by M. J. Fields
“Hell yes, baby, suck that ball!”
Elle nails the next one, and so do I.
“Fist bump and jazz fingers.” Christy and Lisa laugh from the sidelines.
Our victory is short-lived when they do the same.
We both lose a shoe and they lose another shirt and a hat.
“Oh, we see how it is.” I wink at them.
She and I both miss our next shots, and they do not.
“Shit, we need to focus,” I whisper as we both lose another piece.
“Come on, Jamie; you got this!” I hear Mitch yell.
“Well, he’s optimistic.” I laugh. “And still, he’s not getting any.”
Our next shots miss, and theirs sink.
Elle and I look at each other.
“Lose the shirts!” they yell to us.
“I have on a bodysuit,” I whisper. “I’m losing the pants.”
And … I do.
“All right, girl. Time to step it up,” Mitch yells.
“He’s an idiot,” I murmur.
“I am not wearing a bodysuit. I’m also wearing a thong, so pants are not an option,” Elle says, beginning to lift her shirt.
All hell breaks loose.
“No. Fuck that. Not happening,” Logan says, storming toward us.
“That’s bullshit, Logan,” one of them yells at him. “A game is a game.”
Elle shakes her head and steps back when he reaches for her. “They’re right; a game is a game.”
“And you’re done fucking playing!”
“Links, man, you want dibs, you should have said so,” one says, and they both laugh.
He turns around and grabs the table, throwing it onto its side. Everyone scatters.
I slip while trying to grab her, and my ass lands in a puddle of beer.
“Logan, what the hell?” She goes at him like a tiny little linebacker.
I jump up.
“You okay?” Mitch looks as if he wants to help me.
“Get away,” I snap, stepping away from him.
When she screams, “Let me go!” I turn and start to run to her, but Mitch grabs me.
“He won’t hurt her, but you get in the middle, and some shit goes down, I’m gonna lose a best friend and the girl in one night, Jamie. Don’t do me like that.”
“I don’t care.” I start to shake. “And stop trying to be nice to me. I just told you—”
I stop when I hear Logan screaming in her face.
“You’re a fucking virgin, saving yourself for Prince fucking Charming, and you’re gonna get naked in front of all these fuckers?”
Silence is replaced by snickers and giggles. They’re picking on her for not being a whore?
“Fucking answer me!” He pulls Elle toward him and turns her around, so she has to face all the whores.
“What is wrong with you people?” I scream.
Watching her face, I begin silently sobbing, and Mitch holds me tighter. I should pull away, but in the moment, he’s holding me together.
When they start laughing, saying horrible things, I pull my knees to my chest and cry for her, for me, for what my mom hopefully avoided by leaving here.
“Flower,” Mitch whispers as he sinks to his knees, still holding me.
I cover my ears and close my eyes, praying to God that I can get myself together, to be strong for her, but I still hear them.
“Just give her the D already, Links.”
“Fuck her and move on. She ain’t shit.”
“You could have anyone you wanted, and you’re tripping over that?”
I try to pull away, but Mitch holds me tighter.
When I open my eyes and see her elbow him, I push Mitch’s hands away from me, stand, and walk toward her. I push my way through the crowd, hell-bent on taking down the bastard talking to her the way he is.
“Answer my question! You want that?”
“Yeah, Logan, I want that! I want them all! I want to just fuck—”
Logan throws her over his shoulder.
“I’ll go first.” One of the guys laughs.
“Get the fuck out! Party’s over!”
“Put me down now!” Elle kicks him in the nuts, and his knees buckle.
“You’ll be sorry you did that,” he growls.
“Fuck yeah, give it to her!” I hear someone say with a laugh.
“Let go of her now!” I cry out, as I feel arms wrap around me and lift me up. “Let go of me, Mitch!”
“Not gonna happen.”
“If he hurts her, I will—”
“He’d never hurt a girl.” He sets me down next to Lisa and Christy. “Stay here so I can help clear this place out.”
“How do you know that?” I cry.
“Because I know him.”
Jamie
Standing up, I tell Lisa and Christy, “We need to get her and get out of here,” as I run toward the door.
“Let’s get your clothes and—”
I don’t hear anything else Lisa says as I hurry inside.
I look around the house that, minutes ago, was filled with people. Now, only a handful of players are walking around with garbage bags, throwing out cups of beer.
“Where is she?” I demand, and they all look at me, yet no one says a word. “I asked a fucking question, and I want an answer!”
“Jamie!” Mitch storms inside, scowling at me.
“Boy, don’t you start with me.” I throw a hand up and turn my back on him. “I want my girl, or I’m calling the cops.”
His eyes dart to the front door and back at me.
I look toward the door, see the box where we all put our phones, and start toward it.
“Jesus, Jamie, would you give it a fucking rest? She’s being taken care of—”
“She doesn’t need the kind of care he has to give!” I fake left and go right to pass him.
He sighs in obvious annoyance and grabs me. “The kind of care he gives is taking her to the hospital when she almost died because of my nuts.”
When everyone in the room starts to laugh, I give them all the look, and they stop.
“Put me—”
I stop when he sets me back on my feet.
