You Should Smile

by Lee, Renee

  You Should Smile

  By

  Renee Lee

  © 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Stephanie Tkach of PageWeaving Cover Designs.

  This story is intended for adult readers 18 or older. It contains explicit language and sexual situations of an explicit nature between consenting adults. It is intended for a mature and open-minded audience.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between this story and actual events or places or similarity between characters and actual persons is entirely coincidental.

  Permission by the author must be obtained before any part of this book can be used for advertising purposes. This includes, but is not limited to, the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue: Five Years Later

  You Should Smile

  Prologue

  You know that scene in The Notebook when Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams run through the rain and then start kissing up against the wall? That’s a great scene. I love that scene. But that scene is totally unrealistic. You’d be thinking about how the floor is getting wet and how you’ll have to clean it up later. You know it’s true. That’s how real life works.

  You see, life doesn’t happen like the movies. Life is unscripted. There’s no director yelling “cut!” and no scenes. Life is real. It’s messy. It can be ugly – or maybe even beautiful. You never know.

  My name is Shay Elliott. I’m not an actress. I’m just me.

  This is my real-life love story.

  Chapter One

  “You should smile,” I heard him say.

  Unsure, I squinted my eyes from the sun, used my hand as a shade, and turned toward his voice. “I’m sorry?”

  “You should smile,” he stated louder. “It’s a beautiful fall day. Summer’s wrath is left behind. So smile.” He stepped out from the shadows and into the sun where I could see him clearly. My lord. I’d heard the phrase ‘sex on a stick’ before, but never knew what it really meant. I did then.

  A smile slowly crept across my lips. “You’re not supposed to tell women to smile. It can be offensive,” I said, teasing him.

  “But you are smiling now, aren’t you?” he teased back.

  “True. Any more advice for me?” I met his eyes. They were deep blue.

  He nodded his head slowly. “Yes. Ditch that guy and come with me.” His voice was low, demanding. Sexy.

  I glanced over at Pete, the guy I was currently dating. Pete had his back turned to us as he continued to pump gas. Unaware. Of course, in many ways, Pete was always unaware. He’s a very nice guy, don’t get me wrong. Good-looking in a straight-laced kind of way. I met him through a friend of a friend. He’s an accountant. He sometimes wears a sweater vest. That bothers me. I sighed and shook my head, erasing the random thoughts that always spill through my brain.

  Mr. Sex on a Stick continued to stand there, smirking at me. I turned my head toward him again and took in his presence. He was tall, 6’2” or so and built like a Greek statue – long, lean, and toned all over. Muscular, but not too bulky. I guessed he was in his early 30’s. I glanced at his feet. He was wearing flip flops and his worn jeans were frayed at the bottom. I let myself glance up further, noticing how his jeans hung low on his hips. He wore a tattered gray t-shirt that displayed the tight muscles underneath. Still I continued up, up, up...to his tanned face. A chiseled chin, high cheekbones, framed by tousled dark brown hair I wanted to run my hands through. Oh god, he was still staring at me and smirking. And I just obviously checked him out. Feeling like a complete ass, I blushed.

  Then it happened. He grinned. It was one of those full-out, eye crinkling grins – and I noticed the defining creases that showed up on both sides of his mouth. I loved those creases on guys when they smiled. His teeth were perfect, too – straight and white. Braces, I thought to myself. Those teeth are too beautiful to be naturally perfect. I tried to envision him with braces as a gawky teenager and couldn’t do it. Was he ever a gawky teenager? Seemed impossible when this sexy stranger stood before me.

  I was doing it again – staring, trailing off, daydreaming. Awkwardly, I cleared my throat.

  “Uh....that’s Pete.” I nodded toward Pete, who was still unaware with his back turned to us. “He’s uh...my....friend.” When I said the word ‘friend’, it came out like a squeak. An unmistakable stretch of the truth. How lame could I be? Why did I tell him Pete’s name, as if he cared?

  Still grinning, he cocked his head sideways and just stared at me for a second. I shifted my weight to my other foot, uncomfortable in his silence and scrutiny.

  Finally, he nodded his head once and said, “Hmmm.....I see. Well, the offer still stands. Your friend Pete there probably wouldn’t mind then if you…...came with me.” Then he grinned again – panty-dropping grin, double creases and all. Dammit.

  I blushed again at his obvious innuendo and looked behind him at his pickup truck. It was an older model, but seemed to fit him. Blue collar guy? Farmer? Construction? I furrowed my brows, contemplating all of the possibilities I could think of, when I heard Pete’s voice.

  “Hey, you comin’? What’re you doing over there? Staring at something?” Pete’s view was obviously obstructed by the pump, I guess, because I thought it was pretty clear what I was staring at – creases in smiles. A pickup and a grin. Pickup Grinner.

  I yelled back toward Pete, “Just a second. I was....ummm... distracted for a moment.” I flashed my own megawatt smile at Pickup Grinner and our eyes met. Locked.

  My grin faltered. His didn’t.

  I backed up slowly, turned around and scampered off as quickly as I could toward Pete’s Range Rover.

