I Don't: A Romantic Comedy

by Andrea Johnston

Lucas DeCosta.

  Holy shit. The stripper currently removing his pants is my teenage fantasy come to life. Only, when I was crushing on Lucas DeCosta he wasn’t a ripped dancer with moves that may have my heart racing and my libido standing, screaming for attention. No, he was a sweet boy who understood biology more than I did. He was patient and kind to me every day. He handled the lab when we had to cut open a baby pig, and he let me ask him question after question before every quiz.

  Lucas was the best lab partner I ever had. He made me smile, and he was my friend. I wished he was more. I wanted him to ask me to formal. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and be my first real kiss. I wished for him to hold my hand and call me his girl.

  He never did. Instead, he befriended a group of guys who teased me relentlessly and he didn’t stop them. I never heard him say anything negative, but the spell of my one-sided crush was broken. We remained lab partners and acquaintances throughout high school but never anything more. On the day we accepted our diplomas, he approached me. His attempt at an apology was sincere. Well, except the part where he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.

  If someone were to ask me about “the one who got away,” I’d say that was Lucas DeCosta. The man who stands before me: tall, tan, muscular, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his dark brown eyes focused only on me. When his hands settle on my thighs, I squeeze them together. Not because I’m turned on . . . okay, because I’m a little turned on, but also because the moment he sets his hands on me, I feel it. I feel it to my core.

  Zing.

  Zang.

  Electricity.

  It.

  “I am never speaking to you bitches again.”

  All three of my friends laugh as I throw myself into my seat at our table. I cannot believe they did that to me. That’s not true. I absolutely can believe they did. Why am I friends with them again?

  “Suck it up, buttercup. Here, have a drink,” Jessi says, sliding a cocktail my way. “I just got you a freshy since your last was split between the three of us while you were getting your sexy on with Mr. Hot Ass up there.”

  Rolling my eyes, I accept the drink because—well, it’s the least they can do. I look to the stage while I sip on the cold libation. The stage where a very sexy solo is taking place. Holy shit, are all of these guys masters in simulating sex? Of course, they are.

  “Jessica Louise,” I say after setting the now empty glass on the table. Jessi turns to face me with a huge smile on her face. “Do not smile at me. Did you know he worked here?”

  Shrugging, she sits back in her chair. The smug look on her face tells me she did. “I had heard rumors but didn’t believe them. That is, until I saw him during the first act. When you went to the bathroom, I asked the lady at the entrance if the dancer’s name was Lucas. She confirmed it was and the rest . . . well you know how the rest turned out. You’re welcome.”

  “I would love to say I can’t believe you did this, but that would be a lie.”

  Jen and Courtney start shooting off questions to me, and before I can answer even one, they stop talking, and a mischievous grin appears on Jessi’s face as she looks behind me. I would like to pretend standing behind me is one of the Ryans—Gosling or Reynolds—but I’m not exactly winning at the luck game these days. No, by the look on Jessi’s face, it can only be one person standing behind me. My heart begins to race and the only sound I hear in this loud room is that of the heartbeat in my ears.

  “I’m going to the restroom. Girls, how about you?” Jessi asks as she rises from her seat. I look at her, begging with my eyes for her to stay. I don’t want to sit here alone. I don’t want to talk to Lucas. I’m mortified.

  Wait. Why am I mortified?

  While I’m questioning my mortification, the man in question takes the seat next to me. He’s much bigger here in front of me. Everything seems bigger. His hands, his arms, his thighs. Shit, his thighs look like they could crack a melon. Heat flushes my skin, and I look away quickly, but curiosity has the best of me. Turning to face him, I take in his current attire. Once again in a pair of dress slacks, this time he’s wearing a gray button-down shirt instead of the crisp white shirt he had on while on stage. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows. He’s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and a smile greets me when I reach his face.

  His perfect face.

  Lucas has always been good-looking, but this grown-up version of him is everything and more. I allow myself seconds to assess how handsome he is. Bright brown eyes, long lashes, and kissable lips. The light scruff on his jaw begs to be touched, and I have to slide my hand under my thigh to keep from doing that. A small smile, more of a smirk as he watches my gaze flit around his face, appears. Sweet peppers, he’s gorgeous.

