by Cassie Mae
She pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders. I want to fall on her and cry again, but how can I do that with her? She’s the one I’m hurting and she doesn’t even know it.
“I was with Wesley.”
Her eyebrows shoot upward, and she pulls me to the bed. “Spill.”
“I crashed at his house. We both felt a little weird after our dates so I went to talk to him about it.” That’s about as honest as I can be right now. I could tell her about the kiss, but then she’ll think it meant something. Or she’ll ask why we kissed in the first place, and if she does that, I’ll have to blurt out the entire plan and take Wesley down with me. I won’t do that to him.
I also can’t tell her about Talon, because I don’t know what it means with him either, or if I even feel anything anymore. I want to. I want to feel the way I felt a month ago. I just don’t know how.
“He said he felt weird?” Reagan asks, a slight frown twisting the corners of her mouth. I should’ve had more Red Bull, if only to speed-talk through this conversation.
“It was more me. Don’t worry about it.”
My cheek gets slammed into her big cushy boobs. She cradles my head and strokes my curls like my mom does when I’m at home. “I hope it’s not because of me. I told you things are over with Talon.”
Of course it’s about her! Everything lately has been about her. When both guys were piles of mush at her feet, right through when I came up with this stupid plan to break her up with her boyfriend, it was all about doing it without hurting her. And even now I can’t revel in my success because I kissed the guy she’s crushing on, and I went out with a guy I can’t find it in me to want anymore because of her.
I love Reagan, I do. I love her for being my girl I can talk to. For sneaking into R-rated movies with me. For when we’d go to the lost-and-found at random places and claim the stupidest things. I love her for being my shoulder, my ear, my conscience. She’s my best friend who is more of a sister.
But right now, sitting in her comforting arms, I hate her. I hate her for knowing how I felt about Talon and dating him anyway. I hate her for being so okay with letting him go and moving on so fast. I hate her for going out with Wesley before she had an answer to her question, the one I still haven’t answered. Do I like him? Does it matter? Because she went ahead and did what she wanted anyway.
I hate her most because she can do things I can’t seem to do. She can speak her mind, act on her impulses, follow her heart. Despite everything, she finds happiness. I hate her for every reason Wesley listed as why he loves her.
I shrug from her arms and put my face between my knees. Her hand makes soothing circles on my back while she tells me over and over that she’s sorry. I wonder if she even knows what she’s sorry for. Or if she’s saying it because she has no idea what to say.
The few sips of Red Bull kick in, and I shoot from the bed. My hands are shaking and I search the room for something to clean. There’s nothing really, because both Reagan and I are the same in that personality trait. So I yank all my sheets off my bed and grab a laundry basket. Reagan watches in silence while I flip my mattress, fluff my pillows, and dig through our change jar for quarters.
Because laundry will solve everything!
“Kayla?”
I’m halfway out the door, my arms already aching from the overstuffed basket. “Yeah?”
“What if we went back to hanging out, just the four of us? Like, no dates, no relationships. Just buddies. Would that be okay?”
She looks sad. And I hate her for that too. She’s making me feel guilty for my feelings. Like they’re somehow wrong.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Another lie. Add it to the pile of dirty laundry I’m about to stick in the washer and watch spiral. Because I can’t be just friends with the guys. I’m in love. I think. The emotions I’ve got in my body when I think about them are the strongest I’ve ever felt, and I know love makes people crazy. And I’ve never felt more insane.
Pretty sure I’m in love.
Problem is, I’m not sure which one of them I’m in love with.
Progress Report: February 1
Wesley’s avoiding me. I’m not sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s working or what. But he doesn’t text me or call, and every time I drive by his place his van isn’t there. I don’t go visit him at work either because the last time I did, I bumped into Talon outside and we went in together. As friends, like it was no big deal, but Wesley looked like he wanted nothing more than to shove my suicide yogurt in Talon’s face. I thought the whole thing was about me, and some messed-up part of my brain thought that was awesome. But I found out later that Reagan’s been hanging around Talon more, so that’s what must be bugging Wesley so much.
