by S. E. Hall
“Relax, sugar, no one will know. I yanked the sign out of the yard too.”
Oh, well then. Problem solved! Why didn’t I think of that? Cause everybody knows if you yank up the sign that cancels out the actual B&E.
I raise my head and block Whitley’s chest with my extended arm, just in case she actually tries to give him the eye-clawing he’s earned, and attempt to be the voice of reason. “Sawyer, you can’t just break in, that’s illegal, dude. The cops are probably on their way. We could go to jail!”
“Nobody’s gonna go to jail, pussbag. Listen, I hid the sign. If, and it’s a big if, the cops come, we’ll say we didn’t know and agree to leave. Whitley’s parents didn’t tell her, which they’d vouch for, so she thought it was her house and forgot her key. I mean, it’s still filled with all her furniture and pictures of her, what would have tipped us off?” He throws up a hand, cutting me off open-mouthed. “Especially since there was. NO. SIGN.”
“Sounds good to me!” Whitley agrees cheerfully, reaching up to pat Sawyer on the cheek. “You boys run and get ice; I need to unpack and start Sawyer’s special dinner.” She starts walking to the house, a bounce in her step and not a care in the world.
I jog to catch up with her, reaching out to snag her elbow. “Whitley, this isn’t a good idea. You’re upset and not thinking clearly, but you know I’m right. We can’t stay here.”
“We can stay,” she says forcefully, jerking around to face me, “and we will. This is my place and I’m not leaving. Now run to the store and I’ll make us a nice dinner.”
Oh great, she’s shock-induced delusional, if that’s such a thing. If not, she’s whatever the right name for it is, because under normal circumstances, I’d like to think she’d see my reason versus Sawyer’s, well, Sawyerisms. I should jump ship and save myself, but I just can’t; Whitley has been my life preserver and she needs me. So I go to the store, hoping she’s rational when I get back.
Her back is to us, “Down on Me” playing loudly as she swirls her hips, dropping slowly all the way down to the floor and gyrating back up again in the sexiest move I have ever seen. My right hand is up in a flash, subconsciously even, covering Sawyer’s eyes. I, however, enjoy the show, no regrets…and no blinking. I have to use my left hand to quickly adjust, not wanting her to turn around and see evidence of the fact that I am a guy, shamelessly watching her little ass wiggle and pop in rhythm with the beating in my chest.
“Honey, we’re home!” Sawyer spouts off, interrupting, so I drop my hand from his eyes, using it to pop him in the forehead.
She spins around with a squeal, hand clutching her chest. “Oh my God, you scared me!” She walks over and turns down the music. “No sneaking up on me while we’re squatting, Sawyer. My nerves can’t take it.”
“Sorry,” he snorts, “I forgot about that. So, what were you doing?”
“Nothing,” her face blazes pink instantly, “just cooking.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “You need your own cooking show then, because people would definitely watch.”
“Like you did?” Sawyer cocks off, slapping my chest.
“Anyway,” I clear my throat, avoiding Whitley’s eyes, and her now answering raised eyebrow, “you need help with anything, Whit? Want me to peel or chop or—”
“Help choreograph?” Sawyer suggests.
“Fuck off,” I mumble, flipping a barstool around and sitting, ducking my head in embarrassment. I’m not shy about looking, anybody whose eyes weren’t covered for them would have, but I don’t think we need to keep announcing it.
“Here.” Whitley’s eyes are smiling, her voice patronizing as she hands me a short glass of amber liquid and ice. “Have a drink and relax.”
“So, Whit, what gives? I thought your family was loaded?” Sawyer asks her with the subtlety of a head-on collision.
“I thought so too. I really have no idea what’s going on and can’t just ask them. How do you even bring that up?” She’s cooking, busy as she holds the conversation, but I can see the signs…a slump to her shoulders that is never there, a crease between her eyes, and a borderline fake smile.
They continue to talk back and forth, but I sit in silent observation, no longer hearing the distinct words. The sun outside is starting to set, sending a ray of purple light in and casting a sultry glow around Whitley. Every time she turns, this way and that, preparing everything like a little hummingbird, her shiny blonde tendrils swish along her shoulders. When she measures something out, she purses her lips, transforming them into a rosebud.
