When Our Worlds Stand Still

by Lindsey Iler

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “Exactly.” I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “What’s this game you want to play?”

  “Twenty questions but there are rules. No serious questions. Nothing pertaining to our future or our past.” Graham rubs his hands together in the most sinister fashion.

  I bounce in my seat. “Okay, I’ll go first.” I grin. “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

  “That’s easy. Chinese buffet.”

  “That’s not even a thing. You can’t say Chinese buffet.” I smack his arm.

  “Well, that’s my answer.” He pulls back into traffic. “If you could bring one person back from the dead to have one meal with, who would it be?”

  “Hitler.” My answer is so out there, I laugh at myself.

  “What?” Graham gawks at me. “Anyone, and you would choose Hitler?”

  “I’d ask him what made him so hateful. I don’t and can’t comprehend setting out to intentionally hurt someone. I’m curious what makes a person like that,” I answer honestly. “Now, if you could have one superhero power, what would it be?”

  “X-ray vision.” His hand slides across the console and squeezes my upper thigh. Instead of removing it, he keeps it there. “I think you can assume why.” His eyes graze my chest before returning to the road.

  I learn Graham would rather go on an African safari than a cruise, the color purple makes his head hurt, and he’s afraid of walruses. He never gives his reason, but I’m sure it will come up again at some point. He thinks reading is boring, which is enough reason for me to dive out the passenger door and risk extreme road rash. He tells me his fondest memory from childhood, which, of course, happened on the baseball field when he pitched his first no-hitter.

  Graham asks me some silly, but deep questions, like if I think all is fair in love and war, and what I think happens when we die. I can’t control my giggle when he asks what my favorite book is, because let’s face it, there’s no possible way to answer such a question. He rolls his eyes, clearly not understanding a true book lover’s predicament with an inquiry like that one.

  As we enter the city, dread washes over me. He notices my foul mood and squeezes my hand, but doesn’t comment. I’m thankful because I’m not sure I can endure another serious conversation. What I want is to get out of this car, kiss him goodbye, and cry into my pillowcase for the remainder of the night. It’s a strange reaction not to want to see someone go but need the space to process everything going on around you.

  Richard stands near the curb, awaiting our arrival. How he knows when I’m going to be here is beyond my comprehension. He’s a thorough doorman, that’s for damn sure.

  I kiss Graham softly on the lips, but when I try to pull away, he holds me to him with a gentle hand on the back of my head. My elbow digs into the center console. I wish this was a bench seat, ridding us of the unwanted barrier. His tongue dances across my bottom lip, and my jaw loosens, allowing his entrance. When it slides across mine, the sensation travels down to my toes. Wiggling to ease some of the blissful pain between my legs, I separate us with a loud gasp.

  “It never gets old,” I whisper.

  “How about one more question?” he asks and I nod in answer. “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone multiple times?” His eyes fall to his lap, and for a second, a light blush stains his cheeks, which only makes my heart lift off into outer space.

  I rest a knee on the leather seat, leaning over to put mere inches between our faces. My hands cup his cheeks, and I lean in to give him one last, earth shattering kiss. By the time we separate, our breaths are shallow and spastic. “I know it’s possible,” I answer, shutting the door behind me.

  “Will you quit sulking?” At the sound of Mark’s stern demand, I roll over on the couch where I’ve been lounging for hours. A pillow hits my face, and I tuck it behind my head before I flick the TV to life and turn it to ESPN.

  We watch the latest and greatest in sports. Mark glares at me while I dream of making a newsworthy name for myself. After our great season opener, I hope I’m well on my way.

  “You got something to say?” I bark, placing my feet on the floor and resting my elbows on my knees.

  “You’ve been moping around the house for the past month. You’re sort of killing the vibe around here.” His eyes never leave the television screen. “Nice catch.” He nods in appreciation of the number one play of the week. “Did you see that shit?” I nod. “Seriously, man, if you miss her so much, then get your ass in your car and drive to the city.”

