by Jiffy Kate
I miss sex.
I could definitely stand to get laid. It’s been . . . shit. It’s been a long damn time.
Since that’s out of the question, I do the next best thing and shoot Micah a text.
Me: Is it possible to go crazy just by listening to someone breathe? And how am I just now learning he’s an occasional smacker?
Micah: Your man’s a mouth-breather and a smacker? That’s gross. I have to admit, I’m disappointed in your choice of boyfriends.
Me: Well, they can’t all be southern playboys, you know?
Micah: That’s a damn shame.
As I’m getting ready to send back a response, a loud knock from the front door echoes through the apartment, I consider turning the television down and pretending I’m not at home. I’m not expecting anyone and Graham has had all of his scheduled appointments for the day, so I can’t imagine who it would be. I’m definitely not in the mood for solicitors or anyone else who might be out there, but after another loud knock, I pull myself off the couch and shuffle to the door.
“Who is it?” I ask, through the door, while simultaneously unlatching the lock. I don’t know why I do that. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask and then open. Peeking through the crack, I see a man in a brown uniform.
“Ms. Reed?” he asks.
“Yep, that’s me,” I answer, opening the door wider.
“I have a package for you. Please sign here.” He hands his clipboard over to me and a smile breaks across my face. Piper Grey. Piper sending me a package must mean . . .
I squeal, quickly sign on the dotted line, practically throw the clipboard back to him, and grab my package in return.
“Uh, have a nice day,” the delivery man says, a bit taken aback by my sudden outburst.
“Thank you!” I yell through the now closed door.
“What’s all the screaming about?” Graham asks, still half asleep.
“I got a package from Piper!”
“Well, yippee,” he says, his voice laced with annoyance and sarcasm.
Ignoring Graham, I plop back down on the couch and rip the seal on the package, taking care not to bend or damage anything inside in my haste. When I get my hands on what’s inside, my heart beats faster and my mouth falls open.
When my phone starts singing about huge asses, I jump.
“Hello?” I say, putting it up to my ear without even seeing who’s calling.
“Do you love it?” Piper asks.
“I do. How’d you—why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is barely above a whisper, unable to take my eyes off of the magazine in my hand. My photo—my creation—is on the front cover of Southern Style Magazine.
This can’t be real life.
Piper’s giggle from the other end lets me know I probably said that out loud. “It’s real life, and it’s gorgeous, Dani! I wanted to tell you a couple of weeks ago when they decided to use it, but I figured the surprise would be worth keeping it a secret.”
“You have no idea . . .” My voice trails as it begins to crack. “You just don’t know what this means to me.” A small sob breaks free, but it’s okay, because this is Piper, and she knows me. She’s been there through all sorts of tears, but these are good ones, and she made them happen. “Thank you.”
“Hey, I just opened the door. The kickass job was all on you. They absolutely loved you, by the way. My senior editor said they want to use you for the roadside diner article.”
“Shut up!”
“Yep! I don’t have a start date yet, but don’t get too comfy in New York, Sheridan Reed. Your ass is gonna be back in God’s country in no time.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes! And, ‘thank you, Piper. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.’ Also, say I’ll get to see you on this trip. I don’t think I can go another six months.”
“Yes. To all of that.”
“Good.”
She sighs contentedly into the phone. She’s happy. She’s happy that I’m happy. And I am so happy.
“You just turned a shitty day into the best day ever.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
The call waiting beeps in my ear and I feel Graham shift beside me.
“Hey, Pipe. I’m getting another call. Lemme take this. I’ll call you back later.”
“Okay! We’ll celebrate over Skype. Grab a bottle of wine before you call me back.”
“It’s a plan!” I switch the call, effectively hanging up on Piper.
“Hello?” I say, not recognizing the other caller’s number.
“Sheridan Reed!” I’d know this voice anywhere.
“Annie!”
“Sweetheart, I just got a package from Southern Style, and I’m speechless! I can’t tell you how much this means to me. And your picture of the house on the front cover . . .” She lets out a deep breath, “honey, it’s the most beautiful thing ever. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“No, sweet girl, thank you! This is just . . . well, I can’t wait to kiss you when I see you next.”
I laugh into the phone, basking in her warmth and goodness. “I can’t wait for that.”
“I’m cooking for you, too. Anything you want.”
“That sounds amazing.”
The phone grows quiet for a moment before Annie starts again. “We miss you down here, you know.”
“I miss down there.”
“What’s keepin’ you?”
“Oh, you know, life . . .”
“Well, don’t forget to take care of yourself. What Dani wants is important, too.”
“Thank you. And I won’t. Oh, and I just spoke to my best friend who works for Southern Style, and she told me she got the green light on the roadside diner article I want to write.”
“Oh, that’s great news! So, we will see you, right?”
“Of course! I can’t come down there without visiting my favorite family.” Graham clears his throat, reminding me I’m not alone. I’m guessing he doesn’t like me making plans without him. Interesting.
“Well, you let me know the details and I’ll set up a room for you. You’re not staying at that dump of a motel.”
