Inside the house my phone beeps alerting me to an incoming text but I’m too engrossed with the two guys strutting toward me to care. The size of my unnamed hero/stud is impressive. Even walking next to the behemoth size of Master Chief he still looks enormous. If I were to compare him to Ashton I’d call him… formidable.
“Turns out the big guy here was just feeling a bit frisky today,” he says patting Master on the head like he’s the neighborhood stud. “I finally caught up to him down at the dog park and he was in the company of a very beautiful Labradoodle and they were not “talking” if you know what I mean.” He gives me an over exaggerated wink to make his point. Yep, got it.
“MASTER!” I huff out in horror. He drops his head saying ‘I know, I know. I’m a bad boy’ before I shoo him inside with nothing but a hand gesture and my very best ‘you’re in big trouble, buddy’ eyes. “How embarrassing, I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. I don’t know what to say.” Look at me talking! Whoop, whoop! I really am mad though.
Laughing he answers, “Honestly, this was a fun twist to my day. I didn’t have any plans so no worries. It’s not like you’ve set me back or anything. Really, please don’t be embarrassed on my account. Trust me that would be a tremendous waste of your energy because that was way too much fun.”
He appears to be waiting for the customary ‘Thank you’ and maybe even to be invited inside for the customary ‘glass of water’ but... jokes on him! How do you explain to someone who just saved your dog that it’s not an option for them to either come inside your house or to have a glass of your water? That sounds so crazy. Remembering I am crazy I easily revert back in to my normal awkward self and go completely silent in the hopes of making this moment so uncomfortable that he’ll eventually give up and leave.
Like I learned earlier, this guy is no quitter. After several awkward minutes (on my side; yet again, he seems just fine with the silence) he smiles, sticks his hand out and says “I’m Chris.” Now I have to decide if touching him is okay. Hmm? What to do? As I’m contemplating, the Change-CeeCee’s-Life plan pops into the forefront of my mind and I have the sudden desire to climb up this man and have him for dinner. Shaking his hand will have to do though as it’s a much more appropriate response, especially in light of all of my hot and cold behavior today.
“I’m CeeCee, nice to formally meet you, Chris.” His smile is as beautiful as his bum so I take a moment to appreciate it and stare at his beautiful lips just a tiny bit longer than appropriate. “I’d invite you in but,” how do I say this? Just rip the ban-aid off. “I can’t.”
“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Cheeky boy.
“They’re the same thing.” Cheeky girl.
“Nope. Can’t implies there’s some kind of impediment in our way and seeing that your door works fine and I’m standing here in front of you able to walk through it, you can invite me in. But, the won’t, now it says much more. It says you will not invite me in and thereby one can infer that you don’t want to invite me in. So? Which is it? Can’t or won’t?”
“Fine. I go with can’t.” Try to infer that, buddy. He didn’t even take my “crazy” into consideration after he saw me go catatonic earlier, twice! I’ll infer that this guy’s not too smart.
“I have a suspicion that you’d like me to try and figure out the ‘you can’t’ scenario? I feel like you’re trying to tell me something, because we both know that the ‘you won’t’ would have been the easier choice if you really wanted to get rid of me.” This guy is clever after all. He’s right, though. I should have said won’t, but obviously subconsciously I do want him to figure me out and come in. Damn. He’s good.
“Alright. You may come in on one condition. This is a judgment-free zone. If at any time I feel like you are judging me, I will ask you to leave. No questions asked.” I stick out my hand so we can shake again. “Deal?”
He quickly responds with a firm shake and the added affirmation of a head bob before adding, “Deal.”
The look on Master’s face as we both come through the door is comical. I promise you, his eyes have grown to the size of half dollars and his mouth is hanging wide open in shock. It’s a total people face. I stare him down with eyes that say, “Be quiet” and continue to the kitchen to make my guest (A GUEST, PEOPLE!) a drink.
“Would you like coffee, tea (or me) or an adult beverage?” Trick question. Coffee = right choice. It means he’s a real man, like’s caffeine, wants to talk, not get in my pants, and is generally a smart person. Tea = wrong choice. He’s not into girls and is not serious about caffeine. Adult beverage = not wrong, not right, more like neutral leaning towards wrong. He wants to get to know me and have a good time (right) but may also be trying to get into aforementioned pant (Not happening. Pants firmly zipped up and locked in place.). Ladies and gentlemen, let’s see what our guest says.
