by Sarah Peis
Biker dude stepped back. “We’re done.” He turned on his heel and was swallowed up in the crowd.
I wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t I moving? Right, because I was still being held by Jameson. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let me go either, so we just stood there. I felt the guys’ eyes on me and turned to a table full of concerned faces. Mason was half out of his seat, and Landon was standing behind us, looking ready to take someone’s head off.
“Fucking Mack,” he said and got back into his seat. His move seemed to pull everyone out of their frozen states. Conversation continued, and Landon joked around like he wasn’t ready to kill someone just a few seconds ago.
“You all right?” Jameson asked, his cheek pressed against my head, his mouth on my ear.
I only managed a weak nod. Why did I even come here? I always make a mess of things. Tonight was the perfect example.
Jameson squeezed me to get my attention. “He won’t bother you again.”
I nodded again. He didn’t let go of me as he turned me around and guided me back into the booth and got in next to me. Everyone shuffled up, and I ended up wedged between Clay and Jameson.
I knew it was a mistake coming out tonight. Jameson carried on as if nothing had happened and didn’t acknowledge my presence once. He was pressed against me, the heat of his body penetrating every pore of mine. I was getting hot and restless. Dinner was a welcome reprieve and gave me something to do with my hands.
I scarfed down my burger, nearly choking a few times in my haste. I ignored the fries and got up, still chewing my last bite. “Thanks for dinner, guys, but I gotta go. See you all on Monday.”
Amidst the protests of me leaving so soon, Jameson got up to let me out. I did an awkward half wave at him and walked away. He followed close behind. Too close, since he kept brushing up against me.
“What are you doing?” I asked and stopped.
He put a hand on my back and started walking again, taking me with him. “Taking you home.”
“Right. But I can take a cab.”
He grunted in answer, and I shut up and let him drive me home. We didn’t say one word to each other the entire way.
It was Monday, and I was depressed. I spent all day Saturday working, and after my shift, Rayna dropped me at Drake’s to get my car. Sunday was a write-off after I had to help Dad clean his yard when his neighbors complained about the smell, something that happened frequently, but he only reacted when he was sent an official letter, aka grounds management told him to pick up his shit. My weekend had been gone in a flash, and I was back to work.
Maisie and Stella had left for the summer, Maisie going to London for an internship and Stella to help out at her parents’ farm. Life sucked.
“Willa, open the door. I know you’re in there,” Landon said, his voice muffled by the locked kitchen door.
Can’t a girl eat cupcakes in peace? “I’m eating lunch. Go away.”
“I know it was you who put that fucking glitter shit in my air vents. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get out?”
“That was kind of the point,” I mumbled through the bite I had just taken out of the red velvet cupcake I made that morning. Delicious. And it almost made me forget that my friends were gone, I had to work three jobs, and Jameson was back to not talking to me. Almost forgot, but not quite. Another two or three cupcakes should do the job and cause me to have temporary memory loss thanks to sugar overload.
“This isn’t over,” he bellowed.
I ignored him and picked up cupcake number four. Still had three to get through and refused to be disturbed until I was done. His retreating footsteps put a smile on my face. Another win for yours truly.
And the glitter was only in retaliation for the spider he put on my desk. I was terrified of spiders. If I had the choice between sleeping in a bed with a spider or poison ivy, the choice would be obvious, and I wouldn’t pick the spider.
So when I came in that morning and found a giant spider crawling all over my screen, I lost my shit. Literally lost it. But no, that wasn’t the low point of my morning. Not by a long shot. As I was screaming bloody murder and ran out the office door, Jameson came sprinting down his stairs in nothing but his boxers. You’d think that would be something to make my day a whole lot better. It would be if that was where the story ended.
But he was an absolute dick about it. I didn’t think he understood the gravity of the spider situation.
“What now?” Jameson asked. His voice was scratchy from sleep, and I was staring at his chest. And I mean, who wouldn’t? It was the chest every other chest should take as an example. My hands itched to touch it, but I managed to ball them into fists and clench them at my sides. There would definitely be no touching in their future.
I felt incredibly stupid for screaming like I was being murdered. But then again, the spider was pretty big. It might have been really hungry, or maybe it was just having a bad day and that was reason enough to bite me. My life was in danger. Retreating back into the office, rather facing off with hairy legs than barely dressed and angry jackass, I said, “I’m good. Just peachy. Downright dandy. Marvelous. Fantastic. Ha—”
“Okay, I get it, you’re fine,” Jameson cut off my ramble. “Then why did you scream?”
“Spider,” I replied and pointed at my desk. The hairy beast was still taking a walk around my keyboard.
Jameson casually strolled over and picked it up. I shrieked and took a step back and then one forward. I wanted to save him but wasn’t brave enough to get closer. “Save yourself and drop it while you can,” I yelled, still jumping back and forth, unsure if I should get the hell out of there or save Jameson.
“Ralph isn’t going to eat anyone.” He held the beast up to his face. “How the hell did you get out?”
“You’re on a first-name basis with that thing?”
