Sour

by Jennifer Woodhull

  “Noah. I…,” I try to make words happen, but my mouth is suddenly drier than the Mojave. “I…”

  “Yes, Elle? You… what?” He arches an eyebrow and shifts a millimeter closer.

  “I… give up. You win.”

  He shifts his weight back to his knees and sits bolt upright thrusting his fists in the air.

  “Hells yeah, I do!” He offers me his hand, and when I take it, he pulls me upright.

  “You can get off my lap now, weirdo. And what was that for, anyway?” I shake my head as he crawls back off the bed on his knees and stands.

  “You called me pink shorts. Not cool. Besides, you looked stressed when I came in. I was trying to be help. I’m a helpful guy.” He winks.

  “Well, just for that, now you’re buying me cannoli at dinner, and I’m famished, so let’s go.”

  L

  Noah drags me to a half dozen stores at the outdoor mall before he will take me to dinner. We go to the GAP so he can grab some casual stuff for the trip, then some place with suits, where he gets fitted for a charcoal gray slim cut suit that made him look like a GQ cover model. Then, we go to the underwear store that sells all those workout, stretchy-clingy items that look more like superhero uniforms than undergarments.

  On the upside, although Noah is the hottest guy in the place by far, there are two or three other really cute guys browsing for running tights, or weightlifting shorts, or whatever-the-hell they wear those things for, so I’ve hit the eye candy jackpot. One guy is closing in, I’m pretty sure to say hi, when Noah grabs me by the arm and heads for the checkout.

  We go to a department store where I pick up a simple cocktail dress. At Noah’s insistence, I also buy a new bathing suit, and a cover-up I don’t think I need, “Just in case,” as he puts it.

  Rather than the family-friendly pasta place we usually hit; Noah chooses a quiet, little family-owned place with amazing food that’s away from the shopping district. The table at the back of the restaurant is secluded, and if I were here with anyone besides my best friend, it would feel romantic. We order, two different dishes, which we will split, because that’s how we roll so we can each try twice as many things. When the wine is served, he sits back in his chair, twisting the stem of his wine glass as he looks down at the table.

  “So, about this contest…,” he pauses, and looks up at me.

  “Yeah?” I wriggle my eyebrows in anticipation. He has clearly been thinking this over, and the stakes are going to be high, I can tell by his tone.

  “I’ve been thinking about the stakes. I think we should each wager something we want from the other.” He looks at me from under those dark brows, and his eyes are glistening and serious.

  “Oh-kay… so what did you have in mind?” I

  “How long have we known each other, Elle?” His tone is serious in a perplexing way. Again, this is not one of the typical Noah tones of voice I’m used to. It’s kind of hot. Okay, it’s very freaking hot. I have to wonder if some version of this sexy, deep voice is one his girlfriends get to hear. The thought makes my stomach feel a little queasy.

  “Since I was in college, so… nearly six years, I guess?” I reply. “What does that have to do with our bet?”

  “So, in all that time, we’ve done almost everything together. We’ve road-tripped together, we’ve talked about everything, we’ve even spent the night together several times.” He cocks his eyebrow up on this last phrase, making it sound much dirtier than the reality.

  We have spent the night together several times, but more often than not, it was in the passed-out-simultaneously sort of way. Except for the weekend Nathan broke up with me—that was the weekend I followed Noah around the apartment with my hand firmly affixed to him at all times. I barely let him pee on his own. That night, he insisted I was in no shape to be by myself, and I agreed, so I spent the night curled up in his bed. He held me that night. It was so sweet—so tender.

  Best. Night. Ever.

  “Yes, all those things are true. We’re friends. Besties. We do everything together.” I shrug.

  “So, in all that time, there are a few things we’ve never done. I think that it should be our wager. If you lose, you do this one thing that I want to try and if you win, you can ask me to do whatever you want that we’ve never done before. Deal?” He finishes the question just as the pasta is placed before us.

  “Wait just a hot little second there, mister. What is this thing in question?”