  “Whitney Wheeler.” His voice startles me, it’s so deep. Long gone is the sweet boy who used to chew on the end of a pencil in deep thought. A man sits before me, and I’d be lying if I said his voice didn’t flip a switch in me. With that voice, he could narrate romance novels. I’d buy them.

  “Lucas DeCosta.”

  Laughing, he sits back crossing his arms over his chest before saying, “You look fucking amazing.” Blushing I swat his leg in response. “I’m serious. Wow, how long has it been? Five, six years? No, seven. Seven since graduation.”

  “You’re a stripper.” Duh, Whit. Way to speak the obvious.

  “Yeah well, med school ain’t cheap.”

  “Med school? You’re going to be a doctor?”

  Maybe he’s going to be a gynecologist. No Whitney. You’re engaged. Get your mind out of the gutter.

  “That’s the plan. Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re not wearing your glasses.”

  “Contacts,” I say, waggling my eyebrows. Why am I waggling my eyebrows? Because contacts are sexy? No, I’m not trying to be sexy. Someone needs to get me out of here. Before I can look for one of my friends to save me, he continues.

  “I can’t believe I rubbed my dick in front of your face. That’s not exactly what I used to fantasi . . . anyway, so how are you?”

  Did he say he had fantasies? About me?

  “Oh, ya know. Living the dream.” My sarcasm is on point. “I guess by the intro, you know I’ve had kind of a shitty week.”

  He laughs, breaking the awkward vibe going, and we spend the next few minutes catching up. The girls return to the table, and Jen flops down in the chair to my left. “Hey sexy. Nice moves up there. Sorry to interrupt but, Whit, are you ready to get out of here? I need to get out of these Spanx. I’m sweating like a whore in church and am three minutes from stripping myself.”

  “Oh yeah, totally. Lucas, it was great to see you,” I say, standing from my seat.

  Lucas rises and smiles before saying, “It was great seeing you. I’d love to catch up some more. Are you still local?”

  “Why don’t you come back to the hotel with us? And if you wanted to bring some friends, we wouldn’t complain.”

  Lucas and I both turn to look at Jessi, who offers us a sly smile before Lucas says, “Jessi, you didn’t tell me Whitney’s private dance was a surprise.” I will kill her.

  Shrugging, Jessi grabs her clutch from the table and smiles before responding, “If she knew she would have bolted. This was much more effective. But really, come back to our room. It’s cool.”

  Lucas looks my direction as if to ask permission, but my glare is focused on one person, my best friend who is teetering on losing her title. “I’ll see what I can do,” he responds with a chuckle. Jessi winks at Lucas and says she’s already called for a car to pick us up. The girls start toward the doors when I turn my attention back to Lucas.

  “I’m sure you have better plans than to come back to our hotel and watch us drink more while dressed in our PJs.”

  “Oh pajamas. Now you’re talking. Will there also be a pillow fight?” Rolling my eyes, he simply laughs and asks, “Should I ask a few of the guys?”

  “Oh yes, please.
Those three would die if you actually brought some of the dancers with you. Serves them right after what they did to me.”

  “Consider it done. What hotel?”

  I give Lucas our hotel information and smile as I turn to join the girls outside. What the hell just happened?

  “What happened was your biggest teenage fantasy came to life, and if you’re lucky there will be actual coming happening later tonight,” Jessi says, looping her hand through my arm while we wait for the car.

  “I can’t believe little Lucas DeCosta is the headliner of a male strip club.”

  “Yeah well, I can confirm there’s nothing little about him,” I reply with a long audible sigh that makes Jessi giggle as she rests her head on my shoulder. I reciprocate by resting mine on top of her head.

  Nothing little at all.

