Panty Dropper

by Shawn, Melanie

  She stopped and stood still. I turned to see why and without a word, she lifted up on her toes, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pulled me to her. It shocked me, especially since she’d tensed up earlier in the bar when I’d had my hand on her back. For a few moments, I froze, but then, when her arms tightened, squeezing me tighter, I snaked my arms around her waist and she melted against me.

  As we stood, holding each other in silence, a piece of my heart that had been missing since the day I lost my mom clicked back into place. I felt a wholeness. A sense of peace that had evaded me for over twenty years was filling me now.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve Reagan falling into my life like an angel from heaven, but I was going to do everything I could from this day forward to be the man that did deserve her.

  Something snapped in me in that moment. It might’ve been because today had been about the finality of death and there not being a promise of tomorrow. But whatever the cause, I pulled back and smiled down at Reagan as I ran my thumb in circles at the base of her spine.

  A guarded look hooded her stare as she lifted her eyes to mine. “What’s that smile for?”

  “I’ve made a decision.”

  “A decision?” she parroted.

  “Yes.”

  “Why am I afraid to ask?” her voice wavered, revealing her nerves as an anxious smile lifted on her beautiful face.

  “I’m done letting opportunities slip through my fingers.”

  Her eyes were comically wide as she asked, “What kinds of opportunities?”

  I leaned down, my lips hovering above hers as I said, “The kind that are standing right in front of me.”

  Her palm flattened on my chest as she spoke my name in a whisper. “Billy, I can’t…”

  “Can’t what?” My lips brushed against hers a second before she stepped back from my embrace.

  “I can’t do this.” She waved her hands between us. “Again, I mean. The other night was fun, but…”

  I wasn’t used to rejection and I had to admit it stung deeper than I would’ve expected it to. But as I stared into her eyes, I saw my own desires mirrored back at me. They were just mixed with a lot of fear. I didn’t know what Reagan was afraid of but I was damn sure I was gonna make it my life’s mission to find out. “But what?”

  “It just would never work. I mean you’re you. And—”

  “I’m me?” I interjected.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Your nickname is Panty Dropper.”

  Shit. She’d dropped that name in the bar, but I hoped she hadn’t put too much stock in it. “It’s not like that with you. I’m not like that with you. You’re different. This is different.”

  “Even if I did believe you, and I’m not saying I do or don’t, but even if I did…” She shook her head and her hair fell over her shoulders and over her forehead, curtaining her face. My fingers itched to reach out and brush it back but she beat me to it. She tucked the strands behind her ear, as she stood taller. “My life just doesn’t have room for this.” Her hands waved between us more frantically. “I don’t have room for different. I mean, I was supposed to be getting married. I had all these plans and now…my life blew up and I’m just trying to figure things out.”

  I could practically see the wheels in her pretty head turning, trying to come up with reasons why we wouldn’t work. And I didn’t think any of them had to do with not wanting to be with me.

  Whatever her excuses for being scared to give this a try, it didn’t have anything to do with my nickname or the fact that she was supposed to be getting married. I’d bet my life that she felt the same way I did. I saw her eyes glisten with recognition when I’d said that what we have is different.

  “I mean, I don’t even have a place to live. I’ve been staying at the boarding house and I need to find something more permanent. And besides—”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten.” I cut her off before she could talk herself even farther out of this, whatever this was.

  “What? Why?”

  “We’re gonna find you somewhere to live.”

  “I told you.” I sighed. “We can’t—”

  “Be friends?” I asked. “We can’t be friends?”

  Her head tilted and her arms crossed in front of her. “Friends? You want to be my friend?”

  “Of course I do. Don’t you want to be my friend?”

  She stared at me and it was clear that a battle was goin’ on behind her dark blue eyes. I knew that her answer would either offer me a glimmer of hope that I desperately needed right now, or it would be a soul-crushing setback in what would be a very big, very treacherous uphill battle to Reagan’s trust and heart. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her raspberry tinted lips parted and I held my breath, waiting to see what her response was going to be.

  “There you are!” Jimmy shouted as leaves crunched beneath his boots. “I’ve been looking all over for you two!”

  Jimmy had always been a cock-blocker, but this was on an entirely different level. He wasn’t interrupting some random hookup. He was being a soul-blocker.

  “Time out is over, kids. Let’s go!” Jimmy motioned with both his arms like he was air traffic control. “It’s karaoke time and Pop wanted us up first.”

  Fuck. I was going to be so happy when this day was over. The only thing that was making it somewhat bearable was the woman standing in front of me…who wasn’t even sure she wanted to be my friend.

  “Shall we?” I held out my arm.

  “Karaoke?” she asked, her brows furrowing even as a smile tilted the corners of her mouth up.

  “That’s right!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Pop loved karaoke so he wanted his boys, or sorry, his kids, to sing his favorite song.”

  “And that would be?” Reagan asked my brother.

  Jimmy scrunched his face as if he didn’t understand the question. “Sweet Home Alabama. What else would it be?”

  “Of course, sorry,” Reagan chuckled as she slid her hand around my bicep.

  The moment her fingers gripped my arm, warmth spread through me.

