The What If Guy

by Moss, Brooke

  “It makes me want more. Makes me crazy. I want him to throw me down and ravage me.”

  Holly giggled. “Why don’t you throw him down and ravage him?”

  I shook my head. “Because he keeps pushing me away. I don’t understand it.”

  “I don’t either.” She furrowed her brow. “I thought all men jumped at the chance of making out with a woman. I didn’t know it was physically possible to turn it down.”

  I took a long sip of coffee. “Exactly. Part of me thinks he doesn’t like me that way anymore.”

  “Then why would he keep kissing you?”

  “I have no idea. And it isn’t like I’m throwing myself at him. Not entirely. He’s kissing me right back.”

  Holly thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “When is his divorce final?”

  “No idea.” Discouraged, I took a big bite out of my muffin.

  “Perhaps it’s not final, and he’s holding off of getting involved with you until it is.”

  “Maybe.” I said. “Maybe he’s still in love with his wife, and when we kiss it brings back painful memories.”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s not it.”

  “How do you know?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t think he would have moved all the way out here if he still loved her.”

  “Then why would kissing me bother him? I don’t think he’s attracted to me anymore.”

  “Then why kiss you at all?” Holly buttered her muffin.

  “Men do rash things when they’re horny.”

  She snorted. “Be serious.”

  “I am serious. Men are predictable creatures. If they get hard-up enough, they’ll make out with a tree.”

  Holly’s bright eyes narrowed. “Please.”

  “I think I’m really on to something. Henry’s been in Fairfield for what? Seven months? And according to Helen and Doris, who know all the hot gossip, he hasn’t been seeing anyone. Not even Lay-a-lot Deberaux. I’ll bet he’s completely desperate by now.” I held my hands out at my sides. “I’m the tree.”

  “You’re not a tree.” Holly smiled. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. He isn’t making out with you out of desperation.”

  “Then what’s his problem?”

  “I think you should ask him.”

  “Ask him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Just walk up to him and ask him why he keeps kissing me?”

  “Sure, why not?” Holly said. “After all, you dated once. You’ve seen each other naked, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I, well, we…” I cleared my throat self-consciously. “We didn’t exactly see each other naked. I mean, not completely.”

  “Oh, right. Okay, you can ask him, since you’ve seen each other partially naked.”

  I chewed my muffin, the banana-nut goodness warm in my mouth.

  “What did he look like?” Holly sipped her coffee.

  I tried to stifle my smile. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Her cup hit the table with a thud. “Spill it, Cole. I want details.”

  Heat crept up my neck. “You’re a married woman.”

  “I’m married but not dead.” She laughed.

  “He was sexy.” I giggled. “Every time his shirt came off, I got lightheaded.”

  “Nice.” Holly’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah.” I grinned at the memory of Henry, shirtless, kissing me silly against a wall in his loft so many years ago.

  “Mm-mmm,” Holly mused. “I wonder if he still looks that good?”

  “He’s different now,” I sighed. “His body is thicker than it was in college, but it suits him. He’s gruff and so incredibly masculine.”

  She nodded. “That’s what drives me crazy about Cody. He’s so strong and manly. It thrills me, even after all these years.”

  She rose from the table. “I say you go to Henry and ask him why he keeps pushing you away.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not? What makes it complex?”

  “We have a history, that’s what. We were really in love.”

  She turned and faced me. “That is especially why you need to ask him. This is your second chance. You owe it to yourself to see it through.”

  Holly was right. I needed to ask Henry what was brewing between us. Were we friends that occasionally made out, or were we more? And if we were more, then why weren’t we going on dates like normal people?

  Holly patted my head. “There, there, little one. This won’t kill you.” She bent and scooped the muffin plate and mugs off of the table. “But the sexual frustration might.”

  §

  “Haven’t you learned to keep off of ladders by now?”

  I teetered on the ladder, but didn’t fall.

  I didn’t need to look down to know who had spoken. Only one voice on earth made me shiver that way—a shimmying tickle that went from my toes to my head and back again.

  “Hey you,” I said, carefully climbing down the ladder. “Long time, no see.”

  Henry’s mouth tugged upward. “I saw you four days ago. I waved at you from my truck while you were walking out of the post office.”

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t count. You didn’t speak.”

  “Well then, you should have said long time, no speak.” He grinned.

  I gave him a haughty look. “I’m not even going to indulge that with a reply.”

  He laughed. “That so?”

  Keep it together, Autumn. Be strong. Don’t give in to the power of the voice.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” I told him in a hushed tone.

  “Doing what?” he whispered.

  I led him to the front counter, where I’d been doodling on scraps of paper earlier. I wanted to speak to Henry away from Doris and Helen’s curious ears. “You can’t kiss me one day, and then not speak to me for weeks.”

  “Oh, that.” He frowned.

  “Try not to sound so enthusiastic.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “How, exactly, did you mean it?”

  “I just knew you would bring that up eventually.”

  I fumed. “You knew?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I just didn’t know what I was going to say when you did.”

  I put my hand on my hip. “Am I the tree?”

  He smiled. “The what?”

  “Forget that.” I shook my head. “Am I just scratching an itch for you?”

