CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I hadn’t had a drink since November, so when we finally got together for our Girls’ Night pj party two weeks after Jessica suggested it, one martini was enough to go to my head. Two had me agreeing to twerk on camera. I liked to think I had rhythm. Rory claimed she could only dance when she was drunk and I would never tell her, but it was true. It was like her hips couldn’t move independently of the rest of her body. I could do all right in zumba and swing dance, and when I’ve had some vodka in me, my hipbones seemed to disconnect from my legs and I could do some amazing moves. That looked ridiculous when I watched them sober.

But in the moment, I was hot, and damn it, I needed to feel hot. Jonathon was avoiding me, it was so obvious. Now that I was nothing but the stupid girl flunking chemistry, he clearly had lost interest. Which totally wasn’t fair, I knew that. He texted me every day and he had asked me to do things with him, but I was drunk. I was allowed to be irrational.

My pajamas were enormous, pink and blue plaid, and when I was dancing, at one point I stepped on the pant leg and ended up pulling them down and flashing the top of my ass to my friends.

Jessica laughed so hard she snorted. “You are lucky I wasn’t taping right then.”

“I would kill you if you posted that,” I said, breathless, collapsing on the sofa. I hadn’t had this much exercise since before Thanksgiving. Glancing at my notifications on my phone I saw Jonathon was out at a bar according to his check-in. With a girl named Miranda. I clicked on her name to see her profile picture. She was cute in a nerdy chic way. What the hell?

“Jonathon is out with a girl,” I said, my amusement evaporating.

“What?” Rory turned down the booty-grinding music. “I thought you said he was staying home tonight.”

“That’s what he said he was doing.” My cheeks suddenly felt hot. “Is he on a date?”

“She’s probably a friend.”

“I’m texting him.” I tapped quickly, my heart rate high and not from dancing. He answered immediately. “He says he got bored so he went out with a friend.”

I hated myself for doing it, but I felt dissatisfied with his casual response so I added, She’s cute. Which was stupid, because now he would know I clicked on her name. But then a picture of them was posted.

Looking very, very cozy. A hot, sick sensation filled my mouth. “Oh my God, look at this.” I shoved my phone at Rory.

“He said they’re just friends, right? You should trust him.”

“How can I trust him? I haven’t seen him in two weeks!”

“Yeah, but wasn’t that your choice?”

Because that’s what I wanted—someone to point out it was my fault. Not. “He could have tried harder.”

“Kylie bug, he texted you like five times a day. He asked you to dinner, to the movies, to just hang out at his place, to hang out at your place. I’m not sure what else he could have done.”

I threw a pillow at Jessica. “You guys suck.”

Jessica laughed. “Why are you mad at us? I think it’s perfectly normal and understandable that you needed time to yourself the last two weeks, but you can’t act like he was a shit who blew you off.”

“Jonathon is probably wondering where you stand,” Rory added.

“So if he’s wondering where we stand he goes off and nails some other chick?”

“Whoa. Now you’re jumping to conclusions. Big time.”

I knew I was. I could feel my anxiety rising and my childish need to finger-point increasing. I wanted to blame the vodka, but the alcohol wasn’t entirely to blame. Every day I had been struggling more and more to understand what I wanted and why I kept refusing to see Jonathon. I cared about him a lot. I missed him. I wanted to see his smile, hear his laugh, feel his mouth on mine.

But for some reason every time he suggested we see each other, I froze. I panicked. I had no idea why. Well, maybe I did. For one thing, I was feeling sad and not ready to talk about the miscarriage. I also felt like I would be letting him down if I didn’t have my shit together, that it was finally time for me to offer him a genuine display of gratitude and cheerfulness. That he would think me exhausting or pathetic or annoying if I was bummed out in front of him or if I wanted to talk endlessly. I felt like I needed to be happy Kylie and I wasn’t ready to be happy Kylie. I was starting to worry I wouldn’t ever be ready to be happy Kylie again.

At least sober.

