Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl...

by Nicole, Jamie

  “I brought her for you.” The world stops spinning (I hope that doesn’t change the future or anything). Standing on the other side of my bed is him. The Him that I love. The Him that I never, ever want to let out of my sight again. The Him who I was sure I would never, ever hear from or see again. It’s THE HIM.

  “How did you know? Where did you get,” I pick her up and look under her belly to clarify, “her.” I say snuggling the sweet pup up under my chin, where I can get a better smell of her warm, dark puppy head.

  “I guess you could say I’ve been keepin’ tabs on you,” he replies, wearing a sad half smile.

  “What tabs? Who tabbed on me?”

  “I’ll give you a hint. His name starts with a C and ends with an onnor.”

  “Connor?”

  “You’ve gotten quick Cee.”

  “I just, I have no words. I claim shock. I need you to keep talking.” I point to my mouth, “Shock mouth.”

  “Okay. I can talk.” He thinks while I do the stare thing I’ve become so adept at. “First, I heard about Master, like yesterday.” I cut him off.

  “I’m going to need you to not say like.” He looks confused and I flick my hand around and reply, “Humor me, it’s a new thing. I’ll explain later.” Maybe. “Still got a shocked mouth here. Keep on with the talking.”

  “Master, I heard about yesterday (good boy, no like). And I left as soon as I got the call. Literally, I flew out like two hours later.”

  “One point against you for the like usage.”

  “We’re going to have to talk about this later.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Anyway, Connor wasn’t sure how to tell me and the longer he waited the worse it got. He knew I was going to be mad, which obviously I was, but then he got real stupid and told me not to hurry home. That you were like,”

  “Are you serious? There’s goes another point.” He answers my point calculation with an eye roll.

  “You’re confusing me, stop. Connor said you were processing or whatever and there was nothing I could do if I came home. But obviously I disagreed and obviously he wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Obviously.” I need to find out if Connor’s smoking the crack rock, because he done lost his mind.

  “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I got here as fast as I could and… I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here. Forgive me.”

  Holding the new puppy in my arms I approach him cautiously, afraid that if I move too quickly he’ll disappear like a mirage. When I’m directly under him, looking up into his whisky eyes again at last, I’m able to see him clearly for the first time in a really long time, maybe ever.

  “Hey, Hotpants.” He stares.

  “Hey, Ash.” I stare. This stare-off is the most intense one I’ve had to date. He takes the wiggly little cutie from my arms and holds her up to look me in the eyes.

  “So. I was thinking. How about we call her Birdie?” Huh? He sees the confusion on my face and clarifies. “You know? Short for Blackbird? I think Birdie sounds, I don’t know… cute?” I love him. But I’m not so sold on the name, I’ve got another idea. But, I love him. Sigh.

  “I love you.” I say before my mind has time to block my naughty mouth.

  “I know.” Asshat. Douche. Shitface. Sorry, spontaneous Tourettes Syndrome strikes again.

  “Why did you quit me?” I know that’s weird English, leave it.

  “I didn’t. The girl, the one from my band, she was kind of secretly controlling my phone. After that whole Selfie incident I never heard from you again. Or so I thought. She was receiving and answering my texts. I had no idea. Forgive me.” He says it again.

  “I thought she was your new “fav girl”,” I say, using the obnoxious double quote-y fingers I hate so much.

  “Did it make you jealous?” No Der.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” S.T.S alert… shithead, butt-munch, summer’s eve lovin’ butt wipe!

  “I hate you.”

  “Nope. You love me. No take backs remember?”

  “From second grade? Yes. I remember.” I grab Birdie (My name makes more sense but I’ll let him have Birdie for just a little longer) and start to walk away.

  “Hey! What are you doing? Don’t you walk away from me, Cecilia.” He’s trying to sound tough but it comes off more distressed than anything else. So I turn, showing him mercy.

  “Say it.” He knows what I want. He knows me.

  “Forcing me to say it isn’t very romantic, you know? It should be spontaneous and maybe even by choice. Not because you said so.”

  “But, I do say so.” I can literally not stand the fact that he’s wearing clothes. They’re hurting my eyes.

