by Shealy James
I stepped through the door and found a sea of people already there even though it wasn’t that late. The bar was dingy, like he mentioned. I could immediately see why he wanted to renovate the place. Instead of continuing to stand around and take in the poorly kept building, I headed straight to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender was wild and obnoxious looking, and I immediately liked her style. I never had the guts to dye my hair or wear revealing clothes like she did. Her confidence was apparent, making me immediately respect her and maybe even envy her a bit.
She slid my beer across the scratched wood surface and moved on to the next customer without batting an eye. I sipped delicately, still taking in everything when my name was shouted over the roar of the music.
“Reagan!” I turned to find Adam smiling and making his way through the crowd toward me. “You came.” He greeted with a hug.
“I told you I would.”
“I figured you were only saying that to get away from me.”
Hmm…perceptive man, aren’t you, Adam?
“Honestly, I considered it,” I admitted. “Cool place.”
“It will be, but it’s nice of you to say that. We are going to re-do all the woodwork and build a stage over there. I want to change the lighting and make it less biker bar and more upscale to pull in a younger crowd.”
“We?” I foolishly asked.
“Yeah, um…” He looked over my shoulder, so I turned and came face to face with my past, the very one I had been trying to avoid since he broke my heart. He was smiling down at a beautiful blonde and then he kissed her in a way that was not really appropriate for public consumption. Of course he had a girl. He always had someone. My foolish heart jumped up in my throat. How could it still hurt to see him with someone else?
I wished I could say I was surprised to see that he was with a girl, but why would I be? Blondes were his type. The only consolation was that when he turned our way, he looked just as surprised to see me, judging by the dumbfounded expression on his face. I was sure mine matched his as I worked to school it into a bored one instead. My muscles refused to cooperate at first because my whole body had gone into some kind of shock. I feared my face was giving away my fear and discomfort, so I quickly turned back to Adam.
“Maybe you should go say hi,” he said with a sympathetic tone. Clearly he knew more than he had originally let on. This had been a setup.
I was considering punching Adam in the stomach just to let out some of the boiling emotion, but I refrained. Instead of acting on impulse, training told me to turn the other direction. I ended up marching right out of the bar and was heading up the sidewalk to where my car was parked when he called my name.
“Reagan.” I kept walking, knowing exactly whose voice that was. “Reagan, stop!”
My body halted its movement, and no matter how many times I told them to go, my legs refused. I heard him approach until he was standing directly behind me. Every nerve in me felt his presence. I couldn’t believe the electricity was still between us. It was the same as before but maybe stronger since I hadn’t experienced anything like it since the last time he held me.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was brusque and filled with anger. He was working to control it like I would if I spoke.
“Damn it, Reagan. Speak!”
White-hot rage tore through me when he treated me like I was a dog. This I could control. I swallowed the fire down into the pits of my belly and hid it with a calm façade.
I didn’t know what I was going to say. It wasn’t like I planned it. My pride was the last thing I had to myself, though, so when I turned and faced him, I didn’t crack under the pressure of seeing his gorgeous face marred by anger that was clearly directed toward me. His eyes bored into me, looking for answers. His jaw was tight and neck was flexed. Everything about him was on the offensive. Well, join the club, buddy!
“When I was eight years old,” I began, “my parents took me to Disneyland. It was right before school started, days before I met you.” I paused to catch my breath, wondering why I thought of this moment to tell Brock what I needed to say. “We rode this little boat ride. It plays this annoying song over and over. That’s where he told me he was leaving us. He said he loved me and wanted me, but he said the world was small and people who were meant to be in our lives would show up again.”
Brock looked as confused as I felt. He remained silent but nodded, prompting me to go on.
“I thought I understood then what he meant, what the silly song was telling us, but no. It wasn’t until this moment that I had some real clarity. It really is a small world. I hoped I could escape you, but I should have known that there would be no end to the torture. Maybe you’re meant to be in my life, but until today I held out hope that this would never happen.”
I turned and continued toward my car, but his hand grabbed my arm before I could get too far. My lungs refused to fill with air, and my heart pounded wildly. How he could cause such a reaction from me was beyond comprehension. No man had ever made me feel anything but bored. Brock could have me on my knees with one look, and I never understood it. How, after so long, could he still make me feel so much?
“Stop, Reagan. You can’t just walk away.”
“Watch me,” I gritted out, and I tried to free my arm from his iron grip.
“No. You had your say. It’s my turn.”
Before he could say another word, I stepped closer to him and looked him dead in the eye. In a low voice, I said, “Let. Me. Go.” His eyes flicked between mine once, then twice, before his hand loosened on my arm. Before he could say another word, I turned on my heel and ran as quickly as I could to my car. Once I was there and enclosed in the safety of its cocoon, I let myself break, but I didn’t cry. There were no tears that night. Instead, I allowed myself to succumb to the lack of sensation that would keep me protected.
Chapter Six
June 2001
I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out to somehow make myself unsee what I just witnessed. A lobotomy would have been nice. Alcohol wasn’t working, and I wasn’t about to do anything stronger even if it was readily available at all of Ivy’s parties. No matter how much I wanted an escape, that wasn’t it for me.
