“I told you it’s fine.” Peyton looked away from him, seeing his hands crunch the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
“No, I hurt your feelings. That’s not fine.”
“You don’t want me to go. We don’t need to discuss it.”
Reed’s eyes fell to her mouth. More than anything, he wanted to end this now — their first fight, if it was even that — so he could get to her lips. “That’s not it. My dad is going to be there. I was just going to pop in and out.” He took a hand off the wheel and took hers. “I want you with me all the time.”
Peyton rubbed his hand and pushed a smile through her pout. “I’m sorry.”
He drew her towards him and kissed her, giving her bottom lip a gentle tug with his teeth. He ran his fingers through her hair then moved his attention to her neck, when suddenly a loud buzzing sound interrupted, his phone vibrating in the cup holder. Their eyes flew to the screen flashing a single name. Heather. Reed quickly hit decline, as Peyton reached for the door handle.
“Wait!” Reed cried. “That was no one.”
“Right, she just happens to be calling on Valentine’s Day.” Peyton opened the door and got out. “And I thought you deleted all your numbers?”
“I did,” he said, following her onto her porch. “I mean, everyone but her.”
“I see.”
“It’s not like that. I’ve known Heather forever.” Reed gripped the back of his neck. “Our fathers are friends. She and I grew up together.”
“It’s fine,” Peyton said, opening the front door and flicking on some lights.
“Another fine? That’s like the fourth one tonight, huh?” Reed followed her into the den, not sure if this was now their second fight, or a continuation of the first. “‘Fine’ is just a polite way of saying ‘fuck off.’”
Peyton turned around and placed her hands firmly on her hips, looking him up and down. “If I want you to fuck off, I’ll say so. I’ll say it exactly like that.” He took a step back. Peyton dropped her hands, settled herself, and exhaled. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. You get a booty call on Valentine’s Day from some girl. What am I supposed to say to that?”
“I’m not seeing anyone else,” Reed pleaded. “The last woman I was with was a couple nights before we met. I promise you.”
Peyton chewed her bottom lip, wanting to believe him. “But why is she calling you on Valentine’s Day?”
Reed opened his mouth to respond, not wanting to lie but not sure what to say. He could tell Peyton the truth that Heather was his Valentine’s Day fuck buddy, or he could say he has no idea why women do the things they do. He saw Peyton staring at him with her head cocked to the side, clearly curious what he’d come up with. Thankfully, her house phone rang.
“That bitch better not be calling my house looking for you.”
Reed chuckled. “I think I like the jealous possessive side of you. It’s hot.”
She answered the phone. “Um, hi,” she said, clenching the phone and silently cursing karma. “Now’s not the greatest time.” Reed looked at her curiously, hearing the nervousness in her voice. “No, I’m not alone.”
Reed mouthed, “Who’s on the phone?” Peyton shook her head. He nodded he’d give her some space and began to stroll around her den, impressed by the size of Peyton’s flatscreen TV. It was at least 55 inches, maybe more. He could picture watching Saints games at her place.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Peyton said. “Why aren’t you with Stephanie?” The words flew out before Peyton could stop them. She looked up to find Reed leaning against her fireplace, his jaw set and hands in his pockets. She gave Reed a quick smile, but it didn’t work.
Reed mouthed, “Hang up.”
“I got distracted for a second,” Peyton said, holding up a finger for one minute. “What did you say, Griffin?” She saw Reed’s face turn red.
“Get rid of him,” Reed said. Peyton held out a finger again and took a deep breath.
Reed gnashed his teeth. He thought to raise his voice or hang up the phone but didn’t want to make a scene in her house. He left the fireplace, his blood boiling, and walked to her back door, opening out onto an exterior patio, overlooking a courtyard garden with a church pew, a small fountain, and an array of potted succulents.
“Actually, yeah, Griffin, it is someone you know.” She paused before speaking his name. “Reed Langston.”
Reed couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Get rid of him, Peyton, or put him on speaker. I’ll talk to him.”
