by Whitney G.
“Do you miss it?” I asked, after they’d said their goodbyes.
“I miss the groupies.”
“You still have groupies. Just a different type.”
“Well, in that case—” His eyes followed the team out of the store. “I never did appreciate other people unloading their expectations onto me, when I had my own. So, no. I don’t miss being a part of that at all.”
“Totally understand. Speaking of which, when it comes to things we miss and don’t miss.” I took out my phone and pulled up my secret “Long-term Relationship Compatibility” spreadsheet. I never told Carter it actually existed because I was sure he’d find a way to get me to delete it.
“What is one thing you wish you could’ve done differently in your relationship with Emily?” I asked.
“I wish I’d never met her.”
“Come on.” I started to type. “This always helps me know what not to do in my next relationship, so I’ll go first. In Scott’s and my case, I could’ve tried to talk to him about my reservations about intimacy a lot sooner.”
“No, you could’ve tried fucking.”
“And you could’ve tried barking.” I snapped. “Maybe then Emily’s meowing wouldn’t have seemed so weird, if you’d given it a chance.”
“Oh?” He laughed. “Did I just touch a nerve? Are you that sexually frustrated?”
“No.” I tossed a gummy bear at his face. “Although, it would be nice to have some amazing sex before I leave for culinary school.”
“Then have some. I can help you with that.”
“What?” I gave him a death stare. “Not with you. Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m definitely not talking about sex with me.” He stole my last bite of waffle and stood up. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please!”
“Seriously though, I don’t have much to do outside of work for the next few months,” he said, “so I’ll help you find a guy—or two or three, just for sex. As a matter of fact, we’ll start the search tonight, right after your graduation party.”
“Are you sure you won’t try to convince me to leave that early, too?”
“Not unless you somehow manage to make me fall asleep.” He laughed and pulled me up, leading me out of the store.
As we sped back across the pier with the sun setting behind us in the distance, I realized I was already starting to miss this part of my life.
Later that night
I stuffed one last piece of a cupcake into my mouth and gave my mom a hug. “Thank you for throwing me this party tonight.”
“Anything for you.” She hugged me back. “Wait a minute. Where is Scott? Is he coming by later?”
“Yeah, um. We didn’t work out.”
“Aw, sorry, hon.” She gave me a look of sympathy. “You’ll find someone better.”
“I can only hope.” I looked outside the window where the rest of my family was busy taking down lights and table settings. “What do you need me to clean up?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she said. “I threw this party for you, so you don’t have to help at all. Go out with your friends and enjoy the rest of your night.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my real mother? The one who has OCD and insists that everything be cleaned within half an hour or less?”
“Hurry up and get out of here before I change my mind.” She laughed and shooed me into the living room, where a few of my classmates were gathering their things and leaving.
On the couch, my former study partner for Logistics, Tina, was running her hand up and down Carter’s arm. Not being subtle at all, she was blushing every other second and smiling the next.
“I’d love to talk to you sometime,” she said to him, biting her cherry red lip.
“I’d love to talk to you, too.” He gave her that stupid, charming grin that apparently had an effect on every woman except me.
I walked around the room and individually thanked all of my classmates for coming, taking a few last selfies with them before they disappeared. I was about to thank Tina, but she suddenly leapt up from the couch and grabbed my hand—pulling me into the guest bathroom.
“Are you in need of a tampon or something?” I asked, confused. “They’re in the bottom left drawer.”
“No.” She smiled. “I wanted to ask you something about your friend.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah.” She lowered her voice, as if he was actually in earshot. “Would you be mad if I went out with him?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because, I mean, I personally think you two have probably done stuff in the past and there are some hidden emotions on your part, so—”
“There are no hidden emotions on my part.” I cut her off. “And we have never even so much as kissed. We’ve barely even hugged. How long exactly have you thought that about me?”
“That’s not the point.” She waved off the topic. “The point is, I want to go out with him and I want to make sure it is okay with you, since we’re friends.”
We were not friends. We were study partners.
“It’s more than okay with me,” I said. “You don’t really need my permission. How about asking him out and not me?”
“I heard he has a huge cock.” She lowered her voice again. “And that he’s into really dirty and intense sex. Is that true?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Oh, come on.” She gave me a pointed look. “There’s no way you’ve never copped a feel of his dick or given it a second look.”
“I haven’t.”
Trying to catch me in a lie, she tried the example approach. “He doesn’t even go to our school, Arizona. Yet, I see him on our campus all the time.”
“Are you aware that he’s dated quite a few girls from our school before? That’s another very good reason for that …”
“So, just to be one hundred percent sure, you’re telling me that you two have never sampled each other?”
“Did you really just use the word ‘sampled’ in a sexual context?” I couldn’t believe this. “Look, he and I have never had sex, let alone sampled each other, and you can trust me on this. You can also trust me when I say that we never, ever will.”
