by J. Daniels
He chuckles. “I am. I’m gonna head up and see Mom and Dad too.”
“When?”
“Shooting for a few weeks,” he says. “I got some things I gotta do here, and I gotta wait for them to approve my leave. Bastards take their fucking time with that shit.”
I know all about that. He’s complained to me before. Jake doesn’t hide shit that gets on his nerves. Ever.
He’s better at hiding other stuff. Stuff he shouldn’t be keeping locked in.
“Just give me a heads up when you’re coming,” I request. “I’ll try and take off so we can hang out.”
“Cool.” His voice breaks with a yawn.
I smile.
Guess the Redbull does work.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I better try and get some sleep. I’m gonna be dead tomorrow.”
“All right, man. It was great talking to you,” I tell him, feeling good about this phone call. “Keep me updated on shit.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Later.”
“Later.”
The line disconnects.
Limbs heavy with relief, I relax further into the couch and pull up the text from Riley.
She’s opening coconuts by herself? Using tools, no doubt?
That motherfucker . . .
Me: He didn’t help you with that?
Riley: I didn’t ask for help.
Me: You shouldn’t need to.
Riley: Stop it. It’s not like he saw me struggling and refused to help.
Me: What did you open it with?
Riley: A hammer.
Me: And where’d you get the hammer?
Riley: His tool box.
Me: Did he see you get it?
Riley: Yeah.
Me: There you go.
Riley: ???
Me: I see my woman getting in my tools, I go find out why.
Riley: I know how to use a hammer.
Me: Not the point.
Riley: *rolls eyes*
Me: Roll them all you want. Just know if I were there, you wouldn’t be handling your coconuts. That’s my job.
Riley: Stop.
Me: Unless you wanna handle them while I supervise. I’m down for that.
Riley: STOP!
Me: ?
Riley: My COCONUTS?!? REALLY??
Me: I’m talking about the fruit. What the fuck are you talking about?
Riley: Nothing.
Me: Get your mind out of the gutter, pervert.
Riley: It just sounded like you were talking about something else . . .
Me: I was.
Riley: OMG BYE.
Laughing, I drop my phone to my chest and get back to zoning out on SportsCenter.
Nine Days Later
I PULL INTO the parking lot surrounding McGill’s Pub and find a spot open next to Beth’s silver monster truck, which isn’t exactly what it is but I call it that considering how big the tires are and how much of a running start Beth needs to get herself up into that thing.
She loves it. I don’t blame her. It really is fun to ride in.
Plus, you do feel kind of badass when you’re sitting up that high. Especially when a guy pulls up next to you and you get to look down on him.
Seeing little Beth behind the wheel usually gets some curious looks.
Reed bought this truck for her last year when Beth left her car in Kentucky. Surprised her with it and had it modified to fit her, so he says.
Now they have matching trucks and matching last names, which I think is super cute.
I’m not sure how practical it’ll be if they have any kids though. You can’t exactly toss a baby up into that thing.
After turning my car off, I grab my keys and my phone, leaving my wallet in the backpack I carry around with me for class since I’m not staying long. Then I lock up and head inside.
McGill’s is your typical small town bar. Warm atmosphere. Great tasting food. Friendly service. And killer tunes always playing overhead. A sweet mix of rock-n-roll and country, which is exactly how I’d describe myself if someone was curious enough to ask.
I’ll listen to Led Zeppelin and The Stones any day of the week, grew up on it and can belt out the tunes right along with my daddy, but I’m a southern girl down to my bones and true in my heart. I’ll never let go of my roots.
It’s nice to get a taste of both when I come around here.
I don’t get to frequent much due to my school schedule and the hours I need to set aside for studying, but I imagine a lot of people do, making McGill’s a second home to some.
I know Reed is one of those regulars. The rest of the guys? I’m not sure of, which is why I have my eyes on high alert as I make my way toward the bar after spotting Beth behind it.
I do not need to be running into CJ right now. Not with my main reason for being here.
I gotta share some things. Need to. There's just no holding it in any longer, and having CJ as an audience will make sharing this information that much harder.
I can't have him smiling at me and radiating that easy, downhome charm the way he does while looking the way he does, fully developed in all areas and more developed in some, with that wide chest and his thick muscles and those big, rough hands he'll use to fix every appliance in my house before suggesting he bang me all over it.
No way. He can't be here for this. I’ll turn into a speechless freak and spend my entire time here staring.
“There’s the sister I always wanted and finally have,” Beth announces when she sees me claiming a stool, doing this after visually clearing the room of large, manly objects.
She smiles big, walking over to stand across from me in her worn Van Morrison tee and waitress apron tied around her tiny waist. Her long, dark hair is down and looking extra wavy, her skin is glowing, her finger is sparkling from the new rock decorating it, and she’s got this cool double-winged thing going on with her eyeliner, which is a look I’m totally stealing.
“Your eyes look awesome like that,” I share, never feeling the need to keep a compliment inside when it has potential to brighten someone’s day.
Beth drops a coaster down on the bar, smiling at me. “Thanks,” she says. “You want something? It’s on the house. You know, since we’re family and all.”
