Wasted Words: Inspired by Jane Austen's Emma (The Austens Book 1)

by Staci Hart

  She’d only shoot me down, and it could ruin our friendship, put some weird juju on us that would just make living with her incredibly awkward. Not that I couldn’t handle the rejection — I’d been rejected plenty, and for a number of reasons. But rejection from Cam would be different. It wouldn’t be so easy as the others, and some of them were a level of hell I didn’t typically care to discuss.

  It was then that I decided I’d hit the gym hard to clear my head and then stay home tonight. Or maybe I’d call Kyle, blow off some steam. Either way, space seemed like a smart move, and as I packed up my things, I wondered whether I was right or wrong.

  Cam

  Greg smiled at me from across the bar when I walked in that evening. The happy hour crowd was going strong, and I made my way around the back of the bar to jump in and help him and Beau out, happy to be busy after a long day reading and laying around like a fat-assed cat. The most productive thing I’d done was bake cookies, but I negated my productiveness by eating half of them.

  I’m not telling how many dozens I made. A girl’s got to have her secrets.

  Once we had the bar under control, we made our way down the line, making sure everything was stocked, wiping down the surfaces while Beau headed to the back with racks of pint and rocks glasses to send through the dishwasher. Greg and I stood at the dish wells to catch up on the more delicate wine and martini glasses as Greg washed and I rinsed, and I smiled over at him.

  “How’d it go last night?”

  He shrugged. “Fine. We made good money, locked it up tight.”

  “Get Bayleigh home all right?”

  “Yeah, she lives close by, so it was no big deal.” He smiled that winning smile of his, his tattooed arms dunked in the soapy water.

  I smiled back, picturing the two of them together. “It was really great of you to offer. She’s so adorable.”

  He chuckled. “She is. A real sweetheart.”

  “Hey, you’re one to talk. You guys are two of the best people we have working here, no lie.”

  “Is that why you schedule us together all the time?” he asked with a brow up and a smirk on his lips.

  I smirked right back. “One reason.”

  He laughed and handed me a glass.

  “I bet the crowd last night ate up your costumes last night. Cool that you guys matched.”

  “I’m sure it didn’t hurt the tip jar one bit. Though I don’t know if I’ll wear a full spandex bodysuit again.”

  “Aww,” I said with a laugh. “But the ladies sure loved it. I’m thinking I should have you, Beau, and Harrison all work a shift dressed up as Spiderman, Superman, and Batman. Beau’s got the hair for it, I bet it’d even make that little curly-cue in the front. I’m a thousand percent sure we could all make a killing.”

  “So, bookstore, bar, and strip club?”

  “Hey, who said anything about stripping? I’m talking about covering you head to toe in beautiful, breathable spandex.”

  He laughed. “It was fun. There were a few Mary Jane’s in the crowd who wanted pictures. Bayleigh was the only Gwen.”

  “Well, she’s one of a kind.”

  “And Harley Quinn took a picture hammering my ass.”

  I snorted.

  “Your roommate’s costume was great, too. Original to go for Steve Rogers over the full-on Cap.”

  “It was his idea,” I said as I took another glass from him and rinsed it off.

  One brow rose. “Really?”

  “No. But it was his idea to make a shield out of a trashcan lid.”

  He snickered, but the crowed had lined up again, and before I knew it, a few hours had passed. The Friday night rush was bumping at Wasted Words, and I scanned the crowd, looking for Tyler. He should have already been there, but he was nowhere to be seen, so as soon as there was a lull in work, I pulled out my phone to text him.

  But I found a text from him.

  Hey, I’m exhausted from last night and a long day. I’m just gonna hang here, but maybe I’ll see you tonight, if you’re home before I crash. If not, tomorrow is college ball, which means you’re mine, all day. Have a good shift.

  My heart did an awkward backflip, and I read the line again. You’re mine, all day.

  Then, I freaked out.

