by A. C. Bextor
“What is wrong with you?” Lacey bellows, and causes Liv to jump slightly as she sits on the floor by her feet. “Jesus, Travis. Could you have been more ridiculous?”
“Way to play it cool, Travis,” Rae says. “Nice work,” she follows up, narrowing her eyes after checking to ensure Lacey hasn’t caught her indirect intent.
“I didn’t do anything that I wouldn’t want someone to do for either of you.”
Lacey gives sadistic laugh. “For us? Are you kidding?”
“No,” I state simply.
“Keeping Sarah from going out with a handsome, successful, smart guy with, God forbid, goals, is your idea of doing her a favor?”
My arms stretch at either side of my body, and using my gesture to express my innocence. “I didn’t keep him from taking her. They’re gone, aren’t they?”
“Piss on her next time, Trav. It’s less offensive than whatever that passive-aggressive bullshit you just did was,” Lacey replies while gathering Liv’s toys and tossing them in her bag. “You’re out of control.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You and Ace both need to realize Sarah’s nineteen. She’s going to date. Her life isn’t about Bean anymore. Let her enjoy something for herself without you or Ace running over it.”
“I’m not running over it and she is enjoying herself,” I answer, trying to convince myself. I know Sarah’s been held back up until now, because of Bean and Ace. She’s inexperienced and that’s what concerns me.
Add the fact I want her for myself.
“Are you jealous?” Lacey says, hitting a nerve with her question. I step back from the two of them to avoid being under the microscope, and for self-preservation.
My feelings for Sarah are my own. They aren’t for others to judge or ridicule. They won’t understand them. They weren’t around during Sarah’s grief.
“No, not jealous,” I lie.
“Then back the hell off,” Lacey returns and starts to shift her pointed glare in my direction.
“She’s young,” I tell them what they already know. “The men she’s dating aren’t boys. She’s oblivious to what men think.”
Rae stops my excuses with her own version of truth. “Thoughts men like you have?”
“No.”
“You are jealous!” Lacey accuses this time as a statement, not a question.
“Lacey, stop.”
My tone offers no argument, but she goes in for the kill anyway. “Is something going on between the two of you?”
“No,” I deny. “Nothing.”
Lacey’s face draws a wary expression. “Trav?”
“No, damn it,” I answer again.
“If there is . . .” Lacey continues prying, but I stop her by giving her a look she’s not used to me using toward her. I feel my face start to get warm and my hands, resting at my side, start to ball into fists.
“Ya know, I saw Ellie yesterday,” Lacey says. “She told me she hasn’t seen you for a couple of weeks. I didn’t know you dumped her.”
Ellie is a nurse I met at the hospital Bean stayed in. She cared for Bean and we all appreciated her. One morning as she was leaving her shift, she and I were talking about Bean’s treatment and the conversation led to our common interests. Lacey found out I had been talking to her and set us up. I didn’t want to go, but at the time I felt Sarah was dismissing me from her life and I thought it best to try to move on.
I like Ellie. She’s nice. She’s just not someone I’m drawn to. She’s hot, I’ll admit. She’s shorter than Sarah, and has darker hair and skin than her. She’s nothing like Sarah and that’s probably why I have limited interest in continuing on with whatever we started, friendship or otherwise.
“I didn’t dump anyone. There’s nothing there to dump. I’ve been busy.”
“You don’t like her?” Lacey continues without letting me answer. “She’s really nice. I thought you did.”
My breaking point has been hit. No longer fearing what they see in Sarah and my living arrangement, which at this point is nothing, I raise my voice to end the conversation. “Jesus Christ in heaven! I never said I didn’t like her. I also never said we were in a committed relationship that needed you to meddle in.”
Rae looks hurt. Lacey looks pissed. Pissed always wins in these situations, so I brace.
Lacey walks to the door, bends down to fix Liv’s shoe and starts to explain what she thinks she knows. “No one is meddling in your shit, Travis. But if you don’t want a woman in your life, fine. I’ll accept that, but stay out of Sarah’s way. She deserves the break.”
Raegan doesn’t say anything, but walks to help Lacey carry all the stuff she brought in.
It never fails. I always end up being the insensitive asshole. This is the part I’ve always played, right behind Ace. Normally, he takes the first round of shit and I avoid the situation until it cools. I can’t avoid these crazies today though.
Before Raegan closes the door Lacey just walked out of, she grabs the handle from the outside and steps back in. She hesitates before saying, “I know you would deny if something’s happening and that’s okay, but I’ll just remind you to talk to Ace soon no matter what happens going forward. You remember what it felt like with Hayden and Lacey and I don’t have to tell you that Ace has a right to know.”
“Rae, for me, please stop. Just leave it alone, okay?” I say this quietly, looking at the table in front of me, not at her, the person who knows me better than anyone.
“Okay. Have a good evening then and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sarah
IT’S NOT HIS fault. It’s not his fault. I mentally repeat this to myself as Devon drives me home from Lucky’s bar and grill.
He’s a decent guy. I officially gave him a chance. A real date.
