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

by Daisy Prescott

  “He’s my neighbor.” Diane gave the simplest explanation.

  “Lucky you to have such a hot neighbor,” nameless friend number two said. The other women giggled and smiled at me. My ego absorbed their flattering attention, but my eyes remained on Diane and some random guy’s arm way too fucking close to touching her.

  “You should join us. Since you two know each other. Pull up a chair.” Jenn played hostess, a hostess with a bitchy side. Tom wasn’t the only one on the prowl tonight.

  It hit me then how this appeared. Diane didn’t know I was here acting as Donnely’s wingman. Nor did she know I wasn’t on the prowl. Not tonight. No interest. What she knew was I followed her friend back from the bar.

  Internally I slapped myself. What was I doing here with Donnely? I had no interest in mindless sex or a one night stand. Not anymore.

  Fuck.

  I found a chair and squeezed in between Diane and another woman named Debbie. Maybe it was Stephanie.

  Diane had turned her chair and angled her body toward the guy more than me. Message clearly delivered.

  I stretched my arm in front of her to shake nameless guy’s hand. “John,” I said.

  “Mike.” He squeezed my hand in a vice grip.

  “Where’s your friend?” Jenn asked, evidently giving up on me as tonight’s conquest.

  Mike must not have been here for her. The way he gripped my hand and had his arm touching Diane’s chair told me everything I needed to know. Who the hell was he to be touching anything close to Diane? My eyes darted back to him before I answered Jenn, “Inside. I let him know I was headed out here, so maybe he’ll join us.”

  Diane flicked her eyes in my direction at the word friend.

  “Tom’s a great guy. You’d probably like him. Much better looking than me,” I said.

  Jenn and a few of the other women perked up.

  Diane added, “Tom’s nickname is Tom Cat. If no strings-attached, no emotional connection is your thing, he’s probably your kind of guy.”

  The barbs in her words stung. Fear settled into my gut. Did she think that’s what we were doing?

  I’d never made her any promises. I didn’t do that. Ever.

  Maybe that was my problem.

  I attempted to catch her eye, but she ignored me while she detailed Tom’s looks and charms to her girlfriends. Mike’s arm remained on her chair while he drank his beer. That needed to stop.

  Debbie/Stephanie to my left spoke to me, “Diane’s mentioned you down at the studio.”

  Her words surprised me. “She has?”

  “She told us about all the fun adventures you took her on. Whenever one of us thought of a place for her to visit on the island or in the area, she’d already gone there with you.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Traci, by the way.”

  Not Debbie or Stephanie.

  “John Day. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

  “Would we have?”

  “I know a lot of people on South Whidbey.” I shrugged. My words could come across as arrogant, but I’d lived on the island all but a few years of my life and knew most people or families on the south end.

  “I run the studio where Diane works. We live in Langley on Maple Cove.”

  My mind flipped through names of families I knew in Langley. No Traci.

  “You from the island?”

  “No, we moved up from California about three years ago.”

  “Ah.” That explained it. Californian transplants. “That explains the Pilates.”

  She laughed and it was friendly, open. “You’re not the first person I’ve met who’s said that. You islanders are a tough bunch to crack.”

  I smiled. “We keep to ourselves.”

  “Except with Diane.”

  My eyes wandered over to Diane, who had turned slightly and seemed to be listening.

  “Every rule has an exception.”

  “Although I’m always surprised by the generosity of islanders. Fresh eggs in our mailbox, a borrowed generator when the power went out for days, rides to the ferry … it’s a long list. Islanders live and breathe ‘love thy neighbor’. Never experienced anything like it before we moved here.”

  Diane’s lips curled into a small smile.

  “Are you eavesdropping, Miss Watson?” I asked.

  She ducked her head and sipped on her cocktail. “Maybe,” she muttered.

  Everything felt awkward with her. Except when she smiled.

  Mike excused himself and left the table, providing a little privacy for Diane and me.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  I stared into her eyes. She gave away nothing. “I’m okay. You?”

  Her shoulders sagged slightly. “About the same.”

  “Who’s Mike?” A growl rolled through my chest under my words.

  A small smile played in the corner of her mouth. “Some guy Jenn knows.”

  “He’s overly touchy-feely.” I frowned and drank more of my beer.

  She sighed. “He’s a guy. At a bar. On a Saturday.” She paused and stared at me. “Probably not a stretch to figure out what’s on his mind.”

  Yep. She assumed I was on the prowl with the Tom Cat. “Maybe his friend dragged him out to be the wingman.”

  Her nod told me she heard me, but didn’t fully believe me.

  Most of the things I knew in life couldn’t help me when it came to women. Fishing, cars, rules of soccer, and types of trees proved useless. I knew how to flirt, how to please a woman in bed. Emotional stuff? No clue. I never let it get that far. Not even with Kelly. Sure I liked her. Really liked her.

  Everything felt different, larger with Diane. I shut down and shut her out on the beach. Now what?

  Like the other night when I stood in her driveway, I waited for a sign, something to show me what I should do.

  I opened my mouth to say we should talk. Nothing. I balled my fist against my leg and drained the rest of my beer.