She looked at me for a few moments, as if she were trying to determine if I was going to somehow take everything back, and then she smiled. “You are too cute!” She hugged me—literally wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me so hard, I started to cough. “Quick question, though. I figured you would know. What’s his favorite color?”
“Blue, sea blue.”
“Good to know.” She winked at me as she opened the door. “I’ll keep that in mind for what color thong to wear under my dress whenever he takes me out.”
There wasn’t an eye-roll worthy enough to use for that, so I simply smiled and followed her back out to the living room, waiting for her to say a few last words to Carter. She gave him her phone number, whispered something that sounded like, “I can’t wait to fuck you” into his ear, and gave him one last sultry look before leaving.
“Good party,” Carter said, shutting the door behind her. “What part of the house do you have to clean up before you can leave?”
“None. My mom said I didn’t have to help. She said I should just enjoy my night.”
“There’s no way she said that.” He leaned against the wall. “Tell me, so I can help you clean whatever it is. If we hurry up and get it done, we can start your sex victim search long before last call.”
“I was being serious, Carter!” My mom called from the kitchen. “You both can get out now!”
He didn’t question it any further. “Bar crawl?”
“Absolutely.” I walked outside and hopped into his car, changing the radio station and answering a few of his questions about Tina.
As we searched for a parking spot near the pier, I prayed to the Best-Friend-Gods that if he changed his mind and decided to get serious with Tina (or a
nyone else this summer, for that matter) that she wouldn’t turn out to be another Emily. I couldn’t handle another one of those.
Being his best friend was already tricky territory. All of his girlfriends automatically became suspicious when he introduced us. They smiled at me when he was looking, and glared at me behind his back. And whenever he was on the phone with me, he always had to go out of his way to say, “No, really. She’s just my best friend,” halfway through the conversation. Usually more than once.
There was almost always an ultimatum in his relationships, too: “Are you dating Arizona or ME?!”
Yet, since we’re indeed “just friends”—just goddamn friends (Why couldn’t people see this?!), I had no issues with him falling back or not talking to me as much, because months later, the results were always the same: Another breakup. Another late-night phone call to discuss what did or didn’t go wrong. Another brief break until he found the next crazy.
In fact, sometimes, I wished I could sit with his next girlfriend and say, “Hey, before you start thinking about doing anything stupid and accusing him of something that has never, and will never happen, here are a few facts that will probably ease your mind: 1) I’m not attracted to him. AT ALL. I don’t get what all the hype is about, sorry. 2) I’m not interested in “fucking him.” AT ALL. I’ve had enough great sex to keep me satisfied, and when I’m not with someone, my vibrator serves me just fine with fantasies of celebrities. NOT HIM. #Truestory. And 3) He once saw me naked at a pool party when we were eighteen and begged me—fucking begged me to put my clothes back on. ASAP. So, yeah. He’s not attracted to me either. Can you promise not to make any accusations about the two of us now?”
Of course, I was sure that scheduling a sit down with a potential girlfriend would lead to more issues instead of alleviating them, so I just went along for the train wrecks—hoping he would one day find someone who wasn’t a psycho.
“Hey, Ari?” Carter waved his hand in front of my face minutes later.
“What?”
“Do you plan on getting out of the car tonight? He opened my door. “Or have you decided that you’d rather handle your pussy with your fingers for the rest of the summer instead?”
I rolled my eyes and got out, following him inside of Margaritaville.
I ordered the weakest beer they had to offer and surveyed the room. “If this whole casual sex guy thing doesn’t work, do you think I’ll find my one hundred-percent guy before I go off to Cleveland?”
“I highly doubt it.” He smiled, leaning back against the wood. “You have three months until then, and you make guys wait for at least eight before telling them you’ve changed your mind.”
“I’m being serious.” I punched his shoulder. “It would be great to meet a nice, down to earth guy and feel like everything is perfect and right at once, you know? To have all of those right vibes and feelings upfront, so I wouldn’t even have to worry about how it’ll turn out in the long run.”
“You’re talking about insta-love?”
“I’m talking about love at first sight.”
“That shit doesn’t exist,” he said. “Any relationship built solely on instant attraction is a recipe for failure. Trust me, I’m the prototype.”
“You’re the prototype for being a man-whore.” I sipped my beer. “It’s not the same thing.”
“If I was a man-whore, I wouldn’t have had six girlfriends over the past two years. Six, Ari.”
“Six girlfriends, five one-night stands, four “There’s some girl in my bed and I don’t know her name” mornings, three “Holy fuck, that sex was terrible” nights, and one—”
“Partridge in a pear tree?”
“No. One ‘Please, Ari, come and get me.’ But that was a very close guess.”
“I didn’t know you were keeping count.”
“Only because you make it too damn easy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He rolled his eyes. “Hey, look over there.” He pointed with his straw. “What about that guy? He looks like he’d be into a few nights with you.”
