Sparrow (18 page)

At
the next stop light, I wrestle with my cell as I try to pull it out of my
pants.  It’s stuck.  Either that or I’m more buzzed than I thought.  When it
finally springs free, I see that I have a message from Jen: 
Are you at
Kevin’s?

I
start to respond, but the light turns green.  I hit the gas and, before I get
stopped at another light, my cell rings in my hand.

“Hello?”

“Hey!”
Jen says, sounding far too bubbly on the other end.  “Did you get my text?”

“Yep.”

“So,
are you at Kevin’s?”

“Nope.”

“Aw.” 
She sounds disappointed.  “He invited me over for the game, and I just got off
work.  I thought the party would last longer than nine o’clock.”

I
unintentionally snap.  “It probably will.”

“What’s
wrong?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely
nothing,” I respond.  Yeah, I’m definitely more buzzed than I thought.

“Kyle.” 
Jen’s tone turns serious.  “Are you drunk?”

“No. 
Maybe.  Wait,” I pause as I make a right-hand turn.  “I’m getting there.”

“What
happened?”

“I
told you.  Nothing.”

“Don’t
lie to me.  I can tell you’re upset.”

“You
would be, too, if someone you loved was married and pregnant and rubbing it in your
face.”

“Ummm…” 
Jen pauses, uncertain.  “Care to elaborate?”

And
with that, I spill my guts.  I don’t know how it happens; one minute I’m
denying I’m pissed and the next I’m sharing all my secrets.  I make it home and
turn into the driveway, then sit in the truck and leave it running while I
talk.  I tell Jen about Addison and about her disappearance.  I talk about
meeting her again and finding out about the accident.  I confide in her what
happened at the parade and the bowling alley.  And then, I tell her about
tonight.  It takes a while to get it all out.

A
pair of headlights flash in my rearview mirror and a car pulls to a stop behind
mine.  I can’t immediately tell who it is in the dark, so I turn off my engine
and open the door.

“It’s
just me,” Jen says in my ear.

I
get out of my truck and slam the door just as she turns off her headlights.  The
cold winter air sobers me a bit as she gets out of her car.  We walk toward one
another, meeting half way.

“You
didn’t have to come over,” I say.

“I
think I did.”  She looks up at me.  “I’ve never heard you talk about anything
like you talk about Addison.  Not even work.”  She regards me skeptically.  “I
lived with you for nearly three years, and I never knew you could be so
passionate.”

“Passionate?” 
I scowl.  “I think I’m angry.”

“Passion
can be anger,” she says.  “It can also be love.  It can be hate.  The point is,
I’ve never heard you get so emotional.”

I
look into her pale blue eyes and realize I owe her an apology.  “I’m sorry.  I
should have told you I was haunted by Addison when we met.”

“That
would’ve been helpful,” she says.  “Regardless…I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

I
shake my head.  “It’s not your fault.  It’s mine.  Apparently, I have a problem
accepting reality.”

Jen
disagrees.  “You’re the most down to earth person I know.”  She crosses her
arms and looks around.  “Is there any way we could go inside?  I’m freezing my
ass off.”

“Sure.”

Once
inside, Jen flips the light switch by the front door.  She takes off her coat,
hanging it on one of the hooks on the wall, and I take off my shoes.  She moves
around the house like she never left.  I mean, let’s face it: she’s only been
gone a few months.

“How’s
your new apartment?” I ask as I toss my keys on to the counter.

“Nice,”
she says.  “I live right above the landlord, so if I need anything he’s close
by.”

I
frown.  “Doesn’t that make it hard to have people over?  What if you get loud?”

“Who
am I going to have over?” she asks.  “You know I don’t throw wild parties.  I
get enough of that at work.”

This
is the perfect opportunity to tease her.  “What if you have the new boyfriend
over?  Things might get loud.”  I wink.

“What
new boyfriend?”

“The
guy from New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh,
him.”  She rolls her eyes.  “He hasn’t called.”

“Really?”

“Yes,
really.  You’re not the only one who doesn’t feel wanted.”