  I couldn’t outrun his voice, though. “Bye, Smiles.”

  When I was safely inside Pete’s truck and we pulled out of the gas station, I had courage enough to steal a glance in the side mirror at the view behind us. Pickup Grinner was still standing there, in the exact same spot, staring at Pete’s vehicle as we sped away. I felt a shiver go down my arms. Goosebumps.

  “Can you turn up the heat, please?” I said to Pete. He mumbled something in reply as he fumbled with the knobs.

  Chapter Two

  “My name is Shay Elliott. I’m from Cincinnati. This is my fourth year in grad school here at the university. My area of interest is political communication.” I glanced around the room and met the eyes of the other students in the room. Everyone always nodded politely and smiled. Most of us knew each other already. Why did we have to go through this stupid spiel every damn semester? I hated icebreakers.

  I rea
lly wanted to make up some crazy shit and go with it on the first day intros. “Shay Elliott here. Over the summer, I robbed a bank on a lark, stole a getaway car, and drove to Mexico for fun. The U.S. finally extradited me here yesterday. My trial is set for next month. Looking at twenty-five to life. In the meantime, I figure I’ll study up on some political communication while I’m here.” Then, I’d just smile and see if anyone simply nodded politely in return....

  My daydream was interrupted when Dr. Gray began his lecture. (I was auditing the class, meaning I was just sitting in on it without getting a grade. I thought the material could help my dissertation.)

  Unconsciously, my hand started taking notes. Another semester began.

  The next hour went by quickly in grad school terms. As Dr. Gray made his final remarks, I felt a kick in the back of my chair.

  “Hey, Princess. You goin’ to Keno’s after this for some beer?” I turned my head back toward my best friend, Grant, and smiled.

  “Is that a serious question?? Of course. Have I ever refused beer?”

  Grant grinned and jumped up out of his seat. Bowing down dramatically, he waved his arm out in front of him, as I fell in step. “Ladies first.....!”

  ***************

  The grad students from our department met at Keno’s every Friday afternoon. Keno’s was a pizza pub with great beer on draft. A lot of grad students and professors hung out there on any given day.

  There were about ten grad students in our program. Most were cool. One or two were brown-nosing douchebags, but I’d say, proportionally speaking, that’s pretty much true wherever you are. Our table was arguing over whether Abraham Lincoln would’ve been elected President in the modern media age. Two of our classmates were about to come to blows.

  I glanced over at Grant, who rolled his eyes as he watched them argue. He whispered in my ear, “Why do people take this shit so seriously? Who gives a crap? How can you prove that which can’t be proven anyway? Seems like a waste of time.....though Paul is kinda hot when he gets pissed off.”

  “Easy there, tiger,” I admonished. “I don’t think Paul plays for your team. Besides, we’re gonna get married someday, remember? You’re a hottie with great hair and my best friend, we wouldn’t feel obligated to have boring marriage sex, and our babies – artificially inseminated, of course – would be perfectly smart and fashionable. I wanna be your beard, babe.”

  Grant looked at me and shook his head slowly. “You are such a dork. You know that a beard is a woman who covers for a gay guy who’s not out, right? Hate to break it to ya, Princess, but the rainbow flag on my car pretty much let the cat out of the bag already….or out of the closet, rather….” He laughed at his own joke and I rolled my eyes.

  “Whatever. Beard, shmeared. Doesn’t matter what you call me. Our impending nuptials equal a match made in heaven!”

  “Tell you what, you ever even remotely consider settling down with Party Pooper Pete, and I will bite the hetero-marriage bullet and save you from that hell, Princess.”

  “Awww, he’s not that bad. He’s a decent guy. Decent job. Decent friends. Decent sense of humor.” I tried to think of more “decents” I could attribute to Pete.....and came up short.

  Grant threw his head back and cackled loudly. “Puh-lease! How about the sex??? Decent?? Yep, simply fucking decent! Or…..simply decent fucking....” He cackled again. “I am on a roll today!”

  I nudged him as hard as I could in the rib with my elbow. “Shut it! People can hear you!”

  He turned his head dramatically to look me square in the eyes. “So you’re worried people might hear what was said....but you don’t deny the truth of what was said.”

  I couldn’t deny it. It was true. I sighed, “Just so you know, I tried to break up with him the other night, but he wouldn’t take the hint. And just for the record, Mr. Know-It-All, I hate you when you’re right.”

  Grant grabbed the last slice of pizza and took a huge bite. “Nah, you don’t. You wanna marry me, remember?”

  I noticed Grant’s attention was elsewhere. “Speaking of marriage, why oh why doesn’t this state get off its ass and allow gay marriage? I think I see my future husband.”

  I followed his line of sight and my heart dropped. Pickup Grinner had just walked through the door and it looked like he was looking for someone. I could feel the rhythm of my heartbeat permeating in my chest and my palms getting sweaty. His eyes scanned the room and I put my head down and tried to hide. Even though I was looking down at the table, I could still somehow feel his energy as he walked our way. As he passed, I instinctively put my hand to the side of my face to shield it and leaned into Grant’s side. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when he passed by without noticing me. Crisis averted.

