Chapter Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Lucy
JAYLEN:
LUCY:
JAYLEN:
LUCY:
I quickly pull my bangs back and clip them into place before frantically running a lint roller all over my little black dress. With its white collar and cuffs, I look like a slutty Wednesday Addams. I slip into my heels and head out the door before I have time to second-guess my outfit for tonight. I’m headed to a dinner with Jaylen and his team, and I just received his “I’m out front” text a couple minutes ago. I don’t want to keep him waiting.
“You look amazing,” Jaylen says as I slide into the passenger seat of his car.
I lean over the center console to steal a kiss from his lips before I can thank him or return the compliment. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed him, and it’s only been an afternoon apart. As we kiss, Jaylen is careful not to dishevel my hair, a chivalrous gesture that I hope he ditches later tonight.
We pull away from each other and I wipe my lip gloss off Jaylen’s lips with my thumb. “And you look handsome. You know I love it when your top buttons are unbuttoned.” I run my fingers down his exposed neckline, tickling his chest. I’m feeling playful tonight as I make eyes at him from across the car.
“I know. I did it on purpose.” He blushes. Jaylen rests his hand on my thigh, giving my bare leg a squeeze. I grab on to his hand before he can pull it away, forcing it up higher on my leg, his fingers sneaking under the hem of my dress.
“We have a bit of time, don’t we?” I glance over at the car’s dashboard display. We’re on time, but when have I ever cared about that? I look into his eyes; they darken.
Jaylen leans into me and whispers in my ear, “I always have time to make my girl feel good.” His breath tickles my neck and sends goose bumps all over my body. He forces his fingers into my mouth while maintaining eye contact. I get them all wet for him.
I quickly shimmy in my seat, sliding my thong down to my ankles and spreading my legs for him. Knowing what comes next, I practically giggle. Jaylen runs his hand high up my leg until his fingertips brush against my clit. My pussy throbs as he firmly rubs his hand back and forth, touching the perfect spot.
He places his free hand around my neck. “Is this okay?” His voice is firm, in control.
I nod, looking up into his eyes. He squeezes my neck and my eyes roll into the back of my head on a moan.
His movements become firmer, faster. “Just like that,” I whisper hoarsely. He continues to touch me the way I like it until I come all over his hand.
Jaylen pulls his hand out from between my legs and brings his fingers to his mouth for a taste.
“Should we go back to your apartment?” I adjust my underwear back into place.
Jaylen kisses my forehead. “Soon. First, we have to go to this stupid dinner.” He shifts his car into Drive, and we speed off before fashionably late becomes late-late.
* * *
Jaylen leaves his keys with the valet and grabs my hand as we head inside together. The upscale bar is overflowing with men with broad shoulders, toothless smiles, and nice butts. Most of them have a beautiful partner linked on their muscular arm. For now, everyone is standing around chatting, but the bar leads into a fancy restaurant with tables set for the sit-down dinner to follow.
I can’t remember the last time I attended a private event that wasn’t one of Maya’s charity fundraisers. For once I’m a guest and not a beneficiary.
A few more people trickle in behind us, but the room is already filled with a buzzing hum of chatter.
“Come on, I want to introduce you to everyone,” Jaylen says.
Wells and his wife, Hannah, are gathered around a circular bar in the middle of the room talking with Lamber. I’ve briefly met Hannah a couple of times at games, since my friends and I are usually seated in the same section as the players’ significant others. Sometimes her kids are with her. She strikes me as the type of mom who always volunteers at the school, but still knows how to cut loose with her friends on the weekend, like life and its delicate balance come naturally to her. A woman with a maturity and sophistication far beyond my reach.
Before Jaylen can introduce me to the group, Lamber turns his head slightly, peering at me out the corner of his eye. Without hesitation, he says, “Two glasses of champagne, and what do you guys have on tap here?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, laughing off the confusion. This isn’t the first time I’ve been mistaken as an employee when I’m really a guest.
Jaylen clears his throat. “This is my girlfriend, Lucy,” he says, in a threatening voice.
“You’re Lucy. My bad.” Lamber throws his hands up in defense.
