A Mess of Reason (5 page)

“Scout? Do you like it?” she asks, taking a
few steps toward me while wiping her tear-stained face with the
backs of her hands. Her chest moves up and down in deep breaths,
lips trembling, as her face lights up in shades of scarlet.

Roxanne is silent, both hands slammed over
her mouth. Not a word comes from her—and let me tell you, this is a
first. She just saw what I’ve been feeling all these tormented
years. She’s finally figured it out. And I don’t give a rat’s ass
that she knows. Good job, Rox—lightbulb moment.

“Sure. You look hot.” The look in her eyes
shakes me to my core. “Creed’s gonna love it, sweetheart.” I say
the only words I can summon from my bankrupt state of emotions.
Sounding like a satanic mortician, I feel myself closing up and
shutting down. There’s no room for me in this anymore. He made the
move I should have made ten years ago. I’m the douchebag—not him.
He’s a Nobel-Prize-winning genius. A veritable rocket scientist.
Me, I’m the sorry-assed loser who’s letting the single greatest
woman I know ride off into the sunset without me.

“Oh…” Her puzzled, sad voice says it all. No
question, I’ve hurt her feelings terribly. And nothing about that
feels good, but what the hell do I do?

She turns and walks away, slips into the
fitting room, closing the door as fast as she disappears behind it.
I hear threads of muffled cries. I hear them through my pounding
heartbeat, angst, and humiliation. I’m the reason all that just
happened. The grim reaper, the master of moral code.

“What the fuck was all of that?” Roxanne
says in slow, pronounced syllables as she places her hands on my
knees, giving me an unreal money shot of her jugs. The pleasant
distraction tempts me to wedge my beer bottle right between them,
but I stick with my better judgment and refrain.

“Start talking, Guns.”
(Remember…quarterback.)

“I…agh…fuck, Rox. That was bad, wasn’t
it?”

She shoots me a challenging look. “Tell me I
didn’t just imagine that scene? Tell me that just happened. Tell
me?”

“I…fuck…fuck me.” I get up and go to the
fitting room door. Tess is gasping for air, crying like she did at
her mom’s funeral, like she did when I picked her up off the dirt
before her bull Legend nearly skewered her.

“Tess. Open the door…let me in, sweetheart.”
She says nothing. My forehead’s pinned against the door, holding me
up. I’m terrified I might have just ruined a nearly perfect
relationship with my best friend by crossing a line I never should
have. I couldn’t stop. It just happened…it all came together in an
exquisite little bubble, and I got carried away. There had been
nowhere else I wanted my lips in that moment but on hers. I’d
needed to taste her—it wasn’t a choice, it was a commandment from
some place inside of me; my brain had nothing to do with it. That
was all heart, all soul, all chemistry. I needed to be as close to
her as possible and that kiss…dammit.

In that kiss, the whole earth left us. It
was just me and Tess standing there having the most intimate moment
I have ever had in my entire life. What was I thinking, kissing her
like that while she’s in her wedding dress? A sharpshooter should
take me out with one bullet to the brain right now. That would
solve everything.

“Tess. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… Please
let me see your face. Please open the door. Baby, let me in there
with you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

TESS

“Go away, Scout, just…please leave!
Please!”

I can’t see him now. He’ll see right through
me. Worse yet, he’s apologizing for it? Lemon in the wound…nice
touch. What the hell was that? Finish it already, you’re better
than that…aren’t you, Scout? Isn’t he?

The kiss, though, oh…that kiss. It was just
so…exquisite. A dream-like kiss you only get once in a lifetime but
replay over and over. A snow globe sort of kiss that happens in
slow motion, a kiss that feels like a rolling wave going through
your veins, then smacking into your heart like a tidal wave.

“Tess, I’m not leaving until you open this
door.” His voice is the consistency of sour milk, a sharp contrast
to the hard rattle of the door as he bangs it with his fists.

Tough. Then you shouldn’t be apologizing for
kissing me, you pussy. That’s what I should tell him. I’ve waited
years for that kiss. Then, when it happens, I’m engaged, standing
in my wedding dress at my fitting? Brilliant timing! To top off
it…he apologizes?
Ugh
. If that’s not a warning sign, nothing
is.

“Tess, listen to me, I’m so sorry…I didn’t
mean to…I…you just look so…and I got…well. Fuck, Tess, any guy
would have done that.”

He needs to leave. He’s only making it
worse. I’m going to literally kill him if he doesn’t shut up.

