the drops off the side of her glass.
I turn to her friend. “I was going to get you one, but—” The rest of the sentence disappears into thin air.
“I’m good,” she says, shaking her head and taking a sip of the beer in her glass. She smiles at me and lifts her brown eyes to mine and I can’t help but feel the familiar pull of desire. All those months, passing in the hallway, walking up the stairs without a word and now she’s sitting here at a table right next to me. I’ve never seen her hair outside of the bun before and it’s beautiful, cascading in shining waves down past her shoulders. Instead of the usual workout top, the black shirt she’s wearing is silky and shiny and held to her shoulders by whisper-thin straps.
“Jenna.” I don’t even realize I’ve said anything for a few seconds.
“You two know each other?” asks Nina, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Sort of,” Jenna says, her soft Texas accent infusing each word.
“We, uh, live together,” I say, and then realize how that sounds. “I mean, in the same building. I have an apartment down the hall from hers.” God, I soundlike a dumbass.
“Well, look at that,” Mitch says, punching me in the arm. “Small world and all.”
“I guess so,” I say, sitting down next to Jenna. It’s distracting and delicious to have her sitting next to me. Her hands are tiny, almost delicate as she plays with a coaster. It’s all I can do not to reach out and touch her, to see if her skin is as soft as I’ve imagined. To see if her lips taste as beautiful as they look.
“Nina said you had a game down by Abilene today,” she says.
“We did,” I say, taking a sip of my beer to hide my embarrassment.
“I’m from a small town right near there,” Jenna says.
“Yeah?” I say, pretending that I don’t know a thing about her. I think about the tiny towns we passed through and wonder which one was hers. Of course she wanted to get away.
“Grand Junction,” she says. Then she laughs, and it’s a beautiful, almost deep sound. I realize I’ve never heard her laugh before. “Although the only thing grand about it is the name and the railroad depot closed something like a hundred years ago.”
I can’t picture Jenna in one of those micro towns. She’s too beautiful to be contained in a small, dusty place. “Couldn’t wait to get out?”
Jenna shakes her head. “Not really,” she says with a frown. “I love it there. Tons of space to run around and do whatever you want. There’s a creek that runs through town that’s great in the summer and Gramps built a treehouse in the backyard that you can sleep in. Everyone knows who you are.” She takes a thoughtful sip of beer. “Which, you know, can be good or bad.”
Interesting. I didn’t expect that answer. “Hmm. I thought everyone under the age of 70 would be dying to get out of a town like that.”
“Why?” She looks insulted and I immediately feel bad.
“Well…there’s not much to do I guess.”
Jenna’s not letting me off the hook. “There’s plenty to do.” She sits up straight and looks at me with her head tilted to the side. “Just like a city boy to start ragging on the country when he doesn’t know a thing about it.”
I smile at her. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been asking questions. “How did you know I’m from the city?”
There’s a flash of hesitation in her eyes, but it’s gone in a second. “Nina said you were from San Francisco. And you don’t exactly sound like you’re from Garvin.”
I run a finger around the rim of my glass. “That obvious, huh?”
She shrugs noncommittally. “And you don’t dress like a
good ol’ boy.”
I look down at the band t-shirt I’ve got on. I know exactly what she means, but I’m sort of enjoying this conversation. “It’s just a t-shirt and jeans.”
She squints at me. “Not too many people running around campus in a Zeppelin shirt and Nikes,” she says, looking around the bar. “Wranglers, trucker caps and work boots are standard around here.”
I lean forward on the table. “Something wrong with that?”
There’s a glint in her eye that’s almost a challenge. A challenge I’d better ignore if I know what’s good for me. “No. I didn’t say there was anything wrong with that.”
“Okay,” I say, putting both hands on the table. “I apologize for talking smack about your town.”
She shakes her head. “Just because you’re from Frisco, you think you’re all that. Just because I’m from a small town doesn’t mean I’m an idiot, you know. Someday, when I’m done traveling and doing everything I want to do, I’d love to settle back down in Grand Junction. Maybe raise a family there.”