  “I have a better idea.”

  He slips his shirt off (the birds of the world unite, chirping in harmony to salute his perfection). He points to his heart and I see what I’ve been dying to see. The tattoo. A string of scripted words run from the center of his chest up and over his beautiful shoulder and twist through the rest of his ink, winding downward until they finish at his wrist. He takes my finger and touches it to the soft skin where it begins, in the center of his chest, his heart.

  It reads in hard to see, tiny script; I save this for Her… the Her of my heart… the Girl that I LOVE... the Girl I’m a part… I give up my heart… I give up my soul… the Girl that I LOVE… the girl that I know… come home to me now… I’ll give you control… just please take my heart and for the love of Pete, take care of my soul…

  “The girl that you LOVE huh? And, this must be serious if we’re talking about the all capitals kind of love?” I say responding to his sappy poem, my very own douche-y smile in place.

  “All capitals is serious. There’s nothing more serious than all capitals,” he interjects, wearing a stern expression on his sun-kissed face.

  “You think so?”

  “I Know so.” As he’s talking he’s lifting my shirt up and over my head, keeping his eyes firmly locked with my own.

  “I have something for you.” I say. Not that! (But yes, also that!)

  “I’m trying to get it now,” he says leaning forward and brushing his warm lips across my collarbone, which ceremoniously responds to his kiss with gooseflesh.

  “That’s not it,” I whisper breathlessly.

  “Then I don’t want it,” kiss, lick, suck. Oh Good God…

  He walks me back a few steps more until my knees hit the bed and we collectively fall backwards on top of the purple duvet. My body is way ahead of my mind. Hands tug at buttons, feet push off jeans. It’s all very feral and honest and true. Well, that is if honest and true translates to frustrating and sweaty from all this exaggerated over exertion. If so, then yes, it’s honest and true.

  “Do you want this?” He says as he pins both of my arms criss-cross above my head.

  “I do.” BANG-BANG SHRIMP!

  “Then hold on tight because you’re in for a wild ride, Miss St. May.” I like wild rides! At least I do now. As of today! Can I get a What! What! Come on ladies… WHAT! WHAT! Spontaneous exclamations rule!

  “Is that so, Mr. Stevens?” He pushes into my panties with his talented hips and I almost come undone. Wait, I think, there’s more! If the over panties stuff is this good then under the panties stuff is going to be RE-DONKEY-DONK! WHOOP! WHOOP! Again…WHAT! WHAT!

  “God, I missed you,” push up, pull back, push up, pull back. You have got to be kidding me.

  “OHhhhhhh……,” now I get it…

  “It’s time. You ready?” Does the sun shine twelve hours a day? You bet your hot-crossed buns it does.

  “Ya, ha...” Can’t make words… feels too good, shock mouth is back.

  Without needing any more words of encouragement, he follows my lead and within moments we are totally (unbelievably) and completely (unimaginably) one. In an instant, our friendship has bound itself within our bodies and from this point forward he will forever be mine and I “The Girl” who will forever
take care of his soul, will forever be his in return. “Fav girl” number one right here baby!

  “Why haven’t we done this before,” he breathes into my ear before sucking its small adjoining lobe in between his wet lips. “I mean, my god,” his words light my body on fire and I suddenly believe I can do anything. Run a marathon? Sure. Train for the Indy 500? Who doesn’t? Match the world record time for swimming the English Channel? Hell yeah! This is definitely worth the fuss! DEF-IN-ATE-LY! All serious caps!

  “I never want to stop,” he moans.

  “Never stop then,” I moan. This is making love. This is not the hanky panky or the dance with no pants or the proverbial bumping uglies. This is “IT”! The moment I fall all the way, to the moon and back, around the world in love with Ashton Riley Stevens. It’s the beginning of our forever.

  “Forever.” I whisper.

  “Forever.” He sighs.

  ***

  This is the last of what I’ll say about all of that. WOOOOOO to the freakin’ WHOOOOO! Sweet baby Jesus of the B.I.B.L.E.! Ashton is… adjective alert... enthusiastic, talented, giving (like, a lot of giving), generous (I LOVE generosity, it’s my favorite), a wonderful educator, a bit of a disciplinarian (me-ow), tender, loving, and the best one of all, MINE!

