It's Just a Little Crush

by Caroline Fardig

  “Good. You need some down time. See you tonight.”

  “See ya.” I hang up the phone. Now to find something to do for four hours.

  I’m starving, and I hope there’s something in my fridge, otherwise, I’ll be forced to continue to starve until tonight. I rifle around and find the leftover pizza that Blake brought over on Wednesday. Wow. So much has happened since then—the most glaring incident in my mind being my falling out with Blake. I didn’t want things to go down that way, but they did, and now I have to figure out how to deal with it. We get along so perfectly, but maybe that’s because we haven’t been complicating it by actually “dating.” After losing Hannah, he’s been depressed and angry, and maybe a new relationship is the last thing he needs. On the other hand, he says he wants me, so why not go for it?

  The whole Sarah issue is further complicating our situation. I’m not sure if he keeps agreeing to see her because he’s protecting his job (as well as mine) or if he’s actually interested in her. He acts like he’s not, but that may be for my benefit. Blake isn’t known for passing on an attractive woman, especially one making advances on him. And, maybe that’s why I need to stay away “for my own good,” as he said. I thought he was working toward moving past all that man-whoring, but maybe deep down he knows he’ll end up hurting me and that’s why he doesn’t even want to get things started between us.

  So, I guess the million dollar question is: Am I willing to be with Blake, but only as a friend? Can I handle standing by, watching him go through woman after woman, knowing that he has feelings for me and I for him? I don’t really think it’s fair to ask me to do that, but then again, should I take whatever piece of Blake I can get? I need to do a lot of thinking about that.

  I finish my cold pizza and search for something to do. I really need to get out of this house and clear my head. I’ve only been awake a short time, and I’m already suffering from a serious case of cabin fever. I decide to go for a run around Independence Lake, which is only a block from my house. It’s my favorite place to run—so calm and quiet, and most of the path is tree-lined, so it’s always pleasant, even on hot days. I quickly change into my running clothes and make my way to the lake.

  As I focus on the rhythmic “thud, thud, thud” of my feet hitting the pavement, I let my mind wander back to all of the investigating Blake and I have been doing this week. The deaths of Audra and Hannah could be completely random and unrelated. However, that’s unlikely because it’s too big a coincidence that both women are tied to Paul (who had some kind of odd attraction to both) and to Jed (who was sleeping with both at one time or another). I know very little about Audra’s personal life, so it’s not like I have the market cornered on suspects for her. Hannah, on the other hand, I feel like I know well enough to be fairly certain of her list of possible suspects: Samuel Harper (cleared), Blake (cleared), Paul (Blake doesn’t agree, but I suspect him), and Jed (whom Blake has already decided is guilty and won’t hear otherwise).

  A thought strikes me as I run through my list of people—and I know this is horribly far-fetched—but what if Hannah was the one who killed Audra? I don’t think she had it in her, but people do crazier things for love. Jed was cheating on Hannah with Audra, and Hannah found out. What if she went over to Audra’s apartment to confront her and things got out of hand? I don’t see Hannah as a killer, but what if Audra turned on her and she was fighting for her life? Then, somehow Jed finds out it was Hannah who killed Audra, and he gets mad and kills Hannah? Or, maybe Paul finds out and kills Hannah. In either situation, we’re back to our prime suspects, Paul and Jed, for at least one of the murders, because Hannah didn’t kill herself.

  At this point, I’m halfway around Independence Lake, only a couple of blocks from the cemetery and Paul’s house. Maybe I could go talk to Paul. I haven’t actually tried that angle before. Spying on a person can only get you so far, so why not pay him a little visit? I leave the serenity of the lake path and hit the street, a little nervous about confronting someone alone (again) who I think could be a killer. If Julia finds out about this, I won’t need to worry about the killer—she’s going to kill me before anyone else has a chance!

