Pants On Fire

by Lacey Black

  “And your dad?” she asks, though I can tell by the way her hesitation is infused with the words that she already knows there isn’t a happy ending to this story.

  “Passed away.” I keep my eyes on the road.

  “When?” she asks quietly.

  “Two years ago. Right after Royce returned home.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rueben.” I hear her words, but it’s the delicate hand on my forearm that has my full attention. Not good, considering I’m driving down the interstate at seventy miles per hour.

  Clearing my throat, I reply, “Thank you. Mom took it hard, and that’s when they moved to Tennessee.”

  We’re quiet for a few minutes, both of us lost in thought. My mind replays that horrible late-night phone call. Mom’s wails that I couldn’t understand. My brother getting on the phone and telling me of the massive heart attack. The return home and the days that followed were dark, filled with sadness and grief, and ones I wouldn’t want to repeat anytime soon.

  “Are you still working for that insurance company?” she asks. Her question makes me cringe, considering I haven’t worked for that company for six years. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder of the huge disconnect in our friendship over the years.

  “Uh, no, not anymore. I actually work for a company based in Chicago now.”

  “Insurance?” she asks, turning slightly in her seat to give me her full attention.

  “No, not insurance.” I rub the back of my neck and adjust my glasses. It’s a nervous habit I’ve had pretty much my entire adult life. “It’s a security company that monitors cyber threats for large corporations around the world.”

  Silence fills the SUV and after a few long seconds, I glance her way.

  “That sounds…cool.”

  Shrugging, I reply, “It can be. Something different all the time. You’d be surprised by how many ways a company’s online security can be threatened.”

  “And you get to work from home?”

  I nod my reply. “I work remotely. That’s the cool part about the job. I can work anywhere I have my computer and a secured internet connection.”

  “Very cool, Ruby.”

  I instantly groan. “No, not that again.”

  “What?” She frets innocence.

  “You know what. Don’t play dumb.”

  Finally, she busts out laughing. “Fine, Ruby, I won’t use the nickname, Ruby, that you hate so much.”

  One time. One time I took Danny and Cricket home for a long weekend and made the mistake of visiting my grandparents. Grandma has always called me Ruby, much to my complete and utter dismay, and used the term of endearment a handful of times. Even though neither of them said a word while we were there, the moment we returned to school, Cricket would throw the nickname at me just to get a rise.

  “How are your grandparents, by the way,” she asks hesitantly; probably fearful that I’ll share another detail of family who’s passed.

  “Fine. Moved to an assisted living place in Marion. Mom gets there a few times a year for a visit, but I haven’t in a while. I’m hoping to swing by and see them while I’m here,” I tell her.

  “I’ll go with you.” Again, I glance her way, ready to tell her it’s not necessary, but the look on her face has my mouth stapled shut. It’s of friendship, of support, and of peace.

  So instead of waving off her offer, I find myself saying, “Thanks. I’m sure they’d love to visit with you.”

  We’re both silent for a while as we head east, Carbondale drawing closer and closer with each passing minute. Cricket checks her phone, her fingers flying across the screen as she replies to whatever text or email she received. A few times she adjusts the radio, bouncing between a top forty station and a classic country one. It’s actually a pretty good mix of her style of music and mine. She knows I’m a country fan, while she prefers the upbeat tunes of Taylor Swift and Maroon 5.

  Cricket glances up just as I’m exiting off 64 and merging onto IL-127. I’ve already noticed the sign for Nashville, Illinois, but it’s then that she seems to realize where we are. She turns in her seat, a smile playing on her plump lips. “Do you think they’re still there?” she asks. I know exactly what she’s referring to.

  “I don’t know, but I hope so.”

  It only takes a few minutes to drive into the small town and find what we’re both eagerly looking for. The welcome sign in the window of the small café is lit and my mouth starts to water instantly.

