by Deena Bright
The audacity of this man! How dare he just assume that he’s taking me home? Alright Jasper it’s time to swoop in and save the day—what we all know you’re the best at.
Jasper eyes us carefully; then replies, “Sure, I was done with her tonight, anyway?”
Holy fuck, I will kill him in his sleep! That son of a bitch. You do not fuck with Charlene Palmer. “Perfect,” I say, winding my hand around Blaine’s tie. “This place is lame.” So yeah, that was my big comeback. I’m so flipping mad; I can’t even think straight.
“Have a good night, Char,” Jasper says, waving me off.
“Oh, I plan to, I plan to have a very hot night.”
BLAINE IS SMART. Blaine is witty and funny. Blaine has money—lots of money and an incredibly nice car. He’s fucking beautiful, sexy, and talented with his mouth and hands. He’s almost perfect.
Almost.
His one flaw?
He’s not Jasper. He’s not Jasper at all. And that’s what fucking sucks.
“Blaine, whoa whoa, hold on there,” I deter him, when he starts sliding his hand up my dress. “Slow down.”
“You’re joking?” he asks, sitting back up on my couch.
This is where it always gets tough. As a woman, I have a right to bring a man back to my condo, to kiss him, touch him, turn him on, and then send him packing if I’m not interested any longer. But this is where it also gets to be a little gray. Being a guy, he’s going to think that he has every right to fuck the shit out of me, because I let him go this far. It’s unfair of me to let him walk out my door with a raging, unsatisfied hard on.
Bullshit.
My body. My decisions. This isn’t my first go at this, either. I’m just not feeling it tonight. I might feel it tomorrow, but tonight, tonight my mind is somewhere else, on someone else.
“Not joking at all Blaine,” I say, confidently. “I had fun. I’d like you to call me, so we can have fun again, but tonight, this is where it stops. It’s getting late, and you should go.”
And now I wait.
Hope for the best.
Expect the worst.
“Alright. I gotcha,” Blaine finally says. “Ball’s in your court now. Here’s my card. Call me if you want to get together again.” Blaine gets a card out of his wallet and hands it to me.
Taking the card, I scribble my number on the back of his card and hand it back to him, “No chance, handsome, that’s not how I roll. If you want to see me, then you call me and ask me out.”
Smiling, Blaine takes the card and puts it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, “Well Miss Palmer, you are certainly full of surprises. Be expecting my call.”
Walking him to the door, Blaine grabs my hand and tugs me against him. Kissing me softly, he whispers, “I had fun tonight. Jasper Garrity is a fucking moron.”
Laughing, I open the door, and say, “Damn straight he is.” Blaine kisses me one last time before he leaves.
Sitting on my couch, I start flipping through the channels, when my cell phone dings. I don’t recognize the number, but the text reads:
I’m already thinking about you. Wanna go out next weekend?
I respond with:
I said call. Texting is lame. I’m not a 12-year-old girl. Man up, big boy.
My phone immediately rings. I answer the phone with, “You didn’t even give me a chance to program your name into my contacts.”
“I figured a woman like you had a pretty busy social calendar. I didn’t want to miss out on seeing you. So what do you say?” Blaine asks.
“To what?” I ask, coyly.
“Christ, are you always this high maintenance?” Blaine wonders.
“Usually much much worse,” I confess.
“Ohhh good, so maybe I could see more of this high maintenance woman next Friday, then?”
“You know where I live. Pick me up at 7:00 p.m.” I confirm. “Don’t be late.” Without listening for a response, I disconnect the call and turn the TV back up.
Just as I’m getting into one of my recorded episodes of Grey’s, there’s a slight, hesitant knock at my door. Whipping the door open, I say, “It’s not Frida—”
“Jesus Char, I thought you’d never kick him out,” Jasper says, barreling through the doorway. “You sure go to some extreme measures to tick me off, ya know that?”
“Jasper, what are you doing here?” I ask, slamming the door behind me. “Were you waiting outside for Blaine to leave—lurking in the parking lot?”
