Open Lanes

by Mary Morano

  “Yeah, they say you have a micro-penis.” I tell him with a shrug, as he starts choking for real. I don’t even try to help, at least if we crash this embarrassing conversation will be over.

  It takes a minute for him to get himself under control. Unfortunately, it’s before we crash so he continues right along talking about his dick. “Well, if that’s the rumor, whoever started it is just mad they never saw it. But why are you discussing it with your roommate?”

  “She’s got an obsession.” I tell him, she’s not here, throwing her under the bus is totally acceptable right now.

  “Ok, and what did you tell her when she asked? You know since you haven’t seen it since we were like three.”

  “Ten, we were ten when you decided to scar me for life and run down the dock naked to jump in the pond on our camping trip.”

  “Hmm… interesting that you remember the last time you saw my dick. So, what did you tell her, you still haven’t told me?”

  “I told her the rumors are right.” Deciding this conversation is done. I open my phone and pull up my text with Jess. He just laughs in the driver’s seat at my dismissal. Jerk.

  Jess: Not true? How is that possible?

  Jess: He’s huge. It can’t be small?

  Jess: You’re lying, right?

  Jess: NICOLE!

  Jess: How can you break my heart like that and just stop answering?

  Jess: NICOLEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

  Jess: Bitch!

  This time I stifle my laugh not wanting to open that line of discussion up again with him. It was enough the first time.

  Me: My bad. Brayden was asking me a question.

  Jess: Was it to sit on his face? Because otherwise I don’t care.

  Me: You’re stupid.

  Jess: You love me.

  Me: I do.

  Jess: Good, now give me the details.

  Me: The rumors are definitely false… According to the bulge, it’s wayyyyyy bigger.

  Jess: OMG! I just died and went to porn dream heaven.

  Me: Okay, and goodbye.

  I shake my head at her and return my phone to the pocket of my bag on the floor beside my feet. I love my roommate, but she’s crazy. I grab the bag in the back with the pie and place it on the area between our seats, then hand him a spoon before I take mine and start digging in.

  After a while, and some spoonfuls of delicious homemade pie later, my attitude and embarrassment fades, allowing me to once again relax and enjoy the surroundings. The weather is beautiful, the sun is shining and the trees along the highway are all blooming. Everywhere you look there are signs of new life. It’s kind of hard to stay mad when surrounded by the beauty of nature.

  Soon enough we are listening to music and singing along. I laugh as he tells me stories of our childhood from his perspective, and he laughs when I argue with his recollections. Oddly enough while we both remember the details differently, both versions show how strong our friendship used to be. A friendship I’m starting to realize I may miss more than I let myself acknowledge. Secretly, I may be glad that I was forced into this road trip. It looks like I might be getting a friend back because of it.

  We get onto the topic of what we thought we would be when we grew up. He tells me how he remembers me wanting to be president of the world, and I shake my head at the memory of me walking around with a crown on my head telling everyone I was going to be the leader of the whole planet. Apparently just being president of the USA wasn’t enough power for me. Maybe he had a point, I was a tiny bit bossy as a kid. I hit him back with the memory of him running around as a child in his chaps and cowboy hat because he wanted to grow up to be a cowboy. He laughs when he tells me he still wishes that was an option. Then he tells me that he planned to stop at a place called Carson City on this road trip. He had found mentions of it when he was doing research, because yes, apparently, he did a lot of research on places to stop. It was supposed to be a town set in the ‘Olden Times,’ his description not mine, where they had cowboy and Indian fights, and other fun stuff to do. Unfortunately for him, it closed something like 30 years ago, and he had been reading up on people’s memories of it. He honestly seemed more upset about this than any rational person would be and I wonder if he isn’t exaggerating about still wishing he could be a cowboy. I’m sure the female population would appreciate him running around in just chaps and a cowboy hat. I know I would.