Her
words hit me.  I hate that she feels this way.  Jen truly is a great girl. 
She’s cute and funny and talented, and I’m an idiot for not being able to fall
in love with her.

She
places her hand against her neck and squeezes, trying to rub out the tension. 
My eyes roam her black bartending uniform, the tight V-neck top, thigh-high
skirt, and tights.  They remind me she’s been on her feet all day.

“C’mere,”
I say and gesture for her to follow me into the living room.  “Sit.”  I point
at the couch.

With
a puzzled look, she obliges.  I take a seat beside her, then wrap my hands
around her waist and turn her back toward me.

“What
are you doing?” she asks.

I
move my body closer to hers and place my hands on her shoulders.  “How many
hours did you work today?”

“Ugh. 
Ten,” she sighs.

I
nod and start to knead the knots from her muscles.  Her chin immediately falls
to her chest.

“Oh,
God,” she says.  “That feels amazing.”

“Did
you forget how good I am at this?”

“Apparently,”
she mumbles.  “Do. Not. Stop.”

I
laugh.  Moving my thumbs in circles, I press deep into her shoulder blades,
then move near her spine, and then travel up to her neck.  I repeat the same
pattern several times before she says, “I think I’m drooling.”

“Now
that’s attractive,” I tease.  My hands glide over her back, moving from top to
bottom, and when I get near her waist, she starts to wiggle.

“Stop!” 
She laughs.  “You know that tickles!”

“Do
I?”  I press my fingers into her skin.  “You said not to stop.”

“I’m
changing my mind!”  She twitches beneath my touch.

I
move up to her shoulders again and then lean forward to speak into her ear. 
“Don’t you like my hands on you?”

Jen
freezes.  That comment sounded much more innocent in my head.  But, then again,
I’ve had a few drinks tonight.

She
turns and looks over her shoulder, her mouth inches from mine.  “Do you want me
to answer that?” she asks.

Right
then, in that moment, I want to kiss her.  I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol in
my system, my honesty with her, or the fact that I haven’t had sex in months. 
Most likely all three.

 Jen
searches my face and when her eyes settle on my mouth, she turns her body
around toward me.  She leans in slowly, placing her hands on my knees, and
barely brushes her lips across mine.  I want more than that though, and my
hands move to capture her face.  My mouth easily dances with hers and deepens
the kiss; she moves and crawls into my lap.  I’m conscious of her hands running
over my shoulders, her chest pressed against mine, and her fingers weaving into
my hair.  She whimpers into my mouth; it’s a sound I remember, and it’s then
that I realize this could get out of control real fast.

I
break our kiss and lean back an inch.  “This shouldn’t happen,” I breathe.

“Why?”
she whispers.

“Because
we’re not together.”

She
straightens her back, sitting upright and putting another few inches of
distance between us.  “But, we’re not with anyone else.”

I’m
silent.  It’s true.  We’re both unattached adults.

“Look,”
Jen says and moves her hands to my chest.  “You and me, we’ve done this before. 
More times than I can count.  We tried to have a normal relationship.  It didn’t
work.  I get that.  I don’t see why we can’t be friends and mess around.”

My
eyebrows shoot up.  “You want to have meaningless sex with me?”

She
smiles.  “I’ve not having it with anyone else.”  She zeroes in on my mouth
again, and I can’t stop my reaction.

I
kiss her back.

My
lips spend a minute on hers before leaving and traveling down her chin, along
her jawline, and down her neck.  Before I know it, my hands are at her waist,
then under her shirt, then pulling it off over her head.  Full breasts and black
lace cloud my vision, and despite Jen half-dressed and straddling my lap,
Addison appears in the back of mind.  I start to hesitate, but the feeling is
quickly forgotten when her image is replaced by one of Derek with his hand set lovingly
on her stomach.

I
have no place in that future.

The
thought pushes me to kiss Jen harder, to shed the remaining clothes between us,
and use this moment to bury the ache in my chest.

So
began my friends with benefits relationship with Jen.

