I wish I could blame alcohol. After just one mixed drink, I know that I can't pin my poor decision-making on the whiskey.
Relief washes over me as I pull out of the parking lot. I'm grateful that I came to my senses before things went too far. I have regrets, of course, but they're not nearly as bad as the regrets I could have had if I hadn't stopped the action when I did.
But I feel terrible too. I know the blame for what happened is almost fully mine, but I'm sure my sudden lapse in judgment came directly out of my anger and sorrow over Clay's betrayal.
The stranger's unbelievably hot body didn't help my judgment either. I allow myself a brief smile and feel a sudden pang of regret at the thought of his body. Maybe this experience will serve to teach me that I'm looking for the wrong kind of guys. Had I ever even seen someone with a body like his in the city? Surely they must exist. Maybe I should join a gym and start hanging out with body builders.
I try not to be too hard on myself as I continue on my way to George's house. Earlier, I'd been afraid I'd show up there crying from what had happened with Clay. Instead I'm adjusting my bra as I drive and trying to smooth down my messed up hair. I still don't want to talk to my mom about Clay, but I really don't want to talk about my brief detour that resulted in a heavy make-out session!
As I put more distance between me and the bar, the memory of it starts to seem surreal. Did I really just stop at a country roadhouse and nearly have sex with a total stranger in a dirt parking lot? It's so completely out of character for me that I almost can't believe it happened.
If I can actually pretend it never did happen, and try to forget all about it, I think I'll be much better off. I give one last thought to the hot stranger. When I think about exactly how hot his body was, I decide that he's probably not all that upset about me leaving. With the way he looked, I'm sure he gets women anytime he wants them.
After only one wrong turn and a slow drive down a long, gravel road, I finally arrive at George's house. From what I can make out in the dark, it looks exactly like what I'd pictured from my mom's description. It's a big, white, two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. With no streetlights around, I can't see much beyond it, but I can tell there are no neighbors nearby. When I step out of the car, the silence and stillness outside are striking and the air smells unbelievably fresh.
As I'm grabbing my bag from the back seat, I hear my mom at the front door of the house. A moment later, she has me wrapped in a hug, and everything feels right with the world, at least for the moment.
"Hey, honey, you're finally here! Did you have trouble finding us?"
"Hi. Sorry, Mom. I took my time, and I stopped for dinner." I'm not completely making that up. I did eat a few pretzels.
George joins us and takes my bag. "Welcome to the country, Kate. I'm glad you could come."
"Thanks for having me," I say.
"Would you like anything to eat or drink?" my mom asks. "You're probably exhausted after a long day at work, aren't you?"
Work. Wow, work seems a million miles away. It feels like I've lived a lifetime or two since leaving work this afternoon. A vision of Clay resurfaces but I push it away.
"I'm fine, but you're right. I am really tired."
We follow George upstairs, where he sets my bag in the first room at the beginning of a long hallway. He exits, telling me he'll see me in the morning, and I step into the guest room, which is furnished with a double bed, nightstand, dresser, and small desk by a curtained window.
"Make yourself comfortable,” my mom says. “Here are some towels, and the bathroom is just across the hall." She moves the set of bath linens from the bed to the dresser and then sits on the bed, looking up at me expectantly. “Was the drive okay? You look a bit frazzled.”
For a brief moment I reconsider telling her about what happened with Clay. The thought of sharing my burden and then being wrapped in her comforting embrace is tempting, but I don’t want this weekend to be about my drama. If we start talking about it now, I could see myself becoming an emotional mess and we’d probably be awake for hours. I’ll tell her everything sometime soon, but not this weekend.
"I'm fine. I do have a bit of a headache though.” I rub my forehead for good measure. “I think I just need rest.”
“Okay. If you need anything, just let me know.” She leaves the room and pulls the door closed behind her. I collapse on the bed and wonder if I’ll actually be able to rest.
