by Amy Sparling
“You took all weekend off work to study,” she says. “You should be fine by now.”
I sigh into the phone. “I’m nowhere close to being fine. This is a lot of information and I need to learn it all.”
“How long have you been studying today?”
I check the clock. Holy shit how is it already six in the evening? “Since eight,” I say.
I can practically feel Mom’s glare at me through the phone. “That is too much! You’re going to get burnt out, honey. You need a break.”
“Okay, I’ll take a break,” I say but I have no intention of actually doing it. If I stop studying, I think of Aiden, and if I think of Aiden it’s very hard to remember that we’re just friends.
So what if the sex was amazing? I can’t get hooked on my fake boyfriend.
“Dad and I are coming to get you,” she says. “We’re going out to dinner.”
I groan, but that actually sounds like a good idea. I’m starving. I think I’ve only had soda today.
“Okay,” I say.
Mom brightens. “We’re leaving now, so we’ll be in your driveway in thirty seconds.”
“Thanks for giving me enough time to get dressed!” I say, hanging up the phone in a rush.
It’s just dinner with my parents, so it’s no big deal, but I am still wearing my pajamas from last night. I throw on some denim shorts and a T-shirt and then slip into the flip-flops by my front door. When I open it, my dad’s truck is sitting in my driveway. It does not take long for your parents to visit you when they live on the same property.
Grabbing my purse, I jog down the stairs and climb in the backseat.
“Oh honey,” Mom says, turning to face me from the front seat. “You have dark circles under your eyes! You’ve been working too hard.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I rub my eyes as if that’s going to somehow help. If I had time to put on makeup or brush my hair, I would have looked better. But it’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. “Where are we going?”
“Mexican,” Dad says.
“Sounds amazing.” We have the best Mexican restaurant here, and since most of the other food places are all Cajun seafood, it’s nice to have a little variety.
I listen to my parents chat about work and boring stuff for the next ten minutes, but I try to act like a nice daughter who actually cares about this stuff. They’re paying for dinner, after all.
In reality, I can’t stop thinking about Aiden. He hasn’t texted me all weekend, but I didn’t really expect him to after I reminded him that we’re just friends. I haven’t texted him either, for that same reason.
Because I know that if I talk to him, I’ll start longing for him, I’ll want him to come over. I’ll want to lay in his arms and feel his lips on mine.
All of that sounds a hell of a lot like real dating, and I can’t do that to myself. My heart has only just healed from an epic heartbreak. I can’t go and let it get broken again. No one will take care of my heart except for me.
Aiden and I are friends. And honestly, now that Jay has seen us together, maybe our little fake adventure should be over. It’s probably better for my heart if we just end it now.
I’ll never be able to watch professional motocross the same way again. Every time I see Aiden on the screen, I’ll remember that one glorious night we had together.
At the restaurant, we’re taken to a table near the bar, and I can’t wait to dive into some chips and queso. My stomach growls like a madman because now that I’m surrounded by the smells of food, I realize how damn hungry I am.
I’m stuffing my face with chips when I hear that laugh. That unmistakable, high pitched, extra annoying sound I’ve known since high school. Miranda Brown is here.
I grab another chip and try to focus on my parent’s conversation. I don’t need to look around and see her. I know what she looks like. I’ve seen way more of her than I ever care to. And she’s probably here with Jay, which means he might see us. Oh God. How stupid am I going to look when I’m here with my parents and they’re on a romantic date? Not to mention, I look like fifteen year old in a t-shirt and flip-flops with messy hair and no makeup. I’ve been stressed out over studying, but to Jay it’ll look like I’m miserable and heartbroken. My heart races and I keep my head low, hoping they don’t see me. If I don’t look in their direction then maybe they won’t notice me, either. This whole restaurant is pretty packed, so hopefully we just blend into the crowd.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. When I hear that insipid laugh again, my instincts make me look in the direction it came from, even though I don’t want to see her.
