We get outside and I spy a moped/scooter. My choicely descriptive English-loving mouth runs away from me.
“No way in the whole illustrious gravity-defying infinity-and-beyond universe am I riding on that death trap. I can already hear ‘brain injury’ coming from my mom’s screaming vocal cords.”
JuneBug laughs. “You could just say no thank you.”
I laugh nervously. “Where’s the fun in that? How about we take my dad’s truck? It’ll make more of an entrance.”
JuneBug sighs. “Alright, but keep in mind, the scooter is super cheap on gas and can have the element of surprise. It’s ultra-quiet, sneaky when you need to be coming home late, if you know what I mean.”
I nod my head, cross my arm over my chest, and look at the ground. “I gotta be home by midnight. It’s my first night out…here.. I mean… so I don’t want to get grounded first thing. You know?”
“Sure. I get it.” We climb up in the F150. JuneBug gives me instructions and we start driving. Fortunately, the party isn’t too far from my mom’s house—it’s like six blocks.
I hop out and pace a few seconds while I shake out my hands. “I’m fretting and sweating.”
JuneBug raises her one eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
I stand beside the truck, breathing deep. “When I get really nervous, I sweat like a fricking fire hose; and as much as I’d like it to stop, once it starts, it’s like wringing out a wet towel; I’m like a leaky water faucet that you can’t quite turn off.”
JuneBut slaps me on my butt. “Man up, basketball queen.”
“Right. I’m baller girl.”
JuneBug giggles. “Did you just say balls?”
I shake my head so fast. “Ewww. Gross. No, no, I did not.” I wave an arm at her. “Carry on.” She leads the way and I follow her up the walk to a charming cottage-type house, with a warm, cozy homey feel, despite its ginormic proportions. JuneBug and I pay the entry fee at the door.
“Yo, I’m getting my drink on.” JuneBug says before she heads straight for the red solo cups.
“Yeah. You go ahead.” I call after her as I hang back, all nervous. I’ve never had a drink, but I know all the dangers of poor judgment, DUIs, and MIPs. My parents drilled the laws into my head so thoroughly in recent years, you’d think my dad was a lawyer or a judge. My mom has always been big on “Know your rights,” so I also know all the requirements needed before someone can search your vehicle. All these things seem comical now, considering my parents kept pretty close tabs on me and kept me so busy with sports I didn’t have time to even think about stepping out of line.
I hang back and watch JuneBug all confident with her red solo cup, while I default to my usual, awkward wallflower girl. I leave my back corner post to find some pop, wandering until I find the kitchen. I open the cupboards and look things over in my roaming, deciding on a cup on the top shelf because I figure it’s been used less.
I open the freezer and grab some ice before checking the fridge for choices. There’s a drink in the back. I lean over to get the drink and hear a low wolf whistle, which startles me. Sexist jerk. I try to stand, which is difficult when half of me is in the fridge, a fact I remember when I clumsily bump my head. I’m pissed by the time I’ve cleared the fridge. I slowly stand to my full height and try to collect myself before turning around, hoping to be as chill as an Easy A iceberg.
I am the ice queen. There is a stupid, petulant, peasant at the foot of my decorous throne, whose mere presence is outrageously offensive, though nothing bothers me because I’m the Queen of I-don’t-care. I turn slowly, to look down upon this insolent subject in my throne room….
My inner thermometer shoots through the roof. Here stands my Mudpie Mojo, aka wolf whistler, aka Oliver, giving me the all-over once-over again. Only this time it is a much slower up and down look I get out of half-lidded bedroom eyes. Is he like a descendant of Elvis Presley? In my defense, I’ve never had this type of blatant admiration before. There weren’t too many guys in Florida who looked twice in my direction.
I don’t know if it was my height, overactive imagination, or big vocabulary that scared them off…maybe all three. Or it could have been my definite indifference to all things male combined with my locked-in focus on academics and Sports. Quickly I scan the room for his little sidekick, Red, who is nowhere to be found. Even more smarmy. The guy is a total player! Why does he have to look so good doing it?