“It’s Ralph. He lives in the terrarium next to Mason’s work station.”
Jameson walked into the garage, and I followed at a safe distance. I watched him set the hairy clump into a terrarium and close the lid. “Okay, who was it?” Jameson asked the guys who had all congregated when they saw us come in.
Nobody said anything, but I saw Landon try to contain his snicker. I made a slashing gesture against my throat and stomped back into the office. He was going to pay. And pay he did. The glitter was a brilliant idea. Thanks, YouTube.
A creak sounded above my head, and I looked up at the window above the kitchen cabinets. The latch turned and it opened. Landon squeezed himself through the small gap, his face red from exertion.
“Seriously?” I asked through cupcake crumbs while gaping at him.
He landed on top of the cupboards, and I was afraid they were going to give out under his weight. He managed not to plunge to his death but instead swung his legs around and landed on the counter. From there, he jumped down and was standing next to me with a triumphant grin. I had to grudgingly admit that I was impressed.
“You didn’t think you were going to eat all the cupcakes by yourself, did you?”
I watched him take two cupcakes, one for each hand and ate them in two bites. “A man with many talents,” I said and tried to defend the last cupcake.
He was faster and swiped it off the table before I had a chance to get to it. The whole thing went into his mouth.
“Now to the matter at hand,” he said once he was done swallowing his bounty. “Why are you holed up in this smelly kitchen instead of eating lunch outside with us like you have done since you started working here?” He took another look at me, and his eyes went wide. Here we go. I should have just stayed at home.
“What happened to your hair?”
I put my hands over said hair to cover it and glared at Landon. “That’s the worst thing you could say to a girl.”
Instead of backing off and letting me wallow in my misery, he leaned over the table and pulled my hands away. “It looks like you got a haircut. A really bad one.”
I slapped him away and
brushed my hands over my hair to straighten it out. If I pushed it down just right, you couldn’t tell that some of it was shorter than the rest. “My hairdryer exploded on me this morning, and the selfish bastard took a few of my hairs with him on his way to hell. Now shut up and finish your cupcake.”
Landon wrinkled his forehead and examined me some more. “I would recommend a hat. Or a wig.”
I flipped him off and braided it instead. Lucky for me, the short bits were just long enough to fit.
“That works too,” he said once I finished.
Defeated with life, I hung my head and hoped he wouldn’t tell anyone. Instead of leaving me to my misery, he pulled me off the chair and outside to eat with the guys. To my surprise, he didn’t say a word about my hair and only looked at it a few times.
The guys managed to cheer me up, and I felt better about life. Maybe it was time to suck it up and take charge. I was ready, I was pumped, and I would make life my bitch. No more sad sack Willa who was scared of spiders and hairdryers. Maybe tomorrow I’d even take a look into the terrarium without freaking out. Or it could wait until next week. I was a new and improved version of myself.
The positive thoughts lasted until my phone beeped. Lately any sound coming from it wasn’t a good omen. Unfortunately, this time wasn’t an exception.
Dad: Honey, can you come pick me up? Got into a little situation in Vegas.
I stared at my phone, dread rising in my stomach. The text message didn’t bode well for me. I hoped this was one of the nightmares I tended to have. I would wake up any minute. I was sure Dad wouldn’t do this to me again, especially not now when I was still working off his last debt.
I typed out a reply.
Me: Where are you?
I put the phone down, and after eating the last bit of my chocolate bar, I started pacing the office. It was afternoon. If I left now, I could make it to Vegas by midnight. If my car made it that far without breaking down on me.
The door to the garage opened, and Jameson came through. “Who died?” he asked when he saw my pained expression.
“Nobody died.” I stopped my trek through the office and shuffled some papers around. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by telling me what’s wrong.” His arms were crossed over his chest, legs wide, brows raised.
I shook my head and abandoned the papers. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m just overreacting.”
“You mean like when Landon put Ralph in here?”
“That was in no way an overreaction. He put a spider on my desk, a humongous living spider with hairy everything.”
“Ralph would never hurt you. He’s old and lazy.”
“Well, I didn’t know that before he put the damn thing in my office. And he knew full well I was going to freak.” I narrowed my eyes in my best death stare, but he just continued to look at me with his stupid eyes and his stupid hair that was all over the place.
My phone started ringing. It was Dad.
“Honey,” he said when I picked up, pointedly ignoring Jameson who made himself comfortable on the edge of my desk.
“Dad. Finally. Where the hell are you?”
There was an embarrassed cough down the line, and it sounded like he dropped the phone. “Sorry, I’m back.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, but I may need a new car.”
I groaned into the phone and rubbed my forehead. Not again. “Tell me you didn’t gamble everything away again.”
“Okay, I won’t then.”
I cursed silently and kicked the desk. “Where are you?”
“At Greg’s. I need you to come pick me up.”
Of course he did. Because he didn’t think I had a life and might be busy. And he would have no money left for the bus or train.
“Fine. I can be there in a few hours.”
“I can stay here tonight but need to be out by tomorrow.”
“I’ll leave tonight. Keep your phone close.”