  We’re lying in bed enjoying the aftermath of our arousal with our precious Birdie (still not the name) asleep between us when I decide to tell him that I finally dug up the letters from my dad that we’ve been waiting to open all these years.

  “Remember when we were cleaning out my dad’s house?” I sigh. I literally cannot stop sighing. No one ever told me that that was a side effect of so much sex. Notice I just popped out the word like it was no big deal. Listen, when it’s all you’ve been begging to do for hours on end, you learn quickly that you can say it. A lot. When you’re begging for it, which I did, like (like, like, like, like… I don’t even care anymore. He sexed the anger out of me!) Like, A LOT! After all, I’ve been charged with caring for his soul. Sigh…

  “Yeah, I remember the letters,” he answers, confused by the relevance of the topic while we’re lying in my big girl bed wearing nothing but our birthday suits on DAY ONE of our FOREVER sexathon! I wonder how my sheetrock is?

  “Well, I found them.” He knows me well enough to know where this is going.

  “Where are they?” He asks reaching up and running his index finger along my bottom lip. Dear Lord I never knew my bottom lip was so horny! I quick push his finger away, unable to focus when it’s, you now, there… touching me, on my horny bottom lip.

  “On the nightstand behind you.” I quiver, lifting my hand and pointing to where they are. He rolls over (oh, there’s his butt! Who knew I’d love Ashton’s butt?) and picks them both up and rolls back over (too soon) and hands me mine while holding onto his own.

  “Well? Are we doing this?” He holds up his letter and waits for me to give the okay before he rips into his the way I know he’s been dying to all these years (that’s why they were in the attic. Too much temptation for my douche).

  “We are. Do you want to go first?” He looks me over trying to figure out what I want but I don’t care who goes first. I really am fine either way. Now that I know today is the day, I actually wouldn’t mind being last, that way I can savor the excitement for a little bit longer. I love that the overriding feeling I have right now is excitement rather than the feeling of barf. That’s how I know this is right. I’m not sad. I’m not barfy. What an amazing day. Today is my new favorite day.

  “You know what?” I say before he can answer. “You go first. I want to be last. Go on.” I encourage, with childlike enthusiasm.

  “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He slides his finger under the corner and pulls along the top like his finger’s an expert letter opener (why is that sexy?). He pulls out the folded page and opens it. His eyes do a quick scan and it’s over that fast but not before an enormous and mischievous grin spreads across his face. That’s a peculiar reaction to have after reading a dying man’s final words to you.

  “Your turn.”

  “WHAT?” I gasp! “What’s it say? Let me see that.” My pillow comes out from behind my head and I smack it across his naked chest. He starts laughing and holding the letter high up in the air away from me as I continue to grab for it only to be foiled by his long, handsome, muscle-y… naked… arm. Focus CeeCee, you want that letter.

  “Open yours and then we’ll share. Go on,” he prompts, pushing me with his big toe under the covers. Did I mention I love him under my covers! Ashton, naked, under my covers equals, the bomb!

  I try to open my letter all cool and sexy like him and when I try to turn my index finger into a letter opener I get a very uncool, very unsexy paper cut. “Ow,” I hiss and he takes my finger in his hot mouth and sucks it until my eyes roll back in my head. Once I’m no longer groaning in pain but with pleasure he ever so nicely removes his mouth from my finger allowing me to finish the task at hand. Okay, now my finger as a letter opener is sexy. Holy finger sucking… Who knew?

  I fumble with the paper, trying and failing to be gentle with it. This is it, the moment I’ve feared for the past four years. My fingers are shaking and tears prematurely sting my eyes. Ashton splays his big hand across my small hip and squeezes me as a sign of his encouragement. His love.

  I unfold the top and then the bottom and stare at the few words scribbled across the page. I look up at Ashton, the confusion evident in my eyes.

  “Did you know about this?” I say blinking back the waterfall.

  “No.” Is his one word response.