  “Oh my God, it’s still here!” Cricket proclaims happily as I pull into the lot and park. There’re only a few cars now, but I know as we approach dinnertime shortly, the café will fill up with locals.

  The moment I shut down the vehicle, Cricket jumps out and throws her hands in the air. She’s stretching, twisting from side to side and working out the stiff and tight muscles that plague her body from hours of air and vehicle travel. What I notice is the way her shirt rides up, giving me a peek of smooth, creamy flesh and the cutest little belly button. The problem I had in my pants earlier starts to transpire once more, and I have to look away to keep from getting a full-blown hard-on in the middle of the parking lot, while lusting after my friend and picturing all the dirty things I want to do to her.

  Hopping out of the SUV, I take a second to stretch myself and meet her in front of the car. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she reaches for my hand and pulls me toward the front door. Her hand is warm and soft in mine, and it’s hard to ignore the zaps of electricity that zip through my blood.

  Cricket grabs the door, but I quickly take the handle and pull, all while her other hand is still nestled securely within mine. It feels good—too good, to be honest—yet, I still don’t drop said hand, even when we approach an empty table.

  A smiling older woman approaches the table and delivers two menus. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll take an ice water, no lemon,” Cricket orders.

  “Same,” I add when the woman turns her hazel eyes my way.

  “I’ll go grab those and give ya a minute to look over the menu.”

  Cricket quickly opens the menu, scanning for the one entrée I know she’s after. “Yes! They still have it,” she whispers with glee, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds under the sun.

  I don’t even bother opening my menu. Instead, I set it aside and wait for our waitress to return for our order. “Then I know what I’m having.”

  The moment the older lady returns, Cricket practically blurts out her order. “I’ll have the meatloaf sandwich.”

  “And I’ll have the same, please,” I add. The waitress smiles knowingly as she writes down our order and heads toward the kitchen.

  “Do you remember when we found this place?” she asks, glancing around at the familiar décor. It’s hard to believe, it was nearly eleven years ago when we found this little hole in the wall café that serves the best meatloaf sandwiches in the world.

  “Of course, I do. No meatloaf sandwich has ever lived up to this place,” I confirm, taking a sip of my ice water.

  “Very true,” she confirms. Cricket glances down at the table as she adds, “I remember Danny being a total diva that day. He almost missed his flight.”

  I snort as the memory comes back. “I was five seconds away from throwing his ass out of my car, onto the road.”

  “But then that security guard would have seen. You remember him, right? The one who made us drive around until Danny was ready to get out for his departure.”

  “That rent-a-cop had a serious hard-on for his badge that day,” I recall, smiling as I picture that young guy who loved to show is authority to those dropping off at the departures entrance.

  “I believe you asked him if it was his first day on the job,” she giggles that familiar laugh that sends my blood pumping through my veins.

  “He was quoting the rule book.”

  Cricket laughs. Hard. “That he did. And Danny was being a total wanker, not wanting to get out until he was ready.” She shake
s her head. “It was a much better ride back home than it was taking him to the airport.”

  I nod, recalling how comfortable we were after dropping Danny off. Two friends talking and enjoying each other’s company for a two-hour road trip. My roommate was on his way to the east coast for a long weekend with his family. It was a long-ass drive there, considering Danny did everything he could to pick a fight with Cricket, and then dragged his feet when we finally arrived.

  Afterward, Cricket and I got hungry and stumbled upon this little café. We were able to come back once more, senior year, and brought Danny with us. He complained about the hour-long drive to get there, the small menu, and then made gagging noises when our meatloaf sandwiches arrived. The jerk basically ruined our meal and the experience of returning to the little restaurant.

  Cricket is lost in thought when I glance her way; most likely remembering the ordeal that surrounded our last visit here. When her eyes connect with mine, she lifts her water glass and holds it up. “To making new memories.”

  Reaching for my glass, I clink it against hers. “To making new memories.” Then I chug a little bit of water, the ice-cold liquid sliding down my throat and cooling my overheated body.

