by Jaci J
“Come on. You scared now?” she teases.
“Super scared,” I mutter, shaking my head at her crazy ass.
Sitting down in the empty seat, I pull the bar over our laps and the wheel starts to rotate.
Em scoots close, but I pull her in even closer.
I think this is our second real date, but I don’t know. I’m not good at this kind of shit. I’m just happy to be here with her.
The wheel goes around a few times, but on the third pass, we stop at the top. Emerson stiffens when the wind rocks the car we’re sitting in.
You can see the entire fair from up here. It’s pretty damn cool.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She tips her head back to look up at me, her eyes wide and wild. Licking her lips, she nods.
“Yeah.”
Something happens while looking into those mesmerizing brown eyes. A need that’s always been there overwhelms me. I’m dying to kiss her. Her glossy red lips are begging me for it.
She feels it too. I lean in, craving a taste of her. I’ve waited patiently for a long time for this.
Inches apart, I can almost taste her lips.
The wind picks up and catches her hair. Curls go everywhere, blowing into my face and sticking to her lips. She pulls away slightly, swiping it away.
My heart sinks, thinking the goddamn weather just ruined my one and only shot, a shot I’ve been working on getting for so long now.
Emerson does something I should have expected. She laughs. She laughs hysterically.
“Oh my God. Bad timing, huh?”
“Something like that,” I huff, feeling defeated. All that workup and nothing. I feel like I just lost the most important game of my life.
Em purses her lips and shakes her head at me. “Zac Moore, just kiss me already.”
Wrapping her hand around my neck, she pulls me in and kisses me before I have the chance. It’s heaven. It’s the best damn kiss of my life.
Our first kiss was fifteen years ago today. How shit has changed.
“I’m still alive,” I confirm, waving a hand at myself.
“Broke another record,” she tells me proudly.
“Mmhmm,” I hum, leaning back against the railing.
“Are you mad at me?”
“I don’t know…am I?” I ask her sarcastically. I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore.
“Sorry if I said something that bothered you at the lake. Didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
Running a hand across my chin, I shake my head, tired.
“You didn’t.”
Silence falls between us.
Emerson looks lost standing here next to me, so small and fragile. Long gone is her sweet smile and worried lip. In its place is a frown and a disappointed look, something that should never be on her pretty face.
Clearing my throat, and my head, I give her a smile. “So, you were worried about me, huh? Worried I was gonna fall on my ass?” I tease, lightening the mood.
I want her smile back.
I want it back so goddamn bad.
And with that, it’s back. It’s scary how much that smile hinges on my mood. We still feed off each other, even after all this time. When she’s hurt, I’m hurt. When she smiles, I smile.
“Worried you’d fall on that big ass head of yours.”
“Big ass head? Whatcha tryin’ to say, Em? Do you think I’m cocky?”
Her eyes get real big and she shakes her head slowly. “No, never.”
“That sarcasm in your voice?”
“Nope.” She laughs and it makes me happy. It’s my favorite sound.
Somewhere in the background, I hear the announcer say something about fireworks. Emerson turns away from me and leans her hip against the railing to watch them over the field.
I stare at the side of her face, lost in all the good memories she holds. All the sweet moments.
“You’re missing the show,” she tells me quietly, her voice distant.
I want to pull her into me and wrap my arms around her.
“No, I’m not.” I’m missing her. I miss her more than it’s healthy to miss someone.
We watch the show, together. Her head tips slightly, resting on my shoulder. This was always her thing, and I want to savor it while I can.
The sky explodes in colors, and she raises her head to watch. The crowd ooh’s and aah’s at the show. But all I can do is watch Emerson, not interested in anything else.
I get a few minutes with her until I hear my name come from Nadia’s mouth, and Emerson’s coming from Walker’s. Before I have a chance to react, Walker scoops Em up and tosses her over his shoulder, hollering, “Let’s go, cowgirl. We’ve got rides to ride.”
“I’m hungry, Zac,” Nadia whines, tugging on my arm, pulling me in the opposite direction.
Watching Walker slide his hand up her leg to her ass, I swallow back the anger. She’s not mine anymore. She’s not my girl.
Emerson wiggles and laughs, her feet and ass in the air. Walker spins, twirling her around. Row and my brother come running up, laughing right along with them.
“You comin’, brother?” Justin shouts, waving me over. Nadia tugs on my arm in protest, pulling me away. “No, Zac. I’m hungry.”
I’m torn, so fucking torn. I want to grab Emerson, take her over my shoulder and leave with her. I also want to be fair to Nadia.
“Nah,” I shout back, trying like hell not to look as fucking mad as I feel.
“All right. See ya later,” he shouts back before walking off.
Nadia pulls me away and my feet move, following after her.
We make it a yard or two away and someone shouts my name. I stop and twist my head back towards the voice.
Emerson is smiling at me, waving. “Catch ya later, Z!”
I wave back, but tell myself she won’t catch me later. I need some time to figure all this out before I see her again.
Dinner with my parents is always a treat. My mom fusses and my dad grumble’s at her in response. They have a strange connection. Both live harmoniously in their dysfunction. They drive each other bat shit crazy, but they haven’t killed one another, so it must be love.
