The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

Elle looks at Christy. “Do you mind grabbing me a water, too? I’ll go keep Fletcher company.”

  “Seriously, water?” Christy snickers.

  “Early morning?” Elle shrugs then hurries after Fletcher.

  I watch Lisa looking at them almost longingly.

  “If you like him, you should make a move,” I suggest.

  Lisa shakes her head. “If she likes him—”

  “She likes him all right, like as in friend zone. She gets that look when Logan is around.”

  “Logan and her are fire and ice, like you and Mitch?” Christy asks.

  I laugh. “Men like Mitch want a seasonal partnership. I’m a four seasons kind of girl.” Or, at least I plan to be one day. “Elle likes him, just not his type. He’ll be the one who has to conform.”

  I look up at the bartender. “Two waters, five tequila shooters, and four drafts, please.”

  I turn back to the girls. “You mark my word; she’ll bring him to his knees. And lucky us, we get to watch.”

  “But he likes her,” Lisa says, watching Fletcher and Elle chat away at a high-top table across the bar.

  “I’m not convinced he likes her like that. Passion seems to be lacking. I think they have a common disdain for the Logan type.”

  “So, is Mitch your type?” Christy asks.

  I look at her, having no idea what to say.

  “We’re squad, Jamie—hoes before bros.”

  “I like him all right.” I shrug. “But like I said, I’m—”

  “Four seasons.” Christy nods.

  “Thirty-two dollars,” the bartender says.

  I pull out the forty dollars I brought and hand it over. Looks like I’m going to be layering clothes for a while since my stash is slowly dwindling. Oh well.

  “I have the next round,” Lisa says, picking up the waters.

  Christy grabs the beers, and I juggle the shots.

  I set the shots on the table and announce, “Squad shots.”

  “I’m fine.” Fletcher holds his hand up to me.

  “Gotta do at least one.” Lisa sets his glass of water in front of him. “Then, you can hop right back on the wagon.”

  His lips curl up slightly in the corner. “Just one.”

  “To us.” Lisa holds her shot up to him, a brazen move. I’m proud of her.

  He looks at her, seeming slightly confused, and I feel like I need to make this less awkward.

  “To us.”

  We all tap glasses and shoot down the very same alcoholic beverage that I swore I’d never drink again.

  Elle holds her hand over her belly.

  “You okay?”

  “Can we please never do shots of that gasoline again?”

  I nod in agreement, maybe too eagerly. But I use it to my advantage. “Sure, if you come with me and do just this one thing for me.”

  Before she has a chance to agree or disagree, I grab her and drag her toward the small corner stage. Glancing back I see Lisa and Christy behind us, grinning.

  Moments later, we’re on stage, and Elle is looking at the floor, I nudge her with my hip.

  “Okay, Christy and Lisa, melody. Me and you, harmony. We do chorus together, and each take one verse.” I throw a fist in the air. “Let’s do this!”

  “Wait. What song?” Elle asks.

  “‘Hold on’ by Wilson Philips,” I answer.

  “I don’t know it,” she admits.

  “That’s cool. You get the last verse. You got this.”

  I take the mic, and it feels like an extension of my hand, like it belongs. It always has.

  The music begins, and my heart expands. It always does.

  I hold my hand to it and silently thank God for the gift I will never take for granted. Then I open my eyes to see that everything around me is in a halo. I hope I will always see music this way—as a giver of hope and healing.

  I begin to sing, “I know there’s pain. Why do you lock yourself up in these chains?” I look at Elle. “No one can change your life except for you. Don’t ever let anyone step all over you …”

  Elle loosens up as Lisa sings her chorus, and I quickly realize I messed up.

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “There’re only three verses. I’m sorry, Elle. I thought—”

  “Seriously, it’s cool.” She laughs like she’s relieved and sings along to the chorus.

  Exiting the stage, the bar is still clapping for us.

  I grab Elle’s hand and squeeze it. “They clapped louder for us than the last performer.”

  She nods and smiles a little brighter.