“Thanks, honey. See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
As much as I hated what he did to me, I still loved him.
We hung up, and I threw my phone against the wall. It bounced off the plaster, leaving a big mark behind. It was covered in the world’s hardest case since I had a habit of dropping it on hard surfaces and into water. I was 99 percent sure it wasn’t broken. The same couldn’t be said about the wall.
Throwing things wasn’t enough so I stomped my foot and kicked my office chair. As soon as I made contact, pain shot up my leg and I yelped. I held my foot and jumped up and down on one leg. What a mess. I didn’t feel better at all. Violence solved nothing. And now I had to fix a hole in a wall as well.
“That didn’t sound like a little Ralph overreaction,” Jameson said, ignoring my tantrum. I had forgotten that he was there.
“Would you mind if I took off a little earlier today?” I asked.
“Where are you going?”
“Vegas.”
“You are going to Vegas by yourself? I don’t think so.”
“It’s not like I’m going there for fun. I have to get—” The door shut, and I was talking to an empty room. And I guess that was a yes to the early finish.
And since he was so agreeable to me going, I turned off my computer and headed out the door.
And I was indeed going. Just not the way I imagined. Somehow I found myself sitting in Jameson’s car. With Jameson, who insisted on driving me there. Once I left the office, he was waiting for me outside. Apparently the two minutes it took to get ready to go was enough time for him to pull his car around and let the guys know that he’d be gone for the weekend.
He used my confusion to his advantage and guided me onto the seat, not giving me a chance to protest. At least we stopped at my apartment to grab what I needed for an overnight trip.
I was only allowed ten minutes of frantically throwing things into a backpack before Jameson stomped through the door. “What’s taking so long? If we want to make it to Vegas before tomorrow morning, we gotta go.”
He peered into my backpack. “Please tell me we won’t need the flashlight.” His hand disappeared inside the bag. “And a rope? What the hell would we need scissors for?”
I snatched my stuff from him and crammed it back inside the overflowing backpack. I remembered the candles, hairpins, and Taser, but where was the first aid kit? Right, kitchen drawer where I left it after Maisie hit her head when she tried to jump over my couch. Emphasis on the word “tried.”
Dad and Vegas never mixed well, and I had to be prepared, hence the overflowing backpack.
I barely had time to grab my jacket before Jameson grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my apartment.
He took my backpack and threw it onto his back seat. “Why do you look like you just found out the Spice Girls broke up?” he asked.
I glared at him. “Because I love Sporty Spice?”
He opened the passenger door and motioned for me to get in. “So what’s your dad doing in Vegas?”
I was hoping to be able to avoid the question for a bit longer and said, “Picking up an Elvis statue?”
Jameson closed my door and got in behind the wheel but didn’t start the car. Instead he gave me an impassive face. This was a stare off I couldn’t win, unless winning meant jumping on his lap. Because that I could do.
I studied my hands and tried again. “Dying to see Cirque de Soleil?” Maybe I should stop making my answers sound like questions. “He wanted to visit the Eiffel Tower.” There it was. A statement. I could totally do this.
“Willa,” Jameson drew out my name, sounding like he was talking to a two-year-old. “I heard you on the phone. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
“Why do you think I insisted on coming along?”
I gave him a “duh, I’m not stupid” look. “Because you really want to go to Vegas.”
“Nope. Because you cl
early need my help. Do you really think your sorry excuse for a car would have made it the five hundred miles?”
I knew he was right. I barely made it the twenty miles to get to work. “Look, I’m grateful for the ride, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine came to life.
“Well, you’ve got it, whether you want it or not. Now try telling me again why we’re going to Vegas.” He was relentless. And I was so used to taking care of myself that I didn’t know what to think of his help. Did I like it? Not sure. Was I secretly grateful for the support even though he didn’t really know what he was supporting? Unfortunately, the answer to that one was yes.
“I have to pick up my dad because he gambled his car away.” My voice was so low, I wasn’t sure if he heard me over the hum of the engine and the radio playing in the background. I was ashamed. Dad was my family, but I wished he made better choices. Preferably ones that didn’t end up with him getting arrested or losing his car.
“Okay. Let’s do it.” Jameson sounded like we were going for ice cream, not trying to drag my irresponsible, stuck-in-his-twenties dad home. He pulled away from the curb and just like that we were on our way to Vegas.
I had to swallow hard to dislodge the lump stuck in my throat. All this niceness was making me break out in hives. I could feel my neck getting itchy. And my eyes. But that might be the tears that were trying to break free. Not happening, you weak little fools. You’re staying confined in my eyeballs where you belong.
A tattooed arm appeared in my vision and his hand settled on my knee. His touch burned a hole into my skin. “You should have told me straight away.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“What if I want to make it my problem?”
“Then you’re a fool who has clearly never had to pick up a Montgomery in Vegas before.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.”
There really wasn’t anything I could say other than thank you. Without Jameson, I would probably not have made it to Vegas. It also saved me from driving for six hours. There was no way I would stay at Greg’s for the night. He was one of Dad’s friends that I avoided as much as possible.
