by Jane Anthony
Did she seriously just drop the term BFF like we’re in middle school? Gag me. I suck on the tiny red straw to hold back a scowl. You like this woman. She’s good for Jesse. Move on.
“Should we find a spot near the stage?” Without waiting for an answer, I turn on my heel and push through the loitering crowd to a small clearing up front. We stand around making idle chitchat, suffering through the crappy local opening band before the Femmes take their place.
As the first few chords ring out from the stage, my heart leaps into my throat. Star-struck from the power, pulled by the energy. The crunch of guitars and pounding punk rock reverberates off my skin as I sway to the beat. Beside me, Jesse jumps to the rhythm, singing along with Gordon Gano’s whining warble. The deep baritone of his voice is barely audible over the bite of old-school tunes, but my body absorbs his excitement. I feel it radiating through my chest, turning my blood to lava as I let it flow inside me, twisting and turning and burning me from the inside out.
Bumping, thumping, moving, grooving—we sing our hearts out. Every word, and every chord. We thrash together in perfect synergy like atoms vibrating in a heated atmosphere.
Kim merely bobs her head, her lips closed, her glossy eyes fixed on the stage as if she can’t be bothered to recognize that the show of a lifetime is unfolding before our very eyes. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I raise my hands, screaming the chorus of the second encore as the band unleashes their angst like a double-barrel shot to the face.
“Fuck! That was incredible!” Jesse screams through panting breaths.
The ringing in my ears rivals the deep timbre of his enthusiastic baritone, making me shudder. “They were so good!” I exclaim, matching his electric grin with one of my own as Kim quietly hangs in the background.
Jesse slips his arm around her shoulder. “You didn’t like it.”
“It was okay.” She shrugs, gripping his belt loop with her thumb.
When the lights flip on, the crowd around us scatters for the exits like vampires escaping the dawn. We find ourselves on the street, the crisp autumn air freezing the beads of sweat pooling on our temples. A silvery gust beats from Jesse’s lips. “Just okay?” he says on the way to the car.
Kim points the key fob and clicks the button. The lights flash. “I liked it! The music was good, I guess, but that guy’s voice was so irritating.”
Rolling my eyes, I slide into the back seat of Kim’s Volkswagen Rabbit. Some pop song blares through the speakers as she fights to leave the lot along with the throng of a thousand other concertgoers.
“I can go for a huge greasy burger right now,” Jesse announces.
“That sounds amazing,” I moan, just thinking about it. “And disco fries.”
“Definitely,” he agrees.
Kim shakes her head. “What’s up with that anyway? Like who looked at a plate of french fries and thought, ‘I’m going to cover these with gravy and cheese and name it after a dance from the seventies.’ It’s just so silly.”
“Would you rather they called it Macarena fries?”
I snort at Jesse’s stupid joke, but Kim remains stoned faced. “I don’t get it.”
“Never mind,” he grumbles with a wave. “You hungry or not?”
“Not really. But if you want to eat, I’ll have some tea or something.”
Jesse glances toward me in the back seat. Tea, I mouth, mocking a cup and saucer with my hands. He grins, stifling a laugh as he brings his gaze back to Kim. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“We can go to The Grind,” I suggest. “If Allison’s working late, she’ll hook us up.”
To my surprise, The Grind is quiet. We saunter in and steal a spot at a secluded booth in the corner. Jesse glides his hand over the smooth wooden top, letting his fingertips graze over the gouges in the wood.
“Bet you’ll never guess what happened there,” I say to Kim, pointing out eight large gashes in the wood near the end of the table.
Jesse rolls his eyes as he slips off his jacket. “C’mon, Bird . . .”
“Now I need to know!” Her gaze flits between us as Jesse and I stare at each other from across the table, but he breaks first.
“I thought it would be funny to super glue the leftover change to the table.”
“That’s horrible,” Kim scolds. “Why would you do that?”
Jesse shrugs, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Kids. You know . . .” But he quickly recovers as his eyes glitter with revenge. “Ask Wren whose idea it was.”