  She saved us from further awkwardness by changing the topic to include her friends. The latest celebrity gossip and shoes to make your ass rounder weren’t topics I had much to contribute on. After a few awkward minutes of staring into my empty glass, I excused myself, offering to get more drinks for everyone.

  I retreated back into the bar where thankfully the band had taken a break. With a glance toward the wall where Tom stood with tonight’s interest, I shouldered my way through the crowd. The wait at the bar discouraged me. Mike was nowhere to be seen. At least I wouldn’t have to talk with the guy. If I hadn’t offered to get a few drinks for Diane’s friends, I would’ve bailed altogether. The distraction of a night out faded when I saw Diane.

  A hand pressed against my lower back. Warmth spread from the point of contact and for a second I thought it might be Diane. When I turned, different brown eyes met mine.

  “Sorry. Excuse me,” the not Diane woman said.

  “No problem.” I hid my disappointment behind a friendly smile.

  Slow, tortuous minutes in line gave me time to think, which was the last thing I wanted to do. Tonight wasn’t the time to talk with Diane. Not here, not with her girlfriends sitting around like an audience, not when she thought I was here trolling for action like Mike.

  My head spun, but not from the alcohol. I’d had two beers all night. Making my decision, I ordered the cocktails and returned to the table. I told Donnely my plans when I passed him

  “I’m going to head out. You ladies have a fun evening.” I set the drinks on the table and then squeezed Diane’s shoulder, trying to communicate I was leaving alone.

  A few of the women frowned and tried to convince me to stay. Mike sat in his spot next to Diane, but chatted up Jenn, clearly having shifted his sights. Good. If I accomplished nothing else tonight, at least I’d scared him away. Diane gave me a sad smile and told me it was nice to run in to me. No see you later or around or anything to give me hope I hadn’t fucked up everything.

  On the ferry back to the island, I stood
on deck at the front of the boat to watch the island come into view. Behind me the lights of the rest of the world blinked and burned. Let them. I didn’t want them. Solitude suited me better.

  I’d fucked things up with Diane. Maybe this was the reason Maggie never gave in to my flirting. Living next door to someone you made a mess of things with would be torturous. I believed I was in love with Maggie at one point last year. Looking back, it was nothing more than a crush. At least compared to how I felt about Diane.

  The dark shadow of the island grew larger when the ferry approached the dock. A few bright spots of lights littered the beach and bluffs. Each one was a reminder of the solitary island life of living away from the bright lights and seduction of the city.

  “How’s Diane?” my aunt asked while spooning green beans on my plate.

  I held my hand out to stop her from creating a mountain of vegetables I’d be forced to eat out of politeness.

  “I assume she’s fine.”

  “Oh, dear.” She frowned.

  “What?” I shoved beans off my pork chop.

  “I thought you were fond of her.”

  “I was. I am. We’re not spending a lot of time together right now.” I shrugged, an attempt to end the conversation.

  “Honey, leave the man alone. The more you pester him, the more he’ll dig in his heels,” my uncle interrupted, holding his plate out for a spoonful of beans. “You should know that by now.”

  “I know no such thing,” she said.

  “It hasn’t worked for him and Ted, what makes you think your pushing will work with this girl. Leave it be. Give him some room to breathe and figure it out on his own.”

  Helen set the beans down next to her plate and sat in her chair. “I guess you know what you’re doing.”

  “Guess so.”

  “It’s your life, John.”

  I waited for her next words.

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy. I swear. Got everything I need.”

  She sighed and gave me a mothering look, which told me she didn’t believe me, not by a mile, but would let it drop. For now.

  “Great meal,” I said, shoveling pork and mashed potatoes into my mouth.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she chastised. I’d upset her. Great. She was mad at me, too. What was it lately with me and all females?

  “Diane’s never said she planned to stay on the island. At least not to me. What’s the point in starting anything if she’s going to leave soon?” I sounded stupid even to my own ears.

  “No one can say what’s coming up for any of us. Or how long we have.” My aunt spoke in clichés when she gave advice. “You find your people in life and you hold on tight. No one is promised a future more than today.”

  Her words were about Diane, but could have been spoken any time over the last decade about my mom. Or me.

  “Holding on won’t keep them with you,” I said. I held on to my pain over my mother and my anger toward my father for ten years. And had nothing to show for either.

  “I have a framed needlepoint around here somewhere your grandmother made. Has a quote about loving and letting go. Want me to find it?”

  Needlepoint? What was I supposed to do with a needlepoint? Put it in my powder room?

  I don’t have a powder room.

  “Nah, it’s okay. I get it.”

  “Good,” my uncle said. “Now, if you two are done with all your talk about emotions, what’s for dessert?”

  Pretty sure my uncle just called me a woman.

  “I baked a cherry dump cake. Ice cream?”

  My uncle patted his large belly. “Of course.”

  I decided to turn the talk away from me and all the “emotions”. “Speaking of sugar, how’s the diabetes these days?”

  Peter grumbled something about his health being his own damn business.

  “Peter, no swearing at the dinner table.”

  “Damn woman has sonic hearing I swear,” he mumbled into his water glass. “Doctor says I need to lose more weight or I’ll have to go on some other kind of meds.”