It should bug me too, but it’s not. In fact, I finally got everyone to agree to get together this Friday night after Wesley’s shift. Well, I suggested it to Reagan and she got hold of the guys.
I’m hoping we can press rewind and go back to before the breakup. Because I messed up. I tried to force things when I should’ve let them happen naturally. So no more trying to seduce Talon. No more practice kisses with Wesley. I’m just going to be. And let the rest figure itself out.
Step 26:
Never Play “I Never” Sober
(Or with two people who just broke up.)
Reagan swings into the room, carrying four bottles of beer. “Time to play a game!”
“Ray, you really think you need alcohol?” Wesley starts strumming the theme to King of the Hill on his acoustic. “I think you’re wired enough.”
She sticks her tongue out at him and slides onto the floor next to me. “You can’t play ‘I Never’ without drinks.”
Looks like someone wants to open a can of worms tonight. Talon cocks an eyebrow and reaches over me to grab the sports drinks. His arm brushes against my leg, and I flinch because I’m oh so smooth. He smiles and squeezes my knee when he pulls back, and that fact is not lost on Reagan or Wesley.
“I’ll play, but only if we play with these.”
Responsible Talon. Quality is sexy, yes. But it’s not making my skin flush anymore.
“Fine.” Reagan sets the beer down and cracks a purple-filled bottle from the plastic ring. We all follow suit, and I’m wondering how fun this game can be sober.
“I’ll go first.” Of course she will. “I never … French-kissed on the first date.”
All three of us automatically drink, and like the question lifted the tension blanket, we all burst out laughing. Talon nudges my arm, his lips damp with purple Powerade. “I expected Wes to drink, but not you.”
That goes to show how little he knows about me. Out of the five guys I’ve kissed, three have involved tongue. I shrug, twisting the cap back on my drink. “What can I say? I’m a horny kisser.”
It’s meant as a joke, but the way Wesley chokes on what can only be air because he’s done drinking, I know he doesn’t see it that way.
My cheeks flood to the brim with heat, and I mutter, “I’m next.” Must change the subject, stat! “I never …” Hmm … what have these guys done that I haven’t? Oh! “Got a tattoo.”
Talon and Reagan both raise their drinks while Wesley’s stays capped. He plucks the strings on his guitar for a second, then sets it on the couch behind him. He looks sort of empty and uncomfortable without the instrument, almost as if it’s his emotional shield. His eyes blink over to me, and with a jolt I feel my face go hot at his dimpled grin, which makes no sense because I look at Wesley all the time.
I return his smile real quick, then move my gaze from him because I’m seriously staring. I catch the exchange of grins between Talon and Reagan, probably silently reminiscing about the night they got their tattoos. Right after graduation—it was the most clichéd tattoo in the world, the yin-yang symbol.
“Talon, you go,” Reagan says as soon as her lid’s back on. Talon smiles and looks at Wesley, whose face has suddenly turned pasty.
�
�I never got a piercing below my neck.”
Reagan tosses back another sip, showing off her belly button ring to the guys. Not like they haven’t seen it before. But it’s Wesley I’ve got my eyes locked on. Again. He’s shaking his head and biting back a grimace.
“Shit, man. You’re going to pay for that one.” He takes a drink, and both my mouth and Reagan’s drop to the floor.
“No way! Where is it?”
She says it before I can. I’m mentally going over his body, my face boiling. I’m trying not to like the idea of anything being pierced, but I can’t help it.
Wesley hangs his head, his blond hair sticking up at odd angles. “Is that part of the game?”
“Oh come on, tell us!” Reagan’s bouncing her butt against her feet, which are tucked underneath her, and Wesley laughs.
“I didn’t pierce any of the goodies, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Does he not realize everything he has below the neck is good?
Hello! Where did that thought come from?