  “What?” He looked confused.

  “You’re newly single, living in a new town, not dating anyone—that I know of.” I searched his eyes for a hint. “You’re bound to be horny—”

  “Geez, shh.” He glanced back at Doris and Helen.

  “Well, I’m sure you are,” I said. The wheels were in motion—no stopping me. “And I’m here. And single. It’s just logical to assume that you’re using me.”

  Henry’s mouth pulled into a line. “You think I’m using you?”

  “Well, aren’t you?” I willed my stomach to stop turning cartwheels.

  “Of course not. I can’t believe you would think that.”

  “What else am I supposed to think? We keep sticking our tongues down each other’s throats, but we never go on a date, or even talk. I’m beginning to feel like a tramp.”

  “Don’t call yourself that. We’re not sleeping together.”

  My eyes flashed. “But if we were, that would make me a tramp, right?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” Henry said. “Would you stop putting words in my mouth?”

  “I can’t help it. You’re giving me nothing to go on.”

  He took a deep breath. “I never meant to make you feel bad. At all. In fact, I was trying to avoid that.”

  “Are you seeing someone?”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

  “Are you sure? You’re a good-looking guy. Dozens of women would love to go out with you. You should consider dating someone.” I pressed my lips
together, hoping he would pick up on the hint. I wanted him to ask me out. We could dress up and go to dinner in a real restaurant with waiters and candles and filet mignon.

  “There’s no one here I want to date. Are you dating anyone?”

  “Around here? Are you kidding? Maybe when I get back to Seattle, but certainly not here.” I waved my hand dismissively.

  Henry’s brows pinched together. “Got it.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted him to ask me out on a date—not the other way around. It was petty and childish, but I couldn’t help it. I was too chicken to ask. What if he said no? After all, I’d hurt him pretty badly.

  “How come I always catch you two together?” Layla Deberaux’s voice oozed from behind me. I bristled.

  I’d been so engrossed in my argument with Henry that I’d missed the sound of the bell above the door ringing when she’d sauntered in. Layla sashayed toward us, wearing black leggings and a cropped denim jacket that hugged her Barbie-doll figure. Her hair cascaded down her back in a glossy waterfall of gold.

  I glanced at my mustard-colored smock, brushed off some dust bunnies, and forced myself to smile. “Layla. How are you?”

  “Better than you, apparently. Gosh, I heard about your father. Such a sad story.”

  My heart lurched. “Well, thanks. I—”

  “I mean, it’s not like we didn’t see it coming,” she said. “Talk about a train wreck, you know? But I’m sure it’s hard on you.”

  I balled my hands into fists. “That’s my father you’re—”

  “Say, Layla, what brings you in today?” Henry interrupted. “I came in for some cold medicine. I can’t seem to shake this congestion I’ve had all winter.”

  Layla turned and put her hand on his chest. “You don’t say. You poor California boy. You’re not acclimated to our seasons yet, are you?”

  Henry took a step backwards. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

  Layla followed. “You’re welcome to come over for a dip in my hot tub. That would clear your congestion in a heartbeat.”

  “Is that so? Interesting. I’ll have to Google it.”

  He’ll have to Google it? I giggled, then covered my mouth and played it off like a cough.

  Layla jerked her head toward me and glared, her blonde mane whipping Henry across the face. “Something to add?”

  “Nope. I have a bit of congestion myself. Mind if I come up and use your hot tub, too?”

  She lowered her expertly waxed eyebrows. “It’s a two-person hot tub. There won’t be enough room once Henry and I get in.”

  Beyond Layla’s shoulder, Henry’s eyes grew wide. I couldn’t tell if he was repulsed or intrigued.

  “That’s too bad,” I said, unnerved. Was Henry actually considering submerging himself in Layla’s petri dish of sin? I swallowed hard and scooped my drawings off the counter.

  One of the drawings floated to the floor. “Whoops,” I said.

  “You’re still spending your time doodling?” Layla looked down at my pictures.

  Henry frowned. “Actually, she’s very talented.”

  Layla looked like she wanted to claw my eyes out. “How do you two know each other, anyway?”

  Henry’s gaze met mine. The corner of his mouth twitched. “We dated.”

  Layla’s eyes grew to the size of half-dollars. “You dated her?”

  Was that really so hard to believe? Was I so unattractive that someone like Henry wouldn’t want me? I looked in the mirror next to the lip gloss display. Bad idea. Mustard really wasn’t my color.

  “It was a long time ago,” I explained.

  Layla looked me up and down, then shifted her gaze to Henry’s perfectly chiseled face. “And now?”

  “And now…” He held my gaze and waited for me to respond.

  Back off, bitch. He’s taken. But I couldn’t say that out loud. Henry wasn’t taken. In fact, he’d basically just told me that he didn’t want to date me. I’d been all but rejected, right here in the pharmacy.

  “Now we’re friends,” I said. My heart dropped. Sometimes, the truth hurts.

  Her smile returned. “That’s what I thought.”

  I clenched my fingers, crumpling the pictures in my hands. I wanted to punch her, then break the glass-covered countertop with her surgically-altered face.

