TRIPPED

by Jacob Chance

  “We should give him some pancakes,” Rachel suggests.

  “No, we shouldn’t. He has his own food.” I look Chewy in the eyes. “Auntie Rachel is a bad influence.”

  She snorts. “Everyone says dogs have the best life, and in a lot of ways, they do. But they eat the grossest food. Eating is one of life’s greatest pleasures and they’re totally missing out.”

  “If they never have our food, then they don’t realize they’re missing out,” I explain.

  “You’re getting ripped off, Chewy, and you don’t even know it,” Rachel tells him, and I roll my eyes. His tongue is hanging out the side of his mouth and he looks like he’s smiling.

  “He looks really upset,” I remark. “Don’t go filling my dog's head with nonsense.”

  “Just wait until you have kids someday. I’ll be their favorite aunt. I’ll buy them candy whenever they want and take them for their first tattoo.”

  I smile. “First, huh?” I say before my expression falls.

  I can’t help but think about the baby I lost. She would be two years old in four months. The pain of the loss isn’t as sharp as it used to be. It’s a dull ache in my chest whenever I think about how I never got to meet her and never will.

  While I’ll never know for sure whether I was pregnant with a boy or girl, in my heart, I’ve always felt that she was a daughter.

  “Jeezus.” Rachel smacks her palm to her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “Please don’t apologize for simply having a normal conversation.”

  Rachel touches my arm. “It was insensitive for me to mention you having kids.”

  “Stop that. You didn’t say anything wrong. You already know that someday I want to have kids. I’ll always remember my baby and wish for things that can never be. But that doesn’t mean you have to change your behavior around me.”

  “Okay.” Her reply is tentative.

  “I mean it, Rachel. I’m a strong bitch, remember?”

  She smiles like I hoped, and replies, “The strongest.”

  Sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room, I unlace my skates. We won. It still hasn’t sunk in yet. This was a big game. The Warriors are no joke. They won our division last year and kicked the Terriers’ asses while doing it.

  “Are you coming out with Jeremy and me?” Rachel asks.

  “Nah, I’m going to head home. I’ve got a date with my refrigerator and bed.”

  “Sounds wild.” Rachel barely holds back the eye roll. I know she wants me to hang out at C’s, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. I’m exhausted and a little beat up from the game. I’m calling it a night before I let her drag me out and I regret it.

  Stripping out of my sweaty hockey gear, I take a quick shower and change into some clean sweatpants and a t-shirt. I slip on my slides and put my gear away in my cubby area. I also clean up Rachel’s stuff while waiting for her to finish showering.

  Picking up my phone, I notice a text message.

  Donovan: What’s on the agenda for the rest of the night?

  Me: This girl’s going home.

  Donovan: Want some company?

  He wants to come over? I don’t want to think about why this pleases me so much. Am I really up for company?

  Another message comes in before I can answer.

  Donovan: Come on. We still have a pie to make.

  Reading his text makes me smile. Or maybe it’s the thought of apple pie. Who do you think you’re fooling?

  Last night was fun, and I want to spend more time with him. Why not let him come over? It’s a safe space for us to talk, and as a bonus there will be pie.

  Me: Okay, you had me at pie. I’ll be out as soon as Rachel finishes showering. I hope you’re patient.

  Donovan: I happen to think you’re worth the wait.

  Me: Think about the pie to kill time. It’ll help.

  Donovan: Jeremy and I will meet you guys out front.

  Me: Sounds good.

  I lower to the bench and search “how to bake a pie” on my phone. After reading the instructions, it doesn’t seem that complex. Unless we need to make the crust. If we need to do that, I don’t even own a rolling pin. I didn’t pay attention to what was in the grocery bag he brought over last night. He put the supplies away and I let him. It probably wasn’t very hostess-like of me, but I was off-kilter just from his presence alone.

  Rachel finally comes back to the locker room dressed to impress with her hair and makeup done. She looks like there was no hockey game tonight. I glance down at my loose t-shirt, baggy sweats, and slides. I look like I collected my clothes from the lost and found box in the corner of our locker room. And now Donovan is going to see me. Oh well. At this point, I’m too tired and hungry to care. I can practically taste the apple pie.

  “Jeremy and Donovan are waiting out front,” I fill her in.

  “How do you know?” She arches a brow and twists her glossed lips into a knowing grin.

  “Donovan texted me.”

  “Did he convince you to come out with us?”

  “No, but he’s coming over to the apartment,” I say.

  “You work fast,” she teases.

  I grin. “Don’t worry, we probably have a busy night of napping ahead of us.”

  Rachel laughs. “Maybe this time you should nap a little closer to each other.”

  I shake my head. “Nothing good can come of that.” I grab my backpack from the floor in front of my locker cubby and stand. “Let’s go.”

  We meet up with the guys exactly where Donovan said they’d be.

  “What’s on your sweatshirt,” Rachel calls out as we approach. Donovan extends his arms out so we have a clear view of the paper taped to his chest. It’s my jersey number done in block style and colored red. He spins around, showing off the back view. He has another paper with my last name. Turning to face us once more, he grins.

  “I didn’t have your jersey to wear, so I made one,” he explains.