None of that meant I didn’t want to be with him. Totally the opposite. I didn’t want to see him and give him reasons to not want me. Which was all I was accomplishing anyway, because he clearly didn’t want me. He wanted Miranda of the cute red glasses and bouncy hair and freckles. I felt my lower lip start to tremble.

“Oh no. We’re not doing that.”

I was pretty sure I was and Jessica couldn’t stop me. Except that I got another text from Jonathon. She’s a chem grad student, too. Super smart.

There was one thing that could shift my emotion from upset to anger and that was it. He was saying I was stupid. I could read between the lines and that was my hot button, no doubt about it.

“Oh, hell, no,” I said, hand coming up. “No and no.” I showed the text to Rory.

“I don’t think he means . . .”

I cut her off. “Rory, I need to borrow a pair of jeans. I’m going to The Church.”

“Um . . . Kylie, you’re like four inches taller than me.”

“Who cares? I have cowboy boots. No one will know my pants are too short.” I stood up and glanced around for my overnight bag. I had a clean tank top in there that I could pair with one of Rory’s sweaters. “I need makeup, stat.”

“Is this a good idea?” Jessica asked me.

“Yes.”

“Is this a good idea?” Jessica asked Rory.

“I suppose it depends on what the goal is.”

Wasn’t that obvious? “The goal is to show Jonathon that while I may not be a chemistry genius I’m not an idiot.”

“So enlighten me as to how showing up at the bar he’s at after you told him you couldn’t see him tonight is going to accomplish that.” Jessica held her hands out. “I’m serious, not trying to be a bitch.”

I didn’t have time to debate my highly intelligent point. “I want to show him that he wants to be with me, not some hipster.”

“Why? Because you want to be with him?”

“Of course I want to be with him!” I said, exasperated. “When did I ever say I didn’t?” Why were they having such a hard time keeping up?

“I guess you didn’t.”

“Now are you going to go with me or what?”

“Can I suggest a text to him first?” Rory asked. “You know, sort of like a ‘hey, we’re going out, maybe we’ll stop by The Church,’ and see what he says?”

I looked to Jessica. “Tell her how naïve that is.”

“That’s naïve.”

“What? Isn’t it better to be honest? What if he’s gone by the time you get there? Then you’ll really be pissed.”

“He’ll still be there if we get our shit together.” I started down the stairs to the bedroom Rory shared with Tyler. When I opened their closet, it was a sea of band T-shirts and floral dresses. “Oh my God, Tyler hangs up his T-shirts? Who does that? And where are all your jeans?”

“He doesn’t like the wrinkles when you fold the shirts in drawers.” Rory pulled out a dresser drawer. “My jeans are in here. But I have mostly colored denim. Do you want pink?”

“My cowboy boots are brown. That sounds like an ick combo.” I pawed through her dresses to reach the cardigan section. Her closet was very organized. Mine looked like the discount bin at Walmart. “How about red or blue?”

“I’m going to tell Riley and Tyler what we’re doing,” Jessica said.

“Okay, cool.” Rory skimmed off her pajama pants and put on the pink jeans I had rejected.

She was definitely someone who proved that redheads could wear pink. She looked adorbs in pink.

Jessica dumped out her overnight bag. “Good thing I actually packed jeans. I could never fit in Rory’s. My butt is way more bootylicious than Rory’s dainty ass.”

I didn’t think I would have fit in Rory’s pants either before the pregnancy, but I had lost at least five pounds, maybe more, so it might be a squeeze, but it should work. I took the pastel blue jeans Rory handed me and decided to just wear my ribbed white tank top with a chambray shirt from the closet over it. It was a tight squeeze in the jeans, but the stretchy fabric helped. And the butt cuppage gave me a boost.

“Your ass looks great,” Jessica said.

“Thanks. But my hair looks like shit. I need a hat.” I found a beanie and after aggressively brushing my hair, I put the hat on. Rifling through Rory’s jewelry, I found mostly broaches and weird shit with feathers and pearls, but I did find a long necklace with lots of things hanging from it so I put that on.