It’s just him and I in the kitchen. The walls shrink by the second. He fills up too much space. My brain comes up empty when I try to think of something that would make me laugh to ease the tension in this room. For the first time, my imagination fails me. Ugh. I’m picturing things in my mind, but they are not what I want to see…
Me and Mojo flying in a plane like in Aloha. I’m the captain and he’s my sexy co-captain. Together we fight the enemy, until we’re shot down and we land on a mountain-top and we’re stranded together. No! Me and Mojo are like Skeeter and her idiot boyfriend on The Help. We’re always arguing, and eventually he leaves me because he’s intimidated by my courage and Awesomeness. Yes! This could work!
I stand here, distractedly filling my cup with ice, which is full, I discover, as something hits the floor… Crap. I clear my throat, pick up the ice to toss it in the sink, and focus on pouring my lemonade. Aha. I spot a tea packet—something to keep my hands busy. I grab a coffee cup and fill it and put in the microwave to boil the water to make the tea.
The guy doesn’t take the hint that I’m not speaking to him. He just stands here, staring. Fine. This is just stupid. We’ve locked lips at least a few times, a fact I’m doing my best to ignore, but it’s not easy, especially when he won’t quit staring at my face.
“Yes, Oliver? May I help you? I mean, I’m not working right now, but is there something you need?” He stops his super sexy slouch against the drawers—I mean whoever thought that leaning on kitchen drawers could be so hot it should be outlawed. He does it so well, he could be like a professional leaner, speaking of which—he’s in front of me! How did he get from there to here, and what the hell do I do? He leans in and gets in my space.
I take this as confrontation, and decide no matter how close he gets, I’m not moving. Big mistake. Huge. He opens the drawer next to my butt. The drawer slides along my tush. I burn with the heat coming off him as his hip brushes mine.
He pulls out a fork. His face is so close I feel his breath. His mouth hovers. It flirts with my cheek. This is absolutely the most delicious torture I’ve ever experienced. He does this clicking sound with his mouth as he clenches his beautiful jaw in the corner of my eye. “I needed a… fork, ” he says, all smooth and sexy, as he winks at me while slowly backing away. Okay… I’m ready to leave this party, like now.
I white knuckle the countertop to keep from reaching for any part of him. I’m not sure what just happened other than to say it was one of the most beautiful moments of my entire life.
He doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he opens the fridge, pulls out a container, and goes back to his leaning that is so drool-worthy it’s ridiculous. I can’t believe this! He’s munching on someone else’s leftovers. I thought I was invasive.
I whip around to finish making my Arnie Palmer. I give it a good stir before I start chugging. I need to cool off, but the king of chill lingers, eating his stolen grub.
I should leave the room before I embarrass myself further, but I can’t. Pride holds me in this stupid stand-off at the O.K. corral, as our unspoken duel continues in the kitchen. It’s an unofficial battle of the wills. I will not lose. Innocent people wander through our battlefield clueless and aimless; lost, tipsy, or both.
Part of my mind worries about where JuneBug is. But who am I kidding? That girl can handle her own, and so can I. I’m old-school baller and a blog queen, and this stand-off is just stupid. I gaze across the room to find Oliver still staring. He’s totally rude and totally hot.
The longer we stare, the more the tension grows. But we both seem powerless to stop it. I know he wants to win as much as I do. It’s like a child’s game of silence taken to the nth degree with no end in sight. Oh crap balls, it’s starting, my inner thermometer, body betrayer. It starts at my toes, climbs to my knees, and rushes through all parts of me. Now it’s in my neck, silently choking me.
I hate that I blush easily. I know if it gets to my cheeks, I’m going to have to find a reason to literally stick my head in the freezer. I try in vain to let my imagination take over to distract myself, but I can’t tear my eyes from his chocolatey brown soul windows curtained by his delicate dark lashes.
My mind won’t stop as I stare at his face, all perfect and feminine except for the hard stubbornness of his unforgiving jawline and the lovely lower lip of his arrogant smirk. Not to mention, he’s the perfect height. I’m wearing my sneaks, which have a bit of a heel on them, but he’s still just a bit taller than me.
Just when I think the fire’s going to climb past my neck and up into my cheeks, I hear a terrible, piercing high-pitched voice from the other room; a sound so ear-splittingly horrendous, I can’t make out the words.
