Love Show

by Audrey Bell

  “Because he’s giggling.”

  “I’m not giggling,” Jack insisted. He kicked the back of Xander’s seat.

  “Hey,” Xander said.

  “Are we there yet?” Jack demanded.

  “Don’t make me come back there,” Xander scowled.

  We pulled up to the frat house and Jack jumped out of the car. He pulled me out. “Come on, you cripple.”

  I laughed. He cupped my face in his hands. “You got me drunk,” he said.

  We got upstairs as fast as we could. He turned off all the lights and we went wild. Sometimes, when you’re drunk, you miss the best parts about sex. Sometimes, though, when you’re drunk, it feels as good as it looks in the movies. Too intoxicated to care about the clothes or the lights or what to do when he dipped his head like that.

  I came before he did, in a long, hard wave that blew black through my mind. There was nothing but Jack.

  I tried to catch my breath. I clung to his broad back for support. His hard muscles rippled under my hands as he came. Through the haze of the alcohol and the soft kisses and the intense high, he said very clearly and very possessively: “I love you.”

  He collapsed next to me, breathing hard. And the shockwaves running through my body ran cold. I love you.

  Isn’t that what every girl wants to hear?

  From the guy she’s sleeping with on a casual basis.

  Because she doesn’t have time for a relationship.

  Which is just the thing that she says to people because she’s actually so fucking terrified of getting her heart broken that she can’t imagine risking it, not for a second.

  I breathed shallowly next to him as he curled me into his arms. He didn’t seem to care that I hadn’t said anything back. Or that I had tensed up next to him.

  And he held me there, but I couldn’t relax, and I couldn’t fall asleep. And after a long time, I got up from the bed, put on my clothes and left.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He didn’t call me the next morning. And I didn’t call him either. I sat on the couch with David, paralyzed by three little words that scared me. Three little words I didn’t fully believe.

  “It doesn’t count if you say it during sex,” David said. “Don’t freak out.”

  I nodded. “Right.”

  “Maybe he just meant it like—you know, I love you right now?” he said.

  “Right.”

  “Either way, don’t freak out.”

  “Right.” I took a breath. “I just don’t want to let myself go like that.”

  “Do you love him?” David asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t do this, David.”

  “Why not?” He looked at me. “Hadley, you're not your parents. That cannot be an excuse for not going after something that could be really good."

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason. A good reason. And I'm trying to get this job. I'm trying to make sure the paper stays in good shape. I barely have time for classes."

  “Well, what's the problem? If he loves you, what's so wrong about that? Why can't you go to class and love him?”

  “The problem is that he makes my head spin,” I said, exasperated. “We established the terms of the relationship. We made rules.”

  “Which is what you wanted. But what if you want to change the terms? Would that really be the end of the world?”

  I sighed. “I don’t want to change the terms”

  “Then, just, I don’t know...tell him to hook up with someone else for awhile.”

  I made a face. "I'm not telling him to hook up with someone else."

  “Why not?”

  “Because it could ruin things. I like things the way they are. I don’t want them to change.”

  “So, tell him that,” David said. He was wearing Ben’s sweatshirt, which was big and loose on his skinny frame.

  “How’s Ben?” I asked. I had no idea how to tell Jack I didn’t want anything to change. What was I supposed to say? Hey, can we talk about the fact that you said ‘I love you’ last night? It sounded stupid. Even in my head it sounded stupid. He was drunk. It probably didn’t mean anything. He might not even remember.

  David shrugged. “He’s fine. They have a formal next weekend. He’s going with some girl.”

  “He should go alone if he’s not going to take you.”

  “He thinks people suspect. He was mad Jack found out.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t want us to be exclusive anyways. Anyways, I asked this guy out. If he's going to see other people then so can I."

  I squealed. “Who?’

  He smiled. “Friend of Nigel’s.” He shrugged. “His name is Sam.”

  "Sam sounds great," I said enthusiastically.

  David nodded. He shrugged. “Yeah. I would rather be exclusive with Ben. But I don’t want it to be just me always waiting around for him while he puts on this big show. I mean, he doesn't let his guard down around anyone.”

  “You should absolutely see other people if he wants to see other people,” I said. “That’ll be fun. What are you doing?”

  “Dinner, movie, drinks.” He shrugged. He sounded less than thrilled, but I was happy. Anyone who was actually out of the closet would be an improvement.

  "That will be great."

  "I don't know about that, but it can't hurt."

  “Give it a chance. If he’s not your boyfriend—”

  “Ben is my boyfriend,” David said, sounding suddenly heartbroken. “He is. He just…” His voice caught. “Fuck.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “This is pretty stupid, huh? You’re upset because he said ‘I love you’ and I’m upset because Ben never will.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “That’s what you get. Whenever you have expectations, that’s what you get. The exact opposite.” He got to his feet. “You want tea?”

  “Sure,” I said softly. The pain on his face was unbearable.

