We turned off right before we entered downtown Fort Wayne and its maze of one way streets. I wasn’t entirely out of sorts yet; I’d come this far a couple times, namely for Matthew and Lauren’s wedding. But the road he lead me down I hadn’t traveled before. A couple family owned shops and storefronts littered both sides of the street, then gave way to a more residential setting.
The Jeep signaled again and I followed, going a short distance before he slowed to a crawl by a duplex with a cop car parked in front. I was concerned for a split second that perhaps he didn’t live in the best of neighborhoods until I realized that said police car was likely his. Then I just felt stupid.
Immediately past the duplex was an alley; we took that and parked behind the structure in a makeshift parking area. The graveled over backyard served as parking for about three vehicles, but it was a tight squeeze. A chain link fence bordered the property, making it feel even more claustrophobic.
“Home sweet home,” Will announced quietly as he stepped out of his Jeep. He reached across the front seat and grabbed the Coke and the chips, handing the bag over to me and carrying the twelve pack himself.
There apparently wasn’t a back door to his place, for he led me up the sidewalk that wrapped right back around to the front of the building. His place was on the left. Judging from the fact that there were no other cars parked around the duplex, the other side was either vacant or its occupants weren’t home. He hadn’t mentioned me taking someone’s parking place and I didn’t ask.
He unlocked the front door and led me inside, flipping on the light as we entered.
“It’s not much, I know,” he said almost apologetically, “but it’s only temporary.”
I snorted, then instantly felt bad. It hadn’t been meant as an insult, but rather as an admission that I knew exactly where he was coming from. I didn’t live in the lap of luxury, either. I wondered if he knew that already. In case he didn’t, I qualified my reaction.
“It’s a veritable palace compared to my shoebox in Indy.”
He relaxed at that, the tension noticeably removed from his shoulders as he led me into the kitchen. We set down our things and he moved about the room, trying to play host as I stood out of his way. In the tiny square footage, that wasn’t an easy task.
“I swear I’m not a raging alcoholic,” he informed me as he ran through his collection. He had quite a selection, though in various states of emptiness. Between everything on hand, the two of us could get sufficiently trashed.
And getting liquored up was exactly what we set out to do. I wasn’t going to pry into his personal life. I figured if he wanted to tell me about it, eventually he would. A little liquid courage might help the words come out more easily. I stayed one drink behind him, prepared to stop and listen as soon as he began to come clean.
It wasn’t like he had clammed up completely. We talked about stupid things: the weather, our jobs, the people we knew in common. He was pretty well-versed at the art of small talk. Coming from a bank teller, this was a huge compliment, since I could bullshit with the best of them. In my line of work, it was common to have entire conversations that lasted for several minutes about nothing - where I couldn’t care less about what the person was telling me, but I still was able to make them feel as if they were the most intriguing person to ever walk the face of the earth.
But for Will, I really was listening. Beneath all his talkativeness, there was evident loneliness. He was hashing out things with me because I was there lending him my ear. He likely hadn’t had someone to come home to and vent about his day to since things had gone sour with his ex-wife.
As I paid attention to his blabbering, a portion of my brain wondered what exactly their relationship had been like. If she was still in the picture, would he have been telling her the things he was now telling me? Or had she shut him out long ago and not shown interest in the mundane day to day activities of his normal life?
He seemed like such a nice guy that I couldn’t imagine anyone ever drifting apart from him. I began to create my own synopsis of what had disintegrated their marriage. Number one, she was obviously a bitch. Number two, she probably never sat with him at the kitchen table, drinking and shooting the shit like two people who were friends. Number three -
“Gracie,” he said, snapping me back to reality.
“Hmmm?”
It was probably a bad sign that even my sound effects were beginning to slur, but I was still in a better state than my companion. He grinned crookedly at me, his face turning red as he stared.
“Will?” I pushed again for a response, but he simply lowered his eyes to the table top. His head bobbed slightly, as if his neck were no longer strong enough to support it. I giggled despite my best efforts to play it straight. He joined me in laughter until we had both laughed for so long we’d forgotten what was funny.
Then, just as quickly, the mood turned serious. He turned to me, his green eyes deceptively sober looking and asked: “Why couldn’t I have ended up with someone like you?”
I was taking a swig of beer as he questioned this; his words caught me off guard and the bottle fell from my grip. It landed on the kitchen table nearly right side up, but when I moved to stabilize it, I ended up knocking it down. It rolled off the edge and clattered to the linoleum floor. Fortunately, it didn’t break, but it did leave a trail of cheap beer in its wake.
“Fuck,” I said, rising from my chair to take care of the mess.
Will had the same idea, only he was more practical about things and actually grabbed a towel before joining me at the scene of the spill. He handed it over to me, perhaps because I was already on my hands and knees. I accepted it and began to soak up the liquid, apologizing the whole time for my clumsiness. By the time order had been restored, inertia had taken over and I found myself having difficulty rising to my feet. The fact that I was smashed and wearing stilettos probably didn’t help either.
Will reached down and grabbed my wrist, pulling me upward in what could have been a graceful motion had he not staggered backwards into the wall. In doing so, he brought me with him. I ended up pressed against him. We stood frozen in place, eye to eye, chest to chest. If I wasn’t drunk enough already, I could have gotten intoxicated off of his breath.
“You’re really pretty,” he whispered.
Heat flooded my cheeks at his sincerity. I’d so often been the object of stares and attention from the opposite sex, but most guys went way over the top in their flattery. I’d heard it all: hot, sexy, beautiful, goddess-like, ethereal. But never pretty. Never anything so sweet and innocent.
He reached up to smooth my hair back from my face. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep the stupid smile off of my face. I wanted to tell him “thank you” or that I thought he was so cute I just wanted to squeeze him until his head popped off, but I was rendered speechless. The boy had serious skills if he could do that to me - I had a comment for everything. Except for this.
His face inched ever closer to mine, as though he was testing out the waters. As if I would reject him and push him away. Yet I remained as still as possible, my body beginning to shiver with anticipation. My lips parted as my eyes closed and I waited. When it came, the kiss was lingering, the kind that’s filmed in slow motion. It might have happened at an even more leisurely pace than that, for my world stood still.
We sunk back down to the floor, unable to trust our own legs to support us.
Yep, those condoms had been a wise purchase.
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