It’s
been a couple of weeks, and we’ve seen each other a handful of times. 
Strangely, I’ve yet to feel guilty about what we’re doing; probably because both
of us agree it isn’t a permanent thing.

We’ve
been there and tried that.

No,
this is a less complicated version of us.  No expectations.  No pressure.  No
arguing.  Just two relaxed friends who, more often than not, spend their time
together naked.  It’s a pretty good gig.  Given my history, it’s the type of
relationship I should have.  Unfortunately, I still feel a sharp pang whenever
I think of Addison.  We haven’t spoken since the Super Bowl.

It
sucks.

I
roll over in bed and consult the clock.  Jen’s going to be late.  This is the
first time she’s stayed the night since our ‘arrangement’ started.  I turn to
look at her, and the pillow flattens beneath my head.  She’s lying on her
stomach with her arms tucked beneath her chest.  Her hair covers half her face,
and the bed sheet is tangled around her legs.

“Hey,”
I whisper and reach over to nudge her shoulder.  “It’s nine o’clock.”

“Hmmm,”
she murmurs and turns her face away from me.

I
prop myself up on my elbow and lean forward.  “I thought you had to meet your
dad at ten.”

No
response.

Jen
and her father have a tradition.  She’s one of four siblings and the only
girl.  Today happens to be Valentine’s Day, and she’s supposed to meet her dad
for their annual daddy-daughter date.  One year they went antiquing; one year
it was a movie.  Today, it’s supposed to be brunch downtown at a historic hotel. 
If she’s late, he will kick my ass.  That is, if she tells him where she’s
been.

“Jen.” 
I move her hair off her face and move my mouth closer to her ear.  “You need to
get moving.”

She
groans.  “You’re loud.”

That
was loud?  Suddenly, I get a brilliant idea.  My bare feet hardly make a sound
as I roll out of bed and leave the room.  I grab the guitar Jen taught me to
play and return to her side.  I prop one foot on the mattress, balance the
instrument across my leg, and start to strum it in the hardest, most obnoxious
way possible.

“What
the crap?!” Jen jumps to her knees and covers her ears.  When I keep playing,
she tosses a pillow at me.  It plunks off my hand and the guitar strings.  “Are
you insane?!”

“Nope.” 
I stop strumming.  “You need to get up.”

She
scowls.  “You remember I’m not a morning person, right?  Do you want me to
break that over your head?”  She nods toward my guitar.

“You
wouldn’t.  You spent way too much money on this thing.”  It was an anniversary
gift.

Jen
eyes shoot daggers at me, then fall on the clock.  “It’s 9:15!  Why didn’t you
wake me sooner?”  She jumps off the bed.

I
give her an exasperated look.  “What in the hell do you think I was trying to
do?”

She
gathers her clothes up off the floor.  “Can I use your shower?  Thanks!”  She
doesn’t wait for my response before she sprints across the hallway and slams
the bathroom door.

Rolling
my eyes, I prop the guitar against my desk and then head toward the kitchen.  I
don’t drink coffee, but Jen does.  I suppose I could help her wake up in a nice
way and make her some for the road.

After
I scavenge the cabinets, I come up with a small plastic can of Folgers left behind
from when she lived here.  I open the lid and sniff the grounds.  Can coffee go
bad?  I search for an expiration date.  When I can’t find one, I assume coffee is
exempt from causing botulism and get to work preparing a few cups.

Jen
rips open the bathroom door just as I’m pouring her liquid strength into a
travel mug.  She walks down the hall and into the kitchen wearing the jeans and
sweater she had on last night.  She snags her coat off the back of one of my
dining chairs and shoves her arms through the sleeves.  Pulling her purse over
her wet head, she asks, “Is that for me?”

I
nod as I snap the lid down.  “I thought you could use a little caffeine.”

She
heads over to her boots.  “You’re a life saver.”

“I
wouldn’t say that just yet.  I don’t know how old the coffee is.”

