Especially not an entitled ass like Sawyer, if the rumors about him were true.
We were some of the first people to the party. The ragers held at the Azalea house usually didn’t kick into full swing until well after eleven, but I preferred parties when they were less crowded and I could actually hear my friends. Once the bass started thumping the swarms started piling in, I was usually past ready to leave.
We wove our way through the front entrance and down the stairs to the basement that doubled as a billiards room where we found Sawyer leaning against the wall, scrolling through his cell phone. When he looked up to see Isabella approaching, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, I’m a lucky man. Clearly, I have the hottest date in the house,” he said, making no attempt to disguise the way he was drinking her in with his eyes.
“No offense, Jody,” he threw in as an afterthought.
“None taken,” I said.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Isabella said, putting her hand on his arm and squeezing. “This is exactly what I needed after a day of studying.”
“You bet. You girls want a drink? I can make you anything you want.” He nodded his head over to the corner of the room where there was an elaborate bar a little too high end to be in a college party house. It was stocked with all kinds of glasses, every kind of top shelf booze imaginable, and a bowlful of limes and lemons among other odds and ends.
“Oh, I don’t want to ransack their good stuff. Maybe we should just go grab beers from the keg you said would be in the backyard?”
Sawyer smiled, showing sharp teeth. “That’s my bar. This is my house. Consider me your private bartender for the night. I spent the year after undergrad working at a bar in New York that catered to Wall Street, so I can make pretty much anything.”
“Hmmm,” Isabella said, smirking at him in amusement. “Jody, what’s the most complicated or obscure drink you can think of? Let’s put this supposed mastery of his to the test.”
While I liked her spunk and that she was making him work for it, I came up short in the suggestion department. I wasn’t much of a drinker outside of mimosas at Sunday brunch and margaritas at Shania’s house. “Something exotic. Something international. Those Wall Street guys were probably downing gin and tonics and old fashioneds.”
“How about a Paloma?” Isabella asked, stepping closer to him, her face set in a peremptory look of triumph.
“You’ve got me there. I don’t have any grapefruit soda, just the tequila and lime.”
“I guess I can give you some points for at least knowing the ingredients,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “To see if you can redeem yourself, how about you make us your signature drink?”
“Consider it done,” he said, crossing the room.
Now that we were outside of the sustainability building and distanced from the imbalance in our power dynamic, it was a little easier to see why Isabella seemed willing to give Sawyer a chance. I tried to view him a she might. He was meticulously put together in a white button-up shirt and dark wash jeans, topped off with shoes and a watch that looked designer. In our field, it was rare to find anyone sporting accessories that weren’t made of hemp. He exudes the confidence of an underwear model despite having looks that were decidedly average in a boy-next-door kind of way. I knew from his lectures that he was intelligent and poised. I could maybe see the appeal below what seemed like a slimy exterior.
I decided he was like a magnet. His energy would either attract you or repel you. Based on the way Isabella studied him as he went to work crafting his concoction, it was clear she was being pulled in.
When he spoke again, there was a subtle change in his voice. It was the same tone he used in the classroom.
“The mark of a novice is to only have one signature drink. Someone with a real knack for bartending needs to have a signature drink for different types of occasions and different seasons. Since it’s winter, my go to beverages are generally of the warm variety. I don’t want to bore you by making you stand around an oven while I heat something up, so I’ll stick to what I’ve got here.”
First, he wet the rims of three cocktail glasses and dipped them in something red and powdery. “Cinnamon sugar,” he said.
From a mini-fridge, he pulled out a tumbler full of ice and bottles of both eggnog and Kahlua. The cold ingredients, plus a slow slog of molasses and a pinch of what looked to be ginger all went into a cocktail shaker.
After shaking and pouring the beverages, he topped them off with a swirl of whipped cream.
“Drink up,” he said, grabbing his glass and nodding for us to do the same.
To his credit, it was delicious. Decadent. The kind of drink I’d never want to know how to make at home because it would be too tempting to make a second and then a third.
“What do you taste?”
“It definitely tastes Christmasy, but I can’t quite put my finger on why,” Isabella said.
“Gingerbread. It tastes like gingerbread.”
Sawyer nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s a white Russian with a gingerbread twist.”
“I’m impressed,” Isabella said, licking at the crest of the whipped cream, her eyes locked with Sawyer’s.
“That’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve.”
I felt queasy thinking about the other supposed skills he might be hinting at. To remind them I was still there in the room, I leaned back against the billiards table and sent a spare pool ball flying across the table with my hand so that it would make noise as it knocked against the edge.
“How about we play a little pool?”
“Sure. Isabella and I can team up against the two of you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Seeing double already? What did you put in that drink?”
Sawyer nodded for me to look behind me. “When Isabella told me she was bringing you, I remembered that Jessup had won your date at the auction and took the liberty of inviting him.”
I turned around to see Jessup standing right behind me, a cup of beer in hand. “I hope that’s okay,” Jessup said.