“Coffee sounds great. You don’t happen to have any chocolate syrup? My mom always made it like that and its crazy good.” Ok. Panties on fire! Answer = right heading in the direction of perfect. Did I mention the panty fire?
“That’s crazy. That’s how I drink my coffee.” As I look over my shoulder I catch him running his finger across Ashton’s etching on the kitchen table.
“Hotpants? You into writing about yourself on your furniture?”
“Haha. It’s a nickname my best friend gave me. Don’t ask,” I say carrying over his very full, extremely chocolaty coffee while trying not to spill any on my recently cleaned floors.
“I’m guessing this best friend is a guy? Or maybe she’s a girl that is heavy into butt compliments? And, if that’s the case there’s no judgment from my end because that’s hot.” He gives his eyebrows two solid pumps up and I laugh out loud.
“Sorry to derail your fantasies but, he’s a guy.”
For just a moment I see a look of disappointment come across his tanned face but he quickly rebounds with a soft smile that is without a doubt swoon worthy (thank goodness we’re sitting. I’ve proven to be a real swooner lately).
“Anyway,” I continue blowing over my coffee, “He’s like a girl. I mean he’s like a sister. Er, what I mean is family. He’s family. We’ve been best friends since we were old enough to walk over to each other’s houses. I guess you’d call it an asexual relationship.” That is if you don’t count the sex we almost had, then I suppose it’d be considered pretty damn sexual. This is not a lie, it’s misdirection. There is a huge difference.
“Well, he’s lucky to get to be so close to a girl like you. I imagine that makes dating pretty difficult for you though, you know, with a guy always hanging around?” he asks seriously. Oh, he has no idea.
“Among other things, yeah it does. Or rather it has, in the past. He’s like a big brother, even though I’m a month older. He’s always been protective and since he and my brother are the only family I have they take the job pretty seriously.” Except for right now, right now he’s totally ditched me as his responsibility in lieu of a hot rocker chick. Job fail. But, really, who could blame him? She can go places and I suppose that’s an attractive quality in a person that you want to “date”. Now that I think about it, I better let this guy off the hook now because I’m only one foot out the door, technically two, but that was not by choice, and I need to be sure he realizes that as cute as he is, love is not in the cards with me.
“Where’s the rest of your family? I mean if you don’t mind me asking?” What? I was so lost in thought I don’t know how we got here. “I’m sorry. Maybe that was too personal,” he says before taking a huge swig of his chocolate coffee.
“No, no that’s fine. Just remember the rule. No judging,” he gives a nod and I continue, “I’m going to go fast here so try and keep up, because I’m only saying this once,” another nod. “Ok, my dad died of cancer a couple of years ago and my mom just got out of prison. I have one aunt who lives on the other side of the country and no living grandparents to speak of. I’ve never met my mom and I don’t know if I care to. I have t
he one brother, Connor and he lives a couple miles away with his girlfriend who I may be going into business with and other than Ashton, the best friend, that’s it. Those are my people and that’s my story.” Talk about tearing the bandage off, I’ve given Chris here some stuff to mull over. He’s sure to pick up on my baggage and flee shortly. I’ll give him a moment to process. And there it is: the look of pity that kills relationships. FYI, pity is not sexy.
“Wow. You’ve had a lot thrown your way, huh?” Interesting, I see no pity, only curiosity.
“Putting it mildly. But, yeah.”
“Well. It’s only fair I give you something about me in return so I’ll go fast as well so try and keep up,” he winks. I do the swoon. “I’m not repeating this.” I nod. “My mom died of cancer ten years ago. Two years later my dad started a new family with a much younger woman. I have one full sibling, a younger sister, and four, much younger half siblings, whom I love. I also have no living grandparents, but I do have three fantastic uncles. And, that’s my story and those are my people. We’re not too uneven in the family department. We’re one dad, a sister, a couple half siblings and a few uncles apart, not too bad if you ask me.” Cancer, that bitch!