“Phillip,” my mom chastises the second my dad gets his beer from the waiter, instantly chugging the frothy amber liquid down. My dad squints at her over his glass, but doesn’t have much to say, either because his mouth is full, or he’s not interested in provoking her. Mom rolls her eyes into the back of her head at his non-response. I think my dad mutters something snappy under his breath when he puts the empty glass down, but I don’t catch it, too busy guzzling my own glass of wine. This is usually how their night goes; little digs, quiet snaps, and eye rolling.
“What can I get you folks this evening?” the waiter asks. Of course my mom orders for my dad when he tries to order more beer. I’m not sure if the man even knows how to order for himself anymore, other than from the drinks portion of the menu. My mom starts to order for me when the waiter turns, but I shut her down with a glare. My lovely, but overbearing mom just purses her lips and huffs.
It’s all out of love, but it’s annoying.
“I’ll have the chicken pasta, please.”
The waiter takes our orders and shuffles off, leaving me alone with the inquisitor. Her eyes are trained on me, and I can almost see the questions she’s dying to ask. God love my mom, but the woman picks, pries, and pushes. She must know everything there is to know about the people she loves, even if it’s invasive or painful.
“So, honey, tell your dad and me what happened before you came home, and what you’ve been up to since you’ve been back.” She knows all of it. She wants me to be the one to fill in Dad.
Over the past ten years, she made sure to call me at least four days a week to “check in,” Sunday night Facetime sessions, and six month visits. I appreciate my mother, but I could do without her constant need to know every little detail of my very mundane life. There is no boyfriend, no secret lover, or exciting news to
share, but I launch into a long-winded tale of the last two months out in the world anyways, starting with the packing of what little I owned in two days of booze, boxes, and tears. I tell them about the motel I crashed in for two weeks after my house rented faster than I expected. I give them the quick version of a dreaded meeting I had with my management team, letting them know I wasn’t going to renew my contract. They acted surprised and hurt. They knew I wasn’t happy, known it for a few years. I regale them with the tale of my trip up the coast from California to Washington. It’s all very boring, and yet my mom listens intently, like I’m telling the most fascinating story, like she’s hearing it for the first time.
“Are you done with music altogether?” Mom asks, a sad tint to her question. She lives vicariously through me. I know she’s happy to have me back, but she’d be heartbroken to hear I gave up my music permanently.
“No.” I could never give it up fully, even when at times I want to. “I plan to continue writing songs. My management wants material for other artists. I’ll play and record here and there if the mood strikes. Could pick up a weekend gig if the need arises.” In other words, I have no plans. I’m floating.
“Well, either way, we’re happy to have you home, doll face,” my dad says, always keeping it short and sweet.
“We’d be happier if you’d move back home, and not at the Moore’s.” My mom adds, leveling me with a look that says she’s not happy with my living arrangement. And now it’s me rolling my eyes.
“I’m too old to move back home.” Not that I could, anyways. She turned my room into a gym. My old bed is shoved into corner. The rest of the space is filled with workout equipment and a treadmill.
“You’re never too old,” she says while waving her hand around. I’d be in my childhood room until I died if she had it her way. Hell, she might move her beloved home gym if I gave even the slightest inclination that I was interested in moving back, but that’s not going to happen. “We—”
“Lisa,” my dad chastises, cutting her off. “The girl is only a football field away from us. Relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax. I miss my child.” And off they go, arguing about me.
“Don’t you think I miss her too?”
“I need to use the bathroom,” I mumble, getting up from the table, ready to leave the two of them to squawk at each other. Neither one bats an eye in my direction as I stand.
Laughing to myself, the noise dies on my lips the instant I look across the room.
How did I miss them?
Shit.
Zac is here, and he’s not alone.
~~~~~~
I feel sick, and it’s not from the copious amounts of wine I’ve consumed, or the pungent smell of garlic wafting from my untouched plate.
It’s them.
Sitting alone at a table not more than twenty feet away from me is Zac and his girlfriend.
They look awfully cozy together too. Who the hell sits next to one another at a table on a date? It’s weird.
I haven’t seen Zac since Play Day. Things are strange between us. I don’t know him anymore, even if I think I do. One minute he seems to tolerate me, and the next he’s running to get as far away from me as possible.
I’m a mess.
I’m confused.
I cringe as I watch the way she looks at him, with something akin to love all over her pretty face.
Their love is making me ill. The whole scene is sickening.
It’s the way she presses her overly inflated chest against his arm. The way she looks at him, touches him, whispers to him. I hate the way she giggles.
What I hate the most is the way he touches her back.
Slumping down into my seat, I fight the jealously that’s trying to consume me.
Pushing a piece of her hair off her shoulder, Zac listens to her intently, and I want to die.
I’ve never wanted to be someone else more than I do at this very moment.
~~~~~~
Finishing my fifth glass of wine, I peek over at them again and instantly wish I hadn’t.
