When We Met

by A. L. Jackson

  “He was supposed to be here,” I mumbled.

  “I know.”

  “Our two-year anniversary would have been in a few days.”

  There was a long pause before Jagger breathed, “I know.”

  Read on for a preview

  of Tiffany King’s next novel,

  CONTRADICTIONS

  Coming from Berkley in January 2015.

  “Where’s Chuck?” Cameo asked, handing me a beer she had snagged from the coolers that lined the floors in the kitchen of the frat house we were hanging out in. The house was Gamma Phi—something or other. Honestly, I couldn’t remember, and I didn’t care. They were all the same to me anyway.

  “Who knows? Playing darts with the guys, I think,” I said. Hopefully, they were using his head as the dartboard.

  “You two make up?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “I think you misunderstood me, sweets. When I said, ‘Who knows?,’ I meant, who cares? I hope someone throws a dart that sticks right in his egotistical ass,” I corrected her, not feeling very appreciative of the guy who was supposed to be my current boyfriend. Of course, after only two dates, it didn’t seem right to fall into that trap, as far as I was concerned.

  She laughed, taking a long drink from her beer before answering, “Another one bites the dust.” She held up her beer to toast.

  “Cheers,” I answered, shrugging, feeling no further comment was necessary. I twisted the cap off my beer as I surveyed the rowdy crowd around us. The decibel level at frat parties was always nothing less than near deafening. Not that I was complaining. I was in my element. The louder it got, the better. This was the kind of scene I hadn’t seen when I still lived at home and went to community college near Woodfalls. Going to an actual university was like stepping into another world. A world that I took to immediately. I was loud and raucous. So what?

  Cameo and I left the kitchen and headed outside to the patio, which gave us a front-row seat to all the action. The guys were entertaining the crowd by trying to one-up one another with one crazy stunt after the next. We’d already seen some idiot jump from the porch on the second floor, hugging a mattress. Cheers erupted on the front lawn as people hooted and hollered, yelling scores for his landing. He stood up with his arms raised in victory before bowing at the waist and tossing his cookies splendidly on two unsuspecting girls who stood off to the side. Both girls shrieked with disgust, which only invited more cheers from the onlookers.

  Not to be outdone, a group of girls decided to get in on the action when the guys initiated a girl-on-girl mud-wrestling tournament. Within minutes of being soaked by hoses spilling water at full blast, the front lawn of the fraternity house was a sopping mess. Judging by the steady line of participants that had quickly formed, the nominated contestants seemed to be too drunk to care about being subjected to male gawking or the fact that it was too cold to be rolling around like pigs in shit.

  “You going?” Cameo asked.

  “Hell no,” I answered, choosing to keep my seat on the sidelines.

  I’d been there, done that and I didn’t relish taking an elbow in the nose or having a handful of my hair pulled out to entertain drunken college guys. Chuck, who had finally appeared from wherever he’d been hiding, couldn’t seem to get it through his thick head that I didn’t want to participate. It took me stomping on his foot and threatening to twist his junk into a knot before he finally stopped trying to pull me into the fray.

  “Aw, you mean you don’t want to give your boyfriend a show and roll around and get all wet with another girl?” Cameo teased, breaking into my thoughts. She looked halfway past tipsy as she smiled at me.

  We had been at the party for an hour and were nursing our third beer each. I could hold my liquor better than Cameo, who was a bit of a lightweight. Chances were I’d be dragging her ass home later since she’d barely be able to walk. She and I had made a pact when we’d first become roommates that we would never leave the other behind, unless of course a hot guy was involved. Little did I realize when I made the pact that it would be me shouldering most of the load.

