by M. C. Cerny
Brit fell behind following us, her voice witchy and demanding. “Are you leaving me here?”
If the thought hadn’t crossed my mind before it certainly did now.
“Not if you want to leave now, but I need to see Taylor Jane safely to a bed.”
“Right, yours or hers?” She blocked the doorway with her arms crossed and pissed.
I should have probably cared, but I couldn’t conjure up enough positive feelings about her to change my decision. Besides the easy and fun sex, I wasn’t sure what I had really seen in Brit to begin with besides a safe distraction I’d visited before. She was annoying most of the time, too needy, and I realized that I must not have been that picky about sex if I was keeping Brit around to keep me away from someone else who was wiggling over my shoulder at the moment.
On a sigh, I answered her first question. “If you want to leave now, I will drop you off at your place, and if not, I’m sure Damien will eventually sober up in about an hour to take you home.”
“I’m so over with you, Hunter Hart.” She had the grace of a pissed pony stung by a hornet to stomp her feet on the porch, cracking a rotted floor board… which I would have to fix tomorrow so no one fell through. It was safe to say Brit would take the whole house down if she could in retaliation.
“I’m glad it never really began, Brit. Now are you coming or staying? I’d really like to get Taylor Jane settled before she barfs all over me or my truck.”
“Uhhhh, don’t say that word.” The body over my shoulder groaned, and I patted her ass to keep her still. Between Brit’s eyes rounding like dinner plates and realizing the firm skin under my hand was my best friend, this had nowhere left to go but downhill. I didn’t remove my hand either and smiled, waiting for the shit storm to hit either in front of me or down my back.
“I’m not getting in the car with you. Your friend smells like a damn bar.”
I turned my head slightly into her side resting placidly for the moment over my shoulder. If anything, Taylor Jane smelled sweet like candied fruit.
“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, I headed back outside with one drunken BFF over my shoulder, who remained remarkably quiet until now. Opening the truck, I lowered her to sit in the seat, belting her in.
“Did you just sniff my ass?” Taylor Jane quietly asked me, her brows furrowed and eyes searching.
“Yeah, I guess I did. Your pants at least. You smell like candy. What were you drinking? Or what spilled on you?” My hand felt sticky and the conversation was strangely normal as I got her secured inside the cab of the truck, brushing tacky hair off her face.
It took her a moment to answer me as she looked out the window, a wistful expression on her face. “Damien made these Alabama Slammers and Midouri Sours.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Sure did, that and whatever perfume she was wearing tonight. Something I would have named Siren’s call because if I was a ship she would have capsized me in her wake.
“I hope she’s not that bitchy when you’re giving her the D.” Only Taylor Jane could put it that way. “Does she ever shut up?” She was so drunk I doubted she’d remember this conversation asking if I gave Brittany the dick. Part of me wondered if she would actually say the word in front of me or not. Taylor Jane was a riot when alcohol loosened her tongue and strait laces. Her assessment of Brit, however, was spot-on and I laughed out loud.
“That’s probably why I only let her suck it as you so nicely stated.”
“Pffft. Eww.” She was flailing her arms, and I grabbed them before she made herself sick from the movement. Sure enough the green pallor returned and I held her still, letting her work this out. “Everyone knows you’ve got a big one, Hunter. Everyone has seen it except for me.” She was in full-on brat pout, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell Taylor Jane meant by that.
Does she want to see it?
“Of course I want to see it.” Her voice slurred and I realized I said my earlier statement out loud, damn it.
“Well, you’re not,” I automatically replied.
I was going to have to do a better job of putting up walls because she was demolishing each one like that old children’s book with the blue monster, Grover. Every turn of the page, a new wall was built and another was knocked down by the reader. I remembered the book sitting on the shelf at my aunt and uncle’s house in the old playroom. It was a classic, but unlike Taylor Jane who was off-limits I had to keep reminding myself.
Gulping in air, she finally nodded. “I’m okay now.”
