ALMOST BLUE

by Williams, Mary J.

  “Friendship is off the table?” he shouted through the closed door.

  For a moment, Beck wondered if Sawyer would ignore him and drive away. Gripping the steering wheel, she waited for a beat, took a breath, then rolled down the window.

  “You want to be my friend?”

  Beck learned long ago to treasure the people in his life, they could slip away before you knew what happened. New acquaintances, old buddies, didn’t matter. There was always room for more.

  “I think men and women can be friends.” He sent Sawyer a challenging look. “Don’t you?”

  “With or without benefits?”

  “Depends on the individuals.” Beck was attracted to her, but he respected her boundaries. “You want platonic?”

  “Yes.” Sawyer’s firm tone and serious expression left no room for debate.

  “Fair enough. Drinks, business. When the evening ends, if we agree, a little friendship on the side.”

  “You’re a goofball.”

  “And you stink.”

  Sawyer’s eyes lit with surprised delight seconds before she laughed. Even if he weren’t inclined, Beck would have found it hard not to join in with the infectious sound.

  “Fine. I’m convinced you don’t want to have sex with me.” She put the truck into gear. “See you at five.”

  Beck watched as the vehicle disappeared toward the north end of town before walking to his truck, the entire time contemplating the unfathomable differences between men and women.

  Sawyer believed he didn’t want to sleep with her because an unpleasant odor wafted from her body? Obviously, she didn’t understand the single-mindedness of the male sex drive. If she’d asked him to join her inside the cab of her truck for some major fooling around, he would have literally jumped at the chance, jumped her, smell and all.

  Laughing at himself, Beck buckled his seatbelt. Didn’t matter what Sawyer believed, or his desire to see her naked. She set down the rules, and he agreed. They were potential friends and business associates. Unless she changed her mind, he would honor her wishes.

  A different kind of man would push for more. Charm, cajole, wheedle. Beck was proficient in all three and wasn’t above using his talents over a business deal. Or on a willing woman.

  Too bad Sawyer Hale sparked his interest more than anyone in a long time. But he was who he was—someone who respected the rights and desires of others as much as his own.

  Taking a deep breath, Beck let out a hefty sigh, shifted into gear, and headed his truck south. Sometimes being the good guy sucked.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ♫~♫~♫

  BECK FOUND HIS usual seat at his favorite table, the one tucked into the righthand corner of Rollie’s Tavern.

  Whether for pleasure, business, or like tonight, a combination of both, the atmosphere at Rollie’s was conducive to carrying on a conversation without raising one’s voice. The waitstaff was efficient, the floors clean, the drinks fair priced, and the food tasty.

  The weekend night was a different story. The family atmosphere morphed into an adults-only, honkytonk free-for-all where hell might break loose at the drop of a trucker’s baseball cap.

  Beck went to school with the owner. He believed in supporting his friends whenever possible; they, in turn, supported him. The relationship, forged in elementary school, strengthened through puberty as they discovered the joys—and sorrows—of the opposite sex, and the general ups and downs of growing up, was a hard bond to break.

  While Beck hustled out of town before the ink was dry on his high school diploma, dreams of stardom shining in his eyes, Rollie stayed put, content to marry his high school sweetheart, have a couple of adorable little girls, and eventually take over the family business.

  Since his return to Eatonville, he and Rollie had picked up where they left off. Sure, they were older, hopefully wiser. But the years apart melted away after a few beers and an hour or two walking down memory lane.

  Rollie waved from behind the gleaming oak bar. He whispered something to a pretty redhead as she reached around him for a wine glass. Whatever he said to Annie, his wife, elicited a low, intimate laugh.

  The couple, two of Beck’s favorite people, were a tight unit, in it for the long haul and devoted as the day they married. One of the benefits of working with your wife, according to Rollie, was knowing whatever the problem, big or small, all he had to do was look her way, and all was right with his world.

  Beck had never been in a devoted, long-standing relationship. Still, he could imagine the advantages of waking up next to the same woman every morning. Warm, soft, familiar. The idea held more and more appeal the older he got.