In my mind, I'm walking into the pub again, looking for Clay and seeing him touching that woman. I feel the pain all over again. Had he just met her, or is she someone he's been seeing on the side? Has he been making a fool of me all along?
I roll onto my side and feel my skirt twist and tighten as I turn. When I try to straighten it, I suddenly remember the stranger's hand on my skirt, and on my skin. The pain I'm feeling is dulled by a rush of heat. What would've happened if I hadn't stopped him? I remember the hardness I'd felt in his jeans. Could I have even handled that? I feel myself blush at the thought of it.
Next to me on the bed, my phone vibrates inside my purse. I fish it out and see an incoming call from Clay. I don't answer, but it occurs to me that he might try to contact my mom, or even the police if he doesn't hear from me. That is, assuming he cares that much. I wait for his call to end, and then compose a text. I see that he's sent several messages to me throughout the evening, and has tried to call multiple times.
“I’m staying with my mom tonight and I'm going to bed. I'll contact you tomorrow.”
I send the message and then switch my phone to "do not disturb" mode. I'll need to confront him, but I decide to put that off until tomorrow.
Chapter 6
I wake to the smell of bacon, and it takes several seconds for me to figure out where I am. I smile at the realization that it's the weekend and I'm with my mom. Then my smile fades when other events from yesterday come rushing back to me.
Out of habit, I grab my phone and bring it back to life. Only one new message from Clay: “What's going on, Kate? Did you forget we had dinner plans? Is everything okay?”
Asshole. I'll have to deal with him today, but not yet.
My room is bright and warm, and sunlight floods through the thin curtains. The first thing I do when I get up is look outside. My window faces the back of the house, and the view stretches on forever. There are no other houses in sight, only a barn and a few smaller outbuildings. There is a big, grassy backyard, an area plotted for a vegetable garden, and then fields, rolling hills, and beyond that, forest. It's really beautiful, and also foreign to me. When I look out of the window of the small bedroom in my apartment, I see the brick wall of another building.
My attention is drawn back inside to the smell of bacon. That’s also strange and foreign. Even when I lived with my mom, bacon was not something we had for breakfast. She was always a coffee and bagel type, or maybe a fruit smoothie when she was on a health kick.
I grab my small travel bag and slip across the hall to change and brush my teeth. The upstairs is quiet. Doors down the hall are open, with light streaming into the hallway, but no one seems to be around. I feel comfortable, knowing I'll be seeing my mom downstairs, but I also feel a little bit like an outsider. I'll be meeting George's sons for the first time today. I wonder how we'll all be spending our day, out here in the middle of nowhere.
I want to relax and try to enjoy the peacefulness of my surroundings, and I won't be able to do that knowing that I still need to contact Clay, so before I go downstairs, I compose another text. The good night's sleep has given me clarity, and my thoughts on the situation have been simplified.
"I stopped by the pub yesterday at about 4:30, and I saw you. With the brunette. You and I are done. Please don't contact me again." I reread my words, and feel the pain and anger of that moment rush back. How could he have done this to me? How could I have been so stupid?
I want to crawl back under the covers, but that would just feel like letting Clay win. With what I now kno
w about him, it’s clear he’s not worth wasting time and tears over.
I click “send” and then, for good measure, I block him. I don't want to deal with any further messages from him; I definitely don't want to hear any excuses, and I don't want the stress of it affecting my weekend. Done.
I take a deep breath, and follow my nose downstairs and into the kitchen. My mom is at the stove frying eggs, and there's a boy sitting at a big wooden table.
"Good morning," I call out, and both of them turn to look at me.
"Good morning, sweetie," my mom says. "Kate, this is George's son Tommy. Tommy, this is my daughter, Kate."
I laugh. "Thanks, mom. I think we only needed names. We could've figured out the rest." I smile at her, and then turn my smile to Tommy, who grins in return. He's cute, and at that in between stage. Not a little boy, and not quite a man.