“As long as you’re not already tired of me.” Despite myself, I was happy to see him. I just made myself a promise to do my best to hide it. If he was interested, I didn’t want to encourage his affection.
I couldn’t get excited about someone just to have him leave again. My heart couldn’t handle a fling. My school schedule couldn’t handle the back-and-forth travel required by a long-distance relationship.
I also knew I was getting way ahead of myself.
Sawyer went to work setting up the game. While he and Isabella racked the balls, hands touching in a not-so-accidental way inside the triangle, I sipped my drink. “How do you know Sawyer?”
“We take the same Friday morning weightlifting class at the gym.”
“Who can lift more?”
“Who do you think?”
“Why don’t you two flex before you ask her to guess?” Isabella smiled sweetly, practically batting those long eyelashes of hers. I felt like an understudy, watching an actress and trying to pick up tips on how to flirt. If I was ever going to get out on the dating market again for real, I was going to have to learn a line or two. Something told me the geeky things that worked for Andrew weren’t going to work for everyone else.
Both of the men obliged. Isabella squeezed Sawyer’s arm first, then Jessup’s. “Hmmm. I know what I think, but I’m going to need a second opinion.” Isabella gave me a pointed look.
I squeezed Jessup’s arm and then shot a look at Sawyer’s. “Sorry, Sawyer. There’s clearly no contest. Jessup has you beat.”
“Only by about twenty pounds,” he muttered.
“Try forty, bro.”
When Sawyer responded with a venomous look, Jessup let out a chuckle.
“You might out-lift me, but I’m going to beat your ass at pool.”
“Clearly,” Jessup said.
“If we’re going to be partners, you can’t give up before we’ve even started,” I said, handi
ng him a pool stick before grabbing one for myself. It might have been a silly game, but I was bound and determined to beat Sawyer.
“Let’s just point out the obvious. One— Sawyer has a pool table, which means he clearly has the upper hand. Two— just like earlier when we were studying, I’m bound to get distracted while in the company of such a beautiful woman.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I seem to recall this morning differently. You barely looked at me.”
His voice was quiet. “Incorrect. I just waited until you were glued to your flashcards.”
I felt a blush spread across my chest and face and hoped he didn’t notice.
What neither Jessup or Sawyer expected was that both Isabella and I were pool sharks. Our friend Shania had grown up in a pool hall that was run by her father’s motorcycle club. She’d taught us every trick and shot imaginable. Even the pool junkies at the local billiards bar didn’t try to bet against us anymore. When we won money at games, it was because vacationing out-of-towners assumed we didn’t know what we were doing just because we were coeds at Coastal. It made it even more satisfying to watch them empty out their wallets.
“Want me to show you how to position yourself for a good shot?” Sawyer asked, already inching up behind Isabella as though he were sure she was going to say yes and bat her eyelashes again.
She and I exchanged looks and smiled. “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”
Isabella took off her bomber jacket, flipped her hair behind her shoulder, and chalked her cue. I took another swig of my drink, hoping the liquid bravery would help me come across just as sexy and self-assured as she was.
“The only reason this is going to be an even game at all is that each of you have the advantage of having one of the best pool players in all of coastal Carolina on your team.”
I licked my lips and leaned over the table to make the break. At the crack of my stick against the cue ball, Sawyer’s basement melted away. Fully focused, it was just me and the game. No sleazy TA. No freshly shaved and showered Jessup with his southern charm and slight twang. All I thought about was the position of my hand, the position of the balls, and what my next move would be.
* * *
By the end of the game, the basement had slowly started to fill with onlookers. When I sank my final ball leaving Jessup and I the victors, a few random strangers slapped us on the back and congratulated us. As an introvert, it was always weird to me how familiar people acted towards strangers when they were drinking, but it was nice to be in the middle of things instead of watching from the sidelines. Moments like that made me wonder if I’d have been more social, more gregarious, if Andrew hadn’t spent so many years working to keep me to himself.
“It’s supposed to be a gorgeous night. Want to go outside and get some fresh air?” Jessup asked.
It was like he’d read my mind. The party was picking up and getting a bit crowded for my liking. It was stuffy, just like the library earlier in the day had been.
I tossed a look over to Isabella. She was back by the bar, watching Sawyer make her a second drink. It was clear he was showing off again. His vodka pour seemed a little too long, but I didn’t see anything else go into her glass that looked suspect. “Maybe for a little while. I don’t want to leave Isabella for too long.”
“You don’t seem like a big fan of his.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“You have a good poker face when you’re actually playing poker, but I’m afraid you’re not so inconspicuous when it comes to everything else.”
I nodded as we snaked our way back upstairs and through the foyer. “What do you know about him?”
“Honestly? Not much. Up until today, I’ve never talked to him outside of the gym. A few hours ago I got a friend request and a message saying I should come party tonight and to get here before everyone else did. It seemed a little weird, but he said you’d be here, so I didn’t question it.”
