More Than Friends

by Tabetha Thompson

  She starts laughing.

  “Well, as you can imagine, the marshmallow flew off the stick and unfortunately landed in Jacob DeSoto’s hair. Thank God the flame went out before it got to his head. Anyway, while everyone went to check on him, I snuck off to my tent to hide, but Pete shot out when I pulled on the zipper. I tried to catch him but he was too quick.”

  I look up to make sure she’s still paying attention. I can’t help but to smile at her wide eyed and amused expression. “Pete was just walking around like he didn’t have a care in the world, but when he stood on his hind legs and sniffed the air, I knew something bad was fixing to happen. Those fruity mini marshmallows are one of his favorite treats. You see where this is going, right?”

  Laughter explodes from both of us. “Yes, but I’m still going to make you say it,” she insists, I just shake my head and groan.

  I notice her admiring me so I ask, “See something you like?” I pull her legs into my lap and start rubbing her feet.

  “Don’t change the subject. Finish tellin’ me about Pete,” she demands.

  I groan but grant her request. “Well, Pete jumped on Jacob’s head. Dude was so freaked out. He started screaming and flailing his arms, but Pete was a trooper and hung on tight. The Scout Leader tried to help but Jacob wouldn’t be still long enough. Four tents, a pissed off adult, and a few knocked down kids later, Pete was sitting on my shoulder like nothing had ever happened. The Scout Leader called my mom to come get me and they asked me to never come back.” Her laughter fills the room again. I can’t help but to enjoy the time I’m spending with her.

  Telling her the story of how Pete and I were kicked out of Scout's isn’t as embarrassing as I first thought it would be. With every laugh, I can feel her relaxing and becoming more comfortable with me. I cherish every moment of it.

  Her strawberry-blond hair gleams in the soft lighting, making it look redder than usual. Her vibrant eyes change with her relaxed state and are the color of hay bales, their usual hint of green making them glow brightly.

  The brilliant smile that spreads across her face is more than enough evidence to convince me that sharing this story was a good idea.

  I don’t talk about my childhood to anyone; it’s not worth sharing. Looking from the outside in, Dad was a great man and Mom was Suzie homemaker. We were the perfect family. But in reality, Dad was a drunk with a big mean streak who liked to throw his fists at my mom and me. Mom would try so hard to be perfect for a man whose standards she could never meet, and once Dad died, she quit trying all together.

  I admire her bright eyes, which have now turned toward more of a soft green than yellow. I notice the lustful but tired expression on her face and the room goes silent.

  “God, that feels good,” she moans as I continue to rub her feet, working up toward her calves. Her words aren’t meant to have a double meaning, but they affect me all the same. I bite my lip to have something to focus on other than the way she just moaned.

  Chloe’s eyes drift close so I softly call her name. “Chloe?”

  She moans a sweet and sleepy, “hmm?”

  “You’re falling asleep. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll let myself out and we can talk tomorrow.” She attempts to fight sleep but fails miserably.

  I scoop her up and carry her down the hall, opening the first door on the right. It’s a small, sage green bathroom so I move to the door on the left.

  Her room is dark with the exception of a small light creeping between the small crack from what I assume is her closet door.

  I enter the room and immediately notice the clothes strewn all over the place, and while my eyes are focused on the chaos from where her closet apparently exploded, I step on something and hear a crunch.

  I gently lay Chloe on her bed and step back to admire her. Her beauty leaves me breathless.

  Awake, she is beautiful, but in a natural and fierce way. Her confidence and strong personality are always the first thing you notice about her.

  But Chloe sleeping is a completely different type of beautiful. She looks so serene and carefree. It’s not a look she carries often.

  My heart feels light and something warm fills my body. It’s not lust; it’s so much more than that, and I never want that feeling to go away.

  Sara’s drunken voice singing Dierks Bentley’s “Am I the Only One” fills my room and wakes me up from a deep sleep. I roll over and stare at the clock on my nightstand. It’s six fifteen in the morning. What. The. Fuck? I groan and roll over.

