“Oh, yeah. Kevin something.” As he leaned over, crushing out the butt in the ashtray, he asked, “A real date or time to talk about Sarah?”
“We’ve already done that. I think this is the real deal.”
“Hmm.” For a while, Justin was quiet, making me think maybe the tables were turned. Maybe Justin was feeling how I’d felt Friday night when he brought Chelsea into my territory and rubbed my nose in it.
But I doubted it enough that I had no confidence about showing my hand, so to speak, and I wasn’t going to say a word.
Justin said, “So what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“On this date—what are you doing?”
“Dinner.”
“Try to have fun then.”
Did he even mean it? “Yeah. That’s the plan.” As I extinguished my cigarette, I felt more uncomfortable than I ever had with Justin. Talking about another man with the only man I wanted didn’t feel right. “I’d better get home.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Thanks for the smoke.”
I half expected a kiss after all that…but I got nothing. Not completely surprising.
For some reason, though, as he closed the door to my van and waved, I felt like maybe I had, for the first time, real closure with Justin. And that was a good thing—but I still couldn’t stop crying as I drove home on that cold night.
* * *
On Wednesday, my daughter gave me a reminder that she continued to struggle. I got a call from the school secretary again, telling me I needed to pick Sarah up. When I got there, I spoke with Kevin who told me there would be no suspension this time, but she needed the afternoon to cool off.
“What happened?” I tried not to sound too upset, since Sarah was sitting right there. She, of course, didn’t look up at me.
Kevin said, “It’s not like last time, but Mrs. Owen, her teacher, was asking her for an answer and when Sarah got upset, she started throwing her papers and books to the floor.” As if apologizing, he added, “It’s just for the day, just to give her time to settle.”
It wasn’t like I could argue the decision, so I thanked him and we left. Once Sarah and I were in the van and started heading home, I said, “So tell me what happened, honey.” She was looking out of the passenger side window, so I couldn’t tell if she was intentionally ignoring me or just wasn’t paying attention. “Sarah?”
My daughter made a noise like a grunt, half turning her head toward me.
“I’m asking you what happened today. Were you throwing your papers in the classroom?”
“Mrs. Owen wouldn’t leave me alone. She kept asking me the same question over and over and I didn’t know the answer.” I nodded as I pulled up to the stoplight, glancing over at my daughter. She finally made eye contact with me as she continued speaking. “She made me feel stupid.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
The next day, however, I asked for a few minutes with the psychologist, and I let her know about the previous day’s occurrences. Maybe I was hoping it would light a fire under her, because it felt like nothing was happening.
Rebecca, however, saw it as promising. “This is good, Randi. Sarah is letting out her frustration and anger instead of bottling it up. It indicates that she’s working through her emotions. We’re making progress.”
But as I sat in the quiet waiting room, trying like hell to absorb my notes for an upcoming history exam, I instead let Rebecca’s words echo in my head. Were we really helping my daughter?
Or was she getting worse?
I needed someone to talk to. I wanted my best friend. So, at school that night, I actively sought Justin out—but he was nowhere to be found. Even as I made that silent walk back to my van, I kept thinking I might see him waiting there like last time.
When I saw that he wasn’t at my van, quiet tears dropped down my cheeks and I knew that I’d fucked up. I’d overplayed my hand. Before now, notch on Justin’s bedpost or not, at least he was there to listen, really listen, and sometimes give me advice.
Now, I didn’t even have that.
This date with Kevin had better be worth losing my best friend. It had damn well better.
Chapter Sixteen
Getting ready for the date with Kevin on Friday night, it was impossible for me to not compare getting ready for my date with Justin just a couple of weeks earlier. While Justin had appreciated my efforts, he had accepted me the way I often looked—without makeup, in torn-up jeans and a t-shirt. After taking Sarah to my mom’s house, I stood outside the back door smoking a cigarette, wishing I hadn’t even agreed to the date.
But even though I couldn’t get excited about it, I knew I probably needed to do it to help get Justin out of my system. So I forced myself to take a shower and put on a pretty dress. Maybe I’d enjoy myself after all.
The date itself was pleasant. Kevin took me to a French restaurant in town that I’d never been to before—and I couldn’t even read the menu because it was all in French. While I recognized some of the dishes, most of it made no sense to me—so I felt a little out of my league.
Uncomfortable.
But Kevin, looking sharp in a suit and tie, almost sexy, put me at ease. He knew enough French that he went down the menu, telling me about each dish before the waiter offered his help. Never in my life had I chosen to “have what he’s having,” but this time I did, because it was a chicken dish that sounded good. I also felt relief that he ordered a bottle of wine. While I wanted to swig it down, I knew it would have been impolite, so I forced myself to sip.
Frequently.
Kevin, the attentive date, filled up my glass more often than his own.
It didn’t help that we spent the evening talking about Sarah—but I diverted the conversation to asking questions about his education and then we moved onto mine.
