Fall with Me

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “He ain’t completely innocent in all of this,” Katie argued. “Remember, he was so drunk he thought he had sex. I’ve drunk a lot in my day. A lot. Like so much, I’m pretty sure I’ve turned into a brewery, but I’ve never been so drunk that I didn’t know if I had sex.”

  Calla nodded as she poked at her scrambled eggs. “True.”

  Neither had I ever drunk that much, but that was beside the point. Taking a sip of my soda, my shoulders sank as the weight of the situation settled on them. I straightened my glasses as I sighed. “I . . . I really like him, guys. I really do.”

  “Duh.” Katie rolled her eyes. “You’re in love with him.”

  I ignored that comment, because love . . . love was a scary four-­letter word. “He’s a good guy, a really good guy. And you remember the last dude I kind of seriously dated?” I asked Katie.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Before Dean the ginger?”

  “Oh my God,” Calla murmured, stifling her giggle with the back of her hand.

  I shook my head and then took a drink. “Yes. Remember Donnie, the—­”

  “The really nice guy who took you to the Eagles game and you totally got with in the parking garage, but turned out to be married?” Katie supplied happily.

  My lips pressed together. “No. That was Ryan the fucker and thanks for reminding me about him. He also had a kid he never told me about. I was talking about Donnie the starving artist who stole my jewelry my grammy left me.”

  Calla blinked several times. “Wow. A married guy and a thief?”

  “I normally don’t attract the greatest ­people.” I shrugged, but I thought of Henry, and that made my skin crawl. The thing was, I knew I dated guys like that for a reason. They were safe. “But Reece is not like them, and a part of me . . .” I let out a slow breath. “I have spent years lusting after him.” And I’d probably spent years feeling something stronger than that.

  Sitting there, I shook my head. What was I even doing? I just needed to tell him the truth. Let this thing between us die before I got burned big time, but I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t not try with him. Not after all these years of wanting him.

  God, I sounded like I had a split personality. Go after him. Don’t go after him. Tell him the truth. Don’t say anything. I was giving myself whiplash.

  “You need to tell him the truth,” Calla advised. “As soon as possible. But I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

  I arched my brows at her.

  “Seriously,” she insisted. “It’s not like you lied about something major.”

  “I think not telling him we didn’t have sex is pretty major.”

  “Not really.” Calla smiled at me. “Trust me, there are worse lies out there. It’s not like you lied about being with someone else while with him or anything like that. He’ll understand. Right, Katie?”

  She watched me, pouty lips turned down at the corners.

  Calla elbowed her as she frowned. “Right, Katie?”

  Frost coated my insides as Katie’s eyes clouded over. “I don’t know, Roxy. Tell the truth before he gets in those pants of yours for real. If you don’t, I think you’ve gone too far.”

  Agreeing, I nodded slowly. The same dread I experienced the first time I realized I needed to tell Reece what really happened returned.

  Calla cleared her throat. “It’ll be okay.”

  “She’s right,” Katie agreed, stabbing her last link with her fork. “Besides, you broke Henry Williams’s window and he still gave you an orgasm. You’ll probably get an even better one out of this.”

  Smacking my palm off my forehead, I groaned. “Oh God. Who doesn’t know about that?”

  “No one, honey.” Katie bit off half the link. “Absolutely no one.”

  Calla and I watched Katie speed out of the parking lot in her Mini Cooper, almost clipping a minivan that had a Baby On Board bumper sticker, but when the van parked, an elderly ­couple climbed out.

  “You’re really not going to hold a séance, are you?” Calla asked.

  I laughed loudly. I’d told them about the strange things happening in my apartment. Luckily neither of them thought I was crazy or that I was weird for thinking that my place may be haunted. Of course, Katie had lots of ideas of how to address the strange happenings, and one of them was by calling someone in town who supposedly communed with spirits and could host a séance.

  “Ah, you know, I don’t think that will be a great idea,” I said, grinning. “If there really is a ghostie roaming around, it hasn’t tried to scare me. In a way, it’s been strangely helpful.”

  Calla snorted. “I bet more ­people would like to have a ghost like that.”

  “And the whole idea of séance or allowing a psychic in the house just—­I don’t know, if that’s what it really is, I don’t want to know what’s there. As long as I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and find it staring at me, then I’m cool with it.”

  “Oh my God.” She shuddered. “That’s so creepy.” There was a pause. “But what if it isn’t a ghost?”

  “What else could it be? Seriously, though? Unless I have ­people living under my stairs like in that creepy eighties movie, it’s either a ghost or I’m losing my mind.”

  “You’re not crazy.” She squinted. “But maybe you should have Reece just take a look at your place. Or Jax?”

  Yeah, I could picture both of guys never letting me live it down if I told them I thought I had a ghost in my house.

  “So how long are you going to be up here?” I asked, changing the subject as I leaned against my car, pulled off my glasses, and used the hem of my shirt to clean them.

  “My morning class is cancelled tomorrow so I’m going to head back then.” Calla glanced up at the overcast skies. The scent of rain was thick in the air. “Which is probably a good thing, since I think they’re calling for pretty bad storms today.”