“No, I was driving around. I wasn’t sitting out there like some stalker with a voyeur fetish,” Jasper states, loosening his tie.
“Again, what are you even doing here?”
“I know you like trying to get under my skin and all, but screwing some guy to spite me is a bit much—even for you, don’t you think?” he asks, opening my fridge and getting out a beer.
“I’m not sure what makes you think you have any right to barge in here and start questioning me,” I state, grabbing my remote from him before he can change my channel. “And taking my beer.”
“Well, considering you were my date, I have every right to find out what you’re doing,” Jasper states, propping his feet up on my coffee table.
Knocking his feet off my table, I growl, “Get your feet off my table, you don’t even do that at your own house… and use a damn coaster.” Flinging a coaster at him, I aim directly for his head. Jasper catches it right before it hits him in the face. “And ‘date,’ my ass.”
“So, did you sleep with him?”
“Where do you get off asking me something like that?” I ask, staring at him incredulously
“You were my date. I have every right to know if my date ‘got lucky’ or not,” Jasper says, taking a drink of his beer.
“I’m not justifying that with an answer,” I say, walking to the fridge to get a bottled water.
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Jesus Jasper! What is this? The Egyptian Inquisition?”
“Spanish,” he sighs, “It’s the Spanish Inquisition.”
“How the fuck do you know they never questioned anyone in Egypt? Do you think they walked around Cairo taking everyone’s word for everything?” I challenge, angrily. “They could’ve had an inquisition. Who’s to say they didn’t? Were you there?” I ask, my blood beginning to boil.
“Cairo? Nice save,” Jasper says, nodding in approval. “And no Char, you’re right. I wasn’t at the Egyptian Inquisition.”
“Stop making fun of me, you pompous, arrogant asshole,” I yell, looking for something else to throw at him.
“You’re getting awfully defensive and argumentative, Char,” Jasper states. “Are you angry… or… are you afraid of something?” he asks, standing up.
“Fucking afraid of what?” I ask.
“Afraid… of… oh… I don’t know…” he says, walking toward me. “Afraid, I’ll do this.”
Jasper walks toward me as I walk backward until I hit the wall. Bracing his hands against the wall above my head, he leans in as close as he can get without actually touching me. My breath catches, fucking pissing me off. I hate that he has this power over me. I’m putty in his hands, and he God damn knows it.
“So are you, Char,” he whispers, “afraid of me?”
Taking a deep breath, I respond, “not at all.”
“Did you sleep with him?” he asks, his breath hot on my neck.
“Not yet,” I pant, equally wanting to push him away from me and pull him closer until our bodies were wrapped around each other—totally immersed in each other.
His eyes flash in anger and desire. Fuck yeah. Jasper Garrity’s jealous, and he fucking wants me. It’s about God damn time too. I turn my head from his gaze, looking away from his smoldering, sexy stare. If he wants me, then he’s going to have to work at it, just like everyone has to.
“Look at me,” he says, turning my head to meet his eyes. “Why not? Why didn’t you fuck him?”
I turn my head away, closing my
eyes. Hearing him say “fuck” like that makes me hot. That’s not the way he usually talks. I can’t answer him though. He knows. Jasper knows that the only reason I didn’t fuck Blaine Landers is because Blaine Landers isn’t and would never be Jasper Garrity. “Answer me, Char.”
With my eyes closed, I shake my head slightly, refusing to give him what he wants, denying him the truth. “Fire melts ice” is my only answer as I look back in his eyes.
Smiling, he says, “Ahhh, but don’t forget, ice puts out fire.”
“Well Jasper, looks like fire can win and ice can win, but they can both lose too,” I explain, raising an eyebrow. “The only way they can both win is if they both relinquish their power and meet in the middle.”
“Not true sweetheart, if they meet in the middle, then there will be nothing left of either of them. They’ll evaporate,” he says, backing away and dropping his hands.
“Would that be so bad?” I ask, taking a deep breath, immediately feeling the space and distance growing between us.
“Two things as powerful as fire and ice can never… ever… give up control, Char. That’s been the problem all along,” he confirms.
