OMG. I DON'T WANT TO BE IN TROUBLE. Thanks to ink-stained-frenzy for pointing that out. :)) It took a little longer than expected, but I hope you people enjoy it. It was actually pretty hard to write, and considering the little time I have left, I had to hurry it up. I expect two more chapters, one of them being an epilogue, I think. Just to remind myself, this story takes place in one night. Pretty long, eh? :))
I don't own anything, like everyone else.
I'm on a new high now. A totally new high.
I'm on the dancefloor, certainly not dancing, but my arms are tightly wrapped around Macy Misa's waist, who happens to be the girl that I've been dreaming about since who knows when, her hands are wound around my neck, pulling me even closer to her than I already am so I can almost feel her heartbeat on my chest, and my feet are moving to the beat of a live rendition of Strange and Beautiful by Aqualung himself.
I am really, really loving this right now.
"We haven't done this in quite a while," she points out, and I can feel her fingers playing with my hair. I bite my bottom lip discreetly, hoping it will stop the goosebumps.
"That we have not," I reply, and I look down into her brown eyes, the only pair I can honestly just stare into and immediately be reminded of chocolate. Why can't mine be like that?
"Do you remember the last time we did this?," she asks, and I'm finding it even harder to focus now because she keeps wrapping her hands with my curls.
"That I do," I say, thankful that she finally lets her hands fall unto my chest, but then my heart speeds up again because now her fingers are tapping to the song, "it was just a few weeks before you left for your training. It was during an after party for the VMA's, and Rooney was playing. Some jerk spilled his drink all over you in the middle of 'I'm Shakin'-"
"Wasn't that Joe?"
"Some jerk spilled his drink all over you," I repeat, emphasizing my point, "so you had to borrow one of my shirts because you smartly did not bring any extra clothes-"
"I thought we were going home after," she defends herself, a red tinit creeping up on to her face, "how was I supposed to know that you guys reserved rooms in some hotel-"
"That was the Ritz-Carlton, it was very expensive-"
"Right," she says, smiling cheekily.
Jesus Christ, I'm gonna die.
"And you stayed the night, with yours truly, of course, because I could've killed Joseph when he offered to let you sleep in his room to make up for his spill-"
"He meant that as a joke," she says, giggling again at my over-protectiveness.
"He was talking to me, Mace," I tell her, "you know how I am, especially when it comes to you-"
"Aww," she says, "I have a little stalker."
"Well, stalking only got me so far," I reply, giving her a little smile. Definitely not rare, at least around her. "So, Olympic figure skating team, right? I'm really proud of you."
"Thanks, but you know what," she tells me, and she's smiling, but she looks a little depressed, "there's nothing exactly to be really proud of."
"I don't understand," I reply, narrowing my eyes at her.
"It's kinda complicated-"
"I feed on anything complicated, I'm a songwriter," I tell her, tightening my grip on her as she proceeds to hold on to my neck, "do tell."
"You might make a number one hit out of this," she jokes, grinning and showing off her perfect, pearly white teeth.
"I wouldn't do that to you," I answer, ignoring the urge to just kiss her full on the mouth and get this over with, "now, go, tell me what happened to you."
She looks at me apprehensively, the grin gone from her face, then she drops her stare and says, not in a sad tone, but definitely not happy, "I'm sorta out of the team."
"What?," I question, "why are you out of the team? Did your boyfriend kick you out?"
"Well," she starts out, her head snapping back up, and a faraway look in her eyes, "in context, he kind of did-"
"You want me to kick his ass for you-"
"No, that won't really be needed," she says, laughing softly, "besides, it was actually my choice to go."
"So he kicked you out, but you wanted to leave?," I state again.
"It's actually reversed, but yeah, in a nutshell," she confirms, and she continues, presumably because of the bewildered expression on my face, "the thing is, I wasn't supposed to be here today. I was actually on my way back to Vancouver, for an exhibition thing to determine who was really going to be on the team."
"They do that?"
"I dunno, but they did," she replies with a shrug, "anyway, the day for the departure was the same day as the wedding. So I tried to convince Enzo-"
"Enzo?," I ask, "that's your boyfriend?"
