by J. Sterling
How could I describe what I felt when I saw her? I wasn’t sure. “Something’s there. I don’t know what it is, but it’s more than just attraction.”
Nick leaned toward me. “You feel pulled toward her? Drawn in some way?” He noticed my suspicious expression and held up his hands. “I’m not making fun of you or trying to be like Ryan. I’m sincerely asking.”
I nodded because I did feel a pull toward Claudia. Anytime she was in the room, my body demanded to be closer to hers. It was like there was a cord tethering me to her, some sort of force, and I had to fight against it every moment she was in my vicinity. If either of us moved too far away, the cord yanked, drawing me back in.
“There’s something you can’t really explain,” Nick said, “but you just know is different from anything else ever has been before, right?”
Discussing this kind of mushy stuff with my brothers was a huge mistake. I was basically handing them ammunition to use against me for years to come. One day, I’d regret admitting all this shit to them; I just knew it. But for now, I needed their help, their opinions, and their perspective.
I barked out an embarrassed laugh. “I haven’t felt this drawn toward anyone, and we get a lot of women in here.”
“You know, I felt that way about Jess when I first saw her,” Nick said, his voice as sincere as I’d ever heard it. “There was something between us that I’d never felt before. I think there are just some people that you’re drawn to, and you can’t fight it or explain it. Which sucks because we’re men, and we don’t like emotions.” He grinned and pounded his chest like Tarzan.
“I like emotions,” Ryan said, and I swore right then and there that he had a vagina. “What? That’s what I’ve been looking for. That’s the kind of thing I want.”
I scoffed at him. “That’s why you dated every girl who came in our bar for months?”
Ryan had gone through a phase when it seemed like he gave pretty much every woman who wanted one a chance. It wasn’t until he realized that he was creating a really bad situation for himself and our bar that he stopped.
Women constantly came in to flirt with Ryan, to beg him for another chance, to put him on the spot about what went wrong, or why he didn’t like them. But what they didn’t understand was that Ryan was working and they were coming into his place of business, basically harassing him anytime they pleased, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Ryan thought for a moment before answering. “It took me a long time to realize that having chemistry with someone wasn’t the same as having a connection. Chemistry is all physical. Connection is spiritual. I want the connection.”
“When you get married, will you wear the dress?” I teased, and Ryan narrowed his eyes at me.
“I won’t apologize for knowing what I want. It’s a hell of a lot better than the situation you’re in and clearly never getting out of,” he bit out.
Now that just pissed me right off. I could and would beat the hell out of my brother if he didn’t shut up.
“Everyone calm down.” Nick raised his hands in the air, playing the role of peacekeeper.
“He’s just getting pissed because he knows I’m right.” Ryan shoved back his stool and stood up.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Instead, I said, “This isn’t helping.”
Nick shook his head. “On the contrary, I think we’ve accomplished more tonight than we have in the last five years. At least I have a way better understanding of you now. I just think it really sucks.”
I wanted to ask them each what they would do if they were me, but it wouldn’t matter. I knew they’d both say that they’d leave Shelby, but it was easy to say that when it wasn’t your reality. It was easy to think you know how you’d react in a situation when it wasn’t the one you were living.
Nick gave me a pointed look. “Remember how pissed you were when I told you what Dad was doing to me?”
I nodded, remembering how the overwhelming urge to protect him from the hell he was dragged into had surged through me. But his situation and mine weren’t even close to the same thing.
“It’s how I feel for you now. I want to stop this train you’re on. I want you to be able to get off, or at least feel like you have a choice in the matter.”
Damn. Nick made it sound so simple and easy when it was anything but. I didn’t feel like I had a choice when it came to this . . . I felt like I had an obligation. I was required to stay put, no matter what, because I’d given a man my word. And I intended to keep it.
Calmer now, Ryan said, “Watching you live like this is really hard. Knowing the reasons behind it makes it even harder. I don’t know why. It should make it easier, right? Because it all makes perfect sense, but it somehow makes it all worse.”
I understood more than he knew. When you made a promise to a dead man, there was no negotiating. The words you said were written in blood, cast in stone, sent down a river made of his daughter’s tears. They couldn’t be taken back because there was no one to take them back from. Promises made to a dead man were permanent.
“What are you going to do?” Ryan asked as he went back to washing glasses.
“I don’t know.” I said it like it was my new fucking mantra. Those three words seemed to be my answer for every question these days. But if leaving Shelby had been an easy decision, I would have done it years ago.
“Can I have Claudia’s number then, because she’s—” Ryan let out an appreciative whistle, and I bristled at him. My jaw flexed and tightened before he lifted his hands from the soapy water in surrender. “Kidding! I’m just kidding. I’d never do that.”
“But if you don’t call her, Frank, someone else eventually will,” Nick said. “And if you think there might really be something there between you and her, well . . . trust me. It’s worth sacrificing all the other shit it takes to get there.”
Was it worth my conscience? What if Nick was wrong?
