Raining Down Rules (12 page)

Chapter 24

Vic programs my number into his phone at the end of the night, just before Caleb and I help a seriously tipsy Angie to the cab. The whole drive back to their house all I can think about is the possibility of seeing Vic again. My stomach flutters with anticipation.

When my phone buzzes an alarm early in the morning, I’m expecting to have a hangover. But oddly enough, I feel perfectly fine, albeit hungry. I say my goodbyes to Angie and thank Caleb for letting me crash in the spare room and then make the drive back to Gran’s house.

Everything is the same—breakfast, chores, and lunch. Since Jordan left I feel like something inside of me is missing, something crucial I can’t put a name on. My days are long, and making sure Gran is doing all right is important, of course, but I need something more. Going out with Angie and Caleb showed me that it’s okay to have a life other than what’s at home. I know I can’t go out and party all the time; that would be irresponsible and obviously would break a number of my own rules. But every once in a while it’s okay, and I think Gran will understand.

Today is March eleventh, Jordan’s birthday. He’s twenty-five and I know I shouldn’t, but I type up a text wishing him a happy birthday and send it to him anyway. I wonder where he is, if he’s still in Warner or if he’s moved on, maybe gone home to Phoenix. Wherever he is, I hope he’s doing okay.

After Gran has gone to bed, I open my laptop in bed and begin searching out jobs in the area. I need to help supplement Grandpa’s retirement income, but when nothing but maid services and secretaries comes up, it hits me. I need to go back to school. Southern Washington University is only a short drive from here, and gathering from their website, my interior design credits should roll over easily. Feeling really good about my decision to go back to school in September, I close my laptop with a contented sigh. As I turn out my lights my phone buzzes on my nightstand, startling me. It’s after eleven. Who do I know that would be texting me this late?

I grab my cell, and the screen alerts me of a message from Jordan. Immediately my heart skips a beat and my cheeks flush as I slide my finger along the screen to unlock it and hurry to read his message.

Thanks.

“What?” I exclaim bitterly. “I get a stupid
thanks
?” My hand grips my phone so tightly, only to keep myself from throwing the phone across the room. In a fit of anger I open Jordan’s contact information on my screen, letting my finger hover over the
delete
button. I know I should do it, I mean, who spends two weeks with someone and then disses them just like that? He’s probably deleted my number already and didn’t even know who it was that texted him. My screen darkens and I toss it onto my bed and grab a pillow and scream into it. Why can’t I get him out of my head?

***

The day of Trish’s long-awaited arrival is finally here and I could hardly sleep last night. I’ve missed hanging out with her so much and have a crazy five days planned for us. I kiss Gran goodbye as I skip out the door and make my way to the Warner airport. A light dusting of snow settled on the ground overnight, covering the landscape with a fluffy white blanket, though by the end of the day I’m guessing it will have all melted away. If February proved anything about mild weather, March is proving even more surprising.

I see her instantly, her silky black hair swaying side to side as she runs to me, luggage in tow and a giant smile almost too wide for her narrow face.

“Jemma!” she shrieks at the same time I call out, “Trish!” It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, our embrace is probably creeping toward lesbian status, but we don’t care.

“God, it’s so good to see you!” Trish says as she tugs on my shorter hair. “This looks amazing.”

“You look great too. I’m so glad you’re finally here. I’ve missed you like crazy.”

“Don’t I know it. My new roommate snores and farts in her sleep. It’s awful.” Laughing, we walk arm in arm through the airport to my car. We grab a quick bite to eat for dinner before making our way back to Torrance to see Gran and settle in for the night.

***

“So you want me to do what, exactly?” Trish asks as I explain again how we’re going for a ride. “On that? A horse?” She scrunches her nose and rolls her eyes. “I’ve never ridden a horse before. Are you sure this is what you want to do today?”

“Yep, I’m going to countryfy you before you go home, just you watch.”

“Not likely, this girl screams city. There is nothing country about my roots.”

“And to think, you said that with a southern twang.” I laugh, batting my eyes at her. I help her onto Belle’s saddle and we ride slowly across the ranch.

Trish and I fall into easy conversation, the true test of a friendship, as we ride past the barn and across the grassy hills. We weave through patches of trees so tall and wide you could build a home in the branches. The slightly chilled air begins to warm up the longer we’re on the trail and the conversation soon turns to college and Trish’s classes. She’s studying to be an ultrasound tech and interns at the local hospital. I don’t know how she handles the demands of her schedule.

