Page 92 of Doctorshipped
“Show us!” Shannon says.
“No!” Jayme turns back to her friend and protests. “It’s embarrassing!”
“I’ll just go on and check myself.”
“Gah. You’re evil!” Jayme says playfully.
Shannon raises a brow.
“Okay. Okay. Give me a minute,” Jayme says, fishing for something in her purse.
Brooks is beaming, and Duke looks amused at whatever’s going on. Fiona cranes her neck to look over Jayme’s shoulder, obviously as curious as I am about what Jayme’s about to show her friends.
Jayme pulls out her phone and taps a few icons, scrolls and then a photo fills the screen. Brooks is dressed as a vampire and his mouth is on Jayme’s neck. She swipes to the next photo and things only go from bad to worse. Brooks and Jayme have delighted expressions on their faces. Their eyes are locked and they look like a couple in love.
I look up at Brooks. He’s got that playful puppy dog smile plastered across his face.
Fiona’s giggling hopelessly, dragging Dad’s attention to Jayme’s phone.
Duke smacks Brooks on the back. “Way to go, man.”
Way to go? Did I miss my chance with Jayme because I wasted time convincing myself I wasn’t right for her or she wasn’t right for me? Did I push her into Brooks’ arms by being pig headed and socially inept? I cross my arms over my chest, pulling away from my surroundings.
Jayme turns around and our eyes meet. She looks embarrassed. “You didn’t see those, did you?”
“I saw.”
I feel the severity of the look I give her ripple through my face and spread across my rigid body like a series of lock mechanisms snapping shut inside a vault.
Jayme turns back toward the field.
I spend the rest of the ball game ignoring a girl running around dressed as an insect with a glowing light on her butt screaming, “Mighty Fireflies!” The whole torturous hour, images of Brooks and Jayme taking the whole vampire cosplay thing to another level fill my brain. Did he kiss her? Did she like it? Why didn’t I kiss her? Should I buy a vampire costume? What would be the use?
By the time the Mighty Fireflies defeat the Beastly Beavers, I’m a ball of pent up frustration. My features have been neutralized, but my body nearly hums with aggravation. Dad reaches out to touch me on the arm and I unexpectedly jump from the contact.
“Touchy?” he asks in a very professional, physician-on-duty voice, laced with his usual teasing tone.
“Ready to head home,” I answer.
“But, Daddy! The team and everyone is staying for the barbecue and potluck afterward. And there will be water balloons and face painting!”
Yippee.
My dad shakes his head at me. “How ’bout I stay with Fiona while you head home to hole up with yourself so you can give those sulky thoughts and feelings an opportunity to fester a while longer.”
Fiona scrunches up her face in confusion, but I read my Dad’s comment as plainly as he said it. He knows what has me in knots, and he’s not-so-subtly telling me to man up.
My façade cracks for the briefest moment and I send my dad a pleading look. I finally allowed my heart to feel all these emotions, and she’s being bitten by another man, happily so, or at least it seems.
Dad actually rolls his eyes at me like I’m some overly-dramatic, petulant child.
“Come on, Fee. We’ll go get some water balloons and hotdogs while your dad figures out what he wants to be when he grows up.”
Dad stands and pats my shoulder. “A battle is not the war, son. And things are not always as they appear.”
With that cryptic message hanging in the air, he turns, takes Fiona’s hand, and heads over to the empty field where more and more people are converging for a post-game celebration.
Small towns. Always gathering and mingling and celebrating the most inane things.
