The NYCE Girls!

by Raquel Belle

  “Whoa!” Someone cries.

  “Move!” Another person shouts.

  I turn quickly to see a stall dipping like it’s ready to topple over. “Don’t run off,” I tell the boys and run over to the makeshift stand next to Mrs. Keen. “I’ve got it. Come around to this side, while I hold this up.”

  She squeezes past me, and I hold the large umbrella that’s stuck in the middle of the table. I set it upright and pull the handle back through the hole before securing it again.

  “There you go,” I say. “That should hold up now.”

  “Thanks so much, Michael. You’re such a god send.”

  “No problem, ma’am,” I say, and smile. “Now, where are those boys?” I scratch my head. It’s a risk leaving them alone, but they can’t be far. I walk around, not really needing to buy anything. There’s no one at my house—ever since Pops died it’s been like a funeral parlor.

  I’m hardly there. I spend most of my days at the shop, and I usually eat dinner over at Trisha’s, or if someone else gives me an invite. Other times, I’m at Nana’s diner or the sports lounge catching a game or hanging with some of the other locals.

  “Hey,” I call to my friend, Jacob. He’s got his toddler on his shoulder. He’s the town sheriff. “You happen to see those two rascals?”

  He turns to check. “I think they’re back there with the pigs.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “What is it with them and those pigs? Thanks, man!”

  “No problem, Trip.”

  He’s right—they’re running around with Mr. Fred’s pigs again. I’m walking towards them when I spot Jazz. Her back is turned to me and she’s leaning over one of the stalls, like she’s examining something.

  My groin twitches, and I suck in a deep breath as I push the sensations back below the surface. She’s wearing skin-tight jeans that reveal her curves and her perfectly shaped ass. Her white sweater falls off her right shoulder, and I’m able to see just enough skin to remind me of what’s underneath.

  My breath catches in my throat when she turns to her mother and smiles. She’s the very same, and the more I look at her, the more I realize nothing’s changed. Not on the inside, either. I’m as much in love with her now as the last time I’d seen her.

  “It must feel weird, huh?” Trisha says from behind me.

  “What?” I turn and say. I realize what she means when she juts her chin at Jazz. “Oh…” I turn back to Jazz. “It does.”

  “You two were quite the couple back in the day,” she says.

  I nod. Like I need a reminder… The memory of her is forever etched in my mind, and my body’s already gotten a jump start. Her kiss lingers on my lips, and inadvertently, I touch my lower lip. “Yes, we were.”

  “Pity,” she says. “She’s only here for the holidays, and then it’s back to New York.”

  “Yeah. Back to New York…” I say, absent-mindedly.

  The words are barely out of my mouth when reality hits me. It’s not like I don’t know she’s going to leave, but looking at her across the field, I know this can’t be the last time I’ll see her.

  And I don’t just want her in my life for the holidays, gone soon after, while I pretend what exists between us isn’t real.

  I feel Trisha’s hand on my arm. “It’s just one of those things, Trip. Life happens. I should know…”

  I turn and smile at her, knowing full well what she means…the fact that she wanted to go to LA to become an actress, but her dreams fell flat…as most things do when you come from a small town. And then she had the boys, so her dreams were permanently shelved afterwards.

  I can’t say I blame her for being resentful at times—she got stuck in a life she wasn’t ready for, and then she lost her husband. That’s not the kind of cherry you want on top of your dream life.

  “I’m going home now,” she says. “I think I’m done.” She walks off, but I’m still standing in the same spot. She turns back to me. “You coming?”

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” I say. “I have to do something first.”

  She glances over at Jazz and smiles. “Okay, but I’ll have dinner ready for you, just in case.”

  “Thanks, Trisha.”

  I round up the boys for her and see them off before I jog back to the field, just in time to see Jazz and her Mom heading to the car.

  “Jazz!” I call to her.

  She stops and turns, and I hurry over to her. She smiles at me. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Let’s go to the park.”