“Okay, okay.” I’m trying not to smile at how annoyed Jenna is. “I said I was sorry.”
“Fine,” she says. “Apology accepted.”
“By the way,” I say, knowing I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. “Don’t call it Frisco.”
Jenna takes a swig of beer. “Why not? I hear people on TV calling it Frisco all the time.”
“Only people who’ve never been there.” I shrug. “I’m just trying to help. Someday, you might get out of a cab in Union Square on your way to a day of shopping at Macy’s and the minute you slip and call it Frisco the street gangs will be all over you. I’m only doing it as a public service.”
“Well, thanks,” she says. I can tell that she’s not sure if I’m kidding.
“So what are you going to go off and do once you leave Garvin State? What’s your major?” I ask, like I don’t already know.
“Dance.” She glances down and runs her finger through a drop of water on the table. “I know, I know. It’s ridiculous to come to the middle of Texas for a career in dance.”
“It’s not exactly the Bolshoi,” I say.
Jenna looks a little surprised. Dance isn’t my favorite thing, but Mom used to drag me to the ballet every couple of years. “I can’t argue with that,” she says.
“So why here?”
“Madame Azarov. She runs the studio here and she’s amazing.” Jenna gets a look in her eye that I recognize. It’s passion and desire. The same look ballplayers get when they talk about the majors. “I’d go anywhere to study with her.”
“So what do you want to do after you graduate?”
“Dance. And choreograph if I can. New York, Paris, London—anywhere.” She looks at me as if she’s deciding something. “You have to promise me you won’t laugh.”
I like that she’s confiding in me. It makes me want to keep her secrets. “I won’t laugh.”
“Hand up and swear,” she says.
I hold one hand up. “I swear I won’t laugh.”
“I’m going to audition for American Dance later this year.”
“The TV show?” I’ve seen a little of it when I was passing through the living room at home. Olivia’s addicted and sits in front of the TV with her phone to vote for her favorites every season.
She nods a little sheepishly. “I know, it sounds stupid…”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say quickly. “Those people are amazing.”
“I don’t even care about winning, I’ve just wanted to be on it from the first time I saw the show. The exposure, the choreography…it’s a great opportunity.” She takes another sip of beer. “Provided I make it past the first auditions.”
“I’m sure you will,” I say and I hope she knows that I’m not being a dick. I really mean it. Jenna’s got confidence and grace that makes me believe that she really will do it. She’ll do whatever it is she wants.
“I’m only a sophomore,” she says. “So if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just come back here.”
A sophomore? I lean forward. “How old are you?”
Jenna glances around conspiratorially. “Nineteen.” She grins. “Fake ID.”
“Nice,” I say approvingly. She looks so straight-laced that I love the tiny bit of a naughty edge. My mind wanders to what else might be naughty about her and I have to drag it back. “I had one too—mostly to get into clubs and things.”
“Are you a senior?” she asks.
“No. A junior,” I say. “I did a couple of years in a local college before coming here.”
She glances up at me. “So, do you like San Francisco?”
“I do.” I know there’s a little too much pride in my voice when I say that, but I love my hometown, especially the parts you don’t see on a travel show—the seedier parts of Market Street, a club in the Mission, playing ball in Golden Gate Park. When I walk through the city, it feels like I own it, not like I do here where I feel like an alien most of the time, like I’m playing a game but nobody ever told me the rules.
“Why are you all the way out here if small town life is so crappy?” There’s the challenge back in her voice again. I don’t mind it at all.
“Baseball,” I say. “I got recruited to come out this year.”
“And he’s on his way to the majors,” Mitch says, leaning over the table.
“God, would you shut up about that,” I say, tossing a balled up napkin at him.
“Well, it’s true.” He turns to Jenna. “If Ty can keep up the great year he’s having, he’ll be the one on SportsCenter this time next year.”
I shake my head. “Don’t listen to him. I’m doing okay.”