  It takes me a few minutes to reach Paul’s house. I slow my pace to a fast walk, trying to catch a glimpse of Paul through a window. Nothing. I figure I can circle the block and come around again without seeming too stalker-y. If I don’t see anything the next time, maybe I’ll just go knock on his door and say I was in the neighborhood. That wouldn’t be too weird, would it?

  Slowing down more, I take another turn past Paul’s house. This time, the front door opens and Paul walks out with a duffel bag in his hand. At this point, I’m right in front of his driveway, and he spots me immediately. He peers around nervously and tries to dart back into his house.

  I’ve run all the way over here, and he is not going to get away from me that easily. “Hey, Paul!” I call, trying to steady my voice as I walk toward him. Between my nerves and the long run over, my voice is a little shaky. “I didn’t know you lived over here,” I lie.

  “Yeah, hi,” he says gruffly, turning back around. He strides to his car, opening the door and throwing the duffel bag inside.

  “Are you going to the big party tonight?” I ask brightly.

  “Um…yes.”

  “I hope it’ll be fun—we could all use a nice evening. How are you doing?” I ask, trying to start some kind of conversation that doesn’t involve one-word answers.

  “I’m okay.” Well, that didn’t work. He starts back toward his house.

  I put a hand on Paul’s arm to stop him and say gently, “Hey, if you ever need someone to talk to, you know, about how you found Audra, I’d be willing to listen. You know I’ve been there this week, too.”

  He flinches away as if I’d burned him, growling, “No, I’m tired of talking about it. I need to get away for a while.”

  “Oh. So are you leaving town?”

  “Yes. Tonight after the party.”

  “Will you be gone long?” I ask.

  He hesitates. “I haven’t decided.” You know, I’m really getting nothing out of this conversation. Paul is even harder to get detailed information out of than I am!

  “Oh. So are you taking a leave of absence? Did you tell Mason or Sarah yet?”

  “I’m telling them tonight.”

  “Don’t you have to give two weeks’ notice or something?” I ask, reaching for something to keep this conversation—if you could call it that—going.

  “What are they going to do, fire me?” he spits back. Paul seems to have about had it with my questions.

  “Oh, yeah, you do have a point. Hey, did you hear my car got bombed last night?” That ought to get some kind of emotion out of him, especially if he had anything to do with it.

  Paul seems interested for a moment, then says flatly, “No.”

  Rats. He looks surprised but not guilty. “Yeah, the police said someone threw a Molotov cocktail at it. Ever hear of one of those?”

  “I watch cop shows.”

  You know, I’m beginning to understand why no one talks to Paul. It’s a lot of trouble, plus he’s kind of an asshole. I’m too tired for this. I’m going home.

  “Well, then, have a safe trip, Paul. See you tonight,” I call as I take off at a jog.

  That was probably the most excruciating conversation I’ve had all week, and that’s really saying something, considering the week I’ve had. I need to call Blake and tell him that Paul’s leaving town. Oh, no, I don’t. I forgot I’m not really speaking to Blake right now. What a pain. I can’t discuss my findings with anyone else except him! I sigh as I round the corner and get back onto the lake path.

  I guess now is as good a time as any to think about Blake. Aargh! The whole situation is frustrating the crap out of me. He likes me, and I like him—we’ve established that. It should be that simple, but it isn’t. I was guilty in the beginning of pushing him away, but I was doing it for his own good…hold on, now—isn’t
that what he said to me last night that I threw (am still throwing) a tantrum over? Hmm. Never thought about it like that. I guess we’ve both at some point pushed each other away for the good of the other. We’re both guilty on this one, including me, which I totally hate to have to admit. Maybe it is best that we be friends, and only friends. And, maybe someday, we can be something more. Let’s just hope that someday comes before I start to lose my girlish figure or get any more cats.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I’ve finally made up my mind to call Blake when I get home, but when I reach my house I find it isn’t going to be necessary. Blake’s Porsche is sitting in my driveway, and Blake himself is sitting on a chair on my screened porch playing with his phone. Today he’s dressed as casually as I’ve ever seen him, in a dark grey T-shirt and jeans. I can just see his chiseled biceps peeking out from beneath his sleeves. I am such a moron—if I had just let him kiss me that first night, I probably would have seen the rest of those biceps, plus much, much more. I’d better stop thinking about that, or I’m likely to start drooling.

