by N. A. Alcorn
Lizzy chuckles before wrapping Ellen and me up in a hug. “You’re not having a psychotic episode. You’re just falling in—”
“Don’t fucking say it. I can’t handle that word right now.”
Ellen and Lizzy embrace me tightly as they quietly chuckle at my last comment. I know I should be smacking these women for what they just got me to admit, but I can’t deny the fact that I feel a small, teensy, tiny bit of relief from admitting my feelings for James out loud.
Why would anyone want to do this to themselves willingly?
Why in the hell would anyone want to go through the clusterfuck of emotions that is falling for someone?
A small part of me wishes I could go back in time and tell James to fuck off when he asked if we could try being friends, but the larger part of me, the one who is head over heels for him, wouldn’t give up his friendship for anything.
I think I need therapy.
And Prozac. I probably could use a lot of Prozac right now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Sometimes I booty call the delivery boy from China Wok when I’m drunk.” - Amy
“Okay, so why do I have thirteen voicemails from you and all of them are at least five minutes long of Nirvana songs? Oh, and what does ‘Hold me, Sammy. I need you to put soup cans on repeat in my iPod’ mean?”
I groan loudly into the phone as I pull my comforter back over my head. James decided to call me at the crack of freaking dawn when he was on his way into the office. My head is throbbing relentlessly from all of the wine I consumed last night. “James, can you just delete all of those messages and forget everything you heard?”
James chuckles softly in my ear. “What’s going on, bossy? Were you trying to booty call me last night?”
“Ugh. That’s enough, dickhead. I was shitfaced. And don’t get all cocky, because I think I also tried to booty call the delivery boy from China Wok,” I tiredly scold him even though James is pretty much right on the money. I may or may not have called him a hundred times and left several voicemails with grunge music playing in the background. I may or may not have also left him a voicemail where I attempted to drunkenly let him know that I have feelings for him. Thank god it just came out as gibberish. Now that I’m sober, I’m starting to wonder where in the hell James was last night. Usually I have no issues with getting ahold of him…
“Hey where were you last night?” I shamelessly ask, praying I get an answer that doesn’t make me feel like hurling.
“I was in the OR with Trent. Nasty motorcycle accident,” he responds without hesitation. “You okay, sweetheart? You sound like you feel like shit.” James’s concerned tone warms my heart and causes little butterflies to float around in my belly.
“I do feel like shit. I drank two bottles of wine last night and decided to give chain-smoking a try. My mouth tastes like vomit and I smell like a bingo hall. Feeling like shit doesn’t even begin to describe how terrible I feel right now.” A barking cough escapes my throat, and I can feel the nicotine phlegm rattling in my chest. Dear god, I’ve chain-smoked myself into pneumonia.
“You sound terrible. I’ll stop by on my lunch.”
“No, you don’t have to do that—”
He gruffly cuts me off before I can finish. “I’ll see you around eleven, and you better keep your ass in bed until I get there.”
“That sounds like funny business,” I goad him.
He lets out a loud laugh. “It’s always about funny business, Am. Always.”
He is seriously going to be the death of me.
The ongoing joke of no funny business between us used to be just that to me—funny. But now it’s more than that. I’m secretly hoping he does attempt some funny business when he stops over. Soup-can cock funny business.
“Ugh. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Good plan. I’ll see you in a little bit…and, Amy?”
“What?” I snap at him as I roll my eyes.
“Stop rolling your eyes at me and keep your ass in bed until I get there,” he sternly demands.
I huff in irritation and quickly hang up the phone. He knows me too well. It’s nearly disturbing, and yet I seem to find a sick amount of enjoyment out of this. I love that James knows me well enough to know when I’m rolling my eyes at him through the phone. I love that James didn’t ask if he could come over. He just told me he was going to because he knew. He fucking knew I would’ve said no. I love that…
I’m not even going to finish that thought.
My brain seems to have a kinship for constantly combining James and the word love in every possible scenario. I’m refusing to acknowledge this irritating affinity for my mind’s ability to conglomerate that terrifying four-letter word with my smoking-hot best friend. I think I just need a hot shower and maybe a quick trip to the gym to run off my frustrations. I throw off my comforter and sit on the edge of my bed, attempting to regain my balance.
My phone vibrates loudly on the bedside table.
James: Get your ass back in bed and go back to sleep. That’s an order, bossy.
I throw myself back on the bed and scream in frustration before looking around my bedroom for any clues that would lead to discovering that James has my bedroom tapped with video cameras. Nothing seems out of place. Everything is just how I left it, and this revelation has me screaming out in frustration again as I pull my comforter back over my body.
I grab my phone and send him a quick text back.
Me: Shut up, Limp Dick.
James: Sweet dreams, sweetheart.
Could he be any more infuriating? Probably.
Me: Thank you.
I’m aware that that last text was completely out of character for me. I close my eyes and quickly fall back into a deep sleep, secretly enjoying the fact that I’ll get to see James in a couple of hours. I’ve officially turned into the girl I used to laugh at. The girl I would make fun of for being all swoony and day dreamy about a guy. The girl who would obsess over a guy’s smile or eyes…or dimple.