  “Should you be eating sweets?”

  “Probably not. Life’s too short to follow all the rules. I stopped all the other fun stuff I used to do. A piece of cake every once and a while won’t kill me. You gotta live your life.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken.”

  I complimented my aunt on dinner and told my uncle we’d go fishing soon before saying I’d see them next Sunday.

  Dinner with them often turned into a free advice session or morality lesson. They weren’t old, not by a long stretch, but I guess that’s what happened when you settled down. You found other people’s problems and lives to advise and mess with.

  EXPECTATIONS.

  TROUBLE STEMMED from having them. That I knew for certain. When I said the word “girlfriend” aloud to Kelly and she denied me, it stung. I buried it with anger, but the seed of it hurt. No amount of deer fern would remove the sting like it did with nettles.

  Damn nettles. I’d run into a thicket of them on the job site today without my gloves. My fingers prickled and the palm of my hand burned even after crushing up fern fronds and rubbing them over my skin. Shows how little focus I had. Lack of focus led to injuries or death in logging, so I spent the rest of the afternoon in the work trailer. Given it hadn’t stopped raining for three days, being in the trailer was the better option.

  Everything outside was saturated and muddy. Streams flooded, standing water pooled on roads, and giant puddles took over parking lots. Miserable. My own jeans hadn’t dried out from the morning and my jacket steamed from where it laid on top of the space heater.

  At three, I sent the crew home and cut out early myself.

  The rain and mud didn’t help my bad mood. On Monday, Helen called to apologize for prying into my life and upsetting me. I told her it was fine. If she didn’t pry, no one would. I think that mended things between us. They were the closest family I had and mattered more to me than I let them know.

  The source of my mood centered on the mess I’d created with Diane. Things were unresolved with us and I didn’t know how much time I had to make them right. She needed to know the issue wasn’t with her. I was trying to save her from all of my own shit.

  That was a lie. I was so scared about her walking out of my life, I’d kicked her out. Could I admit that out loud?

  To add to my self-inflicted misery, I hadn’t seen a sign of Diane in over a week. Nothing since I ran into her at the bar over in town. I’d made sure she saw that I left alone, but that might have been too little too late.

  Whenever I had checked on her house this week the lights were off downstairs, and it was quiet. I didn’t see her Jeep in the driveway yesterday or today when I left for work. It wasn’t there when I got home.

  Could she have left the island? I knew she came home after Seattle last weekend, but had her plans changed?

  A mature person would text or call her, even stop over and knock. That person was not me. Instead, I called Maggie. May was here and she’d be returning to her house for the summer, which meant Diane would be leaving soon. And I didn’t know when or where she’d go.

  Maggie picked up with a surprised hello.

  “Are you okay?” Her voice sounded worried.

  “Hi to you, too. Everything’s fine,” I said, a defensive tone to my voice.

  “Are you sure? You never call me. Other than a few texts the last few months, the last time you called, my house was on fire.”

  “Almost. Smoke, no fire.”

  “Right. So what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Was wondering when you were coming home. And if you’ve come to your senses about leaving the professor behind in Portland.”

  “Hush. No, Gil’s coming with me. He’s looking forward to the summer. In fact, he wants me to ask you if you’ll take him fishing.”

  “Really? I didn’t figure him for the type.”

  “Don’t ju
dge a man by his elbow patches. Gil grew up fly fishing in Colorado. Just because he lives in the city, doesn’t mean he can’t bait a hook.”

  Her words reminded me of Diane and our fishing excursion. As if reading my mind, she brought her up.

  “Diane told me you took her fishing.”

  “You two talk?” Why hadn’t I assumed they did? Maybe Diane had called her and told her about us. About how I’d fucked things up.

  “Sure. Email more than anything. I’m excited to meet her soon. Weird we know each other online and she’s living in my house, but we’ve never met.”

  A perfect opportunity for me to ask about Diane, but when I started to speak, I found my mouth dry and my tongue unable to form the question.

  “She’s great. Isn’t she? I lucked out with her for a tenant.”

  “Yeah, great.”

  “You sound distracted.”

  Here was my opening to talk about Diane and figure out what was going on in my head, but I couldn’t find the words.

  “Hello? John? Did the call drop?” she asked.

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you moving around? I couldn’t hear what you said.”

  “I’m not. Satellite must have shifted. I didn’t say anything.”

  “You know, Diane told me you two spent a lot of time together the past few months. That’s nice of you.”

  There was that word again. Nice.

  “Yeah, we hung out.”

  “Past tense?” she asked.

  I rubbed the back of my knuckles along my jawline, pressing them into the bone and scowled. “Kind of. I’m not sure what’s going on there.”

  “Oh, John.”

  “Geez, don’t give me the “oh, John” in that voice. Your disappointment is palpable.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not sure. We were hanging out and then after we went camping, it all kind of fell apart.”

  “Wait. Wait a second. You took her camping?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She must like you. Camping and fishing. Wow. Are you in love?”

  “Why do you ask that?” My words were clipped.

  “Come on. A young, single woman who is willing to go camping and sit in your boat for hours surrounded by bait? Only a woman in love would do that.”