Carter waits several seconds for me to correct Heath, but my throat tightens at the mere mention of “girlfriend.” He looks at me, probably trying to figure out what I’m thinking, and then says, “Addison and I are friends.”
Which would be a bit disappointing if he didn’t say it in this weird, tight voice. Even Heath picks up on it, and he gives us a thoughtful frown.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I ask, trying to dispel the sudden awkwardness. “She’s pretty.”
Heath smiles. “Thank you. Her name is Daisy.”
I almost laugh—apparently not all guys are afraid of flowers. Carter gets the irony as well because he catches my attention and rolls his eyes when Heath isn’t looking.
We let the dogs play for a while, and then Cocoa begins to tucker out—he’s big, but he’s still a puppy.
“Hopefully we’ll run into you guys again,” Heath says to both of us…but he’s looking at me.
I’m not sure how I feel about it. If Carter weren’t right here, watching my reaction, it would probably be a whole different story. But he is.
“Bye, Daisy,” I say when the petite dog comes over before we leave. She sits in front of me while I pet her head, a perfect example of good manners.
With a final, hesitant smile directed at Heath, we leave the park. Cocoa’s so exhausted, he can barely leap in the back of my car.
Carter is unusually quiet as I drive home. I pull into the drive, next to his truck, and wish I could ask him what he’s thinking. But we don’t have that kind of relationship.
I don’t know what kind of relationship we have. A few weeks ago, I would have said a nonexistent one, or maybe even a professional one. Those aren’t quite right though. What do you call the relationship between you and your best friend’s good-looking brother?
“Come on, Cocoa,” I say to the sleepy puppy as I open the door and try to coax him out.
Cocoa yawns as soon as he stumbles to the ground, and I lead him to the backyard through the side gate. He finds a shady spot on the patio, plops down, and promptly falls asleep.
“I guess I should be going,” Carter says from my side.
I almost ask him to stay— tell him I’ll order pizza, and we’ll watch something on Motor Trend. But I just can’t get Dad’s words out of my head.
And as much as I want to cozy up next to Carter—and believe me, I do—I don’t want to cause friction for him at work either.
“Sorry we didn’t plant anything today,” I tell him instead.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal and playfully bumps his shoulder into mine as he leaves. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Addison.”
11
What is with this list? Is Jessa some kind of evil, man-finding genius? First, it’s Gio, then Minnow Boy from the sporting goods store, and now Heath.
I’ll be honest; he’s the first one that’s really worried me.
At least he didn’t ask for her number. Our town isn’t huge, but it isn’t tiny either. The chance of her bumping into him again is somewhat slim—unless she starts frequenting the dog park in hopes of bumping into him.
I have a headache this morning, and I feel like an idiot. I almost kissed Addison yesterday before Jessa showed up. Pretty sure she wouldn’t have objected.
It’s time to admit to myself I like her, plain and simple. No excuses, no ulterior motives. I just want her. And I’m pretty sure that at least part of her wants me too. It doesn’t matter though—Daddy Kentford isn’t going to be okay with it.
The guys smirk as I stalk into the shop. The smell of rubber, paint, and body filler envelops me, somewhat easing my lousy mood.
“Hey, Carter,” Tad says as I walk past his station, grinning from ear to ear. “Sleep in?”
I glance at the clock on the side wall. I’m five minutes early. I shoot him a look, resisting the urge to growl at the youngest member of our team, and head to my workspace.
For unknown reasons, the guys heckle me as I pass them, asking me about my weekend, taunting me for getting here late. Are they all freaking blind? The shop doesn’t open until nine. You think teenage girls are bad—no one can squawk like a bunch of mechanics.
Ignoring them, I let my mind wander back to Addison. I know Gary is difficult, but setting up a blind date for his daughter just because he happened to find her having dinner with me is an all new low. I’m not a bad guy. If we were together, I’d take care of her, respect her, treat her better than some freaking foot doctor.
“Foot doctor,” I scoff under my breath.
Isaac pops his head around my toolbox. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. I don’t have time to dwell on this right now. I have to straighten and prep two front fenders for a Dodge Charger, and I need to get it done today so we can get it into paint tomorrow.
“So…” Isaac says, drawing out the word, sounding just as giddy as the rest of the idiots I work with. “Did you have a good weekend?”
I spare him a glance. “It was okay.”
“Did you do anything…fun?”
Scowling, I glance at a design I drew up for an incoming Impala last weekend. “Not particularly.”
“No? That’s too bad.” He crosses his arms, all casual-like. “Oh, by the way, have you seen Addison’s new dog? He’s huge.”
Surprised, I finally give him my full attention. “She brought Cocoa to the shop?”
Isaac cocks his head to the side, and his brows come together as a smile ghosts across his face. “You know about him already?”
Looking down, deciding it’s best not to answer, I gather my tools.
Chuckling like he’s learned a juicy secret, Isaac comes around the toolbox and leans against my workbench. “Rumor has it you’re hanging out with Addison outside work hours now.”
Isaac is a friend—my closest friend, actually. We met at WyoTech, and he ended up following me back to see if he could get a position at Kentford’s. I’m not going to talk to him about Addison though.
