by Lucy Gage
So, while this has all the makings of a double-hookup, it’s likely not going to happen. I’m only here in a supporting fashion, for Chelsea.
“What did you have in mind?” Jason questions, a flirtatious smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“What do you say about seven minutes in heaven?”
“Isn’t that a middle-school game?” I ask. “And there’s only four of us here. It’s not very adventurous.”
“Who cares?” Chelsea asks. She pulls the straw out of her iced coffee, grabs a pair of scissors from her desk, and begins to cut the straw into four pieces. She lines them up in her hand and then presents them to Jason. “You pick first.”
“All right.” He grabs a particularly long straw.
“You’re next, Emma.”
“This is so stupid.” I reach for the far-right straw and Chelsea lowers her hand, out of reach. I sigh. She wants the long straw so that she can choose who to spend seven minutes in heaven with. I take the one she wants me to and announce, “Not me.”
Then, quick as lightning, Beckett snatches a straw from Chelsea’s hand.
It’s the short one.
“Nice one, bro,” Jason says. “So, who do you pick? Chelsea or Emma? Of course, I’m an option, too.”
“Emma,” he says, looking straight me.
My stomach churns. I didn’t see that coming. Well, maybe I did. Chelsea has been pretty obvious from the start about her interest in Jason. I’m sure he pulled the short one to save Chelsea any embarrassment in the case that Jason didn’t pick her.
I stand up. “All righty then. Let’s do this.”
The dorm room is small, but Chelsea and I both have our own closets, which are sizable enough, all things considered. I shove my laundry basket into the main living area, where Chelsea and Jason are still seated on the central rug, step inside the closest, pull Beckett to my side, and then close the folding door, sealing out any light.
Beckett’s frame is close to mine, and the heat of his body surrounds me in the small space. I look down at my watch, set the timer, and then whisper to Beckett, “So, what do you want to talk about? Shakespeare or Bronte.”
“Neither,” he states huskily. He swallows audibly and then continues, “I’d rather kiss you.”
“You would?”
He doesn’t reply. The next thing that happens is his lips are on mine, hard and quick. Fervent and passionate. I moan into his mouth, delighted by the feel of our tongues connecting and swirling together. His hands tangle into my hair, skim down my back, and land with a from grip on my hips. I seal my body closer to his, hungry for more of him. I hadn’t realized until this moment how much pent-up attraction I had towards him. I must have stored it in a recess of my mind because he never gave any indication that he cared about anything, let alone that I existed.
His erection is proud and fierce, pressing against my pelvis. I don’t know what comes over me, but my hand lingers downward until I’m palming the evidence that he’s most definitely attracted to me. Or at least what we are doing here, right now, in this small confined and dark area.
“Emma,” he breathes. “God, I want to touch you. I want you to touch me. I’ve been thinking about this for…”
He doesn’t say anything else. I’m so turned on, I silence his lips with mine. He reaches for the hem of my shirt, untucking it from my jeans, and slides his hand up my belly to cup my breast. My breathing increases. I gyrate my crouch against his thigh and basically begin to give him a denim hand job.
I reach for the top of his zipper, not giving two shits about taking things a little too far…and the timer goes off on my watch.
Our mouths disconnect. Mine are puffy and swollen.
“Looks like time is up,” I mutter.
The closet door opens, and Chelsea grins from ear to ear.
Chelsea transferred to another school after our freshman year together. I saw Beckett a few times in the dorm hall, and in Advanced Literature, but our time in the closet seemed like a dream. And once the second semester came around, we didn’t have any other classes together.
It seems so strange that I’m back here in his arms. Of course, I’ve changed since then, but if I'm honest with myself, the urge to kiss him again is creeping up on me. My lips tingle at the thought.
Beckett leans in closer so that we are dancing cheek to cheek. “Have I told you how pretty you look tonight?”
“Not in the last five minutes.”
“Such a shame. It needs to be said often. I’m so neglectful of you.”
“You really have turned into quite the charmer over the years.”
“Rumor has it.”
The reception has been in full swing for well over an hour. Dinner has been served, the cake has been cut, and the guests are getting rowdy, happy, and slightly drunk. I’ve been nursing one drink most of the evening to keep my senses alert for the part I’ve been asked to play, but overall, I’ve been having a surprisingly great time. Beckett has been all the gentleman that he promised to be.
We’ve had our flirty moments.
It’s all part of the facade.
About two hours into the reception, after many dances, and a few laughs with Beckett’s mother, I excuse myself to use the restroom.
When I enter the tiled room, the loud drunken giggles don’t come as a surprise. I can see the bride’s feet under the door, along with two of her bridesmaids’ feet in the same stall. I enter an adjacent cubicle, do my business, and then come out to wash my hands.
At the sink, Laura, the bride and Beckett’s sister, is adjusting her dress while one of her bridesmaids attempts to fix her hair.
