by Elle Casey
“I don’t want you over there all day,” my father said, his voice getting stern.
“I’m not planning to, okay? Geez, I know you don’t want me over there at all. You don’t need to keep bringing it up.” I was on edge. Normally I wouldn’t be this reckless with talking back to my parents when I knew I had plans to go out later, but everything about Jason seemed to immediately get me out of control. I definitely needed to work on that.
“It’s not that we don’t want you over there, sweetie.” My mom sighed. “We just worry about the long-term effects of this friendship.”
“Forget long-term, how about short term?” my father said. “Say what you want, but our society does not look kindly on people who support criminals.”
I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him.
“All we’re saying is … be careful. That reporter or photographer or whatever he was who came over here to get his camera was not a nice person. He’d be more than happy to take pictures of you in compromising positions.”
My face heated up flaming red instantly. “Mom! Jesus Christ, I’m not going to get myself into any compromising positions!” An image of Jason’s naked torso flashed in my mind and made me feel like a total perv.
“Hey, easy there!” my father said.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” my mother said, sounding embarrassed. “Not compromising like sexual…”
“Mom! Could we please just drop it?” I practically threw my dish in the sink and fast-walked out of there as quickly as I could. Climbing the stairs to my room, I did everything I could to keep the images from re-forming in my mind, but my brain had other ideas.
Jason with his shirt off.
Jason in his boxers.
Gah!
Me in a bathing suit and Jason in his bathing suit and us holding hands.
Double gah!
I grabbed my phone off my desk and texted Bobby.
U in for lunch at J’s?
I brushed my teeth and read his response after I spit.
No can do. Gotta go get reproed.
My eyes naturally rolled up into my head at that. Re-proed meant he was going to a local church that practiced what they called re-programming. Their goal was to heal gays of their homosexual proclivities.
It was this sick game played by Bobby and his father. Bobby would go and act like it was finally making a difference, telling everyone what they wanted to hear, and then he’d go to the mall and buy something really sparkly and try to hook up with a guy.
It made me totally upset, but this was a pattern that they’d established a long time ago, and nothing I said would ever change it. Bobby had been going through re-programming for almost five years at that point. It was sick and sad and completely wrong, but Bobby’s father was not yet ready to accept the fact that Bobby was who he was and no priest or anyone else was going to change that. Bobby was way more charitable than I was about it. He kept saying that one day, his father would come around. I wasn’t so sure.
Good luck with that, I texted.
U going to J’s all day?
My defenses went up.
No!
I sent the message before I could tone it down, which was really stupid because no one can read the emotions in a text like Bobby can.
Feeling a little anxious? lolsies
I rolled my eyes. He was totally fishing, so I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I went online to check the latest news on Jason’s case.
The first headline caught my eye and immediately made me feel sick to my stomach.
MURDERER’S GIRLFRIEND DEFENDS HER MAN.
My first thought was that somehow Brittney had experienced a major change of heart, but the photo under the caption immediately cleared up that little misunderstanding.
Some assbucket had snapped an action shot of me in the middle of forming a word that looked like it might have been orange or ogre. I couldn’t have looked less attractive had I tried.
I prayed Jason wouldn’t see it. Not only would he realize how truly heinous I can look in the wrong light, but he’d probably think I was telling people I was his new girlfriend. Even the thought of it made me get all flustered.
I didn’t even bother to read the article, knowing it would piss me off way too much for such a sunny day. Instead, I texted Bobby one last time and then left for the store so I could gather up my supplies for my little plan.
Chapter Thirty
I RANG THE DOORBELL, MY arms loaded down with my backpack from this year and the one I kept from the year before. I ignored the sounds of camera shutters behind me. The press had thinned, but that didn’t mean there was any privacy for anyone approaching the Bradley house. I could only imagine what the headlines tomorrow would say.
GIRLFRIEND ARRIVES WITH LUGGAGE PLANNING GETAWAY WITH MURDERER BOYFRIEND.
I was over it, though. Screw those assholes. Always assuming the press’s goal was to get to the truth, I never used to think much about reporters. Now I knew better. Now I knew their game plan was sensationalism, pure and simple; and the more awful or outlandish it was, the better.
No one had bothered to ask me the status of my relationship with Jason before they published that garbage yesterday; they’d just assumed it. Girlfriends of murderers probably sell way more papers than friends of murderers or neighbors of murderers. Whatever happened to fact-checking, I wanted to know.
My train of thought was derailed by the door opening. No one was there, but the hall was now plainly in view.
“You behind the door?” I asked.
“Yep,” Jason said, “come on in.”
I stepped inside and the door swung shut behind me. Jason was standing there in shorts and no shirt, and he was sweating. A lot.
My heart did a double back flip. I swallowed with difficulty. He looked like some guy in an ad for a sports drink. Guys in those ads are never anything less than stunning.
“You’re naked,” I said before I could stop myself.
He laughed. “You wish. Come on.” He gestured for me to follow him and then ran up the stairs without even waiting for my response.