Dinner was fine. The food was good and the place was nice. Although, I didn’t love that he ordered my meal without asking what I preferred to eat, told the waitress I was underage and couldn’t drink, then ordered a dessert, which was strawberry cheesecake rather than the brownie a la mode I would’ve loved.
Jackass.
Dating Devon, and being friends with Devon, is entirely two different things.
Friend Devon is sweet, patient, kind, and the person I grew fond of.
Dating Devon is everything but sweet, patient, and kind.
He talked through dinner about his life and where he expected to be in five years. I don’t think about where I plan to be a year from now, so when he asked me to list my personal goals I told him I had none. He reacted with disgust and disappointment.
I didn’t care.
To be honest, I don’t think I was ready to go out with anyone. Maybe I was and Devon was too much company for me. I felt small and examined in front of him. It’s a feeling I’ve never been used to and one I didn’t appreciate.
When Devon asked about my living arrangements with Travis, I tried to play it casual. He wasn’t allowing me to hide behind that facade. Instead, he told me how strange he thought it was that I live with a grown man, rather than on my own. He even commented that I should be making enough in tips that I didn’t need Travis’s support. I felt his arrogance surround me from across the table.
I don’t know, maybe it was just me. I do know I checked my watch four times throughout dinner, hoping the time would pass quickly so he could take me home.
About halfway through the main course, I thought about the way I left things at home. I wanted nothing more than to go back to the apartment, change into my pajamas, and sit in front of the television with Travis.
He looked so angry, almost hurt, before I left.
When Devon picked me up, he’d already decided that we’d go to dinner first, and then catch a late horror movie. Tonight was different than our usual coffee or lunch hangout. I thought his choices for a first date sounded odd, but didn’t prod his reasoning behind them. I did, however, decide during the cheesecake disaster, named dessert,
that we’d be skipping the movie due to an overwhelming headache, which I apparently had just come down with.
I told him I had food allergies. I lied and felt bad about it, but not bad enough to continue faking my way through casual conversation based around his life and none of mine, or sitting through a movie I’ve no interest in seeing. I’m not entirely certain I’d feel comfortable in a darkened theatre alone with him anyway. I fear he expects some version of payment for allowing me to be in his presence.
As Devon pulls his car up to my place, I smile with relief before putting my hand on the handle to get out. He grabs my wrist before I’m able to make an escape. “I want another date. I was having a good time, and it was cut too short.”
“I’m sorry about the headache,” I lie again, not feeling good about myself. To soothe my own guilt, I lean across the console that separates us. He clutches my chin to pull me in for a kiss goodnight.
His lips are warm and soft. His face is void of hair so I feel only smooth skin touching my face. His kiss is anything but gentle and sweet. His tongue prods mine briefly before he pulls back and gives me a devilish smile.
He didn’t kiss the same as Travis did. The passion was one-sided and greedy. The anticipation and excitement I should’ve felt weren’t there.
At all.
Devon’s matching dark eyes and dark hair are perfection. He’s smart, but intense. He comes from a good family and is the oldest of four, with three younger sisters that he seems to adore. And on paper he’s close to perfection but he’s most definitely not perfect for me.
The one person who is, I won’t let myself have. I mentally remind myself, yet again, there are too many threatening variables attached to being with Travis in any real sense.
“I’ll call you,” he states, before I’m able to turn around and make my way out.
“Okay,” I answer, trying to avoid having him look directly into my lying eyes.
After shutting his car door, he waits for me to make my way to the porch of our bottom-floor apartment. I feel his eyes on me in the dimly lit driveway so I’m intentionally not looking back.
I carry my high-heeled shoes to the front entrance and find it’s open. Checking my watch again, I note it’s still early.
Nine thirty. Trav’s probably still up.
When I open the apartment door, I find it’s dark. The light of the muted TV silhouettes Travis’s large body sitting up on the couch with his guitar on his lap. He’s aimlessly strumming a song I know, but don’t remember the name of. He doesn’t move when I shut the door quietly behind me.
Carefully setting my purse down by the door, and laying my shoes next to his boots on the rug, I stay quiet. During these few unobtrusive moments I’m able to watch him from a distance. Because I can only make out his profile, I can see one side of his body as it clutches his favorite guitar. It’s the one his dad gave him for Christmas shortly before he died. His large hand wraps around the neck of it and with a musician’s grace, he shifts through subtle, quiet chords. The song he’s playing is being brought to life from memory.
It’s rare to see Travis appear vulnerable; I’ve seen it a few times and only when he thinks no one’s watching. Resting against the wall by the door, I allow myself a few seconds to appreciate his appearance.
His shoulders, chest, and arms move with each chord. His face, always rigid in front of others, is at ease.
Travis has always been the most content in his own company.
His deliberate, slow movements strike a place inside; reminding me of his gentleness while his hands explored my body then held it after. It reminds me of how his tongue felt against my skin while he moved in and out of me as if we’d made love a thousand times before. I close my eyes and listen to what he’s playing, trying to fight back the physical ache for him I try so hard to bury.