  “Elle,” he stops grating parmesan on his pasta and leans forward. “Do you trust me?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess, but…,”

  “Would I ever, ever do anything to hurt or embarrass you, or let anyone else hurt you?” His eyes are soft, his expression completely earnest.

  “No way.” I’m as certain of it as I am that my name is Ariel Bailey.

  “And do you think you’re going to lose?” His perfect lips curl up at one corner.

  “No fucking way.” My proclamation rings with quiet defiance.

  “Okay then, you pick your wager if you win, and I’ll pick mine if I win.” His eyes are full of challenge. It’s one of my favorite Noah looks. “Correction, when I win.”

  “Oh-kay, but… are you going to tell me what it is before I agree to it?” I’m still perplexed by how odd he has been acting lately.

  “Nope. We write down what we want from each other and seal it in an envelope, then we trade. Whoever loses has to open the envelope and agrees to do whatever is inside.” He smiles. “What do you say?”

  “And it can be anything? Like, any, anything?” I confirm so I’m clear on the rules.

  “There is nothing on this planet I wouldn’t do for you, Elle,” he looks at me seriously, and reaches across the table, taking my hand in his giant palm, and caresses it with his fingertips. “Which is completely irrelevant to this conversation, because I’m going to win.” He winks and takes a huge fork full of pasta from my plate.

  “Do we get to start tomorrow?” I ask hopefully.

  “No fucking way. We start right this minute. Honor system, and remember, I always know when you’re lying.” It’s true, damn him, he does always know.

  “First one to self-service is out and has to do the other’s bidding.” He sticks his hand out for me to shake.

  I have to admit; I’ve been tempted to take care of business on my own more often recently. Maybe it’s because I haven’t slept with anyone since I broke up with Nathan. He did a real number on my self-esteem in the bedroom. Whatever the case may be, I haven’t wanted to rush out and find a new guy to get busy with, but at the same time, I’m lit like a short-fused Roman candle. It won’t be impossible to beat him at this bet, but it won’t be easy, either.

  I hesitate, the image of his bare ass flashing in my mind for just a moment, then I take his hand and shake it.

  “Deal.”

  “Great! We’ll go to your house and swap our sealed wagers after dinner,” he smiles broadly. “Besides, I need to restock my supply of gummy bears.”

  “Number one, we need to stop for envelopes. And paper. And pens. Number two, you are going to get diabetes from those things. I shouldn’t have brought you so many.” I laugh.

  “Bite your foul tongue, woman! I love them, and I love that you brought them for me. Besides, the sour ones are my favorites, you know that,” he purses his lips, containing a little chuckle. “They remind me of you.”

  Chapter 6

  Noah

  We are at opposite ends of Elle’s dining room table. This table has seen many of our fiercest competitions. I have bested her at everything from Monopoly to Jenga at this table. We have eaten countless dinners here, and tonight, we are writing out our secret wagers. Elle doesn’t know it yet, but the outcome of this wager is big.

  Really big.

  I will not lose this contest. I will beat Elle at all costs, and then, she will have no choice but to do the thing I’m writing on the piece of paper. I will
fight dirty. I will tempt her in every possible way. I will do whatever it takes, because I am winning this bet!

  And when I win Elle is going to kiss me.

  Not the sweet peck on the cheek, not the drunken, I-love-you-so-much-bestie, kind of kiss. A real, passionate, sweet, hot kiss. And once she does that? Well, once she kisses me, I’m going to say the big thing and ask the question that’s been bouncing around in my brain since she got home from Germany.

  I’m hoping she realizes that we are not best friends and haven’t been for quite some time. We’re a couple. A platonic couple, but I’m about to fix that platonic part once and for all.

  That weekend Elle spent at my place after she broke up with the asshole was when I had the realization. I mean, when I saw how hurt she was, I wanted to end that guy. That was when I realized how deep my feelings were. From there, things just started to click into place, and when she was in Germany, and I got a taste of what life might be like without her, that was it for me. I realized she was it for me. I decided that when she came back, I’d find a way to tell her how I feel. I’d explain how I’d realized that we should be together and how I hope she feels the same.