  I slipped my glasses on, smiling when I didn’t see any smudges or spots. “You and Jax got anything planned for today?”

  “I think we’re just going to hang out at his place.” She twisted a length of blond hair between her hands as she shrugged. “What about you and Reece?”

  “I don’t think we have anything planned. It’s weird. I don’t know if we’re dating or if we’re just . . . hooking up. He texted me last night, asking me to let him know when I got home and I did that.” I folded my arms, pursing my lips. “So I really don’t know.”

  “You just text him, invite him over if he doesn’t work or something. Keep it casual,” she offered, and then laughed softly. “Honestly, I’m the last person who should be giving you advice when it comes to this.”

  “No.” I reached out and squeezed her arm. “You obviously know what you’re doing. You hooked a guy like Jax, so . . . ?”

  Her cheeks flushed and she laughed again as she propped her hip against the passenger back door. “You know damn well I had no idea what I was doing when it came to him.”

  I grinned. Calla had been pretty clueless. “True.”

  “But you know, I think it’s always like that when you really like someone. It was the same with Teresa and Jase. Liking someone makes us stupid. That’s what I’m going with.”

  “Sounds accurate.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I forgot to ask you last night. Who got you the roses? They are beautiful.”

  Feeling creeped out by the roses since I assumed they were from Dean, I’d left them in the office. Now that room smelled like a florist shop. Ha. “You know, I have no idea, if they’re not from Dean.”

  She arched a brow. “You really think they’re from him?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Something like next time will be better,” I told her, frowning. “Weird, huh?”

  She nodded as she pushed off the car. “Maybe the
flowers were meant for someone else if they weren’t from Dean.”

  “I don’t know. They had my name on it. Maybe it was just a mistake.”

  Calla smiled and she reached down and gave me a hug. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

  I waved good-­bye and then climbed into my car. On the way home, I was surprised when Dennis called. Since it was Sunday, I wasn’t expecting to hear from him, but cops didn’t work normal Monday-­through-­Friday schedules. He let me know that Henry had gotten an estimate for the windshield damages and it was going to cost a ­couple of hundred to fix.

  I groaned, thinking of how much I had in my savings account, which wasn’t a lot at all. But this was my bed I made, so I had to roll around in it and pick up more web design to make back the cash.

  When I got home, I was halfway across the sidewalk when the sky ripped open and rain pelted me, soaking me in seconds. Squeaking, I dashed up to the porch. My wet sandals hit the floorboards, and I slipped. Arms wheeling like a windmill, my purse hit the porch and I lost my balance.

  I was so going down.

  Before I crashed, the entrance door swung open and a blur shot across the porch. Strong arms caught me around the waist and jerked me up. The sudden impact against something hard and dry knocked my glasses off my face and punched a grunt out of me. For a moment, the only thing that moved was my pounding heart.

  “You okay?” asked a low-­pitched male voice.

  Lifting my head, all I could make out through the curtain of my dark hair was that it was a guy with blond hair. Definitely not James, who had coal-­black hair cut short. “I’m so okay. Thank you for . . . um, catching me.” Feeling like an idiot, I pushed my hair out of my face, and got a good look at the guy.

  His face was vaguely familiar—­cheeks a little round with a nose that was slightly crooked, obviously broken many years ago. His eyes were a dark brown and sharp. Intelligent eyes.

  And he was still holding me by the waist.

  Geez.

  Stepping back, I laughed awkwardly as he dropped his arms. “Sorry about that. Usually I don’t almost kill myself when I try to walk on to the porch.”

  A tight-­lipped smile formed. “That’s good to know. Wait,” he said as I started to step to the side and reach for my purse. I froze while he swooped down, snatching up my glasses. “You almost stepped on these.”

  Double geez.

  “Thank you again.” I took them and smiled as he handed me my purse. Tucking my dripping hair back behind my ears, I squinted up at him. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  The tight smile expanded, flashing a little of white teeth. “I’m Kip Corbin. I live upstairs. Moved in a ­couple of months ago.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “That’s why I thought you looked familiar.”

  “You did?” Surprise colored his tone.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I must’ve caught a glimpse of you coming or going or something. Anyway, I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

  “Same here.” He glanced out toward the street. Rain was coming down so hard, I could barely see my car parked along the curb. “Well, I’ve got to go.” He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket as he sidestepped me. “It was good meeting you.”

  I turned to my door as I wiggled my fingers at him. “Same here.”

  He hesitated at the top of the steps. “Be careful, Roxy.”

  Unlocking the door, I pushed it open as I sent him a smile over my shoulder. “You, too. Don’t get washed away.”

  He was already racing down the sidewalk as I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Dropping my purse in the recliner, I stopped in the middle of the living room and frowned. Wait. He knew my name. I didn’t think I’d told him what my name was.

  A knot of unease formed a tiny ball in my belly. How did he—­? Okay. I was being stupid. James or Miriam could’ve told him my name. It also could’ve been the Silvers.

  I needed to stop being an idiot.

  Glancing at my purse, I also needed to stop being a baby and text Reece. But first, I needed sweet tea.

