I'll Be the One

by Hazel James

  “I had a pretty good day. I did a one-mile assessment after school with some of the girls from track. We’re gearing up for an invitational and coach wants to make sure the holidays didn’t take too much out of us.”

  “How’d that go?” The girl with the golden legs has been running through my mind all day. Pun intended.

  “I came in at 5:45.”

  Holy shit. That’s only about 20 seconds off my time. “Why don’t you sound very proud of that?”

  “Eh, it was far from a personal record.”

  “It’s still pretty amazing. You should give yourself credit.” Someone says something in the background and she pulls away from the phone.

  “No, not under 5:30. Yes, I’ll make sure to get it down. Jamie, a new classmate.”

  Jamie?

  “Sorry, that was my dad. He just got home.” I can practically hear her eyes rolling.

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “He’s such an ass. Of course the only thing he cares about is my time from today and that it’s not fast enough for his liking.”

  “Wow, your dad sounds like a twatwaffle. Who’s Jamie?”

  “You are. I didn’t feel like telling him I was on the phone with a boy, especially since he’s pissy.”

  “He doesn’t let you talk to boys? It’s a good thing I’m an outstanding specimen of a man,” I say, emphasizing the last word. She laughs, which is what I was hoping for. Her douchebag dad isn’t going to ruin our conversation.

  “He thinks boys will distract me from running, so generally speaking, I’m not allowed to date.”

  Now Avery’s comment at lunch makes sense. “So that’s why you’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  “Yup, good ol’ dad.”

  “Well, I don’t think he’ll be a problem for me. I don’t want to date you.”

  “You don’t?” She sounds wounded and for some odd reason, that makes me smile. We’ve definitely been flirting, but I still don’t know if I’m competing against anyone else. Just because she’s not allowed to date doesn’t mean she doesn’t like someone else. The fact that I don’t have any hints into that area in her life is both maddening and perplexing. Normally, I get a sense of whether or not a girl likes me (hence me, Brittney and third base). But Rachel? Nothing.

  “I married you today, so the way I see it, we’re way past the dating phase. In fact, aren’t we supposed to be talking about where we want to live?”

  “Wow, you take your homework seriously, don’t you?”

  “Very. After all, I did make a vow.” Now seems like a great time to shove apple pie in my mouth to prevent “Maybe one day it’ll be for real” from coming out. Restraining orders aren’t very sexy. While I may not know exactly how she feels about me, I know there’s no one else I want to third base with. Is it even possible to use third base as a verb?

  “I thought most high school guys were afraid of commitment.”

  “Is this the part where I say ‘I’m not like most guys?’”

  “But at lunch you said you’ve never had a girlfriend, so what do you really know about commitment? For all I know, you’re a manwhore with a track record of breaking hearts.”

  Though I’m tempted to go for the obvious ego boost, it doesn’t take psychic abilities to know that’s not the best idea. “I know I’ll never lie to a girl, and I won’t commit unless I mean it.”

  “Very smooth, James.”

  “There’s nothing smooth about it. I spent all my life watching my mom follow guys around the country. She found out she was adopted in high school and left right after graduation. She fell into the hippie crowd and their idea of free love, which basically meant they were free to come and go as they pleased. I got tired of moving from city to city watching Mom give pieces of her heart away to guys whose promises lasted as long as their marijuana supply. I will never treat a girl the way those guys treated my mom.”

  I didn’t mean to go all truth diarrhea on her, but at least she can’t say I’m not sincere. Several seconds pass. I wish she’d say something. Just as long as it doesn’t begin with “It was nice knowing you.”

  “Wow. Um. Sounds like your future girlfriend will be a lucky girl.”

  Tell her. Quit being a pussy and just tell her.

  “What about you? Would you have a boyfriend if your dad wasn’t the Joseph Stalin of dating?”

  Pussy.

  “I don’t know. Not that I’d have much of a shot with anyone in school anyway.”

  “Why not? Did you accidentally kill the school mascot or something?” I take another bite of pie and wonder if I can sneak more out of the kitchen. Growing boy and all.

  “No,” she laughs. “I’m just not the type of girl a guy goes for. Which is okay. I deal with enough drama in Avery’s love life.” She tries to laugh that part off too, but I’m not buying it.

  “So guys in North Carolina don’t like hot blondes?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “They don’t like girls with crazy dads?”

  “It’s okay, James. We can change the subject now. I’m starting to sound like I’m fishing for compliments, and that’s most definitely not the case.”

  “I didn’t think you were. I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong with the guys here. Oh God, you don’t secretly have a penis do you?”

  For the next ten seconds, I listen to the glorious sound of her full-on belly laughter, and I can’t help but join in.

  “James, no!” she yells when she finally takes a breath. “I most definitely do not have a penis.”

  “Well that’s a huge relief. Because that could get really awkward.” I cannot third base with a penis.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m discussing penises with a boy on the phone.”

  “Quit facepalming, Rachel. These are important details we should know about each other.”

  “How’d you know I was facepalming?”

  “I can hear it in your voice. You’re blushing so hard, there’s heat leaking out of my phone.”

