by Amy Daws
***
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Finley! If this isn’t your fucking apartment then I give up and I’m going to party with whoever the bloody hell lives here! Or I’ll go back to the neighbors two doors ago—they had Captain Crunch.”
“Leslieeeee?” I squeal, from the bathroom, quickly setting down the Windex and paper towels, and run out to greet her. She halts me mid-step with her hands up in the air.
“I, no joke, went into not one, not two, but three incorrect apartments before this one. What the hell kind of a set up is this place? All the apartment numbers are the same!”
“The building number Lez! Remember? I told you to make sure you had the right building number!”
“That’s WILD!” She smiles, proudly. “Get it? Wild. Wildwood! Haysoos Chreeeest, I’m a funny buggar!” she chortles, unabashedly.
“I can’t believe you kept just walking into places after you got the first one wrong.”
“Fuck it! I made some new friends. YOLO!” She pauses, and looks me up and down quickly. “Uh, hellooooo, what the hell are you still doing over there and not over here hugging the shit out of me? I’ve been in England for crying out loud. It’s not like I just got home from the grocery store!”
I smile at her and run across the small living room to hug her the way I’ve hugged her a million times before. She still smells the same and my brain seems really happy at the nostalgic memory. Her auburn hair is long and thick with extra long bangs swooped off to one side. Her clothes are more outrageous than I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing red, crocheted shorts, with a turquoise button-down sleeveless blouse. How this girl can pair red with turquoise and look as fierce as she does is beyond me. But I don’t even care because my Leslie is here!
“Let’s go girl, give me the cracks!” she bellows, and pulls me toward the couch and we both collapse with big dopey grins on our faces.
“I need the cracks out of you too! You’re the one living overseas as a designer!” I retort, and heave myself off the couch to run to the fridge and grab us both pops. “I don’t even know where you’re living!”
“Well, I just moved in with this fiery ginger. We had an interesting first meeting…I’ll have to tell you all about it someday. It’s a funny story!”
“Can’t wait!” I hand her a Fresca—her favorite. I was sure to buy them just for this visit.
She smiles appreciatively at me. “So, what about you? That’s what I want to hear about!”
I sigh deeply—thankful she’s here, now more than ever.
“Uh oh…I don’t like the sound of that sigh. Let’s hear it,” she says, looking at me seriously.
I unload the entire Jake debacle to her. Every little crack. I even unload the feelings I have deep down that I hadn’t even admitted out loud—like the horrible insecurity in myself this situation is causing. The fact that he’s clearly put me in the friend zone, but I still want him and can’t force myself to stay away. I feel fifty shades of pathetic.
When I describe in great detail what happened with us last night in my room, I see Leslie’s fiery anger peaking.
“Shit. Your drama makes my London adventures seem like child’s play,” she heckles kindly.
“What the hell am I going to do, Lez?”
She laughs, heartily. “Well, this guy sounds like a tease to me.” I look at her sadly. “Alright, I’ll try not to judge until I’ve met him. But fair warning, Fin—so far, I am not impressed.”
“Fine, fine. Just tell me what I can do to figure this shit out!”
Her face contorts into an oh, please expression. “That’s easy, Finny.”
“What?” I look at her impatiently, like she’s going to give me the key to the kingdom.
“You look fucking hot and show him what he’s missing out on!”
I tell her the plan for tonight and I can see her wheels cranking at the fact that Jake will be out with us tonight. It’s like I can picture the outfit she’s designing in her head for me. Clothes were always the answer to everything for Leslie. She heads over to the door and grabs her gigantic wheelie suitcase.
“Point me to your room, lover!”
I point.
“So, The Tank you said?” Leslie asks, dropping her bag into my room and coming back out and heading for the front door.
“Yeah, but—wait. Where are you going?”
“Oh, I just gotta go tell my new friends where we’re partying tonight real quick.” I stare back, dumbfounded. “I promised!” she says, seriously, closing the door behind her. God, it’s good to have her back.
