A Slice of Love

by Hunter, Teagan

  I’m not willing to sacrifice my feelings just to get off.

  Julian cracks a smile, looking mighty proud of himself. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.”

  “What!” I croak, whacking his arm in disbelief. “You didn’t tell me that! Who? Which one?”

  “Dr. Drake.” Julian licks his lips. “And he’s hung.”

  “You little…little…”

  “Whore?” His grin widens. “Guilty.” He motions toward the empty side of the booth. “Have a seat, Jonas. We ordered waters for now.”

  There’s a second where Jonas hesitates, but he shakes it off, sliding into the booth with grace.

  “Thanks for inviting me out. It’s nice to catch up with old friends.”

  A snort escapes me, and all eyes are trained on my face.

  “Something to say, Frank?” Jonas gets straight to the point.

  My palms itch, the urge to reach across the table and wipe the smug smile off his face strong.

  But I can’t.

  “Well, for starters, I didn’t invite you. I’d be just fine with never seeing your face again.” Lies. “Also, I have an issue with the word friend. We aren’t friends, Jonas. We never have been.”

  I don’t know what I expected to come of the tongue-lashing. I wanted to hit him where it hurts in the best way I could, maybe even make him get angry.

  But the last thing I ever expected—and I mean the very last thing—was for Jonas to throw his head back in laugher like what I said is the funniest thing he’s heard in ages.

  I also didn’t anticipate being hit so hard with longing.

  When I first saw him yesterday, I was angry. Bitter.

  Though it didn’t take long for me to feel the hole in my chest—that one I pretend doesn’t exist—widen.

  Now, seeing him laugh so freely—even at me—I feel it stretching bigger and bigger.

  It makes me even angrier.

  How dare he waltz back into my life with his stupid, sexy new beard that looks insanely lickable all trimmed up. That ridiculous ball cap pulled low over his green eyes. His muscles bigger and more defined than I’ve ever seen them before.

  How fucking dare he make me feel things I haven’t felt in years.

  The pain. The anger. The…tingles.

  Yesterday, after Julian left, I cried over Jonas Schwartz for the first time in four years.

  I don’t even know why I cried. It could have been that I’m still angry, that I’m annoyed by this hold he still has over me.

  Or that it’s clear to me I never stopped loving him.

  No matter what it was, once the tears began flowing, it was impossible to get them to stop. Sleep eluded me, my mind racing in circles, and I’d be surprised if I managed a whopping three straight hours. My eyes were still swollen from crying and lack of sleep when I walked into work with Julian’s beloved donuts clutched in my hand, chin held high as I tried to pretend everything was okay with me. He didn’t say a word when he spotted me, just accepted his donuts and wrapped his arms around me as if he knew what was going on in my head and heart.

  I loved him a little more in that moment.

  Until he told me that even though I obviously spent the entire night reminiscing and trying to scheme up a way to get out of it, I was going for drinks tonight whether I liked it or not.

  Then he brought up how he saved me from that Wilson guy perving on me at the store the other day, and drinks were back on.

  Now, here I am, sitting across from Jonas.

  The guy who took my virginity.

  The guy who broke me.

  The guy who can still make me cry all these years later.

  The guy who makes my heart race, even when he’s laughing at my own stupid words.

  “Oh, Frank.” He laughs, leaning across the table, encroaching on my space, making me feel smaller than I already am. “You kill me. Everyone at this table knows you and I were much more than friends.”

  Heat covers my cheeks and I sink into the booth, mortified even though he’s right. We all know what happened between the two of us; I’d just rather not have my mistakes acknowledged out loud. It makes the bitter pill easier to swallow that way.

  “Well, since we’re apparently already playing with fire tonight, how about a shot or two of cinnamon whiskey? My treat.”

  Julian doesn’t give either of us a chance to answer, scurrying off to the bar to place the order.

  For the first time in four years, Jonas and I are alone.

  Cue heart attack.

  I drop my gaze to my lap, but I can feel Jonas raking his eyes over me. I hate it and love it at the same time.

  My mind screams, Don’t react! when I feel him shift in his seat and stretch out his long legs, his knee brushing against mine ever so slightly.

  I don’t move.

  I don’t breathe.

  For those few minutes, we just exist.

  He stares. I hide.

  It’s high school all over again.

  We sit in silence like this for several minutes, and it takes me that long to realize Julian isn’t coming back any time soon.

  The waiter drops off our waters, and I almost beg him to stay forever and ever so I never have to sit alone with Jonas like this ever again.

  Sweat begins to form on the backs of my knees, and I’m beginning to stick to the booth.

  I need to move or else I’m going to melt from nerves.

  I scoot to the outer edge of the seat and peek around the corner, trying to get Julian’s attention, but I know there’s no use when I see him unabashedly flirting with the bartender.

  As if he can feel my eyes on him, he turns toward me and winks then resumes his conversation.

  Traitor.

  “We’ve been ditched, haven’t we?”

  I startle at the sudden noise inside the otherwise quiet booth.

  Jonas has the decency to look sorry.