“Hey, I suggested it. You didn’t have to carry it out.”
Kim’s mouth puckers to a pout. “You guys just feed off each other, don’t you?”
I pull back the reins on my mirth. I don’t know how to act around him now. Our usual routine of flirty quips feels inappropriate in Kim’s presence.
My eyes scan the room, hoping for Allison to wander by to break the tension, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Sigh.
Kim’s hand falls on Jesse’s, and my chest tightens at the sight. Being with them at the concert was one thing, but sitting across from them in such tight quarters stings a hell of a lot more than I thought it would. These sour grapes are bitter on my tongue. I swallow them down only to have them fester in my gut as she curls her fingers around his knuckles.
“I like your nails,” I lie, staring at the pops of hideous neon pink extending all her fingers in a point. Visions of those talons digging into Jesse’s back turn my stomach, but I consider it a small victory still when she lifts her hand from his to follow my stare.
“Oh, thanks. I need to have them done again.”
Her eyes leave her own garish tips as she reaches across the table and touches my fingers. “How come you never paint yours?”
I shrug. “Guess I never saw the point.”
“Oh, honey.” She shakes her head with a pitiful grin. “Your hands are your livelihood. They’re an extension of you.”
A pfft sound vibrates my lips. “My livelihood? I bring people coffee and stale danishes for a living.”
She cocks her head, her eyes twinkling with a know-it-all look that makes me want to stab her in the face with my spotty fork. “And you use your hands to do it, right?”
“I suppose.”
A triumphant grin lights up her face. “See? I have an appointment at my salon tomorrow. You should totally come with me. Omigod, we’ll get manis and pedis and have a girls’ day!” She claps her hands with glee as she says it, and I feel like wasps are stinging my skin.
My mouth falls open, then closes again. I only wanted to get her fucking hand off Jesse’s. I didn’t think it would blow back up in my face. Talk about landing on your own petard.
But Jesse finds his voice before I can. “I don’t think Wren would be into that. She’s not much of a girly girl.”
Ouch.
“Well, fuck you very much,” I snap in a wounded tone. “I may not be all about dresses and lipstick, but that doesn’t make me any less a girl than Kim.”
He rolls his eyes with a groan. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Of course, you’re still a girl. You’re just more of a wash-and-go type. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
Kim turns to Jesse with a furrowed brow. “You might want to just stop talking.”
He lifts his hands in defeat, then rests his arm across the booth behind her.
His comment hurts way more than it should. I mean, he’s not wrong. I rarely take the time to make myself up. Gloss and mascara are my go-to look because the rest just seems like too much effort.
Still, my chest tightens at the thought that he doesn’t see me like that. I’m just an ugly tomboy compared to his pretty princess who looks like she just stepped off a runway.
I glance at Jesse with a go fuck yourself glare before settling my gaze back on Kim. “What time is your appointment?”
“It’s at noon. I’ll pick you up at eleven thirty, and we’ll get frapps at Starbucks first. Omigod, maybe after we can go get makeove
rs, too!” Excitement dances in her eyes as Jesse flashes me a go get ’em grin.
He knew the smallest challenge would have me jumping right into Kim’s lap.
He played me like a friggin’ instrument.
I regret this decision already.
CHAPTER 15
Wren
THE ACRID SMELL of acetone stings my nostrils. A grande latte warms my hand as Mariah Carey sings from the ceiling speakers. Under her breath, Kim sings along, bobbing her head. The doorman buzzed at eleven thirty sharp. Got to hand it to Kim. She may be annoying, but at least she’s punctual.
Nail polishes sit in the case on the wall. A rainbow of colors intricately grouped together, side by side in clusters of similar shades. Reaching up, I pluck a tiny pink bottle from the shelf and turn it over. “Strawberry Margarita,” I say aloud, rolling my eyes as I put it back. “Who do you think names these polishes?”
