Co-WRECKER

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Co-WRECKER Page 7

by Meghan Quinn


  “Don’t fool yourself, I know how to block out temptation when I need to.” Smirking at me, he nods his head and walks back into the house for some more beer.

  “Would you like another one?” Emma asks, eyeing the beer in my hand.

  I pat my stomach, wishing I ate more before I came. “No, I’m good for now. I think I should slow down a bit after that game.”

  Leaning forward, she says, “Thanks for taking some of those swigs for me. I’m always the designated driver at these things so I like to keep my beer intake to one.”

  “Always the designated driver?” I ask. “That doesn’t seem like much fun.”

  She shrugs and shifts back and forth. Her dress reminds me of a church bell, swinging back and forth. “I don’t mind. It’s better than having a wicked hangover in the morning.”

  I point at her. “You got something there.” Looking around at the festivities, I ask, “Do you guys always have parties like this?”

  “During the summer, yes. Everyone is back from college, which means endless nights of one giant party.”

  “That’s awesome. I grew up in California and when I graduated from high school, my parents moved to New York, so I really don’t get to go back to my hometown. It’s kind of awesome you guys all still have each other despite the different directions you’ve gone in.”

  “Yeah. I feel pretty lucky to have such a tight group of friends, but believe me, it comes with its fair share of drama.”

  “Oh yeah, like what?”

  Emma is about to answer when she is interrupted by a deep voice from the beer pong table. “Hey, Sturdy Tits, come clean up with me.”

  Turning behind me, I see Tucker starting to rack up the cups along with two other guys. When I turn back to Emma, she says, “Go on. I need to go check on Kiera. Usually by now she’s crying in the bathroom about how she’s never going to find a man who appreciates her love for CrossFit.” Laughing to herself, she gives me a brilliant smile and says, “Drama, it never ends.”

  “Yikes.” I cringe. “Have fun and thanks for being my partner.”

  “Anytime.” With another quick smile, she takes off toward the house. Yeah, she’s cute.

  “Get a good look?” Tucker asks, referring to my wandering eyes on Emma.

  Clearing my throat, I walk over to Tucker and hold out my hand to him. “Andrew. If you want me to clean house with you, Sturdy Tits is off the table.”

  Not moving, only glancing at my hand for a second, he nods, ignoring my handshake. “Andrew, there are two beers on the grass for you, make sure you don’t have to drink them. I don’t like losing.”

  “An outgoing guy, nice to meet you,” I say sarcastically, saddling up next to Tucker, who seems a little intimidating with his dark stare and man bracelets. If I tried to wear those, I’d look like a total dickhead. Glasses and bracelets on a guy equals too much accessorizing.

  Across from us, standing tall, chest puffed is John, still shirtless sans six-foot tree branch, and a guy who is much shorter than him, also shirtless. But instead of USA painted on his chest, it says, Penguins, Yay! Not quite sure what that’s about, but I’m going to go with it.

  “We’re up first,” Tucker says. “I’ll start, you follow up behind me.” Barely even looking, Tucker tosses the ball and sinks it immediately in the first cup, leading the pyramid.

  Okay, this guy is good.

  Doing as I’m told, I shoot my ball into the cup right behind the one he just sunk. And like that, in order, back and forth, we eliminate each cup without even giving the other team a shot at trying to score.

  “What the fuck?” Penguins asks. That’s what I’m calling him because I didn’t catch his name and for some reason, it seems fitting. “That’s not fair, we didn’t even get a chance to play.”

  “Rematch!” John yells, pulling an American flag bandanna out of his back pocket. To my surprise, he ties it around his neck like a bow tie and then claps his hands together. “Let’s go.”

  Playfully slapping his friend’s shoulder, Penguins says, “Dude, we need more beer.”

  Emptying out his beer, John nods. “Be right back.”

  Together, like a weird little bro-mance, they take off toward the house for more beer, leaving me alone with the intimidating Tucker, who is now turned toward me, beer halfway to his mouth.

  “So, you work with Sadie?”

  Shit, having so much fun, I forgot about the possibility of seeing Sadie here.

