The Virginia Chronicles

by Kayt Miller

  “Yeah.” Don’t I know it?!

  Chapter 21

  Baker

  Pounding. That’s what it feels like someone’s doing to my head right now. When I blink awake, I see an unfamiliar light fixture on the ceiling. “Where am I?”

  “You’re at my daughter’s apartment. Who are you?” asks an older dude standing over me.

  “Your daughter? Who’s that?”

  “Virginia. I repeat. Who. Are. You?”

  “Baker. Baker Stark.” What the hell happened last night? I remember doing some shots with the guys from the team. Shit! Shots. I can’t handle shots. I run my fingers through the hair that probably looks like it’s been through a blender. Looking up, I see the older man, Virginia’s father, and I attempt a smile.

  Surprising me, Mr. Virginia asks, “Coffee?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Now, if he just had some greasy bacon and eggs, I’d be set. There’s nothing like a greasy breakfast to help with a hangover. And I’ve got one hell of a one of those.

  “Come on. It’s in the kitchen.”

  I sit up and realize I’m only in my boxers. Great. Looking around, I spot my t-shirt and jeans. Slipping on the shirt first, I stand to hook my legs into my jeans. I quickly zip and buckle my belt. Grabbing my phone from the back pocket, I make my way into the kitchen. Kitchen? I wouldn’t call it a kitchen. A kitchenette is more like it. The thing is barely big enough for one person. I take the coffee that’s offered and sit at the tiny breakfast bar. “Sugar? Milk?”

  “Neither. Black is good.”

  “Me too. You know? It’s interesting. Most of you kids these days are so into the mocha-cheenos and the lah-tee-dahs. It’s hard to keep up with all that fancy shit.”

  I chuckle and regret it. My head. It hurts like someone smashed a brick over it.

  “So, you Virginia’s boyfriend?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “No?”

  “No. We’re, uh, just friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Uh, huh.” Well, we’re sort of friends. I peer down at my phone to check for messages. I don’t have any new ones; just the old ones from last night. Okay, maybe we aren’t friends. Not after last night. She’s gonna hate me now. Shit! Could I have been a bigger douche? ‘Let me come over. I make you feezl so goods, babe?’ Jesus. I’m a tool.

  “So, Baker, what do you do?”

  Okay, here we go. The parental questions begin. I can’t deal. Especially not questions from a dad who I’ll never see again in my lifetime. “I’m a student.”

  “You’re a pretty big guy. Do you play sports?”

  “Hockey. Goalie.”

  “Nice. I love the Red Wings.”

  Ugh, everybody loves the Red Wings. I prefer the Sharks. I’d play for any of them and be happy as a clam. Yeah, like I’m going to make the pros. By the time I pay my dues through the ranks of all of the minor leagues, I’ll be eighty before anyone even wants to call me up. Nope, I need to focus on graduate school and a degree in Physical Therapy. I look up and remember I’m supposed to respond or something. “Red Wings are cool. I follow the San Jose Sharks.”

  “Brent Burns?”

  “Yeah,” I say surprised. “He’s awesome.”

  “He is.” I watch the man sip his coffee. If I knew his name… “So, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

  And, boom, there it is. “No intentions. We’re just friends.”

  “Hm,” he says sipping again. “She’s a pretty special young woman.”

  “She is. She’s a nice friend.”

  “She’s got dreams. Goals.”

  “Cool.” What the ever loving…?

  “She deserves to have the world handed to her.”

  “Okay. I’m sure she’ll find someone…”

  “But, she’s also vulnerable.”

  Vulnerable? “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good.”

  We sip our coffee both of us trying not to make eye contact with the other. The awkward silence is cut short when a tall blonde woman walks into the kitchen. Damn, she’s smokin’ hot. “Well, hello gentlemen,” she coos. Fuck. I’d love to…

  “Hey dad,” says a much smaller woman with purple hair.

  What is it about Virginia that makes me so nuts? Her hair is all wrong for her, and this morning it’s a little bit all over the place, which is kind of cute. Her face is so damn pretty. It doesn't matter what color her hair is. She’s got these little freckles on her turned-up nose and the most beautiful blue eyes. Or are they gray? They sparkle and they’re just a tad too large for her small face.