  He put the kettle on, composing himself. “I’m just pissed off. I mean…I’ve done everything he’s asked. Everything. I got a new haircut, because my last haircut was too gay. I don’t dress like I want to. I don’t ever make any plans, because the plans I’d make would be at places he’d never go to. All of my friends aside from you are just like, not even in the picture anymore.”

  I rubbed my chin. “Have you told him that?”

  “No, because he’s under so much pressure just seeing me,” David said. “I’m the first guy he’s ever been with for more than a night. He keeps telling me how big of a risk he’s taking. But…” He shook his head. “I want it to be real.”

  “Tell him that. Tell him all that. What you just told me. You deserve real.”

  “I just—I know he’ll break up with me.”

  “That’s his loss though, David. If he breaks up with you, then good riddance. You deserve those things. You deserve to see your friends and to wear your hair however you want to wear your hair. It’s your goddamned hair.”

  He smiled.

  “It’s not his hair. Your hair.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Yeah. I know. But it’s hard.”

  “It is hard,” I admitted. “Why is it so hard to talk to people? Like, that’s the main thing we do with each other. We talk.”

  “Technology.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “I do.” He lifted his shoulders. “Think about it. You can basically figure out what someone is doing and thinking without asking them now. Facebook, Twitter, whatever. And if you have a question, you can text it. And that’s like it never even happened. Talking. Talking is hard.” He nodded.

  “Well,” I said. “Fuck talking. I think we should do something fun. Just you and me. Like old times.”

  He laughed. “What do you want to do?”

  “Practically anything.”

  “Let’s go into Chicago.”

  “Yes. Let’s go into Chicago.”

  “Let’s go to the museum.”

  I smiled. “Let’s.”

  “This is
a fabulous plan,” David said. He smiled. “Do you still want some fucking tea?”

  “I do want some fucking tea,” I said. “We ditch everything Friday. No paper, no classes, it will be glorious. Make arrangements, David.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Juliet had done an incredible job on the proposal for the Valentine’s Day issue, which was just around the corner. I sat down with her to discuss it and was blown away.

  “Juliet, this is unbelievable,” I said, looking at the layout and at the outreach she had already done.

  “Right?” she smiled. “So, we have 450 admirer tweets. Which is going to be crazy. We’ll do them all from the Daily Social Twitter feed.”

  I nodded.

  “And then we’re going to print them in small print on a foldout,” she said. “So that people can read them in the paper too.”

  “The tweets?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” I said. I smiled. “This sounds awesome, Juliet. Seriously.”

  “Thank you!” she smiled broadly. “So, um, when do you hear about the Times?”

  I shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think my interview went that well.”

  “But, when do you hear?”

  “By the end of the week,” I smiled. “We’ll see.”

  “And when do you get off those stupid crutches?”

  “Ugh. Soon,” I said. “Another week or two.” My knee felt fine when I just put my weight on it. But walking still hurt. “I can’t wait.”

  My phone buzzed on the table. It was a phone call. Jack.

  “Can you hold on a second?” I asked Juliet.

  “Well, I’m actually—that’s about everything. So, I can just go.”

  “Thanks. It looks really, really great. Let me know if you need help with anything.”

  Juliet shuffled her papers together and closed the door to my office behind her.

  I picked up the phone. “Hey.”

  “Can you talk?” Jack asked.

  “I’m at…”

  “The newspaper, I know. I mean. Can you get away for an hour?”

  “Why?” I asked cautiously.

  “I just…I’d really like to see you,” he said softly. “I’m sorry if…Saturday freaked you out.”

  I took a sharp breath. “No, it’s...it’s really fine.”

  “Come over?”

  I took a breath. “Jack, I have like all of ten minutes.”

  “That’s fine. That’s—I really just want to talk to you.”

  I chewed my lip. “Alright. I’ll be right there.”

  I hadn’t been nervous to see him for weeks. But I was nervous when I parked and when I opened the door. He was standing in the living room, absently watching the TV.

  “Hey,” he smiled and nodded and I walked up with him to his room and sat down on the floor with my back to a wall, my feet stretched out before me

  He gave me a wry grin. “I told you I love you.”

  I cringed. “Yeah.”

  “You’re freaking out.”

  I swallowed. “A little bit.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Well, did you mean it?”

  He threw his head back. “Jesus.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me what to say,” Jack said. “If you want me to say I don’t love you, I don’t love you. Is that what you want?”

  “Do you love me?” I asked cautiously.

  He took a breath in. “You’re like my favorite person.”

  I smiled at that.

  “I’m not going to propose. I’m not going to buy a ring or buy you flowers or force you to date me or issue an ultimatum,” he said quickly. “It just, I don’t know. I’m not going to say I don’t care about you.”

  But are you in love with me?

  “Could you say something?” he asked. “Because I’m freaking out.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I’m freaking out because I think you’re going to walk away because I said something stupid.”

  “I’m not going to walk away,” I said. I shrugged. "I think it made me worry that you might want something I can't give you right now. But, I don’t want to walk away. I won’t walk away. Okay?”

  He let out a loud, enormous sigh and he paired it with a toothy smile. “Okay.”