  “Yeah. She trained me on my first day.”

  A knowing smile crosses Tucker’s lips. “She must have loved that.”

  “Yeah, she was interesting in her approach.”

  “Let me guess, she taught you with a don’t fuck with me vibe?”

  Chuckling, I nod my head and sip my beer, feeling a little lighter with each swallow. “Yeah, you could say that. Didn’t seem to mind talking about me in front of Smilly while I was only a few feet away.”

  “Ha!” Tucker shakes his head. “Sounds about right. Tell me, did Smilly bring Sadie her cough syrup that day?”

  “I’m not sure a day goes by when Sadie is in the fountain area without her cough syrup on hand.”

  “Yup, so fucking accurate.” Tucker takes another sip of his drink and says, “She’s a good girl who drew a bad hand.”

  Finally. I’ve wanted to get to the bottom of Sadie’s frown since I first met her. She’s a good girl who drew a bad hand. What does that mean? And that’s when John and Penguins show up with an armful of beer and a bag of Fritos. By the determined look on their faces, we’re hunkering down for the night.

  Tucker exchanges a glance with me. Yeah, we’re a tad smug. They’re going to have to put up one hell of a fight to beat us. Let the games begin.

  Chapter Eight

  SADIE

  “Right here is good, Dad.”

  “I can drive you to the house. It’s okay if your friends see me dropping you off, you know. They aren’t going to think you’re a loser because Daddy took you to a party.”

  “Not my worry, Dad. The driveway is full of mud, and I don’t want you getting stuck.”

  “You’re such a liar.” He chuckles, leans over, pulls my head toward him and kisses me on the forehead. “Have fun and don’t get into any trouble.”

  “Thanks for dinner, Dad.”

  “Anytime, sweetie. Call me up more often. I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too.” With a sad smile, I get out of the car, wave goodbye, and make my way up the driveway, sticking to the grass to avoid the mud.

  Having dinner with my dad was nice because we got to catch up, but it just reminded me how distant we are with each other and the many lies between us. He doesn’t know I dropped out of Cornell University. He doesn’t know I broke up with Tucker, and that I’ll never go back to him. He doesn’t know about the baby, and he doesn’t know that I have no intention of going back to school.

  Instead of talking about our actual feelings and what’s really going on in our lives, we skirt around the important stuff and talk about easy subjects like the Yankees and what current shows we’ve been watching. We never bring up Mom, or my sisters, or the fact that I’ve been floating around from couch to couch for the past few months until Smilly finally got a second full-sized bed in her one-bedroom apartment for me to sleep on. Yes, we share a bedroom. It’s very classy. Half the time she’s at Saddlemire’s place anyway. It’s not that big a deal.

  My boots sink into the ground with every step forward. I welcome the smell of the burning fire ahead, and the laughter and bustle of my friends no doubt causing a ruckus at Smilly’s mom’s house. It’s been nice hanging out with all my childhood friends this summer, especially since John is back for a short period of time. But the partying, the familiarity, and the sense of belonging, will end once summer wraps up and everyone returns to school, returning to their normal lives, leaving me behind.

  Funny thing is, it was always assumed that I had the most potential out of everyone in my class. I was the one su
pposed to go places, the one supposed to prove the small-town gossip wrong, and make something of myself.

  But instead of becoming the child psychologist I’d dreamed of, I’m a college dropout with a colorless waitressing job and an inconsequential future in front of me.

  Even more depressed than before, I skip past Emma’s Jetta parked in its normal spot and head straight into the kitchen where I snag a beer from the fridge and pop it open. Lifting it up, I start to drain the liquid when I hear a loud cheer outside. Peering past the sliding glass door, almost everyone is circled around the beer pong table cheering on the teams.

  That’s odd. No one in the group cares that much about the stupid drinking game. Not ready to be bombarded by friends and what seems to be Smilly’s sabre, I observe from inside the house, trying to make out who’s playing. From the group of friends hanging around, it’s John and Kirk playing on one team, both chests painted—I’m not surprised—and Tucker on the other team. I would know Tucker’s backside easily, as I’ve spent my entire life with that boy. But who the hell is he playing with? Whoever it is, my friends seem to like him because every time he shoots, they cheer obnoxiously loud. And he doesn’t have a bad backside to stare at either.

