Donut Tease Me

by Kristen Luciani

  I manage a smile, but it’s a bullshit one. A façade. Just like the one I’ve been wearing for the past two months.

  I have one dream. One.

  That’s why I came out here – to make something of myself, to prove myself to a bunch of people who think they know what I’ve experienced, but who really have no clue. But this success; it’ll never be enough. I’ll never be enough. Money, Grammys, houses, cars, all that material shit – it doesn’t mean anything to me without Steph in my life.

  And they’ll never let that dream become a reality. I don’t belong, and I never will.

  That last night at Stephanie’s was a harsh reminder. When she told me she loved me, I knew I couldn’t give her what she needed and deserved. There was a reason why her father had such a hard-on for her ex-fiancé. The guy was dull as a bag of rocks, but he had a trust fund and a six-figure salary at some investment bank in the city. Pedigree. Legacy. Status. Only the best for their daughter. I knew I needed to do something more, something great. So I left. And I never told her how I felt. It was a dick move, but I had to find out if her feelings were real. Leaving her was the only option, for both of us. And if she came back to me?

  Well, that really doesn’t matter at this point since she didn’t. Turns out I couldn’t give her what she needs after all.

  Tia’s hand slithers up my leg and she licks her lip. “Feel like celebrating? Because I have lots of pent-up energy right now. I bet I can come up with some very fun things for us to do.”

  Her hand continues to travel, and I let it, hoping it’ll eventually cloud my head and allow the lust to take over. But that memory. Dammit. It just won’t fade away.

  It’s seared into my brain. Forever. The dress she wore, her warm smile, the white wine spritzer in her small hand, long brown hair that smelled like oranges. It was the night that I’d fallen in love with her. It was the same night I found out I’d never get the chance to make her mine, a jagged pill I’ve had to swallow so many times over the past six years, it’s pretty much shredded my insides. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if we had never met.

  I’ve loved, I’ve lost…too many times to count…and I’ve never even spoken the damn words.

  But now I’m on the path. I’m about to the live the dream, create a future for myself, and do all the things I never thought would be possible for an orphaned kid who was bounced around too many foster homes to count and sang in the darkness to chase away the monsters at night.

  For that kid, this is living, right?

  Except, it feels a little like a death sentence if I’m being honest. Winning this competition means one thing: I lose Steph forever. If I couldn’t have her the way I craved, at least I could still have her friendship. But after leaving her, after ignoring her attempts to reach out, after winning this competition? I’ve effectively ruined that, too. I’m sure her parents are thrilled for me, though. And nothing can erase from my memory the toxic words that have haunted me since the night before I left for LA.

  Bobby can’t fuck up Stephanie’s life anymore if he’s on the other side of the country. Let’s hope he wins this thing and it keeps him far away from here.

  It’s why I pulled away from Stephanie’s kiss. And it’s when I knew I could never come back.

  3

  Stephanie

  I drum my fingertips on the plastic arm rest. My feet move in time with my fingers, and the unfasten seatbelt sign can’t blink off fast enough. When it does, I grab my handbag and carry-on then dart down the aisle. Sugar. I need some sugar. There has to be a Krispy Kreme or Dunkin’ Donuts somewhere in this terminal. Or knowing LA, some organic, gluten-free shit disguised as one or the other. At this point, I don’t care. I’ll take it, so long as it’s glazed.

  With a throbbing eye headache from lack of sleep, I can’t imagine how I’m going to pull together the thoughts blasting from every corner of my fuzzy brain. I shouldn’t have listened to Kelly. I should have just gone to bed and come up with a game plan this morning. Instead, she dumped me off at JFK International where I was lucky enough to grab the last seat on a red eye out to Los Angeles.

  Lucky.

  That’s what I’d been when Bobby was in my life. Lucky to have him as a best friend, as a confidante, as the guy I measured all others against. And for as many pedigrees as the others had, they couldn’t ever hold a candle to him.

  But still, I’d never made a move...until that night. And he rejected me. After everything we’d been through, he walked away, never once looking back.

