Senior Year, '94. Megan B. March
since he was determined to talk about what happened with her, there was nothing I could do but listen. I took a deep breath and slammed the second game ball when it came my way.
“Mia, I was in a bad place when I got back to school.” Whack! “Getting high, going to parties with Erik, not giving a damn about school.” Whack! The ball shot off the court wall. “So one night after a few too many shots of Tequila and some beer, Fallon appeared.” Whack! Jensen wasn’t looking at me as he talked, but rather concentrating on the ball and the racquet in his hand as if that helped the conversation go smoother. Whack!
“You already know the details so I won’t go over them again, but I want you to know that we did not sleep together.” He emphasized the last part and hit the ball harder. “We just kissed and it didn’t go any further than our shirts coming off. That’s it. I stopped and told Fallon I didn’t want to go further because I love you. I also told her to leave me alone because I wanted nothing to do with her. She hasn’t talked to me since and that’s the truth.” Whack!
For a few minutes, we were both quiet except for the hollow sound of the ball being hit; my racket, his racket, the wall.
“I’m falling on my knees here, Mia, forgive me … I’m a fucking fool.” Jensen wasn’t physically on his knees, but the look on his face may as well have put him there.
I pressed myself to say something to appease him because frankly I knew my own silence was deafening and unless I replied, he wouldn’t be placated and would continue to discuss the one topic I was over.
I didn’t have anything good to say and landed on, “You fell back into an old pattern. I broke your heart and you found solace with some random woman.” I regretted what I’d said the second it came out. The ball whizzed past Jensen and his racket dropped to his side. If he hadn’t been looking at me before, he was now and I couldn’t escape his intense gaze.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
The look on Jensen’s face told me that he was genuinely in the dark as to whom I was referring to. I just stared at him. Why would his memory issue from last year’s car accident choose to crop up now? Finally, Jensen broke the awkward silence.
“No, Mia, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shook his head and raised his racquet to scratch his head. “I didn’t go through with it. The second she pointed out our rings that I was wearing around my neck, I instantly sobered up and realized what a mistake I was making. I didn’t want to do that to you, to us. If I hadn’t been drinking I never would have gone to her room.” He stared hard at me as I took a deep breath.
“So, therein lies the problem: too much partying,” I pointed out. “Is that what you’ve been doing when I call you at night? Either the phone rings and rings, or Erik tells me you’re not there.” Jensen didn’t answer right away and I walked away to pick up the little blue ball lying in the corner of the court. Throwing the ball up in the air, I hit it as hard as I could against the wall and Jensen ran to hit it again. Whack!
He picked up where I’d left off and said, “Erik’s revolving door syndrome has made it hard for me to stay in the room to study, so when you call I’m usually in the library catching up on classwork. Honestly, after that night with Fallon I haven’t done much partying at all. I knew I’d have to make a choice and either stay on the straight and narrow or follow Erik’s lead and run wild.” He stopped the ball with his racquet, picked it up, and asked if I wanted to go and get lunch somewhere. “Talking might be easier,” he said.
Sighing, we picked up our bags in the corner and I followed him out of the court and then I went to the girl’s locker room to shower and emerged about twenty minutes later, not bothering to rush as I’d done every time we’d played racquetball when first going out together. Once, we’d played a little game where we’d see who could get done first. Jensen always won, of course, freshly washed and dressed, and leaning against the wall when I came out from the locker room. But this time when I came out, I found him leaning against the front desk talking to Bree.
Apparently, she was at work after all and was leaning across the desk in a tight, pink V-neck that rode dangerously low on her chest and showed every generous curve she had. It looked like Jensen was trying to keep his eyes away from the valley of her chest, but I caught his baby blues flicker there once or twice as they talked. He seemed to be completely at ease with their conversation. My eyes travelled down Jensen’s physique as he stood there and I noted he was looking a little like James Dean with his hair slicked back and wearing a plain, snug white t-shirt. The blue jeans that he had on were somewhat close-fitting as well, and he was also wearing what looked like black motorcycle shoes. Had he been wearing those shoes when he picked me up? The only thing missing was the well-worn black leather jacket. The outfit was so unlike him, I wondered if perhaps he had borrowed it from Gabe.
Walking up to where Jensen stood, I laced my arm with his and gave Bree my best fake smile. It was a blatant show of staking my claim, although I had thought about grabbing his face and kissing him long and deep right there to get her to knock it off once and for all.
“Ready?” I asked sweetly, looking up at Jensen and batting my eyelashes. He looked down at me and tried to hide his surprise.
“Yeah, catch you later, Bree,” he said, tapping the desk lightly with a balled fist. We walked out together and I kept my arm laced with his. Once outside, he tried to break the ice for the first time that day. “Well, I appreciate that you didn’t piss on her.”
“She was pulling out all the stops today. With that shirt so goddamn low you could practically see her nips. And don’t tell me you didn’t notice!” I eyed Jensen, trying hard to ignore the fact that instead of waiting for me he’d been over talking to her and sneaking peaks at her chest. He’s still a man with hormones after all, right? I tried coming up with excuses. “What did you guys talk about anyway?” I asked, trying to tone down the inner bitch that had emerged.
“Nothing really, just the usual pleasantries. How about Bullwinkle’s for lunch?” Jensen asked, trying to change the subject. “I could go for some pizza right now.” He was obviously trying to steer me away from Bree and her breasts. Smart man.
Recognizing Gabe’s eighty-eight dark green Honda Civic in the parking lot not too far from the front doors of The Club, I walked toward it with Jensen by my side. I smiled and shook my head, thinking how unlike Gabe his car was. He seemed like a truck-man. When Jensen and I got closer, he used the key fob to unlock it without opening my door like he had always done in the past. Trying to be casual, I reluctantly pulled the door open to Gabe’s beater and got in. Jensen slid inside and began to play with the radio after turning the ignition on, but he soon gave up and turned the radio off. “Stations here suck,” he complained as he shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the space we were parked in.
Pulling out of the parking lot, we headed over to the Mendenhall Mall and parked near Bullwinkle’s Pizza Parlor where hand-painted scenes of Rocky and Bullwinkle adorned the walls inside, and several arcade games were lined up along one side of the establishment. Tables were beginning to fill up, even though it wasn’t even noon yet.
“Shall we flip for who buys what?” Jensen asked. He was playing it awfully friend-like and I had to fight the urge to tilt an eyebrow at him. Was he pissed off at me because I didn’t invite him back to my place after having dinner at The Fiddlehead, or was he trying to maintain some type of normal?
“That’s a great idea! How about you get the pizza and I get a pitcher of root beer?” I suggested nicely, trying to hide my annoyance with the fact he had dropped all chivalry overnight. Wasn’t he just asking me not to give up on him?
Jensen nodded and strolled up to the counter to put in an order for pizza. He knew what I liked, but something told me he’d only get what he wanted just to spite me. Shaking my head, I went up to the drink counter and ordered a pitcher of root beer. The girl working the counter was young, tall, and her brown hair was tied up in a pony tail that peeked out from behind her red Bullwinkle’s hat. Jensen’s type. Probably wise I chose to get the drinks with his current track record today. I watched as she put the