  When you’re a scorned teenager, you wish for all the bad things possible to happen to the boy who didn’t return your feelings. You imagine him having a horrible allergic reaction to something he ate, and his face breaking out in hives. Perhaps you wish beyond all wishes that he sits on a candy bar and it looks like he shit his pants and then must stand before the entire student body and give a speech. Anything. You want him to feel the humiliation you felt when he didn’t return your forever love feelings.

  No?

  Just me?

  Regardless, I wished for semi-bad shit to happen to Lucas DeCosta. Nothing permanent or life threatening, just humiliating. Clearly my wishes were unanswered because Lucas still makes me smile and, as he sits here regaling us with stories as a male stripper, everyone in this room is as enchanted with him as I once was.

  He changed into a pair of dark wash jeans that had all the girls swooning when he walks in carrying a bottle of tequila and twelve-pack of beer. His black T-shirt hugs every muscle on his body. But none of that compares to the way he smells. After setting the bottle and beer down, he slowly approaches me with a kind smile and twinkle of mischief in his eyes, he scoops down and picks me up.

  Off the ground.

  I squeal. He laughs. My heart flutters.

  Not flutters. No, I’m engaged. It just skips a little with nostalgia. But damn, the way he smells. Like he’s dipped himself in man and citrus with a splash of sexiness for emphasis. To make matters worse, he’s still kind and funny. The guys he brought with him are loving the attention the girls are giving them, and I’m quite entertained by the dynamic. For once, my friends are acting shy and demure as these hotter than sin men give them their undivided attention.

  Standing from the couch, I walk to the makeshift bar and make myself another cocktail. Just as I squeeze the lime in my vodka soda, I hear a throat clear behind me. “Need something?” I ask over my shoulder before wiping my hand on a towel and tossing it back on the counter.

  “I just wanted to say . . . actually can we go for a walk or something? I’d like to talk to you without all this giggling and flexing happening.” At his statement, I turn to catch two of his friends, Tom and Jonah, shirtless and flexing their muscles for the girls. Rolling my eyes, I look up to Lucas and nod my head in agreement.

  Our room is on the first floor and not far from the pool area, so I turn that direction as we walk down the hallway. A comfortable silence falls between us as we walk. My mind is spinning with a million questions I have for Lucas. Not only about what he’s been up to the last seven years, but about medical school, his life. What type of medicine does he want to practice? Is he single? How are his parents? What about his sister?

  “Want to sit?”

  “Sure.”

  We each settle into a lounge chair and the quiet evening blankets us as I stare at the sky full of stars. I never take the time to appreciate the beauty of something as simple as the night sky. Lifting my glass to my lips, I take a sip while peering over to Lucas. He’s leaning back on his chair, beer bottle on the ground next to him and both arms resting behind his head as he stares at the sky.

  “It’s really beautiful.”

  “It is. I think if they offered astronomy in high school, I would have been able to pass science on my own.” I actually think that’s true. There’s no dissecting baby animals when you’re working with stars.

  “Yeah but then we wouldn’t have been lab partners.”

  “I guess.”

  “Or friends,” he whispers.

  I scoff in response, and a long sigh follows from Lucas. I hate that I hold on to the hurt, but I do. Seeing him dredges it all up. Bonus, I haven’t thought much about Trenton and the bright red lips that were wrapped around his dick yesterday.

  “So, does that ring mean you’re spoken for?”

  Like a scratching record, I jerk at the question and cough a little on the air I swallow.

  “It’s complicated.” If that isn’t an understatement.

  “I have nothing but time if you want to talk about it.”

  “You don’t want to hear about my problems. Plus, you’re the one who said you wanted to talk.”

  “I did. I wanted . . . well, I wanted to apologize. I know I did something to upset you and it affected our friendship. I meant it when I told you I was sorry for what I did, Whitney. You were one of my best friends sophomore year and I fucked that up. I just . . . I don’t know what I did.”

  Eyes wide, I sit up and turn my body to face him. Lucas has changed his position. He’s now sitting with his feet on the ground, the beer bottle nestled in his hands as he rests his elbows on his knees and stares at the ground. The picture before me has me almost apologizing to him for his hurt. But I push that feeling aside and laugh.

  And laugh some more.