  “Oh God, will you quit talking about heat and leaking?” She erupts in another fit of giggles and officially becomes the girl of my dreams. I’m grinning so hard my face hurts, but it’s a small price to pay for the absolute torture I’m putting her through. She’s gonna spill the beans on this “not their type” shit, or else.

  “Let’s regroup. You’re a hot blonde with no penis. What’s wrong with the male population at school?”

  “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

  She sighs. I’m not sure she understands my level of persistence when it comes to getting what I want. I once sold all of my mom’s clothes in a yard sale because she said I could get a remote controlled car if I got the money. It’s not my fault that she didn’t specify how I got the money.

  “Fine, you win. I don’t exactly have the body guys are after. I’m built to be a runner. And that’s great, since I love running. It’s no big deal, and I definitely don’t lose any sleep over it, so you shouldn’t either.”

  “Last I checked, I’m a guy. I’d like to think that means I know a thing or two about what makes a girl attractive. Everything about you is built the right way, trust me.” Christ, this girl is killing me. Does she seriously not know how hot she is? That’s like people not loving my gran’s pie. It’s just not possible. Right on cue, my brain revisits the image of Rachel in the shower. Long, wet hair cascading over her soft shoulders, covering her small, perky breasts. Water spilling down her back and over the curves of her ass. Holy mother of God. Her voice snaps me out of my daydream.

  “Whatever you say, James.”

  “Don’t get weird on me.”

  “I’m not. I just feel embarrassed now.”

  “Well you shouldn’t. After all, we’re still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase, right? Now we both know you’re hot. Man, I sure am glad that’s settled.” I feign a sigh of relief. Before I can speak again, her dad comes back to
her room.

  “Tomorrow is fine. It’s Avery. A biology report on the study of equine fecal intolerance.”

  What?

  “Do I even want to know what that was about?”

  “I make up all sorts of projects so he’ll leave me alone. Right now, I don’t feel like dealing with any more of his horse shit.”

  Rachel Wheaton, you are my soulmate.

  “What was the last project you faked?”

  “Menstruation rituals in South American tribes.”

  “And why that one?” I ask over my last bite of pie.

  “Because he was being a douche.”

  Choking in front of the girl you have a crush on is incredibly embarrassing. My only saving grace is the fact that she can’t see me flailing around my room. I pound on my chest like a dying gorilla and finally manage to dislodge the chunk of apple wedged between my tonsils and my pride. Thirty seconds of coughing later, I’m pretty sure my windpipe is still giving me the middle finger.

  “James, are you okay?”

  “I’m good,” I wheeze. “Just having a disagreement with apple pie and gravity. You gotta warn me next time, Ray. I think I nearly died.”

  “I can see your headstone now: James: 0, Pie: 1”

  “My headstone better say something more heroic than that. What did your dad want this time?”

  “He wants me to start running tempo intervals tomorrow to get my time down.”

  “I haven’t even met him and already I can’t stand him. Is he running with you?”

  “God no, that would be taking him away from all of his important meetings.” I’m pretty sure she air quoted that last part. “He hired a personal coach for me and she’ll time me tomorrow. He comes to my races, but that’s about it. The only thing he cares about is me winning so he can brag some more. Sometimes I wish I could just quit.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  “One, because I love running. And two, because what else am I supposed to do with my time?”

  “I dunno. Go out with me?” Shit! I didn’t mean for that to come out. Well, I did, but not right now. I grab my guitar and start strumming to distract her.

  “Is that Lucy I hear?”

  “Yeah. Do you have any requests?” I plug my earbuds into my phone to free up both hands.

  “What’s your favorite song to play?”

  “It depends on what mood I’m in.” Right now, that would be embarrassed. Which is one I’m becoming more and more familiar with today. My fingers move to G major and I play the intro to Wish You Were Here. Because I wish she was.

  “Is that Pink Floyd?”

  “Very good, young grasshopper. What about this one?” I wonder if she’ll pick up on the meaning behind the title.

  “It sounds familiar. Keep playing.”

  I start singing the lyrics and she joins in when I reach My Brown-Eyed Girl. Maybe one day she will be. That is, if I can remember to breathe, keep my thoughts to myself and not choke on pie.

  “This is fun! Play another one.”

  “Hmm.” My fingers absently strum the strings as I think of what to play next. I could use this chance to tell her how I feel, or I could play it safe and come up with some pop radio bullshit. A quick round of eeny-meeny-miney-moe lands on taking a chance. “You may not know this one,” I say, beginning a Foreigner song. If she doesn’t get the hint after this one, I don’t know what else to try. I’ve never heard a song called “Rachel Wheaton, I like you.” With false confidence, I sing the first verse, pre-chorus and chorus of Waiting For a Girl Like You. There’s no way I can sing the second verse. Not yet, anyway.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that song before. I liked it though. You sang it really well. Have you ever performed for anyone before?”

  “Nah, I mostly just mess around in my bedroom. With my guitar, I mean. Not anyone else.” Shut up, mouth. “I mean, not like I haven’t kissed a girl before. Because I have. Just not in a while.” And clearly, that’s not going to change anytime soon. Jesus.

  Rachel laughs. “You sound really cute when you get tongue tied.”