“It’s not your nipples, is it?” My eyebrows are stuck together in the center of my head. He gives me a twitchy smile and slouches back against the couch, his head hitting his guitar. Can he read my mind? Because I’m thinking it can’t be his nipples because I’ve been with him shirtless. But as I try to go back to that night, I can’t remember for the life of me what I saw. I was too distracted by his lips, then by knocking all the stuff to the floor—I don’t think I got the chance to marvel at his skin.
Or see if he has nipple rings.
“Oh my gosh, look at his face. It’s totally nipple piercings!” Reagan crawls over to Wesley, whose arms are now folded tight around his chest. “I want to see.”
I may burst into flames. And not from embarrassment. How obvious can her flirting be? So much for us all being friends and normal. Nope, that’s not good enough for Reagan. She has to have the boys pining after her and showing her their nipples.
I’m so heated, I snap the beer from the table and swap it with my Powerade. Talon’s the only one who notices, and he starts rubbing my knee as if that will help. As if he knows how much this is pissing me off. But I’m beyond the point of figuring out what the hell is wrong with my friends.
“They’re not in right now.” Wesley laughs, but it’s not his normal big bark. “I only wear them on open mic nights.” Wesley peels Reagan’s hands from the shirt she’s trying to lift in order to find evidence of those piercings. But she settles for clinging to his hand instead.
There they are, holding hands right in front of us.
“Wesley, it’s your turn,” I snarl. Talon rubs my knee again, and I start counting breaths. Gah, what is wrong with me? There’s no reason to freak out.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!
“Uh, okay.” He looks at his fingers laced with Reagan’s and takes a gulp. I’m not freaking out about that. No. “I never …” Please say something I’ve done so I can get some alcohol in me! “Pissed myself in a haunted house.”
“Damn it.” Talon swigs his drink, and I’m tempted to lie just to get a taste of beer.
Wesley shrugs out of Reagan’s hold, and the tight heat in my neck eases. “Payback’s a bitch, brother.”
“I was five.”
Reagan lets out this hollow laugh, like she’s totally faking her normally cheery persona. Her arm slides back into Wesley’s. “Is that why we never go to haunted houses? Is Talon afraid of the clown room?” She winks, but there’s an edge to her voice that sounds much meaner than the normal bashing we do. Talon’s eyes narrow, zooming in on the closeness between her and Wesley, and he swaps his sports drink for something stronger too.
“Your turn again, Ray,” he grunts.
She shakes her head. “Nope. Rules say if you’re the only one to drink then you have to go.”
“Fine.”
The air in the room has shifted. I thought it was just me, but it’s not. There are flames shooting between Reagan and Talon, and the beginnings of an anxiety attack threaten to take over my body. I look over at Wesley, wishing he was the one sitting next to me. To rub my tense shoulders and help me breathe while these two subtly argue.
Talon leans forward, and I jump when his arm slaps around my shoulder. The open beer in his hand dangles in front of my face, and the smell makes my stomach churn.
Maybe I can’t deal with alcohol tonight.
Talon clears his throat, his mouth awfully close to my ear. “I never stood someone up.”
Inhale for three seconds, exhale for five.
Before Reagan drinks, she grabs a beer and opens it, then takes a long draft. Almost as if she’s trying to down the whole thing. When she stops, she slowly wipes her lips with her finger, cocking an eyebrow at Talon.
“I never slept with two people at once,” Reagan says without missing a beat. I actually feel the embarrassment and rage course through Talon’s body, and I want to leap away from it, run straight out the front door, and curl in on myself till all the tension has left. But Talon’s grip is suddenly so strong it’s starting to get a little painful. And even though I want to get out of here, I can hardly move without his fingers tightening more.
Inhale through the nose, exhale out the mouth.
Talon doesn’t drink, but he takes his turn anyway. “I never woke up next to a stranger.”
Reagan stands up, and I slam my eyes shut and count my breaths. Wesley says something. I think he asks them to cool off, but his voice is drowned out by Reagan’s.
“I never had sex!”