“So, you’re just going to deny this… this… whatever it is we have here? Just like you always do?” I ask, laying all the cards out on the table. “Because you’re afraid of losing control?”
Finishing his beer, he throws the bottle in the trash, and clears his throat. “It’d never work. We’re from two different worlds.”
“What worlds? Gas and liquid?” I question.
“Well look at you, busting out some chemical humor!” Jasper laughs, shaking his head.
“I’d rather see what kind of physical chemistry we really do have,” I joke, winking at him.
“What we have Char is what we’ve always had—a friendship—with a lot of sexual tension,” he admits, sighing deeply. “Plus, you’re my sister’s best friend. It would never work, and you know it… and we shouldn’t try to make it work,” he says, pulling me into a sweet, friendly hug.
Kissing my forehead, he adds, “You really are beautiful and were more beautiful than I have ever seen you tonight… and be careful, Blaine’s an ass.”
“I will,” I say, opening the door for him, knowing this little game of ours has run its course. “He may be an ass, but my God, have you seen how incredible his ass really is?”
“Good night, Char.”
“Good night, Jasper.”
One year later…
“I THINK WE should call Char, and get her opinion,” Jocelyn says, wiping her eyes. My sister’s been crying for two days now.
“Why would we care what Char thinks about this? Nelle’s our sister. It’s up to us to decide what to do with this information,” I explain, sick of talking about this with her. “I say we just sit Janelle down and tell her—put it all out on the table.”
“It’s going to destroy her. I can’t watch my baby sister crumble.”
“But you can sit back and let this fucker keep doing this shit to her? Nice,” I say. “I’m fucking telling her.”
“Please wait! We have to ask Char. She’s usually the voice of reason—”
“Char? Char’s the voice of reason? Have you lost your—”
“When it comes to Janelle, Char knows how to handle her and how to talk to her,” Jocelyn explains. “Those two never have the full-blown battles like you and I have with Janelle. Remember when Mom and Dad left, who was the one who got through to her?”
“Alright fine, call Char,” I relent, throwing the ingredients for my protein shake into the blender and hitting “grind,’ the exact thing that Char does to my nerves.
“HE FUCKING WHAT?” Char screams, blazing equally in shock and in rage. “I will fucking cut off his cock and feed to his that dumbass St. Bernard of theirs.”
“Had a vasectomy—last weekend,” my sister repeats, unnecessarily.
“And neither of you killed him—or told Nelle?” Char questions, glancing back and forth between the two of us, disbelievingly.
Holding my hands up, displaying innocence, “Jocelyn’s the one who found out. She’s the one who told me.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Jocelyn whines, falling down on my couch, covering her head with the pillow. “You know how Janelle gets when we talk about him.”
All of us have had our fair share of tongue-lashings from Janelle. Basically, she has told each of us, separately, that under no certain terms are we to speak ill of her husband—ever again. Janelle even told Char that if she ever belittled him again, then their friendship was over. Apparently, my baby sister is taking her vows very seriously and centering her loyalty solely around her husband. Big mistake. The man doesn’t deserve her loyalty, her respect, or her love. Hell, he doesn’t even deserve her. But she’s a blinded freak when it comes to him.
“So what’re you going to do, Jasper? Pay him off?” Char asks, seriously. “Blackmail? What?”
“No Char, this isn’t one of your daytime soaps. This is real life. We don’t go around paying people off and blackmailing them,” I say, swirling my protein shake around in my cup. “But… we could… oh, I know! This is perfect! We could get his evil twin to kill him—run over him with a jet ski or something.”
“Fuck off,” Char snarls, joining Jocelyn on the couch. “You’ve been such an ass since you quit drinking… and you never even used to drink that much. You should start up again. Take the edge off a bit—and maybe remove that stick from your ass.”
“Oh my God, I saw that one,” Jocelyn squeals, thankfully cutting Char off. “It was such a good storyline. Nobody knew he was really alive and living with an unidentified and unregistered Native American tribe.”