Suddenly, a server steps in offering up a tray of hors d’oeuvres. It doesn’t take me long to notice that she’s wearing a black dress with a white collar and cuffs—the same black dress that every other woman working the event is wearing. Face-to-face with my outfit’s mirror image, I begin stuffing my mouth with whatever tiny appetizer the woman is offering as she passes through the venue.
“We were just talking about the playoffs,” Wells says, interrupting the awkward silence. “It’s official—we’re playing the Dallas Stampeders.”
“Lucy,” Hannah says, turning to me, “I haven’t seen you at a ton of games this season. Will you be attending any playoff games?” Her eyes dart back and forth between me and Jaylen. She seems protective, but I’m not sure of which one of us.
At every game I’ve attended, the row of wives and girlfriends is packed with familiar faces. I guess it’s unusual for a girlfriend to miss a game, but I haven’t been in an official relationship with Jaylen all that long.
“It’s my schedule. I started selling my art online to make extra cash and I’m the most creatively productive in the evenings. But it sounds like I’ll have to make it to a playoff game,” I say.
When it’s convenient with all our schedules, I take Maya and Cooper to the game with me. Maya has become quite the unlikely die-hard Rainiers fan. Even going as far as to form an official queer fan group, the Rainbow Rainiers—they have carabiner merch and everything. Just as much, I’ve been enjoying watching the games from home while I paint. Maybe I can sit with Hannah next time.
“Playoff hockey is the best,” Wells says enthusiastically.
“I’m surprised you remember. The last time you played a playoff game your stick was made of wood.” Lamber chuckles at his own joke. Wells and Jaylen narrow in on him with un-amused glares. “I’m going to go find Soko. Hopefully he’s got some edibles on him because I need them to get through this boring dinner.” Lamber excuses himself.
Wells and Jaylen commiserate about Lamber before getting into a discussion about the Stampeders’ defense.
“I love the dress.” Hannah sweeps a handful of soft blond curls over her shoulder, revealing a small flower tattoo hidden behind her ear.
“Thanks. I thought it was vintage, but looks like I thrifted someone’s old uniform.” Looking around for someone dressed like me, I spot a server and wave her down. She quickly passes tall crystal champagne flutes to the group.
I take a drink, hoping the bubbles will settle the knots in my stomach. “Cute tattoo. Part of the reason why I’m working on my art so much is because I’m trying to get a tattoo apprenticeship,” I say, trying to find common ground.
It’s not like me to struggle so much with meeting new people, but I really want to make a good impression. Just as I start to feel out of place again, Jaylen’s warm hand links with mine. It’s a reminder that he brought me with him tonight because he wants me here. I belong, and his tight grip on my hand is exactly what I need to almost believe it.
“I thought you were a painter. Your murals are amazing, by the way. Would you ever take a personal commission? Because I know some hockey wives who are looking for a meaningful retirement gift for their husbands and I think your art would make the perfect gift,” Hannah says.
“Really?” I drop Jaylen’s hand.
“Absolutely. And not only retirement, but even Christmas or milestone gifts.”
I think for a moment, taking a mouthful of bubbly while I let the idea marinate. “I’m not sure I’ll have the time.”
“Let me give you my number in case.” She motions for my phone.
As Hannah enters her number into my contacts, Jaylen interrupts. “We should go make the rounds before we all have to sit down for dinner. Save us a spot in there?”
Wells flashes him a thumbs-up.
I wave bye to the two of them as Jaylen drags me back into the crowd. I hadn’t thought about doing more commissions, especially not sports-related ones. The murals ended up being a lot of fun to create, but I won’t have time to take on projects like that once I get a tattoo apprenticeship.
“I want you to meet Groot,” Jaylen says.
“Let me guess, another nickname?” I need a glossary to keep up with everyone.
“His real name is Calvin Moore. Guy’s an absolute giant, plus his goaltending is out of this world.”
We stop in front of a lanky guy about as tall as a tree with beautiful shaggy hair. I used up the last of my goldilocks paint on him and his lemon-chiffon-highlighted locks. The entire time I painted I wondered what elaborate expensive hair-care routine he followed. Now that I’m inches away, I realize it’s likely good genes.