"If by boyfriend, you mean the coach that I dated for a year and gave me a lot of expensive stuff, then yes, that's him."
"Huh," I exclaim, "he has a strange name."
"He must be Asian or something," she says with a little tilt of her head, "so I asked him if I could just skip out and come here, because, you know, it's my best friend's wedding."
"So, he let you go?"
"Quite the contrary," she says, and I can hear a faint trace of bitterness in her voice, "he was very adamant on not letting me leave. He told me that I couldn't just waste five years of training and just throw it away all because someone I knew was getting married."
"So, how exactly did you get here?"
"Well, it wasn't really easy," she begins, her hands tightly bound around my neck, "I've been hounding him about it since yesterday, but he really wouldn't hear of it. I tolkd him I wasn't going, and that I would stay put here, so as an attempt to go against it, I didn't pack a single thing."
"He ended up packing it himself," I take a wild guess, and with Macy, it's usually not wild.
"That he did," she answers simply, "but I tried, right? So we were already in the airport when I ripped my ticket, and told him that Stella would always be important to me, more than him, and more than making the team."
"What a rebel," I say, chuckling a little. I find it funny, yeah, but only because she hardly ever fights back or gets mad.
"Yeah, and you know what?," she resumes to say, "it felt so freaking good."
"Right, real proud of you, Misa," I say to her, the right corner of my mouth going up slightly. That again, huh.
"Unfortunately, that got him really pissed, so he said, if I wouldn't go to Canada, I not only lose my chance to go to the Olympics, but I would lose him too," she says rather quickly, as if she wanted to get it over with quickly.
"What the hell-"
"Yeah, I'd rather not repeat it, Nick," she says.
I give her a good look, but I can't seem to tie it all 's telling me that she just lost an opportunity to get her biggest dream, and possibly, her dream guy, who just might be Asian; but instead of looking downtrodden and depressed like any other person would be, she's kind of sunshine-y. Literally. She's glowing. "So, I guess I know what you picked."
"That you do, I'm afraid," she says.
"I'm sorry your boyfriend's such an ass-"
"Me too," she replies, and I'm trying so hard not to let my hands fall lower down her hips, "if he won't let me go to the wedding of my best friend, who is already practically my sister, after he trained me half to death six days a week-you know, I can't remember the last time I sat down during a training session- he was hell to work with. And he pretty much sucked as a boyfriend-"
"What about all the expensive stuff?"
"Oh, those. That was all actually just things he bought for himself," she replies, laughing a little as she recalls, "there was the Omega watch, which was still loose even when I wore it on my ankle, the clothing from Topman-"
"You look very good in men's clothing, especially when it's mine-"
"Yes, I am aware of that," she says, smiling, "plus, there was the Hummer. Then again, I didn't really mind that one, but he ended up using it more than I did."
"I'm still sorry," I tell her, giving her an apologetic face.
"I've been with better men in my life," she says, shrugging again, "no regrets."
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking which men in particular, and I continue, "not about him. I'm sorry you lost your chance to finally get that gold medal-"
"Oh, no, I'm not upset-"
"But you've been training for more than half your life for that, and I'm not trying to add insult to injury, but you kinda gave up your shot at it-"
"I'm not upset, Nick," she reassures me, smiling slightly, "I play twenty-three different sports, I highly doubt that I can't get into the team for something other than ice skating."
"But-"
"And besides, I was getting tired of the ice," she continues, shushing me, "I was starting to miss the basketballs and badminton and tennis rackets. Macy Misa wasn't meant to just participate in one athletic activity."
"I am somehow not really all that convinced," I say, still trying to convince myself that there is some sort of hesitancy in there somewhere, even though she's clearly expressing that there is none.
"Ah, well, since when do I ever do?," she says dismissively. Ouch on my part. But I am pulled back into bliss when she momentarily sets her hand on my cheek and asks me, "so, what has Nick Lucas been up to"
"I went solo," I reply, and I mean it in more ways than one.
"Don't you go implying me in this," she says, giving me a knowing look, "but what really happened to JONAS? Stella never really told me the whole story."
