I just need to get through this last week of school without anyone finding out about Chase’s betrayal and what a sucker I am. He’s too much of a coward to tell anyone
. So, as long as I can keep my emotions at bay, until I get home at least, everything should be fine. There is no reason for me to see anyone from work over the summer, so when school starts again in the fall, we can just let it slip that we parted ways over the break. Better yet, maybe I can let it leak to the school big mouth and the breakup will be old news by the end of the summer.
With a couple clicks of my mouse, I shut down my computer and decide to call it a day. Forget Chase. I’m tired of thinking about him. It’s exhausting. I need to get out and feel like me again.
And I know just the place to do it.
“Hey, Summer,” Jessie calls out as I make my way into the tasting room.
A quick smile flashes over my face as I head to the bar. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Okay.” She pours a handcrafted brew and slides it across the worn wooden bar toward me. “How have you been? You haven’t come by in a while.”
“Just busy. It’s the end of the school year and I’m swamped.” Or maybe it has something to do with my swollen eyes that have finally gotten back to normal. I’ve been hiding out for weeks because I don’t want to answer any questions. Not now, while the wounds are still fresh and the slightest thing could set off tears. I’d rather just be alone.
Except for Jessie. She just pours the beer and makes small talk. Nothing serious. She’s not about to get into my business.
Unlike my colleagues. Thankfully, this isn’t the typical hangout for my teacher friends—or so-called friends. They usually go to one of the chain restaurants and drink fruity liquor or big label beers. Shelly thinks she’s this brew master when she really doesn’t know anything about a good beer at all. If this wasn’t my special place where I come to be alone without thoughts of work, my unfaithful dickhead of an ex, or my lack of girlfriends, I’d introduce her to this family-owned brewery. But it’s my hideout, my salvation and getaway, so I plan on keeping it that way for as long as possible.
“Wow, you must be trying to make up for lost time,” the beertender says, her dimples winking at me. “You’re going to be ready for another any minute.”
I let out a little chuckle.
“If I had a Designated Dave, I might drink more.”
Jessie tops off my dark ale before moving down the bar to another customer. Taking my pint with me, I slide off the barstool and find a seat at a makeshift table made from an empty keg and a piece of plywood. The Dodger game is on so I settle in for the night to watch my guys spank the Marlins—hopefully.
Just like I would if I was at the stadium, I stop drinking in the seventh inning. When my eye catches the bottom of the screen, I smile at the score. It’s been a great game and L.A. is up by four runs, which is a stark improvement from the last two nights. My students, who are Miami fans, can’t tease me with a broom tomorrow. There will be no sweeps in this series. Thank God.
“Don’t get too excited,” a deep voice says. “They still have plenty of time to blow it.”
I’m about to tell whoever this hater is where to shove it when I glance his way and almost swallow my tongue. Silently, I have to tell myself to close my mouth when I see the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. So I don’t look like a total dumbass, I quickly mumble, “Bite me,” and turn back to the TV, thinking I really wouldn’t mind if he did … bite me.
I so want to get a good look at him again. My heart speeds up at the thought and I have to take a deep slow breath to calm myself. Sweet
jeezus. This man is gorgeous. Thick, dark messy hair that begs to be pulled. I seriously just want to turn around and run my fingers through it. Just once. I have a feeling once would turn into many—kind of like trying to eat one Pringle. That never happens. Oh my, I’m comparing this hot guy to a potato chip. He’d be the best chip I’ve ever tasted, I bet.
My eyes blur as I focus too hard on the game. I guess blinking isn’t out of the question. Just letting my eyes roam is a no-no. Letting my neck turn to the side so my eyes can catch his is not an option. I’m here to watch a game, dammit. Drink some beer. Eat some peanuts. Not ogle the guy at the table next to me.
