For Real

  He steps away and licks his top lip like he’s in some sort of erotic film. Dude, seriously?

  “Javi?” The girl at the door taps her foot and he finally focuses on her.

  “Yeah, babe. I’m coming.” He slips his arm around her and then sticks his tongue in her ear as his hand grabs her ass. She giggles and they stumble out the door.

  “Soooo, yeah. That’s Javier. I’m sorry.” I finally raise my eyes and meet his face.

  “He’s . . . interesting?” It sounds like a question. And that isn’t the best word for Javier. I don’t really have any words for him, and Jett doesn’t either.

  “What did he say to you?” He walks back to the couch, and I can tell he really wants to know but he’s playing it off like he doesn’t.

  “‘Handle with care.’ What does that mean?” I sit next to him on the couch again, being careful to avoid the coffee table this time.

  Jett puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. He looks tired when he raises his head again.

  “I have no idea,” he says, but the way he says it means that he has more than an idea. He knows exactly what Javier means, but I can’t begin to figure it out.

  “Look, I should go. I can, um, call a cab.”

  “No, no, you don’t have to do that. I can drive you if you want to go.” He almost sounds sad.

  “I mean, I don’t want to go. I just felt kind of weird, intruding on your life.” I start to stand, but he grabs my arm to stop me.

  “You don’t have to go. Stay.” His glorious eyes plead with me.

  “Okay,” I say without even thinking about it and sitting back down. Wow, I’m easy.

  So, what now?

  “I’m really sorry about him. He’s a great guy; his delivery just sucks sometimes. He also has issues with tact. As in he doesn’t know what it is and doesn’t want to learn.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Hazel.” I don’t mean to mention her, but it’s sort of inevitable. “My roommate. She was pissing me off so bad tonight. She’s also my best friend, but sometimes she needs to back the hell off. Tonight she went too far.” And now I feel like I’m going to cry again, but I swallow it. Jett gives me a sympathetic look that I want to hide from.

  “Friends can be cruel sometimes, can’t they?” I nod.

  “You let them get away with things that you wouldn’t let a stranger get away with.

  “I hear you.” And then we start talking. About friends, and roommates and going against the grain, and childhood traumas and random life moments. He gets me laughing again and once I start, I can’t stop.

  We talk until I’m starving again, and we go to the kitchen, put a bunch of things together and make the most random nachos ever. Velveeta, black beans, tomatoes, leftover chicken, pepperonis, red peppers, onions, hot sauce.

  “It looks both disgusting and delicious,” I say as we shove the concoction in the oven.

  “I still think the hot dogs would have added something special,” he says, setting the timer and leaning back against the counter.

  “That’s just too much meat.” I make a face.

  “That’s what she said.” I roll my eyes at his terrible joke.

  “Yeah, Javier is the immature one.” He smiles again and I’m struck with the urge to lick his face. Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. I have never had the desire to lick someone’s face before. Temporary insanity?

  “Do I have something on my face?” Whilst I’ve been pondering the face lick, I have, once again, been caught staring.

  “Nope. Nothing.” I manage to play it off. Maybe I’m getting better at this. Just requires practice.

  Jett’s phone rings when the nachos are almost done. His ringtone is the sound of Darth Vader breathing and it scares the shit out of me until he answers it.

  “Hey . . . No . . . No. NO. You’re drunk. Goodbye.” He looks down at his phone and shakes his head.

  “I swear if I have to pick up his drunken ass again, I’m going to hogtie him, draw penises all over his face with permanent marker and take tons of pictures.”

  “Javier?” I ask.

  “Yeah. He’s still in a good place, drunk-wise, but one more drink and he’ll start crying about losing his cat when he was ten. If I have to listen to that again, I’m going to lose my shit.” He groans and stares at the nachos as the timer dings.

