The Goode Fight

by Seth King

  “But who wouldn’t creep on him, though,” she says with misty eyes. “He’s so perfect, and so unattainable. I’d forfeit the right to every other loser in this town if I could just get one night with him.”

  A surge of jealousy suddenly rushes through me, surprising me to the core. I’ve never really been an envious person, but just the thought of Cara laying her hands on Stellan is enraging me. Where is this coming from?

  “What’s the background on him?” I ask after a moment, unable to get this virgin sex god out of my head. If Cara McClellan is good for anything, it’s gossip. “Where’s he from, anyway?”

  “I don’t really know,” she says, “I heard he transferred here from Vandy a year or two ago. He’s supposed to be smarter than God; one of my professors is totally obsessed with him and says he’s gonna be a famous writer or something. Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s better than every girl in the Carolinas.” She turns back to me with a smile. “Actually, come to think of it, he is just your type.”

  “What? A dog lover?”

  “No.”

  “A cross country runner?”

  “Uh, no, not that I know of.”

  “What, then?”

  “Not interested in you,” Cara laughs.

  “Oh.”

  I brush her joke aside, bite my lip, and look over at Stellan, the light around him seeming to change after Cara’s news. With the neon-blue OPEN sign hanging over him in a nearby window, it’s almost like a halo is floating above his head. Could Cara be right, or is she lying to keep him for herself? He is ignoring the half-dozen girls staring directly at him right now, not including me. I watch as a gorgeous blonde brushes past him and shamelessly drops her phone at his feet with a fake little gasp, and he simply leans down, picks it up, hands it back to her, and then turns away without a word. She stomps away, pissed at her failed pick-up attempt.

  Okay, so Cara wasn’t lying: he isn’t interested in sex. And she’s right about something else, too: it does make him hotter. Unattainability is sexy, and plus I kind of respect someone with morals, since finding a guy with integrity and decency these days is like finding an open table at Starbucks at ten on a Saturday morning. All they ever want these days is sex, sex, and more sex. Come to think of it, it’d be really different and refreshing to date someone who wasn’t just trying to get me into bed at all hours of the day and night, like Adam constantly was back in Budapest. We would actually be able to just talk about stuff, play board games, go on walks, whatever- get to know each others’ brains instead of just our anatomies.

  But what if I ended up wanting to get to know Stellan’s anatomy?

  Suddenly I make eye contact with him, and for some reason a strange look- something like surprise mixed with anger- flashes across his face before he turns away. I blush and dart my eyes across the bar, embarrassed at being caught staring, but still, I can’t get his expression out of my head. What was that about? Does he know who I am or something? And if he doesn’t, then what does he have to be mad at a total stranger about? And on top of all that, his gaze practically made me feel like I was standing in a sauna or something. That was hot, I think as I fan myself with my free hand. His eyes were like flame-throwers, and I kind of want to feel them on me again.

  Among other things, perhaps.

  Powered by my curiosity behind Stellan’s weird look and my overwhelming attraction to him- and by the vodka Cara made me drink back at the house, to be honest- I contemplate taking a chance and going up to talk to him. Sure, the hot blonde got turned away, and approaching random guys isn’t really my thing, but what do I have to lose? I don’t know Stellan from Adam- no pun intended- and if I get rejected, I can just chalk it up to his no-sex policy. It’s worth a try, if nothing else. Maybe he’s just pissed that someone forced him to go out while he was in a less-than-stellar mood, like me, and he wants a friendly stranger with no agenda to talk to him and distract him.

  Okay, maybe I had a little of an agenda, but he doesn’t need to know that. Yet.

  I take a breath and turn to Cara. “Stay here for a minute. I think I’m gonna go up to Virgin Hotness and say hi.”

  She peers over at me like I just grew another head out of my neck. “You’re gonna do what?”

  “Talk to Stellan.”

  She raises an eyebrow into a confused arch and then bursts into laughter when she sees I wasn’t joking.

  “Okay, no offense, babe,” she says, “but I think that if Stellan ever decides to dip into the dating pool at all, someone like me would be more his speed. God, it’s so cute how delusional you can be sometimes.”

