As the last of the light fades from the sky, Brooks wedges his car in the only space open in the drive-in movie lot. Lawn chairs fill the grassy area in front of the screen. Kids kick and throw balls. Obnoxious college age kids play bean bag toss.
He gets out, and I follow, our bodies leaning against the hood of his car. Brooks is chipper and chatty, and I am an erupting volcano. I never thought there would be a time where I wanted him to shut up, but I was wrong, and that time has presented itself. That I must stand here and pretend I don’t know he was talking to some whore is like having a yeast infection and no fingernails and no Monistat.
He checks his watch. “Should be starting soon. You want popcorn or anything?”
Ordinarily I’d say no to eating butter-laced corn, drinking a large bomb of carbs and sugar, and popping Raisinets like my crazy pills, but fuck it. I’ve deprived myself such small indulgences for so long, and for what? To reel in Brooks? Attract him? Because obviously he’s just as attracted to someone else, and I’ll bet she doesn’t deprive herself one bit.
“Popcorn, extra butter. Large Coke. Raisinets.” My voice is flat, so I add, “Please,” and throw a little smile his way.
He disappears behind the car, and the minutes he’s gone give me time to think. I’m disappointed. I’m discouraged. I’m tired. But it’s not over, and the book can work. It does work. Hundreds of reviews say it does!
I won’t give up.
I consider the facts, rolling them over in my mind. Four months of no contact with me while he licked his wounds and mended his ego only to have fate thrust us back together. He must be so confused. At least I know he isn’t sleeping with her. Brooks may be a liar, but he’s not a scumbag. Scumbags don’t care if you’re sick.
I imagine Brooks as a lion, the whore he might be seeing as an injured hog, and, of course, I am a beautiful, racing zebra. Who would he choose? The easy meal he could sink his teeth right into, or the racing thrill, knowing that if he fails he can go back to his subpar fast food?
Yes, in my growing impatience, I had dreams of us growing closer tonight. Of wild love-making and confessions of secret, forbidden love. But I have to be realistic. The book says this. It works, but it takes time.
So tonight, I’ll be the zebra. Tonight, I’ll live the book as if it is my Bible. Tonight, I’ll drive Brooks Jansen fucking mad.
Tonight, I’ll reject him, and it will officially be Day One of our journey to the chapel.
Gravel crunches behind me, and I know he’s near. I let my head drop back, faking a neck stretch. A simple, seductive move to kick off the madness of the night as the previews drag on.
“Popcorn, extra butter.”
“Thanks.” I take in the smell, my fingertips greasy as I grab a handful and plunge the salty goodness in my mouth. I notice there’s only one drink and one straw. As much as I love the idea of drinking after Brooks, of licking that straw after it touches that glorious tongue, I decide to be a pain in the ass. “Where’s my drink?”
“I got a large. Figured we could share.”
“Hmm. I think I’d rather have my own. I’m kind of a germaphobe. Was the line long? I’ll go grab another.”
A short laugh of disbelief escapes him until he realizes I’m serious. “You take this one. I’m good.”
I place the popcorn tub on the hood of the car, and take the drink. Suck in the sweet carbonation that hasn’t passed between my lips since I made the choice to change my life for him. For us.
He crosses his arms and clears his throat yet again. “So, how’s work been?”
“Shh!” I say, pointing to the screen and tossing a kernel into my mouth. “Movie is starting.”
Peripherally, I see his mouth half-drop as I stare ahead, the credits flashing as kids who shouldn’t be watching this shit run back to their cars occupied by their shitty parents.
“Can’t hear it. Guess we’d better get in.” I scoop up the popcorn and Coke, leaving the Raisinets for him to carry. I’m in the car before he is. He holds out the Raisinets to me, and I take them. I unwrap their paper, and pour some in my mouth. My favorite movie snack, mmm mmm mmm. I haven’t had these in ages, it seems. Our hands bump as we both reach to turn up the volume. His immediately retreats to his leg. My eyes flit to his jeans. The dream of getting to see what’s beneath them will have to wait. I’m harnessing my inner zebra, giving him a thrill he may not know he wants, and a level of control I may need.