I moved to get on my side of the truck with her now secured. “And we’re going to keep it that way, friend. You’re a temptation I don’t need to give into.” Maddened, I threw the truck into drive and peeled out of her driveway, tossing her roughly back in her seat. This was the only time I could have these frank conversations with her without having to worry about the laters or the tomorrows. She’d sleep this off and we could forget it ever happened, except it was getting harder and harder for me to do that and save my self-respect.
Her fingers played with her lips, tapping them, a pensive look on her face. I bet they were numb, pliable, and plump under her fingers and I swallowed whatever I was going to say.
Instead she shocked me again when she spoke next. “I wonder if you drive like you fuck.”
The cab of the truck was quiet, enough that one could hear a pin drop or hearts beating. What I heard Taylor murmur was like a gong loud and undeniably clear, making me groan deeply for the both of us. Well, my next to last wall had been blown sky high. I had nothing left to protect me or her. Bite your tongue… down, boy… do not cross that line. Keep her friend zoned for everyone’s sake. I repeated the mantra over and over, but they sounded like useless, meaningless words as the evening progressed and I drove farther from Taylor Jane’s flip to my house across town.
16
Taylor Jane
It was the need to retch that wakes me up quickly and with absolute clear focused panic. Forget pee-pee dance, I was doing the vomit rumba. “Here, honey, let’s get you tucked up tight against the bowl.” Groaning, my back felt drenched in sweat and I promised to swear off drinking ever again.
Green. Everything looked, felt, and tasted green right now. I bet I could touch green. For a moment, I imagined Oscar the Grouch in the Big Bird movie going to the Grouch diner and the cook throwing food and yelling, “Salad for everybody!” It was a strange and random thought that twisted my stomach up worse than before. Tossed salad, tossed cookies, tossing anything with mild force caused me to heave, clutching hands over my mouth, feeling sicker with the retched smell staining my skin. Why did everything have to be such an awful color green? I was tripping over myself to get to the bathroom as fast as possible.
“Hunter….” Pathetic, I whined in misery. He was right there to pick me up gently and carry me smoothly down the hallway of his house to the bathroom. Ever the hero, he placed me on the floor, the cool tiles refreshing against my heated skin and bare feet. I wanted to lean down so badly so the floor could touch whatever exposed skin I had, cooling me down.
“Easy there, I’ve got you.” Hunter kept me upright and the spins started all over again. Regret about drinking, revulsion for feeling so sick, and revolutions of the room played on repeat, tormenting me.
“Oh God,” I cried and swore Hunter mumbled something about that not being his name. Cute. I felt like I was dying and he was being persnickety about my pathetic pleas to my higher power. Now was not the time to explore any snide remarks he made.
“I know you’re just going to break your promise to not get drunk again, so don’t bother apologizing or swearing off alcohol.”
“Are you an expert on nights of indulgence?” A gross burp had me wishing for something to scrub my mouth with while he laughed.
“A little.” He caressed my back, making me shiver. “One good heave and you’ll be right as rain, sweetheart.”
“But I do promise to never drink again.” Whining made everything spin faster on my t
wisted merry-go-round, so I opened my eyes to head off the vertigo unsuccessfully, resting my hands on the clean white porcelain of the toilet in Hunter’s bathroom he was quietly helping me to kneel against.
“Taylor Jane, those promises only mean something when you’re older than thirty and have a passel full of kids to watch the next day.”
He was absolutely right. I had no concept of the ramifications this hangover could produce a decade from now. I wasn’t ready for those responsibilities. Hell, I could barely flip my house project. I’d probably go out with Kristen a month from now and forget all about this night except for how kind Hunter always was and how ready he was to drop everything to take care of me when I needed him. It was an understanding we both had for each other over years of cultivated friendship, but I found myself dangerously close to the edge of wanting—no, needing more.
Hunter cleared his throat. “So are you going to tell me what prompted you to have this party at the house?”
