I can add “Jett is an amazing bowler” to my Jett List. Like, seriously good. He’s gotten three strikes in a row. I have gotten two gutter balls and two spares. Nothing to write home about.
But the other girls are picking up the slack and we’re ahead by a narrow margin. Javier’s strength has gotten him two strikes and a spare, but he has a tendency to throw too hard and miss the mark. Same with Marty and Skye. In addition to the points that are being traded back and forth, there’s a hell of a lot of smack talk. Most of it is designed to be inflammatory, and we’re definitely getting some looks from the other more-subdued parties.
Hazel gets up and bowls a strike and then does a seductive walk over to the boys, turns slowly and walks back over to high fives and fist bumps from the rest of us.
“We can’t let that stand, can we boys?” It’s Javier’s turn. He gets up, picks up his ball and kisses it, which I think is the height of disgusting. Who KNOWS where that ball has been? Then he whispers something, holds the ball in front, steps forward and throws it with a flick of his wrist.
The pins clatter to the floor and Javier raises his hands in victory. Lots of whooping follows as he celebrates. We all boo and throw things at him. We’re even louder now that several trays of Jell-O shots have been consumed. I swear, I’m like, contact drunk. As the game wears on, the alcohol flows, the yelling gets louder and the flirting and trash talking get more obvious.
Marty and Skye are both gunning for Hazel, but she’s not giving them the time of day, or maybe she’s playing hard to get. I’ll have to ask her later. She’s so good at it, sometimes it’s hard for me to tell if it’s genuine. Jordyn can’t stop giving Tanner googly eyes, but he’s a little distracted by a girl in the group who’s been giving him the eye. That’s a disaster waiting to happen. Cass keeps looking at Boyd, and he looks back at her, but he’s pretty quiet when it comes to the smack talk. In fact, he’s barely said three words. Strong and silent.
And Jett. Oh, Jett. If anyone could make bowling sexy, it’s the boy with the dragon tattoos.
“You have got it bad,” Hazel says in my ear as I watch Jett smoothly get another strike. I’ve been so distracted by him that her voice makes me jump.
“I can’t help it.”
“He is pretty sexy, if you like that kind of thing. I like a guy with a little bit more meat on him, if you know what I mean.” I turn away from Jett as he sits back down.
“He’s got plenty of meat. There is nothing wrong with his meat.” Granted, I haven’t seen his meat, but I’m sure it’s fine. At least I hope it’s fine. I’m sure it’s lovely meat, as far as meat goes.
Hazel laughs.
“But his meat is the only meat you’ve had. You have to sample lots of different meat to find out which is the best. How can you judge meat if you’ve only had one kind?”
“I’m fine with his meat.” This conversation is getting a little too convoluted for me.
“You say that now . . .” she trails off.
“Okay, can we stop talking about meat?” I say.
“What about meat?” Jordyn says, finally taking her eyes off Tanner. She has got to purposely be ignoring Tanner and his wandering eyes.
“How’s Tanner’s meat? Nice and juicy?” Jordyn looks scandalized and then smiles.
“It’s perfectly juicy.” Ugh, this has become a disgusting conversation that I want to work my way out of.
Fortunately, the end of the game and the victory of Team Vagina ends the meat talk. We decide we’re done with bowling (since the boys are nursing their wounded egos), but we’re not ready to leave, so we head to the bar, where the bartender doesn’t seem to notice if anyone is of age. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s probably bad business to card anyone. He wouldn’t have any customers. Whatever, it’s not my problem.
I order a drink and nurse it along. By the time we leave, I should be good to go.
Javier is smashed again, and he’s started singing along with the song that’s playing in the bar. I can’t really tell what it is because he’s so loud and he’s mangling the lyrics so much. He climbs up on a table and stands, much to the disgruntlement of the bartender who yells at him to get down before he breaks something on his property. Javier reluctantly gets down and Jett’s arm snakes around my shoulders.
“Hey, princess. Having a good time?” I turn and kiss his cheek. I’m feeling extra affectionate right now.
“I am, are you? Even though you lost and we handed your manhood to you?” Oh, snap.
“Behave,” he says, pinching my nose. “We’ll get you next time. Now we have a score to settle and reputations are on the line. We’re coming for you.”
“Is that so?”
“I never joke about bowling. Bowling is serious business.”
The only reason we leave the bowling alley is because we get kicked out when they close at 2 a.m. Everyone but me (and Jett) is completely toasted and ready to pass out. Well, everyone except us and Javier. He hasn’t passed out yet.
Jett and I drive everyone back to their respective apartments because everyone is too drunk to drive and then we head back to mine. Hazel mumbles two words and heads to her room. Jett didn’t have anything to drink, and for some reason, I’m not tired at all. I think I’m on my second wind, or something. I’ll probably be up all night and then crash tomorrow afternoon.