I laugh. “I’ll take you up on that! Not sure when or how long I’ll be in your area, but I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds great. Take care, Dani.”
“You too, Annie.”
When I hang up, I stare at the magazine in my lap, feeling my excitement bubble up all over again.
“Well, let me see it,” Graham says, holding out his hand.
I hand it over to him and watch as his eyes take in the cover.
“That’s mine,” I tell him, pointing to the cover. “I did that.”
“That’s great, Dani,” he says, smiling. “Congratulations.”
”Read the article,” I tell him, shifting in my spot to face him. I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“Okay.” He laughs and then begins to flip through the pages while I hover over his shoulder. When he finally lands on my article, I draw in a sharp breath. It’s exactly what I had hoped it would be. The photos tell it all. There’s no need to read the words on the page, although I hope people do. I want them to see how wonderful it is there. I hope they feel the sense of home and comfort I felt.
Graham sits in silence for a few minutes while he reads through the article. “It’s really good,” he finally says, looking up at me.
“Thank you,” I tell him, leaning a little closer to get a better look at the far page.
He turns his body until we’re eye to eye. I don’t move as his hand reaches up and brushes my hair from my face, pushing it over my shoulder. Then, his lips brush my cheek . . . and then my mouth. It’s soft and gentle, barely more than a kiss you’d give a friend, but it takes me by surprise.
My eyes grow wide and I pull back from the unexpectedness.
“What?” he asks, laughing nervously while his hand still touches my cheek.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“Congratulations . . . a job well done . . .” He pauses and his eyes search my face. “Can I not kiss my girlfriend?” he asks, rubbing his thumb against my skin.
“Yeah,” I say, a bit taken aback by his actions and words. “Of course you can.”
When I settle back onto my side of the couch, my fingers touch my lips, trying to process how I’m feeling. This shouldn’t be weird. I’ve been kissing Graham for years. He’s the only person I’ve kissed. So, why does it feel weird?
“I really am proud of you, Dani.”
Turning to look at him, I see a touch of sincerity in his eyes and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Jealousy, maybe?
“Thanks, Graham.”
I watch him as he continues looking through the magazine. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth twists. “Is this the family who owns the plantation?” he asks, pointing to the family picture.
“Yeah, that’s the Landrys.”
“You really like them, huh?”
“Yeah, they’re such good people.”
“Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to the biggest guy in the family, with the biggest dimples.
“That’s Deacon.”
“And this?”
“Micah.” Just saying his name makes my stomach flip flop and my pulse quicken.
Graham snorts. “Spoiled rich brats,” he says, turning the page.
Um, hello. Pot, meet kettle.
“They’re nothing like that.”
“Right.”
“They’re not!” I semi-playfully swat his good arm and bite my tongue before I start a full-blown argument.
“Well, the house is really pretty,” he says, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the table. “And you did a good job on the pictures.”
“Thanks.”
I grab my phone, anything to distract me from telling Graham he’s one to talk about rich, spoiled brats. His dad may be an asshole, but he’s always given Graham everything he’s ever wanted. The Landry boys might be spoiled, but it’s with love. I’ve seen the way they help and care about others. You can be spoiled without being rotten . . . well, Micah and Deacon definitely have their rotten moments. I smile and shake my head.
I miss them.
Me: Did you see the article?
Micah: Looking at it right now. You’re amazing!
Me: Thank you.
Micah: I’m serious, Dani. I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you. Everything from the pictures to the words on the page . . . it’s so fucking good.
I beam at his words. They make me feel good—better than when I opened the package and saw my photograph on the front cover.
Sheridan
Micah: When you fart in public, do you fess up?
Me: It’s one-thirty in the morning.
Micah: Did I wake you?
Me: No.
Micah: Then answer my question. I feel it shows a person’s true character.
Me: No.
Micah: No? Do you pin it on someone else?
Me: OMG, Micah. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I don’t confess or blame anyone else because I try very hard not to do THAT in public!
Micah: But what happens when one slips out?
Me: That’s never happened before.
Micah: Bullshit.
Me: What do you do when one slips out?
Micah: I claim it if I need to. That shows I’m honest and responsible, don’t you think?
Me: No, it shows that you’re gross.
Me: Happy 4th of July! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. ;) Actually, please live it up and allow me to live vicariously through you, because I have no life.
Piper: I’m drinking in your honor tonight, Sheridan Reed! I hope you get vicariously drunk. I might need you to vicariously hold my hair in the morning. ;) Love you, D! Happy 4th! Wish you were here!
Two different texts come through simultaneously.
Piper: P.S. Who’s 225–555–7319?
Micah: Who the hell is 205–739–0005?
I roll my eyes, knowing I just opened a can of worms. I guess I wasn’t really thinking clearly when I sent the group text.
Me: Piper, meet Micah Landry. Micah Landry, Piper Grey, the best friend.
Micah: Hello, Piper.
Piper: Ah ha, Micah Landry. Well, isn’t this fun. ;)
Micah: Not to be one-upped by the best friend, I’ll be drinking in your honor as well, Ms. Reed.
