Page 91 of Hot Mess Express
Those words scramble up my brain, locking my mouth up. I can’t seem to respond to that at all.Maybe that’s the point.
Between Juniper and Pete’s inseparable giddiness and Bridger with his overprotective demeanor, I feel totally outside myself as we stroll through the park in this weird city. Maybe it’s being out of Spruce for the weekend that has me feeling likesomeone else. Like I’m capable of being anything I want out here. Anyone I want. No one looks twice when I’m dancing my drunken ass off at the club or falling on my face. No one bats an eye when the four of us are guffawing over something stupid Pete does or a funny sound Juni makes when a random duck starts chasing her near the pond.
I wonder what happens when we go back home.
Back to Spruce.
To reality.
“But, like, this is reality, too,” says Juni, sounding her dreamy self, as we stay back to watch Bridger and Pete go to the edge of the pond to feed the ducks. The guys are teasing each other, being funny, taunting one another with the bread and snide remarks we don’t hear. “It doesn’t have to go away when we leave.”
“Things just aren’t the same back home,” I mumble. “With my parents. My dad in particular. The way everyone looks at me. Even Trey sometimes, like he’s got these hopes and dreams in his eyes, hopes and dreams I’ll never live up to. It’s annoying.”
“At least you have people hoping and dreaming for you.” Juni sighs. “I can’t remember the last time anyone expected anything from me. Other than my deadbeat dad expecting me to spot him for another fix, whatever drug he’s on lately.”
“Pete’s probably expectinglotsof things from you,” I point out just as he happens to turn around, glance at us, then smile at Juni suggestively, making a face I think he thinks is sexy, but just looks weird as fuck.
Juni, however, eats it up. “Mmm, yeah,” she sighs, delighted.
Then I realize those expectations likely have to do with how she plans to tie him up, or spank him, or gag him, or whatever else those two were up to last night.
“By the way,” says Juni, turning to me, “Pete told me Bridgerhasn’t had a boyfriend since before his first tour.”
I frown at her. “What? Boyfriend? Huh?”
“Bridger acts all big and strong, but maybe he’s lonely, too.” Tiny hearts flutter in her eyes. “So sweet. And now he’s got you to squeeze at night.”
“Slow down, slow down,” I say through a laugh. “We just had sex last night. I’m still figurin’ myself out. We’re not a thing yet.”
“Oh, me too, me too,” Juni assures me. “Pete’s just a fun thing right now. But, like, also we’re gonna marry someday.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s either a hundred miles an hour or no miles an hour with you.”
“At least I’m fun,” she says, then bats a fly away with sudden violence, startling herself.
We stop somewhere for lunch, seated at a picnic table outside by the street under the shade of a huge striped umbrella, Bridger and I on one bench, Juni and Pete cuddled on the other sharing two halves of a sub sandwich. By now, Bridger and I have gotten used to the lovebirds, and the four of us seem pretty much aware of this unexpected bubble of lovey-dovey peace we’ve managed to create around us—a bubble that feels so invincible and sure, not a damned thing can hope to pop it.
It’s early evening. The pins burst at the end of the lane when Pete scores another strike, earning an explosion of applause and whistles from Juni. I’m biting my lip as Bridger, with his sexy jeans and tight butt, struts up to take his turn. The way he bowls is so by the book, preparing the ball, seeking its holes, positioning it just right, assuming the pose, then doing the perfect walk with the ball swinging back in a calculated arc before releasing it. It rolls with deafening thunder, then crashes into the pins with perfection—but only knocks down seven, leaving him a split. I’m finishing up a basket of mediocre fries we were sharing, foot bouncing in place. Bridger cleans up with a spare. I applaud, cheering him on loudly, then watch him strutback to his seat next to me.
While Juni takes her turn, I lean into him. “You looked so hot up there, takin’ charge of that lane, makin’ it beg for mercy.”
“Is that what you call barely scraping together a spare?” He chuckles. “Look at Pete, wiping up the floor with us, all of those strikes in a row. Didn’t know he was a closet bowling prodigy.”
“Or a closet kinky dude, huh? Unless that’s all Juni.” We both glance their way. Pete is giving Juni pointers at the lane, but it’s fairly obvious the two are just flirting, probably cracking juvenile jokes involving finger holes and balls. “They’re cute together.”
“We’re cute, too.”
I look at him. “We?”
Bridger’s face tightens. “Well, I mean …” He gazes off. “Never mind, nothing.”
“What?” I snort. “You enjoyin’ your time with me a little too much? Is your heart singin’ songs, dancin’ around like a schoolboy with a crush when I’m not lookin’?”
“Bet yours is,” he mumbles, then returns his bright blue eyes to me, smirking cockily.
It’s my turn to frown and look away. “Shut up.”
“It’s okay to enjoy this, y’know. Our day out together.”