  He sees me coming and hops up, looking anxious. “Where were you?” he demands. “I’ve been here for an hour!”

  “Dude, settle down,” I complain, coming through the porch door. “I was out running.”

  “You shouldn’t be out by yourself after last night.” He’s scolding me like a child, and I don’t like it. He should realize he’s on thin ice with me right now.

  “It’s the middle of the afternoon!”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, Dad,” I say sarcastically as I open my back door and enter the kitchen. I’m not entirely sure I want Mr. Crankypants here to come in and continue his lecture, so I don’t invite him. He comes in behind me, anyway (surprise).

  Raising his voice, he says, “Hart, you’re not taking this seriously.”

  I sigh and reach into the fridge for a cold bottle of water. I am so not in the mood for another argument with Blake. I turn and look him in the eye and ask tiredly, “Why are you here?”

  “I came to check on you. That’s what friends do,” he replies, softening a little.

  “So we’re friends now.” Finally some verification.

  Blake begins, “Hey, I know you’re mad at me right now—”

  I cut him off. “Yes, I was mad at you, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and…we’re both to blame. I think I can go back to being just friends, if you can.”

  A look of complete relief washes over his face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You are extraordinary. It’s been my experience that most women can’t forgive and forget.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “No, you’re not,” he says softly, moving closer to me.

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about,” I complain, poking him in the chest with my finger.

  “What?” he asks, bewildered.

  “This.” I gesture at the lack of space between us. “You don’t act this way toward your friends.”

  “What way?” he asks, smirking. He knows what way. He just wants to make me say it.

  “All sexy and flirty and stuff. You know you’re doing it. Now, stop it.”

  “But what if I can’t help myself?”

  “You’ll need to try. Otherwise it will confuse me. More.”

  “I wouldn’t want to do that. Would it help if we thought of another term besides ‘just friends’?”

  “Like what?” I ask warily, wondering where he’s going with this.

  Blake pretends to think. “Well, ‘friends with benefits’ is what we’re trying to get away from. How about ‘friends without benefits’?”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s what we normal people call ‘other adults I know.’ Try again.”

  “Not buddies or pals—those words doesn’t capture the depth of our relationship.” He snaps his fingers. “I got it. BFF’s.”

  “What are you, thirteen?”

  “BFF’s is perfect! Don’t BFF’s get to have sleepovers and give each other massages?”

  I shake my head. “You are truly impossible. All right, you’ve seen that I’m just fine, so you can go now. I need to shower before the party tonight. Off you go,” I order, giving him a push toward the door.

  “Wait. Don’t BFF’s help each other lather up their backs in the shower?”

  “OUT! And no more of that. BFF’s don’t constantly hit on each other, either. Oh, wait a second. I almost forgot.”

  “What?” he turns back around.

  “I went to see Paul this afternoon.”

  “So you weren’t being careful, were you?” he nags.

  “Not the point. The point is he was packing his car. He’s leaving town tonight.”

  “That seems a little guilty.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. What do you think we should do about it?” I smile up at him eagerly. Even though I’ve been scared more times than I can count this week, all of this sleuthing is turning out to be an exhilarating rush.

  “You’re not going to do anything about it. I’m going to phone in an anonymous tip to the police, and for once, we’re going to let them do their jobs. No more going rogue for you, Nancy Drew.”

  Planting my hands on my hips and screwing my face into a frown, I begin to object, “But—”

  “No buts,” Blake interrupts, shaking his finger in my face. “And no more wandering around by yourself. From now until I decide otherwise, I will be your personal chauffeur and bodyguard.” I open my mouth to object again, but Blake presses the finger he’s been waving in my face on my lips. “Even if I have to stay here and keep an eye on you twenty-four-seven. And that’s final.” He’s being dead serious, but it’s coming off dead sexy, and I’m starting to get a little sweaty-er. “Now go shower. You’re smelly.” Ouch. Nothing like being told you’re stinky to squash your libido.