His chair grinds against the cement flooring and without moving my face at all, I can now see a hand with long fingers resting on a thigh. Those are some hard working hands. Not perfectly manicured, but not dirty. I shift in my own seat so I’m not tempted to keep glancing at his rough hand against his dark worn jeans.
Get a grip,
Summer. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good looking guy.
But this guy is a million miles away from
just
good looking. An adjective hasn’t been created to describe his level of sexiness.
The room erupts in cheers and I’m snapped from my thoughts. I return my attention to the screen and watch the replay. The Dodgers solidify their win with a double play at first and second.
“Yes,” I grunt, with a fist pump. And like any good L.A. fan, I hold up my hands to the others for a quick high-five to share in the celebration. After slapping hands with two dudes with impressive beer bellies, sexy guy holds out his right hand to me with a smoldering grin—damn those dreamy blue eyes—and presses his palm to mine. If it’s possible to get electrocuted by another human being, I just did. Tingles spread across my scalp from every hair follicle on my head down to the tips of my toes before zipping back up and settling in a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
That’s when I notice he has the most perfectly shaped plump lips, ripe and ready for kissing. And that dark stubble tracing his jaw
line is beyond hot.
Oh shit. My palm is still pressed to his as I commit every detail of his face to memory.
Yanking my hand back like I’ve just touched a flame, I take a mental picture of him and quickly turn away.
“See ya, Jess. I gotta run,” I yell over my shoulder.
I faintly hear her call out a goodbye as I practically sprint out of the brewery, my hand still sizzling from Sexy Guy’s brief touch.
Summer
Usually, I’m thrilled to work graduation. Seeing the students in their caps and gowns always fills my heart and brings tears to my eyes. It’s such a great finale to years of hard work. And I love witnessing the transitions that some of these kids go through. Some girls go from trying to be sexy little freshmen who wear the most provocative clothes to growing into their bodies and donning attire that fits and doesn’t cry out future hooker. The boys crack me up. Clothing doesn’t change much. But their confidence is what grows, along with their height. Unfortunately, this year’s graduation festivities will be tainted with
douchebaggery, otherwise known as Chase.
Speak of the cheating devil. I’m not a foot away from my car before I hear his voice.
“Summer, babe. Wait up!”
I keep walking. Maybe he’ll take the hint. We have fifteen minutes to get to our assigned duties and I don’t want to be late, or show up flustered by his stupidity.
“Babe, don’t be like that.” He catches my wrist in his hand and turns me around.
“Don’t be like what, Chase?”
The slimeball has the nerve to rub circles on the back of my hand with his thumb.
I glance down at the connection and raise a questioning brow at him. “Get your hand off me. And don’t ever touch me again.”
“But …” he starts to protest.
“But nothing, Chase. I don’t even want to talk to you much less hold your hand. Just go away.” I turn to walk away and he follows at my side.
“Where were you last night?” He has some nerve. I don’t answer him. “Summer, I called you several times and you didn’t answer. I drove by your place and your car wasn’t there. Where were you?”
“That’s none of your damn business. I don’t see
why it is so hard for you to understand that.” My pace quickens but he keeps up. Damn him.
Without warning, he grabs my shoulder and turns me to him, stopping us both in our tracks. “Are you seeing someone already?”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s asking me after being manhandled by the prick. “What? No.” But then an image of Sexy Guy flashes in my mind and I can feel my cheeks get hot. “Chase, I swear. If you don’t knock it off, I’ll file a complaint. Then, I’ll go to the police and get a restraining order.” The hard press of his fingers digging into my shoulder eases up. I’d already instinctively pulled my cell phone from my pocket. And if I had to, I was about to use those self-defense moves Sandra Bullock performed on Benjamin Bratt in Miss Congeniality.
“I can’t believe you’re already screwing someone. Has it even been a month?” He steps away from me, with a look of disgust on his face. Join the effing club, buddy. It’s the same look I’ve been giving him since I found out about his other woman. He starts to walk away but then turns back, shaking his head
. “What a whore.”
