SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  “—I’m going to give it you, straight up. I think every relationship has, like, a shelf life—and your relationship with Johnny is about four months past its expiration date. He was good for you for a little while, but now it’s time to move on. Seriously, every girl needs a scorching hot romance—the kind that burns you up, and leaves you feeling hung over and all kinds of bitter. And with a weird puke-y taste in your mouth—like when you’re super drunk, and shit keeps coming up your throat? Anyway, it’s a good learning experience—but like all tattoos, it should be temporary, or you’ll end up regretting it at some point in your life.”

  “Says the girl who’s never had a real relationship in her life,” I point out, making sure she can hear the irritation in my voice. I don’t like being second-guessed, not when I’m having my own doubts. “And you’re too scared of needles to get a tattoo.”

  She nods wisely. “Relationships are like needles.”

  “I thought they were like tattoos?”

  Heather waves a hand around. “Whatever. The point is—you’ve really been coming out of your shell, lately. Ever since you started hanging out with those guys. Nick, Mack, Ben…Dean.” She smirks when she says Dean’s name—I can’t imagine why.

  I give her a suspicious look. “Yeah, they’re Johnny’s friends—and now they’re mine, too,” I say slowly, trying to subtly emphasize the word “friends.”

  “You’ve been hanging out with them a lot.”

  “Yup.”

  By her raised eyebrows, and the way she’s looking at me instead of the road, I can tell she’s about to say something else I don’t want to hear—like how I should date one of Johnny’s friends, or something stupid like that. So I invoke the one name I know will derail that train right in its tracks.

  “I hear Sloane’s going to be at the dance,” I say casually. “You sure you don’t wanna come with?”

  Heather’s entire body seems to vibrate at the mention of her crush’s name. “I can’t,” she says with a sigh. “Alfredo will burst a blood vessel if I don’t show up—Funzi’s flying in from Bogota. Damn, I bet Sloane would look hot as a dead girl. Take lots of pics for me, okay?”

  “Um, sure. You know I’m all for unhealthy obsessions…but do we even know if she likes girls?”

  “Mmm. She gave me the impression she could go either way. Like, I was making it obvious I was interested in her—and she was kinda encouraging it. Look away, Jule. I have a huge wedgie that I need to fix right now, and I don’t think you want to see this.”

  I quickly face the window as Heather starts shifting in her seat. “It sounds like she might be leading you on,” I say to my reflection.

  “Maybe,” she replies cheerfully. “And maybe I’ll convince her I’m utterly irresistible. You can turn around now.”

  “You are utterly irresistible, Heather,” I say, turning to her with a grin.

  “Aw, thanks, boo. I love you, too.” She makes a kissy face at me. “Too bad we’re not attracted to each other. We’d make an awesome couple.”

  “I wouldn’t be a good lesbian. I think I’d do better as a gay guy,” I muse, fingering one of my long poky eyelashes like I’m petting a cat.

  “Okay,” Heather agrees, and scratches her wig. “Well, Cinderella, here we are. You look great.”

  “Thanks, dear. Don’t wait up for me.” Nervous, I ran a hand down my skirt before opening the car door.

  “I won’t. Go get your man.”

  “I will go get my man,” I say with a confidence I don’t have. “I’ll text you later.”

  Why am I so anxious? I know Johnny wants me back, I think I want him back—so why do I feel this…breathless uncertainty? Look at me, I’m shaking. I feel like—like a nerdy girl foolishly about to ask the most popular guy in school to prom. In front of an audience.

  I’m being stupid. He’s not going to turn me down—and I’m sure as hell not going to tell him in front of an audience. In case he turns me down. Ugh!

  The dance is in Leclare’s ballroom (yes, they have one of those). I don’t have a ticket, but no one stops me at the doors, so I just walk right in. I’m instantly greeted by a lot of fog and neon, apparently the dance committee’s idea of a zombie apocalypse scenario. I do like the twinkling skeletons hanging from the ceiling, though.

  How am I suppose to find Johnny in the mass of blood-splattered zombies swaying to a sexy slow song un-sexily blasting over the speakers? The fog doesn’t help, either. I just tripped over something, and I can’t make out what it is. It feels warm and human—ew, it just grabbed me! I kick wildly at it before jumping away.