“Do I have to?” I was drunk. I relied on that fact throughout this conversation.
He laughed, hunching down in front of me, moving my hair securely behind my ears. “No, but it would help me understand where to go from here.” I didn’t want to talk about why and the fact I didn’t want him to see me as this good girl, this untouchable friend. I might as well have had the clap or something awful the way he avoided me. It must have been his fear of the plague, I guessed.
“I’m sorry I ruined your sex fest with Bitchy Brittany tonight,” I said in a fake British accent, but he didn’t laugh like I expected him to, and I felt terrible saying it.
He sighed and looked around the bathroom, anywhere but at me before talking again. Agitation laced Hunter’s next words. I wished I knew what he was thinking inside that big head of his with closely cropped hair my fingers itched to touch. “Honey, it was over long before it began.”
“She doesn’t like me.” All I could think about was Hunter touching her, someday marrying her and having babies with her high and mighty self. The gasses bubbled up from my stomach, making me hiccup uncivilized burps of acid.
“She doesn’t know you, and it doesn’t matter what someone like Brittany thinks anyway.” The way he said her name told me things, the kind of things I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear from my best friend. Hunter sat behind me, his back against the wall and the shower rubbing my back, partially lulling the biliousness. Even thinking about someone he had sex with made me nauseous.
“How did you meet her?”
Hunter paused and stopped touching me before he answered. I was a glutton for punishment. I didn’t know if it was guilt, or something else that kept him from telling me.
“It was maybe a month after you left for New York City.” His large fingers rubbed a sore spot on my spine and I leaned into him, enjoying the kink being worked out.
“After I left, huh.” That would also be after our fight eight years ago. Hunter told me he was going into the Marines because there was nothing left for him here. Technically, he left me, he left first, and I had to go or wallow in the misery of what could never be. I took that to mean I wasn’t enough even as a friend to keep him from risking his life going into the military.
I tried to come up with every reason I possibly could but none resonated. Hunter said he wanted to make a career for himself and didn’t have the financial backing to go away to a fancy school in the city. He lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and didn’t want to burden them any longer as an adult. I felt like Hunter was angry with me because I had opportunities he didn’t, but what I didn’t understand back then, what I didn’t know was how hard I was going to have to pay for those entitlements the moment I came home.
“Yeah, before the service. Brittany was a waitress going to the community college here part-time, something in business.”
“Now she’s all up in your business.” My sharp comment made me chuckle and that in turn made me heave, launching me to rest fully over the toilet with Hunter’s help.
He gripped me under my elbows where I let my full weight rest against him. “That’s my girl. Keep thinking those thoughts and let it all out.” Hunter held me steady as the evening’s contents rose up forcefully.
“Ugh, I don’t want to picture it.” I thought more about Hunter kissing that nasty woman and my stomach cramped, sending up everything I was worth into the bowl.
“Well, let my mistake clear the pipes.” He said.
I cried. Hunter chuckled. I coughed and when I was done Hunter took a cool wet towel and cleaned me off.
“I guess I don’t smell like candy anymore.” Morosely my head hung low and I wondered what Hunter could possibly see in a person like her.
“No, definitely not. I’ve got a spare toothbrush you can have.”
“You keep those on tap?” Now I had to wonder what other fillies might be in my best friend’s stable.
“Don’t confuse me with Damien.” Hunter stood in front of me with a wry expression on his face. “Brit tried using mine one time and after that I wanted to make sure she didn’t leave her mark anywhere else in my house.”
“Ah yes, the good old tampon and hair tie trick.”
Hunter looked at me, his brows drawn tight like he was organizing information in his head. I decided to put him out of his misery explaining the rational of the female mind.
“You know—us girls are good at marking our territory.” I gave Hunter a gentle punch in the chest, which he dodged, clasping my tiny fist in his larger hand.
“You won’t find those here, not even for you Taylor Jane.” That statement told me so much and my stomach resumed its weak cramping filled with disappointment instead of bile.