  Our conversation moves from the past to the future with ease, as we talk about what we are studying, and what we want to really be when we grow up. I am honestly surprised to hear his plans, though he doesn’t seem surprised at all to hear mine.

  “I think I’m going to enter the draft senior year.” He says shocking me. I knew he was really good, but I didn’t know he was that good. He smiles at the look of surprise that I’m sure is plastered on my face. “I’ve had some interest from scouts, nothing concrete, but enough to let me know I have a shot. I figure if I don’t give it a try, I will always wonder what-if.”

  “Wow… I had no idea you were considering that. I thought you were studying business?”

  “So, you did know I existed on campus?” He teases.

  “Despite my best efforts, you’re hard to ignore.” I grumble in response. The jerk laughs again.

  “Yeah, I study business, since hockey isn’t a major, but that’s my back up plan. I’m going to take my playing as far as I can. If I make it, great, if not, at least I don’t spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

  “What is your back up plan?”

  “Play hockey, of course.” He smiles as I roll my eyes at him. “No, seriously, I am. I’m going to start a coaching program. Private lessons, camps, training, that type of thing. I have a bunch of kids I work with already during the summer and breaks, and people at home know my name, so it may start small, but it will be decent.”

  “You have everything so planned out.” I tell him in awe. The Brayden I remember wasn’t a planner, more a fly by the seat of your pants type of guy, so to hear him tell me this is so different from the guy he used to be. Maybe he really did grow up?

  “I’m sure you do too. You were always a planner.”

  “Kind of, I guess. I really want to be a writer. Not a journalist, or anything like that, an author. I want to take all the characters that live in my head and tell their stories. It’s a hard thing to get into though and I’m not sure if I’m good enough.”

  “Are you kidding me? You are Nicole Fucking Miller! There is no one better. I remember reading some of the stories you wrote in high school, and they were amazing. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t enough of anything. If one person doesn’t like your style, someone else will.” Listening to him settles something in my soul. Hearing those words is everything to me. I need to know that someone else believes in me, in my ability to make it happen. I’m sure my parents do, but they kind of have to, that’s basically in their job description. Everyone else I had ever told my dream to had told me all about why it was a bad idea. Little money, picky readers, bad reviews, blah blah blah. But here he was, telling me that I could do it, and that meant something. The excitement that I always tempered when talking about my dreams bubbled to the surface.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I can do it. It’s really what I want. I have a few finished stories, that just need editing that I have written over the years, and so many more ideas. One thing I love about being a writer is that it gives me so much freedom. I can do my work from anywhere, and I really love seeing the world and experiencing life. That’s where most of my ideas come from. I really want that freedom to reflect in my work too. Plus, I’m self-motivated, and I am good about managing my time, so I don’t think I will have a problem with hitting deadlines. I really think it’s a viable option for me, and it’s something that won’t feel like work.” The smile that lights up his face as he listens to me go on and on, is like a kid on Christmas morning. I’m not sure if he’s happy that I listened to him, or he’s happy to just hear me ramble on, bu
t it makes me smile too. Our conversation flows smoothly for the rest of the drive, which was something I hadn’t expected. It was like the more time we spent together, the more I got to know him, the easier our relationship seemed to progress. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not yet.

  Before long we pull into the parking lot and I’m not entirely surprised to see that the Haines shoe house was actually a house built like a shoe. We decided to take the twenty-five-minute tour. I’m shocked when we enter, and I feel Brayden reach out to grab my hand. I shouldn’t let him, my mind tells me, but I don’t pull away. Something about his hand in mine, just feels right, like it belonged there all along. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at me, before tugging my hand along to follow the tour guide.