  Hey, there’s Mack. Dancing with a tiny girl I don’t recognize, he looks scary and awesome in a shredded football uniform. His zombie makeup looks professionally done, and his dazzlingly white teeth gleam under the neon lights when he grins down at his dance partner. Hm, I wonder who she is, and why Mack’s never mentioned her.

  I don’t recognize anyone else, or at least I can’t make them out under their costumes. A headless businessman waves at me, but doesn’t stop to talk so I’m left wondering at his identity. Oh, there goes a herd of undead cheerleaders, a sure sign of the apocalypse. I wish Heather had changed her mind. She would love this.

  Also, I feel extremely self-conscious standing here by myself. I notice a group of guys thoroughly checking me out in that way that guys do that somehow makes you feel both ashamed and flattered. I see them nudging each other and nodding toward me, maybe daring each other to come over. Hastily, I turn away, whipping out my new phone and scrolling through my contacts in an effort to look busy.

  Well, I really wanted to surprise Johnny, but I don’t know how I’m going to find him in this mess. I’ll just call him, and hope he can hear his phone. I’m not brave enough to be here by myself like a lonely girl.

  While waiting for him to pick up, I happen to glance up as a bunch of zombie clowns shuffle away, revealing a closely entwined couple swaying to the sensuous rhythm of the song playing.

  Ugh, really? It’s Johnny—and her. Laundry Room Girl. Spin Cycle Slut.

  I ruthlessly take in all the details though my brain feels like it’s slowly sinking into a murky pond. Johnny’s tall and gorgeous in a blood-splattered white shirt and jeans. He’s smiling down at her—that quick sexy grin I stupidly thought was reserved just for me. And she’s got her hands linked at the back of his neck, staring up at him up at him with an unwavering intensity. She’s dressed an undead cheerleader, of course, but that stupid tiara she’s wearing doesn’t go with…oh. She’s homecoming queen.

  I feel as though I’ve been turned to stone. Déjà vu. Odd, but this time somehow feels worse. Maybe it’s the way they look together. Perfect. Right. Something else, too. Familiar. Maybe I didn’t want to see it before, but…

  God. He lied to me.

  “Don’t they look perfect together?”

  The spoken words are such a perfect echo of my own thoughts, that for a second I think the bitchy girl in my head has finally escaped and materialized next to me.

  Oh, even better—it’s Kara.

  She’s wearing a slinky crimson dress that has nothing to do with Halloween—but I’m sure the guys don’t mind. Her beautiful red hair is a mass of spiraling curls, and I have an urge to grab hold of one and yank it—to see if her eyes will bounce around like a pinball machine.

  “Hey,” I say flatly, hoping my glare will speak volumes for me.

  Kara crosses her arms under her ridiculous boobs, and smirks at me. “Must be hard for you to see them like this.”

  “Nope.” Maybe if I stick to one word answers, she’ll get the hint, and beat it.

  She doesn’t. She looks at Johnny and Dani, and her smirk only grows bigger and nastier. “Well, I’m glad they’re back together. Just like old times.”

  “What?” I feel as though I’ve been kicked in the chest. “What do you mean?”

  Kara turns back to me, her eyes widening theatrically. “Didn’t you know? They were Leclare’s hottest c
ouple junior year. Then they broke up—about a couple of weeks before he met you.” She sneers down at me, like she can’t believe his bad taste. “Poor Dani was heartbroken. Especially since, according to her, Johnny’s amazing in bed.”

  I can feel the blood draining from my face. Johnny’s voice, telling me he and Dani are just friends, seems to echo in my ears. Yeah, I’m certain he’s never mentioned that he was going out with her—not to mention all the amazing sex they apparently had.

  I flash back to the scene in the laundry room. The memory of it is sealed in my mind—every detail, the way they seemed to fit together like they were two halves of a whole. And the way she looks at him…and the way he avoids looking at her.

  Somebody shoot me. Somebody shoot Kara.

  The only thing that’s holding me together right now is the fact that she’s standing right next to me, gleefully absorbing my shock and misery. Evil bitch. She knew—all this time. It’s like she waited for the perfect moment to stick me with it, when it would cut the deepest.

