Wingmen (Modern Love Story #2, 4, & bonus)

by Daisy Prescott

  “Not a date. We’re friends.”

  “Friends can screw too, dude. Try the whole friends with benefits thing. Maybe that’s what you’re missing out on.”

  “Right. Cause that works out.”

  “Did with me and whatsherface.”

  “Yeah, you and whatsherface were something to be envied.” I laughed at him. He was a piece of work, but as far as guys in my life, he was a loyal friend. No bullshit when it came to Tom Donnely.

  “Maybe not the best example. Let me know if Diane’s off the market. I’ll cut you some slack and tone down the charm to give you a chance.”

  “Thanks, man. You’re the best.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  I grumbled and waved good-bye. On the drive back down to the beach and my empty house, thoughts floated through my head about friends, love and hard work. The funny thing was I never shirked hard work, physical work.

  Later in the week I found myself back at the Doghouse again with Diane after a movie at the Clyde. Light snow fell but didn’t stick to the ground, giving everything a slight shimmer and softness.

  “Maybe if you lose the big sweater you’d have more attention than you’d know what to do with. Island’s a lonely place in the winter.” I teased Diane about her gray sweater, which had made another appearance tonight. We were sitting at the bar having a pint of beer before heading home.

  “You hate this sweater, don’t you?” she asked, picking a ball of fuzz off the shoulder.

  “It looks like it’s swallowing you whole. You have a nice body. Don’t hide it because you married an asshole.”

  “Ouch. My sweater’s comfortable and warm!”

  “And ugly.” My smile showed her I teased.

  “Your opinion is duly noted. I won’t wear it around you again.”

  “Maybe we should ceremoniously burn it?” I asked, half kidding, but mostly serious. The sweater was an abomination. Or her security blanket. “I’m going to start calling you Linus.”

  “Why Linus?”

  “Instead of a blue blanket, you have a sweater. I think I’ve only seen you without it once.”

  “That’s not true. I wore my fleece when we played pool. And I didn’t wear it the night you came over for stew.”

  “Okay, that’s twice. Still, I think we should burn it come spring. We’ll do it on the beach. First bonfire of the year.”

  “Bonfires on the beach sound wonderful, but you’re not burning my sweater.” She petted her wool covered arm as if protecting the damn thing from my loathing.

  “Fine,” I huffed, crossing my arms.

  “Maybe I’m using it as my superhero power to ward off the men. Maybe I don’t want any attention.”

  The mention of super powers hinted she was joking, but her eyes showed she meant the part about not wanting attention.

  “You’d use your one super power to ward off men? Seriously? No ability to fly? Read minds?”

  Her shrug told me she was serious about hiding herself. Unacceptable. That asshole did a number on her ego. Somebody needed to remedy all the shit her ex left her with. I told her as much.

  “It’s your superhero power to do with what you want. Invisibility it is.”

  “What would be your power?”

  “Strength, of course.” I put my elbow on the bar and flexed my bicep, wiggling my eyebrows and nodding my head to get her to touch it.

  “Nice. You must work out.” Her humor returned as she clamped her hand around my arm.

  “Chopping wood is hard work.”

  “I saw you outside splitting wood. You were going at it pretty hard. Working out some frustrations?”

  Here was the chance to come clean about Kelly. I took a deep breath and exhaled. “You might say that. Kelly’s out of the picture.”

  Her face showed genuine concern. “Oh, John. I’m sorry. What happened? The ex?”

  “Pretty much. The not-so-ex is less ex than I thought. I told her I’m out until she knows what she’s doing. I might be catnip for the ladies, but I’ve never gotten mixed up in a marriage.”

  “Catnip?” Her lip quirked and she fought a smile.

  “You’d be surprised. I’m the whole fantasy. Beard. Brawn. Wholesome.”

  Her eyebrow raised at the last word.

  “Yes, wholesome. Dinner every Sunday night with the family kind of guy.”

  “Really?” Her voice filled with surprise.