  “You know,” Beck said as Rollie joined him. “Annie’s smile alone is enough to make a man want to settle down.

  “Don’t get any ideas, pretty boy,” Rollie warned with a teasing twinkle in his eyes. He handed Beck a bottle of beer before sipping from his own. “I was her one and only since we were teenagers. Nothing’s changed.”

  “True. She loves you, heart and soul.” Beck heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Even a woman as perfect as Annie needs one flaw to make her human.”

  “Asshole,” Rollie snorted.

  Though he sported a few extra pounds around the belly of his five-foot-ten-inch frame, his dark hair was as thick and unruly as ever, and Rollie’s cocky grin reminded Beck of when they were seventeen and thought the world would hand them the good life on a silver platter.

  Time and experience taught them nothing worth having comes free. Rollie worked hard to maintain the joy he found with Annie. Beck hadn’t found his path to a happily ever after—truthfully, he hadn’t spent much time looking. When the time came—if he was lucky—he swore not to take the chance at love or the woman who owned his heart, for granted.

  Rollie’s dark gaze swept over Beck from head to toe.

  “Nice threads. Date night?”

  “Business.”

  Looking closer, Rollie frowned.

  “Hair slightly damp, face smooth from a recent shave, light-blue, button-down shirt, plus a summer-weight sports coat. The jeans are ubiquitous—you rarely wear anything else unless someone’s getting married or buried. However, I see a shine on your boots.” Rollie made a sniffing noise. “Smell good, too.”

  “What’s your point?” Beck asked, well acquainted with his friend’s need to state the obvious. “Trying to say I usually stink and wear dirty clothes?”

  “Everything adds up to a woman, not business.”

  “Women, in case you haven’t noticed, weren’t put here to merely repopulate the earth and wash your dirty underwear. Unless you think Annie was?”

  “Are you crazy?” No fool, Rollie took a quick glance toward the bar, relieved to find his wife still serving drinks. “Annie’s smarter than me by a country mile. Between her and the girls, women rule my life. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Smart man,” Beck said. And lucky.

  “My point is, you spiff up extra special for a date. Tonight, you’re what I’d call polished. Nice and shiny.”

  Beck knew if he argued, Rollie would see his protests as proof tonight was more than business. Didn’t matter if he had taken extra care while dressing, or while he had picked out the perfect shirt, he couldn’t get Sawyer out of his head. She wasn’t interested. End of story.

  As the thought ran through his head, Sawyer entered the tavern. Never one to miss a thing, Rollie’s eagle eyes followed Beck’s gaze across the room. He let out a low whistle.

  “Your date is Sawyer Hale?”

  “Not my date,” Beck said with emphasis, hoping to put the subject to bed before Sawyer reached the table.

  “Whatever you say.” Rollie didn’t sound convinced.

  “Am I late?” Frowning, Sawyer glanced at her watch. “Blame an extra-long shower. You’d be surprised how hard it is to get chicken manure out of your hair.”

  “You’re right on time.” Beck stood,
holding her chair. “And your hair looks great. Perfect.”

  Beck stifled a groan, catching Rollie’s smirk. Maybe perfect was a step too far for a business acquaintance.

  “Sawyer Hale, have you met Rollie Duckworth?” He rushed the introductions before his friend said something embarrassing, something that would turn relaxed into uncomfortable.

  “More in passing than formally.” Smiling, Sawyer shook Rollie’s hand. “Your wife and I have bonded over coffee while standing in line at Perks.”

  “Annie rarely misses her morning shot of caffeine.” Rollie, for once erring on the side of discretion, morphed from nosey friend to charming owner. “What would you like to drink, Sawyer?”

  “Beer sounds good,” she said, nodding toward Beck’s bottle.

  “I’ll send the waitress right over. You ready for another?”

  “I’m good for now,” Beck assured him. “Have the waitress bring an order of onion rings.”

  “Will do.” Rollie paused, his gaze landing on Sawyer. “By the way, you’re looking shiny tonight.”