My eyes stay fixed on this weird fucking movie. I’ll never feel the same way about St. Jude’s commercials again. I’m dismayed half the popcorn is gone, entirely courtesy of me. Brooks hasn’t eaten so much as one piece. It’s not surprising since I voiced my distaste for his terrible germs, which is, of course, a downright lie.
I’d lick his ass after a week of food poisoning.
Gloomy background music begins to play, increasing in volume and beat. I don’t watch flicks like this often. Can’t stand the shit. I always jump when the bogeyman comes out. Faster. Scarier. It plays on, and I decide to let it work to my advantage. I brace myself, put on my best actor’s suit.
FUCK, that’s cold! My whole body jerks, and I gasp—giving one great performance, if I must say. I allowed the lid to pop off on purpose, icy soda now spilling over the sides, covering the console. Drenching the leather and me.
“Jesus!” Brooks says, his hand snatching the cup before dropping it out the window.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
He shuts off the stereo, the only sounds of the movie now a watery version from cars next to us. He gets out, shuts the door, and leans in the window. His face is red, but he looks oddly calm about the wet stickiness covering his immaculate and expensive toy. By now, he must expect that I’m an accident waiting to happen.
“See if you have anything in your purse to clean around the gear shift. I’m going to get some paper towels.”
He jogs away, and I’m such a good actress that I’m even hating myself. Wanting to die. My borrowed jeans are soaked, and Coke is literally everywhere. I grab my purse, and pretend to dig through it, knowing there’s nothing, not even a single, solitary tampon with which to soak up a few drops. I laugh hysterically. He must think I’m the stupidest, clumsiest bitch he’s ever had the misfortune of seeing a movie with. But it won’t last long. He’ll be begging to lick my pussy before I know it, because the book says so. I just need to keep being an unavailable bitch, and he’ll be putty in my hands and balls slapping against my ass.
I execute the rest of the plan. Pull off Eliza’s shirt, not giving a shit what anyone who might see thinks, because I’m getting my man! I soak up some Coke, pressing the fabric into the crevices with my fingernails. Wring it out through the window. Repeat.
The door opens, and he gets inside—an entire roll of paper towels in his hand, along with a spray bottle of what looks like water. I look at him. His gaze trails from the wet shirt in my lap up to my breasts. My bra is wet. Tits nearly bursting from it. His eyes are stuck, so I break the ice.
My shoulders lift in a shrug. “I didn’t have anything in my purse.”
He blinks a few times, and then looks straight ahead. Pulls off his own, his abs perfectly stacked and tight above his belt. He tosses it to me, and I slip it on, enjoying his scent as it slides over my face.
“I’m really sorry.”
Flatly, he says, “It’s fine. I’ll get it cleaned tomorrow.”
Sweat rolls down his temples, as if he’s trying his best to hold back a physical punch. He sprays some more. Hands the paper towels to me, and leaves to return the spray bottle to the concession stand.
He’s mad, but obviously not too mad. I’m meticulous with my wiping of the console. I find a splash on the glove compartment, and wipe that, too. There. That’s better. All clean. Poor Brooks, and poor car, but you know … that’s what he gets for brushing me off.
And just as I wiped this mess, I can wipe Brooks of his. The progression of a relationship during the dating period is about control—who has the upper hand. I can be that person. I can take on that honorable duty of always leaving him wanting more, of helping us.
Once he’s back, he shines his phone’s flashlight around the interior, the light casting shadows over every line of his muscles before he puts his phone away.
“Guess we’d better look for a room before they’re all gone,” he says, starting up the car.
“Actually, do you think we could see if it cleared up? I’d rather at least try.” But secretly I’m praying it hasn’t.
“Right. Good idea.”
He follows the directions of his GPS until we’re met with bumper-to-bumper tail lights, flashes of blue dotting far in the distance.
Brooks sighs. “Who knows how long this will take.”
I spot the lodge the driver had mentioned up on the hill behind a Taco Bell—a hotel resembling a large cabin. “I suppose we could try there.”
“You sure? We can wait it out if that’s what you want.”
“If we can get two beds, I’m fine with it.”
I turn my head straight to the road again, and I swear I see his throat clench like he doesn’t know what to think.
Like I’m exactly where I fucking need to be.
In control.