Tommy Sallow is onto better and brighter things. After working a small hometown beat in upstate New York, he's finally in sunny California. As expected, it's the same shit in a different town. Except, you know, now he's near the ocean and miserable...
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Ladies and gentleman, listen up. Tommy fucking Sallow is about to do the damn thing.
What thing is that? Three words.
Get the girl.
That's right. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna harness all of this angsty high-school feelings shit that I've been experiencing ever since Amber Hill came traipsing into my life with her beautifully complicated perfection and I'm going to turn that burning hot energy into something useful.
I'm gonna man-up and tell her how I feel.
I can't keep ignoring this feeling in my chest and I can't keep walking on eggshells around this woman. I've never been that guy and even if things with Amber require an extra dose of delicate care, that doesn't mean she's too delicate to get the real Tommy Sallow coming after her like I want to, right?
Just because she's healing doesn't mean she's fragile. If anything, Amber's so fucking good at being strong that she's probably damn near unbreakable now. Okay, that might be an exaggeration but whatever. She's fucking strong.
Every instinct in my body is telling me to go for it. Each moment we've shared on the beach, every small physical contact we've made, the way we make eyes at each other like a couple of love sick teenagers... it all points to something mutual and I'm gonna fucking go for it.
Also, might puke. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
What if she doesn't feel the same at all?
Oh fuck. I don't know if my heart would survive that beating.
No, stop it. You'll never know if you don't try.
The passenger window beside me slides down ever so slowly, the familiar squeaking sound it's always made permeating the atmosphere in this small patrol car. Is that me opening the window? I don't think it's me. Both of my hands are in my lap, one furiously popping the knuckles on the other.
I look over at Jimmy. "What was that for?"
He shrugs. "Looked like you needed some fresh air... are you about to blow chunks?"
"No," I blurt out. But then, the swirl in my gut tells me I'm not really sure. "Maybe."
Jimmy laughs. "Bro, you're so pale, you're giving me Casper vibes."
"Fuck you, Alcott. I've got a lot of things on my mind." I turn toward the open window and take in some of the welcome fresh air, trying to be discreet so Jimmy doesn't know he won.
"You got it bad," he chides with a smirk. "I've never seen you look so... I don't even know. Like you've got it bad."
Thanks, Captain Obvious.
I shoot him a look. "Do I have it bad, man? You want to elaborate on that at some point or just keep repeating your very helpful diagnosis?"