  What the hell did he mean his? He said it like he was talking about my heart or my soul or my vagina. Maybe all three. My thighs squeezed together at the thought. I mean, we watched football every Saturday that he wasn’t traveling, so of course I’d be there. Of course we’d be together. But his?

  I don’t doubt that anyone attracted to the Y chromosome would oppose to being his for any length of time. An hour. Several weeks. Life. Whatever.

  I’d be the last person to complain. I cared about Tyler a lot, maybe even more than I was willing to admit. I made the mistake of letting myself really consider it for the first time, but I didn’t get very far before the memory of Will blazed through me. I shrank away from the thought.

  Familiar anxiety bloomed in my chest, and I took a breath to steel myself.

  I had always been a floater in high school, not belonging to any clique, though not what you’d call a loner either. I was enough of an extrovert to be comfortable in most social situations, friends with everyone and no one, a quirky installment in the school. I was the girl who wore and acted upon and said what she wanted, gaining me the simultaneous freedom and isolation I’d earned.

  Sophomore year, I was placed in AP physics with the seniors. I’m generally pretty unflappable, but being in that class with all of the older kids was intimidating, and being partnered for the year with Will Mercer did nothing to help that.

  Will was that legendary guy everyone knew and loved, from the band nerds to the cheerleaders and everyone in between. He was always nominated for something — student council president, homecoming court, basketball awards, and he honestly seemed like one of the nice guys, the kind who didn’t seem to take advantage of their status for personal gain, which made him all that more appealing.

  It started off innocently enough. He didn’t have a girlfriend at the time — his on-again, off-again relationship with Kenzie Schroeder was, at the time, in the off position. We worked well together, made easy by his charming conversation and our mutual interests of sports and comics. He was smart — smart and beautiful and funny — and over the course of the first few months of the school year, our chatting and laughter turned into looks that burned and lingered, full of something deeper than I could grasp, at the time. All that I knew was that every day, that fifty-five-minute class was what I lived for and longed after.

  We were deep into fall when I found myself sitting next to him at his kitchen table, working on a project. When I looked up to speak to him, I found him just watching me, his face soft, and I froze when he leaned in and kissed me.

  He wasn’t my first kiss, but his was the first that I felt from the tip of my nose down to my toes.

  I remembered his smile, so strong, begging for my trust. I remembered his warm hand on my cheek and his lips against mine, even now, even years later.

  Every day I was at his house, every day kissing him, every day in his arms. At school, we kept our distance, passing furtive glances at each other in the hall, his hand brushing mine in class. But when we were in his room in the quiet afternoons, there was nothing between us. No walls, no rules, just him and I, our hearts. We spent hours talking, kissing, holding each other. And then I decided I didn’t want to hold back. I wanted to let go. So I gave myself to him.

  He was gentle and sweet, every touch full of worship, taking his time with me, knowing I was a virgin. It was the first time I’d given anyone my heart, and I believed he would care for it — his eyes and lips told me so.

  Afterward, I lay in his arms, and he whispered promises. He asked me to be his date for homecoming, asked me to be his. But I already was, and I told him so.

  I left his house that day feeling like I could fly. The rest of my night was spent looking for a dress for th
e dance, and I lay in bed that night, staring at my ceiling with a smile on my face as I daydreamed about every moment of the day that had been, of the nights to come, of the time between, of holding his hand down the halls and being kissed at my locker.

  The next morning, I was still high, choosing my outfit carefully, taking a little time on my hair, even wearing mascara and a little lip gloss. I wanted to look good for him, worthy of standing next to him, and I was filled with hope and nerves at the thought of seeing him again.

  Nothing prepared me for what happened when I did.

  I’d been beaming as I walked the busy hall before the bell rang — I could feel the warmth in my cheeks and the light in my eyes. He was tall enough that I caught sight of him easily, my heart flipping when I did. And then my stomach flipped, and both landed in my shoes.

  His arm was slung on Kenzie’s shoulder, and he was looking down at her, laughing at something she’d said. He looked at her like he’d looked at me just the day before, and I wondered if it had all been a dream.