“I love how we’re just raiding Rory’s stuff,” Jessica said, snagging a headband and putting it in her hair. She had picked a floral sweater out of Rory’s closet to pair with her own jeans.

“I don’t care,” Rory said. “It’s actually kind of fun. And I’m absolutely convinced that we’ll get to the bar and this misunderstanding will be resolved.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a lawyer instead of a doctor?” I asked her. “Though you’re far too cute to be either. I love those jeans on you, BTW. And who has red lipstick I can borrow? I look like I died last Friday.”

“Riley wants to know if he and Tyler are allowed to crash Girls’ Night since we are leaving the confines of the apartment to go to the bar. He wants a beer.”

“I can’t really say no since I’m going up there to try and bust up Jonathon’s date with Chem Cutie.” What amazed me was how productive anger could be in creating focus. I was methodical in getting ready, swiping on eye shadow and lipstick and doing another butt check of my booty in the jeans. I piled on a bunch of bracelets from the drawer where Rory kept her jewelry and I was ready. “Let’s roll.”

I hadn’t gone out in months and I hadn’t wanted to. Yet I had to admit, I felt a little of my old confidence returning. I felt attractive.

Maybe it was the vodka acting as liquid courage, but I felt full of sass and ready to fight for my man.

Because damn it, he was my man.

Whether he liked it or not.

Well, I hoped he liked it.

Otherwise that was kind of counterproductive.

Anyway, point being, I had to tell Jonathon how I felt. I had to show him that despite me making up bullshit excuses for two weeks, I wanted to be with him. That I couldn’t explain why I had done that, not exactly, but that it had been super hard to lose our baby and I hadn’t known how to deal with it. I hadn’t known how to deal with him given the origin of our relationship.

For one of the few times in my life, I hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

Plus, I wanted to show him that I was hotter than Miranda.

Duh.

*   *   *

“I can’t believe this isn’t a gay bar anymore,” Miranda said, looking around and clearly lamenting the lack of lesbians. “You know, if a bar is going to shift clientele it should be advertised.”

Since I had no stake in it, I wasn’t bothered either way. “I don’t think the bar determines it. The crowd does. If this is no longer a gay hangout, it must be because they found somewhere better.” I was on my seven hundredth Captain Morgan and Coke and I was still logical. Damn, I was good. “I mean, this place isn’t exactly upscale or trendy in its décor.”

“There’s mostly men in here,” Miranda complained. “And douchey men on top of it all. Like men who chew tobacco.”

“You’d better redneckanize,” I said then laughed, because I cracked myself up.

“Oh, Lord.” She rolled her eyes. “Darwin, you are drunk.”

“I am aware of that fact, thank you very much.” There was a buzzing in my ears and my tongue felt too large for my mouth. I kept glancing at my phone. “Why doesn’t Kylie want to be with me?” I asked, because that question kept popping into my head and making me feel like shit. And I didn’t want to feel like shit. “I mean, she has a lot of nerve, really, if you think about it. There’s nothing objectionable about me.”

“Let’s put that on your online dating profile. ‘There’s nothing objectionable about me.’ Way to sell yourself, D.”

“Do you think I’m too nice? Do I need to be a dick for chicks to like me?”

“I’ve never actually thought you were super nice. I mean, you’re certainly not a dick, but you are fairly self-absorbed.”

Well, that was helpful. “I disagree. I tried really hard to be there for Kylie. Like . . . I tried.” My thoughts were slower than normal and my vocabulary seemed to have shrunk dramatically.

“Did she answer your text? And please, God, tell me you didn’t ask her what you just asked me.”

“No. To both.” I may have been drunk but I still had a modicum of self-respect.

“Then fuck her. There’s nothing you can do about it tonight. Let’s shoot some pool.” She stood up. Her skirt was flipped up, exposing her butt, obviously crumpled from when she had been sitting.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing at the skirt to fix it. I didn’t imagine she wanted all the douchey guys in the bar to see her ass and her red lace panties.