  But, hands down, her best feature is her lips. All I have to do is look at her lips and feel myself get hard. I can’t help it. I know what she can do with those full little lips. And they are little. Their shape is like a pink rosebud. It’s why I kissed her that first day in the library. Those fucking lips were taunting me. She kept licking them nervously then biting them with irritation when I wouldn’t answer her questions with more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers. It was fucking adorable. Yeah, her lips are stellar. They fucking haunt me.

  “Good morning, peanut. Sleep well?”

  “Um, sure.” Why do I get the feeling she’s lying? “Peach and I shared a bed.” She looks over at me. She doesn’t smile or scowl. We just make eye contact for a second. “She’s a bed-hog.”

  “I am not!” snaps the stone-cold, foxy blonde. “You’re the bed-hog. I woke up with no pillow or blanket. You stole them all.”

  “Sorry, Peach. I was cold,” says Virginia quietly, almost shyly.

  “Is your name Peach?” I ask.

  “Nope. Penny. But, everyone calls me Peach. And you’re Brock?”

  “Baker.”

  “You play soccer?”

  “Hockey.”

  “Right. Damn, Virginia. You got all that wrong?”

  Virginia shrugs her shoulders. “I couldn’t remember. Sorry.”

  Okay, now she’s fucking with me. Pretending she didn’t remember my name? I’ll accept the confusion about my sport but not my name. “Welp! On that note, I think I’ll head out. Virginia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “May I speak to you out in the hallway for a moment?”

  “Uh, I guess,” she shrugs.

  I look around to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I don’t want to have to come back here. I turn to the other two people, “Mr., uh,”

  “Murray. Bill Murray.”

  No way! Bill Murray? I wish I’d known that before. We could have talked about his namesake instead of his ‘vulnerable’ daughter, but I say nothing. I don’t want to start up a new conversation. Nope, I want to get the hell out of here. “Mr. Murray and Peach. It was nice meeting you both.”

  “You too, son. Good luck with hockey.”

  “Thanks.” I grab the doorknob and pull open the door. I hold it wide for her to walk through first. I can’t help myself. I look down and see her plump, round ass in some of those skintight yoga pants chicks like to wear. Jesus. Her ass is perfection. I should know. I’ve had my hands on it several times. I practically have to will my dick to stay down.

  When she gets out into the hallway, she turns around crossing her arms under her breasts forcing them upward. Groaning at the sight, I force my eyes up. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  She shrugs. “It’s no biggy.”

  “I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up like that.”

  She stares at me and blinks. I can see all of her emotions as they pass through her eyes and over her face. She went from surprise, to disappointed, and they’ve now landed squarely on anger. “Who in the hell do you think you are, Brock?”

  “My name is Baker. And you know it,” I say pointing at her.

  “You’re really full of yourself aren’t you?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

  “You texted me, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You showed up at my door,” she says pointing at herself.
/>
  “Yep.”

  Turning her finger around to direct it at me she says, “Then, I think it’s you that shouldn’t get their hopes up.”

  “Why would I?”

  “Exactly.”

  I have no idea where this conversation is going or, hell, what it even means. She starts to make her way past me and back to her door when I stop her with my palm on her stomach. I slide it around to her waist and pull her into me. Leaning down, I get within about an inch from her lips. Her breath catches, and I can see her pulse beating in her neck. I’ve got her.

  Fuck. I was going to tease her, but it’s impossible. I move to kiss her when she pulls back. “These lips,” she says pointing at her mouth, “…are off limits to you. No more kisses!” She stomps past me and back into her apartment slamming the door shut as she goes.

  Chapter 22

  Baker

  What the fuck just happened? “Jesus. That girl drives me crazy.” Before I walk away, I adjust myself in my pants willing my dick to go back down. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I call my buddy for a lift. I need to get the hell out of here. “Tig?”

  I hear him drop the phone and curse in the background, “What the hell time is it, Bake?”

