by Erin Leigh
“Oh God.” And he’s done. He moans into the phone. “Oh baby, that was all for you.”
Does he really think I care that he just jacked off into a sock at college while imagining my boobs?
“Call me tomorrow when I’m sober, babe. I miss you.”
“Miss you too.” I hang up and somehow feel dirty from that like I did something wrong. And why is he drinking on a school night?
Instead of leaving the room I call Sami.
“Hey, girlie. How was the first day?”
“Good.” I can’t even get excited about it.
“So did everyone seem cool? Were they secret nerds like you?”
“No. Just regular nerds.” I laugh and sigh, grateful for her. “Except one girl, Liz. She seems like a secret nerd. Super pretty and funny.”
“Oh, so you found your Hartford Sami. How fun.” She laughs, but I know she hates that I met a girl. She gets more jealous than dudes do.
“I did. She’s not quite as pretty as you but way more down-to-earth.” I can’t fight the grin.
“You bitch. You commoners say down-to-earth like it's a good thing to be boring—well, it’s not. It’s better to be spicy and zesty and want some flavor in your life,” she snaps.
“Are you eating? ‘Cause that was a lot of food referencing there.”
“You know what I mean, dick.” She laughs and crunches. “I’m eating nachos. I had Cecilia make me jerk chicken nachos.”
“My favorite?” I gasp. “You’re eating my favorite nachos and calling me the bitch?”
“Come and have some. I’ll send a helicopter.”
“I would love to.” I moan. “But I have to work in the morning. This is one of those nine-to-five gigs where you have to show up five days a week.”
“Oh shut up, I know what a job is. Now let’s get to the meat and potatoes of this meal. What’s up with William?”
“He said he sent me a voice text invite but it didn't show up.” It sounds as lame aloud as it did in my head.
“If you believe that moron I will kick you in the vag,” she mutters and crunches. I’m starting to think the friendship she has with William has been for my sake only. Since we all went to college she has been increasingly annoyed by our relationship. I used to think it was because I had someone besides her, but I’m starting to think it’s him. “He doesn't deserve you. He never has.”
“Okay.” And there it is. The truth of the matter. Just as I think it, she says it.
“I’m a little bit drunk again, so don't hate me if this comes out wrong. He’s a douche. A d-bag. A wanker. A fuckwit. He’s not worth the paper you wipe your ass with nor the shit stain you leave behind. I hate him, more than I hate anyone.” She breathes, deep and windy into the phone. “Oh my God, that feels so good. It’s been years of me bottling that up, but I’ve finally said it.”
It hurts. Maybe the lying. Maybe the pretending. Maybe just the fact she hates someone I could be in love with.
“Say something,” she demands.
“I-I don't know what to s-say. I thought you liked him. In high school I thought there was something between you.” I’m not shocked; I’m hurt. Her approval means more to me than anyone’s.
“In high school he was older and cool, and I was dumb and didn't know better. He’s the gold standard for guys in our circle, Nat. But I’ve been outside of our circle for a while and there are some really nice guys out here. And they love and care in a whole different way.” She sounds sincere and weird. “I love you—like—more than anything. You’re the kindest, funniest, stupidest, smartest, bestest girl in the whole world. I used to beg God to make us gay so we could just be together. You deserve someone who makes it all about you. I hate the way you chase him up and down the coastline, doing all the things he wants to do. Nat, you’re your dad. You always say you’re so much like your mom but you’re not, you’re your dad. To a T.” She pauses and I can tell she’s pacing. She does that when she’s ranty. “And—”
“You don't have to explain, Sami.”
“I do. I have to. I know this hurts. We love each other and depend on each other, and I’ve been lying about this for a while, thinking you’re going to see what a knob he is. But you aren’t. You’re letting things slide and taking the path of the least resistance. You’re being down-to-earth, and I think it’s high time you pull your head out of his ass and start seeing him with your eyes and not your mom’s.” She takes a huge breath. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I shouldn't have done this over the phone. I love you. I’ll see you then.”