She
smiles.  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

I
walk over to her and wait while she ties her laces.  When she stands, she grabs
the door handle with one hand and holds out the other for the mug.  “Thank
you.  I don’t have time to stop anywhere.  I still have to run home and change
clothes.”

“No
thanks necessary.”

As
she takes the coffee, she leans forward and kisses me on the cheek.  “I’ll see
you tomorrow?”  It’s a question, not a statement.

“Sure.”

Jen
yanks open the front door.  “I’ll call you after my shift.”

“Sounds
good.”

I
move around her, reaching over her head to pull the door open wide, when we
both look up and stop in our tracks.

Standing
on my porch, caught mid-knock, is Addison.

Her
eyes travel over us, then widen and blink.  Out of embarrassment or disbelief,
I’m not sure.  What I do know is my pulse just picked up, and it races through
my veins.

“I’m
so sorry,” she says and starts to back away.  “I’ll come back later.”

Jen’s
eyes bounce to me and, judging from my confused expression, she puts two and
two together.

“No
no, I was just leaving,” she says as she sets one foot outside the door.  “You
must be Addison.”

She
nods.

Jen
extends her free hand.  “Jen.  I’ve heard all about you.  It’s nice to put a name
with a face.”

Addison
tentatively shakes her hand.

“I’d
love to stay and talk, but I’ve got to run.  I’m late for a date.”  Jen smiles
and looks at me over her shoulder.  “I’ll talk to you later.”

“’Kay,”
is all I can say.

Jen
skips down the few steps of the front porch and heads to her car, digging in
her purse for her keys along the way.  My gaze lands on Addison, whose eyes
follow my ex.  I cross my arms over my chest and feel my pounding heart.  It’s
as if I’ve been caught red-handed, though I’ve done nothing wrong.  Swallowing,
I say, “This is a surprise.”

Addison
turns to face me, her expression one of regret.  “I know.  It’s early.  I
should have called.”

We
stare at each other.  Addison’s hair is piled high and messy on the top of her
head.  A few loose strands blow across her cheek in the cool breeze.  I’m
tempted to reach out and tuck them behind her ear, but I don’t.  She puts her
hands into her coat pockets and looks down, her chin disappearing into the
thick scarf she has wound around her neck.  Finally, she meets my eyes and
squints.  “You’re mad at me.”

My
face twists.  “I’m not.”

“You
are,” she says.  “We haven’t spoken in days.”

“You
haven’t called.”

“Neither
have you.”

Silence.
 I hate it when it’s quiet between us, especially when I have no clue what to
say.

After
a few moments, Addison asks, “Are you and Jen back together?”

Uncomfortable
with her question, I shift my weight.  “No.”

“We
promised no lies,” she reminds me.

“I’m
not lying,” I protest.  “We’re friends.”

She
lets out a sarcastic snort.  “Yeah, okay.  You’re sleeping with her.”

Her
tone is accusatory and judgmental, and I don’t like it.  I plaster a smug look
on my face and lean back against the door frame.  “Yes, I am.  Repeatedly.  Is
that a problem for you?”

Her
eyes grow wide.  “No.”

“Because
last I checked, you’re sleeping with Derek.”  I nod toward her stomach.  “We’ll
have proof of that in about nine months.”

It
takes me a second to realize I said that out loud.

Shit.

Addison’s
voice turns acerbic.  “Yes, Kyle; I’m pregnant.  God forbid I slept with my
husband
.” 
She shakes her head in disbelief.  “You know, I came here to make things right
with you.  Obviously, you don’t care.”  She starts to leave, but then stops and
looks over her shoulder.  “Call me when you grow up.”

She
makes it down the steps and half way to her truck before I snap to.  My bare feet
barely register the snow on the frigid ground as I jog up behind her and reach
for her shoulder.  “Addison.  Wait.”

“What?”
she snaps.

We
stop walking, and I put my hands on my hips.  “I didn’t expect to see you this
morning.  You ambushed me.”

She
crosses her arms.  “No, I didn’t.  I asked you a simple question.  You’re the
one who threw your sex life in my face!”