  So far, that toast is proving very true.

  Chapter Three

  Cricket

  I take a sip of my water and swear I see the hint of a blush through his dark stubbled cheeks. Rueben averts his eyes for a moment, but when they lock back on mine, something shifts in the open room. The air thickens with a sexual awareness, and I’m not really sure what to do with it. Thankfully, our food is delivered at that moment and I’m saved from any unfamiliar, and slightly uncomfortable, feelings that have decided to rear their heads since landing in St. Louis and reconnecting with Rueben.

  “Two meatloaf sandwiches for you,” the waitress says as she slides two piping hot plates on our table.

  “Thank you,” I tell her as I reach for my sandwich, ready to dive in.

  “Wait,” Rueben says, stopping me before I can bring that first bite up to my watering mouth.

  “What?”

  “I think that this is a big moment, and maybe we should, you know, do it. Together.”

  My mouth is suddenly Sahara dry as his words run naked through my mind. Naked, because all of a sudden, all I can think about is getting naked with my friend. You know, Do it. Together, as he said. “Ummm,” I finally spit out, not really sure where he’s going with this.

  I watch as he grabs his own sandwich and brings it up to his mouth. “Ready? On three, okay?” he asks, and I nod, suddenly realizing what he was talking about doing together. “One, two, three…”

  My taste buds explode as I take that first succulent bite of hot meat, tangy ketchup and barbecue sauce, and gooey cheese between a warm Kaiser bun. “This is heaven in my mouth,” I mumble over my food. When I glance across the table, I see Rueben chewing slowly and smiling. “What?” I ask.

  He swallows and shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just happy that you’re enjoying it.”

  “What can I say? Meatloaf sandwiches are all I need in life,” I say as I dip a fry in my ketchup.

  “Well, maybe not all you need in life.” He arches his eyebrow and pushes his glasses farther up his nose, and suddenly, it’s my face that’s blushing. I don’t know why. I’m sure he didn’t mean it sexually, yet that’s all I can think about. Apparently, my brain is so far in the gutter everything he says teeters that dirty innuendo line.

  So, I decide to take the conversation a different direction. “Well, let’s not forget bubble baths.”

  The way his eyes dilate and then darken, I don’t think my casual statement was taken as such. In fact, if the look on his face was any indication, I’d wager a bet to guess my dear friend here was actually thinking about that bubble bath…and maybe me in it.

  Interesting.

  When our eyes connect once more, he whispers, “Definitely bubble baths. We can never forget those.”

  We eat in silence, both enjoying our food and watching the locals come in for a cup of coffee and a meal. A few offer greetings as they enter, occasionally stealing glances our way, as if to check out the out-of-towners.

  When the check comes, Rueben grabs it before I have the chance. “Hey, I can get that,” I tell him, reaching for my purse to pull out a few bills.

  “I got it,” he insists, sticking a twenty with the check and pushing it to the edge of the table. “My treat, remember?”

  “Well, thank you. And I’ll get the tip.” I don’t leave any room for argument. I pull a ten from my billfold and slide it between the ketchup and mustard bottles.

  After a quick stop at the restrooms, we’re out the door and back in the rental. Rueben pulls back onto the highway, next stop Carbondale. I find a classic rock station, one that I remember from my college days, and instantly smile as John Cougar Mellencamp pumps from the speakers. When I glance over, he appears at ease and comfortable behind the wheel. His long limbs cause him to push the seat back quite a bit, and I’m pretty sure if I were to try to drive right now, my feet wouldn’t even come close to the pedals. He casually taps his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat of the song and his plump lips move ever-so-slightly, as if singing along. His dark hair is cut shorter on the sides, and long enough on top to run your fingers through.

  And those glasses? Well, I’ve never really found them on the sexy side before, but here I am, enjoying the hell out of how they look perched on Rueben’s straight nose.