I left my backpacks at the bottom of the stairs and followed the sounds of Jason ahead of me. He’d disappeared into a room in the middle of the hallway.
When I got there, I leaned in the door a little. The room was full of exercise equipment, and he was lying down on a bench with a bar of weights over him. It kind of smelled, like old sweat and metal.
“Your dad home?”
“Nope. He’ll be gone all day. Come spot me.”
I walked into the room, not exactly sure what he wanted. I stopped at his feet.
He lifted his head, his hands gripping the bar above him. “What are you doing?”
I shrugged. “Spotting you.”
“Kiiiind of difficult to do when you’re nowhere near the bar.”
I pointed at the weights. “You want me over there?”
“You’ve never spotted before, I take it.”
I walked around and stood behind his head. “Do I look like I hang out at the gym?” I paused and then added, “Don’t answer that.”
He wiggled around, getting comfortable on the bench, and then tightened his grip on the bar. I could tell his attention was no longer on me. He was staring off into space while the sweat on his body was pooling in the curves of his ab muscles and dripping down his sides.
Sweat. Ew. Even on Jason it was gross. Kind of.
All of sudden the bar surged upwards and came off the things holding it on either side of Jason’s shoulders. His face was getting redder and redder as he lowered the weights to his chest and then pushed them up again.
I figured he was done with just that one lift, seeing as how much effort he was putting into it, but instead he went for another one. Down the bar went and then up again. His lips were stretched into thin strips and pulled away from his gritted teeth. I never thought before that Jason could be unattractive, but I had been wrong. His expression
made me laugh.
“What are you …,” he huffed and puffed as he pushed the bar up. “…laughing at?” He lowered the bar once more.
“You. Your face is seriously ugly right now. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Jason was in the middle of pushing the bar up, but then it just stopped. Halfway between his chest and the bar’s resting spots, it floated in the air.
Jason’s face got redder and redder and redder. Then he started sputtering and spitting a little. His face went kind of purple.
“Spot me … dammit,” he grunted out.
My heart flipped. “Oh, shit. Me? You want me to help you?”
“Grrrrrr!” The muscles in his face, neck, arms, and chest were bulging out all over the place.
“I can’t lift that thing!” I yelled. I grabbed the bar anyway and yanked on it.
“Up, not back!” Jason roared.
Using both hands, I lifted with all my might. Together, we slowly got the bar high enough that it could rest on the rack. It seated itself into the supports with a loud clang.
I was breathless from four seconds of effort even though he’d pretty much done all the work.
Jason’s hands fell away and his arms flopped down to the floor, making them look like they were broken at the shoulders.
“Are you okay?” I asked, staring at him with worry creasing my brow.
His words came out with a lot of breath added to them. “You completely suck as a spotter, in case you didn’t already know.”
My heart was racing from the earlier panic, but I sounded cool as can be. “Thank you. And you’re welcome for saving your life, by the way.”
“If you’re going to spot for me, you’re going to have to build up some of those muscles in your arms.” Jason looked up at me and then stared pointedly at my biceps.
I looked down at my right arm along with him. “I’ve got muscle.”
Jason sat up. “The muscle of a spaghetti noodle maybe.” He wiped his face off with a small white towel that had been lying on the floor next to the bench.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve won every arm-wrestling competition I’ve ever entered.”
He looked up at me, wiping his arms off. “Oh yeah? How many have you entered? One? When you were five?”
I snorted and looked around the room. “Whatever.” It was when I was about seven, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
The room went silent for a few really long seconds before Jason spoke again. “You could work out with me.” He paused. “If you want. I’m not saying you need to or anything.”
I looked at him quickly, to see if he was mocking me. “You messing with me now? After I saved your bacon?”
He smiled and it made my heart squeeze a little in my chest.
“No. I’m saying that you could hang out here in my personal gym if you want. But only if you want. I know how sensitive girls are about working out and their weight and stuff.”
I looked down at myself, wondering what he saw. I knew what I saw when I looked in the mirror — a girl who’d eaten way too many cookies and not enough carrot sticks for the past seventeen years.
“I wouldn’t have the first idea how to work out. Plus, I hate sweating.”
He laughed. “Sweating is kind of part of it. But you could just do high reps and low weights. It wouldn’t be too bad. You’d just get a sheen.”
“I don’t know what high reps are but low weights sound like my kind of exercise.”
He shrugged. “Come tomorrow with shorts on and I can show you some things.”
A hint of a thrill ran through me. I hated exercise in all forms, but to be able to use Jason’s gym and hang out with him while possibly losing a few pounds … it could be fun.
“Ready for lunch?” I asked, trying to distract myself from visions of my sweaty workouts with a half-nude Jason. They were getting better and better with every passing second, curse my vivid imagination.
“Lunch?” He stood. “Sure. I guess. You like ham?”
“I have it all figured out. Come downstairs when you’re ready.” I started to leave the room.