Piper: Well, isn’t that chivalrous.
Me: You’ve gotta watch him, Pipe. He has some southern playboy voodoo charm.
Piper: I’ll remember that.
Piper: Micah Landry. Spill.
Me: It’s 8:05AM. Why are you awake? Did you never go to bed?
Piper: I’m not quite the party animal I once was. *sigh*
I laugh, missing my best friend so damn much.
Me: Aww! Does that mean you didn’t get vicariously drunk for me last night and sleep with some random guy? Because I desperately needed to get laid. I forgot to tell you that part.
Piper: I’m sorry I failed us. I’ll do better next time.
Me: I’m gonna hold you to it. Did we at least get tipsy?
Piper: My lips were numb for a couple hours.
Me: Nice.
Piper: So, Micah Landry?
Me: He’s a friend?
Piper: Why was that a question?
Me: I’m not sure. He’s a friend. We have a lot in common. He’s fun to talk to. That’s it, really.
Piper: Uh huh. Ok.
Me: Have I ever lied to you?
Piper: No, but you did let me dance on top of the bar at Fat Woody’s with toilet paper stuck to my shoe!
Me: Ah, good times.
Me: Tell me something no one knows.
Micah: That’s pretty deep for this early in the morning. Are you okay?
Me: Yeah, it’s been a long week, just feeling overwhelmed and confused. I could really use a distraction, I guess.
Micah: I never actually passed my driving test.
Me: So, you’ve been driving without a license for over ten years?
Micah: No. I got my license. I just never took the driving test.
Me: Explain, please.
Micah: Instead of driving, I fingered the instructor while we were still in the parking lot. She liked it so much, she gave me an A. And a blowjob.
Me: I don’t even know what to say to that.
Micah: Not one of my best moments, I agree, but what 16yo boy would turn that down?
Me: Good point.
Micah: I also wanted to be a dancer on Broadway when I was a kid.
Me: WHAT?!
Micah: I remember saving my allowance so I could order this spandex bodysuit covered in sparkles. I hid it under my bed and would stare at it every night before I went to sleep.
Me: You’re not serious.
Micah: Nope, but you’re distracted now, right?
Me: LOL. Yes, thank you.
Micah: Anytime.
Micah
“ORDER UP!” I YELL THROUGH the small window, sliding a couple of plates onto the counter. Joe has the weekend off because his daughter is getting married and it’s taking both me and Deacon to fill his spot. We’ve spent the day prepping food and gaining a whole new appreciation for what he does, that’s for sure. Not that we didn’t already appreciate him, but we pretty much have him at worship status right now. I’m dog tired, and from the looks of Deacon across the kitchen, he’s feeling it too.
We recently had to fire our manager at Grinders, our restaurant in Baton Rouge, so it’s been taking up more of our time as well. Between there and Pockets, we’re being stretched thin these days.
“I’ve never been so excited to see Sunday roll around as I am this week,” Deacon says as he stands beside me, assembling a few plates.
“No shit, dude. I feel like I’m dead on my feet.”
“Hey, boss,” Jamie says, waltzing into the
kitchen. I groan and roll my eyes before turning around. She’s been relentless in her advances lately, and it’s getting on my last nerve.
“What?” I ask, shooting her a glare. She should be working.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m just back here to tell you a long-legged blonde is out front lookin’ for ya,” she says with a sneer.
I cock an eyebrow at her, wondering why she even bothered coming back here to tell me.
She quickly flashes a ten between her fingers. “A girl’s gotta pay the bills.”
“Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”
Jamie nods and turns for the door, taking a tray of food and her pissy attitude with her.
“Do you know who it is?” Deacon asks.
“No.”
“Well, don’t ya wanna find out?”
“In a minute.”
“You need to get laid, bro. You’ve been a moody bastard the past few weeks.”
I have been moody. But nothing seems to make it better. I tried hooking up with Valerie, but couldn’t even make it to the motel room. Everything about her grated my nerves—her voice, her perfume, even her sticky lipstick—so I dropped her off and made up something about feeling sick.
It probably doesn’t help that Dani infiltrates every facet of my being these days. I hear her voice in the silence. See her when I close my eyes. Sometimes, when I’m trying to go to sleep at night, it’s like I can feel her there with me. I’m glad I didn’t kiss her when she was here because that would’ve made things even worse.
At least I have her text messages. If I’m missing her too bad, I’ll shoot her some crazy text and wait for her response. Sometimes, she’ll text me first. I don’t like when the messages sound sad, though. One night last week, she texted saying she was confused, and I could tell there was more going on than she was admitting. Nights like that, it’s all I can do to keep my ass off a plane headed for New York.
I’ve never been like this—some guy who sits around pining for a girl. I’ve been a fuck-‘em-and-leave-‘em kind of guy. I’ve been upfront about it and completely unapologetic. Having a good time has always been my main objective. Sure, there’ve been a few girls who have been around for more than a one-night stand, like Valerie, but even they know there are no strings attached.