Rock Bottom Girl(105)
It was true.
Hurting Travis, who’d never been anything but nice to me, had haunted me. Breaking up with him had been the right thing to do. But I’d been clumsy and artless about it. I’d caused unnecessary pain.
“Marley—” he began. But I plowed on ahead.
“I’d also like to apologize for breaking your leg and ruining your chance at a soccer career in college in a mean-spirited bid for vengeance.”
“Okay—” he began again.
“Against Amie Jo, not you,” I added quickly. “I wasn’t trying to get revenge on you. You were nice.” This was going to go down in the history of worst apologies ever.
He waited a beat, probably to make sure I was done talking.
“I haven’t been holding a grudge. If that’s what you mean,” he said, finally.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He grinned.
“But you ended up back here with Amie Jo.” I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’d just apologized to him and in the next breath insulted his wife.
Travis laughed and waved me out of the closet. “What makes you think that’s not what I wanted? Culpepper is home. Everyone I love—including my very high-maintenance wife—is here. She’s different with me and the boys than she is to—”
“Everyone else in the universe?”
“Yeah. I’m happy. I adore her, and I love our life.”
“You have a swan in your yard,” I pointed out. “And a twenty-foot-tall family portrait in your foyer.”
“Making Amie Jo happy makes me happy,” he said simply.
Maybe it was as easy as that. Or maybe Amie Jo was a circus acrobat in bed.
I’d hurt Travis, but he’d ended up happier than I could have made him.
“You’re not mad about Homecoming?” I pressed.
“It was an accident,” he assured me.
“Well, the thing with you was. I kinda planned all the rest of it,” I admitted.
He laughed.
“So we’re good?” I asked with suspicion. This guy didn’t hold onto grudges like I did.
“We’re good,” Travis promised.
“There you are!” an adorably drunk Jake bellowed from the door. He frowned, looking first at me and then Travis. “You two are alone in a bedroom?”
“I was changing out of my pool clothes,” I explained. “And then I destroyed their closet. And then I apologized to Travis for high school.”
“All of high school?” Jake asked, confused.
“No, just the parts that I messed up for him.”
“And I told Marley that there’s no hard feelings. It’s all good.” Travis slapped Jake on the shoulder. “So when are you bringing that piece-of-shit SUV in and trading it for an Escalade?”
“Pfft,” Jake snorted. “When you start offering fifty percent off for high school classmates. So, Mars. I hunted you down because Vicky says it’s time for your Spice Girls routine.”
I perked up. Vicky and I had spent part of junior high coordinating a spectacular dance routine to most of the Spice Girls’ catalog.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me, there’s an ass I need to shake. Spoiler alert: It’s mine.”
62
Jake
A rhythmic sawing noise woke me, and I wondered who the fuck let the lumberjack in the house. I opened one bleary eye and immediately slammed it shut against the abrasive light of day.
I had a Hostetter Hangover. Something I’d avoided for the past four years since the “drunk in the whirlpool tub” incident.
My headache had a pulse. It was a living, breathing thing, and I wanted to kill it.
A desert. The motherfucking Sahara Desert. That’s what was inside my mouth. There were cacti growing on my tongue.
Someone else moaned, and I realized my body was contorted around Marley. I could tell by the smell of her shampoo, the shape of the ass pressed against my crotch. Wait. What was happening with my crotch? It felt like it was being hugged.
I cracked my other eye open and looked down.
“How the hell did I get in bicycle shorts?”
“Huh?” Marley groaned into a Harry Potter pillow.
I didn’t have a Harry Potter pillow. Or bike shorts.
The horror was just sinking in when there was a cheery knock at the door. And then I was making eye contact with Ned Cicero.
“Marl—holy shit,” he squeaked.
I tried to wrestle the bedspread up and over my body.
“Are those my bike shorts?” Ned asked.
“Dad?” Marley finally roused herself from the depths of her hangover to join me in this misery. “Jake?”
“Apparently we decided to crash here last night?” I guessed.
It was coming back to me in bits and pieces. Whiskey and beer. Jell-O shots. Boone’s Farm Pong. It was easier to just stumble next door than call for a ride.
“I’ll just leave you to it,” Ned said, his voice two octaves higher than usual.
It. He was going to leave us to it.
He slammed the door, and I could hear the pitter-patter of his size eights as he ran down the stairs to get as far away from this nightmare as possible.