CHRIS
I can’t move. I’ve never fucked a girl so many times in one night. I couldn’t stop, we couldn’t stop, and I lost count after the sun came up. I think a full day of foreplay has the power to save lives. I knew the moment I saw her laying in the water, body on complete display for me, that the game we were playing was over.
Fucking Hell.
I guess I can skip the gym for the day.
Red is wrapped around me and, from what I can see, she’s still naked. I know I am. The sounds echoing through the house let me know that most of my roommates are already awake. The big screen is on in the living room, and someone is banging shit around in the kitchen.
I wonder what time it is.
Red stirs in her sleep, and I realize I don’t give a shit what time it is. I reach down, pull the covers over our bodies, and close my eyes.
“…Yeah,” my voice screeches.
I clear my throat.
“…Yeah?” I try again, sleep thick in my voice.
Someone is shaking me… violently. I’m trying to open my eyes, but exhaustion from the long night is still lingering, and they will not cooperate.
“No… No… please…”
When my brain registers Red’s voice, my eyes fly open; no one is shaking me, her entire body is.
“Dell! No… please,” she pleads. Her eyes are still closed. She’s breathing like she’s running, and she’s trembling so fiercely, I don’t know how she’s still asleep.
“Red.”
“Red… wake up.”
I sit forward, cradling her as I continue to call out to her. She’s sweating.
“RED!” I yell.
Suddenly, her eyes fly open, and she takes a deep breath. My eyes lock with hers, not sure what to do. I’m still holding her. I’m about to tell her she was having a nightmare. I’m about to tell her she was shaking and stirring in her sleep, but I don’t get the chance. Her eyes search my face for a minute as if she’s mentally placing her whereabouts. She begins to blink rapidly as a shudder runs through her entire body. Then, it’s like the world is too heavy for her to hold because she swallows hard and begins to sob.
I really don’t know what to do, so I do what anyone else would, I continue to hold her. She doesn’t get up and run to the bathroom, she doesn’t hide her tears—she owns them. She curls into me, and I hold her until the shuddering stops.
Eventually, she does get up to take a shower. I leave my bedroom in only a pair of sweats when I hear Red turn on the jets. Taking a deep breath, I make my way into the kitchen. I have never experienced pain like that, and I can’t fight the urge to do something, anything to make her feel better. If the problem is outside of a back rub and a glass of chocolate milk from a crazy straw, I’m out of ideas.
Wait, what would Mom do?
“Hey, man. I didn’t know you were still here,” Nard says. He’s leaning against the counter with a glass of water. “I would’ve made you come run with me. Can’t be getting fat now that you quit on us and all,” he says, smacking my stomach.
“Yeah right,” I say. “Do we have tea?”
“Uh. I think Paul has some of that nasty smelling shit in there.”
He sets his glass in the sink and heads for the patio door. “See you when I get back. If you’re still here. If not, tell MJ Uncle Nard says hello.”
“Alright,” I say half-heartedly and focus on finding the tea.
Thirty minutes later, Red and I are in the car headed down the highway. She has apologized about three dozen times, but really hasn’t said much past that. I want to ask her about her dream, but I can tell it was a bit more than just a dream. I don’t want to pry, I’m sure she will tell me if she wants me to know.
“Thanks again for this morning, Chris,” she says as we stand in front of her door.
“… And last night.” She tries to smile, but her eyes are still hurting.
She’s embarrassed. I should say something.
I don’t know what to say and, in this moment, I want to kiss her, pull her close, and put a real smile on her face. I don’t kiss her, but I do pull her against me.
After she goes inside, I’m back on the highway and headed toward Kinderprep Academy.
“Daddy, it was huge! Like this…” MJ says, holding his arms as wide as they can go.
“Really?”
“Grandpa Fred’s fish was gray, and mine was yellow, but mine was the biggest.”
“Well, that’s awesome, Frog.”
We are pulling up to my parents’ house. I didn’t tell them that we were coming for dinner, but I don’t have to, Mom always makes enough for us, even though we only typically come on Sundays. Usually, I would just be getting back from working the weekend and, instead of rushing home and cooking, we just come here. My Mom is sweet, and it doesn’t matter how much I decline her offers; she insists. Throughout the week, I will always find random servings of casserole or whatever else she has cooked in my freezer.
Not a second after we enter the house, MJ is on the search for Pops to tell him about fishing in Florida. Fishing is their thing—I don’t really care for it, neither does my brother. So when Pops discovered his grandson loved fishing, he almost pissed himself. I was happy too because he finally stopped guilting me into going with him.
I drop MJ’s book bag on the couch and follow my nose into the kitchen.
“God, Mom, that smells like heaven.”
“Well, hey there.” She smiles at me as she mixes something delicious in a very large pot.