She shook her head and turned her attention back to Griffin. “Yes, I’m serious. He’s in my house on Valentine’s Day. And you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
That damn word again.
“Yes, I’ve heard all the stories about him.” Peyton sat down at her kitchen island, the perfect spot for someone feeling all alone and surrounded by crazy bull sharks. “I don’t need you to recite them to me, Griffin.”
Reed shot to the kitchen, knowing Griffin had some dirt on him but even more on his father — things he never wanted Peyton to know. He took a seat next to her, trying to hold it together.
“Enough!” Peyton snapped, her voice nearly throwing Reed from his stool. “This is none of your business, Griffin! Go fix your own relationship!” She hung up the phone.
Reed looked at her with cold, hard eyes. “So he’s fighting with Stephanie now. Still think he doesn’t want you?”
“You stop, too!” Peyton barked, tossing the phone on the counter. “He doesn’t want me. He just knows your reputation and doesn’t want me to get hurt.”
“Whatever it is, I really don’t like him calling you.”
“I really don’t like Heather calling you.”
“There’s a difference — I didn’t pick up, and you did.”
“I didn’t know it was him!”
“You didn’t have to talk to him for so long.”
Peyton released a deep breath. “Griffin and I are close friends. That isn’t going to change. But I don’t care to hear his opinion about my dating life.” She reached for his hand. “I won’t talk to him about you or listen to any of his crap.”
“Thank you, but can you not talk to him at all?” Reed asked, flashing his sweet, innocent face.
“Can you not talk to Heather at all?”
“I haven’t been talking to her, and I don’t want to.”
Peyton wrapped her arms around him. “I won’t talk to Griffin for a few weeks until he accepts I’m with you. How’s that?”
“How about never again? That dude hates me, and I don’t particularly like him, either.”
Peyton lowered her forehead onto his chest. “Tell me what this is all about.”
“He was always just so damn perfect, even though he’s fake.”
“Griffin’s not fake. What are you talking about?”
“Back in high school, everyone thought he could do no wrong.”
Peyton laughed. “We’re reliving high school now?”
“I’m not reliving anything. I’m just telling you the way it was. He was perfect.” Reed smiled. “And I had a slightly different reputation.”
“I bet you did.”
“And I slept with his girlfriend, too.”
“You what?” Peyton cried.
Reed’s smile grew bigger. “He deserved it.” Actually, it was the least he deserved. Griffin spread a bunch of bullshit about Reed’s family — though much of it true. “Hey, it’s not my fault Griffin doesn’t know how to keep a woman happy.” Peyton rolled her eyes, as he captured her in his arms. “But let’s focus on us. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I have girlfriend for the first time, I think.”
Peyton’s whole body lit up. “And I have a boyfriend, I think.”
“Damn right. So no more talk about Heather or Griffin. But it was kind of funny he called you after Heather called me, huh?”
“Not really. It’s fine.”
“Fine?” He tickled her. “I think I fig
ured out what kind of pie you are.”
Peyton grinned. “What kind?”
“Humble pie.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REED KNEW IT probably wasn’t what he should be doing, but he and Jeremiah laughed their asses off all morning on the paintball course. Reed had borrowed Bret’s rapid-fire paintball gun, which he let Jeremiah use, and returned fire as best he could with the shitty rental gun, which sadly launched bullets in a harmless rainbow trajectory. It wasn’t a fair fight, but Reed got a kick out of seeing Jeremiah have a good time.
By the time the games were over, they’d worked up quite an appetite. Reed knew just the place to refuel before taking Jeremiah home. They opened the door to Adelaide’s and heard the little bell jingle.
“What are we doing here?” Jeremiah asked, his voice just touching puberty. “It’s all pink and girly.”
“I know. My girlfriend is the owner.” Jeremiah eyed Peyton behind the counter and nodded his approval to Reed. “Behave yourself.”
Peyton looked at them approaching the counter, their clothes covered in paint. “It looks like you guys had fun.” Reed kissed her on the cheek before introducing her to Jeremiah. “Nice to meet you¸” she said. “I’ve heard all about you.” Jeremiah smiled politely.