As if struck by lightning, my Mudpie Mojo flies across the room, grabs me by the arm, hurls me into a kitchen pantry closet, and shuts the door. What the hell? Suddenly we’re in very close quarters, in the dark no less. My back leans up against what feels like canned goods, and I swear I’ve got ridges in my spine.
I follow my gut instinct and squirm away from him, fumbling for the doorknob. I find it the same time his hand finds mine. He holds tight. Oliver’s grip is as hard as iron.
He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Shhh. She’ll hear you.” I’m angry, but his breath in my ear and on my neck sets off different kinds of sirens. Oliver has a way of taking over every part of me.
“Who? Who will hear? The high-pitched hyena?” I back away from him. Cans crash to the floor. The sound is deafening.
“Shhh. Stop moving! You suck at hiding.” He tugs me away from the cans. I’m full up against him, just like before. The dude has some major pecs going on. His arm shoots around me, seriously muddling my head. I might as well be drunk. My head spins. I push half-heartedly against his chest, trying to resist. He holds me tighter. I start to talk again.
“Why are we hiding?” His hand clamps down on my mouth. Not happening… I bite his fingers. Not hard enough to make them bleed (I hope) but hard enough to make him move his hand. There’s footsteps in the kitchen. The doorknob wiggles. I can’t help it. I’m totally psyched about who’s on the other side.
“Oli! Why won’t the door open? Oli, Oli…is that you? Are you hiding from me? Come out, come out!” It’s the same high-pitched voice I heard before; except more desperate. It’s like a wheedling, sing-song voice. I almost feel bad for her except that I can’t stand her tone. The doorknob shakes harder, but he holds tight.
His hand sticks to the doorknob, immovable. His other hand brushes the skin on the small of my back, scraping just a little with his fingernail, quickly traveling up the outside of my shirt to my neck. Now his hand is in my hair. He leans in and kisses me. I’m all in.
I step up, lay my hand on the back of his neck, and pull him toward me. One of us just moaned. Lay me out right now, Gangster Squad Ryan Gosling, I’ll play post office with you all day long.
My memory serves me well. This Mudpie Mojo can deliver a kiss.
I am a thawed-out icicle, a puddle of nothingness at his Adonis feet. I hear nothing, no piercing wheedling voice, no rattling of the doorknob. I’m frozen in a wondrous moment in time where only two people exist. I’m caught up in the frenzy of wanting something more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life.
Suddenly, one hand is not enough for either of us, as we release the doorknob. He’s found my barely covered butt, thanks to these yoga pants, and I’ve found his back pocket, which has a bandana? I palm it while we transform into gorilla glue. Nothing tears us apart. Nothing, except for a very tiny mosquito with an annoying screeching sound coming from those tiny perfect lips of hers, as she seeks my blood.
We’re still wrapped up in our gripping embrace when I feel a tugging and yanking of my hair. Hell, no. My hands drop from that which is beautiful and statuesque to swat at this blood-sucking insect. I grab her hand attached to my hair and quickly apply pressure to her pressure point, thanks to a self-defense class my mother insisted I take. I aim for numbness and find success as her hand releases my hair.
I take advantage of her shock and grab her by both wrists as I push her up against the cans. I get very close to her face, and if I didn’t know it, I’d think this was a different kind of encounter.
My blood is still hot from my make-out session with beautiful Oliver. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t respond to hair pulling.”
“Who do you think you are, moving in on my man, you skank!” Her hot breath is all over me.
Channel Dr. Phil, Katie, channel Dr. Phil. Nope.
Easy A Emma who doesn’t take crap from anyone resurfaces. My face is so close to hers our noses almost touch. “Listen here, little gnat, as in useless noise-making insect that has no purpose other than to piss me off. Clearly, he’s not your man. And no one, and I mean no one, tells me who I can or cannot kiss or do anything else with. So. Back. Off. Got It?”
I drop her wrists and turn to walk away from her, feeling all queenly and baller. Commotion is my only warning before she shoves me from behind. I trip over my feet as I fall to the floor, dinging my elbow. The pain in my hand shoots up my arm, to the base of my neck.