  Honestly, I didn’t mind. I loved Cameo to death. I had completely lucked out when I found her as a roommate after being accepted into Maine State College’s business program. I’d gotten in by the skin of my teeth since I wasn’t exactly what you would call an “academic all-star.” I had taken a full year off after high school because I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Finally, my mom talked me into at least trying community college, and somehow, I managed to drill into my hard-ass head that if I wanted to transfer to a state university, I would have to work hard. Not that I wasn’t still having fun at the same time. I wasn’t dead after all. My acceptance letter came at the perfect time. My best friend, Brittni, had moved to Seattle, and I was feeling lost without her. She was the voice of reason I didn’t have that kept me in line for the most part, but without her, my antics in Woodfalls had hit an epic scale. After some of the shit I’d pulled over the years, I think the entire town let out a collective sigh of relief when I moved away for school. Even if MSC was only sixty miles away from Woodfalls, at least I was out of their hair. Now, in the almost two years that I’d been on campus, I’d managed to bring my reputation as a bit of a hell-raiser with me.

  I pulled my thoughts back to Cameo, who was still waiting for my answer. “Please, you know I’d have no problem throwin’ down in there. It’s just too damn cold to roll around in the mud,” I said confidently. “Besides, Chuck’s been working to get in my pants. Little does he know, the Vagmart store is closed to his ass.”

  “Ha, your vag-store,” Cameo snorted, setting her beer on an end table that was already overflowing with bottles. “Guys are so predictable. They think all chicks wanna get naked with each other and have pillow fights.”

  “Well, I know that’s all I think about,” I said, wagging my eyebrows at her suggestively.

  “Gross. You perv,” she said, slapping my arm.

  “Oh, come on. You know you want this,” I teased, running my hands down my curvy figure. I had to sidestep a couple who were too busy sucking each other’s faces as they walked to watch where they were going. “Hey, get a room,” I called after them as they stumbled into the wall.

  “Where the hell do you think we’re going?” the guy asked, dislodging his lips long enough to answer.

  “Sorry. Shit, carry on then,” I said, grinning at Cameo.

  “See, that’s why we will never have a party at our apartment,” she stated.

  “What, you don’t want an orgy to break out on your bed?”

  “Don’t even finish wherever your perverted mind was headed with that,” she advised, holding up her hand like a crossing guard.

  I laughed loudly. Cameo was the perfect roommate in most aspects, but she did have a bit of an obsessive-compulsive personality, much to my amusement. Not that I didn’t agree with her. I didn’t want drunken college peeps using my bed to get nasty in either.

  “Could it be you’re just bummed that your bed hasn’t seen any action in how many days now?” I teased, wincing as I watched two girls in the mud pit go for each other’s hair. Why did girls always do that? Why couldn’t we fight like men? With fists and punching instead of hair pulling and scratching. I’d much rather take a punch to the gut than have a handful of my hair pulled out.

  “Whatever, you whore. It’s been four days,” she answered, watching the fight with interest.

  “Whoa, takes one to know one,” I laughed.

  “Bite me, bitch. I just like guys.”

  “And sex,” I added.

  “Yes. So what, Mother Teresa?” She grinned, throwing out her beloved nickname for me.

  It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy sex. She knew that. Lately, I was just more selective about whom I fell into bed with. Take Jock-Strap Chuck, for example. A few months ago, I might have caved and given it up to him. But I’m getting sick of the games and acting like someone I’m not to keep a guy. I used to be a tota
l boyfriend pleaser, especially back in high school, when I dated the same creep off and on for almost four years. I finally called it quits once and for all about a year ago. The relationship was toxic to say the least. Years of scathing comments about how I looked or what I did, and then he would push to have sex, only to lay a major guilt trip on me when he felt remorse after we did it. Jackson suffered from a serious case of being a momma’s boy. We’d no sooner do the dirty deed than he would whimper about premarital sex and how disappointed his mother would be. Even after years of putting up with his shit, actually committing to break up with Jackson was difficult. He had been my first serious boyfriend. The one I had given my virginity to, or my V-card, as I liked to call it. That was a big deal to me, despite my wild-child persona and the way people perceived me on the outside. It’s not like you can ever get that back, even when the guy turns out to be a douche. Jackson definitely became that and more, telling me when we broke up that I was worthless and that no other guy would ever want me. His words had cut me deeply and made me feel like I was lacking. His mom actually threw a party when we were officially over.