  “I have to go back to the paper,” I told him matter-of-factly. I hesitated at the door. “And, you know, for what it’s worth, I care about you, too. A lot. Like, in a way that makes me afraid we'll screw something up and stop talking."

  He smiled. "We won't."

  I nodded. "I think it's easier than you think."

  "No, I swear to God. I'll never say anything stupid again in my life." He gave me a goofy grin and I smiled back at him.

  "Okay. I really have to go."

  He nodded and kissed me.

  Still, I couldn’t help but feel like something had changed as I walked down the stairs. I didn’t know if it was for the better of for the worse. I just knew something was different.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I came home to see David looking like David. It was an extraordinary change. He was wearing pants he liked and a tight t-shirt and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

  “Hi,” I said, almost shocked. I smiled at him. “You look good.”

  He shot me a bitchy glare. “Oh, shut up. I look totally average.” He rearranged his hair, fussing with the haircut in the mirror. “Why did you let me do this to my hair?

  I smiled broadly. “Oh, I so did not let you do that.”

  “I’m done, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “With Ben,” he said flatly. “I’m done. That girl he’s bringing to his semi-formal? He slept with her.” He took a breath and failed to maintain the campy air of total assurance. His voice shook as he explained. “I mean, I didn’t think he would ask me. I mean, let’s be real, I never expected him to ask me. I knew he was bringing this girl. But a girl he slept with? And why does he even have to go? He could have made any excuse. Any. But I did everything he asked. I practically stopped talking to you, because he thought you were trying to break us up.”

  Well, that explained so much.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. And I genuinely was sorry to see him so upset. But I was relieved that he had realized he deserved to be treated better. I sat down on the couch next to him and curled underneath his arm.

  “You can say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That you told me so.”

  “I’m not going to say that to you,” I murmured.

  He exhaled. “I hate that I care about him.”

  I smiled at him weakly. “Yeah. I know.”

  “I absolutely hate it. Will you get drunk with me?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely,” I said. I laced my fingers with his. “You’ll be okay. You won’t care forever.”

  “I know. I’ll be better.” He shook his head. “I just feel like an idiot.”

  “You’re not one,” I smiled. “I would never live with an idiot.”

  He was already pouring the tequila shots. I raised an eyebrow. This was going to get messy.

  “OH WHOA WE’RE HALFWAY THERE! OH WHOA LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER! TAKE MY HAND AND WE’LL MAKE IT I SWEAR!”

  It was hard to tell who was screaming louder in the mostly deserted bar that Thursday evening, but David and I were making enough noise to clear the place out.

  When we both staggered out the door, I glanced at David and burst into laughter.

  “Oh my god, I hate him,” David said. “I absolutely fucking hate him. He is the goddamn worst. Fuck you, Ben Mitchell.”

  I sighed heavily. “I know.”

  “Now what?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Call a cab?”

  He nodded. “Right. Cab. Right.” But I didn’t call a cab. I reached into my bag and I called Jack.

  Drunk and happy, I called him baby.

  “What have you done with Hadley?”

  “I got h
er very, very drunk,” I said. “Come get me, please.”

  The demon sun crawled through the blinds and declared war on my eyes and my head. I rolled over and crashed into Jack’s body. He grunted.

  “I think I died,” I croaked.

  He laughed happily. “Nah, I wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “I am never drinking again. Ever. I am fucking allergic.”

  “Okay.”

  “I never want to hear last night mentioned,” I said. “There are massive blanks in my memory. And I do not want them filled.”

  Jack smiled wryly at me. “You threw up.”

  “Stop.”

  “And you said I was adorable.”

  “Stop. Cease and desist.”

  He laughed and reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. He handed it to me. “And then David accused me of killing you, but he was wasted, too.”

  “I remember none of this.”

  “You looked kind of dead.”

  “Stop.”

  “This was before you also took off your clothes and did the Macarena.”

  “I did not do the Macarena naked.”

  “That might not actually have happened.” He kissed my cheek. “You did throw up, though.”

  “Bastard.” I looked down at the glass of water he had given me and then I looked up into his kind face. I took a sip. “You’re too nice to me.”

  “No,” he said simply. “I’m not.”

  “You are,” I said seriously. “I was very responsible when I didn’t expect anyone to be nice to me. This is your fault.”

  He laughed. “I was nowhere near you. I found you in this condition,” he said. He rolled his eyes. “Clearly, you should not ever go to bars with David. Also, I heard some stories about tequila. That should be against the rules.”

  I made a face, remembering tequila. I really couldn’t disagree.

  I peeled myself out of my bed and pressed my hand to my forehead. “Fuck.”

  “Advil. You need Advil, coffee, and a liver transplant.”

  “I don’t know anybody who’d give me their liver.”

  “I’d tell you that I would, but then you’d freak out again,” he said softly.

  I smiled at him. “And you slept over. Again.” We hadn’t talked further about the ‘I love you’ thing. But it had to be a good sign that he was joking about it.”