She’s giggling at something he’s said, and he’s smiling at her. Grinding my teeth, I grip the stem of my glass with a clenched fist and try to listen to the story my parents are telling me.
Why does she have to look like a swimsuit model? Why the hell couldn’t she be plain and average? Maybe even a mom of three, or a waitress at the local Denny’s with missing teeth?
She laughs again, and it’s a dainty sound. It’s soft and sweet.
God, I really hate her.
If I could crawl inside her skin right now, I might just do it. Anything to get closer to Zac.
I’m jealous, and it’s a very ugly shade of puke green, jealous. I’ve never been self-conscious. I’ve always been okay with how I look, how I act, and how I dress. She makes me feel less than, and the feeling is fucking horrible.
Ignoring them doesn’t work, and the booze only makes it worse.
Every time he touches her, he looks over at me. I want to scream. He noticed me the moment I noticed him, and since then, he’s been making sure I see everything he wants me to see. I want to assume he’s trying to make me jealous, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to tell me that he’s here with the woman he wants to be with.
My thoughts are so scrambled, I can’t be trusted to make any sort of sane decision at this point.
Thinking about them together makes me violently ill.
I sit here and look at Nadia. I mean, really look at her for the first time.
She’s beautiful. She’s tall, tan, and very toned. Her shiny, chestnut hair frames an exotic face. Her big ol’ boobies and firmly sculpted ass are wrapped in an itty-bitty white piece of fabric that barely passes for a dress.
She’s perfect.
I don’t know if it’s the wine, but I find myself becoming oddly fascinated with her. I mean, I don’t know if I want her, or if I want to be her. I’m really hoping for the latter because I really like men, yet I can’t stop thinking about how hot she is.
It’s got to be the wine.
Coming to my drunken conclusion that the alcohol is messing with my thinking, I look to Zac, only to find him giving me a small, sad smile.
He feels sorry for me.
I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
The room has been sucked dry of any breathable air when Emerson smiles back at me. Her smile is fake and forced, just like mine, and the look in her eyes is so fucking painful, I have to look away.
Nadia rubs my arm, smiling at me with her perfect white teeth. I force out a laugh when she starts to laugh at something she’s said, but the sound gets stuck in the back of my dry throat.
Why, out of every goddamn restaurant in town does Emerson have to be here… tonight? And why does she have to look so sad?
Nadia interrupts my thoughts, laughing again at something I found funny a minute ago, but that humor died the second I locked eyes with Emerson. She looked hurt standing there, caught off guard, and it felt good until guilt hit me like a goddamn sledgehammer. I want Emerson to feel like I do, yet a part of me doesn’t. I know how painful those feelings are.
I want her to feel something—jealousy, anger, guilt—for the situation she finds herself in now.
Staring at her, I drown myself in my Jack and Coke.
I don’t know what’s gotten into Nadia, but she’s done a complete one-eighty. I mean, she’s still the same girl, but something doesn’t feel right. I thought it was me and the way I’ve been, but that’s not all of it. Something about her is changing also. She’s been spending a lot more time engrossed in her phone when we’re together, seeming more…distant. I know for a fact that she saw Emerson tonight. She had to. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be hanging off me, laughing, trying to keep my attention. Hell, I thought she was coming back around, but that’s bullshit. It’s all a show for Emerson. Nadia doesn’t have the right to make Emerson jealous, only I do.
I want to rewind time.
I promised her it would always me and her, but she took that shit away. She broke that promise.
I’m soaked. My uniform is drenched and caked with mud. We played through the rain, the mud, the injuries, and came we out victorious. It was a hard-fought win.
Going through the tunnel, we all file through, heading towards the locker room. We’re on a winning high.
“We slayed, man,” I holler through my helmet. And we did. We fucking dominated, but all the hype stayed on the field because Emerson is mad at me, and that feeling crawled right back over me the second I left the field. She has every right to be, and for whatever sick reason, when she’s mad at me, it ruins my fucking day.
Tolo is this weekend, and Kelly asked me to go with her. Standing in the hall with my buddies, she walked right up and asked me. What the hell was I supposed to say? Kelly is hot, but she’s not Emerson. But with everyone cheering me on, encouraging the bullshit, I said yes when I didn’t want to. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete asshole, and I’m not into hurting a girl’s feelings. I was stuck. Either humiliate Kelly in front of a hall full of people, or privately piss of Em.
Kelly’s now my date, and Em’s pissed.
“Zac Moore!”
Fuck.
Turning around, Emerson stands at the entrance to the tunnel, and I was right, she’s pissed. Wearing her uniform, she looks hot. It’s a tiny skirt, and even tinier top. But the look on her face is something else entirely.
Chucking her pompoms onto the ground near her feet, she crosses her arms.
“I heard,” is all she says. It’s all she needs to say. My stomach falls straight through my ass.
Taking off my helmet, I look at her with an expression I pray looks as sorry as I truly am.
“Em, don’t be mad at me,” I plead.
“Don’t,” she growls, storming down the tunnel straight for me. With a clenched fist, she socks me in the shoulder before I can stop her. “Owe!” she yelps, clutching her fist with her unhurt hand.
