21. June
JUNE
Score Tonight - Cool Rider
Sunday afternoon, I race down the stairs to the front entrance of Atch, my overnight bag banging against my hip.
I might’ve heard a rip, that thing’s packed tight.
I grab the door handle, but stop for a moment, my free hand slipping to my diaphragm, pushing gently as I breathe in and out.
The anticipation, the nerves , I’m so bent out of shape to go bowling.
It’s not about bowling, though, it’s what Nick and I’ll do after. What I hope we’ll do. What we better do, otherwise I’ll die.
Here lies the horny dust of Juniper Daniels—daughter, sister, all-around thirsty bitch .
If Nick fucks like he kisses, holy hell am I in for a ride.
My underwear’s already wet, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. I run my hand over my buttery yellow sundress, it catches against the buttons sewn all the way down, and with one big inhale, I push open the door.
Nick’s at the curb, leaning against the driver’s side door of his SUV, waiting for me.
More heat gathers between my thighs as I walk toward him.
He wears the hell out of a pair of light-wash jeans with a black T-shirt, an open plaid shirt over it with the sleeves pushed up.
His arms are crossed, and the tendons in his forearms ripple.
I’m panting as I skip the last few steps, drop my bag, and throw myself at him. He doesn’t miss a beat, just wraps his arms around me as I breathe him in.
“What if we skipped bowling? I missed you.” My brain has shut off, and my vagina is officially running this show.
Nick laughs. “Could you imagine? Nat’s been trash-talking me all week. They’re already there because she needed to bowl a ‘warm-up set’, whatever that is.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to see me in bowling shoes.”
“Didn’t I tell you I have a thing for women in rented shoes?” He shoots me a devastating smirk, his eyes bright.
“Ew,” I gasp, pushing on his— very firm —chest.
He hefts my bag, tossing it into the back seat. “You moving in or what? That thing’s heavy.”
I inhale and swallow at the same time and end up choking on nothing.
It was a joke, he’s not asking me to move in.
I don’t want that anyway. Right? I scrunch my face, maybe leaning too hard into the drama but I can’t show him how those words affected me.
“Maybe I’m a teensy bit high maintenance. Like, a smidge.”
He narrows his thumb and forefinger together, and even that small movement of his fingers turns my insides liquid. “A tad.”
“A skosh.” I flip my ponytail.
“A dash,” he declares, opening my door.
“Stop being a dork able.” I roll my eyes and slide in.
He rests his forearm on the hood, bending down, and that smirk is back in full force. “You love it.”
I bite my lip. Because I do. I really do.
Nick shuts my door and rounds to the driver’s side.
I can’t help but stare. He’s so different from the guy I met three weeks ago.
He’d been guarded with me. A sharp twinge of pain slices my heart for that Nick.
The one who was afraid. Because the Nick I’m with now?
He’s playful, and kind, and fine as fuck .
We pull away from Kinney Run, and I say, “You know when’s the last time I went bowling?”
He glances over. “Senior prom?”
“I—yeah. Good memory. I thought it’d be cheesy and fun but I kept tripping on my dress. Nearly broke a toe.”
“Split Happens hasn’t changed much.”
“I should hope not. I’d be bummed if they ditched the blacklights they use for cosmic bowling.”
“I used to play at the bar attached to it, Memory Lane.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, with Ethan, in college. They had a shoddy little platform at one end they called a ‘stage’. We’d play Wednesday and Thursday nights. The pay was shit, but they let us drink for free.” His voice is quiet, soft. Wistful.
“You loved performing, didn’t you?”
We slow at a red light, and he turns his head to me. “I did.”
His hand slides to my knee, warmth seeping into me even through the fabric of my dress. I’m not sure if he realizes it, but he’s drawing little circles with his thumb on the outside of my knee. The touch is light, dare I say chaste, but molten lava courses through my veins.
In ten minutes, we arrive and park. And my body’s on fire. I’ve got to persevere through at least one game of bowling before I get to feel his hands in other places. Even the lurid neon carpets of the bowling alley, and the stench of our rental shoes does nothing to calm my need for him.
Natalia and Chelsea wave to us from lane eight. Nat’s sporting a vintage red silk bowling shirt, and her hair is pinned up in a black bandana. Chelsea’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, apparently not indulging her wife’s flair.
There are hugs all around, and when I get to Nat, I hold her at arm’s length. “Damn, you look rad as hell.”