“We should come to a game sometime,” Nina says.
“You should,” I say to Jenna.
“Maybe I will.” She smiles at me, her eyes turning up at the edges, and I feel an undercurrent running through our conversation. An undercurrent that I’m not in too big of a hurry to kill, despite all of the warning signs.
Two hours later there are several plates of chicken bones and a bunch of empty glasses in front of the four of us. Nina and Mitch are huddled in a corner talking to each other and honestly, I’d almost forgotten they were there. At some point, Jenna pushed her chair closer to mine so that our knees are almost touching, her hand brushing my leg as she gestures to try to make a point.
The sound of a glass shattering on the floor makes us all look up as boos and catcalls fill the air. The guy who dropped it bends to pick it up as his friends point and laugh.
For the first time all night, there’s a long silence between us, but it’s not because we’ve run out of things to say. It feels as though the conversation has barely started.
“I should probably go,” Jenna says, looking around the bar. It’s gotten even more crowded while we’ve been sitting here.
I don’t want her to leave, but I know it’s not right to ask her to stay. Not when I shouldn’t take things any further than this table.
“Aw, come on, it’s Saturday night,” Nina says, looking over at us with raised eyebrows.
“I have a class in the morning,” Jenna says.
“You have ballet on a Sunday?”
“African dance,” she says. She looks at us and shrugs. “I like to branch out.”
Nina sits up and reaches for her bag. “I’ll run you home.”
It feels like Jenna is going to walk out of here and things are going to be like they’ve always been between us—a brief nod in the hallway, or a ‘thank you’ when I hold a door open. I know I shouldn’t encourage her, but I don’t want that back. “You guys should stay,” I say quickly. “I can take Jenna. I’ve only had one beer the whole time we’ve been sitting here.”
Jenna hesitates. “Are you sure?”
No. I’m not sure at all. “It makes sense, we live in the same place. As long as you don’t mind riding on the back of my bike.”
“No,” she says with a small smile. “I don’t.”
“Great
!” Mitch says, leaning back into Nina. “You two kids run along.”
We grab our stuff and wave goodbye. The air outside is still warm as bathwater as the bugs hurl themselves at the lights over the doorway. One thing I could get used to, is a warm Texas night. It’s never warm at night at home. The minute the fog rolls in off the ocean it feels like winter, even in July.
“Sort of feels like a set-up, doesn’t it?” Jenna says as we walk toward my bike.
I wonder if she thinks I had something to do with it. “If I didn’t know better.”
“I swear I didn’t know it was you when Nina invited me,” she says, kicking at the gravel in the parking lot.
“Disappointed?”
“No,” Jenna says, glancing at me. “Not at all.”
I feel a jolt roll through my body as she looks up at me with those big brown eyes.
“Good.” I pull my backpack off my shoulder. “Can you hold this for me? That way it’s easier for you to hang on.”
“Sure,” she says, her arm bending as I hand it to her. “What have you got in here?”
“Books.”
“Ah, a scholar athlete,” she jokes, slinging it on her back.
“I have to be if I want to keep my scholarship.” I sit on the bike and flip the kickstand up. “Hang on a second while I start it.” I flip the switch and jump on the starter with my right foot as it roars to life loudly enough that several guys at the front of the bar look over. “Okay,” I say, steadying the bike with both feet. “Can you make it?”
Jenna’s wearing tiny little heeled boots and tight black pants, but she straddles the bike like she’s been doing it all her life. I didn’t anticipate the feelings that would rush through me as she presses her body against my back. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to someone, it takes me a few seconds to regain my composure enough to set the bike in motion.
As I pull out of the parking spot, Jenna puts her arms around my waist, her hands on either side of my abs. Without thinking, I reach down and touch her hand on my stomach and she turns her head and rests one cheek against my upper back. Her thighs press against mine with every turn. I swallow hard at the feel of her body against mine and try to remind myself that this is only a ride home. I can’t get involved with Jenna—not tonight and not ever.