by A. J. Pine
“It’s my last day of PT in orthopedics and also the day Adam gets the go-ahead to play. He invited me out for a quick drink with a few of his friends, to celebrate. It’s nothing big. He can’t drink because he goes on the road for their first away game on Friday, but, shit. I can’t go alone, okay? Please. Come with me.”
Zoe’s glare morphs into a grin, something I’m not expecting.
She speaks.
“I like it. When the internship ends, so does the code of ethics. You want me to play wingman? Sure. Why not?”
I shake my head because wingman is the polar opposite of what I need. I need a buffer, someone to make sure I don’t fall into old habits with the only other friend I’ve got.
“No. That’s not it. I want you to make sure I don’t have a sip to drink, that I don’t do anything stupid.”
She cocks an eyebrow.
“We’re just friends, Zoe.”
I say it more to convince myself than her.
“Yeah, but you like him more than that. You have seen him, right? He’s gorgeous, and he fucking watches sexy vampires for you. It’s so not a one-way street. Why the chaperone?”
There is an answer to her question, but I’m not ready to share it.
“Ah,” she says. “You’re going to maintain that air of mystery with me. Fine. I’ll be your chaperone, but you have to work on your invitation delivery. I’m not really big on the whole ‘Because I have no one else, I am asking you’ scenario. Now, if it’s cool with you, I’m going back to sleep.”
“Wait!”
I shove my foot into her doorway before she can shut it all the way.
“Are you really not going to tell me why you are sleeping right now?”
She kicks my foot out of the way and gestures toward our kitchen area.
“Are you going to tell me what happened to your hand, Animal?”
We both look at my taped-up knuckles, the ones I insisted on cleaning and dressing myself. Then she nods toward the kitchen.
“Look at the calendar, Jess. Good night.”
I never check the calendar, even though it was my idea for us to share one. It’s got our cell numbers and parents’ home phone numbers. In case of emergency. It made sense at the time, but I’ve never paid attention to it since. I haven’t paid attention to much of anything when it comes to my roommate, and I give myself another strike in the friendship department. I need to get better at this.
I walk over to the fridge and stare at today and tomorrow’s dates.
Holy shit. Zoe and Zach are going to a sci-fi convention in Madison. From here, central Illinois, that will be at least a six-hour drive, which is why they’re leaving at one a.m. Guess that explains the nap and how little I know my roommate.
I owe Zoe big time, for putting up with someone as stuck in her own world as me. On top of that, she’s still willing to be my ticket to good behavior on Thursday night.
I scribble down on a Post-it a quick Drive safely! and stick it to the front door.
I laugh, thinking about Zoe’s Chewbacca ringtone. Everyone loves Star Wars, but I’d always assumed her ringtone was somehow ironic, that Zoe was making fun of someone somewhere for something.
Now I get it. She’s a total sci-fi nerd, and I absolutely love it. I’m sure my knowledge of science fiction can’t hold a candle to hers, but I have an in now, a way to get to know her, a way to somehow be a better friend. I always thought I was a good friend to Ashley, but I must have done something wrong. That’s the only excuse I can think of for her doing what she did to me.
It took me a week to admit to myself Bryan had really left me after all we’d been through. It took about as long for Ashley to pick up where he and I left off. That’s where my experience with friendship, with relationships, ended. Maybe Zoe is my fresh start, the one connection to last beyond a day.
9
“Jess?”
Zoe bangs on my door. There’s no such thing as gentle knocking when it comes to her.
“Jess? Didn’t you say we were supposed to be there at eight? Because it’s, like, eight.”
I pout even though she can’t see me. I’m ridiculous for having tried on at least three different tops. Except for bumping into him that night outside Yu’s, all Adam’s ever seen me in is scrubs, clogs, and a ponytail. And the one time he saw me in street clothes, I was post–first workout in over a year. So, yeah. I’m kind of freaking, though I have zero grounds for it.
We’re friends. We’re going out as friends. Actually, he’s going out with his friends, and I’m going out with mine, and we are all going to meet at the same place. As friends.