  I force myself to keep my gaze on my ex-boyfriend and his not-so-ex-girlfriend, but I see nothing but blurs of color. I know I must look rigid and tense, but it’s either that, or be shaking like a leaf. “I didn’t know,” I say, almost casually. My shrug is more like a spasm in my shoulders, but at least I’m not crying.

  “You didn’t?” She tries to look sympathetic, but I’m sure her facial muscles have no idea how to arrange themselves to pull that emotion off. “I’m not surprised Johnny didn’t mention it, since Dani’s the one who broke it off. She only did it because she thought she was pregnant, and she was freaking out at the time. Turns out it was a false alarm, but by the time she found out, it was too late.”

  “Did…did he know?” I can’t help but ask, my heart choking on the question. “Did she ever tell him?”

  “Yes, I finally convinced her to. And he felt really bad about it. If you weren’t such a bitch, they could be friends again—without having to sneak around behind your back just to hang out.”

  I can’t hear anymore. I walk away. I don’t run because I won’t give Kara the satisfaction. I’m reeling right now, a confused mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Do I believe the bitch? Has Johnny been hanging out with Dani behind my back, then acting as though he wants nothing to do with her to me? I don’t want to believe it, but the way they were looking at each other…

  I suddenly find myself standing outside, shivering in the cool night air. I need to be rational about this. I need to talk to someone. Not Johnny. Not yet.

  Dean. I know he would tell me the brutal truth. But I don’t have his number in my new phone—and I don’t remember it. I have Nick’s, though. He’s home tonight, resting his knee that got banged up at the game.

  Nick will tell me the truth. I’m pretty sure I can make him.

  “Hey, you,” he answers after the fifth ring. “What’s up?”

  “Hi, Nick. I have some questions for you. Can I come over?” I blurt out.

  He pauses. “Uh…yeah, sure. I’m kind of—really drunk, though.”

  “That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”

  What am I doing? I didn’t mean to invite myself over. But I don’t want to stay here, and I don’t want to go home. My heart is beating much too fast, and I feel wildly unstable. If I’m going to go into hysterics, I’d rather do it somewhere relatively private, and with someone who won’t judge me, and is maybe too drunk to remember it the next day.

  Now I have to figure out how to get to Nick’s from here.

  ******

  Chapter 23

  I’m stuck until Bobo Frederico—Tanya’s friend—comes striding out the door I’m standing next to, his long black duster billowing out behind him.

  I’ve only ever said hi to him once or twice in passing, but I dart after him, shamelessly begging for a ride. Lucky for me, he’s a pretty nice guy, despite the slightly bulging, black-rimmed eyes and the fierce scowl. I expect him to lead me to a battered black pedo-van with goat head decals and painted over windows, but he stops at a dark blue Mercedes. Emo or not, he still goes to Leclare.

  On the drive to Nick’s, I compliment Bobo on his costume, only to be told with perfect sincerity that he’s not wearing a costume. Oops. I guess he’s not insulted since he asks me out as he cruises to a stop in front of Nick’s large Tudor style house.

  The crazy thing is—I say yes. I give him my number and tell him to give me a call. He programs it into his phone, looking as dazed as I feel. Then he actually leans in for a kiss—which I automatically block with my hand. I’m pissed at Johnny—but not that pissed.

  “Holy shit, you look great,” Nick greets me at the door with a hug. He’s grinning as he looks me up and down.

  “Oh…” I forgot what I was wearing. “Um, how’s the knee doing?”

  “Great…after ten shots. I can’t even tell if I’m standing.” He moves aside to let me in. “What about you? How are you feeling after your close call yesterday?”

  “Like a sixty year old smoker with a fifty year habit,” I say with a laugh as I slide past him.

  “I know how you feel. A couple years ago when I was into paintball, some dick threw five smoke bombs out onto the field—right where I was standing. Man, I felt like jerky afterwards.”

  “Right? It can’t be good for the complexion.”