  After leaving the Jackson mess behind me, I eventually found the confidence to try my luck with guys again, but after a sting of disastrous first dates, I began to believe that maybe Jackson had been right. He was as good as I deserved. If not that, then maybe the dating gods were punishing me for all my past sins. Like the time in seventh grade, when I talked Braxton Fischer into switching the video we were supposed to watch in Mr. Morton’s science class with a porno he had found hidden in his dad’s nightstand table. Mr. Morton made the mistake of leaving the room for almost ten minutes before he came back to see two topless, big-breasted girls washing cars on the TV.

  “What the hell?” a shocked Mr. Morton yelled as he turned several different shades of red. The class erupted with laughter, and although none of my classmates ratted me out, Mr. Morton knew better and immediately sent me to the office. I could have argued. He had no proof it had been me, but my reputation had already been established.

  The principal, Mrs. Jameson, called my dad to pick me up, which I thought was odd, considering she knew my mom. I finally understood when he showed up and she handed over the video to my dad with a scornful look on her face, like she was repulsed to even be that close to something so unholy. She thought the video was his, but my dad didn’t skip a beat. He didn’t flush with embarrassment or stammer at being reprimanded. Instead, he thanked her and told her he was wondering where he had left it, leaving Mrs. Jameson looking utterly scandalized.

  The only lecture I had gotten on the way home was a reminder that some parents may not want their children to see movies about those kinds of car washes. That was the best thing about Dad. He always understood the person I was, never judging or scolding me. He would simply give reminders and pointers of what a better course of action might have been. I loved both my parents fiercely for their gentle restraint.

  I wish I could tell you that had been the last prank I ever pulled, but my reign of stunts continued into high school. I would pick a victim and execute my prank with the precision of a surgeon. Dad always said if I would learn to harness that power toward school, I would be a straight-A student. That would have been tragic and a complete waste of fun, in my opinion.

  Eventually, I mellowed when I was dating Jackson. He reminded me countless times that his mom would never approve of me if I was always causing trouble. Little did he know, I didn’t want nor need his creepy mom’s love.

  For that reason more than any other, breaking up with Jackson had been necessary. Our relationship had been like a runaway train headed for a brick wall. Unfortunately, none of my relationships after that had turned out any better. My friends Brittni and Ashton said I had an uncanny gift of gravitating toward the only jerk in the crowd. I always shrugged off their comments. I dated guys who suited me, which usually meant they were as loud and wild as I was.

  “Wow, did she seriously just push that girl’s face into her boobs?” Cameo asked, pulling me back to the present. She stepped closer to get a better look at the two mud-covered girls, who had grabbed the attention of most of the male population at the party. As the crowd cheered the girls along, I noticed everyone watching had their cell phones out to record the wrestling match, so I pulled out mine too.

  “You’re not going to post that, are you?” Cameo asked as I moved in closer.

  “Why the hell not? This is epic on a whole new level,” I answered as one of the girls shoved the other to the ground and straddled her.

  “Damn, that’s hot,” a warm male voice said behind me.

  I grinned as I turned around, recognizing the voice of my friend Derek. “Really? I can score their numbers for you if you’d like,” I joked.

  “Honey, I’m talking about Tall, Dark and Shirtless over there,” he answered, pointing to a well-toned guy who had removed his shirt so it wouldn’t get splattered with mud.

  “Right, here I thought you had suddenly decided to bat for the other team,” Cameo teased Derek, looping her arm through his.

  “Sweetheart, you could only wish,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

  “Damn straight,” she giggled. “No pun intended,” she added before frowning up at him. “Why do all the good ones turn out to be gay?”

  “So we can have marvelous friends like you two without the mess of a romantic relationship. Just think, if I was straight, we wouldn’t be friends.”

  “That’s because we’d be lovers,” I cooed, snuggling up to his free arm.