“Okay.”
She hangs up, and I don't know what to say or do. I feel nothing.
Chapter Twelve
Paper, scissors, sexy girls
Brady
She comes out of the room looking defeated. Her eyes are blank as she grabs another beer and sits down next to me, taking back her controller. “Sorry. My mom.” She sighs and loses whatever is bugging her.
“Ready?” Mike asks as he starts the game.
The Natalie from last night comes out. She zones out, completely into the game and kills them. Mitch and Mike shout and jump and scream, but she isn’t fazed. She plays hard like last night, blank stare and emotionless like then too.
Mitch throws the controller at the couch and gives her a look. “Do you design games?”
She shakes her head. “No.” She comes out of the weird zoning-out thing but only partly.
Mike laughs. “That was the fiercest playing I’ve ever seen. There are fourteen-year-old boys who don't play that well.”
She shrugs. “I like video games.”
“You knew! This is why you were late. She schooled your ass last night and you kept going, hoping to win!” Mitch growls at me.
It makes me chuckle. “She kicked my ass up and down the ice.”
“I really did. I even let him score twice.” She pauses and gives the three of us a look. “Speaking of scoring, can I ask you guys a super-personal question?”
“Shoot. We don't have anything resembling privacy or shame.” Mitch nods immediately where Mike and I wince.
“Do you send chicks dick pics, specifically ones who you know don't want them?”
I have a small heart attack and Mitch wrinkles his nose. “No. What the shit, Banks? Where did that come from?”
“Just curious.”
“No.” Mike shakes his head. “No. Girls ask for them, but I don't give them. I could hit NHL next year and then what? A sex scandal for dick pics. I don't think so.”
“I don't take pictures of my penis.” I hate this question. I hate that she asked this. I have a bad feeling about it, and I suspect she wasn't talking to her mom at all. But I make a joke so we can break the ice that's forming around her. “If you want to see my dick, you know where it is. But if I pull it out, you know what to do.”
“Gross.” She laughs and wrinkles her nose but Mitch laughs too, offering me his knuckles. I pound and laugh.
Mike gives her a look. “Why?”
“No reason. I just don't understand this dick pic era we’re having. It’s sort of gross. I would never take a pic of my privates and send it to someone. Not someone I liked anyway. Maybe a stranger. No, not even then.” She shudders.
I know I’m giving her a horrified look. Somewhere between her showing her privates and the vacant look on her face, I have apparently lost all the humor I have in me. I’m stuck wondering why she’s looking so upset and how the dick pic conversation came about.
She smiles again but there still isn’t much life in those crystal-blue eyes.
Mike looks at the time. “We better get going.” He gives Natalie a sly grin. “We don't want you making us late too.”
Mitch shakes his head, ready to debate leaving. “We don't have to go yet. We can play one more game.”
“Dude, it’s eleven. We need to hit the hay.” Mike stands and offers Natalie a wink. “Thanks for going easy on us the first game.”
Her smile returns. “No prob.”
<
br /> Mitch slugs me in the arm. “Try not to stay up too late.” He waggles his eyebrows, not being cool at all with his subtle hint.
“Okay,” I say awkwardly as he and Mike leave the apartment, both looking back and waving at Natalie one more time.
When the door closes she gives me a look. “Is Mitch a virgin? What’s his deal?”
“I don't know.” A full belly laugh rips from me as I play back the entire night of him trying too hard and his weird looks and awkward behavior.
“He’s a little bit—‘keeps girls in the basement,’ huh?” She shakes her head and gets us both a drink of water. “I mean he’s super cute and he’s got that hockey player vibe, but he loses all his cool and stutters like one of the dorky guys on American Pie the moment he sees a girl. He tries too hard. You should tell him.”
