The tension seeps into my body, turning my shoulders to stone and my spine to iron. And yet my fingers feel like jelly, and I begin to tremble. Luckily, I’m finished putting on mascara; otherwise, I would’ve poked an eyeball out.
“Eric messaged?” I’m bothered by how weak my voice sounds. “What does it say?”
Tansy tosses me the phone. My gaze instantly lowers to the message. It’s brief.
ERIC: Call me, B. Need to talk to you.
Uneasiness trickles down my spine like drops from a leaky faucet. Shit. What does he want now?
“What does he want?” Tansy speaks my thoughts, only she sounds far more distrustful than I am.
“I don’t know. And to answer your question, we’re not in touch.”
That’s not entirely true. I hear from Eric two or three times a year, usually when he’s high as a kite or drunk off his face. If I don’t pick up, he keeps calling, over and over and over, until I do. I don’t have the heart to block his number, but the heart I do possess splinters each time I answer his calls and hear how far he’s fallen.
“Did you know my mom ran into him, like, six or seven months ago? It was around Halloween.”
“Really? Why didn’t she say anything about it over the holidays?”
“She didn’t want to worry you,” Tansy confesses.
A heavy breath gets stuck in my throat. The fact that Aunt Sheryl thought I would be worried tells me the state Eric was in when she saw him. “Was he high?”
“Mom thinks so.”
I exhale slowly. “I feel so bad for him.”
“You shouldn’t,” Tansy says frankly. “He’s the one who chooses to keep indulging in that lifestyle. His mom got him a spot in that super-expensive rehab in Vermont and he refused to go, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I feel bad for Eric’s mother, too. It’s so frustrating trying to help someone who refuses to admit they have a problem.
“Nobody is forcibly pouring booze down his throat or making him do drugs. Nobody is holding him hostage in Westlynn. He can leave town anytime. We did.”
She’s right. Nothing is keeping Eric in Westlynn, New Hampshire, except for his own demons. I, on the other hand, fled to Boston right after high school graduation.
There’s nothing wrong with my hometown. It’s a perfectly nice place, meeting the small-town requirements of tranquil and quaint. My dad and his siblings were born and raised in Westlynn, and Aunt Sheryl and Uncle Bill still reside there with their spouses. Dad waited until I moved out before he relocated to Hastings, Massachusetts. Before that, he made the hour-long commute to Briar so that I could continue to attend school with my cousins and friends. I think he’s happier in Hastings, though. The town is five minutes from campus, and his house is a roomy old Victorian with a ton of charm.
My ex-boyfriend chose to stay in our hometown. He spiraled after graduation, falling in with all the wrong people and doing all the wrong things. Westlynn isn’t overrun with drug dealers, but that’s not to say you can’t find drugs there. You can find drugs anywhere, sadly.
Eric is stuck. Everyone else has moved on, and he’s still in the same place. No, he’s in an even worse place these days. Maybe I shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but I do. And our history makes it hard to write him off entirely.
“I don’t think you should call him.”
My cousin’s stern words jolt me back to the present. “I probably won’t.”
“Probably won’t?”
“Ninety percent won’t, ten percent might.”
“Ten percent is too high.” She shakes her head. “That guy will only drag you down if you let him back in your life.”
I blanch. “God, don’t even worry about that happening. A hundred percent chance it won’t.”
“Good. Because clearly he’s still obsessed with you.”
“He was never obsessed with me,” I say in Eric’s defense.
“Are you kidding me? Remember when you got mono junior year and couldn’t attend school for a couple of months? Eric had a total meltdown,” she reminds me. “He called you every five seconds, skipped class to go see you, freaked out when Uncle Chad told him to stop coming over. It was intense.”
I avert my eyes. “Yeah. I guess it was a tad dramatic. What do you think of this top, by the way?” I gesture to my ribbed black crop top. It ties around the neck and the back, exposing my midriff.
“Hot AF,” Tansy declares.
“You know you saved no time by saying AF instead of ‘as fuck,’ right? Same amount of syllables,” I tease, all the while battling relief that she accepted my change of subject so readily.
I don’t like dwelling on that time in my life. Truth be told, thinking about Eric is as exhausting as it was actually dealing with him back in the day. One thought of him, and I feel as if I just climbed Everest. My ex is an energy vampire.
“I speak internet lingo,” Tansy retorts. “The one true language. Anyway, you look hot, and I look hot, so let’s go out and show everyone how hot we are. You ready?”
I swipe my purse off her roommate’s bed. “Ready AF.”
We end up at an Irish pub in the Back Bay area. It’s called the Fox and Fiddle, and populated primarily by college students, judging by all the younger faces. Sadly, there’s a conspicuous lack of hockey attire. I spot one or two maroon-and-gold jerseys, the colors of the Boston College Eagles. But that’s it. It makes me long for Malone’s, the bar in Hastings where all the Briar hockey fans congregate.
Tansy checks her phone as we walk inside. We’re meeting her boyfriend here. Or maybe it’s her ex-boyfriend? Fuck buddy? I never know when it comes to her and Lamar. Their on-again/off-again relationship has the head-spinning quality of riding a Tilt-O-Whirl.
“No text from Lamar. I guess he’s not here yet.” She links her arm through mine on our way to the bar. “Let’s order shots. We haven’t done shots since Christmas.”
There’s a huge crowd waiting to be served. When I catch the eye of one of the bartenders, he signals that he’ll be a minute.
“I really wish you went to BC with me,” Tansy says glumly. “We could do this all the time.”
“I know.” I would’ve loved to attend Boston College with her, but they rejected my application. I didn’t have the grades back then; my relationship with Eric pretty much torpedoed my ability to concentrate on school. I went to community college instead, until I was able to transfer to Briar, where I don’t have to pay tuition since my father works there.