  “Early. Come pick me up.”

  “Walk, asshole.”

  “Please pick me up. I’ll buy breakfast,” I say sugar-sweetly, so he’ll do me this solid.

  He shouts ‘fuck’ in the background. “Fine. Are you at the same place I dropped you off?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be waiting outside. Hurry up.”

  “Fuck you. I’ll get there when I get there.”

  Tig, also known as Tigger on the team due to his bright red hair and constant need to be moving, only lives a few blocks away. I lean against the brick wall as I wait to let my head rest on the rough surface. I’m so tired I don’t notice the tall blonde that’s standing next to me in some tight-ass running gear.

  “Blake?”

  “It’s Baker, and you know it,” I reply without opening my eyes.

  “Whatever. Listen, I know all about this thing you’ve got for Virginia.”

  “And?” She wants in. I know chicks like her. They’ll fuck over their friends to get to me. I’ve seen it. Friendships lost over it. It sucks, but whatever.

  “And… I want to give you a little piece of advice.”

  “Advice?” Okay. Not what I was expecting. “What advice?”

  “If you don’t stop dicking around, you’re going to lose her.”

  “Lose her? I don’t want her.”

  “Sure you don't. You…” She pushes a short strand of hair away from her stunning face. She’s pretty. Gorgeous really, but for some reason, I’m not interested.

  I interrupt. This is pointless. “I don’t.”

  “Can I finish?”

  I nod.

  “You do want her. Who wouldn’t? She’s beautiful, kind, sweet, honest, smart as hell, loyal, and dare I say, sexy.”

  “You gay?”

  She throws her head back to laugh exposing her long neck. “No. Asshat. I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just think the guy that gets with Virginia is going to be one lucky guy. You’d better not sit on your ass too long, Blake. She’s got lots of offers.”

  “Offers? What off…?”

  Just as I’m about to ask her more, Tig pulls up in his piece of shit Chevy Cobalt. Honking he yells out his open window. “Let’s go! I’ve got shit to do.”

  “You’d better go, your, uh, chariot awaits.”

  I watch her set off on a run down the street. She’s down the block and around the corner before I even get to Tig’s car.

  “That her?” Tig says with awe. “She’s hot as fuck, dude.”

  “That’s the roommate.”

  “Holy hell, is your girl as hot as that?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and think of Virginia, “Hotter.”

  “Fuck! You lucky sum-bitch.”

  “It’s not serious. Just a hook-up.”

  “Well, then. I can’t wait to meet her,” he says winking. “Fair game.”

  I turn and slap Tig on the chest. “Don’t even think about it,” I growl. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Jeez dude, get a grip.”

  We drive in silence to IHop. I promised him breakfast, and he picked this place? It’s surprisingly expensive for a pancake house. I know I won’t get out of here without spending thirty bucks on him. Tig’s a good guy. He’s the only friend I’ve got here at Iowa State. I get along with the other guys on the team, but none of them get me like Tig does.

  As soon as we’ve placed our orders, Tig starts, “So, tell me what’s going on with your girl.”

  See? He knows me. “She’s not ‘my’ girl,” I say with air quotes. “Her name is Virginia, and I can’t seem to shake her.”

  “Shake her? She a stalker, dude?”

  “No,” I say as I reach out to punch him on the arm. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Everything she does surprises me. She’s different.”

  “The keepers usually are,” he says with a sigh.

  “I’m not ‘keeping’ her. I’m throwing her back. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”

  Tig throws his head back and laughs. “Too busy? What do you do besides go to class and play hockey? You don’t have to work. Ever.”

  I nod. Another thing Tig knows is my net worth. I confided in him one drunken night over a bottle of Jack. I made him swear secrecy––practically a blood oath. I don’t want anyone to know I’ve got money. The team thinks the house belongs to my grandmother and that it’s off limits for parties and shit. “I know.”

  I run my hands over my tired face. Hangovers suck. “I just need to shake her. Trust me. She’s not for me.”

  “Bro, I wish you’d let someone in. You deserve to be happy. You deserve a good woman in your life.”

  I snort then scoff, “Yeah, right.”

