by Karli James
I feel my features twist into a grimace, even though she can’t see me.
Jude: She knows I’m a writer. That’s as far as I went with it. I’d rather tell her what genre in person.
Nina: Are you going to tell her your pen name?
Jude: If she asks to read any of my work, sure.
Nina: Really?!
Jude: Yes, why?
Nina: It took you six months to tell, Satan.
Jude: Yeah, but…she’s Kara.
My texts grow silent after that. Nina knows when to stop pushing. She says what she feels she needs to say, and then she leaves me to my own disastrous devices. It’s both welcoming and probably a giant mistake. However, it is what it is. Oh, and yes, spoiler: I write romance. You’re rolling your eyes right now, and I get it. How did the romance author make such a colossal mistake when trying to romance a girl? Because this isn’t a damn book, and there is no script that I have carefully crafted to bring two people together. This is reality, and whether or not I get a happily ever after cannot be summed up in a hundred thousand words or less.
I slide my phone into my pocket just as Kara comes back around to tell me she’s ready to go. She grabs her coat, her purse, her keys and walks around the bar and I get to land my eyes on all of her for the first time in three weeks. She’s wearing a very short skirt, her short legs heightened by the magic of sexy heels, her thighs that are fit, but thick nonetheless are staring me down, begging me to rub my hands across their creamy goodness. I know I’m staring. I can’t stop. To me, she is perfect. Stacked. Curves. Booty. All of it. She’s a woman you can sink into, and I just know that she would be soft everywhere.
“You about done?” I shrug, but give her a sheepish grin at being caught in my leisurely perusal.
“If I have to be. Come on, let’s get you home.” She eyes me warily.
“No funny business. Just walk me to my car, say goodnight, get in your car, and go home.”
“Of course.” I smirk, and she narrows her eyes in disbelief of my easy assent. We step outside, and it’s so dark. Barely enough street light for my liking, and more than ever I am thankful I’m walking her to her car. The air is cool, but smells sweet. Earthy and fresh due to the spring weather we are finally experiencing. At the end of April.
“Do you normally walk to your car alone at the end of shift?” She pauses and looks at me.
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s rather dark out here; I don’t like it. Doesn’t feel safe.”
“You don’t have to like it Jude, I’m not your problem. I’m not someone for you to worry about.” Well that’s bullshit.
“I happen to think you’re wrong about that, however I won’t push it tonight.” We get to her car and she opens her door and I suddenly feel a moment of déjà vu—three weeks ago standing in front of her like this, asking her to be friends like a total dildo.
“Thank you for walking me to my car.”
“Thank you for allowing me, and for allowing me to talk to you tonight. I know I created extra work for you, and I’m sorry for that, however, not sorry I got to see you.” She sighs.
“Jude. I’m not sure what you expect to happen here. My feelings about you, and this situation are very confused right now. I have your number, so all I ask is that you give me some time to think on all this; I need to process and deal and ultimately do what I think is best for me. If I don’t get in touch with you, just know that I don’t hate you, and you’re forgiven for the night at Shaney’s. It will simply be because I decided we should both move on and try to find the right person.” She’s gutting me. I’m a still flopping fish on a cold butcher block, and she’s the filet knife scoring down my center, ripping my guts out and chopping off my damn head. I try to keep my face blank because I really don’t want her to see how much her words are affecting me right now. They’re twisting and turning—I feel sick because as crazy it is, I know this girl is my person; my puzzle piece as she so adequately stated earlier. She is. She’s the piece that clicks into mine and we complete the damn puzzle. We are those two stupid lone pieces that belong somewhere in the center but they don’t make sense apart. They only make sense—they only fit when they’re together.
“Jude?” I clear my throat and glance away. I absolutely cannot look at her right now.
“Understood. Thank you again, for tonight. It was gracious of you, truly. Drive careful.” I look back and watch her open her mouth like she’s going to say something else, but honestly in this moment unless it’s “I changed my mind about all this bullshit I just threw at you”, then I really don’t want to hear it. All of her is too in my face tempting and forbidden at once and I cannot believe how much my life is a deep dark pool of suck. So. Much. Suck. Says the charming and rather successful romance author, Poppy Lawson.
Yes, I kept my real last name, but Poppy was born from a baby name book I downloaded on my Kindle. I liked it. Poppy sounds fun, and flirty, and like she could sell the hell out of some romance. And Poppy does.
I walk to the front of the restaurant to wait for my Uber. I pull out my phone to check for any new messages, and turn my head just in time to watch Kara drive away. I feel a little sad, a little lost, and a little pissed. Rejection like this is for the birds! However, I also realize that Nina is right. I apologized. I explained. I’m human, and I reacted poorly, and there’s only so many times I can say I’m sorry for the same thing.
There’s only so many ways a woman can tell you no or to back off before a restraining order is filed and quite frankly, I’m too pretty for prison. I need my balls tucked away safely and on the right side of the law. She has my number. She’ll use it if she wants to. Until then, I guess I’ll move along with my life as if I’m not a raging ‘roid on the ass of this town, and do what I do best: hole up for days and write until my fingers fall off.
