by RH Tucker
Chapter 7
Lucas
Jackson’s party isn’t just a graduation party—it’s an event. The only thing signifying that the party is indeed a graduation party is the banner hanging over his front door that reads ‘Congrats Grads’. Everything else about it screams house party. And not just any house party, but probably the biggest house party I’ve ever been to, and that’s saying something, since Jeremy used to throw some ragers.
“Dude, dude,” Jackson says, swatting my arm as he hangs over a girl’s shoulder, raising up a red Solo cup. “Is this party awesome or what?!” His words are loud and slurry.
“Yeah,” I chuckle.
I have no idea if his parents are even in the house, but most of the people here are college students, since his older brother just graduated, too. I told Matt and Carter about it and they both showed up, Matt bringing his girlfriend and her friends. Carter’s without Emma, since I guess she’s out of town with her family. I don’t know if it’s because of them, but Jen’s at the party, too. I haven’t seen her since she showed up though.
Jackson’s house is pretty nice with a huge backyard, complete with a swimming pool and hot-tub, both of which are full of people.
“Hey, I’m gonna head inside and grab another drink.”
“Cool.” He smiles as the girl under his arm whispers something to him.
I’ll give Jackson credit, because for as shy or introverted as he comes across sometimes, he’s never had a problem getting a girl. I don’t think he’s actually kept a girl, but they seem to like him fine in the beginning.
I pass by Carter and Matt, who stand near a long table on the patio, playing beer pong, and give them a head nod.
Sliding a glass door open, I head inside, and the temperature immediately jumps at least ten degrees with how many people are in the house. People are yelling, trying to talk to one another over the loud music, while others dance.
When I get to the kitchen, it’s blocked by three massive guys. They don’t look like high school students, so I chalk it up to maybe being friends of Jackson’s brother. I hear a girl in front of them, singing along to the song playing, but she’s obviously wasted because she’s slurring the lyrics.
“Hey, can I slip by?” I tap one of the big guys on the shoulder.
He gives me an annoyed look but moves a step, and that’s when I see her.
The drunk girl—swaying back and forth, playfully brushing her fingers over a guy’s chest, while her free hand sloshes around a drink—is Jen.
“Jen?” I say her name, but she doesn’t notice me.
Carter and Matt are drinking themselves, which means Jen’s practically on her own and asking for trouble the way she’s flirting with the guys around her, all of which are all drinking, too.
My immediate response is to grab her by the wrist and pull her aside, but I know I need a plan. If I take her outside, she’ll just yell at me, storm off, and probably come back inside to drink more. The guys she’s dancing around don’t seem too wasted, but she’s obviously been coming on to them, albeit drunkenly, so they might have a problem with me busting up their good time. I look around and see Rich on the other side of the room, surrounded by some of his friends and a few girls.
Rich was my ride to the party, so maybe he’ll let me use his truck and get Jen out of here before she does something she’ll regret.
Walking over to Rich and his friends, I yell over the music, “Rich, I need to borrow your truck.”
“What’s up?” He looks over at me and I nod my head to the kitchen, where Jen’s now dancing on top of the counter, her arms flailing in the air. “Damn, she’s toasted.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t take her home like that, Nancy will freak.”
“I know.” I glance back, and Jen’s now sitting on the counter, flirting with three guys around her, giggling. “I’m just gonna take her to our place. Let her sleep it off.”
“All right,” he says, digging in his pocket for his keys.
“Thanks. I’ll come back for you.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get someone to give me a ride.”
“Thanks, bro.” I give him another nod, before making my way over to Jen, this time pushing my way past the three guys. “All right Jen, time to say bye-bye.”
“What? Nooo.” She sticks out her bottom lip, folding her arms. That’s how I know she’s drunk, because if she wasn’t she’d probably be yelling at me just because it’s me.
“Yes.” I pull her off the counter and sling her arm around my shoulders. “It’s past your bed time.”