I
stare at her.  “You haven’t talked to me in weeks!  You show up out of the blue. 
You interrogate me about Jen…”  I anxiously pull my hand through my hair.  “My
defenses went up.”

She
leans toward me.  “You know what?  You’re an ass.”

“Excuse
me?”

She
points at her chest.  “I came here to find out what was wrong between us and
fix it.  Why?  Because that’s what friends do.  You haven’t said shit to me
since Kevin’s party, so I took the first step.  I assumed you were angry about
what Derek did, not because I was pregnant!  If I had known, I wouldn’t have
come.  That’s not something I can fix, Kyle.  I didn’t plan on having a baby. 
There’s nothing I can do.”

Her
expression borders between anger and sadness, and I know I need to make things
right if I don’t want her to walk away.

“I’m
not mad because you’re pregnant,” I say.

I’m
disappointed, but I’ll never admit that to her.

“Then
why are you?” she asks.

“I’m
upset by the way you told me.  You sent a goddamn text message.”  My face falls
and I lean in to her.  “It was cold and impersonal, and I thought there was
more between us.  Okay?  Yes, your husband went all territorial asshole on me,
and I didn’t like that, either.  But, the main reason I’ve haven’t called is
because I don’t know how to act around you anymore.  What happened at that
party was a wakeup call.”

Her
eyes soften a little.  “Why don’t you know how to act around me?”

I
let out a breath.  Standing this close to her, especially during an argument,
is not a good idea.  All I want to do is hold her and make sure we’re okay.  I
know I shouldn’t, but I decide to physically show her the answer to her
question.  Any words I could say would never come close to describing the way I
feel when I’m around her.

Carefully,
I bring my hand to her face and tuck the loose strands of her hair behind her
ear.  She doesn’t move away.  I trace the outside edge of her ear with my
fingertips, then move along her jaw until I reach her chin.  Gently, I lift her
face toward mine and focus on her eyes.  Their chocolate brown color swims with
a million questions as I slowly move forward and place a soft kiss on her
forehead.  Her breath catches and her skin feels smooth beneath my lips; what I
wouldn’t give to continue this and taste her mouth.  Instead, I lean centimeters
away and confess.  “I don’t know how to act around you because when I see you,
I want to do this.  And I can’t.  You’re not mine.”

A
high-pitched whine interrupts my confession.  I lean away from Addison,
confused.

“That
wasn’t me,” she whispers.

“Who
was it?”  I start to look around.  “Is Sam in the truck?”

Without
asking, I move toward her vehicle and open the back passenger door.  On the
floor sits a small pet carrier.  When I crouch down to peer inside, I’m
confronted with a cute gray and white puppy face.

“You
got another dog?” I ask.  Then, a horrible thought crosses my mind.  “Did
something happen to Sam?”

Addison
shakes her head as if clearing her thoughts.  “No.  He’s fine.”  Stepping
beside the truck, she opens the carrier and pulls out the puppy.  One of her hands
supports its chest, while the other holds up its butt.  She nuzzles the puppy’s
nose before cradling the wiggly dog in her arms.

“My
coworker’s dog had puppies,” she says.  “She showed me some pictures of them at
work and said how hard it was finding them homes.”

I
reach out and scratch behind the dog’s ears.  “So, you decided to adopt one?” 
I don’t blame her.  This dog is adorable.  He or she looks like a malamute,
like a miniature version of Sam.

“Not
exactly.”  She looks at the puppy.  “Derek won’t let me get another dog.”

“Why
not?” I frown.

“Because
Sam got ahold of his cell again and chewed the screen.  This is the third
time.”  She sighs.  “I don’t think he wants Derek to have a phone.”

“Maybe
he should put it somewhere Sam can’t reach it,” I suggest sarcastically.

“You
think?” Addison gives me half a smile.  “Anyway, as soon as I saw this little
girl I thought of you.  You said you always wanted a dog when you were younger,
and you’re great with mine.  I thought maybe…”  She holds the dog out toward
me.  “Maybe you’d like to keep her?”