The next morning I wake up to the sound of my phone buzzing in my ear. Who the? It’s Sunday. This isn’t natural. No one should be contacting me on a Sunday. I groan and reach for the demon that is emitting such an obnoxious sound and see that it’s actually almost noon and my sister is calling me.
“Lo’?”
“Umm. Is this sleepy voice or sex voice, because I don’t want to talk to you if you’re dip stick is still wet from checking under the hood.” The class folks, the pure class.
“Nina. What the ever lovin' crap do you want? And maybe stop working on cars with Dad so much.”
“Cheerful this morning huh? So, I take it this is your sleep voice or you’d be much happier. Okay, sorry, anyway, what are you doing today?”
“Nina. What day is it?”
“I know, it’s Sunday, but-”
“No. No, Nina. I don’t do shit on Sundays. I don’t go anywhere. I don’t talk to anyone. I don’t text anyone. I don’t touch social media. I don’t do a damn thing. Nothing. Ever. This is my day. I shower. I put on a pair of boxer briefs and a smile and then I eat whatever take out I choose to order. I watch stupid movies, and I nap. Nina. Oh, precious Nina, baby lamb, you know this.” She’s quietly chuckling so I know I haven’t pissed her off, but seriously? She knows this.
“I know Jude, I know. It’s just that it’s a beautiful day and I was wondering if you wanted to go see Dad with me. He’s working on a new car, well a new old car as it usually goes and I just…” I sigh a little. I know this would mean something to her, but I just can’t today. I’m in a mood. A selfish funk, and I need to feel it. I need to own it. It’s called Kara and I’m dwelling in its stench of rejection and last night’s booze.
“I can’t, Neens. I just can’t today. I’m sorry. Besides you know that cars were always you and Dad’s thing. Seriously, you’re like the son he always wanted. And that’s not an insult to you so don’t go there, I just mean…I was Aunt Lily’s sidekick with the baking and the feels.” She sighs a heavy sigh.
“I know Jude, it’s fine. I just thought I would ask. We haven’t gone to see him together in a while, and I know he gets lonely, and anyway.
I get it. And I’m not mad. I realize you’re also probably still butt hurt over what happened with Stir Mix-A-Lot Mary.”
“Stop calling her that! But yes. Something like that. Hey why don’t you ask Liam to go? This would give you the perfect opportunity to give him shit about Paige.”
“You told me last night to just let it go.”
“Yeah, but since when do you ever listen to me?”
“Good point.”
“Plus, Liam is family. Dad loves him, and I’ll go next weekend if you’re free. When do you work again?”
“I work Monday and Tuesday, then all of the weekend.”
“Oooh, darn, looks like I’ll have to wait a bit longer to get these knuckles covered in grease and grime and oil and…whatever it is that cars have in them.” Nina snorts.
“Seriously, how do you write such sexy alpha scenes in your books when you’re such a chick?”
“Ah, Neens, I’m just writing the men I wish I was.” I’m joking, but not really. The air over the phone goes so quiet I think she’s hung up. Probably to go vomit.
“Don’t do that. Don’t put yourself down. You’re a good man, and I’m sure even good men can have their alpha moments, but you don’t need to be one of your characters Jude. You’re already made perfect for the right woman. And the right woman will know that too.” This seese.
“I love you, Neens.”
“Oh man. Shut up. Love you.” Then she hangs up on me. I’m laughing at the both of us; she’s so emotionally stunted that it’s like I must have gotten all of her feelings plus my own. Oh man. Maybe that’s what both our problems are. I need to give her back her feels quick, because we are both floundering out here in adulthood with too much or too little capacity to love.
Regardless, it’s Sunday and this is Jude Day. Therefore, true to my word I swing my legs over the side of the bed and scoot my boot into the bathroom for a long as I want shower, letting the hot water wash away my angst. Stepping out I step into a favorite pair of black boxer briefs that are the perfect combination of comfort, security, and softness. I like a nice thread count on my balls. It matters, okay?
Because it’s already one o’clock I go ahead and place my take out order for an obscene amount of Chinese food. Mmm, egg rolls. Crab Rangoon. Dumplings. Noodles. Spicy beef and mushrooms.
I know I will feel like crap approximately five seconds after I inhale all of it, but I will nap and then feel better until I have my second helping. Which will then be like ten p.m., and I’ll wonder why I thought death by Chinese food was a good choice in life. I know because I’ve lived this dream many times. Many Sundays my friends. Many. It’s my favorite way to feel like shit on any given day. Too. Much. Food.
I settle down into my cozy couch and reach for the remote, pull up Netflix and begin my hour-long search to find a movie that will hold my interest longer than the time it took to find it. It’s so harrrd. Guys. Why is Netflix like this? Sometimes it feels like everything cool at once is beckoning me from its streaming fingertips, while other times it feels like I’m staring into space—total nothingness. Nothing. Why guys? Why? Netflix? Anyone? Finally, I settle for watching The Office, again, because it’s The Office.
