Avoiding Amy Jackson (29 page)

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Ellen asks as she walks her cute pregnant ass into my living room. “It looks and smells and sounds like 1995.” She’s turns off the stereo that was currently blaring
Nirvana’s Silver
. What? When I get depressed, I go grunge. I can’t help myself.

I watch Ellen and Lizzy as they sit down on the couch, carefully assessing my mood. I start to take drink from bottle number one of wine and I am sad to find that it’s empty. I quickly pop the cork of bottle number two and take a giant swig. Alcohol seems like a good solution for a lovesick idiot. And that’s exactly what I am.

My pussy is still on her boycott. I’m contemplating the idea of canceling all of my future waxing appointments and just letting my pubes go au naturel. It’s not like it really matters. I’m basically never going to have sex again. I could probably use the cobwebs in my vagina for next year’s Halloween decorations.

“So what’s going on? I feel like I’m in a remake of Reality Bites, but only you’re Wynona Ryder and you seem to have developed a dislike for wearing pants.” Ellen cocks her perfectly manicured eyebrow my way.

“Is Ethan Hawke here? Maybe he can find my vagina,” I respond with a slight slur to my voice. I’m at the point in my quest to become as drunk as humanly possible where my lips are now numb.

“What are you talking about?” Lizzy’s forehead creases in concern.

“My pussy is on strike and I’m never going to have sex again because I developed feelings for my smoking-hot best friend.” I decide this next swig of wine should be at least five seconds and I count my seconds the long way.

One Mississippi… Two Mississippi… Three Mississippi…

I sputter a little on the wine as I barely make it to my five-second mark. Look at me! I’m like a drinking professional! The alcohol burns the back of my throat, and I decide that another swig seems like the obvious cure to my burning ailment.

Eh, not so much.

My throat is on fire, and a small amount of stomach acid creeps up my esophagus, letting me know that it’s probably a good time to take a small break from my own rendition of the Drinking Olympics. I cough several times and swallow hard against the bile in my throat.

Ellen snatches the wine from my hands and promptly puts the cork back in.

“Seriously, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Everything. James is an asshole. I like James a lot. I want to play ‘hide the salami’ with James’s cock.” I lie back on the living room carpet and close my eyes. I’m officially shitfaced and rambling about James’s soup-can-sized tube steak.

Seriously, his cock is huge. And I’m pretty skeptical when it comes to cock size. I’ve been around town. I’ve seen a lot of peckers, and there are few and far between that have actually impressed me so much that I’ve considered starting a journal where I profess my undying need to be thrusted by James’s supersized soup-can cock.

Did I just peckers?

It’s official. I’m drunk and pathetic, and someone should just put me out of my misery.

Or just give me more alcohol. That would work too.

I open my eyes to see Lizzy with a grin that’s as wide as Texas and Ellen has a small perceptive look etched all over her face. This is the point in the conversation where they’re going to get a good laugh at my expense and the fact that I’ve been denying my feelings for James for months now…

“So you have feelings for James?” Ellen questions cautiously.

“No, I have feelings for our Amish neighbor across the hall. Do you think he’ll let me milk his goat?” Nothing against Amish people, but we do in fact have an Amish neighbor who may or may not have a goat living in his apartment part time. I honestly have no room to judge, seeing as I’ve passed out outside my apartment door too many times to count and the last guy I brought home left my apartment with a giant erection and face that was shining like Mr. Clean’s head.

Ugh. Moby
. Just the thought of my little rendezvous with the nose-rubber has guilt weighing down my stomach. I feel guilty that I let that night occur and that doesn’t even make sense. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I’m single. I’m not with James. I’m not with anyone. Yet, I still can’t deny the fact that I feel like I did something that would hurt him.

“Stop being such a smartass,” Ellen scolds me as she gently pats her belly.

“Fine, but I’m only saying this once and it’s only because I’ve chain-smoked nearly an entire pack of cigs and I’m wasted right now.” I inhale deep and tightly close my eyes. “Yes, I do in fact have feelings for James.” I place my arm over my eyes again.