For the briefest of seconds earlier, when I’d tipped her chin and she looked up at me with hopeful, vulnerable eyes, like I could fix anything for her, I’d thought about kissing her. Not so long ago, I’d have laughed if you told me I’d ever have the desire to kiss anyone other than Laney, but sure enough, the want was there, however short-lived.
Watching her now, I think of it again. I hate the way she wants me to dress. She’ll never be able to play a sport. Her uppity family will probably dismiss me as an ignorant hick. She picks at her food and would mostly likely faint if I left the toilet seat up. But…the last rays of the day show her in her true light; radiant and thoughtful, taking care of others, rolling with the punches, making the best of a situation.
“Evan?”
“Huh?” Her voice brings me back to the present.
“Do you want another drink?” She’s standing by me, having set my plate in front of me.
“No, water’s fine,” I mumble. That must be it—the drink she made me. That’s why I’m having such crazy thoughts. One thing is niggling at me though; am I just finding myself drawn to Whitley because she’s there? A convenient attraction? I mean, what are the odds that the first post-breakup girl you meet is captivating, different and alluring in a way that’s all her? I have to be careful. I don’t want to mistake rebound for interest and end up hurting Whitley or myself. I absolutely, positively cannot do that again.
I file all the confusion in the back of my mind and dig in; the meal she made is delicious and we all eat in semi-comfortable silence. And by that I mean they both seem fine and I’m squirming inside.
Just when I think I’ve got the questions riddling my head beaten, she fires the kill shot.
“Who wants dessert?”
“Is that a real question?” Sawyer pats his belly.
Back to the table she strides, bearing two heaping plates of…strawberry shortcake. My favorite.
She winks when she sets mine in front of me. “You didn’t think I would make his favorite and not yours, did you?”
How did she know? I can’t remember ever mentioning it. But with the first bite, I cease to care about the how.
DRUNKEN WORDS, SOBER THOUGHTS
Saturday is a gorgeous day, perfect Spring Break weather. The water has a little nip to it, but it’s warm and very refreshing. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to the ocean, and the endlessness is quite a sight. And the atmosphere? Well, it’s one big party. I’m trying to take it easy with the drinking, really wanting to actually remember the experience, whereas Sawyer found a vendor stand that serves your drink in a white bucket with a handle. No really, they stick a straw in a mini sand pail and turn you loose on society. This is Spring Break, after all…
Whitley hasn’t made it down yet, and I should probably go back up to the house and check on her, but two things are stopping me. One, I don’t think leaving Sawyer alone down here is a good idea and there’s no way I’m getting him to go with me. Two, I think a little time away from her might be a good thing. Sending Whitley mixed signals isn’t respectful, and I do try to be at least that. Using her as a rebound crush is out of the question, though wanting her a little more every time I’m around her is fucking with my head.
I sense the shadow over me, along with a shower of sand pellets he’s kicked up, before I actually open my eyes.
“Hey man,” he kicks me, “look alive. I want you to meet some people.”
I shiel
d my eyes from the sun and look at Sawyer, sitting up immediately. He’s standing there, nursing his sippy bucket, with three very hot, very bikini-clad, women.
“Hi.” I stand, running my hands down my shorts before offering it to one of them. “Evan.”
“Amber,” she answers giddily, raking her eyes up and down my body. I force my own to stay on her face, despite the fact that I have already stealthily assessed her stats—bout 5’4”, dark tan, black short hair and those definitely aren’t the boobs she was born with.
The little blonde next to her moves in, vying for my attention. “I’m Nikki.” She’s a little bitty one, maybe 5’1”, tops, all natural except for the sparkly belly button ring winking at me. Her eyes are a shocking green, her smile big, and she has a dimple. A really cute dimple, actually, in her left cheek right above her lip.
“Nice to meet you. Evan,” I manage despite my gawking.
“And this beauty,” Sawyer slides his arm around her bare waist, his finger sliding along the fabric of her barely-there bottoms, “is Sasha.”