I’m officially that girl and I officially hate myself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I have a crush on my best friend and I emailed tentacle cocks to the CEO. “ - Amy
James saved the day last week by coming to my apartment with a can of chicken noodle soup, cough medicine, and an antibiotic. Go ahead and laugh at the irony that James brought me a can of soup. He was quite entertained with himself that day as he held up a can of soup, waggling his eyebrows and grinning like a fucking idiot. God, if I didn’t lo—like him so much, I would have most likely given him a nice sac tap.
What’s a sac tap? Well, it’s only the easiest single-handed way to bring a guy to his knees with only a small amount of effort. I’m well versed and talented when it comes to sac taps. I know just the right force, velocity, and location to slap my hand on a guy’s balls to make him feel like he’s going to hurl up his stomach.
James hung out around my apartment a few nights last week, watching movies and ordering takeout. There was no funny business. No kissing or intimate encounters occurred between the two of us, and I can’t deny the disappointment that’s sitting in my gut like a bowling bowl. I’m sure my sickly state wasn’t the least bit attractive, and this was probably a good thing. I know I’ve admitted that I have feelings of wanting more from James, but I’m too fucking scared to let things go any further.
I’m afraid to hurt him, destroy him, and ruin our friendship.
I know I’ve also said this time and time again, but what if things didn’t work out between us? I would be devastated to not have his friendship and I’ve never seen anyone successfully go back to being just friends after being in a relationship with each other. That shit just doesn’t happen, and anyone who tells you it does is a fucking liar. The whole ‘we’re just friends now and everything is fantastic’ bullshit is a god damn urban myth. It’s impossible to go back to being friends with someone after having sex and being in a relationship. Odds are that one of the two pe
ople still has feelings for the other, and there is nothing more painful than having to watch the person you’re in love with move on.
Isn’t just settling for friendship with someone you’re in love with just as painful?
My snarky subconscious is really on a roll today. I have to stop thinking about anything that revolves around James and my stupid fucking feelings of wanting more…
So last week, I quite literally chain-smoked myself into pneumonia and I’m just now starting to feel better. Today is my first day back to work after taking three days off to get over my nicotine pneumonia. I’m halfway through my shift and finally able to sit down in the breakroom and put my feet up.
Browsing through porn has to be one of my favorite things to do on my lunch break. I don’t care that it’s not deemed professional or remotely acceptable to engage in while I’m at work. This is me we’re talking about here. I have a serious love for porn and all things porn-like. Consider me a porn connoisseur. I appreciate all things horny and perverted.
Sometimes, when I’m feeling generous, I’ll send a few links to James. We spent one night a few weeks ago browsing through anime pornography, particularly of the Hentai persuasion. This type of extremely explicit and perverse anime is quite shocking for most people, especially James. He actually has a strong aversion to Hentai and I get a sick amount of satisfaction from sending him videos from that genre. I’ve also found out that James loves corny role-play. You know, the whole teacher-student, nurse-doctor, housewife-pool boy, kind of role-play. Yes, he’s a walking, talking porn cliché.
I’m nose deep in my bookmarked sites and find a little gem of a porn link. This link is of the Hentai variety. This anime video consists of a woman with extremely huge boobs getting her freak on with a guy who has several “tentacle cocks.” There’s a whole lot of thrusting, deep-throating, and giant “tentacle dicks” roaming all over the screen. It’s disturbing and perverse and well…pretty fucking hilarious.
Go ahead and get a visual because this video is ah-mazing.
I proceed to email James the link from my iPhone, putting in the subject line, ‘Who needs nurse-doctor role-play when you could have this.’ I push send and a huge grin is plastered on my face. God, I can’t wait for him to check this link out. He will be so pissed and I will enjoy every single second. I’m practically squealing with excitement. I take the remaining bites of last night’s pasta and head out of the breakroom and towards the ER. I only have a couple hours left in my shift and I’m praying the time flies by.
“Amy!” I hear James shout from behind me when I’m about three feet away from walking through the ER doors. I turn around and see that he’s sprinting towards me, breathing hard, and sweat is practically dripping down his face.
“Are you okay?” I question with concern.
He grabs my wrist and pulls me behind him, walking so fast that I nearly fall flat on my face.
“Would you slow down?!” I screech.
James says nothing as he continues to drag me into one of the physician call rooms and promptly locks the door.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Now I’m really concerned. Or maybe I’m slightly turned on. Is he going to try to reenact Grey’s Anatomy right here in the call room? I would definitely be down with some nurse-doctor role-play action if he’s going to channel his inner Dr. McDreamy.
Wait. No I wouldn’t.
“Amy.” James holds up his hand as he kneels down, trying to catch his breath.
For a marine, this guy is really out of shape these days. I need to get him in the gym or something. He’s a disgrace to his fellow soldiers.
“Fuck.” He’s still breathing heavily, nearly panting. “I ran all the way from my office when I got your email.”
All the way from his office?