She breathes out a laugh. “I don’t know. You think it’s just, like, one guy? He sits in an office all day coming up with catchy names. Like this one . . .” She pulls down a vibrant, shimmery pink and flips it over before announcing the title in a dramatic tone, “Blushingham Palace.” She glances in my direction, then explodes in a fit of giggles.
“I think I’m going with Ballerina Blush,” I announce, tucking the bottle into my palm.
She lifts a pencil-thin eyebrow. “Oh, honey. No, no. That color is one step up from your natural nails.”
“So?”
She scrunches her nose as if the color offends her. “So? You’re a single woman now and on the prowl. Get something fantastic! Something that screams, check me out. I’m fun and impulsive.” She scans the bottles and grabs a sparkly shade of neon pink, then holds it out by the tiny black top.
“Fast and Flirty?” I ask, eyeing the color that’s everything I’m not. The bottle mocks me as I pluck it from her fingers. Flirting was never something I was good at. And fast? I graduated high school a virgin, having only kissed one guy until college. “They got one called Prude and Awkward? That one might be a better fit.”
Her shiny nude lips pull into a sassy side smile. “Nah, girl. That’s the old you. The new Wren Irwin is wild.” She widens her eyes for effect as she says it.
“Wild, huh?” I take a sip of my coffee, letting the sweet vanilla flavor roll down my throat. “I did get a full fat latte.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says with a laugh.
An Asian woman named Sue calls us over. I follow Kim, who saunters through the salon as if she’s Jennifer Aniston walking the red carpet. Confidence wafts around her like the rose perfume she bathed in this morning. She kicks off her flip-flops and falls into the huge leather armchair, then motions for me to do the same.
Stupid me wore sneakers.
I climb into the chair beside her, fiddling with the laces on my Converse before kicking them off like a child.
Kim punches in a series of buttons attached to the arm. The motor hums as it whirs to life, the mechanics pushing on her back, making her chest sway and shake. “Have you ever gotten your toes done before?”
“First time,” I admit.
A crimson shade of embarrassment lands on my cheeks. I feel its burn from deep within as she rolls her jeans up her golden legs.
“You’re gonna be hooked.”
I’ll take your word for it, I think but don’t say aloud.
Aqua water bubbles in the basin below. I drop my feet, sighing as the warmth tickles my skin.
“I’m really happy you decided to hang out today,” she sobers, touching my arm with her dainty fingers. “I miss when we used to be friends.”
Her words cut like a knife. There was a time when Kim and I were close, but we grew apart when she grew tits and decided boys were better than friendship.
But we’re adults now.
Feelings of guilt war within me. Hating her would be so much easier if she were a bitch, but she’s not. She’s as warm and genuine as she ever was. It isn’t her fault she has the face of a starlet and the body of a porn star. She was born that way. I can’t compete with Kim. I never could. She was beautiful then, and she’s gorgeous now. It’s not surprising Jesse showed interest. All the guys in school wanted Kim.
All the guys . . . except for Jesse.
While Mick and Ryan would follow her with their tongues out, Jesse never even looked at her twice. She’d hang on him like a cheap suit, and he’d shrug her off as if she was nothing special. It drove her crazy. She could have anyone she wanted, but she couldn’t have him.
Now she does.
“Me, too,” I admit. “What’s Jesse doing today?”
She shrugs. “He’s an interesting dude.”
I cock my head. The nail tech rolls over a stool and sits at my feet, offering me a pleasant grin as she sets up her station. “Why do you say that?”
She furrows her brows as she thinks for a moment before responding. “He’s just really guarded, you know? I want to get to know him, but he doesn’t seem to want to let me.”
“Yeah. He’s like that.”
I wince as the nail tech digs under my toenails. What fresh torture is this?
Kim ignores my pain and, clearly, her own as well. “I just wish I knew how he felt, you know?”
The proverbial light bulb goes off above my head. Now I’m starting to get the picture. She didn’t drag me out on this beauty blitzkrieg in an attempt to rekindle our friendship. She wants insider info on Jesse.