"Simple," I start out, "when Kevin had Adam, we all figured that being out on the road six months every year, and spending the rest working and recording didn't leave him much time to be a dad; trust me, he tried, so we decided that JONAS has had its time."
"And it was very well spent."
"Yup," I agree, "so, he juggled being an all around family man with being an all around entrepreneur, such as mass-producing the Velcro Christmas Tree for kids, as invented by Conan O'Brien, kinda surprised that Coco agreed to it-"
"Will you laugh if I say I have one?"
"No, because I have the mini version in my apartment," I quipped up in a hurry, "anyways, Joe went on to becoming a blockbuster-starring, and one time Oscar nominated actor, and he got married-"
"I know that much," she says, and with a sweet smile, she goes on to say, "I kinda miss JONAS."
"Well, we miss our number one fan," I say, chuckling quietly, "especially me, 'cause, you know-"
"Yeah, I think I do," she says, returning the laugh. Infectious, adorable, addicting crap, that's what it is. "But I wanna hear about you."
"Well," I begin, thinking, "on the fourteenth of February, four years ago-"
"Don't you have anything to talk about besides the Grammy?"
"Not really. That was pretty much the highlight of the last five years, I don't really have anything going for me," I reply, "life went on, quote endquote, I went solo, recorded two albums about this girl, which you really don't need to know about," I say uneasily, eyeing the cheeky look she's giving me. "And, well, that's pretty much it. No girl, not any that stood out anyway."
"How many did you date?"
"Well," I try to recall, going through the list mentally, "there was Mandy, Amy, Abby, Chelsea, Penny-yeah, again-Jenny, Gabbie, Erich, Kim, Nikki, Zoey-"
"So," she cuts in, "just a few girls, huh?"
"Yeah, just a few," I say, shrugging.
"And you don't think any of them will ever be good enough for you?," she asks me a little too casually.
"I dunno," I tell her, "but I'm sure that none of them will ever be as good as you. Just saying."
And, to my slight disappointment, she doesn't blush, but then again, to my great joy, she giggles lightly, and gives me a small smile.
"You're not turning Pinky Pink," I note out loud, but I can't help but cherish that little smirk she's giving me.
"What? You expect me to blush whenever you compliment me?," she says, closing the space between us a little more as if she were threatening me.
It's sort of working.
"Would you step away a little," I ask, noticing that our noses are almost touching again. It's not that I don't want to be close to her; it's just that I tend to get a little light-headed, and stuff that shouldn't be mentioned comes out of my mouth without me thinking through them.
"Why? Do I make you nervous?," she asks sweetly, prodding her finger on my cheek.
Hell yeah. "No, I just need some space."
She raises an eyebrow, but she obliges and leans back a little, saying, "whatever you want, Lucas."
I get a little glimpse of her face, and I'm a little surprised to see that her her eyes are looking down, her smile looks a little flat, and one of the corners of her mouth are twitched up, like the time she found out someone else had gotten the spot in the soccer team to go to Madrid.
Oh, dear God. I wanna die.
"Why are you biting your lip?," she asks, noticing that I'm biting down on my bottom lip, and trying very hard to not show it.
"I'm not biting anything,"I say while desperately trying to avoid her gaze.
"Nick, even your own nephew knows when you're lying-"
"Right, I keep on forgetting about that," I say, looking back at her, "I guess it's from the pineapple, you know how itchy my mouth gets when I eat some-"
"Is it because of me?," she says, mimicking me and biting her lips as she smiles as well.
"Oh, so it's your turn to gloat now," I mutter quietly, chuckling again.
"Yeah, it sort of is," she says, her smile growing even wider, "so? Under my spell or what?"
"Ah, well, since when was I ever not?," I answer, disappointed with myself.
She grins in return, and says jokingly, "don't get your hopes up."
"I know," I reply, though I think it turns out to be more serious than I intend it to be, because she drops her smile, "I mean, that's why I have this ring, right?," I say, gesturing to the purity ring, still not gone at twenty-four (what an embarrassment) placed on the ring finger of my left hand. "And besides, you're kind of over me, so what's the point of hoping?"