  Scooting back over to my spot—because, if I’m being honest, I miss the feel of his jeans rubbing against my bare legs—I frown. “Afraid so.”

  “What to talk about…what to talk about,” he mutters, racking his brain for anything to say.

  I should probably go with something safe. Something that won’t set me off. Something that won’t make him look like the bad guy.

  Screw that.

  I fold my hands together and lean against the table, pursing my lips.

  “Gee, Jonas, what should we talk about first? Should we discuss you pretending to like me and stringing me along for months? Maybe that time I finally gained enough courage—after months and months of pep talks and practiced conversations in my head—to invite you to do something other than write in those stupid notebooks of yours and you let me down?” I slap my hand against my head. “Wait, I’m remembering that wrong. First you laid me down and let me give you something you knew meant everything to me. Then you broke my heart and refused to ever speak to me again. That’s what happened.” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth. “No, no, you’re right. That’s all too silly. Let’s talk about the weather. Definitely the weather.”

  He sits there, mouth dropped open, eyes full of surprise.

  Good. I’ve shocked him—just like he shocked me by leaving me.

  You know what they say about turnabout…it’s fair play.

  I wrap my hand around my water, taking a long pull of the cool liquid, watching Jonas over the rim of the glass.

  His green eyes, which were shining bright when he first walked up, are growing darker and darker as the seconds tick away.

  I glance up, checking to make sure the lightbulb hanging above us isn’t short-circuiting.

  It’s just fine.

  I look back at Jonas.

  He’s fuming.

  “I don’t know what pisses me off more, Frank—the fact that you think I faked any of what we exchanged in our notebooks, or that you think I’m pathetic enough to string a girl like you along for months all in hopes of maybe scoring. Or maybe I’m mad at myself fo
r not realizing how damn self-centered you are for not stopping to think for one second that I was hurting too.”

  He was hurting?

  “What the hell do you mean by ‘a girl like me’? What do you mean you were hurting? You had no right to hurt. You”—I stab a finger his way—“left me.” I point at my chest, at my heart, the biggest thing he left behind.

  “You ate lunch in the library and firmly believed in doing homework over the weekends. You were meek. You hid.” He chuckles sardonically, bringing his glass up and downing half of it in an easy chug. “I was the captain of a state-championship-winning football team, for crying out loud. All I had to do was wave my fingers and I could have had any person in that school. That’s what I meant by a girl like you.” He leans across the table again. “I didn’t have to talk to you, Frankie. I fucking wanted to.”

  “I—”

  “I’m not finished,” he snaps, cutting me off.

  I don’t back down. I don’t let his anger intimidate me.

  I’m happy he’s mad. Being mad is better than the silence I’ve gotten in the last four years.

  “Do you truly think all I did was play you? So, what, I got what I wanted from you—what you think I wanted—then just booked it out of there and never spoke to you again? Mind you, you were the one who threw yourself at me. I never asked for what you gave me. You made that choice all on your own before you even uttered an invitation and you know that.”

  He’s right.

  I made the choice to give Jonas my virginity long before I worked up the courage to invite him over. We shared a connection because of those notebooks. They were a way for us to share everything about ourselves that we never had the nerve to say out loud.

  Like how, while he loved his father and was proud of his accomplishments, Jonas didn’t want to be like him, counting every penny to get through until the next paycheck.

  He wanted security.

  He had dreams—big dreams—and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

  “Besides, I didn’t have a choice in leaving you. I had to.”

  “Yeah, for your scholarship. We all had to leave for college eventually, Jonas. I’m not upset about that.” I roll my eyes. “I’m upset about you leaving me before you actually left town.”

  “You’re not getting it, Frank. I had to leave you then too.”

  “No, you didn’t. You chose to.”

  “I didn’t choose shit. Ask your father.”

  My brows shoot up. I must have heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, ask your father.”

  “My father has nothing to do with this,” I scoff, annoyed because now he’s just playing games.

  Jonas tosses his head back, loud obnoxious laughter ringing through the bar.

  I blink at him and his antics.

  He has officially gone insane.

  There is no way my father had anything to do with what happened between us. It’s not possible. Jonas snuck out of the house before my parents even made it inside. They had no idea he was ever there. I was careful.

  Jonas is lying.

  Sobering, he wipes at his eyes, shaking his head.

  He levels me with a stare, and there’s this hardness in his gaze I’ve never seen before.

  “Oh, Frank. He has everything to do with this.”

  A tray full of shots is plopped down on the table, and I glance up to see a grinning Julian.

  “Here, you two sound like you need these.”

  Without a word, Jonas grabs a shot and tosses it back.

  I down one too.

  He takes another, and so do I.

  We’re each three shots in before Julian slips into the booth, eyes darting between the two of us.

  “Looks like you two were mighty thirsty. Good thing I got here when I did.”

  He laughs at his joke.

  We don’t.

  Jonas and I sit there, locked in a stare-down, neither one of us willing to lose this battle.

  I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way he keeps dropping his gaze to my lips that’s making me feel buzzed, but either way, I’m starting to feel things I know I shouldn’t.

