Twenty-Five
Reece
My shoes hit the pavement repeatedly, the pounding in my chest in sync with my tennis shoes on the asphalt.
A four mile run is exactly what I needed to clear my head today.
I take the route that leads me to Wing Haven’s quaint downtown.
It’s got that small town feel, the streets littered with brick buildings and local coffee shops.
There’s a bakery to my right, painted pink with chipping, teal shutters, and they have the absolute best cinnamon rolls known to man.
To my left is the local sports bar, Joey P’s, that gets particularly rowdy with college students on the weekends, the big window in front filled with neon beer signs and flyers with promises of karaoke and half-off wings on Thursdays.
There are eons of tiny shops and bookstores, the fronts of the buildings decorated with pumpkins and scarecrows, and the big brick courthouse is the heart of the town square.
The chilly morning breeze is helping wick some of the sweat off my face and it’s turning out to be a beautiful fall day. It’s all incredibly picturesque.
And I can’t focus on a damn thing about it.
Stacy has taken up space in the forefront of my mind in a way that scares the shit out of me.
As if kissing her at the football party wasn’t bad enough, I had to double down and do it again in my car last weekend.
Every time I go to touch Stacy, I know it’s a mistake.
I know I’m crossing a boundary, a gray line that we’ve tentatively put in place and crossed a couple of times, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
It’s like her skin and my hands are magnets, pulling together despite any and all resistance.
Her body is my center of gravity, drawing me in whether I want it to or not.
It’s supposed to be fake. It’s supposed to be for show but I’m starting to feel anything but fake when it comes to Stacy Dunn. And that thought terrifies me.
I can’t do it again. I can’t let a woman into my life just to be heartbroken again.
I’m over Tashia, really truly over her, but when I remember our breakup, sometimes the wound feels fresh again.
Like I’ve picked at a scab that’s getting better and ruined the healing process.
The feeling of emptiness, the nausea, the gut-wrenching loneliness will come back and haunt me when I least expect it and I’m not strong enough to go through it again.
No, I can’t feel anything real in regard to Stacy. This is all fake and she doesn’t feel anything for me so I cannot open up and allow myself to get hurt again.
My chest is burning and my pulse is in my throat as I make it back to the complex.
Sweat’s stinging my eyes as I push into my empty apartment, Miles at hockey practice.
I shower to wash the morning run off of my body and sit down on my bed.
I still have an hour until I have to leave for my chemistry lab so I grab the journal from my bedside table and crack it open to jot down some of the things that I’m feeling.
The page is flooded with Stacy.
?
“Alright, hear me out,” Miles starts.
The rest of the group groans in response and I stifle laughter against my Americano as Miles’s jaw drops.
“That’s so rude! I was just going to suggest we go as the Scooby-Doo gang for Halloween, but maybe I’ll find four other friends to go with,” he sniffs, taking a sip of his own coffee.
Mae tuts from the orange armchair in the corner. “Like I would go anywhere wearing a matching costume with you.”
“Baby, we’d look adorable dressed up as Fred and Daphne.” Miles winks at her and Mae’s lip curls in disgust.
“I will fold your clothes while you’re still wearing them if you ever call me baby again,” she threatens.
“Promise?”
“Who’d have to dress as the dog?” Drew interjects thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his mug.
I chuckle again and feel Stacy do the same from her place in my lap.
Stacy, Drew, Miles, Mae, and myself have all stopped in at Sip Society to study a bit and get a Thursday coffee fix.
The studying has unfortunately gone by the wayside as the chatter has picked up but I don’t mind.
The five of us have morphed into somewhat of a unit since Stacy and I started our fake relationship and I genuinely enjoy having the girls around, plus Jamie and Christina when they join.
I genuinely enjoy all the time I get to spend with Stacy these days.
When we shut our laptops a few minutes ago, Stacy had mindlessly moved into my lap on the emerald velvet couch.
It was so natural that I almost didn’t make note of it until our friends looked at us with quirked eyebrows and befuddled expressions.