That settles it. Whatever I’m wearing right now is what I’m wearing to the bar. I step in front of my mirror for one last glance.
Maybe it would be better if I had a top on.
“Jess!”
Zoe’s voice now matches the intensity of her knock.
“You know I don’t give a shit if we’re late, or if we even go for that matter, but you don’t want to give Sexy Vampire Boy the wrong idea.”
I yank the door open, the nearest shirt I can pull off the floor not yet on my body, but at least it’s in my hand.
Zoe does a quick study of my not-quite-an-outfit outfit.
“Okay, so I wasn’t aware it was this type of a gathering, but I can lose the shirt too.”
She grabs the bottom of her top, ready to disrobe.
“You’re hilarious,” I say, pulling the fitted black T-shirt over my head.
After all of my wardrobe changes, I end up wearing what I always wear if I’m not in scrubs—a T-shirt and jeans. At least this T-shirt gives me a little more shape than my loose-fitting scrubs. I reach in my closet for a pair of chunky black boots that I rarely wear, that I actually haven’t worn since the last time I went to a bar and came home alone, but Zoe stops me.
“Uh-uh,” she says, snatching the boot out of my hand. “These aren’t you.”
I know, I think. That’s exactly why I’m going to wear them.
“These,” she says, handing me my worn, black Chucks. “These are you.”
She reads the look on my face and jumps back in before I protest.
“He likes you, Jess. He likes you, not your shoes or your clothes or for any other shit that doesn’t matter.”
I put on the Chucks, part of me loving that shoes are actually something Adam and I have in common, another part of me worried this is how he sees me. Common.
I’m the one who told him flat out all we can ever be is friends. And I meant it. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten that a week ago he referred to me as beautiful. And tomorrow he leaves for his first game since his surgery, out of town, where, win or lose, the team will party afterward. And where there are parties, there are girls far more beautiful than I am, willing to do far more than just be Adam’s friend.
For tonight I want to stand out. To be special. Uncommon.
But I trust Zoe more than I do myself.
“Okay,” is all I say, and I grab my hoodie and follow her out of the apartment.
***
“There’s your standard, go-to, the Shirley Temple.”
Our walk to the bar consists of Zoe’s masterful knowledge of nonalcoholic beverages.
“You’re kidding, right? You know what we called those growing up? A kiddie cocktail. You know. For kids?”
She doesn’t acknowledge my virgin drink snobbery.
“There’s the apple fizz—apple juice and club soda. Looks like champagne.”
I giggle.
“Do college bars have apple juice?”
“Most do. But if not, you can really do it with any kind of juice. It makes it feel, I don’t know, fun. Bubbles are fun, which means bubbly juice is fun. Really, it’s a win-win.”
I don’t know how she does it, takes something like her mom’s addiction, and turns it around into this healthy reaction, one she seems to enjoy.
“Then,” she says, “there is my personal favorite. The Lavern
e.”
“The Laverne?”
Zoe stops walking. A ridiculous grin spreads across her face, and for some reason I feel like I’m being tested.
“Do you ever watch old TV shows, like on TV Land?”
“Yes.” The word comes out like a long, drawn out question.
“Do you know Laverne and Shirley?”
I do. And now I know what the Laverne is.
“Ew, Zoe. You don’t really . . . milk and Pepsi?”
She cracks up.
“I actually tried it once. It’s the most heinous thing I’ve ever tasted. But I fucking love asking for it at a bar. They always have milk, and they always have soda. So anytime I want to mess with a bartender, I order it. Better yet, if someone else orders the drinks, I’ll order a Laverne just so they have to explain it at the bar.”
We start walking again.
“See?” she asks. “Not drinking can be pretty fucking enjoyable.”
“So you’ve never been drunk?”
As soon as I ask, I’m afraid I’ve crossed a line, one too personal for us, but Zoe barely blinks.