“What?” She smacked backward at me. “Hello. Three hot chicks just walked in.”

“I’m fixing your skirt; stop hitting me! Your underwear is showing.” God, that was a lot of fabric for a drunk man to deal with. I felt like my thumbs had disappeared into a flower garden.

“I would show my panties to these chicks.”

I glanced over her shoulder to the door to see who had attracted her attention and slipped on my stool, crashing forward into Miranda, who also stumbled. I grabbed her waist, ass, legs for support. “That’s Kylie,” I said, shock turning to pleasure. Kylie looked so good. So pretty. So sexy.

She was wearing tight jeans and a denim shirt she had tied in a knot under her breasts, a white tank top showing how narrow her waist was. There was a little beanie on her head that just made me want to cuddle in a corner with her. Then on her feet were cowboy boots that made me want to fuck her with nothing on but those.

“That’s your girlfriend?” Miranda glanced back at me. “She looks even better in person than she did on camera in pajamas. Now you might want to take your hands off my ass before she raises the question of what the hell you’re doing.”

Good point. I dropped my hands and moved around Miranda to meet Kylie, smile on my face. I had really, really missed her. “Hey, what—”

“What the hell are you doing?” Kylie asked me, hands on her hips.

“Having a drink.” Or twelve. Why did she look so angry? I tried to lean over and kiss her, but she dodged my touch.

Huh. I waved to Rory and Jessica. “How is Girls’ Night?”

Jessica raised her eyebrows. “Drama filled, as always.” She leaned around me and held her hand out to Miranda. “Hi, I’m Jessica.”

“Miranda. Darwin’s very gay friend.”

“You’re gay?” Jessica asked, glancing over at Kylie. “That’s awesome to hear.”

Miranda was still holding her hand and her smile grew flirtatious. “Really? Glad to hear we’re on the same page.”

“Oh.” Jessica laughed. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I have a boyfriend. I meant that I’m sure Kylie is happy to hear that you’re not creeping on Jonathon.”

Was that true? Did she actually care? Was she jealous? The thought made me ridiculously pleased.

“I am so not creeping on Darwin. We’ve been friends since our freshmen year as undergrads. He’s a great guy, but not my type. You know, not being a girl and all.”

“But you would totally want me if you were straight, right?” I asked, joking.

“Of course. No question about it. You are a man among men.” She rolled her eyes.

Kylie was just looking at me, her mouth set in a hard line. “I thought you were on a date. If you are, just fucking tell me.”

“Nope. No date. I would never do that to you.”

“Because you know, I wasn’t sure what was going on between us.”

Were we doing this right now, right here? Okay. And you know, I was offended, damn it. “I wasn’t either, but that doesn’t mean I would be such a gigantic asshole that I would start seeing someone else without discussing it with you first.”

“The thought made me very, very angry.” She still looked angry. Her eyes were burning with emotion, her hands on her hips.

“I see that.” Rory, Jessica, and Miranda had taken seats at the bar and were talking. I fought the urge to smile. I really liked where this was going. “Why do you think it made you angry?”

“Because I don’t want you with another girl. It pisses me off.”

“Can I tell you what I want?” I asked.

For a second, her confidence wavered, but then she raised her chin. “Absolutely. What do you want?”

“You.” I put my arm around her waist and drew her closer to me. She dug her heels in, and kept her arms crossed. She leaned away from me, head turned slightly. I was undeterred. The fact that she had shown up at the bar told me everything I needed to know. I ran my lips over her ear, across her cheek. “I want you and no one else. I’ve missed you. A lot.”

Her shoulders relaxed, her arms going slack. “I needed space. I was confused and upset and I didn’t know if you would still want to be with me.”

“I know.” I wanted to point out that we could have just had a conversation about this, but I didn’t want to set her back up again. So instead I said what rum and my heart were telling me to say. “Kylie, there is no one else I want to be with. Not seeing you, not being sure where we stood, it was killing me.”

“Really?”

“Really. Because the thing is, I’m pretty damn sure that I’m in love with you.”