  “She seemed busy when we talked. She has to work tonight. I wouldn’t even get a chance to spend more than ten minutes with her.” I explain my foul mood.

  “Big fucking deal. This morning at practice, you pitched like shit, and even Rico has decided to vacate the premises because he can’t handle the killjoy you’re being. We don’t have a game this weekend, so let’s go. Next weekend, we can’t. We’ve got an away game series.”

  Kennedy and I haven’t seen each other in four weeks, and at first, it wasn’t all that hard. We both have school, and she has dance. During baseball season, I have some three-day away games. It hasn’t seemed like that big of a deal until today.

  We talk on the phone every night, even if it’s just to say goodnight. Sometimes, we stay on the phone until one of us falls asleep. Kennedy is usually the one who ends up snoring in the receiver.

  “Look at the giddy ass grin on your face. Pack a bag, and let’s get the hell out of town.” Mark stands.

  “We?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Sexting can only go so far before it gets weird.” Mark shrugs.

  “So, sweet little Bea is a sexter, huh?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him as I snatch his phone off the coffee table. I try to crack the code, and when I do, he jerks it from my grasp, and I start for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Mark yells.

  “We’re going to the city, apparently. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you end up with a bad case of blue balls or something. Completely unselfish reasons, of course.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the road. I debate texting Kennedy but decide to leave the element of surprise on my side for this impromptu visit.

  When we’re halfway there, Kennedy texts me.

  Heading into work. I’ll call you when I’m out, but it could be late.

  Leave it to Kennedy to use perfect spelling and punctuation in a text. I laugh to myself.

  “It’s nice to see you two back together,” Mark mutters.

  We haven’t talked much about the past the three of us share, and we’ve all agreed it’s for the best. I hate the idea that Kennedy found some sort of comfort in Mark’s arms. He hates he couldn’t resist her charm long enough to take our friendship into consideration. All around, the subject pretty much sucks, so we don’t discuss it. Ever.

  I glance over at him, taking my eyes off the road for a split second. “Are we really going to do this?”

  “I’m not trying to have an all-out gab fest. Just saying.”

  A subject change is necessary. “So, what’s up with Bea? Is the plan to trek off to the city to sweep her off her feet?” I question. He ignores my imposition and turns up the radio. “Not so eager to have a heartfelt conversation anymore, huh?”

  “I like Bea. She tests me and intrigues me, but she’s holding out.”

  “You must have lost your magic touch, Marky.” I strum my fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.

  “No, it’s not like that. There’s a mystery to her I can’t quite figure out.” He groans.

  Mark’s insecurity makes me grin. I’ve never seen him this strung out over a girl, not even my girl, and Lord knows, Kennedy can strum up some pretty intense, deep-seated insecurity.

  “She only gives so much information, small nuggets, before she closes off.”

  “You have lost your Mark Whitmore charm, then,” I boast, feeling
slightly vindicated for the shit storm he’s caused in the past.

  “All the signs of a lasting relationship are there, but somehow, we’re missing the intimacy. The girl can make me laugh so hard I cry, and she’s beyond intelligent, but whenever I ask her anything about personal experiences and family, she freezes up.” The way Mark talks so freely about Bea doesn’t surprise me.

  Much like I did with Kennedy, I think to myself. “Maybe you should just give it time. It’s only been a month.”

  “You’re probably right. I’m overreacting.” He brushes off the urgency and replaces it with the ease I’m used to seeing in him.

  We drive into the city, allowing GPS to guide us to a parking ramp downtown. The streets are buzzing with scantily clad girls. Boys drag behind them, staring at their barely covered asses. I can’t blame them. If Kennedy were dressed similarly, I’d be doing the same thing.

  Mark elbows me and nods his head at a tall, brick building. The large sign on the front says The Knox in large red letters. When a drunk girl stumbles out, a mix of country and dance music spills from the door. She grabs me to keep from falling. Her appreciative eyes stare at me through the fog in her head.

  With her hands resting on my stomach, she says, “God, you’re beautiful. Want to get out of here?”