  Climbing out of bed, the first thing I notice is that I am still wearing my dress from last night. My face feels greasy so I’m positive that I still have on my makeup from last night, too. Gross. My phone goes off again but this time it’s accompanied by someone banging on my front door.

  Walking out of my disaster of a bedroom, I step on something and it stabs me in the bottom of my foot. Lifting my leg, I find a very small, blue piece of plastic sticking out of my heel. I pull it out, set it on my dresser right beside the door, and continue to the front door.

  The ringing starts again, followed by more banging, then the drunken slurs of Sara screaming through the front door. “Open the door you anti-social hermit!” Bang, bang, bang. “I know you’re in there. Get your ass up and let me in!”

  I open the front door and her fist ends up inches from my face in another attempt to knock. “Oh! Hey, honey! Hope I didn’t wake you,” she says cheerfully, and breezes past me as if she didn’t just beat down my door at six in the morning. My eyes follow her but my feet don’t as I stand in my foyer, stunned. Her tiny figure sashays into my kitchen. “Shut the door, honey. We need to have a little chat.”

  I do as she says and lock the deadbolt in place, and then walk to the living room. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch as Sara maneuvers around my kitchen, pulling two glasses out of the cabinet and then my bottle of Jack.

  She fills both glasses two fingers deep and slides one on the other side of the counter where I have stopped to watch her. Looking to the glass and then to her, I ask, “We celebrating something?”

  With a raised eyebrow she says, “I don’t know, are we?” A wide smile splits her face in half and that can only mean trouble. “Hell yeah, we’re celebrating! Right after you spill it!”

  One side of my mouth curls up and we engage in a silent stare off. After a long moment of silence, she breaks. “I need the deets, girly. Spill it. Was he half as good as Anna says he looks? How big is it? Where is he now? I bet he’s huge! Is he a screamer? I bet he likes it dirty–”

  I throw my hands up, signaling her to stop. It’s way too early for this. “Oh my God! Shut up!” I hiss.

  “What?” She looks at me as if I’m the deranged one.

  “I just woke up. I can’t deal with you this early.” I walk toward the kitchen where she’s standing.

  “Humph.” She crosses her arms over her chest and hitches a hip. I eye my whiskey with disgust and watch as Sara quickly tosses hers back.

  “You’re not gonna drink that?” she asks.

  I make a disgusted face and say, “Let’s move this to the living room.” When my back is turned I hear the clink of the shot glass being placed on the counter.

  Sara rounds the small breakfast bar and asks, “So, are you going to tell me about last night?”

  “There’s not much to tell,” I sigh.

  “Bullshit. A little bird told me you had quite the night last night. Apparently, that birdie wasn’t too far off since you haven’t denied anything. Care to fill me in?” She plops into my recliner.

  “Uh, not really,” I say as I sit on the couch.

  “Oh, come on. You tell me everything!” she whines.

  “That you know of,” I counter, but she’s right. I do tell her everything, so I break down and replay the previous night’s events for her minus all the action in the office. I’m not sure how to explain that to her just yet. While I’m telling my story, her eyes are wide, jaw is slack, and she hangs on to every word as i
f it were her lifeline.

  When I’m done, she looks at me like I have two heads. “So, let me get this straight. That asshole Todd approached you at the bar and then you were saved by tall, erotic, and handsome?”

  “Basically,” I say with a half shrug.

  “YOU LUCKY BITCH! I have never been more jealous of you. You found your white knight. Ugh, go away. I can’t even look at you right now.”

  Shaking my head and laughing I reply, “Don’t be. My head is so fucked up right now I don’t know which way is up or down.” There must be something in my expression that clues her in on how I’m feeling, because her face goes soft and she places a hand on my knee.

