Falling for You

by Bailey B

  I look to Aunt Tricia for guidance. I don’t know how this situation falls into our arrangement. Even though she is my boss, she’s also my aunt and my dad's informant. Leaving with Hattie could potentially screw everything up for me, but I kind of want to go. I haven’t done anything fun since moving here back in May.

  Aunt Tricia’s face softens and for the first time since I’ve arrived, she doesn’t look ready to murder everyone in the room. “I think you should go. You’ve worked hard the past few months and created some strong bonds within the community. One weekend with people your age seems in order.”

  Hattie squeals and takes my hand. “Thanks, Ms. Collins. You’re the best.”

  The air is thick with sex, pot, and sweat as Hattie takes my hand and walks us through her front door of her one-bedroom cottage. The party isn’t huge, but there’s more people than I’m comfortable with inside her tiny home.

  A squeal of excitement sounds during the split second break of music blasting through the surround sound speakers. I cringe, recognizing it as Kelly’s signature greeting.

  If I could never hear a singular sound again, it would be that: her nails on the chalkboard, brakes screaming combination that physically hurts my insides.

  Kelly cuts through the crowd and hurls herself into Hattie’s arms like they’re long lost lovers reunited after months of being apart. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day!”

  “I picked up a surprise when I dropped off my catering order tonight.” Hattie takes a step back and pulls me by the hand from my hiding space behind her. I trip over my feet and she giggles, not in a laughing at me kind of way. More like a ‘you’re too clumsy for your own good’ kind of way.

  I smile and lift my hand for a little wave. I don’t get the same vibe from Kelly that I do with Hattie. Hattie seems like one of those love-everyone, mother-hen kind of friends. With Kelly, I get the feeling that if I pulled her into a hug she might turn feral and claw my eyes out.

  Kelly looks like she’s seen a ghost: mouth slack, eyes wide, neon orange skin a shade closer to natural. The weight of her stare makes my skin crawl with nervousness and confirms my suspicions that a hug would have been a terrible idea.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she finally says, dragging her heavily lined gaze back to Hattie. “What is she doing here?”

  “Stop being a bitch, Kelly,” Hattie demands in a motherly tone that says the discussion is over. I’m here and there's nothing Kelly or me can do about it. Hattie sets her hand on my arm and smiles. “Be right back.”

  She steps around Kelly and heads for the back door. I’m tempted to follow, but Kelly’s narrow-eyed glare keeps me in place.

  I shift on my feet, nervous that she will pounce and rip my head off or something. I’ve never been in a fight and don't want to explain to Aunt Tricia why I came to work on Monday with cropped hair (because it’s been ripped out) and a busted up face, assuming Hattie would still drive me back to Orlando tomorrow. She might refuse if Kelly and I duke it out, leaving me stranded in this tiny town two hours from anyone I know.

  Kelly takes a step towards me, shoulders back, hands clenched at her sides. The tiny bubbles of nervous energy simmering under my skin explode into volcano sized eruptions. My stomach clenches and twists because all I can think about is how bad this night is about to go and how much trouble I’m going to be in tomorrow. Aunt Tricia could send me home, tail tucked between my legs, reassuring my dad that Florida was a terrible idea.

  I bite my lip. Tears pool from a hypothetical conversation that will determine my future in our family. Everything I've fought for this year is about to go down the drain because of some girl I barely know. I swallow the lump in my throat and stand at full height. If I’m going down, the least I can do is make the story worth telling.

  “You’re going to ruin everything.” Kelly exhales, shaking her head, her hard exterior dropping along with her expression. I watch her curiously as she turns and steps towards the kitchen.

  When she doesn’t immediately return, it dawns on me that I’m alone, surrounded by too many people I don’t know. My skin heats, the room suddenly feeling too small and hot. I’m not good at this, being social, making new friends, not that anyone in this room is or would be my friend. Judging by the way Kelly reacted, coming to this party was a mistake. I don’t know why I thought it could be a good idea.

  Kelly makes her way back to me after being gone for three songs and extends a beer to me. “If you’re going to be here, at least pretend to belong.”