  “Don’t move, Kiera, I’ll be right back.” Emma’s voice trails down the hall as she approaches the kitchen. When she spots me, she smiles brightly. “Hey, Sadie. Gosh, I thought you weren’t going to come tonight.”

  “Had dinner with my dad, and he just dropped me off.”

  Wincing from the mention of my dad, she asks, “How did that go?”

  “You know.” I take a sip of my beer. “The normal conversation where we’re both in denial about our real lives. Extremely healthy conversation of avoidance and omitting lies.”

  “Oh perfect, sounds like a splendid evening,” Emma sarcastically responds as she digs into the drawers.

  Looking back down the hall, seeing the light is on in the bathroom, I ask, “Another no-one-understands-CrossFit episode with Kiera?”

  Emma sighs heavily, her shoulders slouching. “What else could it be with Kiera? I just don’t understand why she doesn’t take down the ban of dating fellow gym mates. Wouldn’t that make the most sense?”

  “You would think.” Another roar of cheering erupts from outside. Glancing outside again, I catch a glimpse of the back of the guy next to Tucker. Tall, obviously fit, with a nice head of hair, looks shaved on the sides, heavy on top. Hmm, who is this guy? “What’s going on out there?”

  Holding up a bar of chocolate, she says, “Aha. I knew Smilly’s mom had chocolate somewhere.” Looking at me, she says, “What did you ask?”

  “Outside, what’s all the commotion about?”

  Taking a quick look at the beer pong party, she answers as if I should already know. “John and Kirk are trying to beat Tucker and your friend.”

  “My friend?” My brow scrunches. “Who’s my friend?”

  Just as Emma is about to answer, a chanting from outside interrupts her, drawing both of our attention.

  “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.”

  What in the ever-living hell!

  “Why is Andrew here?” I ask as I watch Tucker cheer him on. What the fuck is happening?

  “Oh, you didn’t know he was coming?”

  Turning toward my friend, I point at my face and ask, “Does this look like a person who knew her coworker was barging in on her territory?”

  “You seem a little angry.”

  “Pointing out the obvious, Emma.”

  Setting my beer down, I head to the door when Emma calls out, “He’s really nice, and everyone seems to like him.”

  “Great,” I mutter, opening the glass sliding door. The cheering is louder once I step outside, and in the middle of it all stands Andrew, clear as day, looking . . . Oh God. He looks so good. Seeing him outside of work—not wearing his Friendly’s uniform—is detrimental toward my ability to block him out of my mind.

  God, that devastating smile. He’s wearing his glasses but instead of hiding under his hat, they’re framing his strong features perfectly. Then there’s his chiseled jaw, his eyes full of laughter. And his hair . . . why does it make him look like Ryan Reynolds? Oh Christ, that’s who he looks like, right now. Ryan Reynolds. Muscles, charm, and all. Shit.

  Trying to stuff away the hormones partying inside me, I move past the mini crowd of friends and straight to Andrew, who is pumping his fist in the air like an idiot.

  “Hey,” I snap close to his ear.

  Turning toward me, his face reads shock but then his smile grows even bigger. Picking me up in a giant hug, he spins me around and says, “It’s Sadie. Everyone, Sadie is here.”

  Mortified can’t even begin to describe how I feel. Not because Andrew’s strong arms are wrapped around me, but because with each revolution, I see Tucker’s face. It reads, what the fuck is going on?

  “Put me down, you oof.”

  Not so gracefully, he stops spinning only to tip to the side and bring us both down to the ground, him toppling over me. Brushing the hair out of my face, he hovers over me, that smile still on his face, the one that’s making my stomach twist in all different kinds of knots, and says, “Hey, Sadie.”

  He’s not cute. He’s not cute. You’re mad. Be mad.

  But that smile . . .

  “What are you doing here?” I barely squeak out.

