by CM Foss
“What were you doing?” she whispered harshly.
I looked over my shoulder, lip curled, irritated at her possessive tone. “I just went out for a smoke, and Mrs. Robinson out there accosted me. I was terrified.”
“It looked”—she gave a swift shake to her head, dangerously close to upsetting her hair—“you didn’t look scared.”
“Well, I was.”
“You looked intrigued.”
“Well, I was that too. How could I not be?”
She followed me to the bar where I ordered another drink.
I turned to her with it. “And anyway, what do you care?”
“Patrick. Of course I care.”
I looked at her through narrowed eyes over the rim of my glass. “I know you care about me, but what do you care who I’m with? What’s going on here, Shana? You’re acting… different.”
She looked at me for a long moment, as if deciding what to say.
Finally she reached out and tugged my arm. “Can we talk for a minute?”
She walked away before I could answer, and I followed her all the way out to the parking lot where she leaned against my car, making me cringe. It was a gift from my parents, a brand-new black Mercedes, and I loved it. I was a little afraid the starch in her dress would scratch the paint.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said finally.
I groaned audibly but didn’t grace her with a verbal response.
“I know I have to stay. And I know you have to go. I just… don’t want you to.”
“Where is this coming from? And why now? We’ve always been… friends. Right? Just… friends.” I ran my hand through my hair. I’d never pretended otherwise. Never given an indication of further feelings. I’d thought she was the perfect… partner in that. She was so composed all the time, so… unfeeling. Until now.
She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing. “We’ve always been more than friends, Patrick.”
I leveled a stare at her. “Not to me.”
She allowed her arms to fall to her sides, but kept her mask in place. “Ouch.”
“I never pretended otherwise.” I was quick to defend. “We’ve never been exclusive. We’ve never even… Christ, Shana, we’ve never even gone on a date.”
“Well, we’ve had sex!” she almost shrieked.
“That’s not the same thing!” I yelled back, throwing up my hands and spinning around. I dug around in my pocket and pulled out my cigarettes, lighting one quickly and inhaling deeply.
Spinning back around, I saw her slumped back against my car, dejected. Chewing my lip, I walked over and tucked a strand of hair that had come loose behind her ear. Finally, a lapse in perfection. She sighed and started to lean into me. I bent my head, kissed her cheek, then stepped away, relieved for the distance. Her arms tightened around her chest as if she were chilled, despite the heat of the evening.
“I should go,” I said quietly.
She stepped away from my car. “You can’t go. It’s your party.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s really not.”
Ivy
“Make sure you take a condom!” Connie hollered from the kitchen as I started to walk out of the main house.
I stopped short, resting my head against the doorframe as I laughed, heat spreading across my cheeks.
“It’s not a date!” I called back. “We’re just two friends going out for a drink.”
“You weren’t friends yesterday. How’d that happen so fast?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out right away. “I don’t know, but no condoms are necessary.”
“Friends can have sex.”
“These friends are not going to!”
“Well, someone should.”
“Maybe you should use some of those condoms with George,” I tossed back, hoping to catch her off-guard.
“Nah,” she yelled. “He likes it bareback.”
As I walked out to my truck, half laughing and half traumatized by her response, and climbed in, I tried to give myself a pep talk. This was not a date, at least not to me. God, I hoped Matt understood that. If it was a date I would have cooked for him. A drink with the local EMT who’d been hitting on me since the day I rolled into town three years ago was simply my attempt to appease Connie. I was getting off the farm, being social, meeting new people.
I drove around the winding country roads for twenty minutes before arriving in town, the entire time singing out loud and tapping a boot on the floorboard of my truck, anything to keep my nerves at bay. There was no need to be nervous, after all. It was just drinks. With a friend. Or… a friendly person, anyway.
I pulled up in front of the bar and shut off the engine. Grabbing my purse, I looped the strap over my neck, tucking my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. My clothes were purposefully as casual as I could get. Jeans, boots, and a white tank top. My damp hair was knotted into a messy bun at the back of my head, and I had no makeup on. I was trying to throw out this is not a date as hard as I could.
But as I walked in the front door and noticed Matt’s look from across the room when he saw me, I sort of wished I’d worn a sweater despite the humidity outside. A big, bulky one. His eyes lit up and an eager, goofy grin spread across his face. I smiled weakly in his direction as I made my way over to the small table. He stood as I approached and surprised me by leaning over to kiss my cheek. I let him. Barely. His jaw was disconcertingly smooth against my skin, and I let a broader smile stretch over my face to cover my reaction.
“Do you want anything to eat?” he asked as he placed a bar menu in front of me.
I blanched. No way would I eat the food here. “No. Thanks. I ate at home. But it’s nice to pop out for a quick drink. With a friend, you know.” Great work on the subtlety, Ivy.