  I take the can and stare at it for a second, then look at her again, not trusting that she didn’t somehow poison it. Girls are evil, especially when they’re jealous of you. That’s the only reason I can come up with for why Kelly is such a bitch. She’s jealous. Of what? I have no clue. She doesn’t know me or how the shiny picture my family paints is tattered and torn. “Thanks.”

  I hook my finger underneath the tab, pop the can open, then stare at it. I’ve never been much of a drinker, even when I was forced to mingle. Pepsi was my go-to drink because I could easily pretend it had rum or something mixed in it. I don’t know how to fake drink this.

  “Jesus,” Kelly murmurs. “It’s a fucking beer. Drink it. Don’t drink it. I don’t care. Just stop looking at it like it’s a rabid puppy you want to save but are afraid of.”

  Bringing the can to my lips, it’s cold, which feels good considering how hot the room is, but the drink itself tastes horrible. I try not to grimace, but Kelly must notice because she snorts into her hard lemonade. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything.

  Hattie walks through the door again, laughing and looking over her shoulder. I step towards her, ready to ditch Kelly, because she’s not the best company, when I see him again.

  Josh.

  He walks into the room and the air changes, sticking in my lungs. The eyes of nearly every girl turn to him, and for good reason. Josh was attractive in a teenageboy kind of way back in March. Looking at him now, he’s all man with hard edges, yet soft eyes.

  Dark blue Wranglers hug every inch of his legs, all the way to his yellow and brown cowboy boots. A black button-down shirt hugs his chest and arms while falling loose near his waist, giving him a built but not meaty look. What gets me most is that hair. Short on the sides and a curly mess on top, ruffled like he’s just had sex.

  Probably because he did.

  Josh laughs at something Hattie says and his whole face lights up. It's the kind of laugh that would have my mom scheduling her next Botox treatment, full of life and expression.

  Some guy lifts his heads in a curt nod, one that says, ‘hey bro, she’s here with me,’ and I notice a few other guys, the jealous ones, draping their arm over their girlfriend’s shoulders. I get it. Josh, his aura has a presence and it commands the room.

  I take a sip of my beer and chase it with another swallow, the taste becoming more tolerable with each sip. My heart thrums against my chest with a force that vibrates through my body, but at least it's slowing. Pounding aside, it almost feels normal.

  I glance over my almost full beer and our eyes lock. From across the room, they look brown, but Josh’s eyes are so much more than they seem. I’ll never forget the vortex of gold and green swirling within them. Josh’s lips lift and I feel it for the second time, my world shifting on its axis.

  Everyone has a vice.

  Landon smokes like a fucking chimney because it helps him function. When he was a kid, his mom tried putting him on meds for ADHD, but instead of slowing his brain to think like ours do, the drugs caused him to hyper-focus. He could be stuck for hours staring at a spec of dirt, deciphering its origin in our universe.

  They tried to get the dosage right for years but never could find the right combination. My brother, Bret, offered Landon his first joint in the seventh grade and he’s smoked twice a day since. Landon says it helps to slow the world around him, but keeps him present. When he’s high, he can enjoy life.

  Sam, on the other
hand, won’t touch a drug with a ten foot pole. His half-sister overdosed on heroin two years ago and it shook him. They weren’t close, not like me and Bret growing up, but considering Sam was unwillingly shoved into his dad’s life a few years back, those two had the best relationship in that house.

  Sam takes the edge off with a pack of smokes and enough liquor to drown Aquaman. Before he turned twenty-one, his drinking was manageable. A few beers after work. A bottle of something on the weekend. Everyone knew his ID was fake, but they sold him the alcohol anyway, rarely telling him no.

  Maybe it was the fear of getting caught, but Sam never pushed his luck. He bought what we needed to have a good time and that’s it. Now… now I wish he’d go back to that.

  And then there’s me. The weekend drinker, occasional smoker, beyond tired motherfucker. I thought last year was rough, when I was a part-time day worker for my paw. I had no idea what I was in for. This summer has knocked me on my ass and then kicked me back six feet.