“I knew it!” Ellen and Lizzy say simultaneously.

“Shut up. Please, shut up,” I mumble out as if I’m in pain.

“Why are you so depressed over this? This isn’t a bad thing. James has some serious feelings for you, Amy, and the two of you are perfect for each other.”

I peek out from behind my arm and see Ellen smiling warmly at me.

“Ellen is right, Amy. James is head over heels for you.” Lizzy’s tone is full of giddiness.

“God, I can’t take you two right now. I know you mean well and want me to be happy and all that other happy horseshit, but I’m pretty pissed at myself at the moment. I can’t believe I’ve let myself fall in—”

I abruptly stop myself before I let that four-letter word slip past my lips.

“I can’t believe I’ve let myself fall so deep for a guy I consider one of my best friends. I can’t start a relationship with James. I need his friendship, and if we got into an actual relationship and everything went to shit, well I would be devastated to not have him in my life anymore.” I huff out my irritation and continue lying on the floor with my arm covering my eyes.

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“I’m almost at a loss.”

“I know.”

What in the hell are they talking about? I drop my arm away from my eyes and quickly sit up, eyeing both Ellen and Lizzy with annoyance. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” I continue to look back and forth between the two of them, impatiently waiting for their response.

“Well…I… Well…” Ellen sputters out.

“I think what Ellen is trying to say is that we’re just surprised by what you just said,” Lizzy says quietly.

“What do you mean surprised? I don’t get it.” I hold both of my hands out in confusion.

“Well…” Ellen sputters out again.

“Seriously, if you say
well
one more time, I can promise you that I won’t be afraid to smack a pregnant lady.”

Ellen chuckles and clears her throat. “Okay. I’m just a little taken aback. You basically just told me you have
extremely deep
feelings for James and you also mentioned that his friendship means so much to you that you wouldn’t want to risk attempting to have a relationship with him.
A relationship that you actually want
. I’ve never heard you talk about wanting a relationship with anyone.
And friendship
? I honestly don’t think you’ve ever been this close to a guy. This is just a side of you I’ve never really seen before. I like this side of you, Amy. I really, really do.” Ellen pats the cushion next to her, encouraging me to sit on the couch.

I slowly get up and sit down. My eyes look down at my hands, quietly thinking about everything she just said. “I think I’m having a psychotic episode. Maybe you should take me to the ER and have me admitted to the psych unit.” I glance up at Ellen and Lizzy, who are both giving me small smiles.

Lizzy chuckles before wrapping Ellen and me up in a hug. “You’re not having a psychotic episode. You’re just falling in—”

“Don’t fucking say it. I can’t handle that word right now.”

Ellen and Lizzy embrace me tightly as they quietly chuckle at my last comment. I know I should be smacking these women for what they just got me to admit, but I can’t deny the fact that I feel a small, teensy, tiny bit of relief from admitting my feelings for James out loud.

Why would anyone want to do this to themselves willingly?

Why in the hell would anyone want to go through the clusterfuck of emotions that is falling for someone?

A small part of me wishes I could go back in time and tell James to fuck off when he asked if we could try being friends, but the larger part of me, the one who is head over heels for him, wouldn’t give up his friendship for anything.

I think I need therapy.

And Prozac. I probably could use a lot of Prozac right now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Sometimes I booty call the delivery boy from China Wok when I’m drunk.” - Amy

“Okay, so why do I have thirteen voicemails from you and all of them are at least five minutes long of Nirvana songs? Oh, and what does ‘Hold me, Sammy. I need you to put soup cans on repeat in my iPod’ mean?”

I groan loudly into the phone as I pull my comforter back over my head. James decided to call me at the crack of freaking dawn when he was on his way into the office. My head is throbbing relentlessly from all of the wine I consumed last night. “James, can you just delete all of those messages and forget everything you heard?”

James chuckles softly in my ear. “What’s going on, bossy? Were you trying to booty call me last night?”