He looked at me with his eyebrows furrowed together before returning to his study of the menu. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”
The waitress came to get our drink order. Matt ordered some wings with his beer while I was content with a glass of wine. We waited uncomfortably for our orders. Finally, a tray arrived with my salvation.
Taking a long sip from my glass, I looked over to Matt who was studying me.
“So, Matt. How’d you end up in this town?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably. I was so bad at small talk. Literally, it was painful. I’d rather perform my own Brazilian.
He nodded and set his drink down in front of him. “I grew up here. Just never left.”
“That’s neat. Is your family still around?”
“Yup. All of them. They’re everywhere.”
I smiled at his description and twirled my glass. I loved the small-town life of generations staying close. In New York, if you met someone with the same last name, it was coincidence. Here, it meant they were related.
I cleared my throat. “Um”—embarrassment washed over me—“what is your last name?”
“Pearce.” His eyes twinkled with humor.
“Oh, is it your mom who cuts my hair?” I bit my lip. “I should know that, shouldn’t I?”
He just shrugged. “Yeah, that’s my mom.”
I went back to staring at my glass. When did I turn into this person? I always considered myself friendly but Connie was right. I really did need to get out more. Pop my bubble, or at least deflate it a little.
An awkward silence settled over us. While I knew I should dig deeper, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it with Matt.
The waitress saved me once again, checking in on us. She looked to be near my age, cute with curly, light brown hair and striking blue eyes, smiling and bubbly. Totally eyeing my date, which was fine by me. And I’d never met her before. I reached out my hand, deciding in that moment to step out of my comfort zone of only being nice to people who pa
id me.
“Hi, I’m Ivy.”
“I know who you are.” She shook my hand warmly. “I’m Emily.”
I sighed. “I’m terrible, aren’t I? How have I not met you?”
She laughed, and it came easily, like she did it often. “I’m actually fairly new to town. Well, kind of. I grew up here and moved away for a while, and now I’m back.”
“Oh, well that makes me feel a little better. I’m on a mission to”—I waved a hand around awkwardly—“get out more. You know?”
Her eyes flicked between Matt and me. He shifted in his seat and took a sip of beer. Interesting.
“How are you, Matt?” She smiled tightly at him.
“Good. Good.” He nodded, a slight blush crossing his cheeks. It was cute. This was fun. I mean, I always feel better when someone acts more awkward than me. I kind of wanted to kick him under the table and tell him to go for it, talk to her. But instead I just looked between them with my lips smashed together to keep from grinning.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Ivy,” Emily finally said, breaking the silence. “Maybe I’ll stop in and see you sometime.”
I smiled, genuinely hoping she would. “I’d like that.”
She left with a tap of her fingers on the table.
Matt and I fell back into small conversation, but I felt easier and more relaxed now that I knew he had a whole other hang-up. His eyes followed Emily whenever they could and I didn’t miss the glances she sent his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. Friends. I was much better at being friends than I was… anything else.
I studied him as we chatted, trying to figure out where my lack of attraction came from. He was good-looking, with short blond hair and brown eyes. His arms and shoulders were muscular and toned from manual labor, and I knew he was good-hearted from all his volunteer work and because he was always up for helping anyone in need, anytime. He was just a little socially awkward, which said a lot, coming from someone whose social interaction was limited to clients and goats. You could tell his heart was in the right place, but it always felt like he tried a smidge too hard. All the time. Like a Labrador puppy. Labs were great and all. They just weren’t my top pick of canines. Then again, maybe he was just nice, and I didn’t know how to respond to that.
“You sure you don’t want anything to eat?” he asked, gesturing to the half-empty plate.
I grimaced and tried to hide it with a yawn. That crap would not touch my lips. Bile rose in my throat, and I almost got hives just thinking about it. I’m pretty sure they weren’t grinding their own organic wheat into flour back there. Which reminded me… I had to mill some of my own when I got home. “No thanks. I’m getting pretty tired. I should probably go.”
He shot up out of his chair and dug into his pocket to throw some bills on the table. “Here. Let me walk you out.”
I held up a hand. “Oh, Matt. I can buy my own drink.”
He stopped me from reaching for my purse with a hand on my bare arm. “I could never let a lady buy her own drink. What would my momma think?”
He smiled what I’m sure was his most charming smile. The one that made the local girls weak in the knees and melty. You know, all five of them. The girly side of me wished I would melt too.
I acquiesced with a nod, but only because I knew I wouldn’t win anyway. He placed an arm around my waist as we exited the bar, and I let him, mostly because I wasn’t sure how to get out of it without being a bitch. In my mind, I was playing the friend card pretty hard, vigorously trying to emit those vibes. And I wasn’t sure why it wasn’t working better. He was either dense or unused to anyone turning him down, or I was really bad at this.
We reached my truck and I hit the unlock button on my keys. Taking a strange little awkward hop step, I stole some distance from him and opened my door. Before I could climb in, he was suddenly very close to me, an arm on either side of the frame.