  “I should probably go get him. He’s already had one DUI and he doesn’t need another.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll just call a cab. No big.” He looks at me and I feel it too. I don’t want to leave. Despite all the stupid things I’ve said tonight, I like being around him. Yeah, sure, I’ve known the guy for only a few hours, but sometimes you meet people and you click. You get each other. And if you get each other’s twisted sense of humor, that’s even better.

  “I can go get him and then drop you off, if you want. The least I can do is offer you a ride.” He’d already given me a ride, let me crash at his house, let me force him to watch Mean Girls, kissed the back of my head and my hip and made me nachos. Any more and I’m going to have to owe him, or at least send a thank you card.

  “Please,” he says, cutting off my protest.

  “Okay, but no more, or else I’m going to owe you.” Am I flirting with him? Was that flirty? I’m a really bad judge on that kind of thing.

  “I think I could be okay with that,” he says in a low voice with a half-smile. And the world ceases to spin. Or at least it feels that way.

  “Oh, you want me to owe you?” Where the hell did that come from? Whatever, I’m going with it.

  He bites the corner of his lip and then his phone rings again.

  “Yeah, we should go.”

  We pull up to a bar that’s the definition of “seedy”. I don’t really know where that term comes from, but I know it when I see it. This is it. I didn’t even know this bar existed.

  Tucked into the corner of an intersection with a tattoo shop on one side and an abandoned building on the other, the brick front is crumbling, and covered in graffiti and a cacophony of neon signs for various beers. The door is propped open by a bucket filled with cigarette butts.

  “Classy,” I say under my breath. Jett just pulls over to the side of the bar and parks.

  “I don’t know if it’s safer for you to stay in the car, or come with.” I don’t either. A few of the people hanging outside look like lost cast members from Sons of Anarchy. Are there Motorcycle Clubs in Maine? There must be.

  “I think I’ll come with,” I say and he gives me a look that says, “Are you sure?”

  I fish in my purse and bring out my pink Leatherman tool.

  “What’s that for?” Jett says.

  “You can never be too careful. Also, it has a bottle opener.” I hold it up and pull out some of the tools to show him before we get out of the car. He automatically takes my hand, and I can’t tell if it’s to keep me close so I don’t get lost in the crowd, or for some other reason.

  There’s no one at the door checking IDs, which is probably why there are several girls that barely look like they made it out of high school going gangbusters on the dance floor. Jett scans the room for Javier, but I’m having trouble seeing over everyone’s heads.

  The place smells like moldy cigarettes and sticky beer with a hint of puke and sweat. They should call it The Dive. It’s also so hot in here that it’s almost steamy. Jesus, get me out of here. I grip my improvised knife, ready to attack if need be.

  “There he is,” Jett says, pointing across the room where Javier has the girl with the non-dress dress shoved up against the wall. Thankfully, there are people in front of them to block my view, or else I probably could see if her vagina has a face.

  Jett tugs me through the pulsing bodies and over to Javier and the girl.

  “Javi, time to go,” Jett says, clamping his hand on Javier’s shoulder and pulling his face away from the girl with a sound like a suction cup being pulled off the wall. This is why I’m single. Gross.

  “Hey, man
. What are you doing here?” At least I think that’s what he says. I’m not fluent in Drunkish.

  “Time to go home, Javi.” Jett practically spits the words out, and for the first time I glimpse something hard in him. Intense. Don’t-fuck-with-me.

  I don’t understand what Javier says next, but then he notices me. I’ve been huddling into Jett because I’d rather huddle with him than with a creepy stranger, especially since my ass has already gotten slapped twice.

  He slurs something at me and the girl glares and Jett starts yanking him away while still holding my hand.

  Jett tows me and Javier through the bar and back out into the fresh air. Somehow Javier manages to stay on his feet, but as soon as we get to the car, he slumps against it. The girl is MIA. We’d lost her somewhere. I hope she gets home okay, and I ask Jett if he minds if we go back in to see if she’s okay.

  We get Javier into the car and lay him down on the backseat. He tries to grab my boob, but I slap his hand away and he sticks his tongue out at me and then falls asleep.