She brushes imaginary dust off her shoulder, then grabs a bowling ball from the machine between lanes that spits them out. It’s galaxy-covered and has an inscription on it. “About to look even better when I beat all your asses.”
“So we’re not bowling on teams?” Chelsea asks, with a teasing smile.
“Fuck, no. It’s everyone for themselves.” She saunters up to the shiny wooden floor to bowl.
Nick drops into a plastic chair and snags me around the waist so I fall into his lap. He toys with the hem of my dress, fingers skating over my skin. Sparks shoot where he touches me, like a live wire.
Chelsea clasps her hands under her chin with barely restrained glee. “ Sooo . What’re your plans for after Conservatory?”
I open my mouth but Nick beats me to it, his voice a warning. “Chessie.”
“What?” She widens her eyes, feigning innocence.
“Wow, no wonder you're a music director, you’re a terrible actress.” I laugh.
She scoffs, but Nick’s chest vibrates with a low laugh that I feel but don’t hear over the noise of pins falling and top 50 radio blaring through tinny speakers.
I sigh, taking his hand from my dress and wrapping it around my waist. “We’re taking it day by day.”
Nat struts back to our seats, the computer blinking STRIKE in rainbow Comic Sans, but she must’ve caught the end of our conversation because she belts the line, “Day by Day…” from Godspell . With a dramatic turn to Chelsea, she says, “You’re up, wifey.”
Chelsea narrows her eyes at us, standing to grab a ball. “I will accept this answer. For now.”
I lean my head against Nick’s, breathing through the arrow of dread lodged in my lungs from that question.
He says he wants to be with me, and it’s not that I don’t believe him.
I feel how much he wants me. But I’ve had boyfriends on tour before, and it’s harder than a standard long-distance relationship.
I’m always on the move, hard to get a hold of, and it’s impossible to make plans.
If I book this tour Helen mentioned?
My throat tightens as I imagine Nick saying this is too hard, that he can’t do it anymore. He shifts below me as Chelsea walks back. It’s his turn. I stand, forcing a swallow so my heart’s not lodged in my throat.
Chelsea sits in the empty chair beside me, levelling me with a weighty stare. “We heard about Chantal.”
My heart, which just dislodged itself, zooms right back up until my pulse throbs in my neck. “I’m so sorry.”
Her chin ducks as her head rears back slightly. “For what?”
“For … what I said?”
“Pssh.” She waves a hand through the air. “We don’t blame you at all. Shelley talked to all involved parties after rehearsal yesterday.”
“All involved parties?”
“Buckle up for this part.” Chelsea rolls her eyes.
“Apparently, yesterday morning, Kaelyn confronted Chantal. They had some kind of Brandy and Monica “The Boy Is Mine” moment before realizing Drew was using the same lines on each of them. Trayce overheard their conversation and piped up, saying Drew was saying those same things to him , too.”
“Oh, Drew. That’s not bisexual king energy.” I shake my head.
“Nope,” Nat agrees. “Once all three of them discovered that, Kaelyn went to Shelley and told her she didn’t care about the video. And if Kaelyn doesn’t feel bullied, then Shelley can’t technically hold a disciplinary meeting.”
“So that’s why everyone was staring daggers at Drew in rehearsal yesterday?” Nick asks as he returns from bowling his set.
“I’m not exactly thrilled with him, either. But at least none of our leading actors got kicked out of camp,” Chessie says, sighing.
And much like a teenage protagonist in a young adult novel, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. We came so close to losing Chantal, and even Kaelyn might not have wanted to stay.
“The show must go on, and all that.” I stand for my turn, super pumped to roll a ball across the floor and knock some shit down, despite feeling like I’m gonna vom all over my rental shoes.
Just because there’s no disciplinary meeting doesn’t mean everything’s been resolved.
With a quick kiss to my temple, Nick sits.
I heave my ball down the lane, but my heart’s not in it. Truthfully, my heart’s back in those horrid green plastic seats, held by a man who doesn’t even know he’s got it. But he does.
I actually manage to knock a few pins down—yay me—but I need a reset before joining my friends.
I head through the swinging saloon doors at the side of the bowling alley to the bar, Memory Lane, and put in an order for several pizzas.
Should I eat my weight in bread and cheese while dreaming of sweaty, dirty sex with Nick later? Probably not.
But gluten and dairy are the true loves of my life. And whatever we don’t eat here, Nick and I will bring to his place. Hot take, but cold pizza is the true breakfast of champions. Or out-of-work actors, I guess.