“You want to just go to bed?” Jett says, stretching his arms. He does that a lot. I like it because it makes his shirt ride up and then I get to see some of his stomach. I just wish I could see all of it.
One of these times, I’m going to catch him. We have an unspoken rule that shirts and shorts are required when sleeping. If it wouldn’t have been a double standard, I’d have said that Jett should be shirtless, but then he’d say that I should be shirtless and we wouldn’t get anywhere. I could play that argument in my head without even doing it out loud.
“I’m not that tired, but we can go to bed if you want to.”
“No, if you want to stay up that’s fine. Watch a movie or something?” This is one of our favorite things to do when we’re together. We seem to have the same tastes in films.
“I might fall asleep. How about something we’ve watched before so I don’t miss anything?” he says as we go into my room to get our pajamas. I’ve stopped wearing the ugly ones. Okay, so I went out and bought some. Shorts and matching t-shirts. Cute ones with the Batman logo on them, or with funny words all over them, and even a pair with bacon. I thought Jett would like those, so I’m wearing them tonight.
“You get to pick.” We’ve been trading who gets to pick what movie we watch. I got to choose last and I made him watch Crazy, Stupid, Love. I said it was because it was really funny and had Steve Carell in it, but really, I wanted to see Ryan Gosling with his shirt off. If I can’t see Jett with his shirt off, Ryan is the next best thing. Hubba, hubba.
“Uh, Mean Girls.”
“Wait, you’re choosing Mean Girls? Did you really like it that much?”
He just shrugs and grabs his pajamas and heads for the bathroom. “What? Tina Fey is a genius.”
Yes, he is the perfect guy. Be jealous.
An hour later, I’m in my bacon pajamas, Jett is wearing a tank top and shorts and we’re semi-snuggling on the couch. He keeps trying to tickle my feet and I keep threatening to kick him in the face. So much for trying to be quiet. Poor Hazel. Hopefully she’s intoxicated enough that she’s already passed out.
“Seriously, stop it,” I say when he goes for my feet again.
“Can your boobs tell when it’s raining?” he says, quoting the movie as I shift so he can’t get to my feet.
I look down at my boobs. They’re awesome, but they’re not quite that awesome.
“No. I don’t think I have ESPN.”
“Tragic.”
“It’s my cross to bear.”
His hands start playing with my hair, twirling it around his fingers. It feels really, really nice, and I realize that this is the most physical contact I’ve had with another person in a long time. My parents were never really into hugging, and my brother would punch me sooner than hug me. Hazel is hands-on, but it’s different with Jett.
I close my eyes and his hands start massaging my scalp.
“I’m not going to get in trouble for this, am I?” he says quietly.
“Only if you stop.”
Screw the Rules for the moment. I’m enjoying this.
Jett ends up carrying me to bed again when I fall asleep as he’s stroking my hair. But this time he climbs in beside me, and pulls me into his chest. We spoon every night now, because we end up wrapped together like a twist tie by the morning anyway. Every. Single. Time.
This morning (or almost afternoon, if I’m being honest) I wake to find something pressing into my stomach and when I realize what it is, I almost shove Jett away. Poor guy. It’s not his fault. He’s wrapped around me, and extricating myself from this situation is going to be worse than defusing a bomb. The key is to move slowly and carefully enough that I don’t wake him.
First I pull my arm out from under his, and then start slowly pulling my legs away. If I can get myself on my back, then I’ll be good. I think.
But as soon as shift even the slightest bit away from him, his eyes snap open and lock with mine.
Hello, most awkward moment ever.
“Good morning,” I say, fluttering my eyes as if I’ve just woken up. I stretch my arms up and yawn. Jett’s jaw is clenched and I know that he’s wondering if I know about his little friend.
“Good morning, princess,” he says warily. I just smile at him and hope it looks natural.
“I’m starving. Want some breakfast?” I’m never this perky when I wake up, but I hope it doesn’t set off any warning bells. When I get up, I make sure that I don’t pull the covers too low as I dash to the kitchen.
I hear nothing from Hazel’s room. She’ll probably be passed out for at least a few more hours.
I get breakfast going and it’s a few minutes before Jett joins me. I can’t look at him as he goes to the coffeemaker to get it going.
“I hate staying out so late because then it throws off my whole day. It takes me at least two days to recover from going out. I swear, I’m like a little old lady. I wish I didn’t need sleep.” I’m babbling as I start mixing batter for waffles.
One of my favorite Christmas presents from Hazel last year was the waffle iron that made waffles shaped like penguins, and I use it as much as possible.