  “I love you, Tressa baby, but you’d scare me in bed,” Derek said, wrapping his arm around my waist.

  “Oh, come on, I’d go easy on you,” I answered, grinding my hips against his leg.

  “Don’t believe her. I swear the wall looked like it was going to collapse the last time she had a guy over,” Cameo teased, sticking out her tongue at me as I swiped at her with my free hand.

  “Whatever, Wonder Woman,” I said, reminding her of the last guy she’d slept with, who’d had a fondness for comic books. He showed up at our apartment one night with a costume from the Halloween store. Usually, I didn’t mind sticking around when Cameo had a guy over, but I had to leave for that one. The truth was, it had been months since I’d even considered being with a guy.

  “Hey, what about the dude with the camera? I’m surprised you didn’t take him up on it,” she returned, talking about the last guy who had almost made it into my bed until he’d wanted to record us. He had to go outside to collect his camera and clothes from the yard after I threw his belongings out the window and kicked his ass out.

  “Unlike you, I only do high-class porn,” I threw back.

  “As stimulating as this conversation is, I’d rather be dancing,” Derek said, indicating the open door of the frat house, inside which the music had been turned up.

  Cameo and I agreed, following Derek toward the music that we could feel pumping through our chests. Joining a crowd that seemed to be flowing as one, we let loose and lost ourselves in the music. Dancing came naturally to our trio, and it was something we enjoyed doing together. As in, just the three of us. Being in a large crowd, we would occasionally have to put up with some drunken dude trying to grind against Cameo or me, but Derek was good at stepping in. At six foot five, he was an imposing figure who could maneuver his body wherever he wanted to shelter us from unwanted advances.

  After an hour, we were dripping with sweat, despite the nip in the nighttime air, which circulated through the open windows and doors. Pulling my damp hair off the back of my neck, I indicated with a nod of my head to Derek and Cameo that it was time for a break. It felt like we needed a shoehorn to squeeze through the jumbled bodies, but eventually we made it out of the room.

  “Holy shit, talk about a cardio workout. I should be a twig after all that,” I complained, snagging another drink. “I should effing hate you,” I said, glaring at Cameo, who was practically a waif standing next to me.

&nb
sp; “Don’t be an ass. I’d take your boobs any day over these,” she retaliated, cupping her smallish breasts in her hands. “At least you’ve got curves. I’m like a stick.”

  “Look, ladies, you can both be jealous of my perfect body,” Derek interrupted, making a point of tossing his imaginary long hair. “Some of us got it, and some of us don’t.” Cameo and I laughed. Derek was a bit of a showboat, which made him perfect for our group. “I’m going to get a drink,” he added, following behind Cameo, who was already headed in that direction.

  I stayed behind, content with another beer I had pulled from a nearby cooler. It was nice to take a breather and observe the crowd a little. I became preoccupied watching a group playing a distorted version of spin the bottle when a pair of arms reached around my stomach, pulling me roughly against a hard chest.

  “Are you ready to kiss and make up?” Chuck growled in my ear. He smelled like a distillery.

  “Not really,” I answered, stepping out of his grasp.

  “Come on, girl. You’re gonna let a little fight ruin this?” he said, sounding plastered.

  I wanted to laugh, but that would probably have only egged him on further. I also wasn’t in the mood for a messy scene tonight, so I went with a softer approach and a little more tact than he probably deserved.

  As I spun around to face him, I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I had gone out with him in the first place. He was a partier like I was and had seemed cool when I met him at Club Zero a couple weeks ago, but he was a meathead. I pretty much realized on our first date that we probably weren’t going to make it. Mostly because he was a perpetual nut scratcher. I don’t mean he would do the occasional subtle shift that some guys do with their junk. If that was all he did, I could have lived with it. He was an all-out ball scratcher and didn’t seem to care who saw him do it. It could be the waitress who looked disgusted as she handed over our pizza, or Cameo or basically anyone who was having a conversation with him. If you stood next to Chuck, you would at some point see him scratch his balls.