“Groo, this is Lucy.” As Jaylen introduces me, I come to an unfortunate discovery.
“Oh my god. They were yelling ‘Groo’ this whole time? I thought everyone in the stands was always booing you. I briefly joined in at one point. I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking his hand. The boys laugh at me.
Groot is with his fiancée, Katie, who proudly shows off her new engagement ring. “Oh wow! It’s like a paperweight,” I blurt out, feeling a bit dizzy from my first glass of champagne. I hold up Katie’s hand toward the light to get a good look at the massive rock engulfing her dainty finger. For a moment, I wonder if I’m being tacky, but figure anyone with a Ring Pop–sized diamond is wearing it to be admired.
“Thank you.” Katie’s hand drops back down to her side like a wrecking ball from the sheer weight of the stone.
A server stops by offering drinks, which I gladly accept. Katie, on the other hand, politely declines, turning to me to say, “I’m pregnant.” She rubs her tiny belly, which looks like no more than indigestion rather than pregnancy.
My mouth agape, I say, “Shit. What are you going to do?”
Katie’s eyebrows pinch together. “Have the baby during next season and then the wedding the following summer just as we planned.”
It finally dawns on me that my peers are trying to get pregnant, and I quickly wrap up the conversation before I shove my foot any further down my throat.
Once we’re out of earshot, I ask Jaylen, “Can you believe they’re getting married? Talk about teen bride.”
Confusion consumes Jaylen’s face. “Groot’s like twenty-six.”
“Do you think their parents know?” I ask, shocked at their infantile age, fetuses really.
“Yes, and I’m sure they’re really happy for them.” Jaylen places his hand on the small of my back as we make our way to the next couple.
After meeting a few other couples on the team, I learn that twenty-six is quite old in hockey years. By twenty-six, a hockey player should have a wife, two dogs, a kid on the way, and at least one major surgery. Most of the players I meet look even younger than twenty-six and are already married with kids.
It reminds me of the time I visited upstate New York with Cooper after graduation and met all his hometown friends, most of whom were already getting married or knocked up. Meanwhile, Cooper and I were trying to come up with creative ways to sneak drugs into music festivals and figure out how to cook frozen pizza without burning our shitty apartment down to the ground.
I have yet to have an existential crisis over my age, but quarter-life crises are common and Jaylen and I are both twenty-five. Part of me knows that this is a serious relationship that will someday lead to a life I never thought possible. A life where I’m someone’s wife; someone’s mother. I know Jaylen can give me that life, and eventually I want it all. But there’s another part of me that feels out of control, and it’s making my heart race. My dress feels like a boa constrictor wrapped around my body. Sweat beads form on my nose and my legs begin to wobble like spaghetti.
“I need to pee.” My eyes dart around the room desperately searching for a restroom.
“Now? We’re about to move into the restaurant for dinner,” Jaylen says, waving across the room at Wells.
“I’m not risking another UTI. I’ll catch up with you.” I see the bathroom across the room, and I shove my half-empty champagne flute into Jaylen’s empty hand before quickly weaving around dinner guests to reach the door. I lock myself in a stall to catch my breath away from all the diamond engagement rings, photos of babies, and talk of summer wedding plans. It’s tiring work being on your best behavior all night, and for a second I can relax and not worry about saying the wrong thing.
The silent retreat ceases as the sound of my phone vibrating startles my eyes open. I fumble with the broken clasp on my purse. It’s Hunter Gunn. I answer the call with trembling hands. My second interview for the job went really well, but I try not to get my hopes up in case she’s calling to tell me she went with someone else.
“Hello?” I sound like the final girl in a horror movie calling out to my killer.
“Lucy! This is Hunter Gunn. I’ll get right to the point. You got the apprenticeship.” She says it like she’s announcing a radio contest winner live on air.
“What! I mean, I don’t even know what to say.” I’m in shock. I waited so long to get this call that I almost lost faith it would happen for me. Now that it is, I can’t believe it’s real.
“Say you’ll get out here right away. I can’t wait to get started working with you.”