  “You do.”

  When our breakfast lands in front of us, neither one of us speaks until it’s all devoured, so about ten minutes. What can I say? We were hungry.

  “Alright, I’m gonna drop you off at home and then I’m due for a workout. What about you?”

  “Later. I need some sleep.” Now that I’ve eaten enough for three men, I need to pass out.

  “Call me. Maybe I’ll go in for a second one later.”

  “You’re a machine. Thanks for the ride, man. See you later.” Stepping out of his car, I make my way up my brick sidewalk to my house. It’s a nice four bedroom, four bath house on the east side of Ames. I wasn’t lying to Virginia the night I saw her on the street. I live a couple of blocks from there in a newer housing development. This neighborhood has large lots and ‘plenty of curb-appeal.' Grandmother’s words, not mine.

  Flopping onto my king size bed, I grab my phone to charge when I see the text messages from last night.

  Me: Virginia? This isn’t funny. I meant what I said in my first text. I’m sorry if it hurts you.

  V: Whatevs.

  Me: Whatevs? WTF? I didn’t think a girl like you would do this to someone like me.

  V: Well, I have no idea what to say to that. A girl like me? Someone like you? You’ve piqued my curiosity. You mean a smart woman and a jock? Or do you mean a fat woman and a stud muffin like you? Either way, you can now move on with your life. I’m good.

  Me: Jesus. You make me crazy. And you’re not fat.

  V: Alrighty then. Good talk. See ya.

  V: Oops. Guess not.

  Me: Jesus.

  Then the drunken texts begin. God, I’m a tool.

  Me: Virginia

  V:?

  Me: It’s me. What r u doinz?

  Doinz?

  V: Sleeping.

  Me: You want company? I’d love to sleep with you. I miss you.

  V: No.

  Me: Virginzia, you make me crazy.

  V: So you keep saying. Sorry.

  Me: Please? Let me come over. I make you
feezl so goods, babe.

  V: I have company.

  Me: Who? Who’s there? I’m gonns kicks his ass. You r mine.

  V: It’s none of your business. Go to bed and sleep it off.

  I cringe as I read through everything. Maybe Penelope or Peach or whatever her name was is right. Virginia doesn't seem to play games or mince words. At least now I know that when she told me she had company, she actually had company––her dad. It’s not something I’m used to––a truthful girl. I’m used to women who pout and whine until they get their way. I could barely get this one to let me crash on her couch. After reading my text messages, I’d say the roles are now reversed. I was the one whining and pouting. As I’m about to fall asleep, I murmur, “Damn, Virginia Murray, you make me crazy.”

  Chapter 23

  Virginia

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, honey?”

  “Thanks for coming. I’ve had such a great time with you.” We did have a fantastic time. We went to the football game and then out to eat. I gave him a campus tour showing him where all of my classes are held. At the University Bookstore, he bought himself a new t-shirt, and he bought me a new sweatshirt.

  We stopped into The Coffee Bean to say hello, but things there are still a little weird. Jackson has been blowing up my phone since the ‘incident’ with updates and information and with messages begging me to come back to work. Evidently, Kip resigned. I think it was his only way to save face and be able to find work in Ames. Word travels fast in this town about stuff like that.

  Don really wants me back too. He offered me a raise and weekends off. Then he offered the manager job to Jackson, but he turned it down because he wants to concentrate on school and not on running the ‘dysfunctional as fuck Coffee Bean’. His words. I think as long as Jackson is there, I’ll work there too. Maybe they’ll hire a new manager that doesn't suck. That’d be awesome.

  The one thing dad and I didn’t do was talk about mom or anything related to the past. We focused on the time we had together and on the future––our future. It was wonderful. But, I’m so sad he’s going home already. It’s Sunday afternoon, and as he’s packing his car for the six-hour drive home he turns to me and wraps his big arms around me. I hear him sniffle just a bit, which causes me to finally lose it. “I want to talk to you at least once a week, and I want to see you every month, Peanut. We’ll talk and figure things out. Come to our house for the holidays. I’ll cover your gas and…”