“Sorry about your mom. What kind was it?” We both know I mean The Cancer.
“Breast. Yours?” I hate telling people this. I feel like my dad would be embarrassed because of the whole not having your typical breasts thing.
“Same.” That word’s easier to use.
“That’s quite a coincidence. Does that scare you? You know, that you’ll have a higher risk for it as well?” The look I shoot him screams do you need to ask? You know this look. We all have a form of it. Mine is simple; chin down, brows raised high, and a smartass smirk that pulls my mouth to the far side of my face. In my family this is also known as the “duh” face or the “no shit, Sherlock” expression. You pick, they’re all the same.
“To put it mildly, yes. Hell yes I’m scared I’m going to get it. I mean, I’m a girl and my dad got it. Apparently that shoots my chances up through the roof, so there’s that to look forward too. And being the person who took care of him, I know firsthand how brutal it can be, which only makes it that much worse to imagine. So yeah, I’m scared.” Now I’m nervous and I want to play my Blackbird counting message and I can’t because of the stranger in my house. He will not understand when I have my panic attack in a moment so now I find myself to be in quite the pickle. What to do?
“Is that why you don’t go outside?” Holy hell he went there. Just… BAM! You got problems!
“Maybe?” Oh good god, I’m about to cry. I need him to leave. This is not my thing, the crying onto a strangers shoulder thing. That’s something other girls do, not me. I’m more of your average, run of the mill, everyday, lock yourself in the house type. This whole sharing your feelings thing with a boy/person who’s not Ashton, I don’t know how to do that!
“How about we dance?” What in the name of?
“You want to dance? With me? Now? Here?” Wow, I sound incredibly well spoken and intelligent. Good use of whole sentences.
“I do. Want to dance. With you. Now. Here.” Okay he’s just as bad with the sentence enhancers, but I can’t help but smile because he so beautifully diverted my tears. He’s good. I can sense that I’m going to need to watch my panties to make sure they stay in their upright and locked position during times of turbulence. Or just in general because clear skies have nothing on this guy’s smooth moves.
“I should warn you. I’m an okay dancer.” Seriously, I’m not good and I’m not bad, okay is the perfect word.
“Well that suits me fine, because my awesome will be enough for both of us.” My “awesome” dance partner sets down his empty coffee cup, takes my trembling hands into his own steady ones and lifts me to my feet. “Where can I plug in my music?” He spots my speakers and is plugging in his phone before I even have the chance to answer. “I hope you like the classics.”
This has to be some kind of karma induced joke. Coming from his cell is Ash and I’s song, the song that has forever attached me to him and he’s not even here to hold me. Instead, I’m sharing this intimate moment with some gorgeous could-be serial killer. The universe just hollered an audible at me and I’m listening. I need to find Ashton, like now. But first, I’ve got to get rid of Mr. Sexy Bottom here and I have no idea how to suddenly throw him out when he’s done nothing but be kind to me since the moment I first laid eyes on him. But, by the confused look on Chris’s face I must be giving off some serious crazy eyes. Maybe this will be easier than I imagine. Poor guy, he really has no idea who he’d dealing with here, but he’s about to.
“You’ve got to go. I’m so sorry, but the universe just told me through your phone that you have to go.” Schizophrenia was not a diagnosis I would have ever considered before now but when you’re receiving messages from inanimate objects that’s something you really must consider.
“My phone told you to tell me to go? Wait, can you explain this to me better?” I’ve already unplugged his music maker and am heading swiftly toward the front door with it. “Listen, CeeCee, I don’t know what is happening here but I’d really like to get to know you better. Can I at least call you or come by again?”
“Why in the world would you want to do that? I’m concerned for your mental health if you see me as a viable option as a friend/more than friend type. I’ve just told you that your phone told me you needed to leave and you’re trying to set up a next time? Sorry, though I would love to look at you more, I’m broken and clearly you’re not. I know this by the simple fact that you were outside today before you met me. I’m thrilled that you’ve dealt with your life so well. And I’m sincere when I say I bet your mom would be proud of you, but I’m not you. No one’s proud of me, including me, and I’m not ready to expose more of that to anyone else, including you, stranger and dog rescuer extraordinaire, but thank you, really.” I open the door and he walks by me, trying to get me to look up at him, but my eyes are firmly planted on the ground hiding the embarrassment and shame that lives so deeply within them.