The hour after the graduation ceremony had been a chaos of pictures and hugs before we were finally allowed to leave. I dragged Brock to his truck to show him my surprise. Right before I climbed into my seat through the door he was holding open, I unzipped my hideous graduation gown and revealed my dress. It was white, fitted, and more revealing than my mom would have liked if she had been paying attention. Brock was certainly paying attention to it, though. His eyes were wide as he looked my body top to bottom. “Damn,” he groaned.
Mission accomplished. I turned up the volume on the radio as Brock drove too fast to Ivy’s house jamming out to Outkast’s “Ms. Jackson.” He pulled around back where he parked when he was told his mom he was spending the night at Neal’s.” No one was there yet, and we were in our spot, hidden in the trees. Having a rich friend with a large house and even bigger yard had come in handy over the years. It also helped that her dad was in international business and never showed his face at his own million-dollar estate.
Brock unbuckled my seatbelt and pulled me astride his lap, forcing my dress to rise and uncover what little of my legs had been hidden beneath it. “I’m going to screw you in this dress,” he breathed while he dragged his lips across my collarbone. We had mutually discovered that the right touches to my clavicle were…insane. Brock used those kisses as a weapon now, and I caved like every damn time. You would too if the hottest guy at your school knew your spot.
I moaned quietly, trying to escape the things he made me feel. I both loved and hated the way he could command my body with a few well-placed kisses or gentle touches. It was everything I could do not to let him see the control he had over me. “I might let you.” I ground against his erection.
“Might?”
Lights filled the driveway, and we knew
our friend—no, Brock’s friend—Neal would be pulling his truck up next to Brock’s. Playtime was over. Equal amounts of disappointment and relief flooded my body. I wanted Brock. My body was desperate for him, but my heart was ruining everything.
“Come on, you two!” Neal pounded on the hood of the truck. I hated that guy. “Ivy said her parents bought her a bottle of Dom to apologize for not showing up again.” But I loved champagne.
“Ooh! Champagne.” I clapped and bounced on his lap until Brock’s hands latched onto my hips, effectively stopping me from unintentionally riding him.
Brock growled when I crawled off of him and out of his truck. “I can’t believe I’m getting blue balls so you can drink champagne.”
“It’s Dom! Last time they sent some other crap. A few hours won’t hurt you.”
“Speak for yourself,” he mumbled as he adjusted himself in his slacks. Seeing him as affected as I was gave me a thrill. I felt powerful and beautiful with Brock. He didn’t use my body like most teenage boys would; he worshipped it. The fact that he sought pleasure from giving me bliss was more along the lines of a book or a movie than reality. Of course two years of experimenting and testing out scenes from smutty romance novels made our hormone-driven encounters slightly more erotic than the average teenage rendezvous and sometimes hilarious. In the end, we knew every inch of each other’s bodies.
Just as I began to reconsider the rushing to the party, Ivy stepped out of the house and sang, “Reagan!” in a melodic, high-pitched voice.
Damn.
The party was a typical for graduation, drinking, dancing, and hooking up followed by puking and passing out. It should have been a good time, but it wasn’t, at least not for me. Candace Wood from our rival high school showed up. Everyone knew she had a thing for Brock. She spent the whole night hanging on him. The closer he let her get, the further I remained. Jealousy wasn’t a good look on anybody.
Instead I spent the whole night hanging out with another guy from our school, Adam. He was cute in a scrawny artist kind of way, but he wasn’t my type. Brock was everything to me, but I couldn’t let him know that. I wasn’t the kind of girl who showed her cards. My poker face was unbeatable, and at the time, I thought that was a good thing. Unfortunately, Candace didn’t mind showing him her hand or anything else for that matter. She was hanging on my everything like her life depended on it. And what was worse, he seemed to like it. Before the end of the night, he was taking her into a bedroom with a backwards glance as if he was checking to make sure I saw what he was doing. The smile on his face as the door closed sealed the deal for me. That was the moment I first discovered I still hated Brock like I did when I first met him. He still had that easygoing way that made everyone fall at his feet, everyone but me.
Instead of indulging further, I called my mom to come get me. She believed me when I told her I felt sick, probably because I did. She took my home and stayed with me while I threw up the contents of my stomach. She didn’t once scold me for underage drinking and gave me a warm cloth for my puffy eyes and ginger ale. Yes, I was crying. I never cried. I hated criers. I was the tough girl, the one that could beat up most of the boys. I think I scared my mom that night with all the tears. The girl who usually punched a bag to rid herself of emotions was on the bathroom floor sobbing. Not a pretty picture.
The next morning, voices coming from down the hall woke me from a dead sleep. We lived in a single-story house, so there was zero privacy except in the basement, which was terrifying in its own way.
I clearly heard the rumble of Brock speaking quietly from the direction of the kitchen, followed by my mom saying, “She’s sick. She hasn’t felt this bad since that time you both ended up with the stomach flu.”