“I don’t have a bed time,” she slurs while frowning at me.
“Yo, man.” One of the three guys stands a little taller, staring me down. “She’s a big girl. And it sounded like she said she wants to stay.”
“No,” I bite back, “it sounded like she’s drunk off her ass. Get out of my way.”
“Or what, pretty boy?”
I’m six-one but the three guys easily tower over me and outweigh me. I’m pretty sure I’m about to get my ass kicked, but I keep my game-face on and stare at the guy challenging me. Suddenly, Rich shouts behind them. As soon as I hear his voice, it sounds like everyone stops talking and the music stops playing.
“Is there a problem here?”
All three guys turn around and I see Rich and four of his friends. Two of them I know, Dexter and Jimmy. They play for the Bruins. Linebackers. The other two I don’t know, but they’re just as big. And of course, Rich, who’s always been my big brother, in more ways than one, towering over everyone at six-nine.
The guy mean-mugging me turns back and I crack a smirk. “Yeah, is there a problem here?”
He glares at me but shakes his head. “Nah, man. No problem.”
I pull Jen alongside me as we make our way out to Rich’s truck. I’m thankful Rich walks with us and helps me buckle her in, because the three guys keep shooting death glares at me.
“Thanks, bro.”
“It’s all good,” he says, giving me a shoulder hug. “She can sleep in my room.”
“All right.”
I get in the truck and start to pull away from the house as Jen fumbles with the radio. Suddenly, she stops and turns to stare at me. “Lucas?”
“Yeah?” I glance over at her before looking back at the road.
“I don’t feel so—” Before she can finish the sentence, she drops her head between her knees and hurls.
“Shit, Rich is gonna love that.” I instinctively reach over and start rubbing her back as she dry heaves again. “Here,” I hit a button and roll down her window, “lean out the window.”
She follows my instructions, and I hear a groan come from her—one-part sickness and one-part relief.
When we get back home, I take her to the guest bathroom that’s downstairs next to my room. The other bedrooms are upstairs, my parents’ included. I can tell she’s sleepy, her eyelids heavy, and she tries telling me she can clean herself, but haphazardly swats her face as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.
“Come here.” Pulling her closer, I grab the hand towel next to the sink, wet it, and wipe her face down. “Better?” I ask as I dab it across her forehead and she gives me a sleepy-eyed nod.
Even though my bedroom is on the bottom floor and the opposite end of the house than my parents, I still urge her to be quiet while we slowly make our way to my bedroom.
“Okay.” I pull her over to the bed. “Rich said you could use his room, but you just stay here. I’ll sleep in his room tonight.”
“No,” she cries out, holding my hand tighter. “I can’t fall asleep alone.”
“Jen, you’ve slept in this house before.”
“No.” She pouts, sticking out her bottom lip.
Instead of arguing, I just shake my head, letting out a grunt of frustration. “Fine, hold on.” I turn around and pull out an old T-shirt. “Here, you should put this on. You still got throw-up on your shirt.”
“I don’t want
that shirt.”
“Okay, what shirt do you want?”
“I want this one.” She tugs at the hem of mine.
“You want my shirt?” I give her an unconvinced look, as she hands me a drunken smile. “The one that’s on me?”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, her glazed over eyes staring at me. Then, before I can answer, she pulls at her shirt and nearly takes it off in one motion. Nearly. Because now she’s standing in front of me, torso only covered by her bra, while her hands hang in the air, her shirt covering her face.
“I’m stuck.” She lets out a muffled slur and I can’t stop the chuckle that comes out. “It’s not funny, I’m stuuuuuck.”
“Hang on a second.” I reach up and help her untangle herself.
As I pull off the shirt, she takes a step forward to balance herself and we’re nearly face to face. She’s a little shorter than me, but only by a couple inches. And I definitely notice her chest pressing against mine. This is the closest we’ve been to each other since we were little kids. She throws me a mischievous grin and any other time, with any other girl, I might try to act on the look. But this is Jen. And she’s not passed out drunk, but she’s not herself either.