“I never said that.” Her tone loses a bit of its lightness. “You didn’t know me as a freshman. When our mom got sober, she also got really strict with me and Zach, especially once we got into high school. We had a strict curfew and could never go away on weekends if it wasn’t a chaperoned kind of experience. Picture spring break our senior year—all our friends in Florida and Mexico, some on cruises, and Zach and I went to the Wisconsin Dells with our family. When I got here freshmen year, I went kind of nuts.”
She looks at me, her hazel eyes glossy.
“I fucked up once, and that’s all it took. I was at a party at Zach’s frat. Yes, I used to go to fraternity parties. The key there is used to. Anyway, I don’t remember a whole lot other than wanting to impress Zach’s roommate. I had a stupid crush on him, and I thought it would be cool to tell him how hard-core I was, that I could go shot for shot with him. I did, for about ten minutes, until I passed out face-first into a kiddie pool.”
My head jerks in her direction, and she locks her stare on me.
“Yeah, I forgot to mention this was a beach-themed party. Bathing suits and kiddie pools. It was high-class all the way.”
She pauses for several seconds, and I’m not sure if she’s going to continue. Maybe it’s too much to share.
“I only know the rest because Zach told me, but apparently his buddy I was crushing on so hard thought I was messing with him, so he didn’t pull me out. He actually took pictures before someone, maybe Zach, I don’t know, noticed I was not getting up.”
Her voice falters on that last word, and she clears her throat. I want to do something, to comfort her, but I’m so out of practice when it comes to knowing what others need. So I say the only thing I can.
“Oh my god, Zoe. I’m so sorry.”
She smiles, but I can tell it’s forced.
“Luckily I didn’t puke or breathe in too much water. I think I was probably only down there for about ten seconds, and when they pulled me out, I coughed up a bunch of water, but I was okay.”
I think about the few times early on in our roommate relationship when I came home drunk with a stranger I kicked out the next morning. How must that have looked to Zoe, my exploiting something so painful to her, just so I could feel wanted for a few hours?
“Was that the last time you drank?” I ask.
“Yep. Cold turkey. You know how you say you’re never going to turn out like your parents? Well, that night I realized how close I was to becoming my mom. I didn’t want to find out if addiction was part of my future, so I stopped.”
We pause in front of a glass window with the word Shooters painted across it. This is the place, the bar named for its rows of pool tables and infused vodka shots. I have little experience with the former. Plenty with the latter.
“You ready?” Zoe asks, and I think about all she told me and her walking into a place like this. If she can walk through these doors and keep it together, so can I.
“Yes,” I answer, the light tremble in my voice saying otherwise. I look at Zoe. “To Laverne?”
“To Laverne.”
And we walk in.
***
It’s not hard to spot him. Half past eight is early, so aside from a few people at the bar, the pool tables hold the small population of patrons. He stands at a table in the back, cue in hand, setting up his shot.
Zoe starts toward him, but I grab her arm. I watch and admire as he moves with precision around the corner of the table. With a nod, he calls his pocket and leans over to shoot.
The white ball hits its intended target with absolute accuracy, and he sinks the shot.
One of the other guys standing around the table, there are only three of them, shakes his head with a grin and pats Adam on the shoulder.
This afternoon, when Tracy gave Adam his official release to play, he made me promise I’d join the celebration, though I already agreed last week.
“You are a big part of getting me here, Jess, so you better be there.”
We hadn’t talked about tonight all week, so I was a bit relieved when he brought it up. Again Adam tried getting Tracy to join us, but Thursday’s a boxing night. I rationalize his invitation to Tracy as proof that tonight is nothing more than a group of friends hanging out. I try not to think about Tracy’s constant refusals every time Adam asks her to join us for something as mundane as coffee, or that hospital coffee with Adam Carson is far from mundane for me. If he never expected her to come, what does Adam want out of tonight?
Both his friends’ backs face us, both slightly shorter than him, which means they aren’t on the team.
Adam sets his cue against the wall and turns back to the table to watch his opponent shoot. This is when he sees us, and his smile elicits the same from me.