  Drop, flick.

  Drop, flick.

  He shifts, his leg firmly planted against my own. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not stupid.

  In school, he’d find a way to touch me every day. A simple brush of our elbows, our knees, or he’d walk extra close to me, his chest rubbing against my back. It didn’t matter how small it was; I felt it everywhere.

  He knew.

  Just like he knows now that the pressure between my legs, the pressure I’ve felt since I walked inside and laid eyes on him, is building.

  I want to crawl across the table and sit myself in his lap.

  I want him between my legs. I want his mouth against my neck, my shoulder, my lips.

  I want to feel him everywhere again.

  Julian clears his throat, and I’m thrown from the haze that’s settled around me.

  “So, what’d I miss?”

  * * *

  I knew trying to keep up with Jonas was a big mistake.

  He’s downed three more shots, and despite devouring nearly an entire basket of mozzarella sticks, I’m feeling it.

  I’m not drunk, but I am buzzing pretty hard.

  Which is probably why, like a complete idiot, I agreed to share a ride home with my nemesis.

  “You sure you’re okay riding home with him?” Julian asks for the fifth time.

  I nod. “It just makes sense. We live close to one another. You live on the other side of town with all the other rich kids who still live with their parents.”

  “Oooh, drunk Frankie is mean Frankie. I’ll have to make a note of that.”

  “One, I’m not drunk. And two”—I poke his nose—“boop. You still love me.”

  Laughing, he wraps me in a warm hug. “I do still love you. Just make good choices, Frankie. You have a weakness when it comes to him.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. Anything I had with Jonas is long past.”

  “You’re drunk and, seeing as you’re agreeing to share a cab with him, obviously already not thinking clearly.”

  “Buzzed,” I insist.

  “Either way, be smart.”

  “Yes, Dad.” I squeeze him. “Thanks for giving me a night out. I needed it. I mean, inviting Jonas was a dick move, but thank you.”

  Our cab pulls up and Julian releases me. He walks over to Jonas, and the two shake hands. I see their lips move, but I can’t make out what either of them are saying.

  Julian gives me one last wave, walking backward toward his car. “Night, Frankenstein.”

  “Night, Igor.”

  I gulp in a deep breath, gathering the strength I need to make it through this ride, and turn toward the cab.

  Jonas holds open the door for me. “Frankenstein, huh?”

  I huff, walking around to the other side, ignoring his gesture. “It’s a hell of a lot better than what you came up with.”

  His eyes smile at me over the top of the cab. “I’ll be the judge of that, Frank.”

  We climb inside and I rattle off my address to the driver then begin telling him we’ll be making another stop at Jonas’ house.

  “No we won’t,” he interrupts.

  “Uh, yes we will.”

  “I’ll walk from your house.”

  “Jonas, it’ll be midnight by the time we get to my place, and you live almost a mile away. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not being stupid. I want the fresh air.”

  “Fine.” I huff. “Suit yourself.”

  Then, it’s quiet again.

  Our go-to.

  Despite our arguing earlier, I actually had a good time tonight.

  Hanging out with Jonas wasn’t so bad when Julian was there.

  I guess that’s our issue—we can’t be alone together.

  We’re either fucking or fighting, and since we definitely aren�
�t fucking right now, fighting it is.

  “Your voice sounds different than it used to.”

  “The more I drink, the deeper it gets. I’ve been spending a lot of my time drinking lately.”

  Despite how I feel about Jonas and the way he left me, my heart aches at the thought of him losing the one thing he loved most in this world—the game.

  Even though we didn’t attend the same college, the art institute I attended was an affiliate of his school and our campus claimed his football team as our own. By the morning after the game, everyone was talking about his fall and the repercussions—a shattered kneecap and his NFL career put on an indefinite hold.

  “Why’d you climb the bleachers, Jonas?”

  He sighs heavily, sinking back into the seat, closing his eyes, and rubbing at his temples.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Miles pass by before he says anything again, and the only sound in the quiet cab is the soft melody of some folk song drifting through the speakers.

  “Do you want the story I’ve been feeding everyone for months or the actual reason?”

  My mouth drops open at the offer.

  I’m stunned.

  Not that he’s been lying to everyone—Jonas proved he’s a snake a long time ago—but that he’d give me of all people the real story behind his literal fall from grace.

  “You’d give that to me?”

  “Sure. You won’t believe me, but I’ll tell you.”

  “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

  “Because it involves you.”

  Slice Seven

  Jonas

  “We’re here.”

  She hasn’t said anything for the last two miles.

  I don’t know if it’s shock or maybe that she just didn’t hear me.

  I pull out enough cash to cover the bill and a tip, sliding it into the cabbie’s waiting hand. “Thanks, Leroy,” I say.

  “I’m sure I’ll see ya later this week, Jonas.”

  I try not to cringe at his statement.

  Since I’ve been back, I’ve spent a few too many nights roaming the streets, running and walking until my knee wants to give out. I call Leroy, the only cabbie in town, for a ride back home more often than I’d like to.