  Anger licks at my neck like the flickering flames of a candle. I can’t take this anymore, and suddenly I am wondering why I ever did at all.

  “You know what, Cara?” I say. “Fuck you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Fuck you. I love you- most of the time- but I’m gonna prove you wrong on this one. I’m gonna go hit on Stellan Goode.”

  I leave Cara open-mouthed and start pushing through the crowd towards Stellan. Who the hell does she think she is, anyway, telling me whom I can and can’t get? She doesn’t know Stellan; she doesn’t know what he likes. For all she knows, his type could be goofy brunettes with wide hips. And why does she deserve to get all the guys all the time? Why shouldn’t it be my turn to act a little slutty for once?

  As I get into the thick of the crowd I realize the bar is darker and more packed than I thought, and I have a harder time finding the fireplace than I expected. To re-orient myself I shove past a crowd of guys wearing flannel hipster shirts and then freeze, because I am standing two feet in front of Stellan Goode, and I feel like I just stepped into a force field I didn’t even know existed.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. My skin heats up even more than before, and my face gets all tingly and dreamy-feeling. My stomach does a series of flips when I realize that Stellan is looking right at me, not at any of the bimbos around me, but at me. His chin is angled downward and his mouth is slightly open and he has a look in his smoldering eyes that says “I’m going to take you home and fuck you within the next two hours whether you like it or not,” and it forces all the air out of my lungs and pushes all the thoughts out of my head and does things to the space between my legs that I cannot elegantly describe. I notice another thing, too- there’s something sad about his eyes, something tortured. I want to figure out it is, but within a few seconds his expression grows angry once more and he turns away again, obscuring his face from view.

  What the hell is his problem? I think as I stand there, fuming. Why does he hate someone he’s never met? What did I ever do to him? Desperate to know the reason behind his bizarre behavior, the alcohol in my blood motivates me to march right up to him and blurt out the following:

  “Hi, I’m Taylor. Taylor Haney. Did I offend you or something?”

  Suddenly my senses come crashing back to me and I get the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just did that. As I turn crimson with embarrassment Stellan glances in my direction without moving his body, his eyes hesitant and guarded but his mouth still open; his pink, glistening lips making my stomach drop like I just got on a crazy carnival ride. He’s even more delectable from this angle, with hints of bulging biceps visible beneath his jacket and a deep cleft chin. In a word, I am hypnotized.

  For a moment, though, another feeling rises up in me, aside from all the giddiness: a strange, instinctive compulsion to be afraid of him, to turn and walk away for my own safety. But I shake it off. That’s ridiculous- why would I be afraid of someone who won’t even give me the time of day? All he did was frown at me; it’s not like he said he wanted to kill me or anything.

  Finally something in the set of his jaw changes and he turns and gives me his full attention, and the effect of his blazing eyes on mine is like getting hit by a freight train.

  “Look, Taylor,” he says, his voice deep and smooth and velvety…and knee-weakening. “I’m just goin
g to be honest with you. I really want to fuck you, but I can’t, and so I’m going to walk away from you now. But it was very nice meeting you, and I hope you have a wonderful night.”

  With that, he saunters into the crowd, leaving me alone and reeling as I lean against the wall for support.

  What the hell was that?

  2

  Stellan Goode

  The first thing I thought when I saw her was “Oh, fuck.” Forgive me, Lord, for I wanted to jump that girl’s bones immediately. She looked so much like Caitlin: the wavy dark hair dropping past her shoulders, the large brown eyes that drew me in like air conditioning on an August afternoon, that slender waist that led my gaze downward to the hint of a perky athlete’s ass under her jeans. Damn, I thought. Damn. I was obsessed with her from the get-go. I instantly wanted to know everything about her: her name, her age, her interests, her hobbies, what sounds she would make while being tied up and slammed into my headboard from behind, and so on. Something about her was so different from all the other girls around here, the bottle-blondes with the easy smiles and the revealing outfits and the confident walks. She was modest, reserved, unassuming- and so fucking sexy because of it. As I admired her I noticed myself feeling things I have been trying to suppress for years: the warmth on my face, the aching in my throat, the deep longing in my stomach, the rush of blood to my groin. To my horror, the monster was coming to come to life again; awakening in a way it hadn’t since the Caitlin situation all that time ago.