For dessert, he ordered—again in French—a chocolaty concoction that melted in my mouth, making the wine taste even sweeter. I lost count of how much I’d drunk, but when we stood to leave, I could feel it in my head and legs. I’d never been much of a wine drinker, so I was surprised at how light and almost giddy I was feeling as we walked toward Kevin’s car.
He held the passenger door open for me, but I asked, “Do you mind if I have a cigarette first?”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Yeah. Bad habit. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. We’re just getting to know each other.”
But I only smoked half of the cigarette before we got in the car. When he leaned over and kissed me, I was surprised at my response, because he felt so much different from Justin. Like the way he moved his tongue and how he placed his hands on my arms, Justin would’ve either grabbed me possessively around the waist, pulling me closer or winding his hands around my head, intertwining his fingers through my hair. The way Kevin kissed me felt safer, like he was afraid of pushing too hard. Like I was fragile.
I didn’t know if I liked it.
My body, though, woke up to his attention. So I decided I must have liked it. Placing my left hand on his chest, I wrapped the other around his neck.
“Are you ready to go home?”
Maybe the wine was talking. “Not really.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What would you like to do?”
“We could go back to your place for a while.”
Definitely the wine.
“Okay. We can do that.”
I rested my head on the back of the seat, closing my eyes, thinking I really needed to get laid by someone besides Justin. Kevin would do.
When we got back to his place, a little house across town, he asked if I wanted more wine, but I didn’t need more. As it was, I already felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Following him into the kitchen, I surprised myself again, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. “No more wine.”
Fuck. Justin had made me far too bold. I knew this because I’d never been this forward with another man I hardly knew.
Kevin turned around and ki
ssed me and then soon after we were in his bedroom. It was then that I realized I was blacking out, losing bits of memory. The next thing I knew, my clothes were off.
Then my hands were secured to the bedpost with the tie that had been around his neck. And I was okay with it. I didn’t even register that he’d gone down on me until an intense orgasm washed over me, making my head swim and my body shake. I was still floating when he entered me, and I wondered if he’d put a condom on.
“Fuck, Randi. You’re so goddamned tight. Your pussy’s like a glove around my cock. I could fuck you all night long.” He kept pumping inside me and I came again.
But most of what happened I barely remembered.
The next thing I knew, he was holding me close. “Was that good for you?”
I forced my eyes open. “Yeah, that was incredible—but I really should get home.”
My body was all but numb as we dressed in silence. Then he took me home and I slept till we got there. When he dropped me off, he had a ridiculous smile on his face. “I had a good time, Randi.” He gave me a long kiss before I shoved my key in the door. “I’ll call you next week.”
When I closed the door, I immediately fished the cigarettes out of my purse and walked through the house. Opening the back door, I leaned against the jamb, realizing it was cold, but I couldn’t feel shit. I sucked down a cigarette, admitting I wasn’t proud of myself. Sure, I’d done it with another guy, but the whole goddamned time—at least the parts I could remember—I’d been thinking about Justin.
And all that did was make me a fucking dirty slut.
That entire weekend, my mind kept going over it and over it before I realized my daughter’s school counselor had tied me up. Had I enjoyed it? Was that strange on a first date? With someone you hardly knew?
It was times like these I could have used a best friend who wasn’t the guy I couldn’t forget about.
Maybe I needed to go back to being a fuck buddy. At least I could talk to him after we had sex.
Jesus. No wonder I couldn’t help my daughter. I couldn’t even fucking help myself.
* * *
That next Tuesday, I was heading back to my van after class, trying to remember something my history prof had said when I noticed Justin on the sidewalk ahead of me. Without even consciously thinking about it, I slowed my pace to avoid talking to him. When I realized what I was doing, I shook my head. So stupid and childish. No matter how badly my heart wanted him all to myself, he was still my friend—but he wouldn’t be if I didn’t nurture that relationship. So I sped up. “Hey, Justin.”
“Rascal. How goes it?”
“Same old thing.” So this was fucking weird. This felt…normal. Unrestrained. Maybe the conflict between Justin and me had only been in my head. “You?”
“Ditto. Work and school. A little play. Not much else.”
“How are classes going?”
“Fine. Top of my class. Momma’d be proud. I never was the best in school at anything. Till now.”
“You found your calling, my friend.”
“I guess I have.” After intertwining his hands, he stretched his arms out in front of himself, cracking his knuckles as we continued walking. “What about you? Have you figured out what you’re gonna be when you grow up yet?”
“No. It sucks. And it’s crunch time. I’ve got to figure that out before spring registration.”
“Better hurry.”
“Yeah. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“How’re you holding up, by the way?”
“Okay. The psychologist is promising me that she and Sarah are still making good progress, even though she doesn’t have any definitive answers.”
“Give it time.” When we reached the parking lot, we paused next to my van, and then I noticed that Justin had parked his truck in the spot right next to my vehicle.
And to think I’d been worried.
“So how was your date, Rascal?”