Whore? Oh my. I have to fight every part of my body that wants to take off my boot and chuck it at the back of his head. In moments like these, I can totally see how some women go Lorena
Bobbit on their men. He’s a total ass and is asking for it. How did I not see this sooner? I should be grateful he was unfaithful or I may have stayed with the bastard longer.
I swear
… I’m a douche magnet. I have the distinct talent of attracting dickhead men who don’t give a crap about me. I’m the in between woman. The one who they pass the time with until someone better comes along.
You’d th
ink I’d have kept my guard up, especially after last time.
Did you really think I was going to stay with you? Marry you? You’re kidding right? You don’t even wear makeup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you style your hair. Honey, you’ve got an awesome body but no one would ever know that with the way you dress. It was fun while it lasted but I was always looking for someone who was more of a woman.
Jeff was my college douchebag and while it’s been five years, I can recall his last words to me like the latest top Billboard hit.
I dated that one for over two years before I found out he’d been cheating on me for six months. Seeing him in action did wonders for my self-esteem. He was strolling out in the open on campus, without a care in the world, holding
another girl’s hand. When I saw them, walking straight toward me, I stopped. My feet couldn’t have moved if I tried.
He said, “Hey,
Summer. Have a good class. I’ll see you back at the apartment.” And then he kept on moseying along, still hand in hand with his other girlfriend.
I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I think I just stood there, speechless and motionless for several minutes before I hightailed it back to my place, ditching class in the process.
And that’s when he told me it was over. That I was just someone to keep him busy. Oh wait. First, he suggested that we still be together even though he was seeing someone else. Apparently, the other girl didn’t mind. But I did. I wasn’t about to be sleeping with someone who was obviously screwing another person on the side. Not knowingly, at least.
When I shared the news with my mom, she wasn’t surprised. My mom has always been my biggest cheerleader but she said it couldn’t hurt to put on some blush and wear a better bra.
At the time, I came to believe my lack of success with men came down to my lack of
girliness. I was in dire need of a makeover, apparently.
So that’s when I went from wearing Adidas hoodies, Gazelles, and jeans, with my hair in a braid or ponytail to wearing fitted pencil skirts, Miracle bras, expensive high-heels, styled hair and about twenty different brand name makeup products.
But, the transformation didn’t work. Not on Chase, anyway.
Maybe I’m destined to be an old maid. Maybe I should join the nunnery. When I turned thirteen, my dad started saying he was going to send me to one. He was joking, of course, but it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.
The graduation ceremony seems to fly by. It’s time for the faculty to stand in a long receiving line for the students to pass after they get their diplomas. While I stick to shaking their hands and bidding them farewell with the generic, “Congratulations
” and “Best of luck to you” one of my colleagues, a quirky ceramics teacher takes a humorous approach.
My ears perk up to her greetings, not sure if I’m really catching what she’s saying or if my mind is playing tricks on me.
But sure enough, I hear her say, “Don’t forget to wear condoms,” to a kid with multiple face piercings and an 8-inch Mohawk. He takes my hand next and I shrug, a silly grin plastered to my face. To another young man, she says, “Dude, chicks don’t dig guys who can’t finish the job, so lay off the ganja.” Huh? But then she raises her pointed index finger in the air and lets out a dramatic whistle as her finger slowly falls. I get what she means when he stands in front of me smelling like a bong.
“What the hell?” I glance at her in between graduates.
“Just passing on little nuggets of wisdom.” If that’s what she wants to call it, then so be it. At least, it’s free entertainment for me. Something to make me laugh while I’m being smothered with germs. By the end of the night I’m going to need to dump my hands in bleach. “Wow, check out this one.” She gestures to a girl with cheetah print patent leather hooker heels and makeup painted on like a Bratz doll. “Hey, honey. Don’t wear those shoes to your first job interview and tone down the eye shadow a notch too.” The young woman nods like a bobble head with a fake smile.