  “Honest. In fact, you’ve been invited to join us some time. Being friendly islanders, they want to show you some hospitality. My aunt is worried you don’t know anyone.”

  “Wait, your family knows about me?”

  I realized too late I had admitted to telling my family about her.

  “Sure. Small island. They asked about Maggie and I told them you’d moved in.” The truth, not the whole truth, but still honest.

  “That’s nice of them. Everyone here’s been pretty welcoming on the surface. I get the feeling people don’t get attached to the new arrivals.”

  “A lot of people have the romantic idea about living on an island. Most don’t last. Isolation and rural quiet aren’t for everyone.”

  “I can definitely see that. I could use a change of scenery and I’ve only lived here a few weeks.”

  “The rest of the world is only a ferry ride away. You could take the boat over to Everett and go to the mall.”

  “Thanks!” She swatted my arm.

  “What? Girls like shopping and malls. We don’t have that much here unless you drive up to Oak Harbor.”

  “I’m good, thanks. Not like I have a life and need clothes. I have my sweater, I’m good.”

  I chuckled watching her pet her arms. “Okay, you’re atypical. No malls for you. Still, might be good to go blow the stink off once and a while.”

  “You think I smell?” She huffed and turned to take a sip of her beer.

  “It’s an expression my uncle uses. Means get out of your routine. Maybe we should head over to Port Townsend sometime. You’d like it.”

  “I could use a change of view. Stink or no stink.”

  “Then we’ll go. We take the ferry over from Ft. Casey.”

  “I have no idea where that is. I’m realizing I haven’t explored the island. I come to Langley, I buy groceries, I get coffee from the Fellowship of the Bean … sometimes I even go out to eat by myself. Pretty boring.”

  “Totally boring. You need a life, Diane.”

  “Geez, it’s a wonder why the women swarm. You’re so flattering on a girl’s ego.”

  “They don’t like me for the ego stroking.” I winked and we both cracked up. “Seriously, I’m an honest guy. I never lie. I compliment what I like and don’t think telling a woman she’s pretty should ever be held back.”

  Her eyes met mine and we stared at each other for a beat or two. I noticed her eyes had flecks of green and gold in the middle. What had at first appeared to be average brown, was in fact beautiful.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” I said, emphasizing my words about not holding back compliments.

  She broke our eye contact and mumbled a thank you.

  “See? Never miss the opportunity to compliment.”

  She scanned my face. Resolving herself, she straightened on her stool, and she set down her pint glass. “I think we should make a pact.”

  “What kind of pact?”

  “Neither of us wants to swim in the relationship pool again anytime soon, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And we’ve already agreed we’re friends,” she said.

  “Sure.” Where was she going with this?

  “Friends hang out and do things, fun things, all the time. Look at tonight, for example. This was fun. A movie and a drink. Some might think of it as a date. But it isn’t a date because we’re friends.”

  The idea tonight could be conceived as a date never crossed my mind. Sure I liked Diane, but I’d never even considered this being that kind of night out. Dates ended in good night kisses
or sex.

  “Okay. Where are you going with this?”

  “We do all the fun things, blow the stink off together, but avoid the romance.”

  “Date without dating?”

  “Yep. Unless you’d rather hang out with Donnely around here.”

  Hanging out with Donnely had its time and place, but did get boring after a while. “I do stuff other than hang out with D.” For some reason, I felt the need to defend my life.

  “I know you do, but I don’t know anyone and you already offered to show me around. We’ll make a pact it’s not romantic.”

  I gave her a half-smile. “If you need a pact to fall back on in order to keep your hands off of me, then so be it. I’m well aware of how tempting I am.”

  She chuckled and held out her hand. “I think I can resist. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ll eventually be unable to resist the power of the sweater.”

  “We’re shaking on the pact to date without dating?” I held out my hand, but didn’t shake hers.

  “That’s the point.”

  “What about sex? You didn’t say anything about sex.”