“Hey, Sasha.” I grin; clearly Sawyer has made his selection with the exotic brunette.
“Sawyer said you guys would come to our party tonight,” Nikki’s flirty voice trickles, her tongue teasing the corner of her mouth.
“We can do that,” I answer with a wink, earning her giggle. Wink=100% success rate.
Whitley finally decides to appear while we’re still flirting with the trio. One would think, while on Spring Break, you’d see so many girls in bikinis that at some point they all start to look the same. There’s only so many different colors of hair, most girls fall in a certain height range, and boobs…well, okay, those vary, but still. And Nikki, well Nikki definitely adds to her ambience with the belly button ring and dimple, but my thoughts are scarily close to the script of a chick flick when I soak in the sight of Whitley.
Her bikini isn’t “look at me” string and scraps, it’s modest, for a bikini anyway. Her breasts aren’t fake or about to fall out, but natural, and, well, big for the rest of her dainty little body, and hidden just enough to make me wonder. And I know there’s a little red balloon tattoo just underneath the pink fabric, tucked away nicely where that pale, lovely leg meets that perfect hip.
Too much sun. Gotta be it.
“Whitley?!” Amber yelps in a voice that surely only dogs were meant to hear. “Whitley, it is you!”
She runs over and throws her arms around Whitley in an exuberant hug, which Whitley politely, but much more calmly, returns.
“Hi, Amber,” she pulls back, not even close to usually friendly Whitley, “how are you?”
“Soooo good! I can’t believe you’re here. Wait, where are you staying? I heard—”
“So, Whitley, you know Amber?” I hastily interrupt, compensating with the most obviously already established question I can think of for Amber’s lack of tact. I’m sure she was about to announce to the beach about the foreclosure. “They invited us to a party tonight.”
“Yeah,” Nikki slides over and runs a hand up my arm, but speaks to Whitley, “you guys should all totally come. It’s gonna be so much fun.”
“Sounds good.” Whitley gives her a smile that’s as fake as the day is long, but perhaps only I noticed.
“Oh, Whitley!” Amber gasps. “Tyler will be there! You know he always had a thing for you.”
Whitley’s eyes dart to where Nikki’s hand is still latched to my arm, then back to Amber with a friendly smile. “I’d love to see Tyler. We’ll be there. Right?”
She looks up at me now when she asks. Now usually this is where a guy screws up and just says “right” or “sure,” but I’m not most guys. Growing up with a sassy female as your best friend, you learn a lot. Therefore, I know that while Whitley and I are nothing more than friends, she’s still jealous right now.
Female jealousy is a very tricky, very volatile matter, and one that should never be taken lightly. Though this is where I’m still a little fuzzy. Is she jealous because she likes me or she just doesn’t like to be challenged by another female? Does she feels some kind of proprietorship because I came here with her or is she insecure over whether I think Nikki is prettier? The exact origin of the jealousy will probably forever remain a mystery, maybe even to Whitley herself, but that’s not the point. Whitley’s waiting for the typical male reaction here, to reassure her I am just that; another typical guy.
Brace yourself, Whitley, I’m all over this one.
I remove Nikki’s hand from my arm and step to Whitley, ducking my head to look in her eyes. “It’s up to you, Whit. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.”
Her pinking cheeks and sweet, small grin tell me I got it right. “K,” she nods, “we may see you there. We’ll see,” she says to
Nikki cheekily. “I gotta feed my boys right now, though.” She locks my hand in hers and starts toward the house. “Come on, Sawyer!”
Add public indecency to Sawyer’s Spring Break rap sheet, because he and Sasha are laying on the beach making out like they have no audience…or modesty. It’s a bit much, even for Sawyer.
“Sawyer, let’s go, lunch!” I bark, embarrassed for him.
He makes no move to indicate he’s heard me, and Whitley just snickers.
“Come on, just leave him,” she says. Fine by me.
“You wanna go get something for lunch?” I ask as we walk back up to the house. “I don’t want you waiting on us the whole week.”