  Grant, however, noticed my strange reaction and laughed. “Oh, this is gonna be a good story, isn’t it?”

  I clenched my teeth and hissed, “Shhhh!” Lifting my head up slowly, I tried to avoid Grant’s questioning stare.

  “Oh, nuh-uh! Spill it!” He whispered. “You can’t try to go all incognito and play it off like nothing weird just happened. Spill!”

  “Well, I might’ve met that guy yesterday at the gas station,” I whispered back.

  “Might have? Were you drunk? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I met that guy.”

  “Okay, well, yeah. I mean, I exchanged a few pleasantries with Pickup Grinner at the gas station yesterday and….that was that.”

  “‘Exchanged a few pleasantries?’ Were you characters in a Victorian novel? And what the fuck does ‘Pickup Grinner’ mean?” Grant looked at me, incredulous, still whispering. Much as he tried, dramatic whispering is hard to pull off – even for a drama queen.

  “Okay, it was rather....bizarre, I guess. He told me to smile, asked me to ditch Pete and go with him, we exchanged some more polite words, and I declined his invitation....perhaps a bit abruptly.....” I stared back down at the table again, hoping Grant would let it be.

  He looked at me as he took all of this information in. “Okay, first, I caught that part about him asking you to go with him in there, and yes, we’ll return to that in a minute. But for now, let me guess: You started daydreaming and ran off awkwardly, didn’t you?”

  “I hate you.” I threw him a look that conveyed my best exasperated and disgusted face.

  “Ha! I knew it! Now….let’s go back to the part where he asked you to ditch Pete and go with him.”

  I relayed the conversation again, this time with a bit more detail. And I explained how I had dubbed him as the ‘Pickup Grinner’.

  Grant stared off into space.

  “Hello!! Earth to Grant!” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

  “I’m not talking to you right now. You had a chance to let me live vicariously through you and you screwed it up....so now, I have to imagine it myself with a different ending. This time, though, he asks me to go with him.....aaaaahhhhh.....”

  He snapped out of his daydream and leaned forward abruptly. I rolled my eyes because I knew drama would follow. “Quit feeding the stereotype, Queenie. Calm down and speak...quietly, please....” I warned him.

  “You know I only allow you to call me ‘Queenie’ because I love you, right? Plus, I know you’re not very creative and that’s probably the only thing you can come up with….just like ‘Pickup Grinner’….” He giggled. “But, really, now that I’ve pondered it, I was just gonna say, who does that? I mean, who does that?! Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as hell, but who just goes up to someone and says, ‘Hey, leave that guy and come with me?’” He paused and looked at me with one eyebrow up, expectantly.

  I sighed. “I hate it when you do that, Grant. You act like you’re waiting for an answer, but really, you’re just pausing for dramatic effect so you can answer your own question. Soooo? What’s your answer? Who does something like that? Stalker? Psycho? Schizo? Guy with a sexy grin who drives a pickup and tries to pick up girls?”

  “Okay. Think about it. You only do some
thing like that if you want something really, really bad. Pretty ballsy – he must’ve seen something he really liked.” Grant nodded as if he’d solved all the mysteries of space and time.

  I shook my head at him. “Thanks for that fine analysis, genius. Why don’t you run on down to the psychology department and transfer disciplines? Ahem, now, if you don’t mind, I need to get home and read for class tomorrow.”

  “You’re not even getting a grade for that class! You’re a nerd!…..Oh, hey, are we still going to the beginning-of-the-semester-thingy tomorrow night?” Grant asked as I stood up.

  “Only if you’ll let me be your beard,” I replied.

  “Whatevs. I’ll pick you up in the rainbow flag car at 7, Princess.”

  I nodded triumphantly and scooted my chair back. As I turned around to go, I ran smack dab into the waitress, who happened to be carrying a tray of beers.

  ***************

  I immediately felt the cold liquid as it soaked through my shirt. The coldness startled me and I screamed. The waitress apologized profusely as I stood there, soaked. I was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, the latter of which was now stuck to my skin. I tried to pull the shirt out from my chest and wring it out. It kept flopping back in place, adhering tightly, like a sleeve. And because the beer was cold, you could clearly see my nipples through my bra. I’ve always been both cursed and blessed with an ample chest. It was times like this it was a curse. Overall, I liked my curves. They were in the right places anyway. In all, I was content with my overall package – fairly tall with big boobs, small waist, long legs, long brown hair, and a quick wit. People often told me I was pretty, even beautiful, and that I looked older than my age of twenty-six. I guess I believed them. Affirmations of beauty weren’t what I aspired to hear, though. I’d rather people tell me I had a good sense of humor and a kind heart, really. Oh, and good taste in movies – that I needed affirmed.

  The poor waitress was still standing there, fawning over me and I did the only thing I ever do in those situations – make a lame joke to diffuse the tension. “Hey, at least I wasn’t wearing a white t-shirt, huh?!” The waitress laughed and it was only then that I noticed that people were staring....at me.