When you’re a scorned teenager, you wish for all the bad things possible to happen to the boy who didn’t return your feelings. You imagine him having a horrible allergic reaction to something he ate, and his face breaking out in hives. Perhaps you wish beyond all wishes that he sits on a candy bar and it looks like he shit his pants and then must stand before the entire student body and give a speech. Anything. You want him to feel the humiliation you felt when he didn’t return your forever love feelings.
No?
Just me?
Regardless, I wished for semi-bad shit to happen to Lucas DeCosta. Nothing permanent or life threatening, just humiliating. Clearly my wishes were unanswered because Lucas still makes me smile and, as he sits here regaling us with stories as a male stripper, everyone in this room is as enchanted with him as I once was.
He changed into a pair of dark wash jeans that had all the girls swooning when he walks in carrying a bottle of tequila and twelve-pack of beer. His black T-shirt hugs every muscle on his body. But none of that compares to the way he smells. After setting the bottle and beer down, he slowly approaches me with a kind smile and twinkle of mischief in his eyes, he scoops down and picks me up.
Off the ground.
I squeal. He laughs. My heart flutters.
Not flutters. No, I’m engaged. It just skips a little with nostalgia. But damn, the way he smells. Like he’s dipped himself in man and citrus with a splash of sexiness for emphasis. To make matters worse, he’s still kind and funny. The guys he brought with him are loving the attention the girls are giving them, and I’m quite entertained by the dynamic. For once, my friends are acting shy and demure as these hotter than sin men give them their undivided attention.
Standing from the couch, I walk to the makeshift bar and make myself another cocktail. Just as I squeeze the lime in my vodka soda, I hear a throat clear behind me. “Need something?” I ask over my shoulder before wiping my hand on a towel and tossing it back on the counter.
“I just wanted to say . . . actually can we go for a walk or something? I’d like to talk to you without all this giggling and flexing happening.” At his statement, I turn to catch two of his friends, Tom and Jonah, shirtless and flexing their muscles for the girls. Rolling my eyes, I look up to Lucas and nod my head in agreement.
Our room is on the first floor and not far from the pool area, so I turn that direction as we walk down the hallway. A comfortable silence falls between us as we walk. My mind is spinning with a million questions I have for Lucas. Not only about what he’s been up to the last seven years, but about medical school, his life. What type of medicine does he want to practice? Is he single? How are his parents? What about his sister?
“Want to sit?”
“Sure.”
We each settle into a lounge chair and the quiet evening blankets us as I stare at the sky full of stars. I never take the time to appreciate the beauty of something as simple as the night sky. Lifting my glass to my lips, I take a sip while peering over to Lucas. He’s leaning back on his chair, beer bottle on the ground next to him and both arms resting behind his head as he stares at the sky.
“It’s really beautiful.”
“It is. I think if they offered astronomy in high school, I would have been able to pass science on my own.” I actually think that’s true. There’s no dissecting baby animals when you’re working with stars.
“Yeah but then we wouldn’t have been lab partners.”
“I guess.”
“Or friends,” he whispers.
I scoff in response, and a long sigh follows from Lucas. I hate that I hold on to the hurt, but I do. Seeing him dredges it all up. Bonus, I haven’t thought much about Trenton and the bright red lips that were wrapped around his dick yesterday.
“So, does that ring mean you’re spoken for?”
Like a scratching record, I jerk at the question and cough a little on the air I swallow.
“It’s complicated.” If that isn’t an understatement.
“I have nothing but time if you want to talk about it.”
“You don’t want to hear about my problems. Plus, you’re the one who said you wanted to talk.”
“I did. I wanted . . . well, I wanted to apologize. I know I did something to upset you and it affected our friendship. I meant it when I told you I was sorry for what I did, Whitney. You were one of my best friends sophomore year and I fucked that up. I just . . . I don’t know what I did.”
Eyes wide, I sit up and turn my body to face him. Lucas has changed his position. He’s now sitting with his feet on the ground, the beer bottle nestled in his hands as he rests his elbows on his knees and stares at the ground. The picture before me has me almost apologizing to him for his hurt. But I push that feeling aside and laugh.
And laugh some more.
“Shh, you’re going to get us in trouble,” he says before laughing himself.
I start begging for him to stop making me laugh, or me making him laugh, whichever. A cramp forms in my side, and I’m pretty sure I’m two seconds from reenacting a scene from the movie Alien. Then the tears begin falling, and while I’m uncertain if they’re all from the laughing or if some are an excuse to wallow a little in my frustrations, I let them do their thing and take big gulping breaths to stop the cramping and hysteria that I feel bubbling.
“Why are we laughing?” Lucas whispers.
“You said you don’t know why I was mad, and for some reason that’s funny to me.” My hand is not a good replacement for a tissue, but it’ll do for now as I wipe the tears from my face. And, I’m lying. “I know exactly why I was mad. Well, not mad, more like hurt. I was hurt and dammit I was humiliated. It’s not really funny in a ‘ha ha’ way but more a pathetic teenage way.”
“I’m lost, Whit.”
“Lucas, I had the biggest crush on you. God, it was pathetic. I was pathetic. I was sure you liked me too but then, well then, I heard you with your friends one day. You were at your locker, and they were talking about me and what a nerd I was. How you could get any girl you wanted, and you were wasting your time studying with your geeky lab partner.”
“I’m sure I told them to shut up,” he proclaims confidently.
“You didn’t. Actually, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged and said, ‘whatever’.”
“Whit, I have no memory of that but I’m so sorry you thought I was like them. I wasn’t. I’m not. I had a massive crush on you. I had this grand plan to ask you to formal, but then you stopped talking to me and I figured you’d say no. I was so bummed, I didn’t go to another dance until the senior prom. And, that was with . . . well, it wasn’t with a real date.”