“What are your plans now that you’re home?” Trish asks as we ride over the crest of a hill.

“Actually,” I begin with a broad smile, “I’m working on transferring my NYU credits to the college nearby. I want to finish my design degree.”

“That’s great. Now, how much further are we going? My ass is starting to meld with the saddle.”

***

“I can’t believe you leave tomorrow,” I say as Trish and I make our way through the mall. We’ve been having such a great time between riding horses—which Trish admits she enjoys despite her legs wobbling like Jell-O after each ride—cooking together, and shopping. We’ve even flirted with some good-looking guys while ice skating. Well, it was more like Trish flirted and I smiled. A lot.

Today, as we prowl through the mall before we go out dancing, Trish is on the hunt to find us the perfect slutty, but not too slutty, outfits—her words. I’m not really into slutty but I’m willing to shop till I drop since we’re together.

“Oh this is perfect,” Trish says as she holds up a small black number with more see-through netting than actual fabric. “This would look great on you.” She thrusts the dress into my arms and I shake my head.

“There is no way I’m wearing this. It won’t cover anything.”

“Relax, you can wear this over it.” She holds up a black, see-through, gauzy short-sleeved jacket and we both burst into laughing hysterics. “No, seriously, look at this one.” In the fitting room we try on several dresses and model for each other until we both settle on our choices. Trish purchases an eggplant-colored halter-top dress that hugs her figure and stops just below her butt. Not my style—I prefer to have a little more coverage—but she looks amazing in it. Everything about the dress accentuates her curves, her sleek hair, and long legs. I choose a mid-thigh black pencil skirt and a royal blue silk sleeveless top, and though I look really good, I don’t hold a candle to Trish’s exotic appeal. But then, I’m not looking to hook up with anyone.

I never knew so many all-ages clubs existed before yesterday. Trish and I looked them up online and chose The Blue Moon club based on the vibe the reviews shared. So far, we haven’t been disappointed. Trish is twenty-one so she has no problem buying drinks and sneaking one to me when the bartender isn’t looking. I’ve grown to like vodka sodas and I’m nursing my second.

Trish draws me away from my chair and drags me onto the dance floor where we dance with reckless abandon. More than once I’ve caught guys dancing closer to Trish and she lives it up. I envy her carefree attitude and natural magnetic personality. Sure, I’ve had a couple guys dance with me, but they end up asking me if I’m some sort of executive secretary, which is totally what I look like. Not what I really was going for though. By the third mention of my apparent choice of employment I decide to go with it and create an entirely new persona.

And then, with an alternate personality I’ve created, I find myself loosening up and unbuttoning the top two buttons on my blouse. Executive secretary Jemma is a rebel.

“Hey!” Trish yells in my ear around midnight. She’s holding a guy by his shirt, her fist entwined with the cotton fabric. “Ready to head to the hotel?”

“Who’s that?” I ask, jerking my head to the guy she has a death grip on. I’ve got to admit, he’s good-looking, with buzzed black hair, a square jaw, and tall—totally her type.

She shrugs. “He’s Mr. Right Now,” she says with a smile. “Let’s go.” The cab ride to the hotel is awkward to say the least. Trish and Mr. Right Now can’t keep their hands off each other, and I end up with elbows to my ribs on more than one occasion.

Thank God we got adjoining rooms.

Not that it matters much. They are not quiet, and as the minutes melt into an hour and a half I finally grow tired of the volume of the television in my room being so loud that I get off my bed and pound my fists on our adjoining room. Trish’s high-pitched laughter burns in my ears, making me feel even more uncomfortable.

The next morning, we meet in the lobby to eat the continental breakfast and I feel like I haven’t slept in days. Trish looks perfect as usual, her hair flowing neatly down her back, and Mr. Right Now wears a cocky grin as he feeds her waffles from his fingers.

“We’ve got to get going,” I say with a sigh. “You don’t want to miss your flight.” I clench my teeth and my hands ball into fists below the table. Trish smiles, kisses Mr. Right Now, and clears our plates.

“Your friend is so hot,” Mr. Right Now says with a lazy smirk. I raise my eyes and nod. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.

“Ready?” Trish asks when she returns to the table.

“Yep.”