***
Jake texts, saying he’ll meet us at The Tank after practice. No surprise there. I wasn’t expecting him to come over, but damn was I hoping he would. I envisioned him walking in the front door and getting a long, hard look at the incredible ensemble Leslie put together for me. But that won’t be happening.
I’m wearing a pair of way too snug, way too short, white denim shorts. They are Leslie’s, which is why they are scandalously short on me. Leslie is a good six inches shorter than me, but these shorts make my ass look great, and my lingering summer tan is on full display.
She pulls out what looks like a strappy scarf, and says it’s a shirt. I respond with “Hell to the NO!” But she makes me try it on and I am eating my words because as soon as I put it on, I feel amazing. It was a black tank top with a slouchy scoop neckline, and makes my breasts look amazing. But the real showstopper is the back. Thin straps crisscross and meet at the small of my back, revealing the sides of my ribcage—and pretty much every other part of my back. I feel like I’m wearing nothing, but I can’t deny it looks good.
“You fucking bitch! You’re keeping that,” Leslie bites out, eyeing me thoughtfully.
“What? No! I’m sure it was expensive, Lez!” I reply.
“You wear it better than me! It wasn’t expensive, because I made it,” she says, in a flat monotone, hoping to minimize the amazingness of what she just revealed.
My aqua eyes turn wide in response to Leslie’s comment. I knew Leslie was talented. I have seen many of her designs, but this is a whole other level. Obviously, the move to London is proving to be beneficial for her skills.
“You do wear it well, Finley,” Angela adds, looking me up and down. Angela got home from her night class shortly after Leslie and I cracked our first pre-game cocktails. The three of us have been primping and drinking wine for nearly two hours now, but we really need to get walking soon or we’ll be stuck waiting in line at The Tank.
Leslie fishes a pair of black peep-toe ankle boots out of my closet. “Think you can shake your tail feathers in these?”
“Ahh, my ‘Fuck Me’ heels! Good call,” I reply, confidently stepping into the high stilettos.
“You girls ready?” Angela asks, wearing a sweet dark blue sundress. Leslie is wearing a checkered vintage dress with a fitted bodice. The three of us couldn’t look more different.
“Let’s go show that pecker what he’s missing,” Leslie says, and we laugh as we follow her out the door.
CHAPTER fourteen
The Tank is packed when we show up and the three of us groan at the sight of the one in, one out line. Before we even reach the back of the line, I hear a familiar voice calling my name.
“Finley!” Olivia bellows from the exit next to the entrance. “Over here!” She waves us over, and I see all the line-waiters turn to look at me.
Olivia gives a slight nod to the guy letting people in at the door. Angela, Leslie, and I walk in without another word.
“Thanks!” I shout, and follow Olivia through the swarms of people. She’s tarted up to the nines in a little black dress, and she’s slinking through the joint like she owns the place. The Tank is a hotspot dance club right near campus on the study strip, where everyone goes who is of age, or has a good fake ID. It’s nice being a senior, not having to worry about getting into the bars anymore.
I glance around and see several familiar faces. There are always a l
ot of Wildwood residents at the strip since it’s only four blocks away. We reach a large round high-top table that overlooks the dance floor. I look up and catch a glimpse of a really familiar face and blush at his blatant perusal of my body.
Jake. Damn. Why does he have to look so good? His nearly black eyes dilate as he takes in the shortness of my shorts and the longness of my legs in my tall ‘Fuck Me’ heels. I feel an ache in my groin when his eyes linger on my breasts before making their way up to my face. He offers me a sexy-as-sin smile, and I return it, eagerly. This is a different Jake than I saw in class today, and I have to say—I’m a fan.
I lick my lips and drink in his charcoal cargo shorts and fitted black tee. He looks tall, dark, and handsome. Olivia settles onto the barstool next to him and gestures for us to join. I sit directly across from him. Leslie and Angela grab the other two open spots.
“Everybody know Leslie?” I shout, over the loud music.
“Yeah, yeah,” Olivia grumbles, and takes a swig of her beer. She grabs one of the pitchers in the middle of the table to refill. Olivia’s roommate, Jen, fills three cups and hands one to each of us.
“I don’t,” Jake says, never taking his eyes off me.