  As the three of us walked back to the bar and Jimmy spouted off about Abernathy and how he’d showed him the door, I waited to feel the same anger that had me seeing red return. But it wasn’t there. All I felt was hope. Reagan may not have answered me, but with her beside me, I knew that anything was possible. Whether she did or not.

  CHAPTER 28

  Reagan

  “Mom, I’m going to hang up if all you want to talk about is Blaine.” I was so sick of going around in circles with the woman who gave birth to me.

  She’d called and texted several times a day, every single day since I’d arrived in Firefly. I’d made it a rule to only respond or pick up one time per twenty-four hour period, but even with those restrictions she was still wearing me down. Nothing I said got through to her. She had wedding tunnel vision, and I couldn’t get her to see the light at the end of it.

  I put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the bed as I pulled up my last pair of clean underwear. They were cotton briefs that Blaine not-so-lovingly referred to as my “granny panties”, just because they weren’t a thong and had no lace on them.

  “He just wants to talk to you, Fancy. Why did you block him?”

  The better question is why haven’t you blocked him?

  “Because,” I modulated my tone, trying to keep my composure, “I have nothing to say to him and I don’t want to hear anything he has to say to me.”

  “One week, Fancy! You’re getting married one week from today. Blaine knows he messed up and wants to make it up to you, believe you me. He gets it. Just talk to him.”

  “Mom, I love you, but I’m done discussing this with you.” The dresser drawer where I’d stored my casual wear stuck so I gave it a hard pull, grunting as it fought me all the way.

  “What was that? Are you alone?”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m just—”

  “Reagan.” Blaine’s voice came through the speaker
and I froze. “Is someone there with you?”

  I knew he couldn’t see me because we weren’t talking on Facetime, but even still, hearing him speak while I was half naked in my room made me feel violated. I scrambled onto the bed and disconnected the call. I couldn’t believe my mom had stooped to that level.

  Actually, I could. Why would I be surprised? I hadn’t been joking when I’d told Nadia that Blaine had got my mom in the breakup, but if this wasn’t proof that he had, I’m not sure what was.

  My phone lit up again with my mom’s face on the screen, but I ignored the call.

  One more week. I told myself. After “the big day” came and went, I hoped that she would drop this and we could go back to our regular relationship. The one where I called to check on her every Sunday and she complained to me about the doorman not smiling enough, or the dry cleaner ruining her blouse, or the kale in her salad being too limp, or any number of the other first world problems she had time to bitch about thanks to Hal leaving her in the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to living when he was alive.

  Every breath she spent doing anything other than being grateful for her life, for Hal, for the time we got with him, infuriated me. I spent the hour wanting to tell her to shut up. I had to bite my tongue not to say that there were children starving, there was war, people were sick and dying, or any number of other injustices in the world. I knew it wouldn’t make any difference because I had said all those things, many times, but she’d listened just about as well as she did when I told her I wasn’t getting married next week.

  When my phone vibrated and lit up again, I put it on silent and decided not to let her call sidetrack me.

  Standing back up with renewed determination, I finally managed to wrestle the drawer open. I looked down and saw that I was down to my sole pair of jean shorts, which I’d named my “laundry” shorts. They were shorter than I was comfortable wearing, at least out in public, and I found myself throwing them on when I needed to do laundry. Which was the case now. I would add that to my list of to-dos, along with not falling in love with Billy Comfort.

  I thought laundering my clothes was much more attainable.

  No matter what I did, I simply could not stop thinking of that man. It was bordering on obsessive at this point. I couldn’t sleep, for God’s sake, and during every damn waking hour, I couldn’t go more than five minutes without something he said, or his smile, or the way he kissed me, or the feeling of being in his arms fluttering through my brain.

  I’d timed it.

  The whole thing was exhausting. And now he wanted to be friends.

  Was that even possible?

  Could I be friends with someone when all I thought about every time we were together was ripping his clothes off?

  Sure you can, it’s called friends with benefits, Nadia’s voice played in my head.

  Fatigue pulled at me as I stood back up, spearing my arms through my faded gray Northwestern T-shirt, which was the other piece of my laundry OOTD.

  A quiet knock sounded at my door and I looked at the time. It was nine a.m. A full hour before Billy had said that he was going to pick me up to look for places. Honestly, I hadn’t even been sure he would show up at all, much less early.

  After going back into the bar with Jimmy, we hadn’t discussed our conversation in the woods. We hadn’t discussed anything, for that matter.

  I’d watched him, Hank, Jimmy, and Cheyenne sing karaoke, and hung around during the Shuffleboard Showdown, which was another one of the late Mr. Comfort’s requests. Originally there were only going to be three teams, but the brothers insisted on Cheyenne joining in.

  So there ended up being four teams, each with a Comfort on them, competing for the title of Shuffle Board King, which James Sr. had proudly held for a quarter of a decade.

  Ultimately, it came down to Cheyenne and Cash against Billy and Ray. I still wasn’t convinced that Cash hadn’t thrown the game thanks to the not-so-friendly looks that Billy had been shooting his way.

