The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (101 page)

“Anything besides playing Call of Duty will surprise me,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You know how I’ve been taking muscle relaxers at bedtime?”

She nodded.

“Well, I only took half of one because a full one makes me groggy if I don’t get like ten hours of sleep. Anyway, I’m sleeping and Jared tries to wake me up to have sex.”

“Eww, what did you do? Pretend you were asleep?” she asked with a disgusted look on her face.

“I remember telling him that I took a muscle relaxer and him telling me that he would do all the work.”

“What a pig!”

“I know, and I really was asleep—mostly. I barely remember anything.”

“That’s like rape,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not.” I laughed. “I would have wanted to do it if I could. Those pills knock me the fuck out.”

“Whatever, I still think he took advantage of you.”

After that, we sat in silence, waiting for the plane. Nicole hated Jared and part of me didn’t blame her. I’ve hated most of her old boyfriends.

Soon we boarded our six and half hour flight to LAX, both of us engrossing ourselves in our books that we were currently reading, occasionally taking breaks in between chapters for little catnaps .

*~*~*

W
e made it to Los Angeles and boarded the last bus to the docks.

“Are you going to tell people you have a boyfriend?” Nicole asked me.

“Of course. You know I’m not interested in meeting anyone.”

“But we are going on a
singles
cruise.”

“Yeah, a cruise you tricked me into going on.” I laughed.

“Just have fun. I don’t want you moping around,” Nicole said, crossing her arms over her chest. “In fact, if you do meet someone and hook up with them, I won’t tell Jared.”

“I won’t be moping around. Don’t be ridiculous. And I’m not going to cheat on Jared.”

“I’m serious. If you do meet a hot guy, I won’t tell. You know I hate that loser.”

“I know, but I won’t be cheating on him. I’m here for you and to get a tan—oh, and a massage.”

Nicole gave me a stern look then looked out the window at the Southern California scenery—or lack thereof. There was nothing but buildings everywhere. Once we got down to the docks, we took pictures of the Queen Mary that was docked nearby and hurried to board our ship.

We checked in after going through security. People actually thought they could bring alcohol on the ship; some were trying to be slick and poured vodka in gallon jugs of water, thinking they’d make it look like water, but the guards were onto them and confiscated those, too.

We posed for a picture on our way to the ship like they do at Disneyland. A fake tropical background was created by using miniature palm trees, a beach ball, beach chair, and even a fake sandcastle.

We giggled as we walked up the long ramp towards the ship, not believing that Spring Break was already here, and for eight days at that. Growing up, I never imaged I would be traveling—let alone going out of the country. I never imagined that I would be able to go on vacations, because I always felt like a mother to Bailee, like I had to stay behind and make money to support my family.

At fifteen, I got a job so Bailee could afford to participate in school activities and buy some of the clothes that she wanted. My mother left us minimal funds when she would go out of town, and I was tired of Bailee not being able to go to the movies with her friends. Now that she was off to college, I felt like I had to be a mother to Jared instead.

Our rent was expensive, and Jared always bought expensive gaming equipment or something for his car. My money was spent on groceries and sending some money to Bailee while she was at college.

I hadn’t seen my mother in almost four years—since Bailee turned eighteen and went off to Berkeley. I didn’t care. It wasn’t like she was around much when I was growing up anyway. She last told me that she moved to Beverly Hills to live with her rich boyfriend, whom I’ve never met. Bailee told me that she had tried to see our mom on the weekends since Berkeley is only a short plane ride to Beverly Hills, but our mother always had plans.

So, if it weren’t for Nicole, I wouldn’t have made this trip. I realized as the wind blew through my hair that I needed to get out more. I needed to stop my normal routine of working and hanging out with Nicole on Friday and Saturday nights, with my only me time being the bi-weekly manis and pedis I treated myself to, and start living my life for
me
. I needed to travel, see the world, and let my hair down. Jared was thirty-four; he could learn to cook and help clean around the apartment. Shit, he needed to get out of the house, too!