Since I don’t like just plain waffles, I’m making caramel apple waffles. Jett hasn’t had them yet, and I kind of want to give him something delicious to make up for the fact that he couldn’t control his penis this morning.
I have got to stop thinking about it. Thank God I don’t have to deal with crap like that. I’d seriously be walking around all day with a hard-on. A very tiny part that is getting louder and louder wants to ask him if he was thinking about me. But that’s weird. And very self-centered. I mean, back in the day, they used to cover up table legs because they were thought to arouse men, because they would then think about women’s legs. How ridiculous.
“Do you need any help?” I’m so busy thinking about Jett and table legs that I kind of forget about Jett.
“Could you spray the waffle iron and plug it in?” I whip the batter in the bowl to get the lumps out without over mixing it. Doing that is a sin that cannot be undone.
Jett is cautious of touching me, trying to keep at least a three-foot bubble around me that he doesn’t violate. It’s very different from last night when he’d been so far in my bubble that he couldn’t really get any closer. Unless he was . . . well . . . in my bubble.
I gotta stop thinking about this.
He pours me a cup of coffee, adding cinnamon and nutmeg, which is something that I only get to do at home. I love that he knows how I like my coffee.
“Thanks,” I say taking the cup from him. Our fingers touch and he flinches away.
“Something wrong?” This can’t go ignored.
“No. Just tired from last night.” He gives me a tight smile that almost looks painful, and goes to get his own cup before sitting down at the table.
“Yeah, me too.” Things are a little tense, so I turn on some music, but keep the volume low so I don’t wake Hazel. “Everything Has Changed” by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran comes on. I almost laugh at how ironic it is. Jett’s eyes aren’t green like the lyrics, but pretty much everything else is spot on. Creepy.
I hum along a little bit as I wait for the first set of penguin waffles to be done. Jett sips his coffee and seems lost in thought. I don’t want to bug him, so I get out the plates and so forth myself.
The waffles are done and I dish them out. Jett drenches his in syrup, but I’m a little more conservative than he is. I like to actually taste my waffles. We eat in silence, except for the music, and I almost can’t stand it. I’m trying to think of something to say to start a neutral conversation, but I’m coming up empty. Jett ends the silence for me.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” He’s looking into his coffee, and swirling his fork in the leftover syrup.
“Are you going to safe word?” My heart clenches in panic. I’ve only been this scared a few times in my life.
He opens his mouth and the closes it, then picks up his cup and takes a sip. Not knowing what to say, I just sit there and wait in terror. This can’t be happening.
Can your heart stop beating? I think mine does for just a moment.
Jett is looking at me and I can’t help but meet his eyes. They’re looking, searching, trying to find something in me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I desperately want him to find it. My heart stops again before he says, “No. Nevermind.” And then I get a genuine smile.
My heart starts going at warp speed, like it’s trying to make up for the times it stopped.
“Do you want some more waffles?” I get up and take both our plates over. I hadn’t put any more batter in the iron in case he didn’t want any more.
“Yes, more penguins, please.” I want to release some of the tension, so I do a little penguin walk after I put the plates down. I’m rewarded with a whoop of laughter from Jett and then I hear a groan from Hazel’s room. Jett clamps his mouth shut and I stop acting like a penguin.
“Crap,” I whisper as Hazel emerges from her room.
The term “hot mess” was coined for the look she is currently rocking. Smeared mascara, crazy hair, clothes that she didn’t bother changing out of all askew, pillow mark on her cheek.
“You . . . suck . . .” she says slowly stumbling into the kitchen with her arms out, as if she’s begging for something. I quickly pour a cup of coffee and hand it to her. She stands over it, as a caveman must have stood over a fire when he first lit one. For a moment, she just breathes it in, and then she starts sipping.
“Better?” I say, going to the waffle iron and pouring in a second batch. I’m going to be making a lot more if Hazel wants some now.
She slumps down in the only other chair, so I’ll be forced to lean against the counter. Or I would have, but Jett gets up and motions to the chair.
“I have to deal with the waffles. It’s fine.” He sits down again and Hazel is still enthralled with her coffee. It’ll take at least one more cup for her to be human. And then she’ll probably still go back to bed for a few hours to sleep the rest of her hangover off.
“You know, I think we need to get you a chair,” I say as Jett drowns his penguin pancakes in more syrup.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but I’m not making him stand every time he comes over.
We finish the rest of the waffles and Hazel goes back to bed. Since I’m destitute from buying Jett food, and splurging on the pajamas, we go to the local thrift store to get Jett a chair, despite his protests. As a compromise, he drives.
“Okay, so since you’re the one who’s going to do most of the sitting in it, I think you should get to choose.” I make Jett wait while I assemble the three candidates for him to judge.