  After making myself a glass, I flipped on the TV and turned it to the HGTV channel. Property Brothers marathon for the win. Grabbing my cell out of my purse, I took it with me to my studio room.

  No sooner had I headed down the hall, when the phone rang while I held it. I glanced down and cursed when I saw that it was Dean. Part of me wanted to hit the reject button, but I forced myself to answer the phone.

  “Hello?” My voice sounded as flat as a sheet of paper.

  There was a beat. “Roxy?”

  I rolled my eyes. Who else could it be? He called me, and I answered. As soon as those thoughts wrapped up, I felt bad. Dean hadn’t done anything wrong. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m getting ready to . . .” I looked around the room frantically, trying to come out with an excuse. “To . . . take a shower.”

  I winced. Jesus. God. I sucked.

  Dean laughed softly in my ear. “Well, thank you for planting those images in my head,” he said, and I cringed. “I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to know if you were free tonight?”

  “Dean,” I sighed, wanting to bang my head off a wall. Instead, I pushed my glasses up to the top of my head. “I actually do have plans tonight—­”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. “Dean, I’m sorry, but I’m not really interested in a second—­”

  “I know we didn’t have the greatest first date, but I think we hit it off,” he insisted, and in my mind, I could almost see him blinking as he spoke. “And I think if we have another date—­”

  “I’m seeing someone else,” I blurted out, and that wasn’t a lie. Not really.

  His inhale was heard through the phone. “What? Since when?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re a great guy. It’s nothing personal—­”

  “What the fuck, Roxy?”

  My eyes popped opened as I pushed off the wall, stiffening. I’d never heard him cuss before. Not that I had sensitive sensibilities, but hearing him talk like that was jarring.

  “You’ve been seeing someone else?” he charged on. “Don’t you think you could’ve told me that in the beginning? I wouldn’t have wasted my time with a slut.”

  “Whoa. Yeah, that’s not okay. Fuck off,” I said, and then hit the end call button. My skin crawled as if a dozen fire ants were climbing all over me. I was so angry, my head was going to spin. It took several minutes for me to calm down enough to walk into my studio.

  The plastic-­like scent of the watercolors and the cedar brushes tickled my nose as I nudged the door open. I breathed in deeply, letting the fumes that might irritate someone else relax me, push away all thoughts of Dean. Some of my favorite paintings hung on the walls, above magazine clippings—­words and phrases that I’d found over the years that I’d thought matched the paintings.

  Placing the tea and cell phone on a small table by the door, I shuffled over to the easel as I pulled out a hair tie. My steps slowed, and I stopped in front of the easel as I tugged my wet hair up into a quick ponytail.

  Wait a minute.

  Lowering my hands, I wiggled my fingers as I stared at the easel. When I’d pulled off the painting I’d completed on Friday to take to Charlie, I hadn’t replaced the canvas, and I hadn’t had time Saturday to do anything. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even stepped foot in my studio yesterday.

  But a blank piece of canvas was stretched onto the frame, sitting on the easel.

  Cocking my head to the side, I retraced the last forty-­eight hours. Was it possible that I had done that when I finished the last painting? It was possible. I did things a lot that I didn’t realize I was doing out of habit, but I was pretty positive I hadn’t done this.

  I thought about the remote in the fridge, the dishwasher, the toilet seat and so on
. . .

  I really needed the Ghostbusters.

  Then again, this ghost has been super helpful—­creepy but helpful.

  Turning from the canvas, I shook out my shivers as a chill snaked its way down my spine. My gaze fell to the cell phone. Forcing myself over to it, I picked it up and tapped on the message icon. Just holding the phone and opening Reece’s last text got my heart pumping ridiculously fast.

  Texting a guy was not a big deal.

  Texting a guy who’d seen my boobs and had gotten me off shouldn’t be hard.

  Texting a guy I really, really liked was scary as hell.

  I texted him a quick hey before I wussed out and then dropped the phone on the table like it was a snake and then felt like an ass because he was probably still asleep.

  Hurrying away from the phone, I’d just grabbed my stool when I heard the phone ding. My stomach dropped.

  “Oh God,” I whispered, turning around. The screen was lit up from a message. “I’m being such an idiot.”

  I made my way back to the phone. As expected, the text was from Reece. Seven words—­only seven words—­and my lips split into a giant, goofy smile.

  Hey babe, was just thinking of u.

  Clutching the phone, I took several deep breaths. I was thinking of u too. My cheeks heated, because my response sounded so corny when his was all swoony.

  The reply was almost immediate. Of course u were.

  I laughed at his cockiness and felt my stomach dip again, because I knew what I had to do. I needed to talk to him before any of this went further.

  Before I could respond, another text came through. & I really was just thinking abt u. Guess what I was doing while I was thinking abt u?

  My eyes widened as I typed back Oh my.

  There was a pause. Is that too real to admit that?

  No. And I shook my head and sent back No.

  Good, came the quick reply. Followed by Glad to know u don’t think I’m a pervert.

  Nah, I still think ur a pervert.

  A hot one at least?