“I’m gonna go check on her,” he announced, giving me the warning I needed. I flew out of my bed and ran into the bathroom across the hall before he could turn the corner. With the shower on, I could pretend I didn’t hear him. I washed my hair in the hottest water I could stand, then let it beat over me, hoping it would burn some of the stupid out of me. Loving Brock was something I already regretted and something I unfortunately couldn’t control.
I wrapped a towel in my hair and slid on my short purple robe. When I walked into my room, I was surprised to see Brock sitting against my headboard with his feet propped on my bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you,” he said as he openly eyed my body.
Ignoring the buzz that coursed through me, I pulled on yoga pants under my robe and closed the top, so no cleavage was hanging out. “And?”
Once I was covered, his eyes finally met mine. “What happened to you last night?”
“I didn’t feel well, so I came home. Did you have fun?” Act like it didn’t matter. I couldn’t make direct eye contact or I would quite possibly turn into one of those foolish girls that begged for attention. As much as I wanted to yell at him and ask him how he could screw that awful girl, especially when I was right there, I couldn’t. I refused to let him know how much he hurt me.
Through the corner of my eye I caught him looking at me with suspicion written all over his face. When I gave him nothing, he snapped out of it and said, “Yeah. It was fine.”
“That’s good.” Hello, awkward tension that only appeared when each of us had more to say than we actually allow out of our mouths.
And Ten—Nine—Eight—Seven—
“Ready for our road trip?” There it was. He was showing me he could play this game as well as I could. Whoever made the first move was the loser. As much as I’d enjoy the consequences, I would not let him win this battle. No orgasm was worth my pride.
“Yeah. I just need to finish packing. When are Neal and Ivy meeting us?”
“In an hour. Your mom ran to the store to get us a few snacks to take with us. She didn’t think you should go since you’re ‘sick’.”
“I’m fine. She’ll get over it.”
He shrugged. “I hope she gets some barbecue chips this time.”
“Fat chance. Get ready for apples, almonds, and organic veggie sticks.” We had been on a low carb, all organic diet since my dad left when I was ten. I hid sugar from my mom the way most kids hid alcohol or drugs. Candy was my drug of choice.
“Whatever. She loves me. She’ll get chips and Oreos.” He smiled happily. I turned my back to him to look away from his flawless face. It was easy to be his friend, but when he smiled like that, my heart almost hurt.
“Keep dreaming, buddy,” I choked out, hoping it sounded somewhat indifferent.
Our road trip was our first official act of freedom. Ivy’s parents sent her a car to take because they had seen it was the best one for a road trip on some website. They didn’t show up for graduation, but they bought her an unnecessary vehicle, a diamond bracelet, and let’s not forget the expensive champagne. It was nice to have all these things, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Ivy would have rather grown up with my overbearing mom than new wheels every year and a thousand dollars for every good grade.
After finishing packing and hugging my mom goodbye sixteen thousand times, we were on our way. Our two-week road trip had officially begun. The first night we camped at Cape Perpetua. As soon as the boys had the tents set up, Brock shouted, “I’m not sharing a tent with Neal.” It was meant to be a joke, as if anyone ever questioned the sleeping arrangements, but I kinda wished he would share a tent with Neal. I wouldn’t be tempted to cuddle with Ivy or do unspeakable things to her in the middle of the night. Even more importantly, my heart wouldn’t ever be on the line.
I kept my big mouth shut, though. My self-respect was on the line. No one knew I was having these horrendous feelings, and I could keep my legs closed for two weeks. I wasn’t a slut for Pete’s sakes. So, that was that. I was stuck sharing a tent, then a bed with Brock.
Every day there was some moment I thought he was going to give in. The first night we woke up spooning. I could feel how badly he wanted me, but you know what he did? He roll
ed over and faced the other way.
Another night, it was cold…really cold. He had the bright idea of combining our sleeping bags and sharing body heat, which I took as a possible invitation for more. I agreed coolly, as if it was no big deal. And then it wasn’t. He really meant we were going to share body heat and nothing more.
I thought we had a breakthrough moment toward the end of the trip when we were snuggled in our tent. We had been silent for a while, and I assumed he was asleep. I couldn’t close my eyes for the third night in a row. I silently begged him to give in. I might have even prayed for it, wished on a shooting star for it, and wished on a penny that I tossed into a fountain that day, but so far—nothing. Then he said, “What happened, Rea?” And I really believed this was our chance to change everything.
“What do you mean?”
Then he ruined it all by saying, “When did we grow up and stop being kids?”
The conversation was more philosophical than honest. It was romantically a huge disappointment, but in terms of our friendship, it was exactly what I needed to connect with him again. We talked like we used to, about nothing and everything. We laughed like we always had, and the sexual tension was palpable, but nothing would have convinced me to give up that time with him. Those conversations with Brock were what made me believe that I could never live without him.
But there was still something in the back of my mind that left me wondering if he felt it as well. I needed to him to confirm it, to give me a clear indication of how he felt because as much as I hated to admit it, I wanted Brock as more than a friend or a fuck buddy. I wanted him to be mine, and I wanted to be his in every way possible. Even if we were too young, even if we were doomed to fail, I wanted it all with him.