“Tess, it was wrong. I never should have, I
made a mistake…I crossed a line. Please forgive me, baby.”

His words hit me like a farewell whisper,
jarring me with whiplash. I can’t handle it; my insides are
screaming for him to shut up. He regrets it? He never meant it? A
mistake? Is that really how he feels about that amazing kiss…about
kissing me? I go to the door and swing it open. He practically
falls on me and I explode. As in nuclear.

“You want to see me? Fine, then, get an
eyeful…look at me now! Don’t. I. Look. Hot!” I’m louder than loud,
mad as a cat thrown into a lake.

“Sweetheart…stop, please. I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? Oh, come on! Don’t you just love my
dress? Look, I’ll spin for you.” My fists are clenched, my words
sterile, coming out as a verbal slap in his face by the looks of
it.

“You want to die, don’t you? Do you like the
back—doesn’t my ass look awesome in it? Want to touch me? Do my
tits look big in it? Do they?”

All my reason is gone, my unremitting fury
spills out like poison. “Come on…touch me…kiss me. Not now? Oh,
sorry, no…that would be a
mistake
! Yeah, you’re right that
was a mistake, Scout. A big fucking mistake!”

My mess of emotions, in need of editing,
somehow continues to erupt.

“Tess, let me just…”

“Just nothing. You’ve said enough. Now leave
me the fuck alone because I’m engaged, in case you forgot—I’m
getting married to someone else. See…remember…didn’t I show you my
big ring?
Look at it
!” I wave it in his face like a drunk
holding the key to a liquor store. Then I slam both hands onto his
chest in thundering claps of force while marching him backwards
toward the door. “Now get the fuck out of my face, Scout!” Never in
my life have I been so mean to someone. So cruel, raw, base, awful.
The look on his face—as though he’s witnessing a murder.

Then he turns and walks out. No looking
back. Just like I’d told him to.
Out. Gone
.

“Tess. Tess…oh my God…” Roxanne sweeps me
into her arms and I slip right through them like a wet, used rag
plastered onto the floor. I cry. And I cry. I cry, because my
foolish boldness might have just chased the most important person
in my life right out of it. I’m sure he hates me right now. I’m
sure he never wants to see me again. I’m sure he thinks I’m the
biggest cesspool of bitch roaming the earth. And that’s exactly how
I feel.

CHAPTER FIVE

SCOUT

What a moron. Why did I ever let that
happen? Now she hates me. Now my best friend and the one woman I
would do anything for hates me because I crossed the line and
kissed her. Rule number one: don’t kiss your best friend if she’s a
gorgeous, sexy woman who’s engaged to someone else. Why could I not
just be happy with our friendship? Why did I have to go and kiss
her? Everything gone, in one dammed kiss. Who knew kisses could be
so damaging? Kisses are supposed to be soft, sexy,
provocative…leading…but no. Not that kiss. That kiss was laced with
arsenic. That was the was the kiss of death. The black-masked
kiss.

Christ almighty, and I thought I didn’t know
what to do before. I have to repair this; I cannot let her hate me.
I cannot live my life without her in it. I’ve just ruined what
should have been one of the most magical moments in her life, her
wedding dress fitting. Yeah, I took that sweet dream of a day and
smashed my big fucking guns straight through it. Brilliant.

I do the only thing I know to do: revert to
my teenage years. I head over to the Piggly Wiggly grocery store
where the biggest bubblegum machine in town sits and I cash in a
twenty-dollar bill for quarters. Thirty autographs later,
fifty-seven plastic bubbles filled with toys—most of which I give
to passing-by moms with whiny kids—I find the prize. A big, blingy,
plastic emerald ring. As well as stretchy handcuffs, a
scratch-and-sniff dog poop tattoo (that I will let her put anywhere
on my body…including my forehead), and a lucky rabbit’s foot.

Next, I grab a huge box of mini-Chiclets
from the top shelf of the candy aisle. A coconut cake from the
bakery. A six-pack of beer. A bottle of Jose Cuervo, and last but
not least, the ingredients for my sicker-than-the-average homemade
macaroni and cheese that makes her cry when she eats it.