It was out. In the open. No taking it back. I didn’t regret it. It felt strong and right and honest. I was in love with her.

This was different. She was different. I wanted to spend every night on her twin bed in her micro-apartment holding her against me. I wanted to make her laugh. I wanted to hear her stupid chemistry jokes and answer every one of her random and out-of-context questions. I wanted it to be her and me. For real. Not because we had to be but because we wanted to be together.

Her eyes had widened, her arms had dropped. “You are?”

I nodded, solemnly, wanting to make it clear that this wasn’t a casual statement. My fingers brushed her hair behind her ear and my gaze drank in her features as greedily as my mouth had the rum. Her pert nose, her lengthy eyelashes, her high cheekbones, her soft, plump lips. “Yes. I love you.” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “They say it happens when you least expect it. When I showed up to tutor you, I had no idea that anything was missing from my life. Then I met you and I knew what was missing was you.”

Her fingers gripped the front of my shirt. “Oh, Jonathon. I love you, too. I don’t know when or how I knew it. It just feels like I always have. Like I’ve always belonged to you.”

Hearing that had me kissing her, hard, intensely. She kissed me back, eagerly, her mouth hungry for mine. She loved me. Kylie loved me. She saw something beyond the self-absorbed science guy. When we broke away, both breathing hard, she looked at me with shiny eyes, a grin splitting her face.

“Yay.”

That about summed it up.

I laughed. “Come sit down and we can have a drink with our friends. Then they can figure out Girls’ Night without you because I’m taking you home and I’m not going to take no for an answer. I’m not going to be polite, I’m not going to be nice. I’m not giving you any more space or time. I want you and I’m taking you.”

“Oh, shit, I like the sound of that.” Her hips moved against mine suggestively and her eyes darkened. “By the way, I have a buzz. I haven’t had a drink in so long the vodka went straight to my head.”

“Then we’re buzzing together because I drank enough rum to disinfect a small hospital.”

She kissed me again, gripping my face. “I was so mad at you!”

Her particular brand of anger seemed to work in my favor. “Tell me again.”

Kylie kissed me again. “I really was pissed.”

“Uh-huh.” I led her to a stool, sat down, and pulled her onto my lap. She felt amazing in my arms. “You feel so good, gorgeous.”

She was all long legs and tight ass, tiny waist and perky breasts. Her hair hung straight down, falling over my arm, and when she wiggled to get more comfortable on her perch, I wanted to groan. Damn, fucking damn, I had never stood a chance. From that very first night when she had smiled at me so sweetly, her head propped up on her hand, I had been sunk.

“Mm. You feel good, too.” Her arms came around my neck and we kissed some more. And then some more again.

Someone kicked my stool and I could pretty much guarantee it was Miranda. “Yeah?” I asked her, turning to see her glaring at me.

“Dude, like show a little decorum. You’re in public.” Then she promptly got distracted when someone walked in the front door. “Oh, hello. That’s Chastity, and believe me, her name is an oxymoron. I’ll be right back.”

“Your friend seems nice,” Kylie said, snuggling up against me.

I laughed. “That is something I love about you—you’re very generous.”

“Wait until you see how generous I am later.”

And she said that.

Damn. I think I groaned. “You’re killing me. It’s been a long-ass two weeks.”

“I know.”

“Is everything okay down there? No, uh, bleeding?” Why did I feel self-conscious using that word? We were way past the point of needing to give a shit about modesty. “You feel okay?”

“No bleeding. And yes, I feel okay.”

I locked eyes with her, my hands tight on her waist. I wanted her to understand what I didn’t have the words to say. “I’m sorry,” I said gruffly. For being irresponsible and getting her pregnant. For the morning sickness and the heartache of the miscarriage. For not pushing harder afterward to see her.

“Me, too,” she whispered. “But I just want you to know that when I’m with you, my glass is full.”

