Loosen Up: Up Series Book 3

by Robin Leaf

  “Well, first of all, are you sure it’s yours?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

  I was never one to beat around the bush.

  He laughed. “Yes. The timeline fits. She’s not one to try and trap me.”

  “What if it wasn’t? What if she boned like ten guys the night before you and didn’t know who the father was?”

  “Jesus, Darla! What the fuck! She would never do that.”

  “Okay. Had to ask. So, do you even like each other? I mean, despite my aversion to babies, I don’t think they should begin life with their parents hating each other.”

  “Yes. I love her. I never stopped. I broke it off with her before because I didn’t want her putting her life on hold to wait for me. But all her letters say she never got over loving me, either.” He smiled. “She was my first stop when I returned, even before going to my parent’s place.”

  “Okay. You know I hate all that traditional commitment crap, but can you see her being your forever?”

  He paused for a minute contemplating. “Honestly, I have always dreamed of us getting married one day.”

  “So…?”

  “It’s that I’m leaving her again. Damn, Darla. I was hoping when I was ready for all this family shit that I would be home for it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I feel like I’m abandoning her.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “But what if something happens to me?”

  “You can’t think like that, Freddy.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be back in six months.”

  “God, I love her. I really do.”

  I rolled my eyes and punched his shoulder playfully. “Then what the hell was all of this about? There’s your answer, dumbass.”

  "I don’t know. I was just blindsided today.”

  We stopped at his car. “Jeez, why did you make this so hard? Go find her. Apologize. Tell her you’re an idiot. Explain your fears… get it out in the open. Then get in some good lovin’ before you leave.”

  He threw his arms around me. “You’re the best, Darla.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks.”

  As Freddy drove away, I felt better about the night.

  At least one of Dex’s friends thought highly of me.

  Two

  “Woman Oh Woman” – Foreigner

  I walked up the steps to my porch, but movement out of the corner of my eye startled me. “Holy mother of Zeus, what the fuck!” I barked and karate chopped the air in all directions.

  I heard a familiar chuckle. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Jase sitting on the swing. He scooted over and patted the seat next to him. I walked warily over and sat down slowly as far away from him as possible, not doing well to hide the hurt by his abrupt departure earlier.

  He started swinging us gently.

  “I have always been so fucking envious of this house, Darla Maize.” He kept his eyes forward as he talked, but he reached out and laid his hand on top of mine. “You guys are so free to express yourselves here. You are encouraged… hell, your parents pretty much insist for you to be yourselves and don’t accept anything less.” He sighed. “I don’t have that luxury.”

  Shit, what if I’m wrong about him? Usually, I have excellent radar when it comes to people’s sexuality, but with him, there’s not even a tingle. It could be because I’m so friggin drawn to him. However, if he is going to admit what I think, I seriously need to readjust my Spidey sense.

  I turned my hand over and held his. Whatever he said next was probably a first for him. We sat in silence because I felt he needed it. I was pretty good at reading the needs of my friends. He needed time to muster up the courage.

  “I’m sorry for running tonight.”

  It’s not what I thought he would say, but hey, I’d take it.

  “It’s okay…”

  “No, it’s not.” He let go of my hand and rubbed his face. “I know I hurt you. I kept looking over at you after I walked away.” He sighed. “Your face killed me. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, and I was a dick to you.”

  “Look, Jase, I know I come on too strong…”

  He shook his head and turned toward me.

  “It’s not you, Darla.” He looked at me for a few minutes, then he turned to face forward again.

  When the silence stretched, I could no longer take it. “Okay, I’ll ask. Are you attracted to men?”

  He stood abruptly, sending the swing backward. I had to unfold my legs and plant my feet since the action almost dumped me onto the porch floor.

  “No,” he shook his head. “God, no, Darla, why… why would you ask that?”

  “Jeez, it was just a question. Don’t get all ruffled.” I reached out for his hand. “Sit back down and…”

  “No, it wasn’t just a question,” he spat, knocking my hand away from him. “It felt like an accusation. No, Darla. No. No way. I’m not like…” He clenched his fists. He said the last part so disgustedly, I thought he was about to vomit. He softened his tone but was no less vehement. “I. Am. Not. Gay.”

  I really had to watch my flippant questioning strategies. Tactfulness was a skill I needed to master. There was a reason he reacted like this. I was suddenly reminded of that saying about protesting too much. Could that be it? Honestly, I didn’t get that vibe, and I’ve not been wrong before. So if he was or wasn’t gay, I wondered why he felt something was holding him back from being who he was.

  He started to walk away, but I stood and ran to block him before he could make his way down the porch steps, and I placed my hands on his chest.

  “Stop,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. Stop.” He wouldn’t look at me, but he stood still. “Forgive me, please. I was trying to save my wounded pride, I guess.” He looked me in the face. “It would be a damn good excuse for turning all this,” I waved at my body, “down.”

  I smiled, and the quick smirk I got from him in return relaxed me. I returned to the swing and patted the seat next to me. “Come. Sit. Tell me what you came to tell me.”