I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes.
“You know what I meant. Hell, so do they. They were all there at Sound.”
“So, he’s a hero, is he?”
“Pretty much,” one of them says quietly.
“The guy out there, tearing her open to bleed in front of a hundred hoes and heathens, he’s your hero?”
“Yep, same guy,” another one whispers.
“What is wrong with you all?” I say, walking toward the door.
Mitch steps in front of me. “She’s in his room. No one is screaming. He may have fucked up a bit, Jamie, but let’s be honest here, he didn’t know she was coming.”
“So, this is my fault?” I snap.
“I didn’t say that, but the Logan we know is the guy who quit school to help his grieving sister with two newborns. The one who gave a kid a broken nose because he thought he was doing you and her wrong. Then, when he realizes he was wrong—”
“But still knows he’s a cocky, arrogant, one-man show.” One of the guys picking up trash chuckles.
Mitch finishes for him, “Gives him a play today, so he sees what teamwork is about.”
“Then gets shit-faced, gets a blowjob in the bathroom by a bimbo, and gets pissed she saw it, so he belittles her?” I snap.
“Yeah, well, no one said he was perfect. But he should be given the opportunity to stop her”—he pauses, eyes widening like he’s making a point—“from acting like one of them because her feelings are hurt because of shit he did without her around.”
“Word,” I hear from one of the five players.
“She and he aren’t even fucking around, Jamie, but he gives a shit. Give him the opportunity to make it right.”
“By holding her hostage behind closed doors?” Lisa asks, and I turn to see her and Christy beh
ind me.
“If she didn’t want to be in there, if she weren’t hearing him out, your girl would be out here, and you all know it.”
“And when did you sober up?” Christy snaps at him.
He looks at me. He’s not sober, but he says, “When I really needed to.”
When we hear Elle scream, “Get the fuck out!” all eyes swing toward the door off the living room.
“You little bitch!” another female screams, and we all start toward the door.
“What the fuck?” Logan slurs.
“Let go of me, you little tease!” the other female screams.
The door is flung open, and Elle appears in Logan’s clothes, her hand full of blonde hair, dragging a partially naked chick behind her, looking wild.
“Who the hell let her in there?” she screams.
The blonde tries to stand, but Elle kicks her in the ass, causing her to fall on the ground.
Logan pulls her back.
“Don’t!” she yells at him. “Who let her in?”
“Everyone was gone,” I answer confusedly, feeling my lips quiver at what she is going through.
“Well, she was trying to—”
When Logan whispers in her ear, she looks back at him and he whispers, “So sorry.”
She looks at Mitch and points at him. “Get her out of here now!”
When Mitch looks at Logan, she looks back at him, too, as he rests his head on top of hers. She turns and wraps her arm around his waist as she yells at Mitch, “Does he look like he’s in any shape to tell you that he doesn’t want that slut in his room? He was almost passed out, I was in the shower, and—”
Logan whispers something to her again.
She snaps, “What is wrong with you? Tell them! Tell them you thought she was me!”
He looks at the floor and says, “Get her out.”
“You … You said we were going to London,” Hooker stammers as she attempts to right her clothes.
Logan begins petting Elle’s head. “She’s Lond—”
“Logan, bed!” Elle snaps at him.
“Sorry.” He closes his eyes and slouches.
“Logan.” She shakes him, and his eyes open. “Bed.” Then she helps him back into his room.
After just a minute we hear him plea, “Stay.”
“No, no way am I staying,” she snaps.
“Please. Gotta fix it.”
“She should be in jail,” Elle hisses.
“Shh … Sleep, London. Sorrys tomorrow.”
Why the hell does he keep talking about London? Some type of pet name?
Either way, my heart hurts for her, for him … It’s so apparent they care about each other. But, as I now know, sometimes that’s just not enough.
Aunt Max’s letter … Complicated relationships aren’t more meaningful than easy ones; they’re just more work.
I feel Mitch’s arm around me, and I allow myself to take comfort in him, selfishly, as Elle looks out of the bedroom, visibly shaking while she lays her head on Logan’s chest.
Schooler stands in the doorway and starts to shut it.
“It stays open,” Elle snaps at him.
He nods.
“Make sure no one else is here except us.”
He nods again and starts to walk away.
“And when you’re the sober guy,” she yells, and he looks back, “pay attention!”
I sit on the couch next to Christy and Lisa, none of us saying a word, all sort of shook up by tonight’s happenings, as well as Elle going all GI Jane. I know for a fact that, someday, I will find humor in that, but right now, it’s just sad, so, so sad to me.
When we all start dozing off, I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Jamie, give me a minute?”
I look up into soft, tired, hazel eyes and slide out from the blanket that he put over us when they fell asleep.
I follow him into his room but pause in the doorway.
He looks back and shakes his head. “I’m not gonna try to get into your”—he looks me up and down—“onesie.”
“It’s a bodysuit,” I correct.
He nods as he walks across his room and sits on his bed. “I know this thing is done. I get it. You made it clear tonight that—”
“You made it clear,” I correct him once again as I step inside his room and lean against the wall.