“Ready? Am I supposed to get dressed up?”
“Just de-sweatify yourself and you’ll be fine. And put a shirt on.” I didn’t add the last part that was on the top of my tongue: So I can eat in peace and not be drooling over your muscles. That would have made lunch awkward.
While Jason cleaned up, I opened up the contents of my backpacks and laid them out on his living room floor. I was glad his dad was gone for the day. I had no problem feeling kind of goofy around Jason so long as we were alone; it was the idea of having witnesses watch me being a dork that made me want to run back to my house and never return.
“What’s this?” Jason asked, walking into the room as he toweled off his wet hair. The smell of his soap wafted into the room and made me smile. It was so uniquely Jason, and I was kind of touched that he’d bothered to take a shower. That had to mean something, at least that we were actual friends, right? That’s what I told myself, anyway.
“A picnic.” I couldn’t look at him, afraid he’d make a face that said I was a complete loser. “It’s so nice outside, I thought a picnic would be fun, but I knew that you probably wouldn’t want to actually go outside and be mauled by those dogs out there, so I brought the sunshine in.”
Verbal diarrhea. It always happened when I was worried I’d gone too far.
Jason walked over without saying anything, slowly lowering himself to the ground and criss-crossing his legs in front of him. He tossed his towel over the arm of a nearby chair.
“What’s this?” he asked in a softer voice, picking up a framed picture that was lying next to the contents of the picnic blanket I had spread on the carpet.
“That’s the sun.”
I finally looked up at him. He was staring at the framed photo.
“Is this from today?”
“Yeah. I shot it with my camera and put it in a frame I already had.” At the time I’d come up with the idea and went out into my backyard to grab the picture, I felt really inspired; now I just felt like a complete paste-eater. Who takes a picture of the sun and puts it in a frame?
“We can throw it out after,” I said, my face heating up.
“Nah, I like it.” He put the frame down on the ground next to the blanket, setting the back support up so picture stayed upright.
I started pulling the lids off the various containers I’d brought, trying not to let my heart read too much into his charitable response.
“Soooo, we have potato salad and egg salad … I wasn’t sure which one you’d like. Or you could eat them both, whatever. And I got some fried chicken. It’s still pretty warm. And there’s some pickles and chips. I know you like chips because I saw you inhaling them yesterday…”
Jason’s hand on my arm stopped me from passing out from lack of oxygen.
“Thanks,” he said.
I looked up, our eyes meeting.
“I mean it,” he said. “You really thought of everything.”
“You haven’t seen what I brought for dessert yet.” The words came out all soft. I hadn’t meant for them to, but his eyes were kind of watery, and my heart was breaking over the idea that he might cry over my totally gay picnic.
His eyebrow went up. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
I shrugged his hand off me and slapped him on the leg. “Shut up. It’s Rice Crispie treats, idiot.” My face was so hot, it probably looked like Jason’s had when he was lifting those weights. I couldn’t look at him. I held up the open plastic tub for him to see. Then I pulled it away. “But you aren’t getting any.”
“Whaaaat? Come on, don’t be cruel. Rice Crispie treats are my favorite dessert of all time.”
I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Seriously?”
He made a cross on his heart. “Swear to God.”
“They’re my favorite too.”
He smiled. “I thought all girls’ f
avorite desserts had chocolate in them.”
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at his ignorance. “I’m not all girls.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” he said, pulling a drumstick out of the mass of tinfoil I’d wrapped the meat in.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I took a drumstick too and bit right into it.
After he put the entire end of the drumstick in his mouth and pulled all the meat, gristle and everything else off in one bite, he gestured at me with the bare bone. “Right there,” he said with his mouth full. “Chicks don’t usually just grab a leg of chicken and bite right into it.”
I pulled the meat away from my face and looked at it. “What was I supposed to do with it? Use it as a wand?” I started waving it all over the place.
He laughed. “No. That’s what Harry Potter dorks would do.”
I immediately stopped. “Hey, I liked that series.”
He shook his head, still laughing. “No, I’m just saying … you’re cool. Not like other girls.”
I sighed, letting the drumstick drop to the paper plate in front of my crossed legs. Talk about the kiss of death. I’d now been deemed cool. Cool girls never get to see the hot guy naked. It was one of those universal truths. I shouldn’t have been so bummed about it, but I clearly wasn’t capable of controlling my emotions or reactions to things Jason said.
“You’re lucky you’re so damn good-looking,” I mumbled.
“Why do you say that?” He finally stopped laughing.
“Because without those looks, you’d never get a girlfriend.” He really wasn’t smooth at all. A smooth guy would have shined me on and gotten more Rice Crispie treats out of me before revealing I’m a cool-girl.
His mouth dropped open, revealing the rest of his chewed up food.
“You are like … not smooth at all.” I took a spoonful of potato salad and plopped a small serving on my plate. At home, I would have eaten three times that much, but around Jason I was going to pretend I didn’t eat like a horse.