“Leslie, Jake. Jake, Leslie,” I say, with a smirk, and take a large swig of the cold draft beer to cool myself off.
“You’re Jake?” Leslie shouts. He nods. “You would be,” she adds, sarcastically.
“What?” he asks, breaking eye contact with me and looking at her curiously.
“Nothing. Fuck me!” she shouts randomly at no one in particular. She quickly clinks her beer with mine and takes a hearty swig. I laugh at her obvious approval of Jake’s appearance. I’m not surprised. Jake just has that look about him. But I know that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook with Leslie.
After several beers and a ton of ferocious laughs, courtesy of Leslie’s hilarious stories of her roommate, everyone seems to be getting along well.
“…Frank’s naked bum is something I’ll have forever drilled into my brain,” Leslie laughs, finishing her hilarious tale of a guy she knows in London, getting his man parts waxed.
Emmet and a few of Jake’s teammates show up and encourage him to join them at the bar. I feel butterflies in my belly when Jake refuses their offer. After they leave, he catches my eye and motions his head toward the dance floor. I nod in agreement. If Jake wants to dance, I’m dancing. This isn’t the first time we’ve danced together. We’ve gone out a few other times this summer with his teammates. I quickly learned that Jake has some serious moves. Or maybe his moves aren’t that great, but I don’t notice or care because his body is rubbing up against mine, eliminating any chance at forming a coherent, unbiased opinion.
I give a nervous look to Leslie and she raises her eyebrows, encouragingly. Jake grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd, right to the center of the mob of students. My pulse quickens as he puts his hands on my hips and grinds into me with an erotic rhythm. I crane my neck and look up into his dark hooded eyes and he smirks at me. His hands slowly move up, and I shiver at his touch on my bare back. Goosebumps pimple all over my skin.
“This is fun,” I say, with a smile. He returns my pleased look, and then briefly glances around at the other dancers. “I was excited for Leslie to meet you,” I add into his ear, attempting to get a feel for his mood. My inner monologue is warring with myself on whether or not I should ask him why he was so cold earlier. Damn it, maybe I should just man up and finally express my feelings to him—preferably sober this time so I can’t blame the alcohol.
“She seems cool,” he shrugs, with nonchalance, and continues grinding his hips into mine. God he feels good. My arms have to stretch for my hands to clasp behind his neck. Leslie, Angela, Olivia, and the rest of the gang join us, so we break apart to dance with the group instead of just each other.
Olivia seems to be paying more attention to Jake, now that she’s on the dance floor. I have to forcefully hold down my green jealousy guns so I don’t make a fool of myself. Leslie does her best to distract me from their obvious flirting, but I feel myself growing more and more anxious. Deciding I can’t take anymore, I motion to Olivia that we should go back to our table for a shot, and she nods and smiles.
Back at the table, we all order a round of shots and the mood lightens considerably. Everyone chats about the start of school and class schedules. Jake continues stealing glances of me across the table. They seem to hold some meaning, but Olivia keeps yammering in his ear, distracting him.
Jen’s boyfriend cuts into my thoughts, “We have to run the damn mile!” Phil barks, incredulously.
I look over at him and reply, “Run the mile for what?”
“That fitness class we all have to take before we graduate. I thought we were done with PE once we graduated high school,” he adds, pulling his baseball cap down lower on his forehead.
“Oh, God. That. I haven’t taken that class yet. I have it scheduled for my final semester,” I say, groaning slightly.
“Ick! I can’t believe they make you run the mile!” Leslie adds. “Finny and I wouldn’t last a single lap!” She laughs and nudges me and I laugh back. Leslie’s and my disdain for physical activity is no secret. We much prefer reading, watching movies, or in her case, sewing. The only form of true physical activity I actually enjoy, is dancing.
“What are you guys talking about?” Jake asks, over the chatter.
“The senior fitness class we all have to take. I’m not taking that class ‘til the very last second. We were just laughing because Leslie and I both hate exercise with a passion,” I stop mid-laugh when I notice Jake’s confused expression.
