Two Weeks (2 page)

"Well, not really," he says quietly.

"I thought you got a football scholarship at Michigan State." I watch as all of his muscles tense up from top to bottom, and the fact that he's so well-built makes it all the more obvious. I realize I've crossed some kind of line, but I'm not sure what to say next.

I'm not even really sure if I care that I've potentially upset him, especially not after his earlier snide remarks.

"It's a long story," he says. "I didn't quite make it into the NFL. And some other shit happened. Really bad timing. I had to give up a lot of things."

"Well, I'm sorry," I say reflexively. "Probably better that you stopped early, especially with all of that stuff they're saying about permanent brain damage in players. Consider it a blessing in disguise."

He's quick to respond. "Yeah, well, I don't know about that. It really
is
a long story," he says, as if he needs to reinforce his earlier statement. "But the details would probably bore you. You probably think it's stupid that I would care about playing a game like football." He looks like he's staring at me, but his eyes are actually affixed to a spot behind my back.

"Well, hey," I say, trailing off. "I didn't mean it like that." His words sting—and the feeling is the last thing I'm expecting out of this chance interaction.

"I mean, we're just talking here, but I can't help but think you're not that interested in taking my problems seriously."

I stop dead in my tracks.
What is going on here?
Have I really been that much of a bitch? Or is he just being overdramatic?

"Oh, there you are!" Liz shouts. She saves the day. "I didn't see you at the bar, so I was worried you left. Why didn't you respond to my texts?" She's in a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt and I'm really thankful to see her. I give her a cordial hug.

"Your texts?" I look down at my phone and realize that she texted me more than once and somehow, I didn't notice.

Was I so absorbed in conversation that I didn't even notice my phone vibrating ten times?

"Well, I've got to be going," Jackson says quickly, setting his unfinished drink on the table. "It was so nice catching up with you, Ally. Best of luck with the family stuff."

He's already out of sight before I can get a word out.

"What was that all about?" Liz asks.

"I'm not really sure," I say.

"Isn't that Jackson Ames? He looks like the
Incredible Hulk
. Jesus, those muscles."

"Yeah—and he's a whole lot different than what I remember."

She smiles. "He's hotter than I remember, that's for sure. You don't see guys like that every day. I'm a sucker for muscles."

I laugh. "No comment." I lead her back inside and buy her a drink. And when we start talking about something other than Jackson Ames, I'm absolutely elated.

***

Jackson

W
ho the hell does she think she is?
I say to myself.

I'm shocked that I'm this unnerved, this unraveled by our impromptu conversation.

Ally is such a stuck-up bitch now, with her fancy city life and Ivy League education. Coming here to parade it in front of everyone, to shout “I'm better than you!" until her voice is hoarse. I
hate
those people.

Oh yeah, and then there's the fact that she's so hot that I'm losing my mind. Ally was always cute, but this is
not
what I was expecting. I'm shocked at how hard I am, just from remembering what went on tonight.
We didn't even touch!
No handshake or hug. Nothing to misinterpret.

Her straight, light-brown, almost blonde hair. Her bluish-green eyes and high cheekbones. Those perfect curves on that amazing body. I want to drown in her lush cleavage.

Hell, if she's not modeling for extra cash on the side, she's crazy.

My mind wanders. I'm imagining myself undressing her, climbing into to bed with her, easing inside of her. I imagine how she sounds when she comes, the faces she makes, the way she moves under my weight...

I laugh when I realize I still haven't started my truck. I stormed off and now I'm sitting here with a hard-on that's almost painful, thinking about her tight little body and what I'd like to do to it.

And she's also a bitch.

I finally put my keys in the ignition and start my truck. I'm suddenly feeling self-conscious about driving it, and I know exactly why. I take off into the night, driving toward my empty home, trying to purge the aftertaste of that unpleasant situation.

Ally doesn't know what I went through. She doesn't know how it feels to lose everything you have, to lose your entire world all at once. To lose your dreams and the people that you care about. Not many people know how that feels.

The high beams are mesmerizing as I drive. I know I've had too much to drink, but the local police don't give a damn as long as people don't cause trouble. As I climb every hill, I'm actively looking for the headlights of oncoming traffic; there are none.

It's just me on these winding country roads. It's lonely drive, as usual.

But tonight is far from usual.

I'm vacillating, back and forth, lusting after Ally one minute, and then hating her the next. But who said those two things were mutually exclusive? Who says I can't hate her and still want to fuck her brains out?

I haven't had any meaningful sex in a long time, and the local pool is pretty depressing overall. I'm starting to see an interesting opportunity here. When I was in college, there was no shortage of girls wanting to throw themselves at me. Yet, I stuck with one woman the whole time. And she turned out to be the one that left me just when I needed her the most.

Although I've definitely got girls throwing themselves at me again, it's not that exciting anymore. I've got to be cleverer this time around, especially if a romp in the sack with Ally is what I'm looking for.

She's already taken,
I remind myself.
You don't even stand a chance.

And then I think about the way she looked at me, and I'm convinced that she's maybe not as faithful as she says she is. Maybe it's just the alcohol talking, but it seems like with enough booze, I might be able to get her into my bed. And if she joins me there, there's no way she'll regret it, even if she says she does.

I slap my cheek, trying to snap myself out of the sprawling primal fantasy that keeps repeating in my head. I do want to fuck her, but then there's Jeff. What if he found out? He'd go berserk. What about her dad? Why did everyone have to be so inextricably linked in small towns?

I'm over-thinking this,
I tell myself.
We're both adults. We can do what we want.

I'm also kind of pissed at her, so maybe none of this matters after all. I was just kidding around and she was being just plain condescending.

