Pulse (Contemporary new adult/college romance) (Club Grit Trilogy) by Brooke Jaxsen
Authors: Brooke Jaxsen
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make my dad proud even though he and mom said they’d always be proud of me, because I didn’t want to end up like my older sister, who cost my parents more money because she was a single mom still living with us and her loud baby who seemed to not be growing up at all, or my older brother, the one that helped dad on the farm during the farming seasons and worked construction in the off season, threatening to beat up any bully for me, along with my sister who, for all her faults, was far more diplomatic and willing to go straight up farm girl on any townie that gave me shit for the way I dressed or acted.
I just kept looking at Skylar’s sleeve of tats as I talked to him, but I knew he was looking at me, his fringe feathery against his forehead. It was weird how he could go from looking like a normal club douchebag for his job and then become this hipster artsy rock star wannabe with his bangs brushing his head the way I wished they’d brush mine. His tattoos were so myriad. They all swirled or blended or fit next to each other like an elaborate painting or mosaic or puzzle of art. I knew they all had some meaning to him. Of course, there was a heart with a scroll through it reading “MOM”, and of course, he didn’t have anything for his dad. I could guess why without asking. There was a rose and across it was written, “Jess”. Who was Jess?
I kept reading the world of his tats. There were some tribal parts that looked like barbed wire, a guitar, some musical notes.
And of course, there were those two Xs. Big, with thick lines and no shading, no drop shadowing, just a perfect + sign shape, tilted, each line intersecting perpendicularly with perfect right angles at the centers. They were two void marks, they were two signs to stop, which it seemed like I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop telling Skylar about what I’d been before, about how hard it had been to be in that small town and how I’d dreamed that California would be better, because the people on TV? They didn’t make fun of me. They had their own problems but they looked better than me. I could handle The Hills , I could handle living in The OC , I could imagine myself on Laguna Beach and eventually becoming one of The Real Housewives . That was a life that I knew I’d never have, because I’d go to community college, transfer to state, and work for John Deer making a respectable seventy thousand dollars per year, half of which I’d send home to my parents. See, I’d had it all planned out.
My plans didn’t include us winning the lottery.
My plans didn’t include UCBH, not really.
They didn’t include Omega House or Club Grit.
Or Skylar.
Or the girl I’d become.
“What are the Xs for?” I asked. I wanted to get my life out of my head and learn more about him.
“Oh, I guess they might not have that kind of scene in Iowa...I’m a straight edge. It means I don’t drink, do drugs, or even smoke cigs.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I know people think I must, working at a club and all, but when they see those tats, the two Xs like the kind we put on people that are underage at the club, and the kind girls like you wash off! they know that we’re not going to drink or smoke or anything.”
“Have you ever?”
“After seeing what it did to my dad? Please. Hey, your movie’s ready,” he said. “ The...Princess Bride ?” Skylar raised a brow.
“Trust me. It’s good. Super good. If you don’t like it in the first ten minutes, we can change it.”
Skylar held me as we started the movie. We were such a fucked up version of Princess Buttercup and Wellsley. He was more Dread Pirate Roberts Wellsley than Farm Boy Wellsley: the bad boy who was secretly the hero of the story. I hadn’t seen this movie in a while and didn’t expect it to hit so close to home. We reached the scene where Wellsley/Dread Pirate Roberts was taking the poison he’d built a resistance to and I thought about how that applied to my own life, how maybe
I just kept looking at Skylar’s sleeve of tats as I talked to him, but I knew he was looking at me, his fringe feathery against his forehead. It was weird how he could go from looking like a normal club douchebag for his job and then become this hipster artsy rock star wannabe with his bangs brushing his head the way I wished they’d brush mine. His tattoos were so myriad. They all swirled or blended or fit next to each other like an elaborate painting or mosaic or puzzle of art. I knew they all had some meaning to him. Of course, there was a heart with a scroll through it reading “MOM”, and of course, he didn’t have anything for his dad. I could guess why without asking. There was a rose and across it was written, “Jess”. Who was Jess?
I kept reading the world of his tats. There were some tribal parts that looked like barbed wire, a guitar, some musical notes.
And of course, there were those two Xs. Big, with thick lines and no shading, no drop shadowing, just a perfect + sign shape, tilted, each line intersecting perpendicularly with perfect right angles at the centers. They were two void marks, they were two signs to stop, which it seemed like I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop telling Skylar about what I’d been before, about how hard it had been to be in that small town and how I’d dreamed that California would be better, because the people on TV? They didn’t make fun of me. They had their own problems but they looked better than me. I could handle The Hills , I could handle living in The OC , I could imagine myself on Laguna Beach and eventually becoming one of The Real Housewives . That was a life that I knew I’d never have, because I’d go to community college, transfer to state, and work for John Deer making a respectable seventy thousand dollars per year, half of which I’d send home to my parents. See, I’d had it all planned out.
My plans didn’t include us winning the lottery.
My plans didn’t include UCBH, not really.
They didn’t include Omega House or Club Grit.
Or Skylar.
Or the girl I’d become.
“What are the Xs for?” I asked. I wanted to get my life out of my head and learn more about him.
“Oh, I guess they might not have that kind of scene in Iowa...I’m a straight edge. It means I don’t drink, do drugs, or even smoke cigs.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I know people think I must, working at a club and all, but when they see those tats, the two Xs like the kind we put on people that are underage at the club, and the kind girls like you wash off! they know that we’re not going to drink or smoke or anything.”
“Have you ever?”
“After seeing what it did to my dad? Please. Hey, your movie’s ready,” he said. “ The...Princess Bride ?” Skylar raised a brow.
“Trust me. It’s good. Super good. If you don’t like it in the first ten minutes, we can change it.”
Skylar held me as we started the movie. We were such a fucked up version of Princess Buttercup and Wellsley. He was more Dread Pirate Roberts Wellsley than Farm Boy Wellsley: the bad boy who was secretly the hero of the story. I hadn’t seen this movie in a while and didn’t expect it to hit so close to home. We reached the scene where Wellsley/Dread Pirate Roberts was taking the poison he’d built a resistance to and I thought about how that applied to my own life, how maybe
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