  “Um…” she opens her mouth to reply, but that’s all that comes out.

  “Go on,” her mother says, “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure, Mom?”

  “What do you think I do when you’re not here?” She says, smiling. “Have fun, kids.”

  Jazz shakes her head when her mother walks away. “Okay. We’re officially set up.”

  I laugh, and gesture with my head for her to follow me. “Come on. Truck’s this way.”

  While I’m walking next to her, I have the overwhelming urge to scoop her up into my arms and tell her I want her to stay. But her words from the night before had struck quite a discordant note inside me…I know I’ll have to bide my time till she comes around.

  “What’s on your mind?” She asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Your brows were all serious like…” she says and points at my forehead. “I know that brooding look all too well.”

  I laugh. “You do, huh? So, what am I thinking about now?” I take her hand as we get to the truck.

  “All kinds of things you shouldn’t be, Mr. Tucker,” she says and slides her hand from my grasp.

  “There’s nothing about you in my mind that I shouldn’t be thinking about,” I say, as I squint at her over the roof of the truck.

  Her eyes smile at me, then she gets in and closes the door. Once we’re inside, she asks, “What’s at the park?” I know she’s trying to change the conversation. Maybe it’s the best thing to do. I’m only inches away from her, and my body goes into overdrive.

  I use my pinky and rub against hers, and she cocks her head to the side and slowly pulls her hand back before she locks it in her lap. She sighs, and I watch as her chest rises and falls, picturing her perfect twins underneath their temporary wool prison.

  I decide to look away, before I climb over the divider and do the unthinkable. We’re both silent while we drive to the park—which is only about five minutes from the field. There are a couple of children kicking a soccer ball in the center. Some adults—probably the parents—sit under the clump of trees on folding chairs.

  Park benches are bunched up on the far right, close to the water fountain, where some local vendors display and sell their wares.

  “Ice cream?” She says with a laugh. “Who eats ice-cream in this weather?”

  I grin. “Country bumpkins, I guess. You want one?”

  She shrugs. “Why not?”

  “Okay.”

  She orders the cookies and cream, and I take the chocolate. I watch her, as her tongue swirls around the ice-cream, and I touch the peak of mine and transfer it to her nose.

  She swats at me. “Stop! What are you, ten?”

  “Nope,” I say and paint her with another dollop. The chocolate cream grazes her cheek, and she backs away, holding out her hands.

  She steps backwards, giggling. “Trip, I swear, I will leave this entire thing on your shirt.”

  I step closer to her. God, she’s cute. “Is that a threat, because I don’t have any problems with taking my shirt off…” I’m smiling, as I walk towards her, holding the ice cream in front of me like a sword, poised to attack. I lunge, and she jumps back and loses her footing. “Whoa!” I spring forward and grab her hand before she falls.

  “See what you did?” She says and tries to steady herself.

  “Me? I didn’t do anything,” I say and look into her eyes. I follow her eyes…she looks at my lips…and I bite on them for show. She’s blushing
when she tries to pull away. “Wait…” I use my thumb to wipe the traces of ice-cream from her cheek. I look at the tasty dessert and lock eyes with her again, as I pop it into my mouth.

  She smiles and points to the grass. “You owe me an ice-cream.”

  “No problem,” I say and put my lips closer to her face, brushing my cheek against hers as I do. “What would you like as payment?”

  I hear her gulp, and then she pulls back, crossing her arms across her chest. “Another ice-cream.”

  She’s playing hard to get—not unlike the first time. She’s always been like this—careful, calculated, and sure of herself. And I’ve always been determined and stubborn. Our opposite personalities are the spark in our relationship that has kept the fires of passion burning—even after ten years.

  There’s nothing different about her—nothing but her age. And I won’t wait for her to make up her mind this time around.

  “God, Jazz, I’ve missed you,” I say in a throaty voice, one I barely recognize as I cup her face.