  Landon takes a hit from his joint then passes it to me. I place the paper between my lips and inhale, ready for the smoke to push this week's stress away. I’ve waited all night for it to work it’s magic, but it seems like my stress has its claws so deep into my soul that weed can’t even help. Figures.

  I exhale and pass the blunt to Hattie, not that she needs anything else tonight. She’s already giggling like a damn schoolgirl. I force a smile as she looks over at me. Whatever she’s said has everyone laughing, so I laugh too. My friends are great, but they have no idea what I’m going through and they don’t need to know, because, as much as they’d try, they can’t help.

  Hattie reaches for my hand. I glance at Landon before letting her take it. Hattie and I are cool, despite how much I didn’t want her around when they first started dating. We’ve hit that point in our friendship where we hug every now and then and I can pick on her without hurting her feelings, but this is new. Landon is either oblivious to Hattie’s hand in mine or simply doesn’t care.

  She pulls me through the back door into their tiny one-bedroom cottage. There are just as many people inside as there were out. The living room/dining room combo is packed. It’s like this every weekend. Landon loves having people around. He could care less if they talk to him, he just loves people.

  Sam backhands me across the chest and I drag my gaze over to him, the blunt’s magic finally taking hold. The weight of this week still holds me down, but I don’t care as much, and that’s all I ask for. That and to pass the fuck out later.

  Sam lazily lifts his lips into a grin. “Dibs.”

  I follow his gaze across the room to a girl trying and failing to hide her face behind her beer. I suck in a breath, feeling the air reach the back of my lungs for the first time all summer.

  The room spins as if I was drunk, but I haven’t had a drop of alcohol yet. Layla did this to me the last time she was here, shook my world up without reason, and I only knew her for a day. I don’t believe in love at first sight, movies make that shit up, but I can say I’ve never wanted someone as much as I wanted Layla.

  Still want Layla.

  Too bad she’s made it clear she doesn’t want me. I shake my head and shove Sam playfully. “The only way you’d nail a girl like her is in your dreams.”

  “We’ll see.” He smirks.

  Shit.

  Sam strides across the room, stopping to grab two beers from a cooler by the television. My heart is in my throat. I can’t let Layla hook up with him because I don’t share girls. Sam and Landon may not have a problem with it, but I know where those dicks have been, specifically Sam’s, and I wouldn't go near some of the girls he’s hooked up with with a ten foot pole.

  “Hey, cutie,” Sam drawls, his signature panty-dropping smirk in play.

  Layla looks up from her feet and lifts her lips into a shy smile. “Hi.” Her voice while quiet is full, like Jennifer Lawrence: deep but not manly. She takes a sip from her can, finding liquid courage, then stands a little straighter. “Cutie? Is that your thing, giving people pet names?”

  “Only when they’re as pretty as you are.”

  Fire bubbles in my veins, feeding a monster that wants to shove Sam away from Layla, but I contain the beast. I will do everything in my power to keep them from hooking up tonight, but if he is what she wants, then so be it.

  “Don’t let him fool you.” I clap my hand on Sam’s shoulder and force a smile of my own.“He calls everyone ‘cutie.’”

  “Way to make a girl feel special.” Layla twists and tosses her beer onto the overflowing trash pile. Sam holds an extra can out, that came from I-don’t-know-where. Layla hesitates for a fraction of a second then takes it with a, “Thanks.”

  I run a hand through my hair and exhale through my nose. There’s a war raging inside me: jealousy, anger, and nervousness are all fighting a losing battle. If you would have asked me ten minutes ago about this war, I would have said I didn’t have it in me to fight, and was too tired to care.

  Ask me now, I’ll fight until every last mother fucker is in the dirt. Too bad I'm at war with myself. I shouldn’t care what Layla does or who she does it with. I don’t know her. I don’t like her. And yet I might murder Sam if he leaves with her. “I never said you weren't special.”

  Layla’s cheeks flush and for the first time tonight, my smile isn’t forced. She pops the tab on her beer then takes a sip. Her brows pull together with her first swallow. I don’t think she likes the taste, but she keeps that to herself.