  I know her. She’s going to say it’s a mistake. She’s going to say it will ruin our friendship. I’m going to convince her that our friendship is keeping us from moving forward in the relationship we’re already in. Then, I’m going to make her mine. Completely and wholly. When I think about a forever without her in it, my heart may as well stop beating, because without her, well, I don’t even know what my world would be.

  L

  I guard my paper with my hands like I have all the answers to the fifth-grade algebra test, and Elle is some notorious cheater. I take the black pen and write down what I plan to collect when I win. I look at my handiwork then underline one word before folding the piece of paper and putting it in the envelope.

  I close the envelope, and she looks up. I hold her gaze as I lick the edge and press it against the back. On the front, I write, Noah’s Prize, in big, bold capital letters. She narrows her eyes at me, then puts her head down and scribbles something.

  “Aren’t you done yet, slowpoke?”

  “Not yet. Almost. I’m thinking. It’s a big decision. I want to get it right.” She smirks. “And just to be clear, you did say anything. Even if you think it’s silly, or stupid, or ridiculous?”

  “Absolutely, even if I think it’s ridiculous, because you’re never going to win.” I nod my head to the side and give a half-shrug.

  “Tall people.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “So, freaking smug.”

  Ripping the piece of paper to shreds, she grabs another from the notepad on the table, and begins to write. A moment later, she, too, is sealing her envelope. She glances at my envelope and then writes, “For Noah, the LOSER, upon the occasion of Elle’s decisive victory,” on the front.

  Elle stands with both palms upturned, the sealed envelope on top of one. “Trade,” she flashes a mischievous smile.

  I place my sealed envelope in her palm and go to take hers from her with the tip of my finger and thumb. “Are you sure you’re happy with what’s in here?”

  “Uh-huh,” she nods.

  “I’ll give you a minute to change it,” I shrug. “If you’re not sure.” I lean forward as if to take the envelope and she moves her hand back a little.

  “You said anything. Did you mean that?” She squints her eyes, showing trepidation.

  I close the distance between us with a single step. She tips her head back to look up and meet my eye. “Elle, there is nothing on this planet, no matter how big or small, regardless of how complex or mundane, that I would be unwilling to do for you.”

  She sighs and presents the palm with her prize demand in it again. “Okay, you asked for it. Of course, if you’re upset with the terms of my prize, I can…,” I cut her off, leaning down.

  “I will win.” My tone is determined. “I want what’s in that envelope more than I’ve wanted anything in a long, long time, and I plan on getting it.” I smirk.

  “Wow. Okay. Sheesh, you’re serious these days.” She drops the envelope in her handbag, and I slide mine into my backpack.

  “Oh, and be sure you bring that envelope to Vegas. I have a feeling that’s where you’ll lose.”

  “That is so funny,” she follows me as I walk toward the kitchen. “I was going to say the same thing.”

  I grab a bag of gummy frogs and she gets some kettle corn and we plop down on the sofa. It’s our favorite night of television. The oldies cable station broadcasts The Fresh Prince, The Nanny, Seinfeld, and Friends back-to-back.

  I’ve got my arm draped over the back of the sofa, my feet up on the coffee table. By the time the second show comes on, Elle is reclined back, feet hanging off the end of the sofa, using my thigh for a pillow. I have to concentrate to keep my body from responding, but I wouldn’t want her to move one millimeter. I love being with her like this—just hanging out together.

  She washed her face when we came back from shopping and changed into the shorts she’s wearing to bed. She’s wearing my Cedar Point t-shirt—the one that mysteriously keeps disappearing from my place and ending back up over here. Without makeup her freckles are clearer, and I love that. I convince myself she’s not wearing a bra, and my mind roams to wondering what would happen if I traced a circle around the barely visible peak in the center of each perfect sphere with my fingertip.