I bring my attention to the young woman grating my heel like cheese. Her black hair is twisted in a messy knot with poker straight wisps hanging over her forehead. She doesn’t seem much older than me.
“Have you asked him?” I ask point-blank.
“I’m too nervous. I like him a lot, though. Probably too much.”
Finished with one foot, the woman drops it in the water and picks up the next, grating away like her life depends on it. I swear I see a sheen of sweat glistening across her brows. Meanwhile, the one in front of Kim is already massaging her calves.
“I mean . . . the sex alone. Jesse’s . . .” She blows out a heavy breath to drive her point.
I wince again, only this time, it’s not from the woman on the stool.
“But I don’t have to tell you,” she utters with a dismissive wave.
My head swivels in her direction so fast it almost hurts. “I have no experience in that area.”
She offers up an incredulous stare. “Seriously? Never?”
“No,” I urge, hoping she gets the point and drops it.
“Dang. I was sure you guys hooked up in high school at least once.”
This conversation is starting to make me stabby.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
A cold squirt of lotion splats on my leg. I gasp, the sensation making me jump in my seat.
The woman forces a mechanical giggle and drops a second dollop on my other leg.
“So then you don’t know about his . . . uh . . .” She points at her crotch, and my eyes go wide.
Is there something wrong with it?
“I know nothing about it.” Part of me is completely intrigued; the other part wants to run from this salon without my shoes. Spending the day with Kim is bad enough. Spending the day with Kim talking about Jesse’s dick is a different kind of torment. But my need-to-know glare remains fixed on her as she slowly spreads her raised forefingers more than several inches apart.
Warmth instantly pools between my thighs. I shift in my seat, inwardly chastising myself for having this reaction. “I-I don’t think I need to know this,” I stammer.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asks with a laugh.
The blush not only hits my cheeks, but it also blossoms on my chest and rolls down my arms. It’s everywhere. The thought of Jesse and his cock—Jesse holding his cock, Jesse using his cock—assaulting me from every angle. “Kinda, yeah. It’s just . . . I don’t think of him in that way.”
And the award for the biggest liar o
f the year goes to . . .
“Okay, I’m sorry. We can change the subject.”
“Thank you.”
Tense silence lingers between us as the nail techs finish our toes and move on to our hands. All in all, it wasn’t that bad, but the color’s so bright you can see it from space.
“See? I told you that pink would be hot on you,” she says as we pay our bills and head back to the car.
I reply with a grin. It’s absolutely hideous, but I’m not about to burst her bubble.
Britney Spears wails through the speaker when she turns the key, but she doesn’t make a move to put the car in gear. “I’m sure you have a ton of girlfriends, Wren, but I don’t. I’d really love it if we can be friends.”
The broken look on her face is a sucker punch to the gut. It breaks my resolve, softening my heart to a lump of dough.
“Yeah. I’d like that, too.”
As the words leave my lips, I realize I mean them. She won Jesse fair and square, and she deserves him. She’s a great girl, and he’s a great guy, and they both deserve to be happy. Some how, I’ll find a way to be happy, too.
CHAPTER 16
Wren
THE CLACK of my keyboard rivals the low hum of the television in the background. Immersed in my work, I have no idea what’s flickering on the big screen, but the quiet chatter helps me feel less alone. It’s moments like these when I miss Mischief the most. The dog wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he offered me company. His warm body pressed up against my leg or draped over my feet. He was always there, always with me.
“God, this is shit,” I mumble to myself as my eyes scan the page before me. For the next few moments, I tinker with my own words, falling deeper into the usual pit of self-loathing I feel whenever I re-read my work. It’s trash. Drivel. A pointless pursuit, a silly waste of time. I’ve squandered hours on this manuscript only to go back and delete whole chapters.
It just isn’t right.
Annoyed, I slam the lid closed and chuck the laptop on the couch cushion next to me. I need to feel inspired. I need a rush of something stewing in my veins, keeping me awake at night. That violent need that keeps me chained to my words. It’s been a long time since I felt that kind of desire brewing inside me. At times, it feels like I’m forcing it.