  They stopped at her locker, and he pressed her up against it and kissed her, just like I’d imagined he would do to me. Except she wasn’t me.

  I didn’t realize I’d stalled in the hallway, classmates streaming around me like I was a stone in the river, and my eyes locked on Will as my chest burned with hurt and shame.

  He looked up and saw me, his smile slipping away when our eyes met.

  I sucked in a breath before I turned and bolted.

  I wound my way through people, eyes blurring with tears, needing air, needing sky, needing out of the building where I felt like I’d be crushed and crumbled if I’d stayed.

  I heard him behind me, but I didn’t stop, not until I was under the bleachers. I didn’t want him to see me cry, didn’t want him to see me at all, didn’t want him to know he’d hurt me. But it was no use.

  His eyes were so sad when I turned to face him, the pain evident when he apologized. He wasn’t thinking when he asked me, he’d said. We would never work, he told me. He said it didn’t matter how much he liked me or how much I liked him — we were too different, from different worlds, and how could people who weren’t alike work out? Plus, he and Kenzie were both nominated for homecoming court and had a better chance of winning if they were together.

  That moment was the first time I’d ever felt like I didn’t know him at all. So I looked up at him with my eyes full of tears and heart busted in a thousand pieces and told him he was right. That it was my mistake because I’d thought we were a lot more alike than we actually were.

  He hugged me, whispering apologies before he kissed my hair and walked away.

  For a long time, I sat under the bleachers and cried. I’d been stupid, so stupid and short-sighted. How could I have thought he’d really wanted to be with me? His words had been empty, meaningless, but I’d believed every one. I thought it was real, but I was a fool. He’d betrayed me. And for what?

  I’d given him everything, and he took it with no intention of giving himself to me.

  So with a broken heart, I sat there in the cool dirt under the shade of the bleachers and wrote a list of rules while I waited on my face to stop looking like a puffed up raspberry. And those rules were something I still lived by.

  1) Know who you’re dealing with and put them on their shelf.

  2) Don’t date anyone not on your shelf.

  3) When something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

  And follow the rules I did, even though following them meant that I was lonely. I went back to being friends with everyone and no one, not caring, or pretending not to care. I asked for a new lab partner and endured the year of classes with Will, doing my best not to meet his eyes when he would watch me from across the room. And every time I saw Will and Kenzie in the halls or the cafeteria, a little piece of me squeezed and hardened to bolster myself against the hurt.

  By the time I went to college, I was solidly detached, dating guys from my shelf, and only from my shelf. Some were great guys, guys I could have been really happy with, but they weren’t it for me. I didn’t feel like it was a matter of trust, but who knows how it really was, because from the inside, I was likely too blind to see.

  Tyler should be with someone like Adrienne, not someone like me. My guts twisted at the thought of him with her, and I realized it was the first time since I’d known him that he’d had a prospect I felt could be real. But my feelings for Tyler didn’t mean anything. I’d put them aside a thousand times if it meant he could be happy.

  He’d meant the text message to be taken only as a friend — it all of a sudden seemed ludicrous I would have thought it would be any other way. That he would require my undivided friend attention for the day so we could talk shit and kid around. Not that he’d never say something like that to his guy friends like Kyle or he’d end up with a meaty fist in his pie hole.

  No, I was just reading too much into it, that was all. Just thinking a little too far out of the box.

  And as if I needed a sign, I looked up and found Adrienne and Sarah taking seats right in front of me.

  “Hey,” I said, approaching the bar, willing my heart to slow as I tossing coasters in front of them. One said, Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why. - Kurt Vonnegut, and the other said, Every blessing ignored becomes a curse. - Paulo Coelho. “Didn’t expect to see you ladies again so soon.”

  Adrienne smiled, her dark cheeks flushing. “Us either. We were actually at another bar but decided to swing by.” She glanced around hopefully. “Is, ah, Tyler here?”