And what if I was wrong and there was nothing between Claudia and me except mutual attraction? After all, I’d been out of the game a long time. What if everything I thought I was feeling was a lie? What if I ruined everything, crushing Shelby in the process, for what ended up being nothing, some sort of trick my mind played on me?
How did you decide what was worth the risk and what wasn’t?
Fuck if I knew.
The Three-Day Rule
Claudia
“I feel like a fool,” I said to Britney as she drove us to work Monday morning.
“Why? Because Frank hasn’t called?”
It had been almost three days since I’d given him my phone number, and he still hadn’t called or texted, hadn’t done anything with it. Maybe I’d misread the signs. I probably should have taken my own advice, the wisdom I’d shared with Britney when she first talked to me about liking Ryan—bartenders were supposed to be flirty and make you feel special.
It didn’t seem like Frank’s MO to behave that way, but I didn’t really know him. It could have all been an act, yet my gut instinct told me that wasn’t true.
But if it was all real like my heart wanted to believe, then why hadn’t he contacted me? My mind raced, trying to make sense of things that there was no making sense of.
“Maybe he’s just busy. He does own and run one of the busiest bars in Santa Monica, you know,” Britney said, turning down the volume on the radio. “He probably doesn’t have a lot of downtime.”
I scowled and crossed my arms. “Excuses.”
It didn’t matter how busy someone was. If they were interested in you, they made time. Plus, it took all of two seconds to type out a quick message, so I refused to believe that he was too busy to text. I refused to believe that anyone was too busy to text. Hell, if the president of the United States found the time to tweet, Frank Fisher could certainly type out a damn text message to me.
Britney gave me a quick glance before she returned her attention to the road. “I’m just saying. Maybe he didn’t want to initiate conversation
with you when he wasn’t able to actually have one.”
I shook my head as I tried to interpret her babble. “What are you trying to say?”
“He works all weekend, I assume. He probably doesn’t have time to talk to you, so why text or call when he’d just have to end it after two seconds, or be constantly interrupted? I feel like that would piss Frank off, having to tell you to hold on all the time, or BRB,” she said with a laugh. “I can’t see Frank ever typing out ‘BRB,’ by the way.”
“No,” I said, refusing to accept that.
“No, what?”
“He can make time. It takes a second to text me hello. Text me and tell me work sucks. But text me something! I don’t need some drawn-out hour-long conversation. I understand that we both have lives and are busy, but at least let me know you’re thinking about me. It’s not that hard.” As I raised my voice, my accent came to life. Whenever I got riled up, it came out thicker, and Britney always found that amusing.
“Ooh, I love it when you get all feisty Colombian on me.”
“I’m just saying—” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm down, but I was already too agitated. “I don’t care how good-looking Frank Fisher is, I’m not giving him a pass to treat me like crap.”
Britney slammed her fist on the steering wheel. “Girl power! I like it. Setting a precedent.”
Was that what I was doing? Subconsciously, I probably was. My whole life had been spent making excuses for guys who didn’t do things or treat me the way I expected them to. We women let them off way too easily, time and time again, and then we were the ones who ended up getting hurt in the end. I wanted a man who wasn’t afraid to show me he liked me. I was tired of guessing how men felt, what they wanted, and where our relationship was headed. I was sick of the games. I craved authenticity, something real.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Just how much we settle when it comes to guys. I don’t want to settle anymore. I want the kind of love I’m willing to give, and I don’t want to feel bad about expecting that. I’m tired of lowering my expectations because guys can’t seem to meet them.” Frustrated, I stared unseeing out the passenger window as the world passed by in a blur. “I think we let men treat us like crap. We don’t hold them accountable, almost like we’re afraid they’ll leave us if they don’t like what we have to say.”
Britney nodded. “It’s a little deep for this time of the morning, but I smell what you’re cooking.”
“I really thought he’d call,” I admitted, feeling more than a little vulnerable.
“So did I. I would have put money on it,” she said, and it made me feel marginally better, like I hadn’t made up the connection entirely in my mind.
“And now I’ve ruined our favorite bar for us. Because we can’t go back there.” My mind was racing again. “You can, but I’m never stepping foot in there again. I can’t face Frank after that rejection.” I moaned and rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“It’s only been a couple of days. Don’t write him off yet,” she said with a small shrug.
“I think if he was going to do something, he would have already.”
I truly believed that. When a man wanted a woman, there was no sense in waiting. What would be the point?
“Maybe he’s old-fashioned.” She huffed out a breath. “Maybe he does that whole stupid three-day rule thing. Do guys still do that?”
“Oh God, I hope not.”
I groaned, remembering when guys waited three days before they did anything. They waited three days before they called you the first time, then another three days before they asked you out, then another three days after that first date. It was like some unwritten rule in the guy-code handbook that they all followed. It was the worst, and we tolerated it. Expected it, even.
“I can’t see Frank following any kind of rules,” I said. “He strikes me as the kind of man who does what he wants, whenever he wants.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
So then, what did it mean that he hadn’t reached out to me yet? Even with my mind giving me the logical answer, my heart refused to accept it.