“Oh. My. God. You’re Emma, right?” she questions me. We were introduced in the receiving line, but I haven’t spoken to her since. She’s been attending to her guests.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Practically, tripping over her gown, she steps toward me and grabs me in the biggest bear hug. “My mom was telling me about you. I’m so glad Beckett found you. We’ve been so worried about him.”
I grin at her bubbly attitude and allow her to hug me a little too tightly despite the fact that I’m not a hugger because she is the bride and, well, Beckett’s sister.
“After his time at State, we didn’t think he would ever be able to trust anyone else,” Laura says, holding my shoulders at arm’s length.
“At State?”
“Before he transferred and met you.” She smiles happily. “You really are pretty. I can see why he likes you so much. And he does. It’s written all over his face.”
“Thanks. I really like him, too.”
“Of course, you do. What’s not to like? He can have his moments, but we love him anyway. He’s compassionate to a fault, you know?”
No, I don’t know, but don’t tell her that. Actually, I’ve never seen his compassion in any form. Mostly, just a partier and player. That has some merit, I suppose.
“I knew there was something not right about that Olivia girl.” Laura leans over the vanity, blotting her lips with the gloss handed to her by one of the bridesmaids. “From the moment he brought her home at Christmas. I feel bad for her and all, but what she did to Beckett is unheard off. Something for the movies. A horror movie, that is.”
My brow furrows. I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I agree with her to keep the conversation flowing and be polite. “I know.”
“Right?” She whips around to face me. “I can tell, even though we’ve just met, you’re a good person, Emma. You would never deceive my little brother. He’s got too good of a heart. Promise me you won’t trample on it.”
“I won’t,” I assure her. “I would never hurt him.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” She lifts up her skirt and sighs. “But even if you do, I’m sure you could never be as cruel as she was. I mean seriously? Who makes up having cancer to keep a guy tagging along? I’m glad the girl is g
etting help, but doing that to Beckett just about broke him. It’s not right.”
I blink about a million and seven times. “What?”
“It’s not right. Faking cancer.”
“No…it’s not.” I exhale and shake senses into the present. “I would never. That’s not even anything I’m remotely capable of.”
She pats my shoulder. “Of course it isn’t. You’re too lovely. And not mental.”
Laura and her two bridesmaids leave the restroom. I stare blankly at the white dryer, trying to comprehend what I just heard.
There’s no way I heard that correctly. She’s tipsy for sure, but who would make up a story like that?
Then again, who would fake having cancer to be with a guy?
Apparently, in some other school, a girl named Olivia would.
After the biggest pep talk to myself of my life, I meander from the restroom in a surreal-like fashion. Floating along, not really sure if my body or mind are in the right reality.
I’m a fake girlfriend at a wedding.
Everyone around me is a stranger.
Including my date.
I thought I didn’t know him before, but it seems like I know absolutely nothing about him in any capacity. Either that or his sister is delusional and a creative prankster of a storyteller, testing my sense of humor. That’s got to be it.
“There you are,” Beckett’s mother says, gently laying a hand on my arm. “We were looking for you. Laura is about to toss the bouquet. Beckett was the lucky man to fetch the garter, and it’s fitting that the bouquet belongs to you. Don’t worry, I put in a good word for you. It’s in the bag.”
“Um…I’m not so sure,” I say.
“Oh, honey, we don't expect you to marry him. It’s just for fun.” She lightly pushes me to a gathering of young ladies in the middle of the dance floor. “Go on, honey. You go and get what’s yours.”
I blindly and numbly file into the pile of women who are vying for the clutch of flowers. They all work together, trading places with each other again and again until I’m front and center, primed to catch the bouquet.
“I’m rooting for you!” Beckett calls from the side.
“Me, too,” Laura says slyly to me as she turns to face us.
My palms sweat.
Like the evening isn’t bizarre enough with knowing the position I’m in upon arrival as being the biggest emotional scheme to this family, it’s gotten even stranger. I feel as though I’ve been let in on some crazy world that I was never supposed to be privy to. Maybe that’s how the Ames family likes to roll. This is so not my speed, and I’m feeling more and more out of my league with each breath.
The emcee has the crowd count down, “3-2-1,” and Laura peeks over her shoulder, shooting the bouquet straight at me with the accuracy of a Major League pitcher . Reflexively, I catch it. No one else even reaches for it.
With the bundle of flowers in my hand, I’m ushered to a chair in the center of the room. I take a seat, and Beckett takes a knee in front of me. With the biggest and silliest smile, he slides the garter up my leg, over my knee, and lands it securely around my thigh. His fingers linger around the soft section behind my knee, intimate and affectionate.
“That’s a good look for you,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.
I barely move. I’m frozen in place.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I respond automatically.
He stands and leads me off the chair. “Looks like we have the next dance.”