  “Good boy,” I say, patting his head as I shut the door.

  Jett and I wade back into the bar, but we can’t find the girl with the vagina-showing dress again, even when I go to the ladies’ room and check. She must have slipped out.

  “Okay, well I need to get him home and put out the hangover kit for tomorrow. Why do I let him do this to me?” He has clearly done this many times before.

  Why had I let my friends hold me hostage?

  I give him a sympathetic look. Javier mumbles in his sleep in the backseat as Jett drives me back to my apartment. I don’t want to go back, because I’m still pissed at Hazel, but I don’t have a choice. I’m pissed at all my other friends too, so I can’t crash at their places, and Amelia still lives in the dorms and has a roommate that is very strict about visitors.

  I don’t wait for Jett to open my door this time, but he comes around anyway. The lights are on in the kitchen, so either Hazel left them on for me, or she’s still up. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. I have a tendency to avoid confrontation, but not this time.

  “Well, thanks for everything.” This is a weird way to end the evening, but it’s been a weird evening.

  “Yeah, anytime. It was great hanging out with you, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.” They were far from ideal.

  “Yeah,” I say and we just stare at each other for a second. Then Jett reaches around me and rifles around in the glove box, pulling out a piece of paper. He folds it on the hood, tears it into a square and then keeps folding it until he has a paper crane. Then he takes one of the wings, writes something on it and holds it out to me.

  “I’d really like to see you again,” he says as I take the crane and realize it has his phone number on it.

  “The feeling is mutual.” We both sort of smile and then I finally turn to go upstairs.

  “Hey,” Hazel says as I unlock the door. She’d been sitting at our tiny dining table and smoking. I HATE that she smokes in the house, but she only does it when she’s seriously stressed.

  I don’t answer her. She stubs out the cigarette and pushes my phone across the table. Just being in the same room with her is making me pissed again. I should have asked Jett if I could stay the whole night because I can’t be around her right now.

  “I’m so sorry, Shan. Are you okay?”

  I snatch my phone and head to my room and slam the door. Being with Jett had dampened some of the rage, but now it’s back full force. I fall on my bed and wait. Only a few seconds later she knocks.

  “I know you’re mad at me, but can you at least tell me if you’re okay? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.” Yeah, now she cares.

  “I’m fine.” I say, but that’s all she’s getting. “Just go away, Haze.”

  “Please don’t be mad at me.” She sniffs and I can tell that she’s crying. “I’m so sorry.”

  One of the things that she and I have in common is messed up family situations. But mine is a cakewalk compared to hers. I wait for her to leave, but she stays there, sniffling on the other side of my door.

  “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

  “Okay.” She shuffles away from the door and I get up and turn out the lights. It’s been a long night.

  I sleep poorly, and am up early the next morning. I go out into the kitchen and Hazel is there, looking like absolute shit. Even worse than I probably do. And she’s crying again.

  “Can we talk now?” I’m not trying to punish her, and I can’t bear to see her so broken up. So I grab a paper towel and hand it to her.

  “Yeah, we can talk.” I sit down across from her as she wipes her face. “Did anything happen? Who was that guy? Did you . . .” She leaves the rest of the sentence to my imagination and I can finish it. I’m about to tell her that I hadn’t had sex with Jett, but my mouth has other ideas.

  “Yeah. I did. We had sex.” I mean it as sarcasm.

  Hazel squeals louder than I’ve ever heard her and throws herself at me. I’m engulfed in her perfume and the rank cigarette residue. She’s flipped the switch from devastated to elated in less than two seconds.

  “Oh my God! How was it? Was it good? I bet it was good. That guy had some awesome tattoos. Did he use a condom? You should probably go to the clinic now. Are you in pain? Did you bleed?”

  “Holy shit, Hazel, do you want me to answer all of those questions?” She peers up at me from her spot in my lap. She’s wrapped around me like a very large koala.