“Ugh. That’s enough, dickhead. I was shitfaced. And don’t get all cocky, because I think I also tried to booty call the delivery boy from China Wok,” I tiredly scold him even though James is pretty much right on the money. I may or may not have called him a hundred times and left several voicemails with grunge music playing in the background. I may or may not have also left him a voicemail where I attempted to drunkenly let him know that I have feelings for him. Thank god it just came out as gibberish. Now that I’m sober, I’m starting to wonder where in the hell James was last night. Usually I have no issues with getting ahold of him…

“Hey where were you last night?” I shamelessly ask, praying I get an answer that doesn’t make me feel like hurling.

“I was in the OR with Trent. Nasty motorcycle accident,” he responds without hesitation. “You okay, sweetheart? You sound like you feel like shit.” James’s concerned tone warms my heart and causes little butterflies to float around in my belly.

“I do feel like shit. I drank two bottles of wine last night and decided to give chain-smoking a try. My mouth tastes like vomit and I smell like a bingo hall. Feeling like shit doesn’t even begin to describe how terrible I feel right now.” A barking cough escapes my throat, and I can feel the nicotine phlegm rattling in my chest. Dear god, I’ve chain-smoked myself into pneumonia.

“You sound terrible. I’ll stop by on my lunch.”

“No, you don’t have to do that—”

He gruffly cuts me off before I can finish. “I’ll see you around eleven, and you better keep your ass in bed until I get there.”

“That sounds like funny business,” I goad him.

He lets out a loud laugh. “It’s always about funny business, Am.
Always
.”

He is seriously going to be the death of me.

The ongoing joke of no funny business between us used to be just that to me—
funny.
But now it’s more than that. I’m secretly hoping he does attempt some funny business when he stops over.
Soup-can cock funny business.

“Ugh. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Good plan. I’ll see you in a little bit…and, Amy?”

“What?” I snap at him as I roll my eyes.

“Stop rolling your eyes at me and keep your ass in bed until I get there,” he sternly demands.

I huff in irritation and quickly hang up the phone. He knows me too well. It’s nearly disturbing, and yet I seem to find a sick amount of enjoyment out of this. I love that James knows me well enough to know when I’m rolling my eyes at him through the phone. I love that James didn’t ask if he could come over. He just told me he was going to because he knew. He fucking knew I would’ve said no. I love that…

I’m not even going to finish that thought.

My brain seems to have a kinship for constantly combining James and the word love in every possible scenario. I’m refusing to acknowledge this irritating affinity for my mind’s ability to conglomerate that terrifying four-letter word with my smoking-hot best friend. I think I just need a hot shower and maybe a quick trip to the gym to run off my frustrations. I throw off my comforter and sit on the edge of my bed, attempting to regain my balance.

My phone vibrates loudly on the bedside table.

James:
Get your ass back in bed and go back to sleep. That’s an order, bossy.

I throw myself back on the bed and scream in frustration before looking around my bedroom for any clues that would lead to discovering that James has my bedroom tapped with video cameras. Nothing seems out of place. Everything is just how I left it, and this revelation has me screaming out in frustration again as I pull my comforter back over my body.

I grab my phone and send him a quick text back.

Me:
Shut up, Limp Dick.

James:
Sweet dreams, sweetheart.

Could he be any more infuriating? Probably.

Me:
Thank you.

I’m aware that that last text was completely out of character for me. I close my eyes and quickly fall back into a deep sleep, secretly enjoying the fact that I’ll get to see James in a couple of hours. I’ve officially turned into the girl I used to laugh at. The girl I would make fun of for being all swoony and day dreamy about a guy. The girl who would obsess over a guy’s smile or eyes…
or dimple
.

I’m officially that girl and I officially hate myself.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I have a crush on my best friend and I emailed tentacle cocks to the CEO. “ - Amy

James saved the day last week by coming to my apartment with a can of chicken noodle soup, cough medicine, and an antibiotic.
Go ahead and laugh at the irony that James brought me a can of soup.
He was quite entertained with himself that day as he held up a can of soup, waggling his eyebrows and grinning like a fucking idiot. God, if I didn’t lo—
like
him so much, I would have most likely given him a nice sac tap.