  He awkwardly shuts the door, and gestures for me to follow him, limping a little. The inside of his house is gorgeous, but so cold, and the fancy brocade furniture looks like it belongs in a museum. Nick, in his ripped shirt and jeans, and tousled hair looks as out of place as I do.

  He flops down on an uncomfortable-looking armchair that appears to have come out of a Jane Austen novel. “What’s up?” he asks, propping his bad leg up on a fat round ottoman.

  I perch on the loveseat next to him, and take a deep breath. “Okay, I, uh, heard some things tonight, and I…I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Oh, shit,” Nick mutters, letting his head fall back. “That doesn’t sound good. Look, if this is about Johnny—I’m sorry, but he’s one of my best friends. It’s not for me to say—”

  “Oh, no, I know,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’m not asking you to rat him out, or anything. I just want you to confirm a few things for me, okay?”

  “I’m way too drunk for this,” he mumbles to the ceiling. Then he sits back up. “Okay…shoot.”

  Even though he tries not to, I catch his slightly bloodshot hazel eyes with my mine. “Johnny and Laundry—Dani. Were they ever a couple?”

  “Uh, no,” Nick replies cautiously. “Toward the end of junior year they, uh, hooked up a few times. But they were never serious.”

  So much for them being “just friends,” as Johnny led me to believe! I want to snarl in fury, but I keep my features smooth for Nick’s sake. If he knows how pissed I am, he’d stop the information train to protect his friend. I have to be cool.

  “Someone said they dated,” I say, trying to sound relieved that they were only screw buddies.

  “Nah.” He shifts in the chair, carefully rearranging his leg. “They’re friends. Johnny’s never had a serious relationship until you. Of course, he messed that up. Hey, any chance you could give him a break? Dude’s miserable without you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I say bitterly. “He looked happy as shit when he was glued against Dani tonight. But I guess that happens a lot when I’m not around, right?”

  Nick’s sleepy eyes suddenly widen. “Oh…uh-oh. Look, it’s not what you think, Juliet. They really are just friends now. Johnny just started hanging out with her again. He felt bad ‘cause…uh, maybe you should talk to him about this. I can call him—”

  “No, thanks,” I say with a growl. Then, leaning forward, I flash a smile that is probably terrifying. “I’d rather talk to you, Nick. You’ll tell me the truth, right?”

  For a second, Nick stares wistfully at the fancy green bottle of beer on an antiqu
e side table next to him. Then he sighs, and gives me a direct look. “Of course, I will. You’re my friend, too, Juliet. But I swear, there’s nothing to tell. They don’t make plans to meet in secret. If they’re both going to be somewhere, then they’ll hang—as friends. But he won’t talk to Dani around you because he knows it would upset you.”

  “And now I sound like a jealous bitch,” I grumble, slumping against the hard back of the loveseat.

  “Hey, I’m on your side.” Nick holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Johnny would do anything to get you back—I know that for a fact.”

  “Well, tonight I was going to…” I trail off with a sigh. “Never mind. I need a drink. In fact, make that several. I’m pretty sure I need to be drunk right now.”

  He chuckles sympathetically. “Cheapest therapy around,” he says, grabbing his beer and saluting me with it. He takes a deep swig of it while I watch him intently.

  “No, I mean it,” I say, sitting back up. I try to put on my most convincing face, despite my spider eyelashes and dead girl makeup. “I trust you, Nick. Will you help me get drunk?”

  “You’re serious.” The grin seems to slide off his face.

  “I am. And—” I hold up a hand to cut off his protests. “I’ll do it without you—but wouldn’t it be safer if I did it here where you could supervise me?”

  “But…you don’t like the taste of alcohol.”

  That reckless feeling settles over me, making my blood rush excitedly. “I’m sure you could whip up something that will taste decent,” I say determinedly.

  “Juliet, you shouldn’t—”

  “Please, Nick.”

  Seeing my stubborn expression, he takes a long drink from his beer before letting his head fall back. “Oh, shit.”

  “You sure about this?”

  Nick leans forward, his forearms resting on the bar in front of him. I’ve washed off my makeup and painfully removed my fake eyelashes—now I sit on a tall stool across from him, with the half dozen bottles of Pinnacle that Nick fetched from downstairs in front of me.