  When we sit down, I see Fletcher’s arms are crossed over his chest, eyebrow arched, looking directly at Elle.

  “What?” she asks as she sits down and takes a drink of her water.

  He sighs, pushes back in his stool, and stands.

  “What?” she asks again, giggling awkwardly as he begins to walk away.

  He stands in front of the DJ and bends down.

  “Fletcher’s gonna sing.” I clap, giving Lisa a quick wink.

  When he walks back, he pulls Elle’s stool out. “Come on, Elle. Me and you.”

  “What?” She grabs the table. “No. Nope. No—”

  “You’re not getting out of it that easily.” He grabs her hand and gives it a tug, pulling her behind him.

  I look at Lisa, who shrugs and lifts her beer. “Cheers.”

  “Girl, I’m telling you, you need to show him you’re interested.”

  “I’m not …” She stops when a song begins.

  We all start to laugh when we recognize it.

  “A scrub is a guy that thinks he’s fly,” Fletcher begins.

  Our bow-tie-wearing, straitlaced RA shocks me with a very pop-music sounding tenor voice.

  “Holy shit,” Christy whisper-hisses.

  “I told you.” Lisa smiles. “Tell me that man isn’t sexy as hell.”

  I laugh. “He should lose the bow tie.”

  “Hell no! That nerdy hot look gets me every time.” Lisa swoons.

  He’s not just singing; he’s playing the small crowd, telling them a story. This is undoubtedly where Fletcher opens up, pulls the figurative stick out of his ass, and shines.

  When he changes the last line to, “And sits on his pompous ass,” we all laugh as Elle begins singing the chorus with him.

  “If you don’t have a car and you’re walking …” Elle points to me, and I laugh out loud, clap, and then shove two fingers in my mouth and whistle loudly.

  Lisa grabs Christy, and Christy grabs me as we hurry to the front of the stage to sing along and dance.

  When Fletcher begins a vocal run, Lisa turns her back to the stage and fans her face as if she’s overheated. Christy and I bust up laughing.

  When the song ends, the place erupts in applause and whistles. Christy’s two-finger whistle is louder than mine.

  “Girl, you’re gonna have to give me pointers!”

  She nods enthusiastically.

  I look over at the DJ, who lifts his chin toward the stage.

  “I’m up.”

  “Again?” Ella laughs as she comes off the stage.

  “We’re doing this all night!”

  I take the mic from the DJ and walk on stage, nodding to tell him that I’m ready.

  “All you single ladies.” I hold the mic down, and the girls repeat the phrase. “All you single ladies.” I hold out the mic again to my mouth until the beginning part of the song is over before placing the mic in the stand. I wink at Elle while mentally preparing to fall into character. Dancing, singing, acting like I’m not a Bible girl, truly letting go as I have only felt I can on stage, I summon my inner Queen Bey and perform, giving it all I have. I know the song, know all the moves, and, for the first time, I’m doing them on stage instead of with headphones on, behind my locked bedroom door.

  I love how the girls, the crowd, the bartender, and everyone in the room gets swept away in the moment, the show, the fe
eling, the fun and, yes, even the hope.

  “Now wait. I want y’all to get nice and stanky with me.” I scan the room, loving the energy, when my gaze lands on Giddy-up and part of the SU football team, all looking and him gaping at me. So, instead of toning it down, I turn it up, eyes on him, dancing for his reaction, feeling his heat from across the room. I hold back nothing, and I do it for me.

  Once my song is over, I join my girls—the single ladies—and act like he’s not here. I do have two days, after all.

  Christy hands me a drink. “Girl, that was so … hot.”

  We tap glasses.

  Elle laughs. “I would hate to be the poor fool following you.”

  I glance over my shoulder and see the SU boys staring in our direction but decide not to alert her that we have another Missing Links sighting. I want her to have fun.

  “You’re singing soon,” I warn her.

  “Another one of these, these …” She looks at Christy. “What is this?”

  Christy laughs. “Long Island Iced Tea.”