“It’s no bother, Evan, really. It’s nice to have somebody, or two, to take care of.”
I open the door for her. “Where’d you learn to cook?”
“My nanny, Mary. She was an amazing cook and always let me help. I had to write down all the recipes as I watched, though; she didn’t use them,” she recalls wistfully.
“So you sing, you cook,” I pull up a stool, “what else do you do?”
“I don’t know, this and that.”
“Like?” I urge her, taking a bite of the sandwich she just put in front of me.
“I like to read. I like to mess around with crafts, scrapbooks, I don’t know. Now that I say it out loud, I kinda sound like a grandma.” She hangs her head. “God, I’m boring.”
I bust out laughing, quickly reining it in when she drops her forehead into her hand and groans. “You don’t sound like a grandma. Well, okay, maybe a lot of grandmas cook and scrapbook, but my grandma’s one of the best women I know. I’m not really that exciting either, Whitley.”
Few people ever shock me, but Whitley continually throws me for a loop. On the outside, Paris Hilton. On the inside, Martha Stewart. Which is the real her? Or can those two really cohabitate in one body?
“And I’m pretty sure my grandma never got a tattoo, while high, or played Flip Cup, or performed “Red Light Special” for a frat house.” I nudge her, now sitting beside me. “I’d say you’re safe from grandma territory.”
“I forgot all that,” she admits, perking up. “You’re right. I am cool as hell!”
“Right,” I chuckle at her, “now speaking of grandparents…I’m gonna go take a nap.” I yawn and stand, heading to my room. “What are you gonna do?”
“Maybe I’ll head back down to the beach, check on Sawyer.”
Do I offer to stay up and do something? Do I lay on the couch and ask her to—no, probably shouldn’t do that.
“Take your nap, Evan,” she laughs, her face hinting she may have guessed what I was just contemplating. “I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, ok,” I stammer. “I’ll see ya later.”
I lay awake for a while, thinking things over and making a few decisions. Whitley is a beautiful girl, a wonderful friend, talented and giving, and she deserves a guy who’s sure he wants her for her, with no inklings of doubt that his interest may be circumstantial; something more than I can give her.
Sawyer is a lot of fun, and his mojo seems to work for him, but it’s a little much for me. So, it’s time. Time for Evan to get back to being Evan. Not Laney’
s Evan, not miserable Evan, not wild and crazy Evan…just Evan. I’ve got some soul searching to do, all by myself. I’m gonna do what I’ve never done before—I’m gonna date.
I wake up a few hours later to a quiet, empty house. Once I’ve taken a shower and gotten dressed, Whitley and Sawyer still aren’t back. I walk down to the water, their last known whereabouts, but they’re not there, either. I spot a fire down the shoreline and I can hear faint music, so I take my chances that they went ahead to the party and head that way.
It takes me a bit to find either of them amongst the bodies, loud music and shroud of night, but just when I’m about to give up and turn back, Sawyer comes out onto the deck and yells my name. I meet him up there and can smell the liquor oozing out of his pores, noticing the girl curled around him isn’t Sasha from this morning. How long had I napped exactly?
“Hey, where’s Whitley?” I ask him.
“In there somewhere.” He jerks his thumb towards the house. “Where you been?”
“Nowhere; I gotta go find Whitley,” I brush him off, kinda pissed he’s slammed and not watching Whitley better at a party full of drunken strangers.
She’s not anywhere; I search the whole fucking house to no avail. I’m starting to get worried when Nikki spots me, waving her arms from across the room, dancing her way through the crowd to get to me.
“Hey, sexy,” she growls in my ear, rubbing both hands up my chest.
“Hey.” I want to find Whitley, just make sure she’s okay. “Have you seen the blonde girl we’re staying with, Whitley?”
“Why?” She scowls.
Gotta play this right, I need information. Freaking girls.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous, she’s just a friend. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t watch over her? Hmm? Now will you help me find her?” I run a finger down her jawline and wink.
“She’s out front with Tyler,” she tells me, her smile showing she’s happy at the thought of pleasing me; not at all about willingly helping another female at a party.