“You’re not helping,” Char groans, rolling her eyes at Jocelyn. Whispering to Jocelyn, she then adds, “Oh my God, it was so good.”
“I heard that,” I say, sitting on the barstool. “I think we should just sit her down and tell her everything—like now. Tonight at the latest.”
The looks on both of their faces tell me that we are far from being on the same page. “I don’t want to be the one to bear that bit of news,” Char states, shaking her head and waving her hands.
“Neither do I,” Jocelyn concurs. “Plus, Nelle is having such a crap school year this year. It’s only the end of October, and she’s already said it’s the worst teaching year she’s ever had. Remember? They gave her the bottom of the barrel this year. Six of her students have parole officers and two are currently on house arrest, ankle bracelet and all,” Joz reminds us. “No way! We can’t tell her now.”
“What do you want to do? Wait until June?” I ask, not believing the cowardice of these two women.
“At least June,” Jocelyn admits. “Jasper, do you have any idea how much we’re going to break her heart? This is going to destroy her. I don’t want any of us to have to destroy her.”
“Janelle can’t possibly teach and deal with this too,” Char agrees. It’s too much for her to handle and process—while dealing with 125 horny, angsty, and rebellious teenagers, too.”
“Are you two serious? You want to wait nearly seven months to tell her?” I ask, amazed.
“Maybe Marcus will tell her before that, and we won’t have to,” Jocelyn hopes.
“Yeah, and maybe, I’ll vote a straight Democratic ticket next Tuesday, too,” I quip, rolling my eyes at Joz’s absurdity.
“I don’t understand why we can’t just destroy him and fuck him up on our own?” Char asks, her eyes blazing in anger.
“It won’t help,” I say. “Janelle’s the one who has to see him for what he is.”
Jocelyn’s phone rings, “Hey baby, we’re almost done here, I’ll be—he what? Is he okay?” she asks, jumping up to get her shoes on and grab her purse.
Meanwhile, Char and I follow her around my living room, trying to get information out of her. Continuing, she says, “Shit, yeah, I’ll meet you at Children’s Hospital. I’ve got the insurance card in my purse. Have Kar
a and Carlee go next door to the Stewarts’ house until we get back. I love you too. Tell D, I love him. I’ll see you both in 20 minutes.”
Jocelyn flings the door open and runs out to her car, yelling, “Don’t worry, Rick thinks Darren broke his ankle and possibly his wrist at the Jump-o-leen Station. I’m meeting them at Children’s Hospital. I’ll call you when I know anything.” Jocelyn jumps in her car and peels out of the driveway like a bat out of Hell—or just like a worried mom of a daredevil little boy.
“Fuck, I hope he’s okay,” Char says, staring at Jocelyn’s SUV as it disappears down my road.
“She’ll call as soon as she knows anything,” I say, hiding my worry for my nephew. “With the way Donovan and Darren are constantly daring each other to do crap, this won’t be the last of their trips to the ER.”
“Will you call me… or make sure Nelle calls me… when you guys hear anything?” Char asks, walking back into the house. “I just have to get my purse.”
Going over to the sink, I start rinsing out my cup, avoiding eye contact with her. “Tell Blaine his presentation for the new walking park was impressive.”
“It was, wasn’t it? The puppies were a pretty good touch,” Char says, frowning, but nodding simultaneously. “Blaine actually bought that little white fluffy one.”
“Yeah, as soon as he brought those little furballs into the meeting, I knew I was toast. He knew his audience, the demographics. One old man and four middle-aged fat women were going to choose the advertising company catering to the puppies,” I admitted. “You’re good for him. He’s been much more tolerable this past year—ever since—you know, you guys started going out.”
Nodding, “Blaine’s a good guy. He’s got a good heart,” Char says, her eyes watering up.
“Char? What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling completely uncomfortable.
“Blaine would never get a vasectomy without telling me. He’d never hit on my best friend… or my sister… or anything like that,” she says, sobbing into her hands. “I’m sorry Jasper, I have to go. I didn’t mean—”