  And look where that got her.

  Even though I wanted to fuck the hell out of her, I prayed the beautiful brunette would stay away from me. All I could do was appreciate her from afar and hope to never see her again, both for her safety and mine. So when she approached me, her voice every bit as soft and appealing as I had imagined, I panicked. Get away from me, I wanted to tell her as I avoided her eyes, the familiar self-loathing hitting me in terrible waves. Don’t you see the signs? Can’t you see that I’m a monster? Don’t you know what’s good for you?

  My efforts to feign disinterest failed miserably, so I blurted out something rude and walked off- and felt terrible about it afterward. It was so hard to leave her, to fight off the wish to stay and talk and get to know everything about her and tell her how perfect she was, but I absolutely had to give her a reason to stay away. Because she makes me want to be bad, and I don’t want to be bad anymore. I’ve been good for two years now, to be exact, and I’d like to stay that way.

  But truthfully, it’s hard. I’d compare it to becoming a vegan: sure, you can survive on tofu and apples for a while, but it’s not very appetizing, and occasionally the craving for a big, juicy steak will hit you when you least expect it. A lingering glance at a pretty girl’s ass, a fantasy about some model in a lingerie commercial that’s more violent than it should be, a daydream in which I watch the girl in front of me in lecture hall and imagine pushing her up against the wall and fucking her from behind while sucking on her ear and pulling on her ponytail. I’ve gotten pretty good at overcoming these cravings, but lately they’ve been hitting with greater strength and frequency, and seeing Taylor just brought out the most powerful one yet.

  This all sounds complicated, but in the end it’s very simple. Inside of everyone there are two people: the person we are, and the person we want to be. The person I want to be is Good Stellan. He’s kind, respectful, a regular gentleman. But the person I really am is rough, violent, and impossible to predict or control. That’s Bad Stellan. I’ve successfully hidden him from the world for almost two years, but I’m afraid Taylor Haney may have just brought him closer to breaking out than ever before, and she has no idea how dangerous that could turn out to be for her if she doesn’t heed my warning and stay away.

  Because the last girl who got to know Bad Stellan is currently lying in Brentwood Cemetery.

  3

  Taylor Haney

  I lean against the wall, my mind swirling with questions like when you pull the plug from your drain and watch the bathwater whip into a furious whirlpool. Did that male supermodel really just tell me he wanted to “fuck” me? Isn’t he celibate? And if he did want to “fuck” me, then why didn’t he just stay and talk? What’s keeping him away?

  And the two most important questions of all: why am I not offended by what he said, and what the hell is going on in my underwear right now?

  As my pulse finally gets back to a normal pace, I realize I can’t deny it: regardless of his weird little statement, something strange happened between us. Something strong. A connection; an electric current; whatever you want to call it. As I stare into the throng of dancers I see a vision of Adam letting go of my hand and starting down the bustling terminal hallway in Budapest and finally disappearing into the crowd; slipping away from me forever as I sat there powerless to stop him. Am I really going to let that happen again? Am I really going to let another guy slip through my fingers? Am I really going to let Cara laugh in my face yet again?

  No, I think as I stand a little taller. Stellan said it himself: for whatever crazy reason, he’s interested, and that’s more than I saw him say to any other girl tonight. Hell, he wouldn’t even look at any of them. Now all I have to do is find another way to get through to him. As resolve settles into my bones I do the Holy Cross on my chest, swallow my last sip of Blue Moon in one frantic gulp, look up at the ceiling, and whisper the following sentence:

  “Forgive me, Lord, for I know not what I do.”

  I am going to steal Stellan Goode’s virginity. Tonight.