  “Implied in the “not dating” part of the pact.” Our hands still hovered over the bar, not touching.

  “Who says you have to date to have sex? I think Donnely is living, breathing proof of that fact.”

  “Sex is off the table.”

  “Forever? Or just between us?”

  “Between us,” she whispered and the words lacked certainty.

  “Okay. No sex. No dating. Tour guide and eye candy at your service.” I reached my hand out and shook hers. Her grip was firm and she didn’t release my hand right away. Neither did I. Her smile reached her eyes when she glanced back at me.

  “Done and done.” Her hand slipped from mine and reached once again for her beer.

  The thing I’d learned about pacts in my life so far was they were made to be broken. I was curious to see how long this one would last and who’d break it first.

  “One more point of clarification.”

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Just because we aren’t having sex together, doesn’t mean we’ve agreed to a vow of celibacy, right?”

  “You should have asked before shaking on it. No take-backs after.” Her laughter was throaty and she shook her head, letting her long waves shake down around her shoulders.

  “Not taking it back, only clarifying. No sex in this not dating dating thing, but we’re free to get laid should the desire or need arise.”

  She remained silent for a minute, her eyes sweeping over my face. “Should the need arise? Nice wording there.”

  “Thanks. I’m proud of that one, too. Now, answer my question.”

  “This doesn’t apply to me, since I only know you, Donnely, and the women at the studio. And I’m not having sex with Donnely. So sure.”

  “You know Olaf here.” I gestured behind the bar to Olaf, who so studiously ignored us I knew he had to be eavesdropping.

  “Sorry, but Olaf’s off the table, too.”

  “Sorry, O.” He lifted his head and gave me a blank look. Maybe he wasn’t eavesdropping.

  “For what?” he asked.

  I was about to explain Diane wouldn’t have sex with him when I felt the sharp sting of her fingers pinching the hair on my forearm. Swatting away her hand, I said, “Ouch!”

  “Zip it, Day,” she whispered in my ear.

  “Nothing,” I told Olaf. “Another round?” I asked her.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “What do we owe you, O?”

  I paid for both of our beers despite Diane muttering about not being a date and me not having to pay.

  “Shut it, Watson. Friends still pay for shit.”

  “Fine.” She sounded resigned. “Thank you. I’ll get it next time.”

  “There’s the spirit. To next time.” I raised my glass and clinked it with hers.

  “To friends,” she said.

  I may have said it didn’t feel like a date, but I admitted I had more fun hanging out with her than I had on any real dates I could recall.

  DIANE BLEW ON her cup of hot chocolate as we stood on the deck of the ferry to Port Townsend. A warm Chinook wind blew away the cold temperatures, giving us an early taste of spring. The sun shone for the first time in a week, brightening not only the sky but everyone’s mood. The crossing lasted longer than the trip to Mukilteo, but what awaited on the other side was less of a culture shock.

  I had left my truck parked along the road near the ferry. We’d be exploring town on foot, so the good weather was a relief.

  Sipping my black coffee, I stared out at the water, absorbed in my own thoughts.

  “It’s a gorgeous view,” Diane said, gesturing at the far coast. From this vantage point the mountains loomed to the southwest. Their sharp peaks whitened with winter snow above deep evergreen forests.

  “That it is. If you look back, you can see the Admiralty Lighthouse.” I turned her shoulders to face Whidbey and Ebey’s Landing.

  “What are all those buildings and bunker things?”

  “Fort Casey. Those bunker things are gun batteries.”

  “Gun batteries?”

  “First line of defense against a sea attack.”

  She squinted at the retreating shore, trying to make out the details. “It all looks so Officer and a Gentleman.”

  I had to laugh. “You have a thing for young Richard Gere?”

  “Who doesn’t? Bad boy turned good guy with a heart of gold. Plus, the buzzed haircut and uniform? It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies. I grew up loving him.” Her sigh and swoon let me know she was serious.

  “Girls and their bad boys.”

  “You’re kind of a bad boy, so don’t knock it.”