Oh, and I almost forgot the card. Hallmark.
God, I love you, Hallmark. You exist solely for douchebags like me,
don’t you? Some sorry-assed excuse of guy had to have come up with
you because he fucked up so friggin’ royally that the only thing he
could do—besides shower his love with gumball-machine prizes—was
apologize with a cheeseball card that she could tuck in her panties
drawer amongst a bunch of pot-fuckin’-pourri sachets. I find a
sympathy card that is the most syrupy thing you could possibly
dream up. Because yes, I may have just killed our relationship, and
this will hopefully help bring it back from the dead.

After I make the mac-n-cheese, I open up
every last packet of mini-Chiclets. Side note: she loves these
because of that sexy gap between her two front teeth. Yeah, well,
she can hold three of these little suckers in there. How adorable
is she? I know I’ve told you already. Pretty much the most ever. I
cover the entire coconut cake with thousands of mini-Chiclets. It’s
her favorite cake next to a Hostess mash up—but that’s more of her
birthday cake. This is her greedy pig-out cake. Everyone should
have a version.

I put the plastic bubble holding the blingy
ring right smack dab in the middle of the cake top. The ring, to be
clear, is a promise ring. As in, I promise to never fuck up so
badly again. I promise to love, worship, and cherish you for the
rest of my life—as your best friend. I promise to not ever cross
the line again…unless you want me to. Maybe I shouldn’t do that
one? Anyway, I intend to keep all the promises because I love the
shit out of her even if I can’t have her the way I want her—in the
deepest part of my heart.

I decide to go in full-force entry. I’m not
knocking this time. I have every right to march right in and lay my
heart on the line with the fattest apology ever known to mankind.
Plus I’m scared shitless that she won’t let me in if I knock. So
basically it’s more of a bank robber move. I promise you (ring or
no ring), I will be stealing her heart back even if I have to use
the stretchy handcuffs.

My arms are loaded down Santa-style. Opening
the front door without a shitload of commotion is practically
impossible, but I manage. She’s nowhere. I keep walking until I
find her, because wherever she is, that’s where the party’s gonna
happen.

The bummer is, I find her face down on her
big fluffy bed. And yeah, you guessed it: she still has on her
wedding dress. Time for some mandatory fun.

I climb onto the bed to lie right next to
her, my entire body pressed tightly against hers. Since she hates
me right now, she doesn’t move, not one inch. So I start scratching
her back gently. More of a pet than a scratch…sort of like a
Hey
there, remember me? I love you so damn much it’s killing me
kind of a pet.

Still nothing. The vibe is clear: kind of a
Hey there…go fuck yourself
.

I get off the bed and go into phase two of
Win Back my Girl. I realize maybe you’ll think this is over the
top, but she’s worth every ounce of thought that I’ve put into
this. I spread out a bohemian-looking scarf that I’d been saving up
for her birthday. On top of it I put candles—little scented ones
that hopefully stir her toward me. Then the mac-n-cheese and the
cake covered in mini-Chiclets. Two shots of tequila for each of us
lined up on a small wooden board (yes, I brought glasses), the
beer, and finally the syrupy card. Oh, and one spoon, because I
plan on feeding her. That’s just how we roll. Then I wait.

Nothing. I know she knows it’s me and not an
ax murderer. But, she hates me this much.

Phase three. I steal three mini-Chiclets off
the cake and go around to her side of the bed. I lie right next to
her again. I twist her head toward me so there’s not a chance she
can miss me. Her eyes are closed, of course. Why would she want to
look at me? I’m an asshole. I slide my finger in under her big
gorgeous top lip and proceed to place the Chiclets into the gap
between her teeth. Still nothing.

Phase four. Tickle time.

Backfire. She’s crying. Fuck. I’m sucking at
this.

Phase five. I sit up against the headboard
and pull her into my lap. I just hold her, rocking her the tiniest
bit while I sing her favorite songs in a near whisper.

Nothing. Well, I’m lying. Nothing but tears.
Lots and lots of tears.

Phase six.

“Tessie girl…hey baby. I’m so sorry I’ve
hurt you. I love you. You’re the only girl in my heart. You’ve
always been my girl. You always will be. I promise I won’t hurt you
ever again. You have to believe me. I need you not to hate me.
Please, love…stop hating me. It’s killing me. You’re my shot of
tequila, my mini-Chiclet, my mac-n-cheese…my everything. How am I
going to have a beer if you won’t open it with your teeth, because
I brought everything for an I’m-sorry picnic except for that. You
see, Tess, I know I fucked up. I made a mistake and I did something
that I shouldn’t have, and I’m trying to tell you that I won’t ever
wrong you like that again. Can we go back in time and just erase
it?”