  The tour guide tells us all sorts of fun facts about this 25-foot tall and 48-foot long house that was built to resemble a shoe. The shoe house, which was originally built in 1949, boasts three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It was originally offered to couples that had been married at least 50 years, then later it was offered to honeymooners too. The couples were never charged, and there was even a maid and cook on staff for them. More recently, it has only been open for tourists, and they even have an ice cream shop located in it. So of course, we get ice cream. Walking around outside, with our hands still linked, we find a seat out in the back by a miniature shoe, which served as a doghouse. Before we sit, he lets go of my hand, and I instantly feel the loss. Like a connection I didn’t even know we had, was severed when he removed his hand. What the hell is going on? We spent a few minutes, eating our ice cream and looking over the pictures we took of all the beautiful windows inside the home. We argue over which is our favorite and I let him win because my mind is still on the emptiness I feel without his hand in mine.

  As we are sitting at the picnic tables, a band starts playing off to the side. A few of the couples get up to dance, and I watch them with a whimsical look on my face. I wish I had someone who would dance with me for no other reason than because there was music playing. Suddenly, as if I spoke the words out loud, Brayden stands up and rounds the table while holding his hand out to mine. I look around quickly, certain there must be cameras or something. This must be a joke. He couldn’t want to dance with me, right?

  “Nic, stop overthinking this and dance with me. I see your face watching them dance. I know you want to, so come on.” I look down at the hand he’s holding out to me and back up to his eyes. When all I see is sincerity, I give in to my desire and take his hand, allowing him to help me up and lead me to the makeshift dance floor.

  With his hands on my lower back pulling me close to him, he spins me around the grassy area. He’s as graceful on his feet as he is on the ice, which doesn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is the way my heart is trying to beat out of my chest and the way my hands feel as if they are sweating. Thankfully, they are holding each other, and not the back of his neck. The chaos in my body continues as I take a deep breath in, filled with his scent. My whole body seems to relax into him as his scent fills me.

  “I wish I had the courage to dance with you at prom like this instead of being such a jerk.” His voice sounds rough, but my mind is too busy cataloguing all the sensations running through my body to fully understand what he says, so I just hum in agreement.

  Wait… what did he just say? Did he say he wished he was dancing with me at prom? Just as I’m about to ask him what he meant by that, the music stops and the crowd around us starts clapping. He pulls away, looking around in surprise, like maybe he was as lost in the moment as I was. He clears his throat, stepping further away before pulling out his phone and looking at the time.

  “Shit. We gotta get on the road if we want to stay on schedule.” In confusion, I pull out my phone and frown at the time. How had nearly half an hour passed? Was it possible that we had been dancing together for that long and never realized it? What the hell was happening here?

  We walked back to our table quickly grabbing our stuff and made our way toward the car. On the way, Brayden stops an older man who is coming off a tour bus and asks if he minds taking a picture of us together in front of the house. Despite my best efforts to protest, he pulls me in close, wrapping his arms around me in a side hug, and tugging my face into his chest as we stand in front of the house posing. His scent once again fills my senses, sending my hormones into overdrive. I don’t know what was going on and I’m not sure I like it either. The man hands the phone back to Brayden after taking a few shots, and his wife makes a comment about what a sweet couple we are, and how we remind her of them in their younger days. Neither of us open our mouths to disagree.

  Knowing we still have around a seven-hour drive to make it to our next stopover in Winston-Salem, NC, we opt to grab lunch and dinner at the rest stops to avoid delaying the trip anymore. We eat and drive in a comfortable silence, both of us lost in our thoughts as the music plays softly in the background. It is almost nine at night when we finally pull into that night’s hotel, and can check-in. The night clerk who helped us makes a point to tell us that the pool in the lobby is open until eleven, so we decide to take a swim before going to bed.