I take the water and scoff. “Dudes don't tell other dudes how to work on their game unless they ask. Even then, we aren’t like you girls with your constantly critiquing each other.”
“Why not? He’s being weird.”
“If I tell him he’s being weird, I have to share the girls.” I smile wide but she gives me the look.
“Gross.” She drinks the water and strolls into her room, leaving the door open.
My eyes follow her everywhere she goes. I can’t stop noticing the way she does things: Ties her hair up. Stretches her neck. Points her toes when she walks. Cracks her knuckles but only the pointer and middle.
She bends forward, fortunately still in those jogging pants, and fishes for something in her bag. She gets it, and then she turns and catches me staring. “What?”
“Nothing. What’s that?”
“A game I wanted to show you.” She lifts the game and smiles. “It’s The Evil Within. I checked your games and you don't have it. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Is it two player?”
“Nope.” A wicked smile crosses her lips and she holds out a fist. “We gamble for who gets to play first.”
Curiosity makes me pull back from the fist. “What are you doing with that?”
“Rock, paper, scissors?” She laughs and furrows her brow, saying it like I’m insane and should have known that.
“Oh, okay. Right.” I lift my fist and wait for her to get closer.
She frowns at my fist. “Easy tiger. Looks like you’re going to punch me.”
“I don't hit girls.”
“It was a joke.” Her frown turns into a large grin. “I could have told you that from the moment I met you.” She lifts her hand and gives me a challenging stare. “Ready?”
“Yup.” The look in her eyes is crazy, like this is the most excited she’s ever been. “You seriously are a very only child.”
She wrinkles her nose and shakes her hand once. “Rock, paper, scissors.” On the third strike she had a rock and I have paper.
“Ha, you are a lucky charm. I win.” I reach for the game, but she pulls it back.
“Two outta three.”
“Not a chance.” I reach past her, getting too close. She pulls back, but somehow I end up with my arms around her. She’s giggling and writhing, and I sort of stop trying to get the game. My arms completely wrap around her, pulling her into me.
Her giggling dies off as she stares straight into my eyes, struggling to catch her breath.
Every single inch of me wants to take this and the wide-eyed stare she’s giving me all the way home, but I don't. I fight all my urges and lift her back on her feet, savoring the last second of her in my arms before pulling back and looking down. “Sorry. I—”
“It’s okay.” She hands me the game and laughs. “It wasn't anything.” She gets her breath and gives me a smug look. “Let’s see how you do.”
“What?” Holy shit, does she mean—?
“At the game.” She blushes and looks at my feet, biting her lip.
She’s a problem, but so am I. We have a major issue and it’s only been three days. This is going to be the hardest year of my life.
Chapter Thirteen
Worst day in a while
Natalie
Sami orders for us both. It’s a game we play where she thinks she can guess what I’m in the mood for. It almost never goes the way she thinks it will, but I don't care. I’m just glad she’s here. I need to talk to her about Brady and the weird thing that's going on there. I like him and I sort of don't know how to even comprehend that. I have a boyfriend, and I’m not in the market for a slutty hockey player.
She gives the server a pleasant smile. “Thanks.”
He smiles back, obviously aware of who she is and leaves, sort of bowing a couple of times. It’s what people on the East Coast do when they see her.
Her dark-green eyes flicker to me the moment he’s gone. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve said it like a hundred times. Stop. It’s getting annoying.” I lean across the table and take her long tanned fingers in mine. “I get it.”
“No, I was a coward. I kept hoping you’d see how lame he is but somehow he keeps roping you back in.” She rolls her eyes, avoiding mine.
“Seriously, stop. I just want to know what makes you hate him. The things you haven’t told me.” I lift my hands and shake my head. “Just hit me with it.” I lift the gin and tonic and chug the entire glass, letting the straw rest against my cheek. “Do it.”
She bites her glossy berry-colored lip, shaking her head. Dread fills her eyes.
“You have to. You owe me.”