“Listen,” he stops in the threshold of the door, turns my body to his and lifts my chin with only the gentle touch of his finger, forcing me to deal with him head on, eyes on.
“I just wanted to talk. I know I look like I have it all together and some days I do pretty great, but I know pain. It’s a good friend of mine and I know what it feels like to lose the people that we love most. If I can be a friend to you, that’d be enough. Can you just give me your number and stop being so weird? Just like you feel like my phone gave you a message I feel like meeting you this way is a message for me. Shut up and type.”
He’s bossy, a clear leader, and that’s why I do it. I take the phone he’s handing me and add my contact info under the title of “Weird CeeCee.” He’ll have to look for it, but I have faith that he’ll find it. He’s decidedly persistent and, honestly, the fact that he was honest enough to call me out on my stuff, like he sees me, softens me towards him and kind of wins me over.
We’re so going to be friends.
thirteen
When I shut the door on who I’m hoping will be my replacement Ashton, I feel slightly overwhelmed and maybe even happy that there is someone else in the world, a new person, walking around with my phone number stored in their cell. This is the first time in years that I’ve forged a friendship on my own outside of my computer and I want nothing more than to share this news with Ashton. I make the big girl decision to suck up my pride and call him. Besides, I’d still like his advice on the whole ‘my mom is back from prison’ situation.
As soon as I grab the phone off its charger in the kitchen the screen comes to life. There’s a little red circle with the number one in it reminding me that before my wild excursion into the outdoors earlier I received a text. I slide it open and read the message. This is what it says:
Hey. We are back in town.
if you don’t call me tonight
&nb
sp; I’ll take that as a yes to bring
mom over tomorrow. See you
soon. X Big C
Oh hell to the NO, “Big C”.
***
Do NOT bring her here!
you are NOT the boss of
me. Hi Liddy. Got some
great designs to show you.
super excited!
Xx C ps. No x’s for “mom” (FYI, the ten word texting rule is only enforced with Ashton)
That’ll show him. My phone beeps back immediately and it’s not from Mr. Big C himself (aka, Big Chump) but instead it’s Ashton. YAY! I love Ashton. I do? What? I have no time to debate myself here because this message needs to be opened ASAP. I’m facing serious Ash withdrawals.
My finger slides over his name and up pops his message. To my horror the majority of the text is a picture, the added words at the bottom meaning nothing (that’s not true; they’ll soon infuriate me as well). What I’m seeing on my tiny little screen sends a message all its own, no words necessary. Right here, before my very eyes is Ashton making a kissy face at the camera (Did I mention he’s a fantastic kisser. I’ve decided it makes him a little less douchy.). From the lighting outside I deduce with my expert meteorological skills that it’s early morning and… I’m pissed (jealous). He’s holding the phone out in true Selfie-style but in one extremely massive miscalculation on his part there is the added bonus of one very hot, very cool rocker chic attached to his cheek (did I mention they were outdoors). Underneath their couple’s photo it reads:
Can’t wait for you two to
meet. Two fav girls.
Ash
Mary, Peter and Joseph he did NOT just say “two fav girls”! I know this for a fact because if he did, I’ll… I’ll… what? You’ll do what Cee? Move away? Oh, Ha! Ha! No, that’s his big move. I’ll do something more creative, like maybe I won’t go outside to hang out with my very best friend in the whole wide world (need to be more creative). Okay, I won’t go to any of his shows to watch him play his music, even though I know it makes him nervous and he wants me there! (Ew… ew… I’m a horrible person, plahk!) Better still, how about I pretend to be his very best friend (check) and then when he’s trying to help me I’ll tell him that I’d rather just use his body for some release (check, check)! Please someone, anyone, tell me I did NOT do those things. I’m one of those insensitive, best-friend-destroying skanks of the world. What are the chances that I’m on The Bachelor and I don’t know it?
Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... Page 16