  “On my way. See you tonight,” I say, waiting for Blake to leave, but he surprises me by brushing past me and into my living room.

  “Nope,” he says as he plops down on my couch, props his feet up on my coffee table, and reaches for the remote. “I’m guarding your body, remember?”

  He smiles as he turns the TV on and flips to a baseball game. Bob leaps down from his perch on my end table and hops up on Blake’s lap, curling up for a nap. I don’t think Bob has ever sat on my lap before. Blake’s like the Cat Whisperer or something.

  I follow him into the living room. “Seriously? I thought you were joking.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” He switches off the TV and stares at me intently. “I couldn’t sleep last night, worrying about you here all alone. Do you know how many times I drove past here last night?”

  “Once a stalker, always a stalker,” I joke.

  “Would you please take this seriously? There’s a murderer out there, and you got sent a message last night. I can see it. Why can’t you?”

  “Because it could have been anyone who blew up my car. All you need is an empty soda bottle and some gasoline. You can get those at any gas station in town. It could have been some high schoolers for all you know.”

  “High schoolers throw bags of dog shit on your front porch. They don’t go around bombing cars.” He turns the game back on and says, “You’re stuck with me, Hart. Get used to it.”

  I growl at him and stomp into my bathroom.

  He calls after me, “Let me know if you need any help with your back!”

  Surprisingly, Blake leaves me alone during my shower. I figured he would make at least one attempt to get in the door, but I guess he actually took my ‘friends don’t hit on each other’ speech to heart. After I finish getting dressed and drying my hair, I head back out to my living room, half-hoping that Blake will have gotten bored and gone home. It’s not that I don’t want him around or that I don’t enjoy his company—it’s just that my Miss Independent complex keeps telling me I don’t need him to watch over me. Plus, I kind of feel bad that he’s just hanging around my house, doing
nothing. He’s got to be bored.

  I find Blake in my kitchen, making himself at home, popping popcorn in my microwave and drinking one of my personal stash of Tab cola. I love Tab, and you can’t find it just anywhere.

  “Hey, good news. I brought the surveillance video. I know how much you enjoyed watching it,” he deadpans.

  “Last time I had to go and get my car blown up to get out of watching it. I’m guessing you’re not going to let me pass on it again.”

  “You are correct. Popcorn?” He leads me to the couch and sits down, patting the seat next to him.

  “I thought I told you last time that popcorn and bad porn don’t mix.”

  “The porn’s over. This is the next morning. Just watch.”

  I flop down next to Blake and steal a handful of his popcorn. Just as I expected, nothing is happening on the video. All there is to see is Jed at his desk, shuffling papers around and working on his computer. I pick up a magazine off my coffee table and begin to flip through. I know Blake isn’t thrilled with my lack of interest, but I simply don’t have the attention span to sit and watch a big ball of nothing.

  Blake slaps me on the leg. “Listen up. Beth Campbell just barged into his office.”

  Finally something interesting. I put down my magazine. “Is she sober?” I ask.

  “Seems to be.”

  “Well, that’s no fun.”

  “She’s still pissed, though. Check it.”

  On my TV screen, Jed’s partner, Beth Campbell, is stomping into his office. She throws a file folder onto his desk and barks, “Here’s the file you wanted.”

  “Thanks.” Jed doesn’t look up. He opens the file and flips through a couple of pages. “Didn’t get much information from Mr. Morgan, I see.”

  “He just came in for some advice,” she snaps. “Why do you care?”

  “Hey, they’re talking about you!” I squeal.

  “Shh!” Blake turns the volume up on my TV.

  “Beth, it would seem that you have a problem with me,” Jed remarks, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing his face. “Care to discuss it?”