“I just want to say thank you for giving me this gift. If it weren’t for you, I would be at home, doing laundry and getting ready for the work week. No matter what happens, let’s just have fun. I’ll be your wingwoman and get you a shitload of phone numbers,” I said, linking my arm through Nicole’s.

“I knew I would have to force you to come; that’s why I paid for it before I gave it to you. And I hope to get more than phone numbers,” Nicole said as she winked at me.

We laughed as we stood in the long line of people waiting to board the ship. Everything was about standing in lines. Lines to board the bus, lines to go through security, lines to check-in, lines to take our picture with the fake tropical background, and now lines to board the ship.

Once we made it to the front of the line, a man with a Hispanic accent greeted us. “My name is Waldo and I will be your Steward and show you to your cabin. Your bags will be delivered there shortly,” he said as he gestured for us to follow him.

Nicole and I turned towards each other, wide-eyed and speaking telepathically.

“Did he just say ‘Waldo’?” she asked without words, raising her eyebrows.

I nodded and spoke without words back, “Yes. Yes, he said his name is Waldo”.

We both bit our lips, trying not to laugh.

“That’s an uncommon name you have, Waldo,” I said, still trying not to laugh.

“Yes, I get that a lot. It’s not because of your American books,
Where’s Waldo
, even though I hear that a lot, too.”

“It’s not?” Nicole asked.

Waldo led us down a grand staircase, showing us a bar, the desk where we could book excursions and a Duty Free shop. The Grand Foyer was beautiful. The floor appeared to be made out of white marble, and it sparkled against the overhead lights and chandeliers. People relaxed near a white Grand Piano, sipping cocktails and already enjoying their vacation. The lights reflected off the marble, and it reminded me of being at a ball...well, what balls were depicted as in movies, that is.

We waited for an elevator as he explained his name—probably for the ten millionth time. “My brother and I are twins, and my mother loves the poetry by Ralph Waldo Emerson. My brother was born first—by twenty-three minutes.” He frowned. “His name is Ralph, and well—I’m Waldo.”

“Did you know the book was originally called
Where’s Wally?
when it was published first in the UK? It was changed to
Where’s Waldo?
for the US and Canada,” I said, getting into the elevator.

“How do you know that?” Nicole asked.

“Bailee loved looking for that man for hours in his red-and-white-striped shirt, bobble hat and big, round, black glasses. I don’t remember where I first learned about that particular fact, though.” I smiled.

“I did not know that,” Waldo said, ushering us out of the elevator.

We followed Waldo down a narrow, dimly lit hallway with no windows. The carpets were a dark blue with different color stars randomly scattered throughout, making the hallway appear darker. Porters were hustling and delivering bags to rooms, and we followed Waldo to our room.

He ushered us into a small, cramped room with two twin beds that lined the walls with tiny bedside tables beside each, and an ocean-view window centered in the middle over them. The blue carpet with stars mimicked the carpet from the halls.

We didn’t make it far into the room before I spoke, looking around the room, “You couldn’t splurge and get me a suite for my birthday?”

E
aston

The closer our plane got to California, the more I felt like a bad father. I was going on an eight day vacation without my daughter. Avery told me to relax, but he wasn’t a father—not to mention a single father—and he had no clue. What if something were to happen to me? What if the ship were to break down in the middle of the ocean and we died? Cheyenne would be left without any parents.

“You need to calm the fuck down before they think we have a you know what in your backpack, man,” Avery said, leaning over and whispering in my ear.

“Yeah, Daddy, I’m gonna be fine. Grandma and Grandpa P said they would take me to Disneyland and California Adventure this week.”

“Tell him, C.C. Tell your dad that he’s being a little B.”

Cheyenne laughed at him. I kept my mouth shut as my head went left and right, looking at them talk over me as I sat in the middle seat on the plane. Cheyenne insisted that she get the window seat so she could see everything as we flew over.

“Daddy, I’m ten going on eleven. I think I can survive without you for a week.” She rolled her eyes.

“Since when did you become such a big girl?” I asked, rubbing the top of her head.

“Oh my God, don’t mess up my hair!”