I spotted the guy he was talking about: He was dressed in a short sleeved white shirt and khakis that complemented his beige shoes.
“He’s cute.” I looked him over again. “I don’t think he’s my type, though.”
“He’s more than your type. He looks like he hasn’t fucked anyone in years.”
I laughed. “No, thanks. What about that guy?” I pointed to a guy dressed in all blue.
“I thought you hated sneaker-heads.”
My eyes roamed down to his shoes and I shook my head. After dating a sneaker-head, I knew those were the type of exclusive shoes that could only be worn by one.
“Oh, wait a minute,” Carter said, smiling. “Looks like you have an admirer. Look to your left.”
I slowly turned around and spotted a guy in a black shirt and jeans smiling at me. He tilted his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure out the relationship between me and Carter.
I immediately scooted away and the guy smiled, shooting me a short wave.
“Go talk to him,” Carter said.
“Shhh! Stop talking to me! He might think we’re together.”
“He won’t if you go talk to him, Ari. Jesus.”
I hesitated, still looking at the guy, and the next thing I felt was Carter pushing me out of my seat.
“Go.” He shooed me away. “It’s not like you’re making me look appealing to anyone either.”
I shook my head at him and walked toward the guy in the black shirt, blushing as I stepped closer. He looked ten times better up close.
“Hi.” He smiled a set of perfect pearly whites.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry for staring,” he said smoothly. “Did your boyfriend send you over here to tell me to stop?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Glad to hear that.” He smiled again and extended his hand. “I’m Chris.”
“Arizona.”
“Nice to meet you.” He gently caressed my knuckles with his fingers. “I’m actually only here to take a few of my drunk friends home, but I’d love to call you tomorrow and maybe meet up somewhere this week? Somewhere quiet and private?”
I nodded, slightly speechless at the way his simple touch was making me feel.
“Can I have your number, Arizona?” He slowly let my hand go and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“It’s 555-9076.” I managed to pull my phone out without taking my eyes off his. “Yours?”
“The number that’s currently calling you.” He grinned as my phone rang with the unknown number. “I’ll definitely call you tomorrow.” He looked me up and down as he stepped back. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you, too.” I stood rooted to the ground until he disappeared into the crowd, and then I made my way back over to the bench.
“So?” Carter signaled to the bartender to close his tab. “How’d it go?”
“Good, really good. We only spoke a few words to each other, but he’s going to call me tomorrow.” I felt like a giddy little girl. “I literally felt something when he touched me—something strong.”
“It’s a pretty bad sign if he’s already given you an STD.”
“You are so terrible!” I laughed. “Did you find any future victims while I was gone?”
“Within the span of two minutes? No, but I realized we need to get you a few more dates tonight, if we’re going to guarantee that you get laid at some point this summer.” He set a tip on the counter and clasped my hand, pulling me through the crowd and outside. “We need to go to a few more bars.”
“What? Why? I just got a guy, a guy who has already promised to call me tomorrow and made me feel a genuine spark when he only touched my hand. Did you not hear any of what I said back there?”
“That was one guy, Ari.” He shook his head. “One. Who knows if he’ll really call you tomorrow? You trust him just because he said he would?”
&n
bsp; “Well, yeah.”
“So, you’ll believe anything a complete stranger says to you?”
“There was a spark, Carter. A genuine, he-is-definitely-going-to-call-me, spark.”
“You need at least five other options.” He unlocked the doors to his car and motioned for me to get in. “That’s the biggest problem you have now. You need to actually date around and stop pinning all your hopes on the first guy that you supposedly feel a spark with.”
“I don’t always do that. I at least wait until he kisses me first.” I laughed. “I’m a pretty good judge of kisses, you know. I can tell a lot about a guy from the way he uses his mouth.”
“I’m sure you can.” He revved up the car and sped down a few blocks toward a more popular bar. “You have stars in your eyes right now over a potential phone call. I’d hate to see what you look like after you get kissed.”
“I’ll record it one day and send you the video.”
“Please don’t.” He looked over at me, laughing as he found a parking spot. “If it’s anything like you looked after meeting that guy in there, I never want to know. Now, get out of the car before you start staring into space, so I can show you how to get exactly what your pussy needs.”
“Really, though? Have I ever told you how deep you are?”
“No.” He smiled as he got out of the car. “But that’s only because you and I have never fucked.”
Fifth Grade
Carter
Dear Carter,
I don’t care what you say about Dawson Meade the 3rd. He will be my first kiss and he will NOT care about my braces. He will fall in love with me and ask me to be his girlfriend. And then you will be jealous because you will still not know what it fills like to be kissed.
I’ll let you know how it goes after school.
Sincerely kissed,
Arizona
Dear Arizona,
I do not care about your first kiss, but you should know that Dawson is lame and he will kiss anyone. I saw him kissing hisself in the bathroom mirror last week. Trust me, he will care about your braces. They are still not pretty.