But Reed had hardly told her everything. Jeremiah was born and raised in the New Orleans housing projects, a place known for nightly murders, gang bangers, and drug deals gone bad — things never featured in glitzy national advertisements touting the city. Jeremiah never met his father, and his mother died when he was three. Since then, he’d lived with his young aunt, who nurtured and protected him as best she could, but knew she needed some help, particularly in finding a proper male influence. A few months ago, through some social service channels, the aunt came upon Marion Langston, who volunteered her son to mentor Jeremiah, hoping it would be good practice for him.
At first Reed resisted the idea, wondering what he had to offer a young black kid, but he eventually agreed to do it, always hating to disappoint his mother. So every few weeks, he touched base with Jeremiah and grew to like his time with the kid, taking him to the movies or lunch or his soccer game at Langston Field, a playground Reed and his family developed in the aftermath of the storm. As much as Reed enjoyed their time together, he also enjoyed taking Jeremiah home. He never considered himself father material, so his mother’s idea was actually the perfect arrangement.
Peyton put her arm around Jeremiah, letting him choose whatever pie he wanted. The guys then took a seat, and Peyton brought over the slice of cream pie Jeremiah had picked, and of course, the devil’s food chocolate praline for Reed. She turned back towards the counter, and Jeremiah followed her with his eyes.
“What the hell?” Reed whispered, smacking him on the back of the head. “How would you like someone to look at your aunt that way?”
Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. “You love her?”
“We’re dating. Just eat your pie.”
Jeremiah took a bite then licked his fork. “There’s this girl in my class,” he said. “I love her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but my aunt says I better keep it in my pants.”
“That’s good advice. You’re barely a teenager.”
“How old were you?”
Reed put down his fork, now wishing he’d taken Jeremiah home after paintball. “I’m still waiting. You should wait until you’re married.”
Jeremiah laughed. “You’re lying. You’re a terrible liar, Reed.”
“Look,” Reed said, gritting his teeth and leaning in close, “just keep it locked up, OK?”
“You, too, man.” Jeremiah looked over at Peyton. “Don’t want to knock her up.”
“Good tip.” Reed’s neck tensed for a moment then remembered pregnancy wasn’t possible, not even pregnancy scares — at least not yet. “So what’s up with this girl in your class?”
Jeremiah frowned. “I haven’t even kissed her.”
“Again, you’re barely a teenager. It’s fine.” Reed wondered if Jeremiah had kissed any girl but didn’t want to embarrass him.
“Other kids at school talk about all the stuff they do with girls.”
“I’m sure they’re lying,” Reed said. “At least I hope so.”
“I don’t even know what they’re talking about half the time. Few days ago, I got on the internet to try to find out some stuff, but my aunt caught me and freaked out.”
“OK.” Reed put down his fork and took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Really? You’ll tell me?”
“Sure,” Reed said, though sensing he was in trouble.
“Brown bagging it?” Jeremiah blurted out.
“Keep your voice down!” Reed cried, shushing him, then letting out a laugh. This won’t be so hard. “Same as butterface.”
“What?”
“The girl has a hot body — but her face is nasty. So she’s hot, but put a brown bag over her head when you’re....” Reed stopped before saying anything more.
Jeremiah laughed so hard that Peyton looked over at them, raising a curious eye. “Beer dick?”
Reed chuckled. “When a guy gets so drunk, he’ll have sex with anyone, even the brown bag hags and the butterfaces.”
Jeremiah nearly fell out of his chair in laughter. Reed was an encyclopedia of information — a living, breathing internet.
Peyton wiped down the counter, watching Reed with Jeremiah. She thought it was so sweet that he was taking time to mentor the kid — to try to lead him in the right direction, to help him make good decisions, to teach him about the world. Based on his player reputation, she never would’ve thought he’d bring a teenage boy from the wrong side of town to her store for pie or for that matter, have anything to do with such a kid. But here he was, probably talking to Jeremiah about architecture and the upcoming Saints season and his soccer team. The man continued to surprise. And it didn’t seem he was just doing it to impress her. He seemed to be genuinely having a good time. Peyton flashed him a sexy smile.