But I do. I see her sitting there at the bar, wearing a tight black dress. She leans over and whispers into a guy’s ear. But that guy isn’t Jay.
It’s Aiden.
I guess I only thought I had protected my heart. Because right now, it hurts pretty fucking bad.
Chapter 17
“Aiden,” I say with a nod. I take a sip of my second drink of the night while some pop song plays overhead, which is an unusual music choice for Mexican restaurant.
Miranda downs half of her second drink in one huge gulp. “Aiden… that’s a sexy name.”
She reaches over and puts a hand on my leg. She has long natural nails with chipped red polish on them. Her hand looks like it’s from a horror film. She squeezes my leg. “Everything about you is sexy,” she purrs.
I want to tell her that despite what she thinks, this whole spiel of hers is absolutely not sexy. I guess if I wanted to get laid with a total stranger, all I’d have to do is ask if she wants to go to my car. She’d probably disappear in a cloud of dust, and be waiting for me with her clothes stripped off.
That is not a sexy look at all.
This kind of shit happens all the time when I’m on the road. It’s even worse when I’m with the guys, because then a group of girls who are all copies of Miranda will crowd around us, each choosing the guy they want so they can fling themselves on us. Teenage me would have thought this magnetism to women was the coolest thing ever.
But now all I can see is STDs and waking up next to a stranger that reeks of booze and vomit. Not sexy. Not attractive. Not anything I’m going to do tonight.
I may be hurting over Jenn ghosting me, but I’m not about to trade those feelings for the fleeting touch of some strange woman I just met.
I shift on the barstool and her hand falls away. I have no interest in this girl but I also don’t want to be a total asshole to her. I take a menu from the bar and flip through it, acting as if I’m interested in the food. All I wanted to do tonight was have a drink or two alone so that I could try to get over the pain of Jenn ditching me.
“You’re the dirt bike guy, right?” Miranda asks.
“Probably,” I say. She quirks an eyebrow.
“There are a lot of dirt bike guys in this town since it’s home to a motocross track.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re that famous guy everyone’s talking about?”
“What are they saying?” I ask.
“Who?” she says, sipping from her drink. Not only is she overly flirty, she’s also forgetful.
“The everyone that you just mentioned.”
She shrugs and finishes her drink, signaling for another one. “The guys in this town are jealous of you and the girls want you. That’s about it.”
I snort and take a sip. The liquor burns down to my stomach. That’s all it does. It doesn’t make me feel better, and it doesn’t take my mind off Jenn.
Next to me, Miranda orders three shots and she downs them the second they appear. The bartender asks if I want anything and I shake my head. I’m still working on my second Jack and Coke. I’m not about to get too drunk to drive my sister’s car home.
Marcus would kill me if he knew I was drinking. Alcohol isn’t good for an athlete’s body, he’d say. He’d demand that I flush it out with a gallon of water and jog five miles to make up for it.
I take another sip. What Marcus doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Miranda is talking to me, but I only half pay attention. She’s talking about motocross and how her dad and brothers ride dirt bikes. She’s the kind of person who can have an entire conversation by herself, so luckily it leaves me out of the obligation of talking back. I just nod every few minutes.
I check my phone but there’s no new messages. It’s late enough that Jenn would be off work today or out of school, or finished with whatever thing she had to do that would keep her from messaging me.
I sigh and consider sending her a text. I could ask if she wants to schedule a new fake date, or maybe keep it simple and tell her I saw something funny that reminded me of her. My finger hovers over her name on my text list, and I’m so tempted to tell her hello.
“Oh my God, you shouldn’t be on your phone when you’re with me!” Miranda says, shoving my arm.
At some point, she got another drink. Her eyes are glassy and she’s touching my leg again. I think her barstool somehow got closer to mine as well.
She leans closer. “It’s so rude to be on your phone when you’re with a hot girl.”