He stops playing and goes to move the guitar from his lap, so I open my eyes and clear my throat, letting him know I’m home. His head turns quickly and he stares at me thoughtfully for a minute before clearing his own throat, as if in effort to kill the silence between us.
“You’re back,” he voices quietly, and I hear the relief in his words.
“Yep.”
He looks at the clock on the cable box then back at me. “It’s only nine thirty.”
“Yep.”
Sitting up, he looks me over, top to bottom. I know what he’s doing. He’s assessing if I’ve been hurt or touched inappropriately. “Did something happen? Are you okay? Where’s Devon?”
Lifting my body from the wall, I walk toward him and he moves over slightly to allow room for me next to him on the couch. I kick my bare feet up on the coffee table then look at the ceiling and sigh. “I was ready to come home.”
“Then I’m glad you did.”
I look at him thoughtfully sitting, studying me. “Thank you.”
His thoughtfulness goes away as he observes, “Devon’s not your type.”
“How do you know?” I ask, not appreciating how quickly he came to that conclusion.
“It’s obvious to anyone who’s met him,” he says. “He’s an asshole, Sarah.”
Seemingly, he’s right, but I don’t confirm this. “He’s really not. He just knows what he wants and goes after it.”
“You don’t need that. He’ll make you indecisive and soft. You’ll spend your life trying to please him, but it’ll be impossible to do.”
Ignoring his perceived notion of what I will and won’t do, I tell him, “Not every woman likes a man to be gentle and caring. If that’s the case, you’ll be single forever.”
“Don’t get pissed. I’m only sayin’ you’re a pain in the ass and the guy that ends up with you has to understand you don’t mean to be. It’s just who you are.” He grabs the empty beer bottle off the table and stands, taking it with him.
“Where are you going?”
“To get another beer.”
“Can I have one?”
“I don’t know. If I give you what you want, does that mean I’m not your type?”
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
Leaning down, Trav gets in my face. “No, I don’t. I don’t like him or anyone that’ll come after him.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper, feeling the distance between us grow smaller as he continues to lean toward me.
“Nothing about this for me is fair, Sarah.”
“I’ll have water,” I tell him, hoping it persuades him to give me space. It does. He walks by me, goes to the kitchen, and comes back with a beer for him and water for me.
As soon as he sits next to me on the couch again, I ask, “What song were you playing? I recognized it when I got in.”
“You mean you recognized it while you were spyin’ on me?”
The smirk I’m trying to hide escapes; he misses nothing. “If you insist on labeling it, then yeah I was spying.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re different when you think no one’s looking.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Lucky for me, I have.”
His eyes soften and his head tilts to the side. “Maybe I’m different because it’s you who’s looking at me.”
“Stop,” I plead.
He does, then answers my initial question. “‘Play Me That Song.’ It’s country, you wouldn’t know it.”
Gasping dramatically, I put my hand over my chest. “You like to play to country music?”
“Sometimes.”
“When no one’s looking?” I ask, now with a short smile.
“Only when I think you are,” he returns, causing my face to fall.
He’s making it impossible for me to forget our time together. And he’s doing it on purpose.
“Guess that fits you. I remember the pictures of you in your cowboy costume.” I try not to laugh out loud. It’s tough, but I manage. Bean gave us pictures of us when we were younger, and Hayden brings them out from time to time to humiliate Travis.
“Don’
t go there, squirt.”
Bringing me out of laughter, I ask him something I’ve wanted to ask for the last couple of years. “Why do you still call me that?”
“Squirt?”
“Yes.”
“Habit, I guess.”
“Habit or that’s how you still see me?”
His eyebrows furrow. He makes things difficult to explain. “See you? Sarah, I haven’t called you that for years, you just never noticed until now.”
Shit. How’d I miss that?
“You’ve all called me squirt for as long as I can remember. It’s a childhood nickname. I’m not a kid anymore.”
I hear him utter, “Obviously” under his breath, but then he asks, “Would you rather I never call you that again?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he says, leaning in and moving the hair from my face and gently placing it behind my ear.
I avoid closing my eyes and just tell him, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Once we sit back again and get comfortable, I ask, “What’d you do tonight?”
“This.”
“All this?” I mock, swinging my arms around my body. He backs up to avoid them.
He stretches his arm across the couch behind my back and kicks his bare feet up next to mine on the table. “Stayed in.”
“I see.”
“Is Devon taking you out again?”
Silently, I want to admit that my answer should be no. Maybe, that Devon annoys me too. And maybe that I missed him the entire time I was gone. “Probably.”
“He’s not your type.”
“You said that.”
“He’s nothing you’d need.”
“You said that, too.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Travis, stop.”
“If he hurts you, Sarah. Even a little, or at all. . . .”
“He won’t.”
He finishes what I wouldn’t let him say out loud, “I’ll kill him.” His hand comes down from the couch and he runs his fingers gently over the crown of my head. “I didn’t mean to be a dick before you left.”
“You weren’t.” I shrug. “You were Travis.”
“I was dick to him, not you.”