  After a few seemingly long seconds of deliberation, he sauntered over to me and took a seat. He was stiff as he stared into the distance.

  We began to swing, and after a while, he relaxed. We stayed like that for long time in silence. I sunk down and laid my head back against the swing, about to give up on any revelation he was going to make. Right when I was about to fall asleep, he started the next phase of our conversation.

  “Are you planning to go to college, Darla?”

  “No,” I began quietly. “Although school is ridiculously easy, it is just not for me.”

  “Figures.” He sighed again. I noticed he did that a lot. “I didn’t get to choose. College was an expectation, so I went. He chose which school I attended. Hell, even my major was dictated to me.” He turned toward me. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I hate college. I hate my major. I hate my family. I hate my life.”

  “I assume the ‘he’ in that statement is your father?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat and took on the voice of an announcer on a political commercial. “Senator Jack Heywood, the man who would one day like to be your President. The man who will claim he voted against any bill he thinks you hated. The man who says whatever he needs to say to win the good graces of those he is addressing.”

  He lowered his voice back to normal. “A man whose child mustn’t do anything to tarnish his wholesome, family-values image, especially have any ‘relations’ with the hippie-weirdo, sexually-confused, hedonistic high-school girl.”

  “Oh.” It was all I could think of to say. Me. Darla Maize Flurkey. Speechless. A little hurt that I was reduced to that eight-word description. Okay, maybe a lot hurt. My face must have given me away.

  “God, Darla, I’m sorry.” He grabbed my shoulders. “Look at me. I do not think about you. Those are words my dad would use. Not me.” He pulled me to his chest. “You need to understand. With the exception of Dex, my dad has handpicked my friends my entire life. He ran background checks on all the families of the
girls I dated. He has me followed at college to make sure I’m not partying too hard or getting, quote, ‘into shenanigans’ that may come back to bite him in his political career.”

  I pushed away from him. “What the hell, Jase? He controls everything you do? Why? Why do you let him do that to you?”

  “He’ll cut me off if I don’t play along.”

  “So it’s about the money?”

  He stared at me and remained quiet.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I whispered.

  He snorted. “Oh, right, like your family has ever gone without it.”

  “Actually, Dex did. My parents lived on a commune where personal wealth was frowned upon. He had to sleep with all the other kids on the floor.”

  He stared again, expressionless. “How old was he?”

  “Like three, I’m not really sure.”

  “How come I never knew this about him?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not something we advertise. Mom and Dad aren’t really proud of the fact that they joined what was essentially a cult.”

  He smiled, then tried to hide it. A laugh escaped, and he stopped himself. The harder he tried, the harder he laughed. Pretty soon, I joined him.

  “I’m sorry for laughing, but this is just a lot to take. The idea of accidentally joining a cult is too fantastic. What made them leave?” he asked through chuckles.

  “Mom was pregnant with me. She knew something wasn’t right once they tried to convince Dad to give all his inheritance over to the ‘cause.’ Dex remembers how they escaped late one night. He says it felt like an adventure.”

  “Jesus, Darla.” He smiled and pushed my hair off my face and leaned in closer. He seemed to study me for a long time. I saw something in the energy around him change. It was subtle, but it was there.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just so you know, I am very attracted to you.”

  He caressed my lips with his softly, sending a zing all through my body. Pulling away too quickly, he leaned his forehead against mine.

  “I just don’t want my life to hurt you. I can’t bring you or your family into my family’s drama.” He sighed and searched my eyes. “I have a plan though. It’s going to take a little while to execute. So… Promise me you’ll stay in my life? I think I’m going to need you soon.”

  I bit my lip and felt my brow furrow. “I’ll always be here for you, Jase, whenever you need me.” I wished he would tell me now and just rip off the Band Aid instead of making me wait.

  “Plus, if I ever want to give a big, public middle finger to my dad, you have to agree to marry me.”

  “I hate the idea of marriage, but to this I would agree… only if it is in the name of a ‘fuck you.’”

  Three

  2007

  “Gypsy” – Fleetwood Mac

  For the next four years, Jase and I remained close, but we never moved past the “orbiting around each other” stage. His energy sparked to life when he was with me; I could tell he wasn’t like he was with me in his everyday life. I was still heavily attracted to him, but we never took any steps to ruin the friendship we had.

  While he stayed in college, I floated through jobs, throwing myself into each one completely in an effort to find my passion. We’d meet about every couple of weeks to talk, laugh, and always avoid the elephant in the room, which was our attraction to one other.

  While I continued my no-relationship hook ups with whatever person I was attracted to for the night (which, more often than not, was a woman), I never talked about them with Jase. He never mentioned his sex life, either. It worked for us. In the time it took him to earn both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in the major he never changed, I mastered nothing.

  Tonight was one of our drinks and dinner extravaganzas at his favorite secluded pub that had great food. We last spent Memorial Day together two weeks ago, and I couldn’t wait to see him so I could tell him about my week. We were going out instead of our usual takeout, beer, and DVD nights at either his apartment or mine (usually his, since mine was always a mess).