My little Peanut was growing up. My mother told me that she was going to be a handful, especially when she reached her teens. I wasn’t looking forward to raising a teenage daughter. I was, however, looking forward to chasing off punk ass boys who thought they could win me over with “yes, sir” and “no, sir”. I was a master at that shit when I was a hormonal, teenaged boy, trying to get into all the hot girls’ pants at school.

“I know you will be fine without me for a week, Peanut. I just wish you were coming with us.”

“Uncle A told me that there won’t be any kids on the boat. I don’t want to go with a bunch of old people.”

I laughed. “Thirty-one is
not
old.”

“Yeah, huh!”

“Keep it up and I’ll be too old to play catch with you and teach you how to hit a softball.”

Every day after school, Cheyenne and I would go to the park and play catch. I had four weeks to teach her how to catch and throw a ball properly, and she did really well. She was a natural. Hitting a softball—was another story. I think she was scared, but when I asked, she would tell me she wasn’t and storm off.

When we returned from our trip, she would start practicing with her team. Courtney’s dad, Phil, let me sign up for assistant coach as we discussed. Practice would work out perfectly since I worked mornings at the bar Tuesday through Thursday; doing paperwork and practice would be over by the time I had to be at the bar on Friday nights. Also, if things worked out with Bethy managing the bar and the assistant manager, Trent, Avery and I wouldn’t need to be at Halo all that often.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder.

Every time she told me she loved me, it melted my heart, and I was putty in her hands.

*~*~*

B
ill and Trish were waiting at the baggage claim at LAX when we touched down. Avery and I were taking a bus to the docks, and since Bill and Trish lived about forty minutes from the airport, it made better sense for them to pick her up rather than me have to hire a car for just a few hours to drive her there.

“You be a good girl for your grandparents,” I said to Cheyenne, hugging her just outside the doors of the airport. “And tell your mom ‘hi’ for me, okay?”

Cheyenne nodded, and I kissed her cheek. Bill and Trish always took Cheyenne to Dana’s grave to
see her
. None of us could let Cheyenne come to Southern California and not
see
her. Cheyenne would talk to Dana like she was really there, and at first, it choked me up, but now, it just made me happy.

“I will. I can’t wait to tell her that I’m going to play softball just like she did. I’m going to tell her that I want to play third base like she did, too.”

“She’s going to be so proud of you, Peanut.”

Cheyenne said goodbye to Avery, and I kissed the top of her head and watched her walk away with Bill and Trish, waving until she got to the crosswalk. Avery nudged me, telling me it was time to go before we missed our bus. My heart ached as I watched my Peanut walk away, talking about telling Dana how she would be following in her footsteps.

“I need a drink,” I said, willing my eyes to dry so no one would see me cry.

“Let’s do this shit!”

*~*~*

“H
ow the fuck are we supposed to get laid in a twin?” I asked Avery as we walked into the ten by thirteen closet of a room. I heard our steward, Alex, behind us trying to stifle a laugh.

“Just tap into your teenage years and make her be on top,” he said, slapping me on the back.

Since when was I taking sex advice from Avery?

“Your bags will be here shortly,” Alex said, giving us a knowing smile. He knew what was up. “If you need anything, just use the phone there,” he said as he pointed to a phone on the small desk below the tiny ass TV that hung on the wall in a corner, “and have them page me. I will bring whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Avery said, pulling out his wallet and handing him a ten. “We will.”

I felt claustrophobic as I looked around the room. It was tiny with twin beds, miniature side tables, a miniature TV, and there was a miniature desk at the end of one twin bed and a loveseat at the end of the other. They packed so much furniture in the room, there was barely room to walk. The bathroom had a walk-in shower that was so small, I was sure my six-foot-two frame would hit the showerhead, a toilet and a sink with a tiny countertop. New York apartments were small—but not this small—and I had to bunk with Avery for seven nights in it.
Fuck me
.

“I’m going to laugh so hard when you fall off the bed in the middle of the night,” I said, laughing at him. We weren’t used to sleeping on twin-sized beds.

“Fuck you! Like you’re used to a twin.” He paused and motioned towards the beds that lined the walls. “I was thinking...we could push the two twins together when one of us brings a chick back.”