  “Oh my God, girl.” I laugh.

  “Is that bad?” she slurs.

  Aunt Maxine gave me a quick tutorial on beverages, and she specifically told me to avoid the one Elle is enjoying. “You gonna sing?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Then no, that’s great. Just pace yourself.”

  I hurry over to the DJ and get Elle and myself on the list before she changes her mind. When I get back, she looks at me, and I grin.

  She slams her drink. “Screw it! What song am I doing?”

  “‘Something to Talk About.’ I know it’s country, but—”

  “I know the song!” she squeals.

  I’m kind of glad she’s drunk because, when she sees who’s here, it may help ease the burn.

  “Well, good. You’re up in two more songs.” I hip-check her.

  The next person gets on stage and begins Britney’s “Toxic,” and Lisa busts out laughing. “Oh my God, she sucks!”

  “Shh …” Elle giggles.

  “Her tits don’t move when she jumps.” Christy points right at her, and we all laugh; Elle a little more than the rest of us.

  I grab her hand, and we start dancing.

  “Who the hell is she?” I ask.

  “Toxic.” Elle giggles. “Her name’s Toxic, like all the other plastics.”

  “You know her?”

  She busts up laughing. “I know her type.”

  When the song ends, I usher her toward the stage and make sure she sees me. No need to let either Mitch or Logan ruin this. And, maybe if they see us having fun, they’ll leave us the hell alone. It is Squad night, after all.

  When the music begins, she closes her eyes, and I silently cheer her on. When she opens her eyes, she looks at me and begins to sing.

  “People are talkin’, talkin’ ’bout people.”

  I can tell she’s nervous, so I sing and give her some nonverbal cues, and she runs with them. Within moments, she’s owning the stage, enjoying herself, and I see exactly why a seemingly shy girl like Elle was accepted into SU’s musical theatre program. But when I see her shocked expression, and her eyes snap back to mine, I know she has spotted them.

  “Screw them!” I yell, and she seems to bring it back. “That’s my girl!”

  She yanks on the belt to her knit sweater wrap, and it falls open. Then the next line is sung even stronger, more confident. She’s all in.

  I raise my hands in the air. “Woo-hoo!”

  She shrugs off her sweater wrap and tosses it to me. She’s in a black bodysuit, jeans, and black heels, owning the stage.

  “Girl’s got curves. I mean, for a white girl, those are curves, am I right?” I ask Christy, who laughs and nods.

  “I feel so foolish.” She skims her fingers slowly across her waist, back across her abdomen, drags a finger up between her boobs, and runs her hand up her neck. “Could you be falling for me?”

  “And moves!” I clap. “She’s got moves. You go, girl!”

  She pushes her hair over her shoulder and shakes her white girl ass as she moves across the stage, owning it completely.

  When the song ends, she does the cutest ballerina type bow before she skips off the stage.

  “I’m next.” I wink as I purposely toss her wrap over her head and into Logan Links’ hand.

  I should bow for that little show, but I have my own performance.

  On stage, I look at Logan, seeing Toxic herself is snuggled up against him. I take the mic and say, “This is how you do Britney.”

  I look at Elle, who busts up laughing as the music starts, and I mix a little Queen Bey into my best teasing, taunting, Britney.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.” I look at Mitch. “I think I did it again.” Then I look away so I can concentrate on playing the crowd and enjoying the stage, instead of getting wrapped up in the fact that he, Logan, and some of their teammates are surrounded by Barbie wannabes.

  Fuck that.

  When the song ends, and the place erupts, I legit want to drop the mic, but I don’t. It’s not the mic's fault. Gotta respect the mic.

  I simply walk off the stage to go be with my squad.

  Mitch

  Pushing my way through the crowd to get to Flower, I see Elle grab her face, and then Jamie kisses her.

  I stop dead in my tracks and try to decide why that’s hot yet pisses me off. I quickly realize they are two mutually exclusive feelings, and I’m now annoyed.

  She’s playing me, hard, too. And yeah, she makes me hard. So fucking hard.