  “Trip…”

  I know what she’s about to say—this won’t work, that she’ll be leaving. But in this moment, I don’t care about any of that. In this moment, she’s mine, and as long as I can keep her here, we can figure out the rest.

  In this moment, all I want to do is hold her and kiss her. I feel my heart racing in my chest, as I place my lips on hers. The world spins under us, but the only thing I’m aware of is her lips gliding under mine, her breathing that’s forced, and the ballooning effect in my head.

  Chapter Eight

  Jasmine

  I want to tell him to stop, to let go, that this is a bad idea, but all I end up doing, instead, is touching his hips, and trying desperately to slow down my heart.

  It’s too easy, the way I just fall back into him, like ten years haven’t happened—as if nothing has come between us.

  I want to get lost in the moment, but I keep thinking…this is it…I’ll leave in two weeks, and then I’ll be crushed. It can’t end like that again. The thoughts consume me, and slowly my lips stop moving.

  Damn it!

  I mentally chastise myself for still being in love with him—to want a man who fate decided ten years ago wasn’t meant for me. He has a whole different life here, in Willow Creek, and I belong in New York.

  “What’s wrong?” He says, and the concern and tenderness in his eyes and voice make it hard for me not to throw my hands around his neck and pull him to me again.

  “Nothing,” I say, and smile, awkwardly. “I just don’t want to get carried away is all.”

  “Let’s do something tomorrow,” he says. “We can go to Nashville. Remember how we used to do that every other week, when Pops wasn’t busy at the shop?”

  An image of us in his dad’s old, grey truck speeding down Willow Creek Road to Nashville pops into my mind, and I smile. “How could I forget? We got into quite a bit of trouble some of those times. You were a very good liar back then.”

  He laughs. “I’d do anything to steal time away with you. Even if it meant dodging Pops and running off with his keys.”

  “And then getting punished for the rest of the week,” I say. “You’d get stuck in the shop with him after school every day.”

  He touches my fingers lightly. “Some of the best times we had were in that shop too.”

  His eyes are dancing, and he takes me on a trip back in time. I would go see him after school when he was being punished, and when his father left, or was too busy working on a car, we’d be busy doing something else, in the office, or around the back.

  It’s hard to be around him and not get caught up in all of the memories.

  “So, what do you say?”

  I want to tell him no, that spending a day together is the worst thing we could do. My heart has other plans. “Sure,” I say, before my logical side can rebut the decision. There’s a longing inside me for him, and I’m afraid to look into his eyes.

  I can’t pretend with Trip. He can read me. He knows me, maybe more than I know myself.

  “Great,” he says, and I watch as his chest rises and falls in rapid succession. He’s happy, and pretty soon, it rubs off on me. “Pick you up at nine. I want an entire day with you.”

  “That’s dangerous,” I say, and walk away.

  He turns and walks beside me. “I’m counting on it.”

  He’s not even trying to put a false front on his mission. He’s trying to get me to stay—to win me back. The problem is, he never lost me. But that’s beside the point—we can’t be more than a holiday get-together. It’ll end on the second of January, and like the day after he went away ten years ago, we’ll become another memory of a great time in my life.

  The thing is, I don’t want to get too involved and hurt him in the process.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he says and bumps into my arm as we reach the truck. “I’m a big guy.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say, and sweep my hair behind my right ear.

  “We’re just having some fun and catching up. That’s all,” he says and opens the door.

  He’s doing it again. He’s always had this way of reading my thoughts, of making me feel so vulnerable when I’m around him. Naked.

  I hug myself when I’m sitting in the car, and look out the window. He gets in and starts the truck, and I’m petrified to look at him. It’s even harder pretending he isn’t sitting inches away from me. I can’t ever remember being this confused, even when I’ve stared at millions of dollars in a bank account and been given the challenge of diversifying it across portfolios that weren’t familiar to me.