I still held out hope, even if I acted like I had given up.
• • •
I went through the majority of my day thankful for the distraction of work, but still disappointed. Anytime I had a free moment, my mind drifted to Frank, and I found myself wondering what he was doing and thinking. The sound of my cell phone pinging out a text notification grabbed my attention.
A phone number I didn’t recognize appeared on the screen, and my heart thumped hard. When I clicked on the message, it read:
Unknown Number: I hope you’re having a good day at work. Sorry it took me so long to reach out. Forgive me? It’s Frank, by the way.
My fingers flew, typing out a response before my brain could make them stop.
Should I force him to suffer and wait like I had all weekend? No. I hated games, and the last thing I wanted was to waste another second ignoring Frank when I could be talking to him, getting to know him.
After saving his number into my contacts, I pushed back from my desk and headed quickly to Britney’s office. When I waved my phone at her from the doorway, her eyes widened and her mouth formed an O of surprise. She pointed at the telephone receiver held to her ear and flashed me one finger, so I walked back into my office and waited.
“Oh my God,” Britney said as she ran into my office and shut the door a few moments later. “What did he say? I knew he would text you!”
“You did not,” I insisted, because this morning we were both pretty sure he had ditched me, even if we hadn’t said those exact words.
“Okay, fine. But I hoped. Now, read me the damn text.”
I read it to her, and she swooned.
“It’s not really swoon-worthy, Britney.”
“It kinda is. Forgive me?” She started fanning herself. “Did you text him back?”
I leaned back in my chair and swiveled it back and forth. “Not yet. What should I say?”
“Yes, you’ll marry him. You were thinking about two, maybe three kids, and you’ll be over as soon as you get off work.” She batted her eyelashes and I rolled my eyes.
“I was thinking more along the lines of this.” I typed a short text and held out my phone so she could read it before I sent it. “Is it too much?”
She pressed a button on my screen before I could change my mind or even read my response over again to make sure it was okay. “It’s perfect. And sent. You’re welcome.”
My jaw dropped as I grabbed the phone out of her grubby little hands. “You little . . . You can’t be trusted!”
My phone pinged and we both squealed. Literally. I thanked the gods my door was shut because I was acting like a complete idiot, rather than a grown-ass woman with her act together.
“What does it say?”
Instead of handing Britney my phone, since she couldn’t be trusted, I read Frank’s text out loud.
Frank: Would you want to stop by the bar after you get off work? Mondays are usually pretty slow, and I’d love to see you.
I read the text to myself twice more before I gathered the courage to look Britney in the eye, afraid of how much excitement might be reflected in mine. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high.
“What do I say to that?”
“Is that a real question? You say yes in all caps. With a thousand exclamation points after it,” she demanded, completely serious.
Never in a million years would I type a text in that way. And especially not to Frank Fisher.
Claudia: I’d love to stop by. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.
“Boring.” Britney glanced at my text and pretended to snore, and I pointed at the door behind her.
“Out.”
“Fine. I’m leaving. But don’t forget who drove you to work today, and who can forget how to get back to our apartment when we get off.” She stuck her tongue out before disappea
ring from view. She’d never do anything to stop me from seeing a Fisher brother, and we both knew it.
Frank and I texted a couple more times throughout the day, but they were mostly polite messages in response to the others, which I appreciated.
I spent the next few hours swinging between being excited and wanting to throw up. It had been a long time since a guy had piqued my interest. But here I was, counting down the minutes until I could clock out, go home, and change into something comfortable.
There was no way I was showing up at Sam’s in my work clothes.
Not-so-Nice Guy
Frank
What the hell had I done? I’d successfully managed to get through the entire weekend without texting Claudia once. It hadn’t been easy; I had fought off the urge to text her more times than I could count. Thankfully, the bar was packed on Saturday and we had a private party Sunday afternoon, so I could pretend my mind wasn’t stuck on her as I distracted myself with work.
But when Monday rolled around, I couldn’t resist anymore. Mondays were slow as it was, but when Ryan asked if I had talked to her or not, my mind went into overdrive. Once he mentioned her name, it was all over for me. I found myself texting her before I could talk myself out of it. And not only had I initiated conversation and given her my phone number in return, but I’d also asked her to stop by the damn bar. Tonight.
What the hell was I thinking?
At least it was Nick’s night off, so I’d only have to deal with the wrath of Ryan, which wouldn’t be too bad considering he was a Disney princess and all. I stood behind the bar, mentally scolding myself, when the door opened.
I knew Claudia was about to walk through it, sensed her presence before I even saw her. Not wanting to read into that any more than was necessary, I buried the thought.
She walked in, wearing jeans slung low on her hips. The tight top she wore hugged her ample breasts, showcasing them like they were a work of art. Everything about this woman should be displayed; she was that beautiful. All rational thought, good sense, and logic escaped me with just one look at her.