  Cherry, my ass.

  “Jamie!” I yell when I get close enough to her.

  She looks back at me. “It’s Britney, bitch!”

  All four of them bust out laughing, and all but run to the bathroom.

  Women. Jesus Christ, the older I get, the more I realize how right my father is.

  Nothing but trouble.

  Speaking of trouble, I look back and scan the room. I see Logan walking toward the table that Fletcher is sitting at. He looks like he’s going to turn green and his clothes are going to rip apart. He’s going to need a drink. I need two of them.

  I stand against the bar and watch them exchange words, while the wannabe Britney who was just hanging all over Links, is now pushing up on me.

  I bark a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  “Bro code?” she scoffs. “He’s not interested, so here I am.”

  “And there you’ll stay.” I step aside.

  “Really?” she huffs.

  “Listen up, I know you think playing second string might be okay with me, but you’re missing the information it takes to form any goddamned opinion about me, so let me help you out. One”—I hold up a finger—“I’ve been first string since high school. Two”—I hold up another finger—“you’re so far from my type that you might as well be going to school on the moon.”

  “Your type being black girls?” She crosses her arms over her fake tits.

  “Women of color are my preference, yes. But you’re lacking a couple of other things to be in the running—intelligence, confidence, and morals.”

  Her face turns bright red.

  “Now, run along before anyone thinks I have stooped that low.”

  Logan storms up to me in a quiet storm kind of way, and I push a beer over to him.

  “I’m driving.”

  I hold out my hand for his keys. “Not tonight. I got you.”

  He shakes his head

  “Just one, then?” I ask.

  He takes the beer. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “You wanna talk about it?” I whisper, knowing damn well he doesn’t.

  “No.” He pulls out his phone, and I see him hit up Facebook. Pictures pop up of his sister, niece, and nephew.

  My boy’s been through hell, and he needs to remember he’s back at school.

  He looks up at me. “What?”

  I look at the stage and back at him. �
��Need a favor.”

  He shakes his head. “No, no fucking way.”

  “Just one?” I coax.

  He looks around at the guys. Half our defensive line followed us out tonight. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He tips back his beer. “I need another.”

  “Yeah, you do.” I grip his shoulder and give it a squeeze. I nod to Downs, then the DJ. Downs grins.

  After handing Logan another, I hear a familiar song and look at the stage. Fletcher is singing “Hallelujah.” He’s really damn good, too. Not as good as my black Britney, but good.

  When he finishes singing, he walks down to our girls.

  I glance over at Logan and watch as he slams the second beer.

  I hand him mine, and he takes it.

  “That’s my limit.”

  I watch as Fletcher takes his coat from the back of a chair before casually strolls toward the door.

  Britney wannabe walks back over and tries to snuggle back up to Logan.

  He rolls his eyes, steps away, and looks at me. “We have a table.”

  “Yeah, we do.” I clap my hands together and rub them back and forth. “Let’s go.”

  Shit, I think, before turning around. I smile at the bartender. “Four beers, please.”

  I look at the blonde, who looks at me hopefully. Seriously, what the fuck is between her ears?

  I pay the bartender, pick up the drinks, and then nod toward the table. “They’re for Britney, bitch.”

  It’s not my norm to disrespect a female, but this chick fucking deserves it. Seriously, take a hint.

  When I get close to the table, Logan scowls back at me. “They’re under—”

  “I’m not going without gifts.”

  “Whipped, you’re fucking whipped.”

  I walk up to the table as Logan slides into the one Fletcher vacated and holds out the sweater that Flower tossed him. “You need this.”

  “No, I’m good, but thanks for holding it for me.” Elle chuckles and looks away.

  When I set the beers on the table, all four of them look away.

  “I brought gifts,” I announce over the music.

  Lisa looks over and reaches for one. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I look at the DJ, who gives me a nod and I look at Logan, who yells, “You fucking owe me,” as he stands.

  Elle looks back, hands on her hip, and scowls at him. “I owe you what?”