I walk over, kiss her on the cheek, and grab a seat at the counter.
“How was your… weekend?” she says with a knowing tone.
This is as close as she will ever get to asking me about work; she always hated my job at the club. Surprised I told her? Of course, I did. After having to sit your parents down at eighteen and tell them that not only have knocked up your girlfriend, but you’re moving in with her immediately, you realize there isn’t any reason to keep much else from them.
“My weekend was great,” I tell her, maybe a little too enthusiastically. My tone is due to the amazing weekend I had with Red, but the disgusted look on my mother’s face tells me a lecture is coming.
“Chris,” she sighs, “how do you ever expect to find a nice girl, if you are constantly putting it on display for every woman in town? I know what you guys do, I’ve seen the movies. There is no way a nice girl will put up with that.”
“Mom, I don’t have a problem meeting women.”
“We aren’t talking about women. We are talking about a girlfriend, someone who will make you happy. I just want you and MJ to be happy,” she says, looking concerned.
I sigh, “We are happy. We’re great, we don’t need anyone else.”
She has to be getting tired of this conversation.
“Anyway, I quit, Thursday was my last show.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and a look of relief washes over her face.
“With all the mess with Shayla, I think it may be time for a change.”
The four of us have dinner, and I cryptically fill Pops in on the recent changes in my life. I didn’t want to clue MJ in that I quit my job. Even though he has no understanding of my occupation, I don’t want him repeating it around Shayla. I also take this moment to tell Pops how much ‘help’ his lawyer Larry was, and that I just received an email from a well-known family law lawyer for an appointment. My pops is loyal to a fault sometimes, so he wasn’t happy to hear that I wasn’t working with Larry.
“So what are you going to do now?” Pops asks, through a mouthful of chicken stew.
“You know how sometimes I help you out at the shops? I was thinking of buying one of my own. I have enough experience, and I’ve been watching you run them my whole life.”
“Do you have the money to invest?” Pop says.
“Mr. Greenwood’s Auto Shop in town, he’s posted it up for sale. I have more than half of what he’s asking in cash, and I can get a loan for the rest.”
A look passes between my parents, while MJ makes pea forts with his mashed potatoes. I know what’s coming.
“You don’t have to get a loan, son, we’ll help. We’d be glad to.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I really want to do this on my own. I want to show my son what it means to work hard. No one gave you a handout, so I won’t accept one either.”
We go back and forth like this for a while. They lecture me on the financial strain that owning a business can cause, and how unexpected money pits can arise. Twenty minutes later, my food is ice cold, and I have agreed to a business deal with my father. We will go into business as equal business partners, and he will allow me to buy him out once we get out of the red.
MJ and I get home after 7:00p.m. In the few minutes it took me to drive from my parents’ house to our duplex, MJ fell asleep. This is earlier than usual, and I hate that he didn’t get his bath, but I know he’s exhausted. It’s been a busy few days for him, so I carry him straight to bed.
As much as I love hanging out with the guys, I really love coming home. I stick the chicken stew and mashed potatoes my mother forced me to take home in the freezer and fall onto the couch. I realize now that I’ve quit the club, I really don’t have a good reason to keep my room at the house, but I’m not ready to let it go. There is no way I will bring women or the guys here to hang out, not even Nard. I mean, Nard and JJ have been here, but only to stop in for a minute, never to hang out. My mind travels to Red, and I dig my phone out of my pocket.
ME: Hey, sexy. Feeling better?
RED: Yes. I died of embarrassment, but I’m back now.
ME: After what we did last night, the last thing you should ever be is embarrassed around me. Naked, maybe?
RED: Oh hell. Now I’m blushing.
I imagine her biting back a smile as I text her back. I tell her I want to see her again soon, and she agrees; this makes me smile. I won’t lie, I was kind of worried that she’d freak and not want to face me again. She’s just a hook-up, true, and I have Haley and many others I can hook-up with in her stead. I don’t know, though; I would hate for things to end as fast as they begun and, for some reason, the idea of never being able to touch her again makes something bad happen in my stomach.
Yawning, I toss my phone on the coffee table, turn on the TV, and lay back on the couch. I’m still pretty tired and will probably call it early tonight.
A loud explosion echoes through the living room, waking me as Will Smith defeats the aliens in “Independence Day”, and I zone in on a knock at the door.
I grab my phone to check the time and to see if anyone called.
Who in the hell would be knocking on my door at 8:30 p.m.?
My parents have a key, and no one else would show up here without calling first.
A yawn wrecks through me as I shuffle to the door and open it. A man I don’t recognize is standing on the other side, holding magazines and smiling at me.
“Hi, are you Mr. Chris Preston?”
“Yeah,” I say, not hiding my annoyance.
“You’ve officially been served.”