  My chest tightens as I order an Uber. I can still see the conflicted expression on his face, the anguish in his troubled gaze. I tried to convince him to stay. I thought he loved me.

  I guess he didn’t.

  Which is what makes this whole cross-country jaunt so incredibly ridiculous. I have a life! I have a fabulous career! I have my own home, a hot car, and boatloads of cash.

  But I don’t have Bobby.

  And without him, the superficial bullshit is just that.

  I was stupid for keeping those feelings to myself. I let him believe he wasn’t good enough for me. I dated prom kings, sports stars, legacies, and even a Rhodes Scholar. They were so one dimensional. They lacked depth, passion, and appreciation for anything other than money and acclaim. They went through the motions of their plastic lives, all for the sole purpose of taking over the world.

  Bobby never shared that goal. He felt lucky to wake up every morning in a bed in his own place, behind a locked door, with food in the refrigerator. He grew up with nothing…less than that, really. But it never soured him. He was always passionate about living, about making his mark on the world the best way he knew how. And it had nothing to do with money or fame. He found his true happiness in the simplest things, and when he played guitar and crooned into that microphone, everyone in the room felt his energy. It was electrifying, and a force I desperately craved in my own life…something I realized the morning of my wedding to Brendan.

  I allow the memory to percolate one last time as I slide into the backseat of my Uber outside of LAX.

  I grab the half-empty flute of champagne from the dressing table and toss it back, wishing it was a shot of something definitively stronger and worse-tasting…something that would numb my mind as well as my heart.

  He’s not coming.

  Why is this so difficult for me to swallow? Did I think he was going to jump on the first plane back to Long Island just to watch me marry some guy who would have treated him like crap because he doesn’t have the six-figure job, or the country club membership, or the titanium card?

  I’d have stayed far away, too. Very freaking far.

  Still...it would be nice to know we’re still friends, that he still cares even though he’s living his own dreams, that he still thinks about me…

  I swallow hard and twist my head around, my eyes in search of the champagne. The thudding in my chest intensifies, and the rage that I’ve kept buried bubbles to the surface. He’s been gone for eight months, and I’ve gotten a grand total of two postcards and five emails.

  I stomp over to the coffee table in the middle of the bridal suite and grab the neck of the open bottle. Another deep breath helps steady my hand long enough to pour the bubbly into my empty glass. The cool liquid slides down my throat, and again, the flute is empty.

  Just like me.

  But I shouldn’t feel this way. I’m marrying a wonderful guy. My family loves him. All items on the old checklist are ticked off…except one.

  The big one.

  He’s just like Bobby.

  That one is still unchecked, and for good reason. Nobody is like Bobby. I’ve never met another guy who does to me what Bobby does, and what he’s done to me every day since we met at that dive bar on Fordham Road years ago.

  Oh, Christ. Bottle’s empty.

  I shake it like I expect the bottle to magically refill itself. My shoulders deflate, and I sink into a cushioned chair in the corner of the suite. Everyone is happ
y and excited. It’s a beautiful day, and the sun is shining. My lips refuse to curl upward, my expression matching the darkness resident in my heart. It’s eclipsed all else for the past eight months.

  What the hell am I doing? Pining for some guy who doesn’t even have the decency to wish me ‘Happy Birthday’ or ‘Merry Christmas’? The supposed best friend who can’t seem to make time to have an actual conversation with me? The one who never even responded to the wedding invite? What kind of a friend is that?

  I fling the flute across the room and listen to it shatter against the wall. Tiny shards of glass fly into the air and scatter on the carpet. It makes me feel a tiny bit better. I eye the empty bottle and sigh. No, better not. It might dent the wall.

  Besides, I’d much rather just throw it at Bobby.

  If he were here…

  A soft knock at the door makes me jump, and my pulse throbs against my neck. I run over to the full-length mirror to smudge away any traces of the tears under my eyes. I can’t let them see - not now, not ever.