I look over my mom's shoulder as she turns back toward the stove. "So you make bacon and eggs for breakfast these days?"
"Life on the farm builds an appetite," she says. "This is what the guys are used to. Will you have some?"
"Sure." I'm actually starving, having only had pretzels and a mixed drink for dinner the night before.
"George and Billy are out working in the barn. They always get an early start. They should be back soon." I think I recall my mom telling me that Billy is twenty-five, only two years younger than me, and apparently he still lives here with his dad and brother. My mom had said he was a good kid, and yes, she referred to him as a kid even though he's twenty-five years old. I hadn't asked many questions about him.
"Can I help with anything?"
"If you'd like to make toast, that would be great," she says.
She already has a dish piled with bacon, covered with a paper towel, and there are pitchers of milk and juice on the table. Tommy is eating a slice of bacon.
"Thanks for having me over to your house, Tommy," I say. He just shrugs in reply, but he looks pleasant enough.
I know that Tommy lost his mom, George's wife, to cancer eight years ago. Tommy was only four. I wonder if he remembers her, and I wonder how he and his brother feel about my mom being in the picture. I haven't heard of any problems, or any acting out.
I try to think of what else to say to Tommy, but I'm at a loss. I almost ask him how he likes school, but I remember how much I hated that question when I was a kid. Why does everyone ask that question? And why can't I think of anything but that question?
I busy myself with the toaster, and I'm glad when the first batch pops up and I can occupy myself putting butter on the slices. Just as I'm slathering butter on the next batch, I hear sounds at the back of the house: A door closing, boots stomping, male voices talking. I look towards the hall at the other end of the kitchen and see George walk in, his cheeks ruddy from the cool morning air.
I smile at him and start to say "good morning" when the words catch in my throat. George's son is behind him. His tall, broad-shouldered, twenty-five-year-old son.
My “lucky” blouse doesn’t just need to be thrown away; it needs to be incinerated, never to be worn again.
Because George's son Billy is the Greek god muscle man from the bar last night.
Chapter 7
My eyes lock with Billy's. Billy. I nearly slept with a grown man who has the name of a boy.
I’m frozen in place, butter knife in hand. I lock eyes with Billy and notice that he doesn't look surprised at all. He has a bit of a smirk on his face that he's not bothering to hide. I narrow my eyes at him, but he just gives me a devilish grin. He drops his gaze slowly down my body and I feel naked in front of him, even though I'm wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Then the thought hits me: He knew who I was last night!
George is coming toward me, smiling warmly. He greets me, and then turns to introduce me to his son. Billy steps forward and holds out his hand to shake mine. I feel like slapping him rather than shaking his hand, but I know that I need to act as normal as possible in front of George and my mom. I'm relieved that Billy's acting like he's just now meeting me for the first time. That means he hasn't told them he saw me last night. I would die of embarrassment if they knew what went on.
I reach out to shake Billy's hand, and try to keep the contact as brief as possible, but he holds onto my hand and squeezes hard.
"Nice to meet you, Kate," he says.
It takes all of my self-control not to hurl a piece of toast at his head when he finally releases his grip on me. I quickly turn back toward the toaster, as if manning it is the most important task in the world. Blood has rushed to my cheeks, and my ears are burning. I almost slept with George's son. Would anyone notice if I just ran out to my car right now and left?
My mom taps my shoulder and I jump. "Two more slices should be plenty, Kate."
I butter the last pieces of toast as slowly as I possibly can. I try to think of an escape plan, and I consider feigning a stomachache; but I know I'd just be postponing the inevitable. I'm stuck here for the weekend with Billy, and I know I'll have to eat a meal with him at some point today, so I may as well just sit down and hope for the best.
Maybe we can both continue to pretend that we've just met, and the whole situation will be forgotten. Yeah, right.
