“Shut up and have another drink,” I say, pouring more margarita into her glass, hoping it’ll distract her from the truth in her guess.
“How about I have another drink and don’t shut up?” she says, taking a long gulp. “I’m onto it, aren’t I? Is he hot? A brick would be hotter than that ugly blobfish of an ex of yours, so it can’t be hard to find someone hotter than him. He’s gotta be pretty hot if you’re not willing to talk to your best friend of twenty-five years about him.”
Doesn’t she just wish she knew Jesse? She’d stop talking to me for a month just so she wouldn’t be tempted to steal him from me, if I let her meet him.
Which is why I’m not telling her about him, and why she won’t ever meet him. At least not until things are more solidified.
Wait. Solidified? Things aren’t going to be solidified. There’s nothing there but attraction. I’m sex-starved and horny, and he’s a willing target for my desperation. That’s all it is.
Audra is watching me like a hawk. “You’re thinking about him right now, aren’t you? I can tell. You’re trying to talk yourself out of whatever it is, because you’re scared and your divorce was just finalized, and you think there has to be some kind of waiting period before you move on, emotionally and physically. Which is bullshit. The best way to move on is to live your best life. And that involves letting yourself have something you want, just because you want it. Not everything has to mean something.”
I sigh. “Audra, you’re lecturing me based on your own guesswork. I’m neither confirming nor denying anything.”
She shrugs. “I know I’m right, and I’m lecturing you based on that.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Audra Roslyn Donovan. I said I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Can you just…please…give it a rest?”
She sticks her lower lip out in a faux-pout. “I just want you to be happy, and you haven’t been happy for a very, very, very long time.”
“I know.”
“I only act like this because I love you,” she says.
“I know. And also because you can’t handle not knowing every last detail about everyone and everything.”
“This is true.” She eyes me. “But when you do tell me, I’m going to freak out, right?”
“Audra.”
“Fine.” She wakes her phone to glance at the time: 9:55pm. “Shit. I should go. I have a meeting halfway across the damn state at seven tomorrow morning, so I should get to bed.”
“Yeah, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow too.”
It’s my turn to pay the bill, and then we hug it out at our cars.
“Don’t wait too long to tell me,” Audra says, letting me go. “You know how I get.”
“I know, I know.”
“Whatever it is, go for it.”
“What if I’m considering hard drugs and unprotected sex with homeless men?”’
Audra cackles. “You’re way too straitlaced to even have protected sex with a man you do know, and the one time you tried pot in college you freaked the fuck out and swore off everything harder than wine and margaritas.”
“Maybe getting divorced has brought out my wild side.”
She doesn’t cackle, this time. “I’d say it’s about time, in that case. You’re smart, and you’re careful, both of which are good things, but sometimes, babe, we need to be dumb and reckless.” She boops my nose with her forefinger. “Even at forty.”
“Especially at forty.”
“Truth. I’m going now,” she says, getting into her car, a beautiful white, convertible, two-year-old Mercedes E-Class, which I’m not at all jealous of. “Be bad, Imogen. You’ve more than earned it.”
I laugh. “I’ll try, but I’ll never be as slutty as you.”
“You could be, with practice and training! Squad goals!” she shouts out her open window.
I laugh even harder. “Two people can’t be a squad, Audra!”
“Semantics! Be bad!”
I drive home on mental autopilot, considering Audra’s advice. Generally speaking, I try to do the opposite of whatever she advises me. She’s a cut-and-dried commitment-phobe—her dating life is somewhere between serial monogamy and hookup artistry. She rarely sees the same guy more than a few months, never lets them get to know the deep-down, really-real her. My relationship and subsequent divorce from Nicholas only served to confirm her bias against commitment, and I very seriously worry she’ll never let herself feel anything deeper than casual affection. The why of it all, for Audra, is a very long story and one best left untold, but suffice to say she’s got her reasons.
But it doesn’t stop me from worrying. Just like she worries about me, for the diametric opposite reason.
What if, in this one instance, she’s right? What if I should just be bad this one time?
Take what I want and consequences be damned?
I don’t know if I’m capable of that, which is the root problem.
What if I try, and it backfires? I’m fragile enough as it is right now—another heartbreak would put me beyond any capability of repair, I think.
Would it be worth the risk?
With Jesse, just possibly.
I turn onto my street and then, half a block from my house, I slam on the brakes so hard my tires squeal. My front yard is brilliantly illuminated, shining from the back rack spotlights on Jesse’s truck, which is backed up part way onto my lawn on a diagonal, the front tires on the street. I pull into my driveway, exit my car, and stand there, stupefied.
He has completely rebuilt my front porch. Before, it was three too-short, too-narrow steps leading up to a landing just big enough to stand on as you enter the front door. Now, the front porch spans the entire width of the home, with the steps properly sized and spaced for a natural tread. As I stand there, gaping, he presses his nail gun into the bottom-most tread at the front left corner, squeezes the trigger to send in a nail with a pneumatic thwack. And then he sinks back on his knees and tosses the nail gun aside.
He turns to me, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist, grinning. “Hey.” He gestures at the new porch. “Surprise!”