I laughed with the realization that now I finally had an opportunity to talk about what had happened and yet I wanted to confide none of it to him. But we’d always been so open, so honest, so upfront with each other because we had nothing to lose—and that made it impossible for me to hold anything back. “Shit. Weird.” Opening the passenger door to the van, I tossed in my backpack after pulling out a cigarette. Then I leaned against the van. “Really weird.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Oh, God. Where do I even start?” I lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “First of all, we went to that French restaurant downtown.”
“Yeah?”
“The whole menu is in freaking French. I don’t know French.”
“Uh, it’s a French restaurant, darlin’.”
“Yeah, but Mexican restaurants don’t have all Spanish in them.”
“So you think enchilada is an English word?”
His silliness made me chuckle and helped me relax even more. After sticking my tongue, I said, “You know what I mean.”
“Okay. So what else was so strange besides the foreign menu?”
“Well, this guy, who, up to this point, seemed pretty laid back—you know, sweaters, khaki pants, loafers—wore a suit. I felt really underdressed.”
“That’s weird? Well, maybe the loafers…”
“It just added to the whole strangeness of the evening.”
“What else?”
My cheeks felt slightly warm and I debated with myself if I wanted to say more. Already I felt loads better just talking to Justin about the evening, so I decided to leave it at that. “Just a bunch of other crazy stuff.”
“That’s not vague.”
Blowing another puff of smoke from my mouth, I looked down at the pavement as the words simply gushed out of my mouth, my brain unable to stop them. “He fucking tied me up.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re serious. Where?”
“On his bed.”
“Oh.” When he didn’t say anything else, I finally looked up, dreading to see his expression—but the only indication that he also thought it was weird was the way he’d raised his eyebrows. “Hand me one of your cancer sticks, wouldja? Guess that is pretty weird for a first date. How long have you known this guy?”
I handed him a cigarette and lighter. “Not long enough for that shit.”
“So I take it there’s no second date?”
“I’m not planning on one.” Fucking A. I’d really said all that. To Justin? Damn him. Why was he so easy to talk to?
“Yeah, I mean, save the tying-up shit for at least the third date, right?”
In spite of myself, I laughed hard and couldn’t answer at first. “At least.”
“How come you and me never did anything like that?” As he sucked down smoke, he gave me a sideways glance.
“Are you into that?”
“Not really. But I’m game for trying anything once. Twice even.”
“You mean to tell me none of the girls you’ve ever been with haven’t tried something like that with you?”
“I didn’t say that. Once I dated a woman who liked to play dominatrix. So I’ve been tied up pretty good once or twice.”
“TMI, man.”
“Fair’s fair, Rascal.” Tossing the cigarette butt on the ground, he stomped on it. “Guess I better let you go home to your kiddos.”
“Yeah. I need to.” After I threw my spent cigarette butt on the asphalt as well, Justin hugged me, and I probably held on longer than I should have. “It was good talking to you. I mean that.”
“I know.” We finally released one another. “See ya later.”
I slept a whole lot better that night. My friend was back.
* * *
The next day, I wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but Kevin and I were chatting and planned a second date. This time, though, it was going to be a family game night—I’d cook and he’d bring something to go with. Because he really was a nice guy, even with his
strange bedroom proclivities, I needed someone nice in my life.
This was good. This would help me keep Justin firmly in the friend zone so maybe my heart could let him go.
The rest of the universe, however, had other plans.
I was into my second hour of studying late that morning when my cell rang. It wasn’t a number I recognized, but with all that had happened with Sarah lately, I wasn’t about to ignore any calls. When I answered, there was silence on the line for a few seconds, long enough that I almost hung up.
But then a female voice asked, “Is this Randi?”
“Yes.”
“Or, should I say, Rascal?”
“Who is this?” I refrained at the moment from using the F word.
“This is Chelsea, Justin’s girlfriend.” My hackles rose at the emphasis the little twit placed on the last word. Girlfriend. Sure, Justin had girlfriends, but I’d seen him blow through at least a dozen of them in the short time we’d been friends. The word girlfriend didn’t have as much import as this woman seemed to think. No matter. I bit my tongue while she continued chattering. “You were in his cell with just your first name and a hell of a texting history. I’d like to know why you rate all that, Randi.” Chelsea said my name with so much contempt that I found myself glaring at nothing in particular in my kitchen.
But I managed to keep my voice calm. “Because we’re close friends.”
“I’d like to know how close.”
“That’s none of your business. If Justin wants to talk to you about it, that’s fine.”
“Whatever. I’m just calling to put you on notice, bitch.”
“Notice? For what?”
“From here on out, you will leave Justin alone. No calling him, no spending time together, nothing. It’s unhealthy for a guy to have friends who are women when he has a girlfriend. It’s potentially damaging.”
“What? Are you out of your mind?” Once more, restrained, I kept myself from calling her a bitch. But the word was rolling around in my brain.
“Are you out of yours? You are not as important to Justin as you might think.”
“You don’t have any idea what I think. You don’t even know me—and you have no right to talk to me like that.” Standing up, I grabbed my cigarettes and walked toward the back of the house. Before she could start talking again, I said, “In fact, don’t ever call me again.”
Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5) Page 15