She reaches behind herself and I grab her arms. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t sleep in my bra,” she says plainly, while giving me the most innocent looking expression.
I roll my eyes, pull off my shirt, and throw it over her head, helping her arms through the sleeves. “Okay, now take off your bra.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean? Yes you can.”
“No.” She shakes her head but she’s smiling at me.
“Jen, remember in seventh grade how excited you were that you could take off your training bra under your shirt?”
The comment makes her giggle, and she brings her hands to her mouth. “That’s right.” She coughs, trying to make herself go serious. “But, I can’t right now. I’m too drunk.”
I give her a sideways glance. “If you’re coherent enough to know that you’re too drunk, then you’re definitely not too drunk.”
“You do it.”
“What?”
She bites her bottom lip. “You do it.” She remains stoic for a moment, almost daring me. Then, a grin swims across her lips. “I heard rumors at school, how you were great with your hands.”
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Fine.”
I fully intend to reach under the shirt and quickly unsnap it. But as my hands glide around her waist, she put her arms on my shoulders. I pause at the closeness again and my hands freeze. Her skin is soft, and this close to her, I can smell her honey scent. I’m not sure if she’s warm, or my fingers are hot just from touching her. Sucking on her bottom lip, her eyes lock on mine.
My hands travel slowly behind her, up her back, as she takes in a breath. I find the clasp behind her and instead of undoing it, my fingers just hang there, holding her. She closes her eyes and licks her lips. When she opens them again, a playfulness has returned to her.
“Did you need some help?”
Responding with a grin, I undo the clasp. As if on cue, she shimmies away from me and reaches under the shirt, yanking the bra loose, then goes over to my bed and crawls in.
“Your bed’s soft,” she says aimlessly.
“Yeah,” I answer, and I see her start to cuddle up with a pillow. Shaking my head, I walk back to the door and hit the light switch. “I’ll be upstairs. You remember where’s Rich’s room is?”
“No.”
“It’s the second door on the right. Just—”
“No,” she repeats. “You need to stay here.”
I give her a knowing look. “Jen, come on.”
“Lucas, we used to have sleepovers all the time.”
“Yeah,” I nod, casting my gaze down at the ground, “that was a long time ago.”
“So, let’s have another one. For old time’s sake.”
“I don’t think—”
“Pleeeaaaase.” She sticks out her bottom lip with such exaggeration, I think it’s actually going to hit the floor.
“Fine.” I walk back over to the bed. “Scoot over.”
She moves over, pulling my sheets over her, and I lay my head down. She’s right, we did have sleepovers all the time growing up. But we were five then. Or seven. I think we were twelve the last time we had a sleepover. So, while we’re laying in my bed together, it is definitely not the same. I loved this girl for so long and I royally screwed it up. At the time I didn’t know I did. Actually, looking back on it, it shouldn’t have affected either of us for so long. It was in middle school for God’s sake. But it did. I hurt her, and after that day she never looked at me the same. The crazy part of it is I had been trying to work up my own nerve to ask her out, and when she was the one who asked, I freaked. My brain stopped working and everything changed.
I’m painfully aware of her when she snuggles closer to me. I’ve hugged her before, but this is different … cuddling, even if she’s just here because she’s buzzed. She lets out a soft breath, as if she’s in a safe place. When she lays her arm against my chest, I glance over at her and see her eyes closed, like she’s already asleep. That’s when I see what looks like a tattoo.
“What’s this?” I say, mostly to myself, because I’m not sure she’s awake.
“My heart,” she answers, and I look over at her and see her eyes staring at the tattoo.
“When’d you get it”
“About a month ago,” she replies before yawning.
I inspect it a little closer. It’s a red, heart-shaped lock, with a keyhole in the middle. “So, your heart’s locked?”