Before I can convince myself of anything concrete, I'm already looking at the fence around my property. I head into the driveway and notice a rabbit fleeing my truck. It runs until it's out of my headlights, out of danger. They're all over the yard, and it seems that every time I drive through here at night, they're sitting right smack in the middle of the driveway. I'm not sure why they choose to hang out in such a dangerous spot.

I park the truck and head inside. I don't even lock it most nights, and if it didn't automatically lock after a few minutes, it would probably never be locked at all. Nobody fucks with me around here, and I like that.

The house is empty, quiet. I head into the shower, hoping to rid myself of pent up sexual frustration. As my hand starts moving, I think about Ally, not even pausing for a second. It's a little weird at first, but it feels way too good and so I keep going.

She's there with me on the bed, and I'm fucking her from behind. In this position, I can't see her face, but I
know
it's her. I hear her moaning, feel her slapping up against me with every glorious thrust. Oh God, she feels so good. It's unbelievable.

And then we've suddenly changed positions and I'm on top of her, her incredible soft tits shaking every time I glide inside of her. And now she's coming and now I'm coming in real life and suddenly everything is rushing back to me at once.

I realize I was totally lost in the fantasy and it's
blowing my fucking mind.

I wash myself quickly and head to bed feeling mildly ashamed of my behavior after the sexual tension has subsided. It's like a one-night stand I never had.

I'm the same room, even though I've had access to every room in the house ever since
it
happened. Still the same place that was mine during high school. When I returned here, I took down the posters, the bands and movies that weren't a part of me anymore, finalizing our separation.

See, I never expected to be here, never expected this simple
nothingness
to be my existence.

Yet, it is. This place is all I have now. I never had a choice.

I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how life could be different if I had actually gone pro. Wondering if my parents would still be alive.

Wondering if I would be settled and comfortable in another place, starting a family and actually enjoying life.

In my mind, I go over all the things that I've missed out on, all the things that will never be mine because of that horrible chain of events that began with the announcement that I made it into the NFL.

I drift off to sleep like I do every night, my mind overflowing with melancholy imagery.

Well, other than Ally's face.

Ally

M
y mom knocks at my door far earlier than I'd prefer. She’s got news she thinks is important, but predictably, it’s not. The encounter makes me desperately wish there was a hotel or something that I could stay at when I come home. I grumble and shoo her off after she informs me that the reunion will start around one in the afternoon—and it's currently eight in the morning.

Yes, sometimes I do take a long time to get ready, but I've never needed
five hours
. I'm grumpy, but I try not to be negative since I know she's just overly excited about the reunion and me being home.

I go back to sleep for another couple of hours, hoping to reclaim my sanity before the reunion.

When I finally wake up, I have a slight hangover, one that can be easily treated by coffee. I know that gourmet coffee isn't an option in my hometown, so I'm stuck drinking the pre-ground stuff from a metal can.

The pot isn't fresh when I get to it, but that's fine since I'm definitely not drinking it black. I drown the remaining coffee with flavored creamer, some hazelnut variety that makes it go down a lot easier, and sit down at the kitchen table.

My dad notices me stirring and invites me into the living room. I oblige. It's Saturday and he's actually not working.

"I'm glad you could make it," he says, looking over the top of a newspaper. He
loves
his newspaper in the morning, even though it would be much easier to read the news online. Even if they tripled or quadrupled the price, he'd still keep a subscription because of how much he likes holding that damn thing in his hands.

It's kind of cute.

"It will be nice to see everyone, dad," I say, fully aware that I don't mean it. Everyone here is nice, but they live in a different world than I'm used to. I left the small town life because I wanted nothing to do with it, plain and simple.

"Quit your lying," he says. "You know you're not looking forward to this. I'm just glad you're going, because you
know
how your mom's family can be."

I laugh. This is the man that raised me, and although he's forever-linked to this place I don't much care for, he knows me inside and out. He can always predict my next move. "I can be your wingman," I say proudly.

He smiles and then turns through several pages in the paper before speaking again. My dad, Chuck, is in his mid-fifties and owns a lawn care business. He loves doing physical labor, and I suspect that it's helped keep him healthy. He's well-known and liked around town, and plenty of businesses and individuals utilize his services.

He and my mom, Anne, were high school sweethearts. They've lived in Red Lake their whole lives, minus a few years away at college.

"I hear they'll have a bit of booze," he says quietly and then shoots me a wry smile. "So it won't be all bad."

I nod and drink some more of the mostly-creamer in my cup. I'm actually at peace this morning, sitting here in my old living room talking with my dad. The weather is nice outside, and the sun is gleaming through the windows. It would be tough not to have a good day with weather like this.

"How was the bar last night?" he asks. "How is Liz?"

Oh yeah, last night.
Thoughts of Jackson flood my mind immediately. I remember that strange encounter, along with those unusual feelings lodged deep inside of me. After Liz and I started chatting, I kind of forgot about Jackson altogether.

But he's back again, and I'm confused.

"Hon?" my dad asks.

"Oh yeah, sorry," I say, trying to cover up my daydreaming. "She's doing great. Finished her master's and got a nice environmental consulting job. Not the best position, but enough to make a serious dent in her loans. And she could easily get promoted."

"That's great," he says. "Good for her."

I debate mentioning Jackson, but decide that I don't want to give him any additional thought. I'm convinced he was just toying with me, simultaneously flirting and messing with my head—and it worked since I'm thinking about him for the second time in twenty-four hours after pushing him entirely out of my mind for almost a decade.

I want to dispel the rumors, however. "Can I ask you something, dad?"

"Anything, hon," he says.

"I ran into someone last night," I say. "I'm not gonna say who, but this person claims you told them that I was engaged. Have you been telling people that?"

He puts down his paper and laughs. "A mystery person, huh? In
Red Lake
?"