  “You think? How many bad boys take pity on their lonely neighbors and offer to show them the local sites?”

  “Hmmm.” She scrunched up her face. “This’s true, but you’re still trouble.”

  “If you say so.” I tugged the ball on the top of her hat. “Officer and a Gentleman was filmed around here. We could do a tour if you want.”

  “Can we recreate the wet pushups scene?”

  I searched my brain for what she was talking about.

  “You know. Richard Gere in a wet T-shirt doing pushups. All kinds of hot.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “That isn’t a no.” She winked. “We can wait for warmer weather so you don’t catch cold.”

  “Thanks. Ogling your friend should be an amendment to the pact.”

  “Unspoken rule, my friend.”

  “Then it goes both ways, friend.” I let my eyes wander down her body, unfortunately hidden by her coat.

  “Nothing to ogle here,” she said, patting her puffy covered torso.

  “Spring will come soon enough.” I gave her my sexy grin.

  “Thank goodness. I don’t think my feet have been warm since I got here.”

  “Welcome to the Pacific Northwest.”

  “No kidding. Tell me more about today’s adventure.”

  While the ferry made its way across the water, I told her about the town and nearby fort which mirrored Fort Casey.

  Wandering around the streets lined with Victorian era storefronts was more amusing than I imagined. My ulterior motive for going to Port Townsend was pizza, but Diane’s delight over the used bookstore trumped even that. She dragged me through the musty stacks despite my protests I didn’t read. Ignoring my grumbling, she bought me a vintage copy of The Story of Paul Bunyan. Something told me it was to get me back for all my teasing, but she insisted it was an act of kindness.

  “You, the beard, the axe, the dog named Babe. Come on, it all fits!”

  “Babe is a dog,” I grumbled. “Not a blue ox.”

  “Okay, besides that detail. You work in timber. You’re tall. How tall are you anyway?” She stood on her tiptoes and reached up to touch the top of my beanie covered head.

  “Six-four,” I said, s
traightening up to my full height.

  “That’s tall.” She continued with her inventory and comparisons. “You have broad shoulders, wear plaid and boots all the time. And you smell of wet pine and something earthy.”

  “Are you saying I smell like a tree?” I cocked my head and stared down at her.

  Again she stood up on her toes and leaned closer, but this time she sniffed my neck.

  “Did you sniff me?” My voice broke into laughter.

  “I did. Hold still while I decide what you smell like.” Placing a palm on my jacket, she leaned closer. Her own fragrance filled my nose. The scent of something citrus and floral mixed with warm wool when I leaned down to inhale more of her.

  Her hand clenched at my jacket and our faces were inches apart. The sounds of the shop faded away and electricity crackled between us. A small turn of my head would bring my lips to hers. I froze in place, waiting for her to move. Another moment passed and she released her grip, never turning her head the minuscule, yet monumental inch.

  Her breath trembled when she exhaled and stepped away from me.

  “Yep, wet pine needles and earth. You do smell like a tree.” She chuckled nervously and a new pink colored her cheeks as she avoided my eyes. Grabbing her bag with my gift, she turned to leave the store. I trailed behind, my head cloudy with thoughts of what happened.

  Outside, we strolled in silence along the sidewalk toward the dock. I could smell pizza on the breeze and suggested we grab lunch before heading back home.

  We entered the little pizzeria, more of a hole-in-the-wall, and ordered their signature sourdough crust.

  The awkward silence continued after we sat at a small table in the back.

  “Pizza is kind of our thing,” I said, breaking the silence.

  She smiled and her shoulders relaxed. “It is our thing. We have a thing.”

  “We do. It’s nice.”

  “John …”

  I waited for her to continue while she fiddled with her silverware and napkin.

  “I have to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Okay, you have to promise to be honest.”

  “Sure. Although, now you’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry, but back in the store… were you thinking about kissing me?” She peered up at me, but her eyes settled below my eyes, barely meeting my gaze.