Mr. Right Now walks us to my car, presses Trish up against it, and thrusts his hips into hers. “I’m going to miss you,” he says as he claims her mouth with his. She smacks his butt and climbs into my car.

I’ve never been so ready to see Trish leave. Which is an awful thing to feel. She’s my best friend and it’s really not her fault I became the third wheel.

“Hey,” she says as we pull up to the airport. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just really felt awkward when you brought Mr. Right Now back to the hotel. That was our last night together and instead of spending it with me, you…well, you know.”

“Trent,” she says. “His name is Trent.”

“Fine. I just wish we could have hung out last night.”

“We hung out for five days. And besides, sometimes a girl has needs, if you know what I mean.” She winks and a part of me wants to laugh and the other part wants to reprimand her.

We hug our goodbyes, both of us trying not to cry, and I watch as she makes her way through the double doors of the airport. Even though her trip ended differently than I had hoped, I’m so glad we were able to spend time together. I’m going to miss her badly.

Chapter 25

Jordan

I left her somewhere between,

the dark and cool wisps of early dawn.

Her smile faded like the setting sun,

knowing I was really gone.

Words. They flow like a river. They won’t let me sleep. I’m drowning in them. Each word is like a pinprick to my arm, a drug in itself. My body is pierced with them, a million tiny needles trying to sink me in their river of words. This river also contains images floating along with me. Her pale pink smiling lips, the curve of her hips, the way her wavy hair frames her delicate face. All of these things press down on me like weights dragging me to the river floor.

Too many dreams,

for me to live.

Too many wrongs,

for her to forgive.

We will not make it past the night,

even if what we have feels right.

The words are ever-reaching, surrounding me, and encompassing all that I do. As I pull them from my skin and write them on paper, I feel the weight lift, like a lead jacket being removed. With each word I pluck, something heavier replaces it, pushing me further into the depths.

Will I ever get out?

No.

Chapter 26

Jemma

Angie texted me last night to see if I wanted to go dancing again tonight with her and Caleb. It’s my Friday to head back to Warner and I could use the distraction. I miss Trish like crazy and I’m feeling a little down. I kiss Gran goodbye and notice her hands shaking a bit as she pats my hip. I reach for them, wrapping my fingers around hers, and hold on. I’ve been so preoccupied with my own life I haven’t noticed how thin she’s become.

“Gran, you’re not looking well,” I say slowly. Her lips quiver at the corners as she puts on a smile.

“Go on and have a good time,” she says softly. “I’m just getting old.”

“But your hands,” I say, interrupting.

“My hands are fine. It’s just the medicines. Now go on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I kiss her on the forehead again and talk myself into leaving. I can’t help but feel my time is growing short with Gran. She’s even a touch pale; the usual pink in her cheeks isn’t there. In my car, I grab my cell phone and call the house. I want to hear her voice again.

We talk almost the whole drive to the apothecary and I’m feeling mostly good about my decision to go out with Angie and Caleb. Gran’s medicine is ready, as usual, and I express my excitement for tonight. The plan is to meet up at her house again like last time and take a cab to the club. I grab a bite to eat at the mall and then start my search for the perfect clubbing outfit—not that I know really what that is. Store after store and mannequin after mannequin, I finally find something that looks like it will work. With almost three hours to kill before I’m supposed to meet up at Angie’s, I figure a mani-pedi is in order, along with having someone else do my hair.

Tammy’s Nails looks good and has a couple chairs open so I put my name on the list and pick out a pale shade of pink, and when my name is called I sit in the chair and soak my feet in the blue water. I can’t remember the last time I had a pedicure. I’d forgotten how good they feel. My tech is an expert masseuse and I offer to pay her to come live with me. She smiles awkwardly and finishes my mani-pedi. I thank her and then move on to a salon where the stylist twists and curls and weaves my hair into delicate waves and a couple side braids that look amazing. By the time I make it to Angie’s I’m pumped and ready to get the night started.

The club is already crowded and as the three of us enter we struggle to find a table. We end up sitting in a far corner with poor lighting and order our food. Caleb is more talkative this time and begins talking about his latest classes and then asks me if I go to school. I sigh and try to decide where to begin, but thankfully Angie steps in.

“Leave her alone,” Angie says as she slaps his arm playfully. “The girl’s taking care of her sick grandmother. That’s more than enough work for any one person.”