“You love saying that, don’t you?” I ask, wearing my own smile and not being able to help that one bit.
I love Beth Davis from McGill’s. I love her even more now that she’s Beth Tennyson and looking like the happiest girl in Ruxton, Alabama.
She shrugs, admitting, “Maybe a little.” Then slides the coaster closer to me. “Drink?”
“No, thanks. I can’t stay long.”
I watch her slide the coaster away and add it to a small pile, noticing how dark the skin on her arm has gotten since I last saw her.
“So, how was the honeymoon?” I ask. I haven’t spoken to Beth since I called right after breaking the news to CJ. I didn’t want to bother her and Reed anymore. “I see my brother untied you long enough you were able to lay out a little.”
Beth’s eyes go wide before quickly cutting away. “I can’t believe I told you he does that,” she murmurs to a spot on the bar with the reddest cheeks I’ve ever seen. She looks at me again, quickly stressing, “On occasion.”
“Right. And by that you mean, every day that ends with a ‘y’?”
She squints, lifts her eyes, and begins ticking off the days of the week in her head, by the looks of it, nodding through the process. After finishing up on Sunday, I guess, she focuses on me again.
“The honeymoon was everything I could’ve hoped for. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Laughing, I prop my elbow on the bar and rest my chin on my fist.
“Hey, Riley Girl,” Ms. Hattie says, walking behind Beth and smiling at me. “You want anything? Something to eat?”
Hattie is Beth’s aunt and owns McGill’s with her husband, Danny. She’s crazy sweet.
“No thanks,” I reply. “I’m not staying
.”
“You sure?” She comes up to stand beside Beth. “Got Big Jon back there whipping up some of that tasty macaroni salad you liked so much last time you came `round. Fresh batch.” She smiles when I shake my head, then gives me a wink. “All right. You change your mind, you just holler out.”
Hattie moves down the bar, grabbing a bottle on her way.
“I’ll never look at all that rope in the bed of my brother’s truck the same again,” I tell Beth when her aunt gets out of earshot, just because I can’t help myself and I’m dying to say it.
Beth makes a face.
I make one back.
“How’s it going with Richard?” she asks after tossing a balled up napkin at my head. “Are you guys happy now that you’re back together? Or,” she tilts her head, “since you didn’t really break up, I guess I should say, now that you’re still together? Whatever. Are things better now?”
My phone begins vibrating from the front pocket of my scrubs. I reach for it while answering Beth. “Uh, yeah, sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Well, you know, it’s just . . . taking some time. He’s stressed out with the whole job hunting thing right now.” I slide my thumb across the screen and pull up the text.
“He still hasn’t found a job?”
CJ: Thought about your boobs earlier but I kept it on a friendly level. Just wanted you to know how committed I am to this arrangement.
Laughter catches in my throat.
“How do you think about boobs on a friendly level?” I quietly ask myself while reading the text again.
“Riley.”
“Mm?” I lift my eyes to Beth. “Oh, sorry. What did you ask me?”
She looks at the phone in my hand, then back into my face. “Did you just say something about friendly boobs?” She points at the device. “Is that Richard?”
Crap.
“Uh.”
My hand buzzes with the next vibration. A new text.
I’m not going to read it. I’m going to keep looking at Beth, and I’m going to answer her original question.
If I can remember it.
CJ: Didn’t even picture nipple. That takes dedication.
I can’t remember it so I read the text. And I totally laugh, again.
Why does he have to be so damn funny on top of being everything else?
“Riley.”
“Yes. Right here.” I put the phone down on the bar and look at her. “Repeat what you just asked me. I’m listening. I swear.”
Beth’s dark, perfectly sculpted brows pull together. “Well,” she begins, eyes dancing between the phone and my face. “Let me think. I asked several things.” She drums her blue painted nails on the bar and ponders for a few seconds.
“I'm just going to respond to this really quick while you think. I'm paying attention, I promise, I just don't want to be rude,” I tell her, grabbing my phone again.
Me: Kinda weird that ur picturing my boobs without nipples.
I start to look up, but a new vibration drops my gaze back down.
CJ: You giving me the go ahead to picture nip? Fantastic. My day is looking up.
Me: Friends don't picture each other's boobs. No boobs or nip allowed.
CJ: You friend-zone me and it's a boob-free zone?
Oh, Lord.
Me: NO BOOBS OR NIP.
CJ: Should've been up front with that disclaimer. Can't be adding rules to this shit now. It's too late.
Me: These are unspoken rules that apply to every friendship. I don't picture Beth's boobs.
CJ: Totally imagining you picturing Beth's boobs right now.
Me: WHAT?!
CJ: Now she's thinking about yours.
“Oh, my God,” I murmur, shaking my head through a laugh.
“Why are you and CJ discussing my boobs?”
Beth's voice jerks my head up and our eyes lock, hers so close to mine now I can count her lashes.
I guess I wasn't paying attention and held my phone out for curious eyes. Eyes that are apparently very capable of reading upside down.
Perfect.
This is so not how I wanted to broach this topic.
“Did you two always text?” she asks when I don't answer, leaning away but staying propped on her elbows. “You and CJ?”
