by Hazel James
“A special nickname for Leilani and Clay.”
She scrunches her brow and then says, “I know! They can be ‘The Workouts!’”
“That’s good, but I was thinking something more like…” Rebecca snaps her fingers. “Claylani.”
“Oh my God, are you serious?”
“It’s genius! You two should get married and make fitness videos. You could call it ‘Killing Calories with Claylani.’”
“Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”
“Absolutely not. Clay’s the one who’s all about goals. I bet if I ran it past him, he’d give me a gold star for planning ahead.”
I point a two-pack of sausage in her direction. “If you do that, I’ll tell him you haven’t started looking for a place to live yet.”
Her mouth opens, then closes as she accepts defeat. With a month and a half left in Operation: OklaHOMEa, she’s supposed to have a list of potential houses already. “You’re evil,” she says, scratching her nose with her middle finger.
“And yet you love me.” Three short warning sirens from my back pocket interrupt our banter. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I mutter, pulling out my phone.
Mom: Are you going to be home tonight?
Me: Yes
Mom: Good
Me: ??
Mom: Special delivery.
I tap the thumbs up emoji. Knowing her, she’s probably sending an industrial-sized box of bubble wrap to protect me from the hazards of life.
“Have you told your mom about Clay yet?”
“Hell no! It’s bad enough getting the third degree about my health every week. I don’t need her meddling in my love life, too.”
Rebecca nods in sympathy. She’s heard enough of Mom’s interrogations to know what that would entail. “You’ll have to tell her eventually… unless you plan on going home after your time’s up here?”
It’s easy to catch the hidden message. Kiki asked me the same thing a few days ago. Some of my civilian friends back home thought I was nuts for choosing to move to a place without knowing anyone, let alone stay there for good. In their world, they have plenty of time to make friends and develop relationships, but we don’t have that luxury in the military. We eat fast, march fast, and skip all the introductory bullshit that comes with meeting new people. We jump right into the deep end because our world doesn’t have any room for the shallow side.
I don’t hide my smile when I answer her. “If I go home, it’ll just be for a visit.”
“Eek!” Rebecca’s entire face lights up while we cross the parking lot. “You two are so getting married.”
For a split second, I indulge her fantasy. Clay and I have only been together or a few weeks, but it might as well have been all summer. It took my parents far less time to realize they’d met their match, and they’ve been married for more than thirty years now.
Bristol glances up at me with an expression that mirrors her mom’s. “You’re getting married, Leilani? Can I be the flower girl?”
“No, your mom’s just being silly.”
“I bet you twenty bucks I’m right.”
I whip my head toward Rebecca, ready to talk her down, when I catch her smirk. “Jeez, the girl with the gambling addiction makes one joke…”
“He’s gonna get meee!” The combination of Bristol’s shrieks and giggles when Marshall hoists her over his head proves she’s not the least bit upset about being captured. With the two of them distracted, Blake positions himself at the top of a rocket-shaped jungle gym and aims his water gun, blasting them both with a steady stream. He belts out a pint-sized evil laugh and escapes down a slide.
Rebecca smiles, tipping her chin toward the playground. “It’s hard to tell who’s having more fun out there.”
I nod. I’m happy the kids are having fun—that was the point of doing this barbecue before we got wrapped up in final preparations for Battles 2—but being around Marshall still makes my eye twitch. He hasn’t said anything else about my relationship with Clay since our conversation on Monday. In fact, he’s gone out of his way to be complimentary. I know he’s being fake, but it’s hard to explain to other people why you don’t like someone who’s telling you how great your eye makeup looks.
Today, he made a big show of helping Rebecca and me unload her trunk, saying shit like, “Oh, wow! You got my favorite sausage!” and “This fruit salad looks delicious.” I should have gotten a trophy for only rolling my eyes once and not tripping him while he was carrying the food.
“What’s that grin for?” Rebecca asks.
Oh, just thinking about Marshall face-planting into the baked beans. “Clay’s on his way.” Which is also true. He texted me while she was fixing Blake’s sandal a few minutes ago.
“So…” Rebecca glances around our picnic table ensuring we’re alone. “You know how Marshall pulled me aside after we set up the food?”
“Mm hmm.”
“He asked me out again.”
“What’s this, the seventh time?” I scoff. She’s always turned him down because she wanted to focus on her fresh start with Operation: OklaHOMEa. Sadly, I think it only encouraged him. Men like Marshall don’t like hearing the word no.
“I said yes.”
My first reaction is to check her for a fever. I blame that on Mom. “You sure that’s a good—”
“He’s picking me up tonight at my parents’ after the kids go to bed.”
Wait, she went from being nowhere near the dating train to driving the damn thing? “Why so soon?” Or ever? I silently add.
She fiddles with the tab on her Dr. Pepper can while choosing her words. “Hearing Bristol ask about being the flower girl made me realize I won’t ever find someone if I don’t start dating again. It’s hard enough to meet a guy who’s okay with me having kids. Meeting one who can also hold down a decent job is even harder. Marshall has a check in both boxes, plus he’s fucking hot. Why shouldn’t I date him?”