We pushed our way through the front door and into the crisp December night. I crossed my arms in front of my body to block out some of the cold. It was finally beginning to feel like winter at the beach, and I wasn’t exactly dressed for it.
“I’m glad you’re here, but something tells me he has an ulterior motive for that.”
“He’s afraid you’re going to cock block him if someone isn’t here to distract you?”
I nodded. “Obviously, my friend is a grown ass woman. She can do whatever she wants. I’ve just heard some not-so-pleasant things about him that make me wary.”
“Everyone needs a friend like you to watch out for them.”
For a while we walked in silence down to the end of the residential area and into where downtown started. The streets were lined with Dogwoods and antique-looking lamp posts, all the houses painted in the cheerful pastels I’d come to expect from coastal towns. Even in the off season, where we lived was beautiful.
The chill seemed to be keeping everyone else inside. It felt a little like we were the only two people in the world. Jessup seemed to sense it too, offering me his arm for warmth and pulling me close to him while we took in the sight of the abandoned street together. It was hard to tell if his body was radiating heat or if mine was just flushing from his touch.
We were nearly in front of my favorite coffee shop when Jessup broke the silence. “You left so suddenly this morning. Did I upset you?”
I chewed on my lip for a moment, not knowing how to answer. “When I went to stretch my legs, I grabbed a newspaper and saw the article about you leaving. It seemed like we’d bonded over breakfast, but when I saw you omitted something pretty big, I thought maybe I’d been wrong.”
Jessup nodded and pushed the coffee shop door open.
“Hot chocolate, cider, or coffee?” He asked.
“Hot chocolate.”
After he ordered two, he pulled out a chair for me at an empty table.
“You’re freezing. Let’s give you a chance to warm up for a moment before we head back to your friend. I promise I won’t keep you too long.”
I nodded, trying not to scald my tongue when I took my first sip.
“When I met you yesterday before the auction, I thought you were cute. When I heard you geeking out about sustainability this morning, I decided you were someone I wanted to get to know. I was afraid that if I told you I was moving back to Norlina, I’d scare you away before you’d give me a chance.”
It was like he could read my damn mind.
“There’s one other thing that gave me pause.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Yesterday, you said something about being enemies with my ex. I didn’t know if that made me some kind of a pawn in a revenge scheme.”
“Andrew Faircloth is a tool, but my dislike of him doesn’t warrant any scheming on my end. We took an Ethics class together Freshman year. In one of our debates, he said it was okay to burn a flag. Given that my family is military, that didn’t fly with me.”
I groaned. “Sounds just like him. I can definitely see him trying to push your buttons on purpose.”
“Here’s the deal. I like you. I think you like me. I don’t have a lot of time to screw around before I go home to play Mr. Responsible. I’d like to spend my last few weeks here getting to know you and see what happens. Worst case scenario, we both make a new friend. Best case scenario, we decide to explore being more than that. What do you think?”
I took a deep breath, my head swimming from the seriousness of his stare and how straight forward he was with his proposal. I’d never been pursued this way before. His intensity disarmed me. It was clear that defaulting to the witty banter I usually employed to keep people at arm’s length wasn’t going to work with him.
“I think you have a deal,” I said.
We walked back to the party hand in hand.
11
In my hometown, country music was typically what you’d find playing on the radio when you slid into someone’s car or when you walked into a store. I couldn’t
count how many songs I’d heard over the years about Southern boys who partied on Saturday night but still made it to church in their Sunday finest. That said, I was pretty sure men like that were the stuff of Nashville fantasy. I knew guys that partied and guys that knew their Bible, but there was very little overlap between the two groups.
Jessup proved me wrong.
After I dropped Isabella off at her dorm, he’d sent me a text inviting me to a service the next morning. “It’s a casual, come-as-you are kind of place. You can wear whatever you want. The music is good and the Sunday lunch after is going to be even better.”
My fingers hesitated over my phone. I could think of a million reasons not to go.
I hadn’t been to church in years and was afraid that agreeing to meet him would give Jessup the wrong impression. I wasn’t sure what to expect from his denomination. If he heard how awful my singing was when it was time to join our voices with the choir for a hymn, he might run screaming into the woods. There was also the fact that meeting someone’s church family felt every bit as serious as meeting someone’s parents, and I’d just met the man two days ago.
What I really wanted to do was call my mother and get her opinion, but she was on a cruise somewhere across the world without cell phone reception. Seeing her face seemed like it would be the next best thing, so I went to her Facebook.
What I saw shocked me, but in a good way.
There were pictures of her and my father riding a horse together on some exotic beach, looking like dramatic characters from a soap opera, my mother’s hair flying behind her in the wind. Pictures of them drinking from the same milkshake with two straws. The image that was the weirdest for me to see was the selfie that captured them making out in front of the camera like hormonal teenagers.
I was grossed out but also relieved. They didn’t look like a couple preparing to say goodbye. If the pictures were anything to go by, they were two people committed to starting anew.
I decided that if they could give themselves a chance for another stab at happiness, I could, too.
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