  While Jimmy was crowning Billy and Ray, I slipped out. It had been a long day and I hadn’t wanted to field anymore questions about what was going on between Billy and I. Apparently, it had created quite a splash when we’d made our Dylan and Brenda 90210 exit. I’d assured all inquiring parties, including Mrs. B and her best friend Miss Shaw, that Billy and I were just friends. I wasn’t sure anyone was convinced by my assurances, most of all me.

  Butterflies flitted in my stomach as I opened the door. “You’re earl—” My word dropped off before I could get out the last syllable. A Comfort stood in front of me, but not the one I’d been expecting. “Cheyenne! Hi!”

  “Hi, I hope you don’t mind me just stopping by.” She lifted a pink box and paper tray containing two beverages. “I brought donuts and coffee.”

  “You’re always welcome! Come on in!” I held the door open for her.

  “Expecting company?” she commented as we both settled at the small table/desk that sat in the corner of the room. I perched on the edge of the bed and she lowered down on the sole chair in the room.

  “Um, no, why?” I lied. I had no idea why I did that. Cheyenne was a friend and I didn’t normally make it a habit of lying to my friends.

  Cheyenne eyed me suspiciously, and I broke. “Well, Billy mentioned taking me out to look for places to live.”

  “Ooooh, that sounds fun.” She opened the lid revealing an assortment of delicious looking pastries.

  “As friends,” I rushed to clarify. “We’re just friends.”

  “Well, I won’t stay long. I just wanted to stop by and say thank you for coming to Southern Comfort last night, I know that you didn’t want to.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that—”

  She held up her hand. “Save it. I saw the look in your eyes when I asked if you were going. You went for me and I really appreciate it and I’m sorry that I really didn’t get a chance to talk to you.”

  “You seemed pretty busy.” I was dying to add, with Cash. But since she hadn’t batted an eye when I’d insisted Billy and I were just friends, even though she’d seen me sneak out of his house, I figured I’d show her the same restraint. “There were a lot of people there.”

  “Yeah.” Her lids lowered as her head dipped down in a coy manner. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about one of them.”

  I was more than happy to discuss Cash with her, but I wasn’t sure how much help I’d be. I’d barely spoken to the man.

  “He was at the funeral,” she continued, “and also showed up to the bar right before you and Billy left out the back.”

  It took my brain a second to catch up to who she meant. “Mr. Abernathy?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted. “I think that’s what I overheard someone call him. He was sharply dressed, with salt and pepper hair. Not real tall but he has an…an air about him.”

  “Yep, that’s him. Jennings Abernathy.” I picked up a jelly donut and almost cried when I sank my teeth into it.

  “Who is he?”

  I finished off my bite, grabbed the paper-thin white napkin that came with the donuts and dabbed my mouth with it. “Why do you ask?”

  “I recognize him.”

  “You’ve seen him around town?”

  “No, yesterday was the first time I’ve seen him since I’ve been back.”

  “You remember him, from when you were younger?”

  “No. I mean, yes…but not when I lived in Firefly.”

  “You knew him in Connecticut?”

  “No, I didn’t know him. But I saw him when I lived there.”

  “Oh.” I nodded, still not clear on exactly what she meant.

  “He visited my grandparents’ house a few times. When he was there, it stood out to me because they never introduced me to him, which is a mortal sin to my grandparents. They are really big on etiquette and decorum. If we had a guest, I was expected to greet them in the foyer and welcome them. But when he came, Sally the house manager would immediately usher him to the parl
or, which was not a room where children were permitted.”

  Where children were permitted? Sounded like a real fun place to grow up.

  “My grandparents would join him and they’d all speak in hushed tones. Once I tried once to listen, but Sally caught me and shooed me away.”

  “And you’re sure it was him?”

  “Yes, I think so. His hair was a lot more pepper than salt then. But even if I’m misremembering him coming to the house, I’m certain he attended both my high school and college graduations.”

  “Your graduations?”

  “Yes. I know it was him because of the mole on his right cheek.”

  It was a fairly distinctive birthmark. “So he knows your grandparents?”

  “I guess so.” Cheyenne looked as puzzled as me. “When you talked to him, did he mention anything about them?”

  “No. Do you want me to ask him about it?” I was hoping she’d say no. After my run in with him yesterday, I felt it was more necessary than ever to create clear boundaries between my personal and professional life. I didn’t think I’d be able to do that if I was inquiring about his personal life.

  Cheyenne shook her head emphatically. “No. Don’t.”

  I sighed in relief. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”

  She continued her head shaking. “No. No, I don’t want to do that, either. I know he’s seen me. I caught him looking at me more than once, at the funeral and then at the bar afterwards, but he kept his distance. He hasn’t approached me and spoken about my grandparents, or even acknowledged that he knows them.”

  “That’s strange.” This entire situation was getting more mysterious by the day.

  “I thought so, too.” She picked up a glazed donut and finished it off in just a few bites. I wondered if she was an emotional eater, because of the way she’d woofed down that tasty treat.

  “I’ll keep an ear out. He’s not really in the office that much, but I’ll definitely let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Thanks.” She sucked down a large swig of her iced coffee and set it down. “Have you heard anything about my mother’s trust?”