  “Honey, don’t over-think this. If you like this guy, then sit back and let it play out. You don’t have to decide how you feel or what you want to do right now. It hasn’t even been a full day yet. Just go with it. I’m not saying don’t be careful, but you need to remember that not everyone is like Todd.” I sit silent, thinking about what she’s just said and once again, she’s right.

  I’m exhausted and all I want to do is go back to sleep, but I know that’s not an option with so many emotions swimming around in my head.

  I should go for a run and clear my mind. I realize Sara has gone silent while I was lost in my thoughts. That isn’t like her at all, so I turn my head and I can’t help but laugh when I see her.

  She is leaned all the way back on the recliner with one hand relaxed on her stomach and the other on her forehead in a “woe is me” gesture. Her chest is slowly rising up and down and her long, dark hair is pulled over her shoulder. She’s turned onto her right side and is fast asleep. She actually looks innocent, which is laughable since she is far from it.

  Grabbing the blanket off the couch, I drape it across her and walk down the dark hall and into my room. I notice the clock reads six forty-five.

  I find my sports bra and a pair of clean underwear, my favorite black yoga capris, and plain pink tank. I enter the bathroom to change and brush my teeth.

  I reflect on everything Sara said while I change my clothes. I need to take a step back and let things fall into place without forcing them. Aside from the story from his past last night, and my own awkward history with Skye, I don’t know him very well. Being friends would be a good starting point for us.

  Sara is still laid out in the chair when I walk back into the living room, snoring like a grizzly bear. I move into the kitchen and open the medicine cabinet, retrieving a bottle of aspirin and then grab two bottles of water from the fridge. I set the aspirin and one of the water bottles on the coffee table for Sara.

  I remember my iPod is in my bedroom so I backtrack to my room to retrieve it. I pull my hair into a messy ponytail and am grabbing my iPod and ear buds off the dresser when my phone beeps. I pause to remember where I left it. Scanning the bedroom, I find my purse sitting on the floor and another beep resounds throughout my small bedroom.

  Digging through my purse, I find my phone and see the three missed calls from Sara and two text messages from Skye.

  Call me when you wake up.

  Let’s go to lunch. Call me.

  I decide to ignore his texts in favor of my run.

  Hopefully I’ll have a clear head about this when I get back. I would be an idiot if I didn’t acknowledge the chemistry between us. It’s not that I don’t like him. I just don’t think I’m ready yet.

  Not only do I not know him, but there is so much stuff from my past that turns me off of dating. I grab my spare key from the small candy dish on the bar, tuck it into my bra, and head out the front door.

  I step out into the Georgia heat and take in a deep breath. Mornings are the best time to run. It’s not too hot and the sometimes-brutal humidity hasn’t kicked in yet. Lifehouse starts singing “All In” and I begin stretching.

  I can feel eyes on me the entire time I’m stretching. I scan the street but see nothing out of the ordinary. There are very few people out and none of them seem to even notice me.

  My feet hit the pavement with a steady beat, heading in the direction of the park. I round the first turn and pick up my stride. Beads of sweat begin to gather on my forehead, my upper lip, and between my breasts. I still feel like someone is watching me and it’s bugging the shit out of me, so I do another scan of my surroundings.

  I’m closing in on the park, but just ahead of the entrance I see a man jogging. His back is to me but I’m close enough to notice his dark hair and tanned skin. I realize he looks a lot like Skye and my stomach tightens.

  Turning into the park, I become annoyed as the music mingles with my thoughts and leaves my mind feeling scrambled. I pull the buds from my ears and drape them over the back of my neck.

  With the music gone, all I have now are my thoughts of Skye. Why did he come back to Bartow? Why is he suddenly so interested in me? These questions turn over and over in my mind.

  I’m so focused on trying to figure out all things Skye that I forget to pay attention to my surroundings. The things that I normally find comfort in during my runs pass by me in a blur. My heart is racing and I don’t know if it’s more from running or thinking about Skye.