“Uh.” I put my phone down and saw my teeth over my bottom lip. “No, but—”
“I didn't think you two really even knew each other. How long has this been going on?” she interrupts.
“Didn't you ask me something about Richard?” I suggest, growing nervous from her line of questioning. “Right? Weren't you trying to remember what you asked me? Why don't we focus on those questions first and then we can move on? Did you remember them?”
“Riley.”
“Okay. Fine,” I groan, dropping my face into my hand. Pieces of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail tickle my cheek. “It's why I'm here anyway. I don't know why I'm avoiding this.” I lift my head and look at her, lowering my hand to the bar. “The weekend of the wedding . . . I, uh, sort of slept with CJ a little,” I confess with a soft voice.
Beth's eyes go round, taking up the majority of her face.
“And by a little, I mean a lot,” I clarify.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers.
“And when I say slept with, I mean there wasn't much sleeping involved, except after we were finished not sleeping.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispers again.
“You sound like me that weekend,” I say, shaking my head.
Beth blinks several times. She looks stunned.
“I think we would’ve continued what we were doing, maybe. He wanted to.” I look down at the bar. “We both did,” I admit quietly. “But I got home and Richard was there, and then I found out we weren’t really broken up. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t . . .”
“You couldn’t tell him or you couldn’t leave?”
“Both.” I look up at her. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I love him. And CJ was just . . . a mistake. I couldn’t throw away my relationship over something that was never meant to happen. And Richard and I, we’re good together. Great together. We’ve just hit a bump. That’s all.”
A big bump. One that’s taking us forever to clear, but we’ll clear it.
I know we will.
“What about CJ?” Beth asks.
“We’re friends. That’s what I wanted.” I tap my phone with the back of my hand, then wave her on. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m a horrible person. I deserve it.”
“Why would I tell you you’re a horrible person?” she questions.
“Because I cheated on Richard.”
“But,” her brow furrows. “You thought you were broken up, right? I mean, you really thought that.”
I nod, grabbing the balled up napkin Beth used as a weapon and twisting it between my hands like I’m wringing out a towel. “I should’ve been absolutely sure though,” I declare, swallowing down the sick creeping up the back of my throat. “I should’ve doubled checked. Triple checked. Why didn’t I?”
Beth’s face softens. She shakes her head. “You were sure, Riley,” she tells me. “In your heart, you were sure. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why do I still feel so terrible every time I look at him?”
“Who?”
“Richard.” I watch her lips press together, then lower my eyes to the napkin I’m now tearing into pieces. “He doesn’t know anything. Not even about this new friendship I have,” I confess. “I didn’t tell anybody what happened that weekend until just now, and really, the only reason why I’m telling you is because I thought maybe if I told someone I’d stop thinking about it so much. I need to stop thinking about it.”
I need to forget. Why can’t I forget?
“You’re thinking about it a lot?” she asks, drawing my gaze up again.
“Constantly.”
“Constantly? Even,” her eyes go round, “you know . . .”
I shake my head. “W
e haven’t really done much of that lately,” I admit. “Not since before Richard got fired. Things are just . . . off. I don’t know. But other times? Yes. I’m thinking about it.” My shoulders slouch. I sink lower onto my stool. “I try not to. I do, but they’re just so different. Everything is different. Even their hands.” I look down at my own, opening and closing them around the napkin. “I can’t get over how different their hands are,” I murmur.
Rough versus rougher. Richard has hands like he works outside but CJ has hands like he lives outside and has his entire life, built shelter for himself and kills what he eats. His fingers are longer and thicker and his palms are wider. But even if they weren’t, he still touches differently.
I can’t get over that most of all.
“Well,” Beth begins. “I’m sure that’s normal.”
I snap my head up. “Fantasizing about a man who isn’t your boyfriend is normal? For who?”
“I just mean having him on your mind still,” she immediately clears up. “It just happened. I think as time goes on, you’ll think about CJ less and less.” She pauses, shrugging. “If that’s what you want.”
Our gazes lock, and I think she hears what I’m not saying and reads my worry.
I know I hear it—the words circling in my head and stabbing at my heart.
Is it what I want?
“Maybe you feel terrible because you made the wrong choice,” she suggests delicately.
I shake my head and return to shredding the napkin.
No. I made the right choice. I know I did.
Didn’t I?
Beth places her hand on top of one of mine. I blink up at her. “You’re not a horrible person, Riley.” Her voice is warm and sweet and full of honesty. Nothing else. “I think anyone would’ve done what you did knowing what you knew to be true. Really. I believe that.”
“What about me wanting to be friends with CJ?” I ask. “Do you think I’m horrible for wanting that? For wanting something with him?”
She smiles softly. “No,” she answers, giving my hand a squeeze. “I don’t. CJ is a great guy. Really great. It’s pretty impossible not to like him and want to be his friend.”
“Unless you’re Reed and find out your friend had sex with your sister.”
Beth pulls in a sharp breath through her nose, blinking with wide eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think he should find out about this,” she suggests, pulling her hand away. “Maybe not ever. I don’t know how Reed would take that.”