  “Were you safe?” I really should tell her that I hadn’t slept with Jett. But instead, I say, “Yes. We were safe.” I think I have a medical condition. My mouth has divorced my mind and is speaking on its own.

  “Good. Did it hurt?” And the lies just keep coming out of my mouth. It’s like once I start with one, I just keep going and I build this story of seduction and I try to throw as much realism in it as I can. There are candles and music and multiple orgasms.

  By the time I’m done with my completely untrue account of my virginity-losing to Jett, we’re on the couch and she’s playing with my hair. It did get a little messed up when Jett and I were sleeping on the couch, so it very closely resembles sex hair.

  “Do you feel different now?”

  “Yeah, I do.” This is the one thing that I say that isn’t a lie.

  After Hazel attempts to make me breakfast, I head out to the library to study. After all the chaos of last night, I need something comforting and familiar. An hour later I’m totally in the homework zone, so I don’t notice that someone’s standing next to my table until he pushes a little crane made of notebook paper across my textbook.

  “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could watch my laptop?” Oh, hey Jett. Fancy seeing you here. This is the thing I should have said out loud. Instead I say something along the lines of “What are you doing here?” It also comes out more accusatory than I mean it to.

  “Well, I heard this is where the books live, so I figured I’d come visit.” Of course his answer is totally cute and appropriate and causes me to smile.

  “Are you one of those people who has to study alone, or is this seat taken?” He gestures to the empty seat across from me that I’ve had my feet propped on.

  “No, go ahead, sit down.” I realize the non-wisdom of doing this a second later. No way I can focus on macroeconomics with him sitting across from me. He sets his bag down and pulls out his computer.

  He smiles and starts it up and I pretend to look at my book so I won’t stare at him. But my curiosity gets the better of me.

  “What are you working on?” I say.

  “New website design. Wanna see?” His eyes light up even more and I get up and go lean over his shoulder. Now I’m the one doing the back-of-the-neck-breathing. It also gives me a chance to breathe him in without it being hella creepy.

  Jett shows me the project he’s working on for a local band. It’s bold and bright, but at the same time clean and he even de
signed a logo for them.

  As he takes me through the different tabs and links he’s added and I can see that the boy has talent. Not that it was ever in doubt. I find myself putting my hand on his shoulder and leaning in further. My mouth is almost level with his ear and if I tilt my head just a little I could lick his earlobe. But that would be completely weird, so I probably shouldn’t. Still, the idea crosses my mind. What is with me and licking Jett?

  “What do you think?” Jett turns his head and our mouths are so close and I remember him kissing the back of my head and my hip and I wonder what those lips would feel like on my lips.

  “It’s awesome, really.” I’m unable to find any other words to say about it.

  “Thanks.” It can’t be my imagination that his eyes flick to my lips and then back up to my eyes. I should stop leaning, but my body doesn’t want to. Jett’s face gets really serious and I can’t stop staring him.

  And then someone slams a book shut at a nearby table and I jump like I’ve been caught doing something bad.

  “I should, um, probably get back to work,” I say and stumble back to my seat and sit down with a clunk.

  Jett’s eyes go back to his computer and mine go back to my textbook.

  It takes me two hours to read two pages. Two. Pages. Well, I skimmed more, but I don’t remember any of it. I take notes on things that look important, but I might as well be writing a stream of consciousness. I’m too busy studying the way he types so fast on the keyboard and the way his head turns to the side when he’s thinking about something and how his eyes squint just a little when he reads. Our feet keep touching under the table and we keep apologizing to each other, but it keeps happening. I swear, it’s not my fault.

  Jett closes his computer and stretches his arms up, his shoulders popping.

  “Do you want to take a break and get something to eat?” he says.

  “Yeah, sure.” I’m still really full from my breakfast, but there’s no point in continuing to try to read because nothing is getting into my brain. I kind of regret letting him to sit down with me. But I can’t blame him for my lack of being able to focus when he’s around.