  Sawyer watched him go, her expression bemused.

  “Is shiny his not so subtle way of telling me I need to powder my nose?”

  No way in hell would Beck explain the reference. Maybe one day, if the subject came up; after they crossed the line into a genuine friendship. For now, he shrugged off Rollie’s comment

  “Just his way of saying you look nice.” Not a complete fabrication. “Very nice, if you don’t mind me saying. Unless saying so crosses your strictly business boundaries.”

  “Nothing wrong with very nice,” Sawyer said. “Thank you.”

  Truthfully, she was beautiful—not a word Beck tossed around lightly. Everyone had their own definition. For him, true beauty went beyond a pretty face or alluring body.

  Sawyer unquestioningly possessed both. But what set her aside couldn’t be defined. Like a piece of great art, gazing at her spoke to his soul even if he didn’t understand quite why.

  Mentally, Beck rolled his eyes, glad he wasn’t prone to speaking every thought that popped into his head.

  Spoke to his soul? Really? If he laid such a cornball line on Sawyer, sincere though it may be, she’d run for the hills. And he’d hold the door.

  Unaware of Beck’s embarrassing musings, Sawyer fluffed the skirt of her lavender dress, sending the full material swirling around her legs.

  “Confession? I changed clothes a half-dozen times.”

  “Why?”

  Her expression turned sheepish.

  “I wanted something that wasn’t too girly or too date-like. Something that seemed friendly and professional and serious but not staid.”

  “Quite a combination,” Beck chuckled.

  When Sawyer joined in, her face lighting with laughter directed at herself, any lingering doubt sailed out the window. Definitely friend material.

  “Turns out though my wardrobe is extensive, no outfit exists that covers every base. I circled back to dress number one—my favorite—and damn the consequences.”

  Beck liked her more by the second. Self-deprecating, funny, confident, each trait hit right in his personal wheelhouse.

  “Confession?” Beck moved an inch closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

  Mimicking him to perfection, Sawyer leaned in, a spark of interest and delight glittered in her hazel eyes.

  “Secrets? Yes, please.”

  “Nothing too incriminating,” he warned as the waitress arrived with Sawyer’s drink and a basket of crispy, hot, golden onion rings.

  She dove right in, taking a bite, and letting out a satisfied sigh before washing the mouthful down with a swig of beer.

  “Continue,” Sawyer urged, licking a bit of salt from the corner of her mouth. “Tell me something I can hold over your head for the rest of our lives.”

  I’d give a year’s salary to exchange my tongue for yours. Again, Beck kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps he wasn’t completely committed to the friend zone. Nor was he a drooling sex maniac. If—okay, when—the problem came up again, he’d simply breathe deep and calculate the bulk price of penny nails. He cleared his throat and took a drink.

  “After the buildup, I’m afraid my confession will be a letdown.”

  “Nothing salacious?”

  “Boring.” Beck shrugged.

  “Let me be the judge.” She raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “I changed my clothes, too. Four times.”

  “No!” Sawyer gasped.

  Her exaggerated reaction put a grin on his face.

  “Started with a t-shirt. Too casual.”

  “Agreed,” Sawyer said with a nod.

  “Segued to a pale-yellow polo shirt—Ralph Lauren. Not really my style.”

  “I’m intrigued as to why you would own something you never wear?” She gave the question some thought. “Gift?”

  “No.” He smiled, enjoying the game.

  “Split personality? By day, badass contractor. By night, wannabe yuppy?”

  “You think I’m a badass?” Beck liked the idea.

  “I do. But don’t change the subject. Why the polo shirt?”

  “My one attempt at golf.”

  Sawyer snorted, narrowly keeping the beer in her mouth from spewing across the table.

  “Sorry.” She wiped at her chin, still snickering. “I was going to say you don’t seem like the golfer type. But shame on me for stereotyping.”

  “In this case, you hit the nail on the head.”

  “Ha,” Sawyer chuckled. “A contractor joke. Well done.”