I open my mouth, and close it again without making a sound. “Um.” I have to try twice to even get that much out. “Why?”
“Well, I sort of vanished on you, and I came by this afternoon to talk in person, and my foot went right through the step.” He shrugs. “So, I ran over to the lumber mill and got down to business. I started out thinking I was just gonna do another porch like you had, but then said nah, fuckit, might as well go whole hog, you know? I was done for the weekend, so this is all on my own personal time.”
I step away from my car and sit on the edge of the porch a few feet away from Jesse. “I don’t know what to say or how to even begin thanking you.”
“Well, ‘thanks’ is a pretty good start.” He gives me his trademark cocky smirk. “I can probably think of a few other ways, if you’re really determined to thank me properly, though.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. O’Neill,” I say, smiling coyly up at him.
“I drive a hard something, all right,” he murmurs, standing up to tower over me. “Not sure if ‘bargain’ is the right word, though.”
“Would you like to come in for a glass of wine?” I ask. “I have to work early in the morning, so I can’t stay up super late, but if you wanted to talk, we could do it over some wine.”
He nods, wiping his brow again. “Sounds good. Let me put my tools away and I’ll be right in.”
I just nod and smile, and head inside. Usually the first thing I do is change out of my scrubs and into my pajamas, but I find myself resisting that idea, instead choosing to put together a snack plate of cheese and lunch meat and nuts, and pouring the wine. If I change into that outfit, it’ll spark a sexual chemistry conflagration I’m not sure I have the wherewithal to resist, and until I’m sure of what I want and what to do about Jesse and this thing, I need to back things off a little.
Audra told me to b
e bad, to be dumb and reckless, but I’m not the type of person who can entirely just throw all caution to the wind all at once. I have to be smart about being stupid. And so far, all I’ve been is stupid, letting my libido rule over my sense and sensibility: “If I could but know his heart, everything would become easy.”
Ha—Jane Austen, you were far too wise for your own good, lady.
Jesse clomps in the front door and into my kitchen, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, baring his hard, tanned stomach. He goes right to the sink and washes his hands and face—automatically, without even thinking, I hand him paper towel to dry his face.
He tosses the wadded paper towel in the trashcan and glances at me. “Awww. I was hoping you’d change into something a little more comfortable.”
I can’t help grinning at him. “I know. I’m sorry. But I think for right now this probably safer.”
He nods seriously. “You in those pajamas? Yeah, you wouldn’t be safe around me.”
I carry the snack plate out into the backyard, and Jesse follows me with the glasses of wine, and the bottle. When we’ve settled into our seats and have taken a few exploratory sips and bites, I glance at him. “So. You were going to explain why you didn’t call or text for almost a week?”
He nods, tossing a couple macadamias in his mouth. “Yeah, so what happened was, James got an emergency call from his cousin over in Indiana. Apparently their basement flooded and they had to gut the entire basement. James’s cousin called a local contractor to do the gut and remodel, and the guy fucked something up. I’m not sure how, but he compromised the integrity of the subfloor between the basement and the main level. I think he most likely took out a post that was load bearing. The whole living room floor started to cave in, so Aaron called James to come fix it, and in a hurry. James grabbed me and Ryder and we hopped in his truck and hauled ass over to Aaron’s house, some five and a half hours away in Evansville. We left directly from the Waverley site within ten minutes of the call. I had my phone in my pocket, but nothing else. Well, halfway to Aaron’s house, my phone dies. Not a big deal, right? James has a car charger. Only, it breaks. Kaput. So James’s phone dies too. Neither of us know your number by heart, and Ryder doesn’t have it. And then we get to Aaron’s house and get right to work. We literally worked around the clock, because that floor was about to go down like Humpty Dumpty.” He pauses for a sip of wine and to wolf down some cheese and meat.
“So. To make matters worse, James and I left both our phones in his truck, with the windows open. Aaron doesn’t live in the best neighborhood, and when we came out to grab something from his truck, both of our phones were gone. We worked around the clock for damn near seventy-two hours, barely stopping to sleep and eat. The second we got back, we both went to figure out our phone situation, and instead of calling you, like I said, I figured I’d stop by. I’ve been back from Indiana for less than a day.” He shrugs, eyeing me warily. “And that is why I didn’t call for you almost a week.”
I ruminate on his story. “Sounds plausible enough,” I say, keeping my voice neutral and my expression blank.
He frowns. “Why would I make it up? That’s what happened. I wouldn’t just vanish like that. I have a vested interest in keeping in touch with you.”
I can’t keep the smirk off my face. “I believe you—I’m just messing with you.”
“Ha ha frickin’ ha,” he says, sarcastically. “Got me.”
“So, what’s your vested interest?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Um…I like you? I want to see you? Hang out with you? Maybe even get you to go on a date with me?”
I nod. “I see.” I meet his gaze. “A date, huh?”
He nods. “A date. We could have dinner and go mini-golfing or something.”
I give him a baffled look. “Mini-golfing? What are we, sixteen?”
He looks sheepish. “I dunno, I don’t really do dates a whole lot.”