  I head back to the bar for another shot while I regroup. I don’t know why I’m so scared to approach him again- I mean, it’s not like the guy’s going to kill me- but since the art of seduction lies right between “beekeeping” and “solving complex algebra equations” on Taylor Haney’s List of Talents, I know I’m going to need all the confidence I can drink. My old friend Noah spots me from behind the bar and for some reason ignores about fifteen other girls to beeline straight for my stool.

  “Another of the usual, Tay?” he asks as he motions at the Blue Moon tap.

  I smile at the familiar nickname. At least someone here is happy to see me.

  “No thanks,” I tell him, “I’ll take a Maker’s and Coke, except light on the Coke. Actually, just make it a shot of Maker’s; forget about the Coke. Thanks.”

  “Wow,” he says as he reaches for a glass, “I’ve never seen you order anything more intense than wine. Rough night?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What happened?” he asks as he hands me a glass of amber liquid. Not a shot glass, but a regular-sized one, and knowing him, he probably won’t even charge me for it.

  “I got rejected twice in one night by guys on two different continents,” I tell him with a shrug, figuring that I already look so pathetic, there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore. “That’s got to be some kind of record or something.”

  As I hold my nose and swallow half of the bourbon, I decide to withhold my plan to try again with Stellan. For some reason, I just don’t want Noah to know about it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tay,” he winks. “Any guy who doesn’t want to be with you must’ve lost part of his brain in a car accident or something, and I feel sorry for him.”

  “Thanks, you little creep,” I tease before leaning closer. “How’d a cool guy like you end up working at a dumb hipster joint like this, anyway?”

  “Hey,” he laughs, “if somebody’s dumb enough to pay nine dollars for a glass of locally-brewed dandelion-infused organic hippie beer, I’m more than willing to take their money from them. It’s actually not bad, you wanna try some? On me?”

  “No thanks,” I smile, “I’m pretty sure I’d need to borrow a flannel shirt and put a bunch of grease in my hair first.”

  His chocolate eyes crinkle as he flashes one of his famous grins. Like Cara, Noah is another relic of my childhood, and if I was smart I probably would’ve tried to date him years ago. But I’m n
ot, so I friend-zoned him like an idiot, and we’ve been languishing in that semi-awkward territory ever since. I missed the boat, anyway, because now that he’s a big baseball player being recruited by professional teams, girls hit on him all day and night. He probably hasn’t even thought of me in that way since middle school, when we used to flirt by the bus loop after sixth period.

  “Ah, duty calls,” he says as he glances over at the throng of people waiting for drinks. “Nice talking to you, and stop by again before you leave, if you want.”

  “Thanks, Noah. Good seeing you, too.”

  His eyes linger on me for a second before he turns and helps the nearest customer. I chug the last of the Maker’s with a little blush and then decide I’m ready to go look for Stellan again; the liquor making me feel a little surer of myself than before. Just as I reach the edge of the dance floor, though, I hear someone whistle at me and then turn around and sigh when I discover it’s just the creep who’d eye-molested me earlier. I’ve noticed him at the bars once or twice, but we’ve never spoken. He walks over and puts his hand on my shoulder without even asking, and as he leans in I smell cheap liquor and cigarettes on his breath. Double ew.

  “Hey, babe, you wanna dance for a sec?”

  I take his hand off my shoulder. “Sorry, but I’m way too sober to dance right now.”

  I start for the fireplace, but he pushes even closer and grabs my arm.

  “Hey!” I say, louder this time. “This is the South, where are your manners? Do I even know you?”

  “No,” he slurs. “But I know you want to. I’m Luc, with a C.”

  “Hi, Luc with a C. Nice to meet you. Now please let me go.”

  I feel his hot breath on my cheek as he leans closer. “I’m good at changing peoples’ minds, babe. Now let me change yours.”

  I squirm under his gaze and scan the bar as my fight-or-flight instincts kick in. It’s a crowded place, so it’s not like he could just drag me out of here in front of everyone or anything, but still, something about the eagerness in his eyes is making me uneasy. I consider kicking him in the balls and running away, but I don’t want to make a scene, so I take a deep breath and try one last attempt at getting away peacefully.