  “Unintentional but thank you.” Beck finished his beer. “Who called golf a good walk spoiled?”

  “Mark Twain.”

  “Smart man. Golf and I parted ways quickly.” Willing to look at both sides, Beck put some of the blame on himself. “The fact is, I sucked—and the matching plaid pants—probably contributed to my antipathy.”

  “Plaid pants? I’m sorry you didn’t wear the polo shirt.”

  “Burned the pants,” Beck assured her. “Or donated them to charity.”

  “Charity. Let me guess which one.” Sawyer’s lips twitched. “The Home for Wayward Golfers?”

  “Founded to help men and women sent to the edge of madness by the most ridiculous sport ever invented.” Arnold Palmer aside, Beck had his doubts about the sports part. “You ever played?”

  Obviously enjoying their conversation, Sawyer shook her head, reaching for another onion ring.

  “Basketball was my game in high school. And volleyball. I wanted to play baseball, but the coach said I wasn’t good enough. What if my batting average was below the Mendoza Line? Had the best slider on the team.” Her expression turned sour. “Nothing but sexual politics.”

  Anyone, woman or man, who could reference the Mendoza Line with accuracy scored extra points in Beck’s book.

  “Did you protest the decision?”

  “My mother was against me playing. Bianca swore competing with boys would put me on the fast track to a dateless existence. Since her husband—my stepfather—was head of the school board, my chances were slim to none.”

  “What did you do?” Beck asked, fascinated by her story.

  “Joined the track team, ran a lot of miles, and…” Sawyer sent him a sheepish smile. “I refused every guy who asked me on a date just to spite my mother. Drove her crazy.”

  Beck felt a wave of sympathy and relief. He understood the desire to blaze her own path. However, until Sawyer confessed the swipe she made at her mother all those years ago, she seemed too good, too perfect. A bit of petty adolescent angst brought her down to the level of him and other humans.

  “Must have been tough.”

  Sawyer raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “The date embargo you put on yourself warring against your inevitable raging teenage hormones,” Beck explained. “Not an easy fight to win.”

  “Like I
said. I ran. A lot,” Sawyer snickered. “In the interest of full disclosure, my hormones didn’t rage so much as simmer at a low, barely perceptible temperature.”

  “When did you start dating?” Half-teasing, Beck added, “Unless you haven’t… ever.”

  After all, she made a big deal about not dating him. Beck didn’t know if Sawyer would understand the reference. The directness of her gaze was a definite yes.

  “Senior year.”

  “Because your hormones finally bubbled over?”

  “Because the right boy moved to town. When he asked, I couldn’t say no.”

  The wistfulness in her eyes, her voice, spoke to Beck on a basic level.

  “First love,” he said. “I understand.”

  Sawyer blinked, her eyes moist with tears she somehow managed to control.

  “I’m sorry.” Reaching across the table, he lay his hand over hers. “Painful memory?”

  “Bittersweet,” she sighed, almost managing a smile. “I don’t hurt. More of an ache that never quite goes away.”

  “Bittersweet memories. I have a few of those myself.”

  “Want to talk about them?” When he hesitated, Sawyer turned her hand until they were palm to palm and squeezed. “I won’t push. Just know I’m here if you change your mind.”

  “I’d like to tell you,” Beck said, surprised by the words and how much he meant them. “Someday.”

  “Hmm.”

  Enjoying her smile, but not sure of the meaning, Beck tilted his head to one side.

  “What?”

  “You said someday.” Sawyer appeared satisfied, almost smug. “If you can envision us at a future date, discussing intimate details about the past, we are officially friends.”

  “Guess we are.” Beck couldn’t argue. He clinked his bottle against hers. “Here’s to fast friends.”

  Sawyer took a drink to seal Beck’s toast. A frown creased her brow.

  “I opened my shop four months ago. Before then, I was in and out of Eatonville for another two months. Strange we didn’t meet until today.”

  Strange indeed since Beck felt an ease with Sawyer, as though they’d known each other all their lives.