I mouth a thank you to Angie and then excuse myself to the restroom; I need some air and maybe a drink. I brought my own flask this time that Angie loaded up with vodka for me before we left her house, but suddenly I’m not feeling up to drinking it. Staring at me straight in the face of the ladies’ restroom is a photograph of Jordan, totally strung out, dark circles around his eyes, hair mussed, and at least two topless girls hanging off of him. My knees threaten to buckle, and I have to bite back tears and fight the urge to rip the photo into shreds. Somehow it feels like a slap in the face to see the photo in the bathroom. Checking to see that the bathroom is empty, I remove the photo and study it closely. My hands begin to tremble as I recognize the pasty blue color of the paint on the bathroom stalls. This photo was taken here. In this very bathroom.

A knot forms in my stomach and it feels like it’s multiplying. Folding the picture into a small square, I tuck it into the other side of my bra, opposite my ID and cash. I have to get out of here. I push my way through the bathroom door and in between two already obviously drunk girls who look at me like I have the plague. As I make my way back to Angie and Caleb someone grabs my arm and pulls me around.

“Let go of me,” I say, jerking my arm from the grasp. As I look up I see Vic standing in front of me with both his arms held up like I’m holding him at gunpoint.

“Sorry, I just saw you barreling through people and I called your name a couple times.” His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him and he’s wearing a tight-fitting black v-neck t-shirt, which is only slightly distracting.

“What the hell, Vic?” I stand up straight and cross my arms over my chest. “What happened to
I’m going to call you
?”

Vic steps back, drops his hands to his side, and says, “Coming from the girl who isn’t dating right now.” He sounds serious, but the gleam in his eye makes me think he’s just teasing me.

“Listen, we danced and flirted, but you never called so I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on?”

The folded photo in my bra presses against my skin, making me uncomfortable. The sharp edges are digging into my flesh. I nod my head and wiggle my shoulders a bit, trying to make the photo change positions. Only, moving makes it worse.

“Give me a chance to explain,” Vic says, and gestures for me to follow him to an empty booth. “And buy you a drink.”

“Whatever,” I say blankly. A free drink might do this girl good.

The table is built for two, tucked in between two shoulder-high walls in a series of tables and walls. Vic orders our drinks and then pulls his phone from his back pocket.

“Would you believe me if I told you a tractor ran over my phone?” he says with a coy smile.

I shift in my seat and fold my arms across my chest, pressing the edges of the folded photo closer to my sensitive skin.

“No. Your phone is right here in front of me.”

“That’s true,” he says, and proceeds to open the phone to the contacts screen. “But this is a different phone.”

“Phones have a SIM card in them. You could have used that to get my number.”

Vic nods and flashes me a smile. “Yes, but a
tractor
ran over my phone. Do you know how much one of those weighs? The SIM card was beyond recoverable, I checked, believe me.”

“So what? You know where I live, you could have stopped by.”

“You’re getting great pleasure from all this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” At this point, a smile begins to creep across my face. It has been fun giving him a hard time. Our drinks arrive and Vic goes on to explain how his phone really did get run over by a tractor and how he did try to recover my phone number. His laugh is deep and gravelly and oddly soothing.

“So let me get this straight—you drive a tractor as a side job?” I ask, taking a sip of my vodka soda.

“You mean you don’t like this stunning farmer’s tan I’ve got going on?” Vic slides the sleeves of his black shirt up, revealing quite the bronzed skin as well as some stunning muscles.

“Wow.” Count me impressed.

“Wow, the tan or…?” Vic smiles and types my name into his contacts. Without even thinking, I offer up my digits and before long we’re out on the dance floor having a great time.

Through spins and two-stepping, Vic tells me about his job as a firefighter and how his shifts work. He works twenty-four hours on and then has forty-eight hours off. In his off time, he drives a tractor or performs whatever farm work his parents need.

“So, tell me about you,” Vic says during a particularly slow song.

Shrugging my shoulders, I ask, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. How old you are, your favorite color, what you do, or if you’re in school?”

“Can I plead the fifth on my age?”

“Shit, how old
are
you?”

A pink flush rises to my cheeks as I tell him that I’m only twenty. We stop mid-dance and Vic backs away. The blush turns into something more, embarrassment at his obvious disappointment is written all over my face. Vic waves his hand for me to follow him and I’m almost positive he’s going to turn me over to management for underage drinking. My stomach begins twisting itself into knots as he leads me away from the dance floor.