  “Don’t ruin your little pictures. That top one was actually pretty good.” She sounded genuinely surprised.

  “Autumn, could you grab the bucket and mop?” Helen called from the back of the pharmacy. “Doris just broke a bottle of perfume, and it’s everywhere.”

  I blushed. Impeccable timing. My career was so glamorous. “I’m on it.” I looked from Layla to Henry. “Expired Jean Nate is a real pain to clean up. I have to go.”

  Layla looped her arm through Henry’s, and I couldn’t read his expression. “I’ll walk you out,” she said.

  I dragged out the dirty mop and bucket, then glanced out the window. Henry and Layla stood talking next to his truck. Henry was actually smiling. Layla leaned toward him as they spoke, her perky breasts brushing against his arm as she told him a story that required her to bounce an awful lot.

  My blood boiled.

  Henry was such a guy.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay home?” Elliott asked.

  I smiled at him.

  We’d made it to Valentine’s Day, and I was walking him to his first boy-girl dance at the grange hall. It helped that Holly was one of the chaperones, and Tabitha would be there, too. El would be with a friend and would be watched over, while my dad and I spent the evening at home.

  Yup. I was spending Valentine’s Day evening with my father. I’d hit an all-time low on the social-life scale.

  On the other hand, time spent with my dad was precious—no matter how grumpy he was. Sure, the first thing he said when he got home from work every evening was, “Where the hell is the remote?” But I could see the way he looked at me now. There was affection in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  “No, El, you’re going to go to the dance, and have a great time.” We headed down the hill. “And then you’re going to come home and tell me all about it.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “Tell you what?”

  “Like who you danced with. What girls were the cutest. That sort of thing,” I teased.

  Elliott scrunched his face. “Gross. Knock it off.”

  “Come on. Surely there must be someone you think is cute.”

  “I’m so not having this conversation with you.”

  “Is she a blonde? A brunette? Or, are you being loyal to your mama, and choosing a redhead?”

  “Seriously, I’m gonna hurl.”

  “Alright, fine. I’ll stop.” I chuckled. “But are you going to ask anyone to dance?”

  “No way. I don’t dance.”

  “Oh, come on. You can dance. You were dancing the other night.”

  “I did that to make Grandpa laugh,” El scoffed.

  “Well, he did, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but he’d had a few beers.”

  “True.” I sighed.

  When I’d brought my father home from the hospital, I’d poured every alcoholic beverage in the house down the drain. To me, alcohol was the poison killing him, and I didn’t want it in our house anymore. But I learned quickly that unless my dad wanted to quit, he wouldn’t. Brown bottles and paper-bag-covered cans had appeared like magic from hidden stashes. We’d argued, going round and round until I’d nearly cried and my father had been so exhausted, he could hardly stand upright.

  I finally stopped fighting him. He was a dying man who couldn’t function without alcohol in his system—heartbreaking to watch, the results painful to live with. But it was his body, and he knew his fate. He worked hard to enjoy the rest of his time with us, and I wasn’t going to take away from that, no matter how much his drinking distressed me.

  “He’s a lot nicer n
ow,” Elliott said softly.

  “I think so, too.” I pulled him close.

  “I think it’s ’cuz he knows he’s, you know, super sick.” El’s voice trembled.

  “I know.” We crossed the street in front of the Grange hall. “So, I’ll be back at nine to pick you up.”

  “Don’t come in and embarrass me.”

  “What? Me?”

  The sounds of laughter and annoying hip hop music wafted from the building.

  I kissed the top of his head. “Happy Valentine’s Day, El. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He melted into my arms, briefly, before wriggling away. “Okay. That’s enough. Someone might see.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.”

  We stepped inside the Grange hall, thumping with music, kids lining both sides of the room. Girls on one side, boys on the other. A small group of adults stood chatting toward the front. Some of the boys chased each other, pretending not to notice the girls, who tried not to give them any undue attention.

  Holly waved at us from the punch-and-cookies table. Elliott stopped dead in his tracks. Tabitha stood next to her mother, filling plastic cups with pink punch. She wore a pink polka-dot dress, her blonde hair falling in curls down her back. Elliott gulped and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Why don’t you go ask her to dance?”

  “Mo-om.”

  “All right, all right.” I stifled my smile. “Look, there’s Marshall. Go have fun.”

  He trotted off. I walked over to Holly and Tabitha. Cody had joined them. “Hey, guys. This is the place to be tonight, isn’t it?”

  Holly fanned herself. “Apparently so. Hold on… Tanner, I said to stay inside. Cody, will you go catch him?”

  “I’m on it,” Cody said, darting past us.

  “Elliott’s here,” Tabitha squealed, then skipped away.

  Holly watched her with a grin. “She’s enamored with him.”

  “I think the feeling is mutual.”

  “Autumn. Just the person I was hoping to run into.”

  I turned to see Layla Deberaux walking toward us. Just once, I would have liked to have seen her arriving, instead of being crept up on.

  “Oh, great,” Holly muttered.

  “Layla,” I forced myself to sound polite. “How are you?”

  “Fabulous, as always.” She tossed her hair confidently. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”