“What do you mean? You went with that beautiful blonde. She wore that amazing blue dress and you guys danced all night.” Shit. Why do I know that? Why did I tell him I knew that? Eyes wide, I start drinking my cocktail.
“You remember my date to prom?”
“Whatever, she didn’t go to our school. Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively. “It was a long time ago. We’ve both moved on and changed. Grown up. Hell, I’m engaged.” I wave my left hand around for emphasis.
“Ah, you are taken. I hope he knows how lucky he is.”
Snorting, I shake my head before taking another drink. Lucas doesn’t say anything else and resumes his lounging pose, leaning his head back, staring at the stars. I contemplate telling him about Trenton. I’m not sure why, perhaps it’s because I know I’ll probably never see him again, or it’s the friendship we once had. Regardless, I feel an overwhelming need to purge my emotions.
“Yesterday, I walked in on my fiancé getting a blow job in our living room.”
“Say what?” His eyes bug out of his head, and I’m glad to see I’m not the only one with a dramatic reaction.
“Yep, right there on the new couch I spent months finding, with his pants around his ankles and his fucking secretary on her knees. Walked right in on it. Our wedding is in seven days.”
“Oh shit. Did you castrate him? Punch her?”
“Nope. I kicked her out, called him an asshole, and then cried for hours on Jessi’s couch while she petted me like a cat.”
“What did your parents say when you canceled the wedding?”
“I haven’t.”
“What do you mean?” he asks incredulously.
“Just what I said. I haven’t. I’ve wanted to be married my entire life. I’ve done everything in my life a certain way. A way that would lead me to this day. I have the entire day planned out perfectly. I have the perfect venue, perfect gown, perfect guy . . .” I don’t realize I’m crying until Lucas lies down next to me and holds my head to his chest.
“I thought it was perfect. It’s supposed to be per . . . perrr . . . fect.”
“There’s no such thing as perfect, Whit. I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that. You deserve so much better.”
I don’t know how long I lie like that, my head on his shirt, snot running out of my nose, and hiccups filling the silence. When I’ve sufficiently humiliated myself to the hundredth power, I pull up from his embrace and wipe my tears away with my hands.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Do you feel better?”
“I do.” Those two words send me into another fit of tears but this time, instead of hiccups, I start laughing. “I fucking hate that all I’ve wanted is to say those words before family and friends; I’ve dreamed of it my whole life, and now I may not have that.”
“May not?”
“God, Lucas, you ask a lot of questions. Yes, may not. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
Shrugging, Lucas stands from the chair and takes a few steps before turning back to me.
“What happened to you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You. Whitney Wheeler.” His tone is a cross between flabbergasted and annoyed as he waves his hand toward me almost dismissively. “The smartest and fiercest girl I knew is letting someone hurt her when she knows she deserves better.”
“Oh please. I was far from fierce. I’m just me, Lucas. Trenton and I have been together a long time. I love our life together. It’s a good life. Yeah, he screwed up, and I want to nut punch him, but I can’t throw everything away without giving it some thought.”
“Is that what you’re going to do? Give it thought?”
I shrug. How do I answer that? I have no plan. So far, my only plan has been to not leave this hotel with a bad hangover. And still being able to fit in my dress next weekend.
“I don’t want to talk about me anymore. Tell me about you. Your dancing. Med school.”
Resuming his seat on the lounger next to me, he accepts my request to change the subject and begins telling me about medical school. Dear God, I knew it was expensive, but I had no idea how expensive. Fifteen-year-old me is so proud of the man sitting across from me. He’s no longer the boy I thought would kiss me into a puddle but the man I know is going to do great things in medicine.
“That’s why I have to supplement the dancing. While it’s great money, it still isn’t enough.”
“Supplement how? Like another job? Isn’t that hard with your schedule?”
“Yeah, but I do transport.”
“What? Like teleporting? What the fuck is ‘do transport’?” I ask, using air quotes.
“Not teleporting, weirdo.” I shrug. What the hell do I know about teleporting or transporting? “Transport. I transport merchandise from one seller to another.”
“Like drugs?” It slips out before I can even stop myself.
“Not drugs. What do you take me for? A trafficker? No like cars, boats, ATVs, and even pets. That’s what I’m doing tomorrow. I’m driving a pair of puppies to a family in Washington.”
“Puppies!” I shout before slamming my hand on my mouth. “Puppies?” I repeat in a whisper.
“Yep. I’ll pick up the pups tomorrow afternoon from the breeder and then drive them to Washington. The new owners will accept them, and I’ll turn around and come back.”
“Wow. That’s kind of cool. And puppies are the best. I’ve wanted a dog for a long time, but Trenton is opposed to it.”
“Come with me.”
I look at him confused. Clearly, he’s drunk.
“Excuse me?”
“Come with me. It’ll give you time to think or whatever you’re doing, and I could use the company. I can only talk to the puppies so much before I officially lose my mind.”
“That’s a very random invitation, but I think I’ll have to pass. Mostly because that’s insane.”
“Offer stands. Maybe we should head back inside? I’m surprised Jessi hasn’t come looking for you yet.”
“Oh, she probably has. She’s the same as she was in high school. Nosy as hell and up my ass all the time.”
“But you love her.”
“Duh, she’s my best friend. I could do without her hovering this weekend, but I love her for it, just the same.”
As we stand and begin walking toward the doors to the hotel, the comfortable silence falls between us and for a moment I wish I was the risk-taker who could say “fuck it” and hop in the passenger seat of Lucas’s car and take the road trip with him. I wish I was the girl who took risks. I’m not. I’m the girl who is probably going to forgive her cheating fiancé and have the wedding of her dreams in seven days.