It could have been seductive in other circumstances, say if I were a different girl or maybe he were a different guy. But I wasn’t and he wasn’t, and all I wanted to do was get away from the closeness and the heat of his body and the cloying scent of his cologne.
“I had a great time with you tonight,” he said.
“Yeah, me too.” My voice came out unusually high-pitched and squeaky.
He leaned closer. “Can I take you out again sometime?”
I leaned away. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I love to hang out with friends.” This was a girl fail. Why on earth couldn’t I just say I didn’t want to date?
One corner of his mouth curved into a knowing smirk, like he finally got it or finally relented. Either way, he didn’t press further. “Okay, Ivy. Sounds good. I’ll give you a call.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and watched me for a moment before turning around.
“Good night,” he called over his shoulder.
“Good night,” I repeated quietly.
I swore to myself, right then and there, I’d never go on another date again.
Chapter 3
Patrick
“On the road again…” I sang to myself, tapping my thumbs on my steering wheel to the tune in my head. I know. Shit.
I was driving from Dallas to New York on my way to a new job at a private practice and trying to take advantage of my few weeks off by taking it slow, unwinding. And I was already so tired of it. Unwinding was proving to be harder work than work. I needed activity, busyness. Unending beautiful scenery was making me antsy. Where were all the people?
This car was not meant for the country.
I know. I was that guy. But I’d worked hard for my car, and it was something I’d always wanted. Okay, so my parents bought it, but only because of the time I’d put in. It symbolized getting somewhere in my career. Just because I wasn’t sure where precisely that was didn’t take away the importance.
Course, after hours… days… spent in it, some of the shine was wearing off. I’d wasted a bit too much time in her interior, worrying about her exterior. And I had a feeling there wasn’t another no-touch car wash around for a while.
I glanced around at the scenery flying past me. Green. Lots of green. Lots of trees and mountains. It was beautiful, sure. It’s just that there wasn’t anything… else. I couldn’t stop at a sight even if I wanted to because there was nothing to see, though I did take a picture of the Virginia state limits sign. If I kept going, I could be at Lissa’s in about five hours, just in time to rile my niece and nephew up before bedtime. I’d been taking a few scenic routes since this was supposed to be my downtime and Sean had bet me two hundred dollars that I couldn’t take my time.
I was starving though, and the last cigarette I smoked—outside the car, of course—was feeling like it was eating away at the lining of my stomach. It was bad enough that the thought of another one, even the scent of one, nauseated me. I’d had to change into a new shirt just to get away from the lingering smell.
A sign for a roadside stand up ahead caught my eye. I hadn’t seen any other signs of life in so many miles. All I could hope was that they had something packaged or ready to eat.
I slowed my car way down, cringing as she rolled onto the gravel, and sent a quick prayer up that nothing would nick her gleaming black coat. Shit, I didn’t even want to scratch a tire. I pulled up on the flattest spot I could find and shut off the rumbling of the engine. There were a couple of cars parked in the gravel lot, but as I stepped out and stretched my legs, I didn’t see any people. I walked carefully, trying not to scuff my shoes. The stand was a pretty sizable wooden building but quaint-looking with its red walls and white trim. One side had a big overhang and a cutout that allowed you to look in at the shelves holding jars of honey and jams. A small door was propped open, so I poked my head in to see what the deal was, admittedly beginning to regret stopping. It was looking like a
waste of time.
There was a big fridge in the corner with a price list taped to the front. A table was next to it with a large ceramic pot and lid with a dollar sign taped on top. There was a stack of papers that looked like some sort of ledger, weighted down with a river rock. A jar of pens had a sign on them stating: Please don’t steal the pens. They weren’t particularly nice-looking pens, so I wasn’t sure where the danger was, really.
Then I heard rustling behind the wall and the word “breathe” being whispered. For a brief moment, I considered that people were having sex back there. I mean, it seemed like a decent rendezvous spot to me. But then I didn’t think I’d ever had a woman tell me to breathe while we were doing the deed. Maybe they were high schoolers.
My interest was piqued even more when I heard another female voice as I stepped closer to the door that would lead me back there. Not sex then. Unless it was lesbian sex. If it was, then I was definitely going in. Maybe. Actually that idea scared me a little.
I tapped softly on the door and cleared my throat to speak, but before I could, it was shoved open, making me jump back and out of the way. A petite woman in her midtwenties stood in front of me, long golden hair swept back into a messy ponytail with several strands hanging loose and clinging to her damp forehead. She was wearing a beat-up pair of cowboy boots and a faded pair of jeans with a black tank top. Her green eyes were striking, standing out against her light skin. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were soft and full. I ran my eyes over her features, trying to figure out why it was suddenly hard to breathe.
She was the kind of beautiful I’d expect to see back home. City beautiful. Except there was nothing city about her.
“Can I help you?” Her voice cut through the silence sharply, and I realized I’d been staring.