  She’s perfect for him. They’ll be perfect together. Now, take no mercy. I smiled, feeling better at the prospect of setting him up, certain I’d feel even better than that once they were together and happy. “I think he’s coming up here in a bit. Let me hit him up. What are you ladies drinking?”

  “Whiskey sour for me,” Adrienne said.

  “Same,” Sarah added with a smile.

  I poured quietly, composing my message to him in my head, and the first second I got, I shot off a text.

  If you haven’t taken your bra off yet, you should come up here. Adrienne just showed up asking about you, and she looks amazing. Like, ah-maz-ing.

  The dots bounced as he typed out a response. Too late. I’m already free and clear of all underwear. And then he sent a shrug emoji.

  Come on. She came all the way down here looking for you. So hitch up your knickers and get down here, Knight.

  Dots again. Then they stopped. A pause, then they started and stopped again for another pause. The next time they bounced, they didn’t stop.

  Can’t leave a pretty girl at the bar all alone. Give me a bit and I’ll be over.

  Did he mean me? I shook the thought away, almost laughing out loud, wondering what had gotten into me. Of course he didn’t mean me. He’d never mean me.

  Atta boy. See you soon.

  I smiled as I slipped my phone back into my pocket, applauding myself for having put everything back to rights. His weirdly invigorating text went unaddressed, and he was on his way down here to hopefully ask out a pretty girl who wasn’t me. Everything was right in the world.

  “He’s on his way,” I said.

  Adrienne lit up, eyes sparkling and smile bright. “Oh, good. I hope it’s not weird that I’m here — he just mentioned he’d be here tonight and thought I’d stop in and say hi.”

  I shrugged and joked, “I mean, it’s a little creepy, but Tyler’s not easily spooked.”

  She laughed, and the sound was disarming. For a high-powered ad representative for Nike, she was nervous about Tyler. I took that as a solid sign that she was genuine. She was forward and honest, smart, and if what I’d heard from Sarah was true, she was one of the good ones in the world.

  “So,” I started, fishing for more information, “you talked to Tyler today?”

  “Just for work. I sort of asked him to come out, but he said he had plans to be here. After last night, I thought we hit it
off, and he seems like a great guy.”

  “The best,” I said with a smile as I leaned on the bar.

  “And he doesn’t have a girlfriend, right?”

  “Nope, no girlfriend.” I smirked. “Looking to fill the spot?”

  Her lips were red, curling into a smile. “I think I am. The thing is, I’m a Type A kind of girl — I’m not afraid to go after what I want, you know? People play dating games: wait three days to call or text, don’t look desperate, blah, blah, blah.” She waved her hand as if to wipe the construct away. “But I don’t play games. I want to get to know him better, so that’s what I’m going to try to do. Hopefully I don’t come on too strong — that’s a problem for me sometimes,” she said with a chuckle.

  Sarah laughed too. “I call her the Badass Honey Badger.”

  “I can relate,” I said, amused. “Well, you came to the right place. I’m his gatekeeper.”

  She chuckled. “So is this an interview to see if I’m the keymaster?”

  I snickered. “Well, you just won major points for a Ghostbusters reference, so you’re well on your way to securing the job. This is your second interview, by the way — the first was last night.”

  “And how’d I do?”

  I smiled, admiring her for so many reasons. “Real well.”

  “Well, hit me with your best shot,” she said as she leaned on the bar.

  “All right.” My smile faded into seriousness. “Grape or strawberry jelly?”

  She laughed. “Strawberry.”

  I nodded. “Good choice. Unicorns — yes or no?”

  “I’m a believer.” She raised her glass.

  “Whiskey or vodka?”

  “Depends on what night of the week it is,” she said before taking a sip of her drink.

  I snickered. “Last long-term relationship.”

  She swallowed, voice a little tighter when she answered. “David. We dated for three years, broke up because he was fucking someone else.”

  “Cold. So, no stranger to heartbreak, huh?”

  She shrugged. “What doesn’t kill us, right?”

  I watched her for a moment, wondering if I could have crafted a more ideal girl for Tyler. “I like you, Adrienne.”