“And sports!” Angela adds. I glare at her. “I still can’t believe you ever played sports in high school, Finley,” she says, disbelievingly, looking like she’s well on her way to being wasted.
“Why? What do you mean?” Olivia asks, clearly not understanding Angela’s accusation.
“Finley hates sports and exercise, yet she played basketball in high school! It makes no sense!” she teases me, and I laugh awkwardly in response. I know Angela, she’s just drunk and giving me shit. It’s what we do with each other.
“I did it for the social status,” I say, and glance at Jake, who looks disturbed.
“What do you mean?” Jake inquires, seriously.
I continue laughing, but squirm at his serious expression. “Nothing. Just that…I don’t know. I’m from a small town. It’s just what people did to be social. You played sports or you were a band geek. I couldn’t play an instrument so I went out for basketball,” I confess, shrugging my shoulders and look over to Leslie for support.
“It’s true! In Marshall, that’s just what you did for something to do! It’s funny to think about what we did back then. We’d never do that stuff now.”
“Yeah, yuck!” I laugh, albeit a bit drunkenly. Those three bottles of wine we polished off before arriving, and the beer we’re having now, have definitely kicked in.
“You guys are awful. You’ll probably be super fat housewives someday,” Olivia says, snottily. Everyone just laughs at her in response. “I run at least three times a week. I feel gross if I don’t,” she adds, snarkily.
“Good for you, Oli!” Leslie jeers. I can see Leslie’s patience for Olivia’s superior attitude wearing thin. “I’ll be wearing moo-moos in my forties and you’ll be in peak physical condition. The perfect Stepford Wife. I, personally, don’t give a toss. I’ll be designing and wearing the fiercest moo-moos you’ve ever seen!”
“I’ll wear them too!” I say, excitedly. I laugh and look over and feel stunned by Jake’s somber expression. He looks disappointed. Obviously, I’m a bit drunk right now, but I’m not making a total fool out of myself. I’m not smoking. What the hell is his problem now? His chest puffs upward, and he grabs his full beer and drinks the entire thing.
“Why so glum, Jake?” I prompt, feeling uneasy at his obvious change in mood.
“It’s nothing,” he ans
wers, and refills his beer and begins drinking that quickly too.
I pull my eyebrows together but then shake my head. I can’t figure this guy out. If he wants to be a moody bastard again, screw him. Leslie’s here. I’m not letting him ruin my one night with her. He was just eye-fucking me a minute ago and now he will barely look at me.
“Let’s go dance this drunk off, Lez!” I suggest cheerily. “Angela, you in? Anyone else?” I ask, but no one looks too interested.
Angela, Leslie, and I all finish our beers and head onto the dance floor to lose ourselves to the beat of the music. Honestly, I wish I would have taken dance when I was a child. Then maybe I could actually say I don’t hate exercise. I love dancing and have pretty decent moves. It’s just something that allows me to release all my pains and frustrations, and even my happiness. I can leave it all on the dance floor. And dancing with Leslie is always a riot because the girl has no pride, whatsoever. She couldn’t care less if she looks like a total fool. If it makes anyone around her laugh, she’s doing it.
All three of us have worked up a good sweat, so I suggest we go back to the bar and get a drink. Jake and Olivia appear to be deep in conversation as we pass our table. The green-eyed monster is screaming inside of me to claw her eyes out and get her away from my man, but I ignore it and decide another drink is a better idea.
We down a shot and head back out to the dance floor. Jen and Phil join us. They get a kick out of Leslie’s moves too. Leslie has jumped on the empty stage area that most people are too embarrassed to dance on. Not only is she dancing on it, she’s doing the Carlton dance move from Fresh Price—and she’s doing it well. I join my friends and laugh harder than I have in a long time. Leslie grabs her crotch and the crowd erupts into cheers. I look around for Jake, but don’t see any sight of him.
Honestly. Fuck him. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking, or what, but I am so tired of letting this mood-swinging jerk screw with me like this. I’m so much better than this. I know I am. I need to be honest and fess up, or quit hanging with him altogether. I have to be strong. I have to be confident. I have to be able to jump up on a stage and grab my crotch!