  I take a deep breath. “Come in.” It must almost be time. Mom, Dad, and Kelly are going to walk into this room, and I have to plaster a smile on my face, just like I have so many times before because deep down, I want the same things they want for me. At least, that’s what I keep trying to convince myself.

  The door creaks open, but I can’t force myself to look. I wait for the excited shrieks and the ooohs and aaahhs, but none follow. In fact, not a word is spoken. I spin around, my full skirt flowing around me.

  Have you ever felt like you can’t breathe? Not figuratively, but literally, like your head is being shoved into a bucket of water? You cannot take a single breath because you know if you do your lungs will fill up and you’ll essentially choke to death? And your eyeballs feel like they might pop out from the pressure? Yep. That’s exactly how I feel at this very second.

  “B-bobby…” I whisper.

  “You look beautiful, Steph.” His deep voice…God, I’ve missed it. So smooth and melodic. It does things to my body, things it shouldn’t, not when I’m about twenty minutes away from walking down the aisle.

  “What are you doing here? You never even responded to the email. I figured you didn’t even get the invite.”

  “Kelly called.”

  My mouth drops open. “Oh, so if Kelly calls, you respond? You couldn’t be bothered with returning my calls while you were taking your shit international. What makes her so privileged, huh?” I stomp across the room, tiny tingles prickling my skin as I close the distance between us. My body senses his presence, all nerve endings on full alert. Goosebumps pebble my bare arms and my head feels a bit heavy, woozy like I drank more than enough champagne before.

  I stop right in front of him. “Tell me why, Bobby. Why’d you listen to her?”

  “Because she told me if I missed my last chance with you, I’d always regret it. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened.”

  He snakes an arm around my waist and gently reaches behind my head, pulling me toward him. His lips graze mine, and an electric charge jolts me, zipping through my insides, shooting out to every limb.

  Screw everything else. Bobby Moone is my checklist.

  I carelessly nibble at my nail, chipping off the polish, and twist my head to the left and right. “Is the traffic always this bad out here? It’s not even lunchtime.”

  “Traffic in LA is horrible at any time of day or night. It takes forty-five minutes to get anywhere.” The Uber driver peers at me in the rearview mirror. “You in a rush or something?”

  “Yes.” I chew on another nail and pause a second later. “But I don’t really know why. I feel like it’s too late, anyway.”

  “So it’s about a guy, huh?” She smiles and maneuvers around a car since our exit is approaching, though not nearly as fast as I’d like.

  “Yeah. And he doesn’t know I’m here, either.” I smack my hands against my legs. “He just won Song Slam last night. Hell, he could still be out celebrating for all I know.”

  “Bobby Moone?” The driver’s mouth drops open. “You know him?”

  Yes, been in love with him for the better part of five years now. “I do.”

  “He’s amazing. I watched the show just to see him every week. I was so excited that he won the whole thing!”

  “Me too,” I lie.

  “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

  “No.” I shift in the backseat and peer out the window at the lines of cars sandwiching our Toyota Corolla. Hurry up and wait…forever.

  “But you want to be?”

  “I missed my chance.”

  “I don’t believe that.” The driver taps the gas and rolls toward the exit ramp. There is just no acceleration here. At all. “I think there are always windows of opportunity, and when the time is right, you take your shot. Maybe it was never right before.”

  “Maybe…” Maybe it’s just time I put my needs and wants ahead of everyone else’s. I know my parents want what’s best for me and my career, and I love them for that. But I can’t force myself to be happy living this life anymore. I never should have let him go all those weeks ago. I never should have accepted it.

  He left to try and make something of himself, but he didn’t know he was already made. Made for me.

  That’s what I tried to tell him. That’s when he left me.

  So why I’m out here right now is beyond my foggy comprehension. My sister and her dumbass ideas.

  A few minutes later, the driver pulls up to a large estate in Calabasas Hills. Bobby had sent me the address and pictures when he first got here. And only because I begged. But that was before he’d dropped off the face of the earth and my only contact with him was through the plasma screen mounted on the wall of my condo. It didn’t stop me from texting him each week, but I’d never gotten a single reply.