I’m about to tell her I’m not with her. I’m sitting next to her, quite out of my own control since she chose to sit next to me. But I can see in her eyes that she’s drunk and I wouldn’t put it past her to make a big obnoxious scene in front of everyone if I say anything that pisses her off.
“Sorry,” I say, putting my phone away. “What were you talking about?”
“I was saying I give the best head,” she says, blinking up at me. Her hand rises up my thigh. I put my own hand on top of hers to stop her, but she must think I’m trying to hold her hand because she grabs it and stretches out my index finger then brings it to her mouth.
I freeze, feeling one hundred percent embarrassed as she literally sucks my finger. The horrifying moment only lasts for one second, but I am mortified. What if someone saw? That’s disgusting. My hands aren’t even that clean.
“That’s… enough,” I say, trying to smile politely as I take my hand back, drying my finger on my jeans.
“There’s more where that came from,” she says with a drunken wink. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I have a busy day tomorrow.” I hope she can’t hear the lies in my voice. “I need to go home soon.”
She frowns, then looks around the restaurant. “Ugh. You’re the only hot guy here,” she whines. “If you won’t go home with me then how the hell am I going to piss off my boyfriend?”
Whoa.
I don’t even know what to do with that information. She flicks an annoyed gaze my way and then drops some cash on the bar and reaches into her purse. She drops it, and has to pick it back up, then when she finds her keys, she drops those. She stumbles out of her stool and hits her head on the bar when bending to get her keys. This girl is a wreck.
“You’re not driving home,” I say. I fish some cash out from my pocket—probably way more than what my bill costs—and leave it for the bartender. I take the girl’s keys and then hand her purse to her.
She looks up at me with a drunken smile and presses her finger to my chest. “Does that mean you will come home with me?” Without warning, she leans forward and runs her tongue up my neck. A literal shudder goes through me, and not the good kind.
“It means I’m taking you home,” I say, pressing my hand to her back to guide her.
We weave through the packed restaurant and out to the parking lot.
“Where’s your car?” I ask.
“Right here,” she says, drunkenly swaying as she points to a blue SUV. “But I live over there.” Her finger swings across the street to the apartment complex.
That’s convenient. I can drive her home and then walk back. I help her get into her car, and she starts giggling as the alcohol takes over her inhibitions.
“I wanna suck your—” she says. I close the door so I don’t have to hear the rest of it.
I get in her car and drive across the road. She points to the building that’s hers, and I park, then peel her hand off my thigh again. This girl is touchy as hell.
She doesn’t get out of her car on her own, and I have to walk over there and pry her out. She wraps her arms around my neck and starts kissing it, trying desperately to reach my lips. I turn my cheek away.
“Miranda,” I say, forcing her away from me. “Focus. Which apartment is yours?”
Her hooded gaze smiles up at me. “I’m going to make you feel amazing,” she purrs. “You’ll never want to leave.”
“Uh huh, sure,” I say as if I’m talking to a toddler. “Show me which apartment is yours.”
She starts walking and I hope she’s going the right direction. Headlights pull into the darkened parking lot and then they shut off abruptly. A truck door slams and footsteps approach.
I turn around just in time to see Jay, stone-faced and bowed up.
“The fuck?” he says.
Miranda gasps and then grabs onto me, wrapping her hand around my arm. “Go away,” she tells him. “I found someone better.”
Jay’s jaw tightens. “What the fuck, dude? First you steal my girlfriend then you steal my side piece?” He waves his hands through the air. “There’s not any other girls in his damn town for you?”
It dawns on me in an instant. This girl is the one Jay cheated on Jenn with. This is the girl Jenn hates. And she’s currently pressed up against me so much you’d think we were about to go upstairs and hook up.
I peel her off me. “I’m just getting her home safely,” I say, dropping her arm.
“No he wasn’t!” Miranda shouts. “He appreciates my talents and he wanted to get laid by someone who knows what she’s doing.”
