grandpa’s vintage 1970’s polyester tux, in the single most wretched
shade of powder blue ever invented, with ruffles down the front of the
revolting long-collared shirt. I stole his black and white checkered fedora for
the picture, and it’s perched at a jaunty angle on my head.
I have on a ridiculous black dress with
a skirt cut so high I wouldn’t need to change into a gown at the gynecologist,
but the strapless, sequined gown is covered with a long-sleeved, lacy black
bolero hanging off my too-thin frame. I’m holding the ends of it in my hands as
he holds mine in the picture. I had already started cutting myself by then and
stupidly thought wearing long sleeves would keep people from seeing the angry
red slashes all over my arms. I hadn’t started putting matches out on the backs
of my hands when this pic was taken, but it wasn’t long after. I told everyone
I was allergic to bug bites when they called me on it. Everyone bought my lies
except Grant. He never said anything, but I knew he could see through my words.
“Look at us, grinning like dorks,” I
say, passing it back.
“We had fun, right? I can’t believe we
didn’t end up in jail for some of our stunts.”
“That’s where we belonged, really,” I
agree. “Whose bright idea was it to go shopping cart bombing, anyway?”
“I do believe that was Oliver’s
brilliant scheme.” He sighs with a grin, the one I remember so well. The one
that made me fall hard for him. “Vandalism at its finest.”
“Oliver,” I sigh. “I miss that little
troll. Whatever happened to him?”
“He’s here tonight,” Grant says, turning
in his chair to point at a table on the side, next to the brick wall near the
ladies room.
“Seriously?” I squeal, spinning around
to look for him. “I have to talk to him!”
“We’re roomies. Have been since I moved
back for law school.”
“Oh man,” I say as I catch Oliver’s eye
and wink at him. He gives me a confused look and keeps chatting up his date. I
realize he probably has no idea who I am, since I have short dyed hair, a nose stud,
and something resembling a chest now. “We had good times, didn’t we?”
“We did.”
It gets quiet again, and we spend a few
moments saying nothing before the bell rings and we’re done. My heart breaks a
little as Grant stands up and offers me a quick, back-patting hug before
hurrying to the men’s room. Despite everything left unsaid, he still feels
right. Good. Comfortable. Seeing him feels like putting on a pair of my
favorite jeans. It’s always been the perfect fit for me.
I’m flustered and can’t think straight
as I watch him vanish into the restroom. I reach for my purse but knock it to
the ground instead. Change rolls everywhere and I have to crawl on the floor to
collect it while people are walking around or milling about at tables. I’m
gonna get trampled if I don’t hurry...plus, I just want to evaporate.
I gather everything in one big sweep of
the arm and shove it all back into my bag before I hurry away. I can’t do the
last round, no matter what I told myself. I’m gonna tap out and let the
universe have this one. Ten crazy guys would wreak less emotional havoc on me
than one moment looking into the vivid green of Grant Fierro’s gorgeous eyes.
Worth the Risk
I reach into my purse for my phone as I
head toward the front door. I pick it up to see a text from Harlow glowing on
the screen. I’m sorry you’re having a bad time, but this guy so far is worth
every bad date I’ve ever had. *sigh* I’m a little gone on this one!
I can’t help but smile. She’s dated way
too many guys who were only using her for her power and connections. I pull up
my on-screen keyboard and text back . I’m thrilled for you, but you might
want to sleep with the lights on tonight. You’ve been warned.
There’s a sleek silver trash can just by
the exit. I stop to drop in the feedback card I was given when I walked in and
registered for the 5 in 5
shade of powder blue ever invented, with ruffles down the front of the
revolting long-collared shirt. I stole his black and white checkered fedora for
the picture, and it’s perched at a jaunty angle on my head.
I have on a ridiculous black dress with
a skirt cut so high I wouldn’t need to change into a gown at the gynecologist,
but the strapless, sequined gown is covered with a long-sleeved, lacy black
bolero hanging off my too-thin frame. I’m holding the ends of it in my hands as
he holds mine in the picture. I had already started cutting myself by then and
stupidly thought wearing long sleeves would keep people from seeing the angry
red slashes all over my arms. I hadn’t started putting matches out on the backs
of my hands when this pic was taken, but it wasn’t long after. I told everyone
I was allergic to bug bites when they called me on it. Everyone bought my lies
except Grant. He never said anything, but I knew he could see through my words.
“Look at us, grinning like dorks,” I
say, passing it back.
“We had fun, right? I can’t believe we
didn’t end up in jail for some of our stunts.”
“That’s where we belonged, really,” I
agree. “Whose bright idea was it to go shopping cart bombing, anyway?”
“I do believe that was Oliver’s
brilliant scheme.” He sighs with a grin, the one I remember so well. The one
that made me fall hard for him. “Vandalism at its finest.”
“Oliver,” I sigh. “I miss that little
troll. Whatever happened to him?”
“He’s here tonight,” Grant says, turning
in his chair to point at a table on the side, next to the brick wall near the
ladies room.
“Seriously?” I squeal, spinning around
to look for him. “I have to talk to him!”
“We’re roomies. Have been since I moved
back for law school.”
“Oh man,” I say as I catch Oliver’s eye
and wink at him. He gives me a confused look and keeps chatting up his date. I
realize he probably has no idea who I am, since I have short dyed hair, a nose stud,
and something resembling a chest now. “We had good times, didn’t we?”
“We did.”
It gets quiet again, and we spend a few
moments saying nothing before the bell rings and we’re done. My heart breaks a
little as Grant stands up and offers me a quick, back-patting hug before
hurrying to the men’s room. Despite everything left unsaid, he still feels
right. Good. Comfortable. Seeing him feels like putting on a pair of my
favorite jeans. It’s always been the perfect fit for me.
I’m flustered and can’t think straight
as I watch him vanish into the restroom. I reach for my purse but knock it to
the ground instead. Change rolls everywhere and I have to crawl on the floor to
collect it while people are walking around or milling about at tables. I’m
gonna get trampled if I don’t hurry...plus, I just want to evaporate.
I gather everything in one big sweep of
the arm and shove it all back into my bag before I hurry away. I can’t do the
last round, no matter what I told myself. I’m gonna tap out and let the
universe have this one. Ten crazy guys would wreak less emotional havoc on me
than one moment looking into the vivid green of Grant Fierro’s gorgeous eyes.
Worth the Risk
I reach into my purse for my phone as I
head toward the front door. I pick it up to see a text from Harlow glowing on
the screen. I’m sorry you’re having a bad time, but this guy so far is worth
every bad date I’ve ever had. *sigh* I’m a little gone on this one!
I can’t help but smile. She’s dated way
too many guys who were only using her for her power and connections. I pull up
my on-screen keyboard and text back . I’m thrilled for you, but you might
want to sleep with the lights on tonight. You’ve been warned.
There’s a sleek silver trash can just by
the exit. I stop to drop in the feedback card I was given when I walked in and
registered for the 5 in 5
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