Holy shit, shit, shit. I can’t even breathe anymore. Tiny bits of answers I had about the breakup start trickling into my brain. No sex … then what happened that night? Actually, I don’t even care anymore. I don’t want to hash it out or wonder if the lack of sex is why they broke up. I want them to stop fighting in front of me and Wesley like we’re not even here.
My whole body tenses like Talon’s does, his grip not loosening at all. Wesley has apparently lost all ability to say anything, because I don’t hear him move or try to stop the argument. All I hear is Talon take a drink, a long one, and slam his beer on the coffee table.
“I never kissed my ex’s best friend,” he spits. And that’s what does it. What makes my eyes pop open. They go straight to Wesley, who’s looking like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Reagan tips her beer back, chugging every last drop.
I’m blinking like mad to stop all my tears from coming out. I shove Talon off me so hard, he smacks his elbow on the entertainment system. I don’t give a shit either. I want to get out of this room. Away from all of them.
Like my shoes have rockets installed on them, I bolt out of the apartment and slam the door behind me. I need to breathe. I need to calm down before I drive anywhere, and the crisp February air pinches my throat as I suck it in. It feels good to be alone. To take a beat. I breathe out and grab my neck, forcing my eyes to focus on the stars above me. I stare at them and breathe until I slowly come down from my anxiety attack.
But as the anxiety ebbs, anger and hurt replace it. Anger because I’m hurt. Wesley and Reagan kissed? Why didn’t either of them tell me? Is that why Wesley’s been avoiding me? Why does it hurt so much? Why does that hurt more than anything she ever did with Talon? It’s like she’s suddenly stealing something of mine, something I never had and was too stupid to realize I wanted till it was too late. Again, I fell for someone who wants my best friend. Who has my best friend.
And judging by the way things went down in there, it looks like she’s totally using him. That makes it hurt even more. That he’s in love with someone who’s not loving him back.
“Kayla?”
I let go of my neck and blow out the last of my counted breaths. I glance over my shoulder to a pair of eyes I used to beg to look my way. To someone I wanted for the past eight years. To someone I haven’t thought about once since I stepped outside.
Talon inches forward, sliding his hands in his front po
ckets.
“I’m sorry.”
Step 27:
Find Out What You Want
(Even though you never thought you’d want it.)
I turn around to face him, crossing my arms. “For what exactly? For arguing in there, or for lying to me about being over her?”
His eyes dart to the ground. “Both.”
I wish I could say that’s what hurts the most. The fact that they split and he still wants her. But it isn’t. Actually, it doesn’t sting at all. I give him a tiny smile and tell him something I’ve been holding back from him for forever.
“I was the one who filled your locker.”
He looks at me, lips slightly parting. “What?”
“In high school. All the anonymous spirit goodies were from me.”
He doesn’t say anything, not that I expect him to. So I kick the gravel at my feet and tug down my sleeves to play with the fabric of my baby blue sweater, as if that’ll give me the courage to tell him out loud everything I’ve written in my journal.
“You have no idea how much I thought about you. How much I wished that football that smacked Reagan in the back of the head had hit me instead. How even though she was my best friend, I watched you and wanted more with you. I liked you, Talon. I liked the way you threw a football, the way you treated your family, the way you treated me. I even liked you while you dated Reagan because you were always thinking of her and what she needed. I wanted that to be me. I wanted you to ask me out, hold my hand, be my boyfriend. And when you broke up and asked me out, I thought I’d finally gotten what I wanted. But …”
I take a breath, and it’s a long enough pause for Talon to close the distance between us. We’re not touching, but I can whisper the rest of my sentence and he’ll hear it, even if it comes out at his feet.
“I don’t want it this way.”
His hands twitch in his pockets, and I know he’s debating whether to hug me or something, but I don’t want him to. I’m glad he doesn’t give in to the impulse.
“I’m sorry. Kayla, I wish I could tell you … I want to tell you …” He lets the thought drop, and my forehead crinkles as I look at him. His blue eyes connect with mine, and I have no idea what he wants to tell me. I don’t think I’ll find out either. At least not tonight.