  “I… I…” I…

  “Let me.” He picks up the puppy, still sound asleep, and moves her into the box full of blankets on the floor beside him. He takes the paper from my hand and joins it with his on the nightstand. His big strong arms, the ones I hope and pray will forever take care of me, wrap around and pull me toward him until we’re flush. Naked.

  “I love you.” I nod my head in agreement with this well-proven statement. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved any other person on this ever-loving planet that we continue to spin ever-loving around on.” I nod, I’m so happy. Thank God.

  "Your dad told me once, that day I scratched Hotpants into your table, remember?” Nod. My brain is broken. No words. Shock mouth. “Remember how mad he was?” I Nod. He smiles. “Well he made me go home for like a week if I remember correctly? Worst week of my life, by the way.” Mine too, at least at the time. “Well, he told me that if I was ever lucky enough to get you to love me that I would be a fool to let you go. That if I had any sort of sense floating around in my thick, teenagery head I’d do right by you. Take care of you and love you the way you deserved to be loved.”

  “And?” I look at him expectantly.

  He looks at me, frustrated with my little interruption in the middle of his beautiful tale, “And… he told me one day I’d know it was right and I’d make you mine before you got smart and ran away. But, what he really wanted me to know was that when I finally had the nerve to do it, he’d be right there with us, and he wanted me to know that he approved. And that’s when he told me to go home and not to come back for a week and that also, it was not very mature of me to make permanent marks in other people’s furniture.” Now I’m laughing and the tears I was trying to hold back have been forced from my eyes in merriment.

  “Oh God, that is exactly what he would’ve said!” I love this story. It’s like another hidden treasure that I got to open today, a sparkly, happy story-jewel for my heart to hold onto. I finish laughing and feel his heart beating strongly against my own. I look up into his eyes when I feel him growing serious again.

  “What is it?” I reach up and run my fingers through his soft hair front to back and he sighs in comfort.

  “His letter was a prompt. A ‘go for it,’ if you will.” Okay?

  “Can I see it?” I reach for it over his shoulder and open it behind his head. My eyes fly to his, worried about what he must be think
ing and he’s smiling back at me in peace. “I…” I mumble some unintelligible words under my breath and shake my head around before I read my father’s words aloud.

  “Ask her.” I whisper, “You have my permission.” It reads. And then, “Love Dad.”

  “So, here goes.” He takes my right hand that’s been resting behind his neck and pulls it to his lips, kissing it once in a show of adoration before he begins.

  “Cecilia St. May. I have loved you since the day I first saw you and your crazy pony tails in first grade. I didn’t know that’s what I felt but I knew I didn’t feel the same way about anyone else. Since then, you have been my playmate, no pun intended, my best friend, my hero, my comforter, my everything.” I kiss him. I can’t help it. He’s saying some pretty ridiculously sexy and beautiful stuff to me.

  He stops kissing my mouth and moves his lips to my eyelids reverently kissing them one at a time followed by the tip of my nose, my chin, my cheeks (the ones on my face ladies… he’ll get to the others… again.).

  “I want to marry you. I want to hold your hand and shout at you how awesome you are when you’re pushing out our babies (hold the phone). I want to stay up all night with you when they cry and barf (uhm…). I want to watch you take care of them knowing all the while I’ll be there to take care of you (better). I want to catch you when you fall (you better). Pull you back to me when you try to hide (I won’t). I want to kiss you until we’re all old and wrinkly and wise (okay). I want you to want us forever (done).” I’d like to add that right now, I am ugly crying.

  “I want you to be mine. But first I have to ask properly as your father would want me to.” He climbs out of bed and kneels on the floor next to me and takes my small, shaking hand into his still, large, warm one and says, “Will you Marry Me? Will you be my forever? Will you take care of my heart?”

  I’m literally unable to answer him, at least with words. So I do the next best thing and express myself and my willingness to love him with my body. I pull his head to mine and kiss him like we will die without the oxygen our mouths now share. I dig my hands into his spine as if I wish to fuse his stomach to my own through the pressure of my forcefulness alone. He returns my passion in kind but with even… more. More heat, more force, more power.