“Sweet. They’re showing the Bruins game.” I gaze up at one of the monitors mounted from the ceiling. A blur of black and yellow whizzes by as the Bruins go on an offensive attack.
“Hurray!” Tansy says with mock enthusiasm. She doesn’t give a crap about hockey. Her game of choice is basketball. As in, she only dates basketball players.
I try to flag down the bartender again, but he’s busy serving a group of chicks in teeny dresses. The pub is surprisingly packed for ten thirty at night. Normally, people are still pre-drinking somewhere else at this time.
Tansy checks her phone again, then types something. “Where the hell is he?” she mutters.
“Text him.”
“Just did. He’s not answering for some rea—oh wait, he’s typing.” She waits until the message appears. “Okay, he’s—oh my God, you have got to be kidding me.”
“What’s wrong?”
Irritation flashes in her dark eyes. “One sec. I need to call him and figure out what the hell.”
Oh boy. I pray there isn’t trouble in paradise, because I know Tansy can sometimes get fixated on her boyfriend slash ex-boyfriend slash fuck buddy. I’m still not sure.
What I do know is that I was looking forward to a fun weekend with my favorite cousin, especially after my dreadful interview this morning. Holy shit did that suck.
I watch the Bruins game as I wait for Tansy. Neither of the two bartenders comes to take my order, which is probably a good thing because my cousin stomps back in a huff.
“You won’t believe this,” she announces. “The stupid idiot got the bars mixed up. He’s at the Frog and Fox near Fenway. We’re at the Fox and Fiddle.”
“Why does every bar in this city have the word fox in it?”
“I know, right? And I can’t even be too mad at him, because it’s an honest mistake.” She blows out an aggravated breath. “Anyway, he’s there with a bunch of friends and he doesn’t want to move his whole group over here when you and I can just hop in a cab and be there in ten minutes.”
“He has a point.”
“You don’t mind leaving?”
“Nope.” I ease away from the bar. “Let me hit the ladies’ before we go.”
“Cool. I’ll order the car. Meet you outside?”
Tansy exits the pub, while I amble toward the restrooms. Despite the Friday-night crowd, there’s no line for the ladies’ room. I walk in to find two girls in front of the mirror, chatting loudly as they fix their makeup. I nod in greeting and duck into a stall.
“If you want to go to the Dime, then let’s go to the Dime,” one of the girls is saying.
“I told you, I don’t want to.”
“Are you sure? Because you keep blabbering on about Jake Connelly and his amazing tongue.”
I freeze. I swear my pee stops midstream like some sort of magic trick.
“We’ve got nowhere else to be tonight,” the first chick says. “Let’s just hit the Dime so you can see him. Maybe you guys will hook up again…”
“Unlikely. Connelly doesn’t do repeats.” The second chick sounds dejected. “Going there is pointless.”
“You never know. You said he had a good time, right?”
“He was getting a BJ. Of course he had a good time.”
I press my lips together to fight a smile. Aw, listen to that. Jakey got some the other night. Good for him.
Except then I remember the stunt he pulled with McCarthy, and I’m no longer smiling. I quickly resume peeing, eager to leave the bathroom so I don’t have to listen to this shit anymore.
A wistful sigh echoes from beyond the stall. “You have no idea how hot it was.”
“Actually, I do. Because you can’t shut up about it.”
“He’s such a good kisser. And when he went down on me, he did this thing with his tongue, like…I can’t even describe it. It was sort of like…a kiss and a swirl.”
Discomfort forms in my gut. I’ve had my share of dirty conversations with my girlfriends, but these chicks are going into a lot of detail. And they know they’re not alone in the bathroom. They saw me come in.
“I’m surprised he returned the favor. Guys that good-looking don’t usually give a shit if the girl gets off. A lot of them would take the blowjob and bail.”
I flush the toilet and noisily exit the stall. “’Scuse me, need to get in here,” I say airily, gesturing to the sinks.
They step aside but keep talking. “Well, he wasn’t like that at all,” Jake’s chick assures her friend. “He wanted to get me off.”
This time, I pay closer attention to their appearance. The friend is a tall brunette. The one Jake hooked up with is short, with auburn curls, huge boobs, and enormous brown eyes, resembling a very sexy deer.
Is that Connelly’s type? Hot Bambi?
“Then let’s go to the Dime,” the brunette insists.
Hot Bambi bites her lower lip. “I don’t know. I’d feel weird showing up at his favorite bar. I mean, we hooked up four days ago. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”
I run my soapy hands under the hot water. Four days and she’s concerned he’s already forgotten about her? Is that how little she thinks of herself? Maybe I ought to chime in and advise her not to bother tracking him down. Jake would eat someone like her alive.
“Fine, I guess we’re staying here,” the friend says on their way out. “We should find a…”
Their voices trail off as the door swings shut. I dry my hands with a paper towel and ponder what I just heard. So. Four days ago, Jake and his amazing tongue got some Hot Bambi action. Talk about hypocrisy.
Where does he get the nerve, telling me who I can hook up with and ordering McCarthy to dump me? Here he is, oral-sexing hot deer women and spending his Friday night at some bar, likely trying to pick up. Meanwhile, poor McCarthy is sitting at home, unable to jerk his own dick without asking Connelly’s permission.
Screw that.
Fortitude straightens my shoulders as I go outside to find my cousin. She’s by a parking meter on the sidewalk, standing at the back door of a sporty black sedan. “Ready?” she calls when she spots me.
I join her at the car. “Yes. But change of plans. We’re making a quick stop first.”