She glances around the cute restaurant we agreed to meet at after work. She flew up in the helicopter and met me here. Finally, her eyes land on her dirty martini. She lifts the glass and chugs it, something she never does in public. “Okay, so last summer when you were broken up, he slept with Karen on his dad’s yacht.”
“Hartmann?”
“Yeah.” She picks the pickled onion from the glass and chews, shuddering from the flavor. “Then you guys broke up in November, and he slept with Annalisa when he was home for Thanksgiving.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? She slept at my house in November. We had that huge Twilight movie night. What a bitch.”
She looks nervously for the server, offering a quick wave as she points at our drinks. “Then you guys got back together, and when you broke up in April he slept with like five girls from Princeton. He was bragging about it when Rich was with them and he told me. Rich said he hated the way Will always broke up with you so he could bang chicks and not actually cheat on you. Then he would get it out of his system and get back together with you. Rich said William’s been doing this since you started dating. He said he knows he will marry you because you’re the right kind of girl, but he isn’t ready to get married, and he doesn't want you to meet someone else so he strings you along until he’s ready and has sewed all his wild oats. These little breakups keep him sane.”
My stomach is sour but when the server comes, I down my next drink, making a motion for him to bring another. “He purposely causes fights and makes me feel like it’s me so he can fuck someone?” I might be sick. “He’s stringing me along so I won’t meet someone else and be happy?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“How long have you known?” This is the part of the story I care about. The fact he’s made an absolute fool of me and humiliated me for the past couple of years hurts on a level I’m not ready to deal with. I need to focus on something, and I randomly choose how long she has known. Like making this her fault will make it easier to cope with. It’s petty and I know I’m doing it, but I can’t stop.
“Since last month.” She sounds ashamed.
A month? That's not so bad.
“I was about to tell you, but you guys were broken up and then you got a job and you were doing so well so I didn't want to say anything. Then you got back together with dipshit, and I knew I would have to tell you.” She lowers her gaze again, completely in shame. “Two days before you got the job was when Rich told me everything. He said you deserved so much better and neither of
us knew how to tell you.”
“Oh my God. I am such an idiot. He’s been playing me all this time, and I’ve been acting like it’s cool because my mom wants me to marry him.”
“You are perfect. He’s an asshole. An entitled dick. Screw him.”
I lift my gaze, seeing it so clearly. “You’re right. He is an entitled dick. But I’m an idiot.” I’m nauseated but the next drink arrives in a hurry. I down it like the last two, fighting off tears and a lot of self-loathing. How could I be so dumb and let him and my mom—no, this is all mine. I let them.
“You have an awesome job. A super-cute roommate who is the perfect guy to get under for some rebound. You have your own things going on. You don't need William Fairfield. Screw him!”
I nod along, listening but not really. I reach across the table and drink her drink too. Sweat covers my brow. “I need some air.”
She throws down a hundred dollars and follows me from the restaurant.
I head for Bushnell Park, trying not to cry or stumble or just drop to the concrete and refuse to move until the past three years are stricken from my record. “I almost told him I loved him, like five times.”
“I know.” She links arms with me and helps me. I can’t even be mad at her. She’s wrestled with this for a month, desperate to help me with it—wait. I lift my head and scowl. “Did you hook me up with Brady as my roommate and hope I would screw him and realize what a knob William is so you wouldn't have to tell me?”
She parts her lips, ready to defend herself but stops short, closing her lips and pressing them together. Tears fill her eyes but a terrible feeling lodges itself in my throat.
“Does Brady know this?” His knowing is somehow worse. I assumed the weird wrestling thing over the game was innocent. And the way he looked at me. But if he’s the hired help, I’m going to die, like walk into traffic.
“No. He’d be pissed if he did. He’s not like that. He’s just slutty and we thought that maybe—”
“Oh God, you and Matt thought. You and him talked about this. You talked about me being a loser.”