“Did Tad finish blasting the old Ford?” I ask, deflecting his question.
No surprise, Isaac ignores me. “So your sister’s list has some of the guys thinking.”
“Because I need to see what I’m working with as soon as I’m done with this Charger. I’m worried it’s gonna be pretty rusted out.”
“We’re wondering if it would be worth Gary’s wrath to make a move,” Isaac continues, just asking to be punched. “Addison’s obviously looking for a guy, and why shouldn’t it be one of us?”
I clench my fist around a wrench and look up. “No one’s ‘making a move’ on Addison.”
Isaac grins. “No one except for you, that is?”
“Carter,” Gary booms, his voice echoing through the shop. “In my office now.”
And just like that, it hits me—I forgot about my meeting with Gary this morning. I should have been here thirty minutes ago. No wonder the guys are giving me such crap. And how much do they know exactly? Judging from the rotten grin on Isaac’s face, I think it’s safe to say they know about dinner at the very least.
“On my way,” I call, tossing my tools on the bench.
“Dead man walking,” Stan yells out as I pass him, and the bunch of buffoons I work with all bust out laughing.
Gary stands by his office door with a stern look on his face. “You’re late, Carter.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Sit down.”
Something tells me this is going to be a long day.
* * *
I hate wiring—it’s my least favorite part of working on cars, and it’s a big reason why I prefer vintage over new. The fewer computers, the better.
Muttering under my breath, I finally get everything into place and reinstall the GTO’s dashboard. The new stereo fits great. It’s new-school, but it looks old-school, and complements the original interior. Addison’s going to love it. When I’m finished, I sit back in the seat and stare out the cracked windshield—one more thing I need to have replaced.
/> A large part of me wonders why I’m putting so much time and money into a car for a girl I’m not even dating. I know it’s insane.
But I can’t seem to convince myself to sell it and move on.
I think back to this morning’s meeting with Gary. It wasn’t about Addison at all, at least not openly. Baseball player Trevor McCallin called Gary on Friday night to see if Kentford’s will fix up a vintage ’32 Ford Muroc Roadster to display in his new museum in Atlanta.
The purpose of my meeting with Gary was equal parts intimidation and bribery. Gary didn’t bring up Addison once, but he didn’t have to. His warning was implied in his posture and expression—even his tone. He dangled this dream project in front of me, showing me what I’ll miss out on if I mess with his baby girl.
He’d fire me so fast; I’d be working at the Hour ‘N’ Go Oil Center on 5th street by Friday, and he’d take the lead on the roadster himself.
But if I toe the line, give Addison a wide berth, it’s mine. Not only will I have a chance to head up the restoration, but I’ll get to go to Georgia with a VIP pass to the museum’s grand opening and rub elbows with the elites in the business and a whole lot of media.
It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Adding it to my portfolio would mean I could have just about any job in any restoration shop in the country.
Even with all that in my head, my mind keeps wandering to Addison. What’s she doing right now? Is she home with Cocoa? At the dog park, hoping to run into Heath? Standing in some parking lot pretending to be stranded?
My phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket, disappointed when it’s my sister. I lean my head against the headrest. “Hey.”
“We’re playing tennis tonight,” Jessa says without so much as a hello. “You’re coming.”
“By ‘we’ do you mean you and Franklin or you, Franklin, and Addison?”
“The latter.”
“I can’t tonight,” I say, sounding a bit too weary for my twenty-eight years. “But you guys have fun.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” she demands. “Don’t tell me you’re going out. It’s Monday.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I have to give Addison some space.”
“Did you guys have an argument?” she asks, her voice softening.
I rub a hand over my face. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You know the problem—you know her dad.”
Jessa is quiet for a minute, and then she sighs. “All right, fine. Have a good night.”
Maybe I was hoping she’d push a little harder, but it’s better this way. I need to leave Addison to her list and get back to my normally scheduled life.
I end the call with my sister, step out of the car, and slam the door. This ridiculous project isn’t helping.
An hour later, while I’m in the middle of making a sandwich, a notification pings on my phone. I frown at the Instagram logo. I’m hardly ever on there. As soon as I open the app to see what photo I was tagged in, I bite out a curse.
Slowly, I set the phone on the counter, face down, telling myself to ignore it.
I methodically construct the sandwich, taking far more time than necessary to spread mayonnaise on the bread and layer on meat, cheese, and lettuce. When it’s finished, I sit down to eat, take one bite, and then push the whole thing aside.
You’re in big trouble, Carter, I think to myself as I leave the table, change clothes, and hunt down my truck keys.
Just before I’m out the door, I go back for the sandwich—no reason to let it go to waste.
12
“Do you own a tennis skirt?” Jessa asks the moment I answer the phone.
“Does anyone own a tennis skirt?” I’m completely unfazed by the abrupt beginning to the conversation. If you’re going to be Jessa’s friend, you just have to roll with it.
“I do,” she says. “Two, in fact. You can wear one.”