  In my room I change into my red bikini. I pose in the mirror looking at myself in all different directions before I catch myself. What does it matter how I look? It’s just Brayden. I have known him since birth. I don’t care what he thinks. Sure, you don’t, my subconscious says. With a huff, I tell her to shut up, grab a towel and walk out of the room. His room is across the hall from mine, and as soon as I leave mine I mentally high-five myself for agreeing to go swimming. He is standing across from my door leaning back against the wall in a pair of bright orange board shorts. His normally tan skin is on full display, as it’s taut over all the muscles in his arms, chest, and legs. Damn. So. Many. Muscles. Talk about eye candy. I subconsciously reach my hand up to wipe my mouth, thankful when I don’t find any drool there. My eyes make their way up and down his body with no shame at all because I feel his eyes doing the same to mine. I smile at the thought of him checking me out. Sexual tension crackles in the air as we take our fill of each other. I feel his eyes caressing my body as if it were his hands, and the heat rises along my neck as I feel my nipples harden. I shift my eyes from the outline of his dick, which is growing by the minute, to his eyes. They are a deeper green than I have ever seen before, shimmering with signs of lust and dirty thoughts. I know at that moment, I could lean back and open my door, invite him in and he would come eagerly—then we both would.

  I contemplate it for a second, thinking about how good I know it will be. How I want to really see what he was working with. All the dirty things I have thought about him doing to me, or me to him, when I fingered myself to orgasm over the years could finally become a reality. All I have to do is open the door. All I have to do is open the door, but ‘then what?’ My subconscious screams at me. What will happen tomorrow? What does this even mean Up until 48 hours ago, I hated him, and now I was considering inviting him into my bed? Granted, I knew I didn’t need to like him to have sex with him, but what if I did? Then what? I was just starting to realize he wasn’t the same guy who tortured me, and I had really been enjoying the time I spent with him. My feelings for him were so confusing right now, and I knew that if I had sex with him right now and it meant nothing more than a release to him, there was a chance I would end up being the one that got hurt. Which meant unless I was sure we were on a similar wavelength, sex was off the table.

  Knowing I needed to break this up before things went any further and I let my hormones talk me into something I would regret in the morning, I break eye contact and turn toward the elevator. With my shoulders squared and head held high, I walk off, not looking back. After a few seconds I hear him shuffling along behind me, and he reaches me as the elevator doors open. The tension between us is thick but only lasts for a few minutes. As soon as we got into the pool, it eases as we jump and splash around like two kids on the first day of summer break.

  It’s o
ver an hour later that I find myself back in the same hallway, this time smelling of chlorine, with soaked hair, and damp flip-flops that squeak with every step. I pull both our key cards from the wristlet I brought down with me and turn to hand him his. I’m surprised to find him directly behind me. I take a step back to create some space between us and back up against the wall. He leans in, blocking my head in with his arms, as his forehead comes to meet mine. The air electrifies around us, and all the thoughts I had before of why this was a bad idea suddenly escaped my mind. I stare into his eyes, watching as he seems to be weighing something, and then when his eyes turn darker, I know I’m in trouble though I’m not sure I care to stop it. His right arm moves, allowing his thumb to caress my jawline, before moving to gently pull my bottom lip from between my teeth, a nervous habit of mine. His eyes shift from mine to my lips and then back to my eyes as his thumb runs over my bottom lip.

  “You have to say no now, if you don’t want this.” His gravelly voice breaks the silence. He looks between my eyes searching for something. When I don’t say anything after a few seconds, his head tilts to the side, his forehead moving from mine as his lips come in to capture mine. Our lips meet and it feels too natural for a first kiss. Like our lips were made for just this purpose, and every other reason for their existence is secondary. The kiss is gentle at first. My eyes are still open in shock but when I watch his close, mine slide closed with them. Then he deepens the kiss. Pulling his left arm from the wall, and pushing me further into it, his left-hand tangles into my hair, and I moan into his mouth. All at once the feelings inside me explode into an overwhelming display of fireworks. His warm mouth is on mine, his tongue is licking along the seam requesting entry, which I grant. His hands tangle deeper in my hair and my body trembles with pleasure. This is unlike any kiss I have ever had. We stand in the hallway for what feels like hours, but could only have been minutes, as we continue making out while both of us fight for dominance. Then all too soon, he pulls away with a growl. His eyes are still closed, his forehead once again leans against mine, as both our chests rise and fall rapidly.