He lifts his chin. “You’ve made it clear since day two that, no matter how much work I do, you weren’t gonna be just another hook-up, and I knew that too. Just thought maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement.”
Ouch.
“I’m not your type.”
“And what is my type?” I ask, defensively.
“Not some Midwestern, Trump-voting, cowboy-boot-wearing farm boy.” He says it all twangy.
I cringe at the venom that I slung, because that’s not me, not at all.
He clamps his eyes shut and says, “Give me a minute.” He gets up and points to clothing on the bed. “And put those on.” At that, he walks into his bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
I’m in a bodysuit, and the rest of my clothes are beer-soaked, so I grab the shirt and throw it on before slipping into the gray drawstring sweatpants, pulling them as tight as I can before tying them. That’s when I hear him getting sick behind the door and hurry over, trying to open it. It’s locked.
I bang on it, and he groans, “Give me a minute.”
Waiting outside the door, I hear a familiar notification sound from across the small room and see his phone light up.
Knowing I shouldn’t, I walk over and pick it up anyway.
JT@JC.
My heart beats against my chest as I hear him throw up again, and a second notification pops up.
I tap on it immediately.
When it takes me to a link, I wonder why the hell he doesn’t have it password protected. And when it opens, I see it’s some dashboard for …
Oh My God, I think as I see the collegiate font spelling out the words: Jersey Chasers.
My stomach flips, my ears ring, and behind me, I hear, “What the hell are you doing?”
I drop the phone on the bed and turn around quickly, looking up into bloodshot, sad, hazel eyes.
“Jesus, Jamie.” He walks around me and grabs the phone.
“I’m going to get Elle and—”
“I’m not trying to hook-up if that’s what you think.”
“You know what, Mitch? I have no idea what I’m thinking,” I step toward the door, but he grabs my hand.
“I’m not trying to hook-up, Jamie,” he insists.
I look back at him, and he shakes his head.
“It’s not what you think. I don’t subscribe to the site.”
“I may be naive, but I’m not stupid,” I say in an even tone, masking my anger, my hurt.
“I don’t.” He shakes his head again.
I roll my eyes.
“You gotta believe me—”
“I don’t do ugly breakups, or whatever this is going down.” Hell, I’ve never even had a boyfriend. “And I’m no clinger, but don’t lie to me, for God’s sake.”
When it chimes again, I can tell he forces himself not to look down at the phone in his hand.
“Take it.” My voice shakes. “Take your hook-up and just leave me alone.” I turn to walk away, but he wraps his arm around me, stopping me again.
“This stays between us.”
“I’m not gonna blow your spot,” I huff. “Or you ever again.”
“Jamie, I’m not a subscriber. I’m the …” He pauses, sighs, and whispers, “It’s my site.”
Shocked, I look back at him. His brows are creased. He looks serious.
He can’t be.
“Mine and my best friend’s, JT.”
When his phone rings, he looks at it. “I have to take this.”
I start to pull away, but he holds me still.
“You stay put.”
He answers the phone. “What’s up, JT?”
The room
is so quiet that I can hear every word JT says on the other end.
“I don’t like this Bitcoin thing.”
Mitch sighs. “You didn’t like Venmo, either, but it increased subscriptions and decreased unsubs.”
“You know I don’t like changing shit up.”
“Yeah, JT, I know, but we’re not alone in this anymore, you know.”
“Which is fucked up—bitches starting sites like ours,” JT snaps.
“Still paying our way through.” Mitch releases me and turns around. “Legally. Two more years, then we sell it. Stop stressing. I got this covered.”
“You do all the covering. Sometimes I feel like—”
“Your harebrained idea; my execution,” Mitch cuts him off. “We’re partners.”
“From day one,” JT says on a sigh.
“Until the end,” Mitch says quietly.
JT doesn’t respond.
“You still taking your meds, JT?”
“Yeah, man. Quit stressing me. Do your thing.”
“You do the same,” Mitch replies.
“See you soon. Bring your A-game, too.”
“Never bring anything less than that; you know it. Hell, you taught me how to throw.”
“Receiver needs his QB to have his back.”
Mitch laughs. “And I end up playing defense.”
JT comes back with, “Brother, we’re still playing.”
Mitch sighs.
“Speaking of, how’s the ass up there in Chillville?”
Mitch looks back at me and asks him, “Chat later?”
“Oh shit, man, sorry.”
“Not a problem.”
JT laughs. “Stay black.”
Mitch smirks. “No other way to be.”
He hangs up, tosses the phone on the bed, and runs his hand through his hair.
Eyes on the ground, head not held high, he sighs, “No one here but you knows about this site. And I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.” He looks up. “And not for me, but for JT. He’s got one hell of a chance to make pro. It would reflect poorly on him. He deserves a chance. He wouldn’t have had it if he didn’t pay his way through junior college to get his grades up so he could get into Miami.”
Understanding takes over, and I nod.
“So, yeah, Jamie, all those stereotypes you tossed at me, except the Trump thing—I don’t vote—plus a laundry list of other shit that would make me be a nobody in anyone’s eyes are all fact.”