“Okay,” I say to Zoe. “We can head back there now.”
“Not a date, huh?” she asks. And it’s the same damn question I ask myself.
“Shut up!” I whisper-shout as Adam moves closer.
My smile widens even as my subconscious warns me not to get too comfortable, not to feel too safe.
Adam is the only one of the three I notice because he’s the only one looking at me.
“Hey,” he says, and then to Zoe, “Hey, Zoe.”
“Hey, Carson. Well, I’m going to get a drink. Jess, want me to grab you a Laverne?”
I slap her on the shoulder.
“No! Ew. Grab me a top-shelf Shirley Temple.”
I try to adopt Zoe’s unabashed bravado.
Adam laughs.
“A Shirley Temple?”
“A girl’s gotta drink,” I tell him.
“I guess so,” he says, and he turns his gaze to Zoe. “Grab me one too?”
She gives me the look, and I tell her to shut the fuck up with a glare.
“You got it, Vampire Boy. Three Shirley Temples coming up!”
Zoe struts to the bar, leaving Adam and me alone save for his buddies battling at the table behind him.
“Vampire Boy? I thought we had some sort of therapist/patient confidentiality going on.”
“Actually, as of today, we no longer do. And besides, Zoe was there for your inauguration. I could hardly keep it from her that you caught up on the show almost as quickly as we did. Besides, that’s not the full nickname.”
As soon as I say it, I regret it, because I know the next part is going to come out wrong. But I can’t ignore his narrowed eyes, his long lashes veiling his pupils.
“She calls you Sexy Vampire Boy. NOT because you’re, you know, sexy, but because we all watch the sexy vampires.” Oh god, Jess. Stop talking. STOP talking.
Adam abandons his look of suspicion and grins unapologetically.
“So you’ve been talking about me to Zoe?”
This is what he gets out of what I said.
“I see you at least three times a week. My internship is more important to me than any cl
asses I’m taking, so yeah. I may have mentioned you one or two times to my roommate, the only other person I talk to.”
God, I sound lame.
“Hmmm . . .” he muses. “But you don’t think I’m sexy.”
I roll my eyes.
Zoe saves me for the moment. Three Shirley Temples balance precariously in her hands. And Adam Carson, star of Easton University’s basketball team, takes the bubbly pink drink without pause. Before I can give him any shit about it, his two friends approach.
Shit. I grab Zoe’s arm and squeeze.
“Ow! What the hell, Jess?”
Adam looks at us, but I avoid his eyes. Already facing the direction of where the bathrooms are, I yank Zoe’s arm and mumble something about being right back.
It’s a horrible exit, wouldn’t even garner a one on a ten-point scale of grace.
When we are safe inside not only the bathroom but also packed into a stall, I lose it.
“Omigod. Omigod. Omigod. Zoe. What the fuck am I going to do?”
I’m panting, fighting back whatever is about to rise to the surface—tears? No. A scream? It doesn’t matter because it’s already ruined. Everything is ruined, and I didn’t even let it go too far. Not with Adam, at least.
I don’t know when she took it, but Zoe is now holding both of our drinks, and she looks at me like I’m crazy. If I’m not by now, I will be the moment I have to walk back out there.
She opens the stall door.
“No!” I yell. “Don’t go out there. I can’t go out there!”
She takes two steps back and places our glasses on the bathroom counter. Then she walks just as gently back into the stall, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Listen to me, Jess.” Her hands rest on my shoulders. “If I’m going to stand with my back against this hepatitis-covered door, then you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
I slow my breathing enough to nod, but I’m afraid if I speak, a torrent will erupt.
I may not win at graceful exits, but massive stupidity? I do that on a grand scale. Not until now am I able to admit how I saw this night.
The words start spilling.
“You’re right. I treated tonight like a date. I told him all I wanted was friendship, but outfits that didn’t make the cut litter my bedroom floor. I almost wore boots. With a heel. And I let him flirt with me. Because I liked it.”