My food arrives, I settle in, phone is on silent. Life is peaceful. Happy. Good. I am not thinking about Kara. I am not thinking about her lips or her ass or her shining hair that glowed like the first start to a sunset. I am not thinking about her glorious hazel eyes and the smattering of freckles that make me want to connect the dots with my tongue. I’m not. I’m not. I’m gonna just sit here and eat, and feel the sexual tension between Pam and Jim and pretend that I’m not a moron who is hopeless over a woman he hardly knows. I’m not. Nuh uh.
Right.
Sure.
Yup.
I’m fine.
Guys, I’m totally fine.
Fuck.
I’m not that fine.
Chapter 6
Kara
Allison: Kara Marie Vitale, where the hell are you? You need to explain what was happening last night at the bar with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sex Me Up! That wasn’t a normal customer, don’t even try to lie to me.
Balls. I forgot that Allison was probably eating popcorn while she watched the free show last night at the bar. She’s my best friend, so this makes it extra hard because I want to share with her, but also, I really don’t. I’m not ready. I don’t want to talk about what last night did to me. I don’t want to embrace any of those feelings Jude spurred inside my darker places; my secret places. My heart. And my vajeen. Sigh. This man is going to be the ruin of me, I’m pretty sure of it. Who does this? Who gathers his friends for a city-wide bar crawl just so he can find the girl? Prince Fucking Charming guys! That’s who. The last time I heard a story like this, some skinny, pretty blonde girl was getting fitted with a glass slipper by the one man she never thought she’d get because she was always told she wasn’t good enough. This is not real life. He’s not real life. Granted, Prince Charming never acted like a bag of dicks prior to the epic of all shoe fittings, but still.
What he said last night, well it made sense. All the fears I had about being a touch too sensitive and defensive crashed into me and I realized how truthful they might be. We all have baggage. We all say and do things in knee jerk reactions based on prior relationships, familial issues, whatever. Scars. We’re all scarred, and Jude is no exception. He may have been out of line, however, I’m also not holier than thou. I cannot sit here and honestly say that I have never reacted poorly without thinking.
Not only that, but I’m very aware that I shut people out. I build up walls, and I immediately exile them from my personal island. I refuse to let people in because when I sense even a hint of something negative that I may have encountered at some prior point in my life, I can’t allow myself to take that risk to go there again.
And there he was, just as Allison described him. All sexy with his dark hair doing that curly-flop thing I adored, his glorious liquid green eyes that looked like fresh cut grass on a rainy summer day. Glossy, mossy, beautiful. Honest. I could see his sincerity in everything he spoke and I once again felt embarrassment, only now it was because I was so far gone into the “no zone” that I didn’t know how to get back out.
You know how when you’re a kid and you tell a lie to your parents, and it just keeps going farther and farther until you realize that they’re going to do more than just ground you-- they’re going to be disappointed in you. Ugh. Disappointment is the worst. It’s worse than a smack to the face. It’s…crushing. And I feel like that’s where I’m at now. I’ve gone too far and now he’s disappointed and I don’t even want to face it. Let alone talk about it with anyone else. However, this is Allison and I can’t really not answer because she was freaken there.
Kara: Hey Allison, you’re right. He wasn’t a normal customer. That was online guy. He was the bar crawl. I was the mission.
Allison: Umm…I’m sorry…WHAT?! Are you in a romantic comedy? Do you have your own film crew? Who is this guy? What is happening? Did you forgive him and bang him? Is he still there? Omgggg please tell me he’s still there. Please go back for more orgasms, and then describe all of this to me later over wine.
Kara: Sorry to disappoint, but no. He came, he apologized, he explained, he gave me his number, and then he walked me to my car at the end of the night. I have not contacted him, and I’m not sure that I will.
Allison: Are you high? Like with all due respect and everything of course. Mmmm, but seriously, are you? Did you make pot brownies and not invite me? Are you licking an edible and hoping it’s his peen? Are you INSANE? Do I need to call anyone for you? Your mom, perhaps?
Kara: Lord, no. Please do NOT call anyone especially my mom. I do not want to discuss my love life with her. I just need you. I can talk to you about all this and I KNOW you will still be my friend even when I tell you that I probably will not contact him, despite his grand gesture.
Allison: I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
Allison: Low. Blow. You know you’re not supposed to talk about him.
Kara: Just making my point.
Allison: Well done. You’re right. You did stay my friend through Kenneth’s stint in my life, but alas, I learned my lesson. I want better for you. I want more for you. And online guy seems way better than Kenneth ever was, which that’s saying something because I was with that jackie for five years.
Kara: Five. Freaken. Long. Years. I hope he gave good peen or I really don’t understand.
Allison: The peen was…fine? How is a peen supposed to be? Meh. Stop, this isn’t about me or Kenneth’s lame peen.
Kara: I can’t believe you had five years of lame peen.
Allison: You’re deflecting! Let’s meet for cocktails later.
Kara: I suppose I can do that. However, when I’m done talking about Mr. TDASMU, I need you to respect that and move onto a new topic. I’m still processing, and you know how I need time to deal.
Allison: Of course. I will respect that so long as once you’re done processing you resume the conversation and explain why you’re being a total pussy about this guy who so clearly wants to prove his peen to you.
Kara: I don’t want to talk about Jude’s peen.