This sparks a load of questions and a hot bolt of suspicion. “Meaning?”
He shrugs, but he’s not looking at me. Instead he’s focused on the plate, where he’s a little too carefully rolling a piece of cheese into a slice of salami. “Meaning dates, like with flowers and manners and meticulously orchestrated events—that kinda stuff doesn’t factor into the way I do things.”
“So, in plain English, you don’t date.” I frown at him over the rim of my wineglass. “What do you do, then?”
He rolls a peanut across the plate with a forefinger, still not looking at me. “Um. Go to bars, usually. Find a good lookin’ gal, chat her up, and…you know. Have some fun.”
“So you hook up, and that’s it.”
He meets my gaze steadily. “Yeah, basically. It’s always worked out for me. I’m busy with Dad Bod Contracting and the occasional gig with my band, and don’t really have time for dating and all the BS that comes with it. Never saw the point, you know?”
“But you want to go on a date with me?
He nods. “I didn’t meet you in a bar, and you’re not that kind of girl.” He takes a long gulp of wine. “Look, Imogen—it’s obvious that the fact that I don’t date has thrown you for a loop, and I get it. But I’ve always made sure expectations are set out firmly in the beginning, so there’s no confusion later.”
“I see.”
“I keep things clear, you know?” He tosses a few more peanuts into his mouth. “I don’t do heartbreak.”
Oooh, ouch. That one stings.
I’m one big messy ball of heartbreak. I’m currently heartbroken, and on top of that, I’m lonely and desperate for attention and validation, which makes me ripe for even more heartbreak.
And Jesse is exactly the type of guy who would, unintentionally, break my heart even further.
I don’t know what to say; or rather, what I should say. What comes out is a probing personal question I had no intention of asking, but there it is, tumbling out of my traitorous mouth. “So you’ve never had a girlfriend?”
He doesn’t answer for a conspicuously long time. “I, uh…sort of. But that’s—I don’t—” He’s squirming, clearly not wanting to talk about it, but not wanting to say so.
I sigh. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He crushes a peanut between his thumb and the plate, and then grinds it into dust. “Nah, it was just a weird thing, and talking about it is…”
“A no-go?”
He nods, seeming pathetically grateful that I’m not pushing it. “Yeah. It’s not a big secret or anything ugly, I just…it was a weird situation.”
“I get it. This whole divorce with Nicholas is pretty new still, so it tends to just kind of pop out at the most inappropriate times. I wouldn’t normally, and don’t normally, lead with it like I have with you.”
I don’t know where to go from here. I’m weirded out by this whole exchange, and feeling off-kilter, unsure. I was already unsure if this thing was something it’d be smart to keep pursuing, and now I’m even more unsure.
Jesse senses this, and shoots me a look of resignation. “The whole hound dog thing is a problem for you, huh?”
“It’s not entirely that, it’s just…everything in my life is tricky and touchy right now, and getting involved in anything seems like a less than brilliant idea, I guess.” I sigh, hating how little sense that made. “I’m just feeling weird right now. About a lot of things, not just you.”
He nods, and pushes back his chair. “I get that. You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to add to it.”
“Jesse, I just—”
He smiles gamely. “I get it, Imogen. I do. I don’t like it, but I get it.” He stands up. “I hope you like your new front porch.”
He’s almost to the front door before I get myself into motion. I catch up to him as he’s opening the front door.
“Jesse,” I say, halting him with his hand on the knob. “I’m not saying I don’t want…something. I just don’t know what that is, and I don’t want to lead you on or jump into some
thing I’m not ready for. So…maybe you could…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say, and trail off awkwardly, hoping he’ll finish it.
He does. “Be content to stay on the back burner until you figure your shit out?”
It hurts hearing him put it like that. “Just give me a little time.”
“That I can do,” he says.
I sigh. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’m such a disaster.”
He laughs, lets go of the knob, and turns back to me. “Imogen, honey…you’re allowed to be a disaster. You’re also allowed to not know what you want.” He leans in close, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me with tenderness and gentility that almost breaks my heart—and my resolve.
And then he’s gone.
I stay standing where he left me, eyes closed, face tilted up, trying to hold on to the feeling of his lips on mine.
Eventually, long after the rumble of his diesel engine has faded into the night, I turn and go to bed.
But sleep is a long time coming, and my dreams are filled with almost-kisses and not-quite embraces and images of Jesse unzipping his jeans.
Chapter 9
In a break with tradition, I call Audra from my car after my shift the next Saturday, while I’m still in the parking lot.
She answers on the third ring, out of breath, the sound of clanking weights in the background and the muffled thumping of music. “Hey, what’s up? Has it been a week already?”
I don’t even know where to start. “I…he…I can’t—I don’t know how to—”
Audra responds as only Audra can. “I’ll grab Chinese on the way over. You just make sure you have plenty of wine on hand. I don’t work tomorrow, so we can party it up, and you can spill everything.”
“Okay,” I say, barely whispering. “Thanks.”
“Well, duh, that’s what best friends are for, dummy.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too. Be there in thirty.”
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