  “Making an ass of myself is a gift, what can I say?” So much for impressing her.

  “You have nothing to worry about. I’m sure plenty girls will be beating down your door soon. You turned several heads today at lunch.”

  “I don’t care much about other heads. I quite enjoyed the scenery at my table.”

  “Yeah, Avery is pretty hot.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” How can this girl be so clueless about how hot she is? Rather than push my luck, I change the subject instead. “Speaking of lunch, you never asked me question twenty.”

  “I think I’m going to save it, if that’s okay. Since it’s my last one, I want to make sure it’s good.”

  “Fine by me. That just means I get to hang out with you more.”

  “I’d hope so. My Economics grade is riding on you.”

  “I’ll ignore that extremely easy opportunity for a dirty joke. Maybe we should get together this week and go over our project.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. I’ve gotta take Avery to the diner on Wednesday. She works there after school a few days a week. Want to meet there?”

  “Sure. Maybe I can see if they’re looking to hire while I’m there. I want to get an electric guitar. I should probably have some cash set aside for truck repairs, too.”

  “Is it already breaking down on you?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure it will soon. Grandpa said it’s been held together with duct tape and prayers for the last couple of years.” We both laugh together.

  “I can text Avery to see if they’re hiring since her aunt owns it. I’ll let you know what she says. I should probably go for now though. I need my beauty sleep.”

  I do my best to keep her from hearing my disappointment. “You could pull an all-nighter and still not need beauty sleep.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Just stating a fact. Good night, Ray.”

  “’Night.” A moment passes, then another. “Hey James?” she asks quietly.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you moved here.” Her voice is just above a whisper, but my heart soaks it up as if she shouted it.

  “Me too.”

  I can’t believe this is actually happening. So what if we only met each other a few days ago? Everything about the way his arms feel around me feels so, so right. He strings a line of kisses from my shoulder to my neck. There has never been a more glorious feeling in the world. His callused fingertips trail across my collarbone, and his hands stop just above my breasts, waiting for permission. I arch into him and kiss his gorgeous lips in approval. His tongue enters my mouth as he cups my breasts and I whimper with need. My hands, starved for his body, reach under his shirt and feel muscle after muscle. Hot firefighter? Check, check, check.

  “You are so fucking beautiful, Rachel.” He accents every word with a kiss. I run my fingers through his hair and move my lips toward his ear. He groans, grabs my hips, and lifts me up. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist and stay there, even after he lays me down on the bed. His weight presses against me in the most delicious way, igniting nerve endings I didn’t know existed. I should really pay better attention in Anatomy and Physiology. Though James doesn’t seem to mind giving me a private lesson on the subject. He’s a very dedicated tutor.

  I return my lips to his and savor every kiss. Fast. Slow. Deep. Teasing. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this my whole life. Not that anyone else could ever compare to James. No, he and his tongue are in a league all their own. We roll over and I straddle his hips, grinding into him. I don’t know how far we’ll actually get, but I’m glad I’m already on the pill. He moans my name, and the sound fills me with power and courage. I rock back and pull my shirt over my head, knocking my hair out of the loose bun I had at the base of my neck. He sits up and sweeps my long locks over my shoulder then covers the black lace of my bra with his mouth, sending a cur
rent from my heart to the space beneath my matching panties.

  “James,” I say, breathlessly. I can’t tell if it’s a request or a plea. He responds by unhooking my bra. His fingers trace my shoulders and guide the straps down my arms.

  “Mmmm,” he says, before devouring one nipple, then the other. I suck in a breath and fist my hands in his hair. I knew his mouth was beautiful, but I had no idea it was so talented. So very, very talented.

  Garth Brooks comes into my room and starts singing Shameless, and while I’m thrilled by his performance, I’d much rather be focusing on James’ performance. Go away, Garth.

  I turn back to James and he’s gone. And still, Garth keeps singing. And singing. What the actual fuck?

  “Shut up, Garth!” I grab my phone off my nightstand and hurl it toward him. My eyes snap open when my phone hits the closet door. Garth is still singing, but now it’s muffled by the carpet. I rub my eyes and retrieve my phone to silence my alarm. 6:53 a.m.

  It was a dream.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it.

  If there’s a name for the female equivalent of blue balls, I have it. I head toward the bathroom for a cold shower. Only eight more hours until my date with James. And by date, I mean two people meeting at the same public location for the purpose of a school project.

  One in which we’re married.

  I can’t wait.

  “You sure are smiley today. What gives?” Avery sits down in the front seat and blasts the heat. I’m not sure if she realizes North Carolina is about thirty degrees warmer than New York. Her Yankee blood must be sooo last season.

  “Just looking forward to this afternoon.” Trying to hide my crush from her is pointless. Avery has a knack for sniffing out important stuff. Clearance racks and secrets are her specialty. Still, I’m keeping my dream to myself. She doesn’t need to know I was this close to losing my dream virginity. Or that Garth barged in on us. Some things are just far too embarrassing to share.

  “Since when did taking me to work get so exciting?”

  “Since I’m meeting James there.”

  “I knew it! Are you two in Economics love?”