She stares at me seriously, a small, sort of sad smile playing on her lips, and her fingers stroking my cheek lightly. I feel myself tingling, but I ignore the urge to tremble, or any action similar to it. She wipes off something close to my mouth, leans in even closer than the first time, and says, "you know what, Nick? I think this is the first time that you have been completely and utterly wrong about me."
Huh? What did she say?
"Umm, but Mace," I try to begin, but before I can get another word out, she brings her face even closer, so our noses our practically rubbing each other, her hands are in my hair, the curls wrapping themselves around her fingers, and her eyes are closed shut. I think she's trying to kiss me. I want to think that she's trying to kiss me. I want her to. Damn, I want her to.
I want to give in. Damn it, I'm gonna give in.
"Should I-"
"Yeah, I don't mind," she answers, before she leans in a little more, and her top lip brushes against mine ever so lightly, for less than a second.
Oh, holy shit.
I almost lean in, I almost give in, I almost kiss her back, but I don't.
Not because I don't want to. It's because Stella, God bless her heart, barges in, giving me an apologetic face, and says, "sorry, God I'm sorry, Nick, but there's someone who wants to see Macy. He says he won't stop taking the stuff off the tables and leave if she doesn't talk to him."
"And who is this guy," I ask, releasing my hold on her and stepping away, ruffling my hair in frustration. She points out to the main entrance of the ballroom, and standing there, either talking or arguing with Kevin and, surprise, surprise, Frankie, is a tall, jet-black haired, muscle-y guy who looks like he can dance a mean tango.
"Oh, God, no," Macy says, looking over as well. When a Misa looks apprehensive, it usually doesn't mean anything good. She looks over to me, and says, "Nick, I'm so sorry, I'll get rid of him-"
"Yeah, yeah," I say, smiling, but I can't help but feel disheartened. The guy's around a head taller than Kevin, therefore he's taller than me, and he's kinda macho. I am supposed to compare to this guy, but how? "I presume that's Enzo."
"You presumed correctly," she says nervously. "I'm sorry, I didn't know he was going to follow me here-"
"It's fine," I say, but hell, it's not. "Don't rush it."
She nods quickly, and sprints in her four inch heels to this Enzo dude, how women walk in those things it's a wonder, but I forget about it and turn to Stella, saying, "I'm screwed."
"You are not screwed," she tries to assure me, patting my shoulder.
"Yeah, I am," I counter, "her boyfirend-"
"Ex-boyfriend-"
"There's never any difference anymore," I say, waving her off, "he's gonna apologize, she's gonna forgive him, they're gonna get back together, and live happily ever after. It happens in every chick flick I've seen."
"You, apparently, haven't seen very many then," she says, shaking her head, "usually, the good guys get the girl-"
"Who said that I was the good guy here?," I say, "she was dating that guy last, and I bet they were having a fairy tale of a romance-"
"You two were having said romance," she reasons with me, grabbing my arm and shaking it.
"How could we? I'm the quiet, shy and serious rockstar, she's the loud, quirky and cheery sports star. How is that going to end well?," I say, and I have no idea why I'm letting her play with my arm. "They're two figure skaters who want an Olympic medal, I don't know how more perfect it could be."
"Again, you don't watch many of these movies," she says, "chick flick couples are usually very different from each other, but I don't really see the difference between you two, though-"
"Whatever you're gonna say, Stella, I don't think it will really help at this point. I doubt we're ever gonna get whatever we had back then-"
"But you almost did back there-"
"That was until you came in," I tell her straight, wrenching my arm free from her grip.
She stares at me with narrow eyes, with an expression that can only be described as, 'oh, no you didn't.'
Well, only one of us can really play that game wel anyway, so I don't really have anything to say.
"I'll be by the bar," I say, and I leave her there before she can stop me with another attempted pep talk.
I almost had it.
Life isn't being very nice to me today.
Ohhhh...trouble...:))
Ah, not really. Expect the expected, that way I can make it "UNEXPECTED" and get away with it, sorta. Expect to have it finished by Sunday, or later. :))
Review. Go on, I'm waiting.