She nods, and she closes her eyes once more. “And I’ll never open it up again.”
My fingers glide over the tattoo, then over the back of her hand. I know Jen’s had it rough. She told me once that she never knew her dad and her mom left when she was little, but it was always something she never went in to detail about. She’d splurge on the details about any and everything in her life when we used to hang out, but her parents always seemed like a taboo subject. I know she felt hurt by them not being around. I stare up at the ceiling wondering if the tattoo is about them. Or perhaps it’s about a guy she went out with. Franco, maybe? I wish we could talk like we used to. I wish we could go back to how things were.
“Lucas?” Her words still sound slurred, but more from being tired than drunk.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t we do this anymore?”
I let out a chuckle, caught off guard by the question. “Well, we haven’t talked in a while, let alone have a sleepover.”
“Yeah.” She shifts and pulls my arm up, so it wraps around her. “I liked our sleepovers.”
“Me too.”
She snuggles a little bit closer and my mind drifts to how amazing this would be if we were like this all the time. Not the drunk part, but the coziness. The comfortableness. The only kiss I ever shared with her was our first kiss, and even if it was years ago, every kiss since then I’ve always compared it to. Which sounds crazy, because it was just a childish kiss. Almost a dare. But as the years passed, I always felt like the older we got, the more we could’ve been. The more we should have meant to each other.
When she rests in the crook of my neck, her breathing slows. Before I realize it, I’m brushing my fingers over her shoulder and she lets out a sigh of contentment.
“Then why did we stop?”
Now it’s my turn to let out a sigh. Only I’m not content. It’s remorse. “Lots of reasons.”
“Name one.” I can feel her smile against my neck as she pokes me in the ribs.
No time like the present to be honest. It almost helps she’s still tipsy. “Well, you started getting boobs.”
She snickers loudly, still in my neck, then lays her head on my chest. “You said boobs.”
“I did,” I chuckle along.
“Fine, then name another.”
> “I noticed you got boobs.”
She lets out another laugh. “You said boobs again.”
We settle down in to a quietness, my thumb making circles over her shoulder as her breathing steadies. A small glimmer of hope sparks inside. We hardly spoke at all through high school, but high school’s over. We’re moving on with our lives now, and even if she’s drunk tonight, this could be the start of a new beginning for us. For a moment, for a brief flicker of time, I resolve to start anew tomorrow.
“Lucas?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“I really thought you weren’t like her.” She stops, and I can feel her breathing steady as she starts to fade to sleep. “I thought … you loved …”
But there aren’t any more words. They trail off into calm breathing, and she’s asleep and I’m left staring at the ceiling, wondering. Wondering what exactly she thought of me all those years ago, and wishing she’d still think of me now. Most of all wishing that this night wasn’t a one-time thing, as the glimmer of hope I just had starts to fade, because I know tonight is exactly that. Tomorrow she’ll be gone. And she’ll go back to hating me. So, I revel in this one night, holding her while she sleeps. If this is all I get, I guess it’ll have to be enough.
Chapter 8
Jen
I wake up in the morning, clenching my eyes tight when a throbbing hits my head. I have no idea where I am when I suddenly feel someone’s chest under my face and my heart drops. I didn’t think I had that much to drink last night, but the fact that I can feel a guy’s chest I’m sleeping on makes me think otherwise.
Keeping one eye shut, I peek open my other eye and see a room I’m familiar with. It’s changed a little bit—new posters on the wall, the furniture is moved around—but I know this room. My memory comes back to me and I remember Lucas dragging me off a counter-top, buckling me in to a truck. Me, throwing up in said truck.
Daring to open both eyes, I look up to see Lucas asleep. Bits and pieces are coming back to me about last night, and a wave of embarrassment hits me. I guess nothing could be as embarrassing as throwing up in front of him, and now I remember he actually cleaned me up. Which, now that I remember it, was really sweet of him.