I could list a few things right now, starting with because he’s an ass, but this requires a more rational approach. “He doesn’t seem like a good fit for you. I mean, have you ever noticed who the majority of his clients are? Women. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who wants to be exclusive.”
Her brows pull together. “Why does it sound like you’re trying to talk me out of this?”
“I’m not. I’m just concerned.”
“About a man who’s been nothing but nice to you?” She rises from the bench. “Of all the people in the world, I thought you’d be happy for me. Guess I was wrong.” She strides toward the playground, leaving me in an alternate universe where Marshall’s the hero and I’m the bad guy.
By the time the barbecue ends, my head is throbbing and my loins are giving me the middle finger because there’s no way I can collect on my random acts of kindness reward tonight. I blame Marshall, which only amplifies my animosity toward him.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat as Clay drives around the auto shop to my apartment.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He links his fingers with mine and lifts the back of my hand to his lips, but pauses midway, squinting out the windshield. “Is that…?”
His headlights illuminate the passenger side of a red Camaro.
Oh God.
Mom’s special delivery.
Clay unclips a key from his keyring and unlocks the glove box. “Stay here.” He’s halfway out of the car when I realize what’s in his hand.
“Clay, no! Don’t shoot him. I know who it is.”
“Him?” His voice is low, teetering somewhere between murderous and accusatory.
I nod. “Travis.”
Jackass Number Nine
SWEAT STINGS MY EYES AS I start my next set of alternating hammer curls. This time I pretend it’s Travis’s neck I’m gripping instead of my dumbbells.
It’s hard to say what I hated more—not being allowed to kick his ass for thinking he still had a chance with her, or knowing he was there because Leilani hasn’t told her par
ents about us. I didn’t expect her to make some grand proclamation to them, but damn, wasn’t I at least worth a passing mention?
I figured she’d tell that cock-juggling thundercunt to leave but instead, she mumbled something about listening to what he had to say.
I left her apartment about three minutes after I pulled up because I was dangerously close to getting arrested for battery. Thank Christ for Battles being closed and the extra gear I keep in my office. After a couple of hours of bench presses, flys, pull ups, and rows, I’m finally feeling less homicidal.
On my last curl, my phone lights up with Marshall’s name. I hit the speaker button and wipe the bottom of my shirt across my face. “Hey, man.”
“Hey, I saw you called earlier.”
“Wanted to see if you were up for a game of pool or something. I ended up coming to Battles instead.”
“Sorry, I just got back from a date. You okay? I thought you had plans with Leilani tonight.”
“They changed.”
“You sound pissed.”
“We… had an argument.” Not exactly, but that’s the easiest way to sum up our short exchange of words before I left.
“About her moving back to Colorado?”
I stare at the phone trying to make sense of what he said. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh. Uhh.” He pauses. “I overheard her on the phone with someone a few days ago. She said something about going home as soon as her lease was up.”
My lips press into a thin line. So this is all a joke to her? A way to pass the fucking time while she’s down here?
“Maybe I’m wrong though,” Marshall quickly adds.
“Maybe,” I echo, wishing I believed it. So much for being a good judge of character. “I’ve gotta go, man. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Later.”
I toss my cell on the bench and attempt to focus on my last set of hammer curls.
Lift, exhale.
Lower, inhale.
Lift, exhale.
Lower, inhale.
Marshall’s words flood my head again. Moving back to fucking Colorado? Is that why the taint licker drove here? I should’ve thrown him off the staircase when I had the chance.
With a new surge of anger fueling my arms, I abandon my counting and curl the dumbbells until my form turns to shit and my muscles beg for mercy. I curse his name all the way back to the weight rack, then collapse on the rubber mat, palms upward, too exhausted to do anything but breathe.
A knock on the glass door interrupts my break. It’s as irritating as it is surprising.
“Done playing catch-up with Travvy-wavvy?” I ask, twisting the deadbolt with more force than necessary when Leilani steps inside.
Her brows draw together. “You act like I had something to do with him showing up on my doorstep.”
How she can stand there and act like she’s innocent is beyond me. I stride past her, stopping at the first leg machine I come to and count the number of forty-five pound plates on either end of the barbell.
Two. Four. Six. Seven.
Not enough—not nearly enough—but my upper body is too smoked to sling more weights around.
I adjust the seat and position my shoes on the footplate, then flip the safety catch and relish the burn in my quads each time my knees bend.
“He left. He’s staying at a hotel tonight and driving back tomorrow.”
I’d love to see that pansyass press this. He’d probably shit himself.
“Jesus Christ, Clay. You communicate for a living. Will you quit acting like a caveman and talk to me?”
Fuck that. I lock the safety and spring off the seat. “You want to talk about cavemen? He came down here to piss on your leg and drag you home!”
She stomps toward me. “And you assumed I was going to run back to him! Does our relationship really mean that little to you?”