  Trip is an entirely different ball game. It doesn’t matter how much I want to stay in the dugout, I always end up on home plate, bat in hand, and staring at the pitcher.

  He’s standing outside the door, and I blink and realize we’re home. My house. See what I mean? It’s like I can’t separate him from myself anymore.

  We’re home.

  It does have a nice ring to it.

  I step onto the pavement when he opens the door, and I’m a tense bundle of nerves as he follows me to the door.

  “So, see you bright and early tomorrow?” He asks.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I say and turn in time to receive a quick kiss on the cheek that steals my breath away…just as easily as his overwhelming presence.

  He nods and walks back to the car, and I watch him leave. He waves and pulls off, and I start to breathe again. I turn the knob and walk inside the house, only to be met by my grinning mother.

  “Ugh!” I groan and walk past her.

  “I see you two are getting along just great,” she says, as she follows me down the steps and into the entertainment room.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” I say, and pick up the remote. I plop down onto the sofa and click on the TV.

  “Well…” she says and sits down next to me. “I can’t start something that already exists. You know that you and Michael had something special.”

  “Ha!” The laugh escapes me before I realize it. “Mom, I remember you telling me how bad he was for me. I remember getting grounded for sneaking off with him.”

  She waves me off. “You can’t blame me. You were my little girl. But now you’re all grown up.”

  “Uh huh…” I mumble. “And what? You think we’ll just pick up where we left off? Mom, a lot has happened since Trip left town. It doesn’t work like that.”

  She smiles and stands, and I see the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She reaches out and strokes my cheek. “Doesn’t it, though?” She asks, simply, and walks away. “I have dinner when you’re ready.”

  Her words have me running scared again. She’s right. It has been that easy. We’re both single, and anything is possible. Except, we aren’t the same people. I don’t belong in Willow Creek, and I sure as hell don’t see Trip living in the city. He likes things simple—he’s more of a small-town guy...he always has been.

  But, what if…?

>   I sigh and toss the remote back onto the sofa and get up. I’m not doing myself any favors thinking about him. I feel like I’m running circles around myself.

  ***

  The next morning it’s even worse. I’m not just running circles around myself…it’s a full-on sprint. I sit up in bed, my chest heaving and goose bumps dotting my skin.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mumble and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “It’s just Trip.”

  Just Trip…

  I notice the time—it’s 8:11. Shit! He’ll be here in less than an hour, and if I know him, he won’t be late.

  What’s even more irritating is that, yesterday, I just threw on the first pieces of clothing I found that made sense. Today, I’m scrutinizing my wardrobe. My hands are in the bag when I start laughing and crash to the ground next to the bed.

  “Get it together, Jazz,” I coach myself. “It’s just a stupid jaunt to Nashville. Nothing more.”

  I heave a sigh and return to outfit hunting. I settle on my black, faux-leather leggings, white, V-neck tee, and green military jacket. Simple enough.

  I’m dressed at 8:38, and I’m calm.

  Sort of.

  I giggle to myself. This is so stupid. I feel like a teenager all over again.

  I’m messing with my hair, trying to figure out if I should let it down, or pin it up, but my eyes keep straying from the mirror to my phone. I’m anxious for him to call or text.

  I’m actually excited, and maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t want to have an uncomfortable day with him.

  I settle on pinning up my hair, and I grab a scrunchie from my bag and make a high ponytail. I leave tendrils loose at my temples and am busy smoothing my edges with my fingers when my phone starts buzzing.

  It’s him, and my heart goes into overdrive. And so do the other parts of my body I’ve been trying to ignore—the slow throbbing between my legs that couldn’t be timed any worse, and in just minutes before I see him.

  “I’ll be right out,” I say into the device and quickly smear on my favorite shade of MAC mauve lipstick.

  “Okay,” he says, and the line clicks off.

  I place my hand briefly over my fluttering heart before I bounce down the stairs, feeling lighter than I have in weeks.