  I stand there with my mouth open and no words coming forth. Oh my God, oh my God, keeps playing on a loop in my mind. Rachel jabs my side with her elbow, snapping me out of my brain fog. “Donovan, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” I say.

  “Now I know you’re lying. There’s one thing you’ve seen that beats this any day of the week.” He winks.

  Jeremy breaks into guffaws and Rachel titters. When the meaning of his words hits me, my cheeks burn up and I wish the pavement would crack open and suck me inside.

  “Thanks for cheering us on, guys.” Rachel jumps to my rescue.

  “You both had a fantastic game,” Donovan replies.

  “Thank you. It was a great team effort,” I say. “Well, this is where I make my escape. I hope you guys have fun at C’s.”

  Donovan’s hand lands on my shoulder, preventing me from moving. I meet his probing gaze. “I thought the plan was for you and me to hang out?”

  “Uh... uh... yeah,” I stutter. “If you still want to.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to?” he questions.

  “I wanted to give you the option to skip out if you changed your mind,” I explain, despising how insecure I sound. “My car is over there.” I point.

  “I grabbed a ride with Jeremy, so it looks like I’m coming with you.” He tugs my bag from my shoulder, slinging it over his.

  I hug Rachel. “Be safe tonight.”

  “Hey, I’m with her. I won’t let anything happen to her,” Jeremy defends.

  “See you later, bro.” Donovan gives him a fist bump. He hooks his arm under mine, holding on to me, and I place my hand on the crook of his elbow. He escorts me to my car like we’re attending some high-society event.

  I click the keyless remote and he opens my door for me. My knee jerk reaction is to look at him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I guess this side of you surprises me,” I admit, lowering onto the driver’s seat.

  “I never had a chance to show you a lot of
sides of me—metaphorically speaking anyway.” His dimple teases me by appearing and disappearing. He closes me inside and moves around the front of the car and over to the passenger door.

  I drag in a long breath and remind myself to calm down. He and I are just friends. Only friends—even though he keeps reminding me I’ve seen him naked.

  What would he look like naked now? Don’t go there. Do. Not. Go. There.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Donovan

  Piper seemed a little uncomfortable on the ride to her place. Is she still feeling awkward around me? I hope not. There’s no reason for her to be. If anyone should be out of sorts it would be me. I’m the one who made the mistake of letting her go.

  I tug on the dog’s leash. “Come on, Chewy, let’s get you back inside. I’ve got a pie to help your mom make.” I enter the apartment and unfasten Chewy’s leash. Kicking off my sneakers, I follow the dog to the kitchen since we’re both looking for Piper.

  “Thanks for taking him outside for me. Can you please give him a treat?” She points to the glass jar with tiny bone-shaped treats inside.

  I unscrew the cover and give a bone to Chewy. “Sure. He gets a treat every time he goes out?”

  “Not always. But he’s been alone for a long time tonight, so he deserves a little something extra. Right, Chew?” She bends down and kisses him on the mouth.

  Oh, if it were only as easy for me. I’ve never resented a dog before, so this is a first for me. Treats and kisses? Lucky little bastard.

  Piper steps in close to me before removing the paper taped to my chest. Moving behind me, she takes the paper off my back too. She smooths out the pages and sets them aside on the counter. Is she keeping them? If she is, I’m taking that as a good sign.

  She turns to me with her phone in her hand. “Earlier, I looked up how to make an apple pie and it didn't seem too difficult. I’ve got the oven preheating now and I washed all the apples.” She holds up an apple peeler and a sharp knife. “Which one do you want?”

  “You said you’re good at peeling, so I’ll take care of the cutting.” I take the knife from her.

  She begins peeling an apple and I stand there watching. It’s a little awkward for me, so I’m sure it must be for her too. But I have nothing to do until she finishes removing the skin. I help myself to a bottle of water and chug half of it down. What else can I do?

  “Don’t forget to wash your hands,” she reminds me, as if she’s inside my head. Jumping at the chance to kill some more time, I step over to the sink and scrub my hands clean. When I finish, it’s time for me to start cutting.

  “Do you want slices or chunks?” I ask.

  “Whatever is easier for you. It’s going to taste great regardless.”

  “You’re pretty optimistic for someone who’s never made a pie before,” I state.

  Her mouth hints at a smile while she continues peeling. “You bought pre-made pie crust, so that makes it about one hundred times easier. Trust me, we’ve got this.”

  I set about my task of cutting apples into neat slices and place them in a large bowl. We’re working well together. The pile of apples left to peel is quickly diminishing while the bowl of apple slices is multiplying.

  When we’re finished, we throw out all the apple peels and cores.

  “What’s next?” I ask, deciding to let her lead this expedition into uncharted territory.

  “We need to coat the apples with sugar and cinnamon. She pulls a bowl from the cabinet and dumps sugar into it. Then she shakes out cinnamon on top of the sugar. “Here.” She hands me a spoon. “Please mix this together until the sugar and cinnamon combine.”

  “Sounds easy enough.” I start moving the spoon, spreading the brown powder through the sugar. It feels a little like playing with dry sand on the beach. Thinking about the beach gets me imagining what Piper would look like in a bikini. Or better yet, naked.