  At a certain point in my life, I might have taken her up on the proposition, but the only thing I want to do is find my girl.

  “He sure is, honey. Now keep walking.” Mark helps her stand.

  I laugh at his protective stance beside me as he ushers her away.

  “Does it ever get old being so damn irresistible?” Mark jokes, holding the door open for me with a dramatic bow.

  “You’re such an idiot.”

  I’m surprised how big the place is. From outside, you can’t tell it has tall industrial ceilings with exposed piping and rafters. The atmosphere is dark, but it makes sense. The clientele is twenty-somethings, with want in their eyes and liquor on their breath.

  “I can’t believe Kennedy works in a place like this,” I shout over the song instructing the dance floor to shake their ass and dip low to the floor.

  “You probably can’t beat the tips.” Mark gestures at a waitress in nothing more than a sliver of denim and a plunging neckline on her white t-shirt. She grins at us, catching us inspecting what seems to be the uniform for the bar. We both groan. “I’m gonna go find Beatrice.”

  The old school name sounds strange when it falls from his tongue with a mixture of adoration and lust. Beatrice is a name you reserve for the over-eighty crowd in your head, not adorable twenty-one-year-olds. Oddly enough, the name matches her old soul.

  As he disappears into the thick crowd, my eyes skim over every space to find her dark hair. I come up empty. A bartender, who I assume is most girls’ type, lifts his chin at me.

  “Looking for someone?” he asks.

  “My girlfriend. She’s a waitress here,” I answer. “Kennedy Conrad.”

  His unwelcome grimace doesn’t go unnoticed. His eyes travel from my face down, inspecting me. Either he’s gay and he’s picturing me naked, or he’s sizing me up for a fight. The two are hard to decipher sometimes.

  “Take a seat. She’ll be out in a second. I’m David, by the way.” He motions to the barstool in front of me. His hand reaches out to shake mine.

  Kennedy’s told me about David’s repeated attempts to get her to go out with him, so I grip his hand in a tight squeeze. If he’s looking for a fight, he’s going to know what he’s getting into.

  “I’m Graham.” I release his hand and face the crowd to keep an eye out for Kennedy.

  The lights dim to near darkness, and the country music fades. The crowd of guys around me goes crazy and pushes their way to the bar. The chatter of excitement and anticipation filters throughout the group. Heat radiates from my skin. The level of testosterone running through their veins is palpable.

  “What’s going on?” I address David, who’s half-ass drying a glass. His eyes are plastered on the gray metal door along the wall. The grin playing on his lips is one of amusement and self-gratification. A familiar song booms through the speakers.

  My eyes turn as the crowd’s holler of appreciation rings in my ear.

  “She’s so fucking hot,” a guy says to his friend.

  The friend bites down on his clenched fist. “Look at those shorts.” His eyes light up, piquing my curiosity.

  When I spin around, I’m dumbstruck. My palms sweat so much, I have to run them down my jeans. Three sets of legs appear, Kennedy’s nestled in the middle. The sexy beat of the song eggs the thickening crowd to push closer. They, along with me, gawk as my girl dances her bare legs across the bar top. When she dips low in front of me, knees bent and spread, her eyes widen in shock. She’s quick to register I’m actually in front of her and not a figment of her imagination.

  Kennedy recovers and pops up to finish her routine along the bar. The guys behind me yell rather grotesque expletives, aiming them all at my girlfriend.

  “I’d kill to have the chance to make that girl scream my name.”

  I whip around to glimpse a large build belonging to the idiot who’s two seconds away from getting his teeth knocked down his throat. My eyes set and ready for a showdown, I take a step toward the meathead.

  “Graham,” Kennedy’s voice breaks my trance.

  A ripple of jealousy runs through me at the way the crowd parts for her. Each of them takes the time to check out her ass as she saunters over to me. Her hands wrap around my neck. She stands on her tippy toes, and by the appreciative grins, I know her tank has risen, exposing the hot as hell dimples on her lower back. I hug her, taking special care to place my hands low on her hips.