  “So, cutie,” Sam mumbles, taking a step closer until he’s less than three inches away. Layla looks up to meet his gaze. He smiles down at her and twists a lock of hair around his finger. “Can you tell me why I’ve done nothing but dream about you? I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

  I shake my head and steal Sam’s beer from his hand. He doesn’t notice, much less care. I bring the metal rim to my lips and close my eyes as I chug what’s left. I can’t watch what happens next. If his line worked, he’ll dip his head and steal those lips.

  “What the fuck?” Sam growls.

  I snap my eyes open and crush the can in my hand, then toss it aside. If Hattie saw me littering in her house she’d flip, but she’d also understand while expecting me to help clean up tomorrow.

  Sam runs his hand down his arm, pushing beads of what smells like beer to the floor. Layla stands frozen, mouth agape. Her dress is soaked on one side, the hem of it dripping a puddle by her feet.

  Kelly smirks and walks away without a word.

  Sam lets go of his frustrations towards Kelly as quickly as they came. He has this rare gift of letting everything roll off his back. He eyes Layla like she’s a rare-cooked ribeye, licking his lips. “This is a sign, cutie That dress has to go.”

  Layla looks up at Sam, too shocked to reply, mouth hanging open. I step forward, brushing my arm against Sam’s, and undo each button on my shirt. “Here.” I drape it over her shoulders then set my hand on her hip. “Let’s find you something dry to wear.”

  I guide her away from Sam and all the other assholes who have noticed the pink and grey striped bra peeking through her cream colored dress. Yes, I’m one of those assholes, but I have the decency not to stare. One quick glance was all I needed.

  I fish my keys out of my pocket and find the one with the purple holder around it. I slide it into the lock, twist, and hold the door to Landon's room open. For almost everyone here, the bedroom is off limits, but Sam and I both have a key, just in case. I rarely use mine. Sam, on the other hand, changes the bed sheets damn near every weekend.

  Layla steps into the room first. I hit the light switch and shut the door in one move. She spins on her heels, eyes wide.

  “Relax.” I hold my palms up in surrender. I get how this might look, a strange man unlocks a bedroom then shuts you inside, I understand why red flags might be flying, but I promise, I’m a good guy. “We’re just here to borrow something of Hattie’s for you to wear. That’s it.”

  La
yla looks down at her beer soaked dress and chuckles. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Hattie and I aren’t exactly the same size.”

  I’ve noticed, but my momma taught me a long time ago not to bring up a girl’s weight. Most are insecure about their bodies for one thing or another, even if they’re the most beautiful girl in the room. “Hattie is a little bigger than you, yeah.”

  “A little?” Layla’s brows arch.

  I walk to the closet and pull the string for the bulb. Hattie has at least twenty pounds on Layla, but I know she’s got a pile of clothes that are too small she refuses to get rid of...somewhere.

  I rummage through her pile of jeans, checking each tag until I finally find one three sizes smaller than the rest. I toss that one over my shoulder and keep hunting. After a few minutes of searching, I hit the jackpot: a stack of pants and a pair of shorts Hattie probably hasn’t worn since middle school.

  “Here.” I set the pile on the bed and toss the jeans beside them. “Something here should come close to fitting.”

  Layla walks to the furthest edge of the bed, putting as much space between us as she can. “You don’t think she’ll mind?”

  I shake my head and step back. Hands in my pockets, I lean against the windowsill. “Nah. I doubt she’ll even notice any of this is missing. You can keep my shirt if you’d like. Landon has at least five of mine in the closet.”

  “Thanks.” She picks up a pair of shorts. Looks at them. Then sets them back on the bed before choosing the jeans. “Is that a bathroom?”

  “Yup. You can take a shower too, if you want, to wash the beer smell off. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

  “Okay.”

  Layla walks across the tiny room to the even smaller bathroom then shuts the door. I don’t move, not until I hear the faint click of the lock. As I’m folding Hattie’s stuff again, the shower turns on. Water whistles in the pipes, but I doubt anyone can hear it over the music.