“Here, we have chair number one. It is a lovely . . . mahogany chair with lots of . . . chair-like features. Plus, it has four legs, so you don’t fall over.” I present it to him with a flourish of my arm.
“Well, that is a stunning prospect,” he says, clapping.
“And here we have chair number two. It is from the early . . . psychedelic period and is pre-rusted for added style.” He takes in the second chair and claps again.
“Another solid choice. This isn’t going to be easy,” he says.
“Oh, but wait. There is one more choice.” I present the third chair. “This little beauty comes all the way to you from the exotic location of Topeka, Kansas and features a lovely finish, that has been delicately chipped to give it that rustic feel.” In case you couldn’t tell, the third chair is my favorite. It will go best with the other two we already have, and it’s the least beat-up of the three.
“Well, these are all solid choices.” Jett walks up and down in front of the chairs. “You make very good points on all of them.” He taps his chin, thinking.
“But I think I’m going to choose chair number three.” He puts his hands on it and this time I clap.
“Good. That was the one I was hoping you’d pick.”
“Yes, your hints were very subtle.”
“Well, what are you doing? Try it out. You can’t really pick it unless you sit in it.” He agrees and sits down, sighing.
“Yup. This is the one.” I decide that he can’t really try it out without me, so I sit on his lap.
“Perfect. I like this chair.” I lean down and give him a kiss.
“Me too.” I hear a woman sigh about “young love” not that far away from us. Yeah, I’m sure we’re disgusting. I wouldn’t be able to stand me either.
After picking the chair, we go through the rest of the store, picking out the weirdest and wackiest items. Jett forces me into the ugliest sweater ever born from a knitting machine. It’s dingy army green with orange balls on it, and a giant ugly cat face on the back. I force him into an equally ugly sweater that looks like one Bill Cosby might have worn if he was on acid. We take pictures on our phones, and actually end up buying them for potential Ugly Sweater parties that people are always having.
Jett also talks me into buying a ceramic cup that is shaped like a bear that’s running. It doesn’t sound bad, but it’s poorly painted, and the eyes are so big and crooked, it’s cross-eyed.
“Don’t you feel bad for him? He’s just sitting here with no one to wuv him,” Jett says, picking up the bear and pouting. He could get me to do anything with that pout. Anything.
In retaliation, I make him get an umbrella stand with pigs frolicking in mud puddles on it.
“Everyone needs an umbrella stand. You know the saying.”
“What saying?”
“That everyone needs an umbrella stand.” He shakes his head, but buys it anyway. Before we can spend any more money we don’t have on anything else we don’t need, Jett gets the sweaters and the stand, and I get the chair and the bear mug and we pay at the counter.
Wedging the chair into his car is interesting, but we finally get it. Jett’s smiling as we shut the back.
“What is it?” I say.
“Nothing. I’m just . . . happy.”
“Me too.”
“You make me happy.”
“Same here.”
Something in my stomach drops, and it’s a bit like fear. But I’m not scared. I’m telling the truth about the happy part. I haven’t laughed so much, or been so . . . free since I can’t remember when. That probably isn’t a good thing.
I try to ignore it as Jett turns on the radio, looking for a good station. He finally settles on the “we play pretty much everything” station that’s currently playing “Punk Rock Princess” by Something Corporate and pulls out of the parking lot. I adore this song, and it seems Jett does too, since he’s tapping the steering wheel to the beat.
Once we get back to my apartment, Jett carries the chair in and I find a spot for the bear mug. I can’t wait to hear Hazel’s reaction. She’s probably going to tell me to get rid of it. She has this weird fear of inanimate objects that are made to look like real things. As in, she’s terrified of dolls. Like they’re going to come alive and kill her while she’s sleeping or something. Yeah, I know, but we all have our quirks.
Jett sets the chair down and then sits in it.
“Perfect.”
I grab some of the hundreds of pens we have just lying around and throw them into the bear mug. Hopefully it won’t freak Hazel out too much.
“Ugh, I have homework to do,” I say. I still have some studying to do for my test.
“Homework is lame,” he says, patting his lap. I sit down and he puts his arm around me. I used to be concerned that I was going to break him by sitting on him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“I agree. But it has to be done.” He sighs and buries his head into my shoulder.
“I should probably go home and check on Javier. Make sure he made it to bed and didn’t pass out on the hood of a car in the driveway.” I almost pout when I realize that we’re going to be separated, but I pull it back.
“So I’ll see you tonight?” I say, pretending that it’s no big deal that I’m going to be without him for a few hours. Really, it shouldn’t be a big deal. I can function without him. I just . . . don’t want to.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
“I’ll text you before I come over. I’ll bring pizza.” He gives me a quick kiss and I want more, but I pull back and let him go.