  “What’re you doing here?” Kennedy’s voice shakes.

  I kiss her neck. “Mark claims I’ve been sulking,” I whisper in her ear.

  “Someone must have been missing me, huh?” She pokes me in my side. A sweet smirk appears on her lips.

  “You’ve got no idea, Kennedy,” Mark slides into our sides and wraps his arm around my neck. “This guy over here sat on the couch, staring at the TV, and didn’t say a damn word to anyone. Rico made the mistake of trying to engage in conversation with him, and the guy practically made him cry.”

  “I did not,” I argue, pushing his hands off me.

  “Be nice to Rick, Graham, or else,” Kennedy threatens.

  “Or else, what? Are you going to punish me?”

  She blushes, which only energizes my already semi-hard dick. He’s pushed up against my zipper, begging for a way out.

  Mark groans and walks away, which is for the best because I have to adjust myself to find some sort of comfort. I don’t need my best friend witnessing how uncontrollable I am at this point. Kennedy’s eyes grin at the small but obvious movement. She bites her lip and fights back a smile when she looks up at me.

  “I still have to work for a few more hours. I wish I could bail out, but,” she looks around the crowded bar, “it’s packed tonight. I can’t leave Bea and Alex hanging tonight.”

  “When were you planning on telling me you dance on a bar?”

  A smack across my stomach causes me to jump. “You knew I danced here,” she argues.

  “Not like that.” I narrow my eyes at the bar.

  She wraps her fingers into my black t-shirt and pulls me flush against her body. “So, you didn’t like it?” Kennedy’s stare falls to the tiny space between us.

  Her boldness makes me more aware of the blood in my body rushing to that centrally located, special place, bumping against the sweetest part of her body. I nibble on her cheek. “I’ll text you where I’m staying, and you can come over when you’re out.”

  “You aren’t staying at my place?” Her eyebrows pinch together, a hint of anger in her words.

  “Amanda and Violet will thank me for getting a hotel room, trust me,” I explain without spelling out my intentions.

  Her light pink cheeks burn a bright red, and I gr
ow harder. My dick’s betraying me, right here in front of everyone, and she knows it.

  Kennedy lifts up on her tiptoes again and kisses me softly on the lips. “I’ll see you in a little while, babe, okay?”

  I answer with a nod and watch Kennedy’s tiny ass disappear into the thick of the crowd.

  Mark waits for me near the front entrance, a devilish grin on his face. He nods his chin toward the packed space. “Saw our girl shaking her ass up there.” The smirk on his face is enough to make my blood thump thick in my veins.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laying his ass out here in the middle of the sidewalk. “Don’t be an asshole.” I walk toward the car, whipping around to face him. “And don’t call her our girl. She isn’t your girl. She was never your girl.”

  My anger is received with a bout of laughter. He jogs to catch up and swings his arm over my shoulder. “I thought bringing you here was supposed to lift the dark cloud looming over your head, but it seems an even bigger stick has been shoved up your ass now.”

  I brush his arm off, unlock the doors, and jump behind the wheel. “Where am I taking you?” I bark, strumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “What are these comments about her being our girl? Rico does the same thing.” Mark pulls his phone out of his front pocket and throws it in the middle console, but stays silent as I blabber. “Also, has Kennedy always been this hot? Or is this some new found maturity from being away from her parents?” I press my head into my hands and pull on the ends of my hair.

  Mark’s boisterous laughter gives me no choice but to look at him. He buckles his seatbelt, holding his stomach as his body convulses.

  “What the fuck are you giggling about?” I knead the wheel between my hands. “I don’t even know where the fuck I’m taking you.” I turn the key in the ignition and pull into traffic.

  “Bea shares an apartment with her sister. I’ll tell you where to turn. And I’m laughing because there’s no possible way you weren’t aware of how fuckable your girlfriend was in high school, and how fuckable she is now.”

  Almost breaking my neck, I whip around. “What did you just call her?”