Jay snorts. “Are you going to tell Jenn, or should I?”
I would give anything to have my wrist out of this cast so I could knock this guy into the next century. Anything. He’s going to call Jenn and it doesn’t matter that I had no interest in this girl, she’s going to hate me.
“Look man,” I say, trying to level with him. “I was just trying to do the right thing and get her home safely. She’s all yours now.”
Miranda reaches for me, pouting out her lips. I ignore her, toss her car keys to Jay, and start walking back toward the restaurant.
“Yeah you better walk away,” Jay calls out. But he waits until I’m pretty far away, far enough that his words are just a meaningless threat. I know he doesn’t want to fight me. He’s just all talk.
He’s lucky because I have no words for him. I hold up my middle finger, and I don’t look back.
If he tells Jenn what he saw tonight, this will all be over. But I guess if something was never actually real, it was over from the start.
Chapter 18
I can’t concentrate on dinner. I try so damn hard to stare at the chip bowl, to reach in and pick out one and focus on dipping it into the salsa. But I’m not really seeing it. All I see is the two of them in my peripheral vision. I glance up just as she puts her hand on his thigh. She smiles and flirts with Aiden as if it’s her damn job. As if she was raised by sirens and bred into a life of flirting. She is that good at it. She’s confident and sensual and everything I’m not.
I look back at the chip in my fingers.
I set it on my plate, not caring to take a bite.
“Jenn, you look awful,” Mom says.
Dad stops whatever he’s talking about, and now both of my parents are looking at me with concern. Great. The guy I was falling for is here with another woman and I’m here with my mom and dad like some kind of child. To make matters worse, I’m dressed like a child, too. My hair is pulled into a messy bun and I’m not wearing any makeup and if Aiden looks over here and sees me, he’ll know he made the right choice with Miranda.
“I’m fine,” I say, but I don’t even have the energy to put fake enthusiasm in my words. It’s taking everything I have not to cry. And that makes this ball of rage swell up inside of me unti
l I want to punch something. Rage is better than tears. I can’t cry. I’m better than that.
“She’s working too hard,” Dad says, more to Mom than to me. “She’s got the job and college and now the internship. It’s too much for one person.”
“You should quit working at the shop,” Mom suggests.
I shoot her a look. “Are you kidding? Never. I love that place.”
“Just for a little while,” Mom says. She’s giving me that pitying look like I really am a child again.
“You should focus more on school anyway,” Dad says. “That’s more important than the shop. I could find a temporary replacement for your job.”
“And then I wouldn’t have money for bills,” I say.
Dad glances at Mom, who nods. “We can spot you some cash until the semester is over.”
“Oh my god, no,” I say, sinking my head into my hands. “I love my job. I’m not quitting. And I don’t need money or pity from you guys, okay? I’m totally fine.”
Mom’s lips press together. “I just don’t want school to run you ragged.”
“It’s not school,” I say, shaking my head. “School is fine.”
My parents exchange a look that in thirty years of marriage means something to them that I’ll ever be able to decipher.
“Oh…” Mom says, and that pitying look seems to grow three sizes bigger. “Jay.”
I roll my eyes. “No, Mom it’s not Jay. I am completely over him.”
“So what is it?” she says, keeping her voice low as if we’re talking one on one. But I know Dad is listening. He’s always listening.
“It’s… nothing,” I say, shaking my head. I guess it’s fine if they think I’m overworked with school, because the truth is embarrassing. “Maybe I’m just tired from all the schoolwork.”
Mom takes a long breath and then lets it out slowly. She puts a hand on my back. “We’re here for you if you need us.”
Time I find the energy to fake a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
The waiter delivers our food and my taco salad smells pretty amazing. I want to eat, I do, but I can’t stop glancing over at the bar. I wonder if Aiden has seen me, but I don’t think so. He’s not looking around and since he’s sitting at the bar, his back is to me. I stab my fork into a piece of chicken and then glance up again.