  He showed up dressed to the nines in his expensive suit, a recent acquisition to his wardrobe to accommodate his day job as a financial something or other in some uppity firm. I normally hated men in suits, but it fit him. He was the first man I had ever seen who looked more comfortable dressed up than in a pair of jeans.

  Once we were seated in the booth in the back corner, I took a minute to watch him, with his commanding presence, as he ordered drinks for both of us.

  Gosh, we were a pair, the free spirit and the control freak.

  “So, how’s work at the boutique?” he asked after the waitress sat down our first of many drinks. He loved hearing stories about my jobs. He always made fun of me for not being able to hold down any of them. I insisted that I just hadn’t found my passion yet.

  “I told Marquais to get fucked right up the ass in front of customers.”

  I probably should have waited until after he swallowed to tell him because he damn near spit out his drink. “I would have liked to have seen that. But why? I thought you liked that job.”

  “I did.”

  Marquais (pronounced Mar-Kay, which, since his name was Mark Alba, he took “Mark A” and spelled it to indicate the douche he was) was an almost moderately-popular (and way overpriced) boho-chic designer who loved my “vision” for the décor of his store and my presentation of his self-described, douchy-sounding “haute couture.”

  “I mean, I loved the job, yeah. I love his designs. I love his customers. I love helping people find their style and seeing them feel good about what they were wearing. I love travelling to fashion shows. Like I told you last time, I finally felt like I belonged.”

  “Yes,” he rested his elbow on the table and leaned in toward me. “I thought this one was a keeper since you stayed there longer than nine months.”

  “Me, too. There was just one problem: I hate that man. I really don’t like to say the word ‘hate’ when it comes to a person, but his wild moods? Goddess, he is such a diva. He threw a toddler-style temper tantrum the other day, all because of the window I dressed the day before. Remember, I told you that he called me a genius for throwing it together? Well, he walked in the next day and told me he hated it and that I was ruining his career. He blamed me for his drop in sales.”

  “His drop in sales is due to our economic slump.” He smirked. “So you just told him to get fucked up the ass?”

  “Yep, with two dicks, which from what I hear, isn’t too far from the realm of possibility where he is concerned. It’s probably why he’s so grumpy. You know I don’t judge, but c’mon, two dicks in the same hole at the same time? It can’t be pleasant. Anyway, I was getting bored there. It was time to move on.”

  Jase smiled. “So, do you finally get to look for a job like a normal person?”

  “Actually, no. This chick, Charlie, she’s some sort of talent agent. She was one of the customers in the boutique when Marquais told me he would make sure no one would ever hire me, so right after I told him off, she hired me on the spot as her personal assistant. She said she needed someone like me to handle the unpleasant side of her business. I took her up on her offer.”

  His mouth hung open for a few seconds. “Unbelievable. I swear you are the luckiest woman in the world.” He shook his head. “In this economy with the unemployment rate such as it is, jobs just fall in your lap.”

  “It’s not luck.” I sipped my Sea Breeze. “The universe is setting my path. I am simply following where it takes me.”

  A normal person would have rolled his eyes. Jase refrained, hiding how nonsensical he found my universe theory. Instead, he took another sip of his beer. “How many jobs have you had since high school?”

  I thought for a minute. “Well, let’s count. The first was the ice cream shop.”

  “The job you quit two months later because your nipples stayed hard all the time.”

  I winced, but my nipples hardened at the memory.
/>
  “That shit gets painful after a while. I think the manager made me go into the cooler more often because he had some hard-nipple fetish, or he just liked seeing me in pain.” I rubbed the phantom pain from my nipples, which drew his eyes to them. “I’m so glad I don’t live in Canada. But if I did, I’d probably invent nipple warmers and make a shit ton of money.”

  His eyes remained on my breasts for a long moment. Usually, he was a gentleman and never ogled me, so his obvious perusal wasn’t helping my nipple predicament.

  “I could actually see that happening.” He looked up and smiled, unashamed. “Wasn’t the waitressing job at your friend’s dad’s restaurant next? If I remember correctly, they fired you.”

  “I mean, how important is it really that people get the right food, anyway? Jeez. I made the dude who complained about me feel so bad he got me fired, he recommended me for the bookkeeping job at his brother’s bar.”

  He lifted his beer bottle in salute. “You were good at that one.”

  “Yes, but Holy mother of Zeus, that job bored me out of my mind.”

  He laughed. “You have such a head for numbers though. Did you even stay there three weeks?”

  “I was there for three and a half, thank you very much.”

  We paused to order our meals. The waitress quietly took notice of Jase, and as usual, he was unaware. He was a beautiful man, but he threw off some serious fuck-off-because-I’m-not-interested vibes.

  He was, however, predictable, always ordering the same burger the same way every time. I always ordered something I had never tried. It was very telling about our personalities.

  “So next,” I continued as the waitress walked away, “the alcohol distributor I flirted with at the bar offered me the perfect job. I was the best delivery chick they had ever seen. I loved flirting with all those bartenders.”

  He smirked. “Which you had to do in exchange for their forgiveness of your tardiness or because you forgot the box of top-shelf whatever on the loading dock.”