  The images that are forever burned into my brain flit through my mind. Skye looking up at me from between my legs last night is definitely my favorite. I relive every single touch, kiss, look, and word he spoke in my mind’s eye. My tummy feels like a thousand butterflies are trying to take flight. I pump my arms and legs harder in an attempt to outrun the memories and the emotions they evoke.

  Pushing myself harder than normal, I make the four-mile track through the city park faster than usual. Because I’m feeling so restless, I decide to go another round, but this time run the shorter two mile trail that comes out near the playground.

  My legs are wearing down. The burn in my thighs is excruciating and is slowing down my pace. I can see the playground up ahead and I jog to the entrance. The large monkey bars, jungle gyms, swings, and a huge slide are a dream come true for any child, but for me it’s my gym. I’m not a fan of members-only or contract gyms. I don’t see the point in paying for something that you can do for free.

  I enter the playground and all but fall onto a park bench to rest my blazing thighs. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, a side effect of pushing myself so hard. I turn up my bottle of water and consume a quarter of it in two large gulps.

  As soon as my breathing slows, I stand from the bench and start my post stretching. Bending at the waste, I grab hold of my ankles and relax, enjoying the deep pull on my pent up muscles.

  I slowly stand and take in a deep breath, extend my hands above my hand, and reach as high as I can go so that I can feel the pull in my spine and shoulders. While my hands are reaching up in the air, I breathe deep and take in my surroundings.

  There isn’t anyone on the trail or in the park, which is very odd for this time of day. Usually I pass several runners on the trails or see mothers playing with their children in the playground.

  It’s nice to have this beautiful, manicured haven all to myself, but it makes me more paranoid since I still have that odd feeling of being watched.

  I shake off the sensation and walk to the monkey bars. I jump up to grab one in each hand, and once I have a good grip I pull my knees up and quickly do twenty pull-ups.

  As soon as I lower myself after the final pull-up, I let go and land on my feet, wiping the sweat from my hands. I grab the bars again, this time lifting my legs until my body is at a ninety-degree angle, and then lower my legs on a controlled exhale. I repeat the set four more times, alternating between opening my legs wide and keeping them together.

  Before I can finish my entire routine, I see Skye jog to the entrance of the playground. Unfortunately for me, I’m in the middle of lifting my legs wide and holding them for thirty seconds. He comes to a dead stop and stares intensely at me. He looks like I feel: hot and stunned.

  Half of his body is in the shade, the other in the sun. On the light side, sweat glistens on his s
kin, some spots barely damp where others are completely soaked. The shadowed side of him may be able to hide the sweat, but it will never be able to hide the hard muscle that makes up his upper torso.

  Skye’s dark hair is wet and he runs his hand through it, eyebrows knit together. I bite my lip to keep from asking to run my fingers through his raven hair. He takes a step closer and then stops.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask and jump down from the bars.

  He just smiles a smile that is all Skye: mischievous, fun, sinful, and sexy. He looks down at his sweat-slicked body and with another step closer says, “I needed a run. What about you?” He looks to the monkey bars.

  “Just hanging around,” I say, crossing my arms and hitching my hip to the side. He laughs and my belly cinches.

  “Well, don’t mind me,” he says as he sits on the bench where I was just minutes ago.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Waiting on you.” He crosses his legs ankle to knee and leans back against the medal bench. Feeling a false sense of bravado, I walk back to the monkey bars to continue my routine.

  Clinging to the bars with my hands, I knife my feet up, wrap my legs around the bar hanging upside down, and finish my routine with the final set. My muscles burn and my breathing is rapid with Skye on the bench watching.

  I drop down from the bar and the first thing I can think to say rolls off my tongue. “So–” I huff, sarcasm dripping off my words “–stalk much?”

  “Hey, I wasn’t stalking you,” he defends.

  “Why am I having a hard time believing you?” I ask, walking toward him.

  “Are you done with your workout?” he questions, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, just have to jog back to the apartment. Why?” I cock my head to the side as I ask my question.