  I grab my things and slide out of the backseat. “Thank you.”

  “Good luck, sweetie. I’m rooting for ya!”

  I manage a smile, even though my stomach churns, courtesy of the dozen donuts I’d scarfed within the past twenty-four hours.

  I pull my Tumi carry-on behind me and I stumble over the cobblestone driveway leading to the main entrance of the taupe stucco mansion. Jeez, I could be very happy living here for two months.

  Pretty soon, Bobby will have one of his own. Out here. Away from me.

  I grit my teeth and grasp the door knocker, hoping he’s here and still in bed. He always was a pretty late riser, and I’d really like not to be stuck outside for the foreseeable future.

  Clunk, clunk, clunk.

  A minute later, the heavy mahogany door swings open, and I swallow a gasp. I don’t know why I’m in such a state of shock, though. I knew all of the contestants were staying at the same house. They showed clips throughout the show of the group of hopefuls living together.

  And then there were the rumors…

  “Hi! Can I help you?”

  Fuck. She’s even more gorgeous in person than she is on television. Tia Riley, wearing no makeup, long flowing hair hanging loose around her shoulders, wearing nothing but a t-shirt…Bobby’s Ramones t-shirt. It’s his favorite one.

  My gut clenches, and I swallow the sob rising in my throat. Maybe they aren’t rumors after all. And I don’t really have a leg to stand on, anyway. It’s not like he was ever mine. “I’m, um—"

  “Steph?”

  The chills that slither down my spine send a shudder through me, like a brisk wind that rushes past and leaves me shivering in its wake. I turn slowly in the direction of the voice I hear in my dreams, the one I replay every week on my damn DVR. I stare into his bright green eyes, a glimmer of gold in the center of his penetrating gaze. His lips…those delicious lips I’ve kissed a million times over in my fantasies…don’t curl upward. They are stretched into a straight line. His expression gives me absolutely nothing. And I came out here why? “Bobby,” I finally whisper, my voice finally deciding to cooperate.


  “What are you doing here?”

  “I-I, um…I saw the, uh, show last n-night. I wanted to, um, c-congratulate you.” Well, hello, expensive college education! Aren’t you hard at work? To think I never took a course on stammering, yet here I am, crushing it.

  He rubs the back of his neck and averts his eyes. “I wish you’d have called.”

  “You wish…” Okay, that’s fucking it. I drop my bag, let go of my carry-on handle, and poke him in the chest. The rage? Yeah, it’s boiling over right about now. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head and shove him again with my finger. His body stays exactly where it was. I mean, he doesn’t even stumble a little bit. Pisses me off that much more. “You wanted me to call? And why, exactly, would you want me to do that? So you could ignore me again, like you’ve been doing for the past eight weeks? Tell me, Bobby.” Fuck the finger. Now I’m using the palm of my hand to shove him. And damn, it feels good. “Does it make you feel good to know you’re slowly killing me every time you ignore one of my attempts to reach out?”

  He backs away from me, still silent, but I don’t stop. His cowardly actions fuel my fire, and I’m ready to throw down. “You left me! I fucking hate you!”

  “Then why are you here?” His voice is so calm. I want to hear him yell and scream. I need the passion. I need him.

  My mouth drops open, but no words come out. Because there’s a very fine line between love and hate? Because my life is nothing without you in it? Because I crave your passion more than donuts? And that last bit is saying a lot since I’m a hopeless sugar addict.

  Bobby, as it happens, is the only thing in life I’m more addicted to than sugar.

  He grabs my wrist and nods toward Tia, who is evidently still behind me and taking in this humiliating blow to my already fragile ego. The door slams shut, and not in a nice I’ll just let you catch up with your pathetic friend kind of way. It sounds more like the you fucked me and now you want to be alone with another woman, you asshole? kind of way.

  “Tell me why you’re here,” he says, his voice low. Pained. Sad. Why the hell is he sad? He just won a million-dollar freaking recording contract! But his tone, his gaze, his expression – it all tells another story, one without the lottery ticket happy ending.