I rub Cocoa’s belly with my bare foot. We’re currently hanging out in front of the television, preparing to be lazy for the evening. “Why am I wearing a tennis skirt?”
“Number Eight: Play a game. Men like a little friendly competition,” she recites.
“One tiny problem,” I say. “I don’t have a partner to woo.”
“I’m hoping you’ll pick one up tonight.”
Right. Because hot, single guys my age are often hanging around the tennis courts.
“Don’t be a lump on a log,” she says in this peppy voice that means business. “Even if you don’t meet anyone, we’ll have fun.”
“What about Cocoa?” The dog is so comfortable, his tongue is lolling out the side of his mouth.
“He’s a dog, Addison, not a baby. You’re allowed to leave him home alone. Throw him outside, give him a bone, and let’s go.”
I roll my eyes. “I guess it’s nice enough out.”
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaims. “And the courts have lights, so it won’t matter that it will be dark in a few hours.”
Because I was worried about that.
“Franklin and I will pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
She hangs up before I can even agree. Okay then.
Guess I’m playing tennis.
Thirty minutes later, I’m walking from Jessa’s car to the courts, resisting the urge to pull her tiny black and pink tennis skirt a little lower. She’s precisely three inches shorter than me, and it’s pretty obvious right now.
I’ve been here once or twice, both times in high school, and I know exactly nothing about the game. My knowledge can be summed up with this: you hit the ball over the net and try not to smack your partner in the head with your racket. (Been there, done that.)
“I don’t know, Jessa,” I say as Franklin walks in ahead of us. He’s as confident as a clam in a sandbank, but he and Jessa play every weekend. “How are we supposed to play with three of us? I can sit this one out.”
“Franklin can cover one side,” Jessa says and then calls ahead. “Can’t you, babe?”
He turns and gives her a really adorable salute. Franklin might be a man of few words, but he’s pretty darn cute with Jessa. They just work.
I wonder who my perfect match is? Is there a man out there who would complement me like Franklin complements Jessa? (I’ll give you two guesses who pops into my head, though I’m pretty sure you’ll only need one.)
There are a few other people here this evening, but unless I want to partner with someone in the AARP generation, it looks like I’m alone. Guess the list can’t pan out every time.
“You ready?” Franklin calls as he prepares to serve the ball. He’s gone over the basic rules, and I have a vague idea of what I should hit and what I should leave for Jessa.
“No guarantees I won’t accidentally smack you with the racket,” I say to my best friend. I really don’t think she understands the danger she’s in.
She laughs. “It’s not like it would be the first time.”
Then the ball is flying toward us, and I’m running back and forth, trying to simultaneously hit the ball and stay out of Jessa’s way. I feel people staring at me. They’re probably wondering what the awkward girl is doing on their court.
After a while, though, I begin to relax, and I even start to get the hang of it.
“Are you having fun?” Jessa asks, taking a break to grab her water bottle.
The sun set a while ago, and the horizon is tinged with molten gold. The sky deepens to purple and then indigo. One of the other players turns on the bright stadium lights, illumining our space so we can go a bit longer.
“Yeah, actually.” I take her water when she’s finished.
“It will be better once we find you a boyfriend,” she promises.
“Jessa,” I start, wincing when her face falls as though she already knows where I’m going with this. “I just don’t know if this list thing is going to work.”
“Why?”
“It just…isn’t,” I hedge, taking a l
ong drink.
She eyes me, nodding slowly. “Is it because you’re in love with my brother?”
I spit the water out. That’s right—an actual spit take, movie style. Jessa steps back, barely escaping my impression of a Greek fountain.
“What?” I demand.
“You’re in love with Carter,” she says way too calmly. “I should have seen the signs before, but I’m afraid I didn’t start looking until he randomly kissed you at the wedding. No, no—don’t try to argue. You wobbled off his lap like a newborn deer and then were so far away in la la land, you let my bouquet smack you in the nose.”
I start shaking my head, backing away slowly. “No.”
“It’s all right.” She shrugs. “He’s totally twitterpated with you too.”
“Whatever.” I pretend to laugh, but my heart leaps.
I’m pathetic.
“No, it’s true. Give me a few days, and I’ll prove he’s into you.”
“How?”
She walks forward and pats the top of my head. “Patience, young padawan.”
“Do you even like Star Wars?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Franklin’s a little obsessed,” she whispers.
I glance at her husband and then nod. Right.
I’m about to ask again how she plans to prove Carter is “into” me, when her attention turns to something behind me, and her eyes widen.
“Hello,” she says under her breath.
And like an idiot, I turn. “What?”
“Hey,” says a tall, blond, familiar man from the other side of the chain link.
“Daisy’s dad,” I say to Heath, surprised to see him. The pretty Dalmatian at his side whines a little, pawing the fence to say hi.
Heath grins and nods toward his dog. “She remembers you.”
I can feel the questions emanating from Jessa, but she stays quiet for the time being—however, I sense her watching me like a hawk.
“What are you two up to?” I ask, pretending to be a normal person who is capable of having normal conversations. This is awkward, and without Carter here, I feel a little vulnerable.
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend Page 7