My body instinctively wants to lean in and wrap my arms around her, so I step back and run my hands through my hair instead. “Our relationship? You mean the one you were planning to throw away in three months?”
“What?”
“You’re going home as soon as you’re done here! Maybe that’s why you never told your parents about us.” Saying it out loud is another sucker punch straight to the gut. I can’t believe I was dumb enough to get involved with her.
“What makes you think I’m going home?”
“Marshall heard you say it.”
“Marshall?” Her nostrils flare like a bull ready to charge. “You’re pissed off because of some shit he told you?”
My arms fly out from my sides. “At least he told me! It’s more than you did.”
She narrows her eyes to thin slits and jabs her finger in my chest. “First of all, Marshall has no idea what he’s talking about. I’m not going anywhere. Second, I had a very specific reason for not telling my parents about you. And third,” she jabs me again, pushing harder this time, “screw you for assuming the worst about me without even fucking asking me.”
We stand there, toe-to-toe, chests heaving, while I wait for her to look away. To cue the water works. To give me any sign that she’s full of shit so I can be done with this once and for all.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
She still hasn’t moved.
Oh. Shit.
“You’re not moving back to Colorado.”
She shakes her head an inch to each side.
“And you and Travis aren’t…”
Another shake.
“Fuck.” I let out a ragged breath as regret and remorse become my new best friends. “I’m sorry, Lei. I just…” I lift my shoulders, unable to find the right words to say how badly I fucked up.
“Turned into a jealous Neanderthal?” she suggests.
I nod, knowing it’s on the nicer end of the names I deserve to be called.
“Well now that I’ve had some ibuprofen and you’ve pulled your head out of your ass, we need to discuss a few things.” She arches a brow and points to a weight bench a few feet away. Leilani’s almost a foot shorter than me and weighs about a hundred pounds less, and right now she holds all the power. My stomach lurches as I take a seat beside her.
“I am going home after my lease ends, but only for a week. My mom didn’t like the idea of me moving down here for good. I talked her off the ledge with a promise to visit them when Operation: OklaHOMEa is over.”
For good. She’s moving here for fucking good. I don’t know who’s more stupid—Marshall for running a seventh-grade gossip mill or me for believing it.
“And the reason I didn’t tell them we’re dating had nothing to do with Travis or me not taking our relationship seriously. Up until tonight, you were mine. You weren’t another topic on the list of things my mom interrogates me about. I wasn’t ready to give that up.”
Although that makes perfect sense, I can’t help but zero in on one phrase. I grip the edge of the padded bench and ask, “What does ‘up until tonight’ mean?”
“It means you have a FaceTime date with my mom tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thank God.” My breath comes out in one giant, relieved whoosh.
She scrunches her face. “You’re happy about that?”
“I’m happy you’re not breaking up with me for being the world’s biggest jackass.”
“You’re more like the ninth biggest jackass,” she says, the corners of her mouth curving up. “We have to save room for the people who kick puppies and illegally park in handicap spaces.”
I return her smile. “We can’t forget about them. But seriously… how much groveling does Jackass Number Nine have to do? Asking for a friend.”
Leilani throws her head back in a fit of laughter. “I’ll give you a get-out-of-jail-free card because you’re usually the rational one and you’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.”
I turn sideways, straddling the bench, and pull her onto my lap. “You think I’m cute?”
“And modest, too
,” she jokes, wrapping her legs around my back. I lace my fingers across her ass and lower my forehead to hers, appreciating everything about this moment more than I ever have before.
“I’m really, really sorry.”
“I know. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
She brings up an interesting point. “Speaking of, how’d you know where I’d be? You never called.”
“I saw the way you looked when you got in your car. There was no way you were going home.” Her tone isn’t accusatory, but I still feel like shit for the way I acted.
“Can I blame tonight on temporary insanity from being crazy about you?”
Her eyes flicker with mischief, but before I can ask what she’s up to, she grinds against me in a slow, torturous circle. “You’re crazy about me, huh?”
“A little.” I fight to keep my hands in place, which becomes increasingly difficult when she repeats the motion with more pressure.
“How about now?”
My fingers dig into her hips to keep her from moving, but she does it again, this time raking her nails up the back of my head.
“Lei,” I whisper, half warning, half plea.
“Security cameras?” Her breath is hot against my neck and I instinctively tilt my head to give her better access.
“Just outside.”
With a wicked grin, she stands up and drops her shorts to the floor. “Good. It’s time to collect on my random act of Clayness prize.”
Leilani scoops another glob of coconut oil from the jar and rubs it across my upper chest. Her silky touch would be a hell of a lot more enjoyable if we were in my bed and not the middle of my gym. Desperate to stop the telltale tightening in my balls, I think of as many cities in Oklahoma as possible.
Tulsa.
Norman.
Bixby.
“It’s times like this I really wish I had two hands.”
“Why’s that?”
Mustang.
Holdenville.
Seminole.
“It’s a damn shame I can’t feel this twice over.” She helps herself to more oil and slides her palm down my torso.
“You’re not helping right now,” I say through clenched teeth.