Ah, shit, now she was being downright romantic. She’d remembered our glass-half-full conversation where I had insisted on the logic of a full glass. I drank in the sight of her, nestled on my lap, her face close to mine, the smell and feel of her wrapping around me, and I wanted to capture the moment, hold on to it. I’d always thought I was pragmatic, methodical, but Kylie had drawn something out of me that I hadn’t even noticed existed. I wanted to say something epic but I didn’t know how to convey the enormity of the emotion I felt for her. Maybe it was the rum. Most likely it was just that I didn’t have any experience with this feeling of not being whole without someone else.

So instead I gave her a soft kiss then said, “Hey, Kylie. So a neutron walks into a bar.”

She laughed. “Oh yeah? What did he do in the bar?”

“He asks the bartender, ‘How much for a beer?’ The bartender gives him a smile and says, ‘For you, no charge.’”

“Oh, Darwin.” Laughing, she lost her balance on my lap and almost fell off the stool. “Ack!”

“What are you two doing over there?”

I turned and saw that Miranda was still talking to her potential hookup, but that Jessica and Rory were watching us, Rory smiling knowingly, Jessica looking a little put out.

“We’re making up,” Kylie told her.

“Making out is more like it.”

“Jessica,” Kylie said, “a neutron walked into a bar. He asked the bartender how much is a beer and the bartender said, ‘For you, no charge.’”

Jessica’s eyebrows shot up.

Rory laughed. “Nice. I see you’ve been studying hard.”

“You are drunk,” Jessica said, a grin splitting her face. “Since when do you tell chemistry jokes?”

“I’m a bad influence,” I said. “Hey, Tyler and Riley just came in.” Jessica and Rory’s boyfriends had paused in the doorway and nodded when they saw us. “It’s a party.”

They both looked mildly curious to see Kylie sitting on me, but mostly interested in ordering a couple of beers.

“I can deal with this kind of Girls’ Night,” Riley said, giving Jessica a kiss hello. “Though I’m not sure how you all went from pajama dancing to this place.”

“Kylie and Jonathon needed to talk,” Jessica told him.

“Looks like it.” He eyed us and gave me a grin.

“Rory, we need to talk, too,” Tyler told her, nudging her so that he could slide under her on the seat and pull her down onto his lap. He kissed her. “See? I had to say that.”

“I have to pee,” Kylie announced, because that’s what Kylie did. She announced things. “Rory and Jess, you need to come with me.”

She hopped off my lap and grabbed both of them by the hand and dragged them away from their boyfriends and toward the restroom.

“Why do chicks do that?” Riley asked. “They move in unison like schools of fish. I have never once needed company when I went to take a piss. In fact, I can’t stand it when some asshole tries to talk to me at the urinal.”

“That is weird,” I agreed. “But I think girls do it for two reasons. First, they can’t wait to communicate their thoughts and emotions. Two, they don’t want anything of importance to happen while they’re gone, so by taking their friends with them, they ensure it won’t.”

“I think you’re exactly right,” Tyler said. “They’re afraid they’ll miss some gossip or their friend will get hit on while they’re gone.”

“The three of us are right here; who is going to hit on them?” Riley asked.

“I don’t mean specifically now. I think it’s a learned behavior,” Tyler said.

“I imagine they get hit on a lot when they go out solo,” I said.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” Riley shook his head and took his beer from the bartender. “Thanks. God, I hate these Girls’ Nights. Something fucked up always happens.”

“Looks like tonight is going to end on a high note for all of us, though,” Tyler said, expression pleased. “It’s the best Girls’ Night they’ve ever had, in my opinion.”

“Way better ending than I would have thought two hours ago,” I admitted. “I thought Kylie and I were done.”

“Are you pretty hot for her?” Riley asked. “Like deep feelings and shit?”

“Yeah.” I would say there were definitely deep feelings and shit.

“Then trust me on this. It’s not done until they say it is.”

“Amen to that,” Tyler said.

“We’re putty in their fucking hands, bro.” Riley saluted me with his beer.

I nodded, feeling the wisdom of that statement. I raised my glass.

I would drink to that.