  “I mean, I’m a strong proponent of suspending disbelief and the artistic license of the writers, but come on, really?” Elle’s words pull me from my thoughts, which is probably a good thing.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I completely missed the last thing she said while I was fixating on her nipples.

  She cranes her head back to catch my gaze. “Are you okay, Noah? Lately you seem… I dunno. Weirder than usual. And we’re both pretty weird, so that’s saying something.” Her lips just curl up at the edges and I fight the urge to lean down and deposit a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.

  “I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind lately.”

  “How can I help?” Her forehead wrinkles as she raises her brows.

  “Just like that,” I smile as I put my hand to her cheek and graze the tip of her nose with my thumb. “What were you asking me?”

  “Oh, I was just saying that it’s so blatantly obvious that Fran and Mr. Sheffield like each other. Even in the world of 90s sitcoms, it’s ridiculous to think they can’t see it. I mean, get together already, ya know? How many seasons was The Nanny even on before that happened? Sheesh!” She shakes her head.

  “Well,” I look back to the TV, then down at her. “I mean, for that to happen, one of them has to step out, don’t they?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, suppose Mr. Sheffield steps out on a limb and confesses his love for Fran. What if she says she doesn’t feel the same? Suppose she laughs in his face, or calls him ridiculous, or even worse, is so mortified, she wants to end their relationship altogether. Then he’s lost everything.”

  “Yeah, I suppose, but what if she says she loves him too? Then he has gained everything.” She gestures with her fingertips in the direction of the TV.

  “But if he truly loves her, although it may be painful to see her and not be able to have her, it would be more painful if he had to live without her. If he had to miss her laugh, her smile, her intelligence, her beauty… if those things were gone from his life every day, he might be so bereft that he couldn’t take it. That may be what he’s thinking—why he hasn’t been willing to take the chance.” She is furrowing her eyebrows at me, but I keep going. “Still, one day, he will take the chance. One day, the longing will be too much, and he’ll tell her he can’t live without her eye rolls, and her freckles, and how she steals the pepperoni from his slice of pizza. He’ll tell her he loves her, and hope she feels the same.”

  “Hey Noah?”

  “Hmm?”
>
  “The Nanny is a sitcom. It’s like twenty-three minutes long. I don’t think Mr. Sheffield’s character motivation is quite that deep.” She winks at me and chuckles.

  Chapter 7

  Noah

  It’s about four in the afternoon when I get a call from Cassandra. The lease is up on my place in a couple of months. The timing should be perfect. When I realized my feelings for Elle. It was one of the things that just clicked into place.

  A house. A family. Elle. It all goes together and buying a house I know she’ll like is just one piece of the puzzle.

  Cassandra says she can meet me to do a final walk-through on the place in about half an hour. They accepted my offer, and she wants me to walk-through once more before we schedule the closing date. Holding my cell between my ear and shoulder, I undock my laptop and put it into my bag. I flip off the light and click the lock on my office door.

  “Okay Cassandra, I’m heading that way. I’ll be there in about twenty.” I pull the door shut. I look through Elle’s door and wave at her with the hand that holds my keys as I walk by.

  She looks perplexed. It’s not quite five o’clock, and I usually don’t leave early, so I can understand her confusion. She doesn’t need to know about this yet. I still have to sign the paperwork, and if it all goes through, I can hardly wait to surprise her.

  This house is the perfect place for us to start a life together. Really together. It has three bedrooms and a big, fenced in yard, so we could get a dog. We both love dogs and have always talked about getting one if either of us had more room. There’s a nice, big kitchen, and it’s close to the place I’m in now and Elle’s building, so our commute wouldn’t change much. It’s the perfect house. I’m hoping I can get the perfect girl to join me there.

  When I pull up to the brick home with the Tudor façade, a flutter of butterflies hits my stomach. It’s all so real, now. Even the house itself, with the stone archway that leads to the front door, and the hue oak tree in the front yard, feel so solid—so permanent. It’s a serious step, but for Elle, it’s one worth taking.