“A little disappointing, Hunter, but understandable.”
“Besides, I know you can repurpose anything you grab into a hair tie.” Hunter smiled and reached into the drawer for a toothbrush, handing it to me. “Think you can crawl back to the bedroom when you’re done?” Hunter’s thumb touched my chin gently and I nodded when he turned to leave, avoiding his glance. So this was Hunter being intense… wow… my stomach flipped, completely empty and now a little sore and strangely hungry. Nothing left to do except brush my funky mouth out and join Hunter... in the bedroom as requested.
I padded along the hallway, fingertips grazing the wall and stopping at each mounted picture frame of family and friends he had up. It reminded me of the stairwell in my parents’ house. A pictorial history I didn’t expect from a man who generally seemed so unattached to anything in his life. There wasn’t enough light to see them clearly, but I knew they were all happy faces and loved ones. Things his aunt probably picked out, but he wouldn’t hang them up unless he liked them. Hunter didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do and the years of our friendship made that startlingly clear.
There were photos of him with his family, a football photo of him in action catching the ball in midair taken by the student paper, one of Damien playing with Kristen’s dog as a young kid, and the resemblance between cousins was uncanny. A group photo of the football team, Hunter, Damien, and Chase—Kristen’s older brother—Evan, and David holding up their helmets. I later learned that he never wanted to play on the team in the first place. The last one, however, was all of us at graduation wearing our caps and gowns, smiling and ready for an unknown future. My smile hid the pain of knowing he was leaving.
He didn’t even stay for the after party, instead driving out of town to the Marine recruiter taking off. My heart still hurt from that day, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t told me, warned me, the rest was my own fault.
It was dark and the only light was at the end of the hallway where Hunter’s door was open just a crack. It was an orange glow and I knew it was the orange construction cone nightlight I found in one of those tourist trap novelty shops off Broadway. I couldn’t believe Hunter actually put it up in his bedroom of all places. I bet it was one heck of a conversation piece when the ladies paraded into his bedroom.
I opened the door a crack
and found Hunter standing there waiting.
“I was about to send out a search party of one.”
Weakly smiling, I saw Hunter kept his sense of humor intact. “As you can see, I made it back in one piece.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He sounded tired and maybe relieved. I was sure he didn’t plan to spend his evening babysitting me and cleaning up my drunk ass.
“So, um, I didn’t say it before but thanks for tonight.” I took a step closer.
Hunter was wearing jeans, and I noticed how low they sat on his defined hips. I was guessing it must be a hot guy thing and my heart fluttered because I didn’t have those kinds of thoughts about Hunter.
Repeat.
I.
Did.
Not.
Have.
Those.
Thoughts.
Okay, but I absolutely couldn’t do anything about them. Ruin half my lifetime by crossing the line, nope, not doing it. Besides, we had a house to finish flipping and probably a lot of Kristen and Damien babysitting to do in between.
“That’s what friends do, Taylor Jane.”
Friends. I was glad Hunter was keen on reminding me because for a hot minute I almost forgot and lost my head there.
Phew.
Right?
“Right, friends.” It was more of a whisper and I swallowed the raw dryness down my throat that felt like sawdust and sandpaper lodged in there.
“You, uh, gonna sleep in that?” Hunter nodded to my attire.
Glancing down, I saw I was barefoot in my skinny jeans and a tank top. I didn’t have a clue where my shoes had disappeared to. “I thought I was.”
Confused, Hunter stalked over to his large wooden dresser. I remembered him and Damien dragging it home years ago. It was technically an antique, but the two sanded it down and re-stained it, giving it an updated dark cherry color while keeping all the original woodworking intact. It was beautiful and one of the first pieces Hunter did in his garage workshop.
“Those jeans can’t be comfortable. Come put this on.” He tossed a navy blue shirt that buttoned up the front and likely covered me to my thighs.