Reed winked at her and took a huge bite. “One more, dude.”
“Snowballing?” Jeremiah whispered.
Reed started to gag, nearly choking, pounding on his chest. Peyton looked at him, concerned, her sexy smile gone, suddenly wondering if she’d have to perform CPR. He quickly composed himself and wiped a tear or two from his eyes. “Nope.”
“But you said you’d tell me.”
“Lower your voice,” Reed begged. He couldn’t believe young teens — or any teens — were discussing such things. Beer dick was one thing, but this? He looked Jeremiah in the eye and pointed his fork at him. “Just know that if a girl asks you to do it, run the other way!”
“It’s that bad?”
Peyton came over to check on them. “What are you two talking about?”
“Snowballs!” Jeremiah blurted out, and Reed choked again.
Peyton tenderly rubbed his back. “Snowball stands are my competition,” she said with a smile. “No snowballs for either of you.” She turned to Reed. “You OK? I’ll get you some water, baby.” She walked away.
Reed glared at Jeremiah. “You little ....”
“Tell me,” Jeremiah interrupted.
Reed took a deep breath. This was not the mentoring he had in mind. He leaned over and whispered in Jeremiah’s ear.
The boy recoiled, scrunching his face in disgust. “Gross.”
* * *
Griffin knew their days were numbered. He’d felt that way for awhile. He figured Stephanie knew it, too, though they never talked about it. And Griffin certainly never brought it up — like most guys, he didn’t want to talk about anything unpleasant — and Stephanie never bothered to mention it, either. He assumed she was too goal-oriented to give up; after all, they’d invested years together in Chicago. But it just wasn’t working anymore.
It was hard enough for two young lawyers to date — always analyzing themselves and each other — but they were also j
ust totally different people. She was a go-getter, an ambitious woman trying to work as many weekends as possible to make partner in a tough market, while he, always the happy-go-lucky guy, felt life just had a way of working itself out. And things always did seem to work out for him. If one door closed, another would always open up. He wondered if the next door was a thousand miles away in New Orleans. And he wasn’t about to let Reed keep him from opening it.
Griffin didn’t like that Peyton basically hung up on him on Valentine’s Day. He thought about sending her an e-mail, spilling everything he knew about Reed — and his screwed-up family, too. Griffin had seen her go through too much, had helped her go through too much, for her to risk everything this way. But no one likes a tattletale, and he couldn’t pursue Peyton anyway. He lived too far away. Maybe that could change soon, but not immediately. The play for now was just to lay low and continue to be a friend, then hopefully be a shoulder to cry on when Reed inevitably screwed things up. But until that happened, he’d be damned if Reed got any closer to her.
So it was time to call in backup. Griffin dialed his younger sister. He made some smalltalk for a few minutes — talking about the Cubs and Bears and Bulls, and the wintry weather still blowing through the Windy City. He could tell Quinn was bored, which was fine with him, and once she started blabbing about Bret, he saw his opening. “I actually saw Bret’s friend at Adelaide’s when I was in town with Stephanie.”
“Yeah, Reed’s there all the time. He and Peyton are dating.”
“Really?” Griffin asked, pretending to have no idea. “Didn’t you warn Peyton about him?”
“I tried, but she likes him. And he likes her. It’s not my business anyway.”
“But she’s your best friend?”
“Why are you so interested in who Peyton’s dating?”
“Because she’s one of my best friends, too,” Griffin said, knowing it sounded weak.
“Right,” Quinn said, her Southern accent dripping with sarcasm. “Does Stephanie know you’re so interested in Peyton?”
“I’m not interested in Peyton. I just want to make sure she’s OK.”
“Well, I can assure you, Griffin, that she’s perfectly OK. In fact, I haven’t seen her so happy since before....” Quinn stopped. “I don’t need to say it. You remember.”
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