  “Shh, you’re going to get us in trouble,” he says before laughing himself.

  I start begging for him to stop making me laugh, or me making him laugh, whichever. A cramp forms in my side, and I’m pretty sure I’m two seconds from reenacting a scene from the movie Alien. Then the tears begin falling, and while I’m uncertain if they’re all from the laughing or if some are an excuse to wallow a little in my frustrations, I let them do their thing and take big gulping breaths to stop the cramping and hysteria that I feel bubbling.

  “Why are we laughing?” Lucas whispers.

  “You said you don’t know why I was mad, and for some reason that’s funny to me.” My hand is not a good replacement for a tissue, but it’ll do for now as I wipe the tears from my face. And, I’m lying. “I know exactly why I was mad. Well, not mad, more like hurt. I was hurt and dammit I was humiliated. It’s not really funny in a ‘ha ha’ way but more a pathetic teenage way.”

  “I’m lost, Whit.”

  “Lucas, I had the biggest crush on you. God, it was pathetic. I was pathetic. I was sure you liked me too but then, well then, I heard you with your friends one day. You were at your locker, and they were talking about me and what a nerd I was. How you could get any girl you wanted, and you were wasting your time studying with your geeky lab partner.”

  “I’m sure I told them to shut up,” he proclaims confidently.

  “You didn’t. Actually, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged and said, ‘whatever’.”

  “Whit, I have no memory of that but I’m so sorry you thought I was like them. I wasn’t. I’m not. I had a massive crush on you. I had this grand plan to ask you to formal, but then you stopped talking to me and I figured you’d say no. I was so bummed, I didn’t go to another dance until the senior prom. And, that was with . . . well, it wasn’t with a real date.”

  “What do you mean? You went with that beautiful blonde. She wore that amazing blue dress and you guys danced all night.” Shit. Why do I know that? Why did I tell him I knew that? Eyes wide, I start drinking my cocktail.

  “You remember my date to prom?”

  “Whatever, she didn’t go to our school. Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively. “It was a long time ago. We’ve both moved on and changed. Grown up. Hell, I’m engaged.” I wave my left hand around for emphasis.

  “Ah, you are taken.
I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

  Snorting, I shake my head before taking another drink. Lucas doesn’t say anything else and resumes his lounging pose, leaning his head back, staring at the stars. I contemplate telling him about Trenton. I’m not sure why, perhaps it’s because I know I’ll probably never see him again, or it’s the friendship we once had. Regardless, I feel an overwhelming need to purge my emotions.

  “Yesterday, I walked in on my fiancé getting a blow job in our living room.”

  “Say what?” His eyes bug out of his head, and I’m glad to see I’m not the only one with a dramatic reaction.

  “Yep, right there on the new couch I spent months finding, with his pants around his ankles and his fucking secretary on her knees. Walked right in on it. Our wedding is in seven days.”

  “Oh shit. Did you castrate him? Punch her?”

  “Nope. I kicked her out, called him an asshole, and then cried for hours on Jessi’s couch while she petted me like a cat.”

  “What did your parents say when you canceled the wedding?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks incredulously.

  “Just what I said. I haven’t. I’ve wanted to be married my entire life. I’ve done everything in my life a certain way. A way that would lead me to this day. I have the entire day planned out perfectly. I have the perfect venue, perfect gown, perfect guy . . .” I don’t realize I’m crying until Lucas lies down next to me and holds my head to his chest.

  “I thought it was perfect. It’s supposed to be per . . . perrr . . . fect.”

  “There’s no such thing as perfect, Whit. I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that. You deserve so much better.”

  I don’t know how long I lie like that, my head on his shirt, snot running out of my nose, and hiccups filling the silence. When I’ve sufficiently humiliated myself to the hundredth power, I pull up from his embrace and wipe my tears away with my hands.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. Do you feel better?”

  “I do.” Those two words send me into another fit of tears but this time, instead of hiccups, I start laughing. “I fucking hate that all I’ve wanted is to say those words before family and friends; I’ve dreamed of it my whole life, and now I may not have that.”