  “Okay, that’s good.” Piper’s affirmation cuts into my fantasy. No matter how disappointing that is, I still consider it to be a good thing. I’m here on the premise that we’re working on our friendship. And we really are. I can’t let my desire for Piper win out over common sense.

  She takes the bowl from me and dumps the mixture on top of the apple slices.

  “Why do you get to do the fun stuff?” I ask, just to mess with her.

  She hands me a large plastic spoon like it’s a holy relic. “You get to mix it all around.”

  “You just want me for my muscles,” I joke.

  “No, I want you for your di… di… dog grooming skills,” she stutters on purpose. I bark out a laugh and she covers her mouth. Her dark eyes are full of mischief.

  “That was some great timing,” I praise. “Can I say I knew sooner or later you’d be back at the pet store begging for more of my skills?”

  “That hasn’t happened yet,” she points out.

  I dismiss her words with a wave of my hand. “That’s a technicality.” I give a final stir of the apple mixture. “This is all mixed. What’s next?” I ask, pulling us back from the edge of dangerous territory.

  “As soon as I’m done putting this crust in the pie plate, you can dump the apples in.” Her fingers are gentle but sure as she maneuvers the doughy circle.

  “Why are pie pans sometimes called pie plates?” I ask.

  “I’ve never thought about it before, but it probably has to do with the material it’s made out of. Pie pans are made of tin and pie plates are made of glass. At least that’s what I’m going with.”

  “Sounds legit to me.” Mentally, I’m shaking my head at how pathetic my attempt at conversation is becoming. I’m clearly losing my edge. Being friends with Piper is killing my conversational mojo. Pretty soon I’ll be resorting to discussing the weather.

  “You can dump the apples in,” she prods. Tipping the bowl, I slowly pour the coated slices into the pie crust. Piper spreads them around evenly before adding the top crust. She takes the empty bowl from me, handing over a knife. “Make a few slits in the top so the steam can come out.”

  She gathers the bowls and spoons, taking them to the sink. Staring down at the pie, I try to figure out where I should place the slits. In the end, I decide to cut them in the shape of a four, which is Piper’s jersey number. I place the pie in the oven before she notices.

  “How long until this beautiful creation is done?” I ask.

  “I think about thirty minutes, give or take. The crust will turn a golden brown when it’s done.”

  “My mouth is watering at the thought of fresh apple pie. If this tastes good, I’m going to give you a big, wet kiss in thanks. I might even lick your face like Chewy,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “That’s quite a visual.”

  Would she like to know about the other places on her body that I want to lick? Probably not. It would only scare her away, and I have no intention of allowing that to happen.

  She sets the timer on her phone. “What do you want to do now?”

  Kiss you until the alarm goes off?

  “Do you have any games we could play or a deck of cards?” I ask.

  “Will you play Boggle with me? It’s my favorite game. My mom and I played it a lot and Rachel refuses to indulge me.” She laces her fingers together, begging me. Like I won’t give her anything she wants.

  “Sure. But I’m warning you, I’m wicked good at this game. It’s a favorite in the Archer household.”

  “I love a challenge,” she tosses over her shoulder as she steps out of the room. I clear the counter of our pie making supplies and wipe it down. When Piper returns she has a box in her hands. Setting it on the counter, she eases a hip onto the barstool and settles more firmly in place. “Thank you for cleaning up.”

  “No problem. I didn’t want you to have any distractions. This way, when I beat you, you won’t have anything else to blame.” I grin.

  “Oh really?” One of her brows pops up. “You’re pretty confident for someone who’s about to get their ass kicked.”
>
  “Let’s get this showdown going then. Should we place a small wager on this game?” My thoughts jump back in time to our air hockey battle and how I asked the same question.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks, just like she did back then.

  Should I ask for the same thing? What the hell.

  “If I win, I want a kiss,” I state.

  Her eyes open slightly wider, but that’s the only indication of a reaction. “Okay,” she agrees.

  My lips settle into a half smirk as I get ready to repeat the words I said to her before. “I don’t mean a peck on the cheek either. I want tongue sushi.”

  She nods. “Okay. And if I win, I want you to do two hundred push ups.”

  “Piece of cake.” I snap my fingers.

  “We’ll see,” she replies, and we both grin at each other.

  Opening the box, she sets everything up and hands over a piece of paper and a pen. “Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  “You flip the timer and I’ll remove the cover,” she says. “On three. One. Two. Three.” And the game is on. We have one minute to make as many words as we can from the letters. But they have to be touching. Not taking my eyes from the tiles, I jot down the words as they come to me. A lot of them are only three or four letters in length, but I find a few that are five and six letters long. Those could be the difference between a win over a loss.

  “Time,” she calls out, and we both stop writing. “I’ll go first.” She reads off her words and we cross out the ones we share on our lists. I have about ten words leftover that she didn’t. I read through them.

  “Hey, rak isn’t a word,” she protests.

  “Sure it is. It means random acts of kindness.”

  She pulls out her phone and brings up the definition with her lips puckered.

  “So, what does it say?” I ask with undeniable cockiness.