“Yes! I can’t wait either. Thank you so much.” The hysteria in my voice is matching that of an Oscar-winning actress at this point. I need to get off the phone before I start thanking my mom and friends for their unwavering support. What is this emotion taking over me? Am I going to cry? I don’t think I’ve ever cried happy tears, only depressive sobs howling over Radio-head’s most upsetting tracks.
“I’ll be in touch. Look out for an email with the contract. Chat soon.”
Before I have time to let out a celebratory scream in the stall, I hear the clicking of a herd of heels stomping their way into the restroom.
The bathroom door creaks open and someone with a heavy vocal fry says, “Did you see she’s dressed like a waitress?”
I freeze with my hand on the door’s latch. The thought of confrontation twists my stomach like a wrung-out cloth. I don’t want anything to sour my mood. Instead of leaving the stall, while the tap is running, I jump up on the toilet seat and crouch down like a school-age child hiding from a bully.
“It’s secondhand, and she looks amazing.” I recognize the voice talking this time; it’s Hannah’s.
“Second Hand? I’ve never heard of that brand.” The gossip continues in a variety of voices.
“I heard she’s a lesbian,” someone else says.
I try to peek through the door’s crack, but my view is too obscured to see faces.
“Did you know Jaylen was into emo girls?” Vocal Fry asks.
“Emo?” I whisper under my breath. I’m a lot of things: heavi-ly tattooed, broody, depressed, queer, always running late… She might have a point. With my hand cupping my ear, I continue to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“She seems nice, but I’ve known Jaylen for years and he is not the relationship type.” I feel lightheaded when I hear Hannah’s voice again.
“Player?” someone asks.
“No, he’s totally boring. Hockey is his love. But Evan says it’s serious, so maybe men can change,” Hannah says.
“No way. It will fizzle out by the end of playoffs, and then he’ll be like every other single guy enjoying a slutty offseason.”
“They always do.”
And just as quickly as they entered, the group exit the restroom, leaving my confidence devastated. I finally jump down from the toilet and stumble out of the stall, wiping the tears from my face before they can smudge my makeup—because I spent way too long getting my eyeliner perfect to ruin it. I pull myself together enough to brave dinner.
As I rush out of the bathroom, a man dressed in black with a white apron around his waist tries to hand me a tray full of drinks. “Bring these to table five,” he says, pushing the tray into my arms before I have the chance to object.
Luckily, I waited tables to offset the cost of college tuition. I balance the tray in my dominant hand with ease, and while looking very much the part, I strut off to find the fifth drink-less table. I had every intention of dropping the tray quickly and running away before anyone could notice, but then I hear a familiar screeching vocal fry coming from the end of the table. Hearing someone posing a statement as a question triggers my better judgment. I slam the drinks down with a splash, right in front of my bully.
“Hey! Careful,” says Vocal Fry, checking her dress over to make sure it’s spotless.
“Sorry, guess I’m feeling a bit emotional tonight,” I say with as much attitude as I can muster, and I turn on my heels and dart off to find my seat before someone asks me about tonight’s dinner specials.
* * *
Wells and Jaylen carry the conversation for the entirety of the dinner. Jaylen explains his new charity and Wells and Hannah gush about their girls. Leaving me to retreat into silence.
Part of me is incredibly excited for my new job—my dream job—but another part of me worries what it means for Jaylen and me. The apprenticeship with Hunter Gunn means moving to LA; this is exactly why I shouldn’t have gotten into anything serious while I was trying to focus on my career. It complicates things.
Jaylen’s going to hate me when he finds out that I’ve been lying to him about this job. I never found the right time to tell him it’s out of state. Even if by some miracle he still wants to be with me once I come clean, our relationship is so new and fresh that we could never last long-distance. Not with his travel schedule. Not with my upcoming workload. I’m not stupid. I heard those girls; Jaylen wants a slutty summer. He’s a superstar NHL hockey player; of course he does.
“How’s your food? Is everything okay?” Jaylen asks discreetly.
“It’s great. Everything’s fine.” I pick at a hangnail underneath the table, turning something superficial into a much deeper wound.