  Suddenly, the song changes. The familiar song starts to play, and I whip my head to look at the driver. His excited eyes lock on mine as he says, “Do it.”

  I’m already shaking my head before he even says the second word. I know what he wants, and it’s not happening. “No way.”

  “Come on, Crick. You have to do it! I dare you,” he says, glancing from the road back to me.

  “You dare me? What are we twelve?” I scoff, crossing my arms and glancing out the windshield.

  “No, we’re thirty-two and some change. If you want, I’m sure I could find a dart board at one of these bars and we could bet on it,” he says with a shrug.

  I know where he’s going with this. Back in college, we made a friendly wager over a game of darts at our favorite pub. I was pretty good and cocky as hell, thinking there was no way my book-nerd friend was going to beat me. Apparently, I was wrong. It took him a few throws to find his the groove, but once he did, he started scoring more than me. It didn’t take long before I was losing the game, and basically my pride.

  The wager, you ask?

  I had to sing karaoke.

  I fucking hate karaoke—not because I couldn’t carry a tune, because I could. I hate everyone watching me, judging me. I hate their drunken criticism because everyone knows they can sing better than the person with the microphone when there’s enough booze involved. And at that point in the night, there wasn’t enough booze flowing through my veins for my liking.

  But I did it.

  I took the stage and sang “Time for Me to Fly” by REO Speedwagon with Rueben smiling widely the entire time, much like he’s doing right now from the driver’s seat. I’m about to tell him I’m not singing, but the familiar lyrics catch in my throat and nostalgia sweeps through my blood. Suddenly, I’m belting out the song like I’m Kevin Cronin on stage at Madison Square Garden.

  Closing my eyes, I sing the sad words about letting go and moving on, getting slightly choked up on how incredibly accurate they are in regards to breakups. I’m saved from getting too tangled up in my bubbling emotions when this horribly awful and incredibly off-key noise sounds from the opposite side of the vehicle. I look his way, shocked silent as I watch the train wreck that is Rueben singing.

  He must realize he’s giving a solo performance and stops to look my way. “What?” he asks, a knowing grin on his face.

  “What the hell is that?” I gape.

  “Singing?” he replies with a shrug. All I can do is stare at him, the
song on the radio all but forgotten.

  “That was not singing. That was like a crying dog having a coughing fit.”

  Rueben bursts out laughing. “Can dogs have coughing fits?”

  “Of course, they can, silly man. Anyway, you’re distracting me from my subtle insult. How did I not know you couldn’t carry a tune?” I ask, turning down the radio and adjusting myself in my seat to angle toward him.

  “I can sing,” he insists, though it’s a losing fight. He bursts into fits of laughter a moment later, unable to continue with his lie. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”

  I can’t help but ogle at the way his entire face lights up with laughter.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  I shake my head and giggle. “It really was that bad. I’m sorry to break it to you, but there is no future for you on the road, singing in stadiums around the world.”

  He exhales dramatically. “I can’t believe you’d say that, hopes and dreams killer.” Rueben turns back my way, the sparkle in his chocolate brown eyes the very definition of teasing.

  The familiar song ends and rolls into another one, but we both remain quiet for a bit. It’s easy to get caught up in the familiar sights of the area, while they seem brand new all the same. I guess that’s what happens after a decade without returning to the place that helped shape your future.

  “How is your family?” he finally asks, breaking the silence.

  “Oh, uh, they’re fine. Mom and Dad are still in Decatur and Amber got married several years ago. She’s expecting her third baby in a few months. I thought maybe the impending arrival of another grandchild would curb their well-meant comments about me settling down, getting married, and popping out a few kids of my own, but that would be a lie. It actually has only seemed to fuel the argument. Wait, argument might be too harsh of a word. Concern, maybe? Yeah, that’s probably better. They’re concerned I’m letting my life slip by, missing the boat to have a family of my own.”