I pass out and wake up on the floor. Mr. Perfect leans into my face and taps my cheeks with his big-knuckled hands. I turn sideways to see JuneBug sitting cross-legged on the floor. I try to sit up, but I’m dizzy. My head hurts like a mother. “Look at me, Katy-did. Look into my eyes,” Mr. Perfect speaks.
I sigh as I happily follow his instructions. “Mudpie Mojo, you’re kinda hot.” My words come out like a sigh. I hear a giggle from JuneBug. My face flames. “Crap balls. I thought I was thinking, but now I think I was talking when I thought I was thinking.” I look at JuneBug for confirmation. She nods her head up and down crazy-like. Great, now Mr. Perfect is going to think I’m batcrap crazy.
He looks at me again, eyebrows raised. “Katie. Look at me. I need to see your pupils. You might have a concussion. You fell pretty hard. I’m sorry about that.”
His words register in my cotton-ball brain. “Were you the one who shoved me?”
He nods his head. “I had to. Livvy has a pretty good swing. I had no idea she’d try to hit you with a can of corn.”
Hearing her name on his lips burns my ears. Jealousy hits me like a mack truck. I’ve got it so bad. “Livvy tried to hit me with a can of corn? Why would she do that?”
He blushes. He’s so adorable. “We used to be together.”
My mind reels. “But she was here with someone else. I saw them when I walked in.”
He shrugs again. “That’s just how she is, and it hasn’t been that long. We broke up last night.” Whoa. I blink a few times. Is he saying he broke up with her for me? Surely not. I don’t know what to say as I search his face for an answer. “It was going to happen, anyway. I’d been putting it off. I kind of wanted to, but I didn’t have a reason to before, but now…” He stares at my face, his eyes go to my lips. This is too much. I have to get out of here.
“I gotta get home.” I look over at JuneBug and ignore his imploring eyes. I wish I knew him better. Maybe he’s interested because I’m the new girl, or maybe he’s never been rejected. At least I didn’t fall at his feet—being shoved to the floor doesn’t count. “JuneBug, you ready to go?”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. I get up and walk past her, heading for the door. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you home.” There’s no mistaking the disappointment in her tone.
I don’t look back as I walk toward the front door. I lean into JuneBug who struts by my side. I limp slightly as I whisper. “Is he still watching, cause he’s not the only one who can play games. I’ll give him and the gnat some real drama. I’m havin’ the last word.”
“Are you sure you’re alright? I’m the one who drank tonight. What’s gotten into you?” JuneBug whispers back furiously.
I look down at her and wink. “An annoying insect and some Mudpie Mojo.” We throw our heads back in laughter. I pause at the front door and side-eye Livvy in the corner. She’s hanging on some other tall dude. I step away from JuneBug and focus on my target as I look Livvy right in the eye while I march over, bold as you please. I walk right by her to step up in her tall guy’s space. “What’s your name?” My voice is all breathy.
His eyes cut to Livvy, but I step into his line of sight and wait for an answer. “Duke.”
“Well, Duke, I’m Katie. I’ve always wanted to kiss a Royal.” I take his face in my hands and angle it a little before leaning in to give him a thorough kissing. The element of surprise works, as he’s frozen long enough for me to get a few catcalls and whistles. To give him credit, he doesn’t even try to touch me, which stings just a little, but I’ve made my point.
I turn on my heel, not once looking in Mudpie Mojo’s direction as I walk out the door, calling out to a stricken Livvy. “See ya, Liv-vy. You’ve got good taste.” I pucker and make a kissing sound.
I step outside into the night to breathe out as I hear a door shut behind me. I turn to an open-mouthed JuneBug, who is quiet as a mouse. I’m feeling pretty awesome. “That was fun. It should be hard to top that.”
JuneBug’s eyes bug as she nods her head and holds up her phone. “I got it all on video! You are one crazy bee-yotch!” She holds up her other hand for a high five. I slap it hard and laugh out loud, even though I’m shaking inside. It’s like I have an untamed beast locked up that’s slowly emerging. I shove the thought away as I strut out to the truck.