I sometimes forget that we don’t have to pretend around them but things with Stacy simply don’t feel like pretending anymore.
They questioned us and Stacy seemed confused at first as well, like curling up against me was a natural reaction for her, too.
She gave some reasoning about how Lily comes to Sip Society a lot and that we needed to make sure we were ready if she walked in.
Seems like an excuse on her end but I’ll let it slide because having her warm body curled up against mine and being surrounded by the smell of peaches isn’t something that I’m going to fight.
“You and Reece would be Scooby and Shaggy, duh. You can duke it out on who’s who. I’m Fred because of the blonde hair. Then Stacy’s Velma because Mae has to be my girlfriend. And because of the red hair,” Miles explains, leaning back into the other side of the couch and smirking.
“Were Fred and Daphne actually dating?” Stacy wonders.
“Oh, there was definitely some sexual tension between those two,” I counter.
Stacy cranes her neck to gape at me. “They’re cartoon characters!” she cries.
I wave her off as a little bit of pink touches her cheeks. I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about some other sexual tension. Better known as the glaringly obvious sexual tension between the two of us.
Her spot in my lap isn’t exactly helping with that tension.
The group delves into a deep conversation about the sexual relationships of cartoon characters as my phone vibrates. I pull it out to see a text from my sister.
Gemma: Incoming .
My eyebrows knit together at the ominous message but before I get the chance to text her back, a call from Evan pops up on my screen.
Perfect. Just what I wanted to deal with today.
I accept the call with a small groan and hold the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Dude, it’s Evan.”
No shit.
“What’s up?” I go on, setting my Americano down on the C table next to me to pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers.
“Listen, I have a great idea and I wanted to run it by you.”
Great idea? Like marrying my ex and forcing me to be the best man?
“Let’s hear it,” I say instead.
“Me, Tashia, Gemma. Wing Haven for homecoming weekend. Wouldn’t that be badass?”
I stifle a groan but let my head fall back against the back of the couch as I cover my face with my hand momentarily.
When I drop my hand, I see Stacy giving me a questioning glance, one eyebrow raised.
I roll my eyes as if to let her know that I’ll tell her later and she nods before going back to the conversation at hand with our friends.
The nonverbal communication between us feels like a secret, like a language only we know, and I suddenly can’t believe I know Stacy well enough for us to read each other’s body language so well.
It makes my heart trip over itself.
“I mean, we’ll be really busy the day of the game, you know? We’ve got to host a really early breakfast for cheer alumni, walk in the parade, go to the rally at the tailgate, obviously stay for the whole game. I wouldn’t want you guys to get bored.”
Yes, I’m making excuses. Yes, it’s pathetic. No, I don’t care.
“That’s totally fine! We’ll go to the tailgate and the game and by the time we stumble back to your apartment, you’ll be wrapping up all your cheer stuff. We can all go out Saturday night! It’ll be fun, dude, come on.”
I resist the urge to knock my head against the exposed brick wall next to me. “So, you’re staying with me?”
“We’ll bring an air mattress, don’t worry. Maybe Gemma can stay with Stacy? Ohhh, or maybe both of the girls? They can have a slumber party or something. We’ll figure it out, but we were thinking we’d come down tomorrow so we’re settled for Saturday? What time are you done with classes on Friday?”
I suppose this decision is no longer mine.
I sigh. “Two. But let me talk to Stacy before you offer up her apartment as a bed and breakfast, okay?”
Stacy glances back at me again and I wave her off.
“Perfect. I can leave the office by four-ish? Gemma’s remote on Friday’s and Tashia’s off for the weekend so I’ll text you when we’re leaving. I’m making Jell-O shots! See you tomorrow!”
Before I can respond with any type of protest, the line goes dead. I pull in a steadying breath through my nose and rest my chin on Stacy’s shoulder. My arms encircle her waist a little tighter, pulling her closer to me, and I realize with a start that I’m finding a lot of comfort in Stacy’s touch.
I also realize that the thought of seeing Tashia isn’t kick-starting my heart at all. No, no.
That’s all Stacy.