That’s on the other side of the hospital campus. And why in the hell would Hentai porn make him run like that? “The Hentai porn I sent you made you run across the hospital campus? I’m confused.” My face is scrunched up in wonder.
“Yes. The Hentai porn you in fact sent to me on my work email address.”
Shit! I can’t believe I sent that to his work email address. This is why I should never send emails from my iPhone. I always end up screwing something up or sending things to the wrong people. “Oh, sorry about that. I definitely meant to send that to your personal email.”
“Yeah, did you also mean to send it to the entire staff of the hospital?”
“Uh, no. Why in the hell would I send Hentai porn to the entire hospital?” I bark out a laugh from his absurdity. Send anime porn to my coworkers? James must have lost his mind!
“Well, sweetheart…why don’t you take a look at that email you sent me again?” James is giving me an uncomfortable expression, and I’m completely confused with what point he is trying to make here.
I get out my phone and pull up my email icon. The first thing I notice is that I’m currently logged into my hospital email account. Stupid phone. This damn thing is always logging me in and out of random crap. “Hold on, my phone is logged into my work email for some reason.”
“That’s the account you need to check.”
I immediately peer up at him and that’s when panic sets in. I furiously scroll through my sent emails, and right at the top I see it. The email. The Hentai porn link email that I meant to send to James from my personal account. Shit.
“Wow, I did not mean to send that to you from my work email account,” I mutter quietly.
“You should probably check to see who else you sent that email to.” He cringes as he gestures towards my phone, encouraging me to look at the email more closely.
And then I really see it.
I sent the email to the entire staff at Regency Memorial Hospital.
Holy fucking goat tits!
“Son of a bitch! I sent this email to everyone! I sent this email to every single person that is on staff at Regency, including our CEO!” I throw my phone across the call room, launching it right into the wall. My iPhone is now scattered in pieces all over the tile floor and my jaw is agape in shock.
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” James reassures gently as he places his hands on my shoulders.
“Fine? FINE! This isn’t fine! I could lose my job over this. Our coworkers are going to think I’m some kinky asshole with a perverted sense of humor that happens to have an anime porn fetish! Oh my god! That link was Hentai porn with a guy who had tentacle cocks! I sent tentacle cocks to the CEO!” I cry out as I place my hands over my face.
“Well…” James chuckles slightly to himself.
I know that statement about people thinking I’m a kinky asshole with a perverted sense of humor was very ironic considering every single description was accurate, but now is not the time to discuss my personality traits.
“Oh shut up, dickhead! What in the hell am I going to do?” I wail loudly.
James turns me around so that my body is facing him and tugs me close to his chest, hugging me tightly. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to send out a porn email from my work account and then we’re going to call Regency’s IT department and let them know that our email accounts have been hacked. Then they can handle it all from there.” His voice is soothing as he rubs gentle circles on my back with his fingers.
I immediately pull away and look into his gorgeous green eyes. “You would do that for me?”
“Of course I would do that for you.” James tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and then pulls out his phone. “What shall I send?” He smiles wickedly at me. “Let’s at least have a little fun with this.”
I giggle lightly, smiling back at him with amusement.
“Wait. I’m only going to do this under one condition.”
I tilt my head in curiosity. “Let’s hear it,” I say with an impatient sigh.
“You can’t ever talk about Saber-Toothed Tiger again,” he demands.
I exhale with displeasure. “Fine. I’ll never talk about Saber-Toot
hed Tiger again.”
James’s wicked grin makes a reappearance. He takes a seat on the cot that sits in the corner of the room and pats the spot next to him. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s find something good to send.”
I smirk devilishly and promptly start giving him some of my favorite porn sites to browse through.
Looks like James just saved the day…again.
This is really starting to become a theme for him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Screw you, Tattle Tits! “ - Amy
Ellen, Lizzy, and I decided to take a yoga class together tonight. We’re chatting, sitting on our yoga mats, and waiting for the instructor to begin. Ellen has reached the nine-month mark in her pregnancy, and it’s visible that her prominent belly is making even the slightest movements difficult. I hear her sigh for what seems like the fifteenth time in the last two minutes and peer in her direction as I continue to stretch out my legs. “You all right over there?”
“Yes.” Her response is terse, and I’m just going to assume it stems from her overall irritation with being pregnant.
“Are you sure? You seem like you’re struggling.”
She attempts to sit with her legs crossed, manually pulling in each leg with frustration. “Yes. Stop asking me. I’m a fucking whale right now, and basically, whenever I move, Lucy’s legs go straight into my ribs. I swear this child weighs ten pounds,” she groans loudly as she leans back on her forearms. This change in position causes her belly to push out even farther, and her tank top rides up past her belly button. “Even my god damn maternity clothes are too small for me now! Oh, and did I tell you? Trent decided to let me know that he weighed ten and half fucking pounds when he was born! Ten and a half pounds!” she bellows, her voice loudly reverberating in the yoga studio.
Lizzy places her hand on Ellen’s shoulder, endeavoring to calm her down. “Just because he was a big baby doesn’t mean that Lucy is going to be a big baby.”
