Zipped

1

I knew I really shouldn't be wasting my time on Facebook, waiting for James Dawson's name to appear in the group created specifically for our high school homecoming. He was the only boyfriend I'd ever had in high school and we hadn't lasted for very long, just a couple of weeks maybe. I noticed the other girls flirting with him, but the real blockbuster was the bombshell hottie by the name of Michael Zipressenbaum. Everyone called him Zip. We used to be neighbors in Ketchum, Idaho. He'd also been my best friend back then.

Of course if I were honest to myself, I'd admit there was another person I was also waiting for, but I didn't want to entertain the thought. Zip was off-limits.

Speaking of Zip, his name suddenly popped in the group chat box. My heart skipped a beat as my gut did a crazy backflip.

Mike Zipressenbaum: Hey you, Jessica Clark!  Speak up!

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, ignoring his message. He was still the same old notorious Zip. As a kid he'd been the Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn of Thistle Lane, combined.

Zip was tall, dark-haired, green-eyed and had all the muscles where it mattered. Suffice it to say, he was a pro with the girls, a seasoned player. I'd always heard those high school girls he used to fuck gush about the notorious ten-inch dick he sported. It was a good thing I was immune from said, er, monstrosity. Because Zip and I, we were friends. He was like a brother to me. So yeah, even Blaine County's biggest dick didn't fuck his best friend, who was probably the only girl at Hemingway High whose panties (and more) Zip hadn't ripped.

Well, it didn't necessarily mean I hadn't wanted my panties ripped by the notorious ten-incher. Heck, if I wanted anyone to pop my cherry it would be Zip. But I knew he didn't do friends. And I shouldn't, too. So we'd stayed the way we'd always been -- inseparable friends, parting only after high school graduation. I had flown east to join my mom in the Big Apple, majoring in English at CUNY and leaving my dad with my stepmom in Ketchum. Zip hadn't stayed in Idaho either. He'd bagged a football scholarship at Stanford, developing a number of gaming softwares that had earned him millions even before graduation. Now he lived in one of the most affluent parts of Palo Alto in sunny California and was well on his way to becoming a billionaire.

That was what I'd learned from my online stalking so far, plus the profile of the Silicon Valley company he had co-founded with a Stanford buddy. I could imagine the Stanford girls drooling and swooning and hyperventilating over the hot quarterback who was also a geeky tech whiz. The software firm  was called Delta-Zip Digital and they developed mostly software games and other entertainment apps. Zip was its president while his partner 'Delta' -- Daimon Blum -- was the CEO. Zip had it made at the age of twenty-five.

Zip had zipped and clinched it.

I wasn't doing all bad at twenty-four, but pitted against Zip's accomplishments I scored 2, maybe 3, against his 10. I lived in a tiny apartment atop a Korean restaurant in Queens, a good thirty-minute subway ride to my mom's place in Greenwich Village. I had a Pekingese dog named Buckbeak on paper -- yeah, WTF -- but Mom's Dominican girl Friday had playfully called him Trujillo, after some brutal dictator from her country. The name had stuck and the rest was history. Now Tru was two, the only man in my sordid life.

I had just recently gotten accepted to Queens College MFA. Did I mention I was a romance writer? And a virgin, ironically, considering I wrote tons of smut that made my mother blush. It didn't help that I went under a pseudonym that had her dad's Irish family name.

As Jeska McDougall I had a modest fanbase. My books fed Tru and me, paid my rent and insurance policies, and brought me more than a few designer goods that was my only vice to speak of. Good thing I didn't have student loans, thanks to my mom who'd paid for my college education. My life was fairly OK, average by New York City standards, but I could say I was doing just fine.

Zip sent me a private message: Hey, quiet.

Busy, I replied.

Mike Zipressenbaum: Waiting for Dawson to notice the group chat?

Dang! The guy could still read me like a book. I ignored the message.

Mike Zipressenbaum: Jeez, come on, Clarky. It's high time you upgraded your tastes. Doesn't his receding hairline bother you? As his chicken legs should have a long time ago.

I rolled my eyes. He was such a biatch. He'd bullied James for as long as I could remember. I was curious about James, but that was it. I so did not pine for him at all.

Mike Zipressenbaum: Hey, so you'll be at the homecoming?

Jess Clark: Yeah. You?

Mike Zipressenbaum: Wouldn't miss it for the world. ETA at Friedman very early Friday AM. You?

Jess Clark: I'll be flying to Boise. ETA Friday as well, 7:30 PM.

Mike Zipressenbaum: How about I pick you up at BOI? I will have rested by then. I can drive to Boise.

Jess Clark: Well, that's - what - around 4 hrs, bruh. You sure?

Mike Zipressenbaum: That's nothing. I used to drive from SF to Ketchum all the time.

Jess Clark: Before the high net worth, I bet. LOL

Mike Zipressenbaum: I am not a fucking billionaire, Jess. Come on.

Jess Clark: But you will be.

Mike Zipressenbaum: Whatever. So, see ya Friday? Will be there before 7 PM.

Jess Clark: You really shouldn't bother, Zipo. I was just going to book a room when you popped by.

Mike Zipressenbaum: It's no bother. And there's no need to spend the night in Boise, unless you've got plans?

Jess Clark: No, no plans. I was just gonna pass the night and hit the bus Saturday morning.

Mike Zipressenbaum: OK then. I'll see you Saturday. Can hardly wait. ;-)

Jess Clark: Yay... I guess? Gee, thanks, Zip. See ya.