I finally turn toward the table with a tall stack of toast on the plate in my hands. George and his sons are seated already; my mom is carrying a plate to Billy with two eggs on it. The wooden farmhouse table had seemed so large a few minutes ago when I'd first seen it. Now it seems much too small for the five of us. I take the seat next to Tommy, where I am unfortunately positioned right across from Billy.
"So you got in last night, Kate?" Billy says, as soon as I sit down.
"Yes."
"How was your trip here?" He stares right into my eyes as he takes a big bite of toast.
I want to kick him.
"Fine," I say.
"Kate was exhausted when she arrived," my mom pipes in, as if trying to compensate for my one-word answers.
"I'll bet," Billy says, still not taking his eyes off of me.
I can feel my face burning, and I'm so frustrated that Billy can see exactly how much he's getting to me. Last night I'd been sorry to have come off like a tease, but now I'm not sorry at all. I'm pissed. Why hadn't he told me who he was? How had he known who I was?
"Kate, honey, are you okay?" My mom is now staring at me too. "You look flushed. Do you think you might be coming down with something?”
Oh my god, I want to die. I really should have run out of here when I had the chance. "I'm just a little warm, Mom. I'm okay," I say.
She gets up to open the window, and I take a long drink of water while I watch Billy hold in his laughter. Thankfully, for most of the rest of the meal, Tommy is the center of attention, as George talks with him about baseball and school, and I have no idea what else. I eat as quickly as I can, hoping to get the ordeal over with, and I'm overcome with equal parts embarrassment and anger.
Just as I finish and am about to excuse myself, hoping it won't be considered rude to leave the table before anyone else, George and my mom exchange a look, then George clears his throat and speaks up in a slightly louder voice than he'd been using during the meal.
"We were going to wait until later to talk to the three of you," he starts. He scoots his chair back from the table, and looks slightly hesitant. My mom beams at him, and then turns to give me a warm smile.
"But since we're all here together," George continues, "I have an announcement to make. I'm very happy to tell you that I've asked Rebecca to marry me…" He takes my mom's hand in his. "And she's agreed. We're getting married." He leans over and gives my mom a quick kiss before they both turn and look expectantly at Billy, Tommy, and me.
I smile warmly at my mom and quickly offer my congratulations to her and to George. They both look so happy; I can't be anything but pleased for them.
Tommy says, "Wow, that's cool."
Billy is looking at our parents and congratulating them as well. Billy,
who's had his hands all over my body and his tongue down my throat. Billy, who deceived me before I even knew who he was. Billy, who's going to be my stepbrother.
Chapter 8
I finally escape the kitchen, taking the stairs in a hurry, but it’s no use because Billy is behind me. He corners me at the top of the landing and stands way too close to be appropriate.
"I wish I could've taken a picture. You should've seen your face when I walked in!" he says, his eyes flashing with amusement.
I have an impulse to shove him back down the stairs, but even if I was a violent person, I know I'd never be able to move his massive body. He may have the name of a little boy, but his body is all man.
“You knew who I was!" I sputter in a harsh whisper. The kitchen is far away in this big house, but I don't want to risk anyone hearing us.
"Yep. You stood out from the crowd in there," Billy says with a laugh. "Your mom showed me pictures of you, but you look even better in person."
I want to scream, but I know I can't. "How could you?!" I say.
"How could I?" he says, emphasizing the "I," and putting his hand on his chest. "How could I? You asked me to follow you outside, and then you jumped on me."
He's right. I kind of did that. "But I didn't know who you were!" I say.
"I've been wondering," he says, as he trails his eyes down my body, making me feel naked again. "Do you make a habit of picking up strangers in bars?"
I do try to shove him now, not down the stairs, but out of my way so I can get past him, but he is immovable. His muscles, which had attracted and fascinated me last night, are frustrating me beyond belief right now.
"Because picking up strangers can be dangerous," he says huskily. He’s starting to sound dangerous himself. He puts his hand on my side, and his touch makes the memory of last night more vivid. I push him again. I try to move toward my room but he's blocking my way.
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