Beckett and I begin to dance in the center of the floor with everyone watching for what seems like forever. Finally, the emcee announces that the other guests can join us.
“Is everything all right?” Beckett asks, again.
“I don’t know,” I say, honestly. “It’s all too much.”
“Is the wedding getting to be too much? We can leave soon if you like. You’ve done me a huge favor already. It’s been a great night. I think we are well in the clear and there’s no need to push it.”
“I’m glad. Really and truly, Beckett.” I look him in the eyes. “Who’s Olivia?”
His back stiffens, and his face goes grave. “Where did you hear that name?”
“Laura mentioned her. I never knew you transferred schools. She was making it all up, right? You don’t know an Olivia, do you? From State?”
“Emma,” he whispers as the music comes to a close. “I…Let’s…”
“You two are so adorable,” Beckett’s mother says, interrupting our conversation.
I smile kindly at her. “Thank you.”
“I think we are going to head out, Mom.” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. “It’s getting late.”
“Of course.” She kisses me politely on one cheek and then the other. “It was so nice to meet you, Emma. I hope to see you again soon.”
“It was nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Ames.”
Beckett takes my hand, walking us off the dance floor. I expect to have to say goodbye to the rest of his family, but that’s not the case. He beelines to the door, pulling me behind him. Without a word, he opens my car door, settling into my seat, and then joins me in the vehicle.
As the car turns onto the highway, Beckett stares out the windshield and says, “Olivia was my girlfriend, and she ruined me in every way you can possibly imagine.”
“I met her within the first month of being at State. Yeah, I’m a transfer student here. I’m a year older. Not sure if you knew that. Not sure it matters. Anyhow, it felt like love at first sight when she and I met. We connected right away. I had never known that could happen, but it did to me. We were a couple after only two days. I was sneaking her into my dorm room that first week because I needed to be with her, and we were inseparable for months. Then one day, right before Christmas, she told me she wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t think much of it. Everyone was getting some kind of virus that time of year. She came home with me for Christmas, my family met her, and everything seemed to be fine.”
He glances my way before changing lanes and continues, “Then after New Year’s Eve, she told me she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and my world sank. This was a girl I loved and thought for sure she was going to die. I spent as much time as I could with her. She stayed with me almost one hundred percent of the time. It seemed obsessive, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be with her as much as possible. I didn’t know how much time we had left together. Death was dangling.”
He sighs. “That’s when the trouble started.”
“How so?” I ask, not sure where this is going. How could anyone? This isn’t real, right? I’m still doubtful.
“My friends started to notice how much time we were spending together. So, I told them about her cancer. Of course, they were sympathetic. Why wouldn’t they be? They’re my friends. But then they started to ask questions about her treatment and well…I had no answers.”
“Oh,” I mutter.
“Yeah. I was so wrapped in her, I didn’t see anything that was real. My friends were suspicious, I trusted Olivia and all her lies about her special treatments and doctors, and things just spiraled from there. It got bad between my friends and me, and I was driven closer and closer to Olivia until it really was a sick obsession of us against the world.”
“I can only imagine.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You really can’t. No one can. No offense. I wouldn’t wish those feelings on anyone.”
“So, what happened?”
“One of my friends did some investigating, behind my back because I couldn’t listen to anything reasonable. He found out her parents’ contact number and asked them about her illness point blank. That’s when shit came tumbling down. The next day, they were at my door, practically beating it down and hauling her off to a psych ward.”
“Oh. My. God,” I stammer.
He peeks in my direction and then focuses back on the road. “She made the whole thing up,
and I was left picking up the pieces of myself. And I didn’t do a very good job. I went into a deep depression. Got put on academic probation and basically had to be checked in for intensive therapy. I still see a therapist to this day. My parents require it to ensure I’m stable enough to get through college.”
“Katie…That’s why…”
“Yes. Katie knows the whole story. I’ve been close to her since sophomore year.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He narrows his gaze at me. “Really?”
“She never mentioned it.”
“Interesting.”
“Anyhow, she knows about Olivia. She knows it all. Not until recently, but she knows. It’s why she was willing to help me out tonight.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I needed a girlfriend to show my parents I could have a healthy relationship. They’ve been worried about me for years. My therapist says I’m ready to end our sessions, but my parents needed proof. I thought a girlfriend would do the trick.”
“But you’ve been with so many girls.”
“First of all, that’s all rumors.” He laughs. “Rumors I started.”
“You? Why?”
“Because I didn’t want a girlfriend. Well, that’s not true. I really didn’t want to date. I figured if I had a reputation that preceded me, it would keep me in that no-date zone.”
“So, you aren’t the love-and-leave-them type?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m more the living-my-life-to-the-fullest type. At least now I am. Or I’m trying to be.”
Beckett turns off the highway at the exit for the university.