  “Smilly, or should I say Samantha invited me.” I’m going to kill her. Although this could have been avoided had I killed her earlier today when she threw me in Tucker’s face at Friendly’s. “You don’t seem happy to see me, not that I should be surprised. You’re never happy to see me.” From the smell of beer on his breath and the glaze in his eyes, he’s drunk. He doesn’t seem too drunk, but drunk enough to lower his filter and speak his truth. Pouting his lower lip, he asks, “Why don’t you like me, Sadie? Everyone else here likes me.” His eyes widen and then his head lowers. He’s so close, his smooth and fresh cologne hitting me hard. “Oh, is this one of those elementary school things? You like me, but you pretend you don’t like me so you’re extra mean?”

  “No,” I answer quickly which makes him smile even bigger . . . if that’s possible.

  “Wow, you like me. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “You see nothing.” I press my hand against his chest to push him away, but I’m caught off guard when I feel just how strong he is beneath my palm. Oh hell.

  “Okay.” He winks at me and hops up effortlessly before reaching down with a hand to pull me up. Addressing the crowd—shit, I forgot there was a crowd—he says, “She’s okay, folks. Sadie’s going to make it.”

  Once again, an eruption of cheers rings through the late-night air. Everyone is clinking beers together, causing a gleeful scene, except for one person. Behind a now-dancing Andrew—who surprisingly has moves like Bruno Mars—is Tucker, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

  Oh crap.

  “Come on, Sadie, dance with me,” Andrew says. As “24K Magic” by Bruno Mars echoes through the country air, he takes both my hands in his. My body instantly heats from the contact, and he keeps a few feet between us as he starts moving his feet like some kind of moonwalking magician, twisting and turning, spinning around only to grab my hands together. “Put your pinky rings . . . up to . . . the moon!” Andrew sings and then starts pelvic thrusting in different directions.

  I can’t do anything but be a little mesmerized as he floats around me, including me every once in a while, singing away like he’s putting on his own damn concert. My friends fade away, Tucker disappears in my mind, and in this moment, the one where Andrew is charming the fuck out of me, all I can do is watch as his charisma enthralls my friends. He’s mesmerizing.

  The anger that once consumed me slowly fades, replaced by a funny, tingling feeling deep in my belly, one that I know is bad news; one I know I never let myself indulge in, at least not anymore. It’s not until my arm is pulled on from the side that I’m returned to the prese
nt. Andrew continues to show off his best moves while everyone cheers for him, but it seems like my dancing time is up. Gripping my hand and yanking me to the side is Tucker, with a not-so-happy look on his face.

  Behind a tree, he turns me to him and asks, “What the fuck was that all about?”

  Playing dumb because honestly, I have no clue what to say, I reply, “What was what about?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Sadie. Were you trying to make me jealous back there?”

  “Jealous?” And that deep-rooted anger is back. “Why would I want to make you jealous? I have no reason to do so, plus that’s not the kind of person I am.”

  “I saw the way you were looking at him. Is there something going on between the two of you?”

  First of all, Tucker has no right to be questioning me right now. We are not together, and when is he going to get that through his head? And second, is there something going on between Andrew and me? Is he insane?

  “Why do you even think that is a question I should answer? We are not together, Tucker. I don’t understand why you don’t get that.”

  “Because we have history, Sadie. Because I love you. Because I want nothing more than to have you in my fucking arms again. So please forgive me for caring if there is another guy you might be fucking interested in.”

  Pain oozes with each word from his mouth. My spine stiffens from his confession, but my heart reaches out to him.

  Sighing, I cut the defensive act and say, “I love you, too, Tucker, but I really think we need to give each other space.”

  “Space is the last thing we need. If I give you space, then you’re going to forget what we have. Just give me a chance to take you out, please, Sadie. I’ve changed. We’ve both changed.”

  His eyes beg me, his body language beseeches me, and his hands slowly pull me closer. I don’t know if my heart can take much more of this. Years. We’ve known each other for years. He has been inside me, both physically and emotionally. But our time is done. We are done. We both need to move beyond our habit of falling back into what we know. I need to move forward.

 

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