Crazy Girl

by B. N. Toler

  “You thirsty?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks,” I answered quietly. “You have a…nice home.” I wasn’t sure why that had sounded so awkward coming out of my mouth, but I cringed internally.

  He shrugged as he shut the fridge. “It’s okay. I’m actually looking at another place to move to today. That’s the property we’re going to see.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “Yeah. I rent this house. I traveled a lot over the past few years for work, so owning something hasn’t made sense.” I nodded, digesting that. Did he still travel a lot? That probably wouldn’t make a potential relationship with him very convenient. Was I getting comfortable only to have him disappear? I tucked that question away in the back pocket of my mind, deciding it was too forward of a question now. “I’ve wanted to get a house on the water for a while,” Wren went on. “I saw the place on my drive home last week. The view of the water is killer, so I called the relator for a viewing of the inside.”

  I was standing cross-armed by the counter, my purse still hanging from my shoulder like a life preserver, preventing me from drowning in the awkwardness around me while I listened to him, when he quirked his head to the side and smirked. Even with his facial hair and massive body, there was something about the glint in his eyes when he smiled—a boyish charm almost—that made something uncoil in my chest. His eyes were my weakness. They stood out to me. Made me get lost in them.

  He kept staring. That was when I shook my head and narrowed my eyes in confusion—why was he looking at me like that?

  My heartbeat picked up pace with what he did next. Taking a few strides toward me, I dropped my arms to my sides when he reached me and looked up at him. “I want to kiss you,” he stated, and then he did. Just like that. He wanted to and did it. Leaning in, his lips brushed against mine, his hand slipping to the back of my neck, bracing it. Before I knew it, I was pushing up on my tiptoes and my hands were on his arms, gripping his biceps, as I kissed him back. Like an instant reaction, my mouth gravitated toward his.

  I basked in the warmness of his mouth. God, he was an amazing kisser. When his lips left mine, I pried my eyes open from the weight of the pleasured haze, and stared up at him. “Hi,” he rasped.

  Darting my tongue out, still tasting his kiss, I squeaked out, “Hi.”

  “Are you ready to go?”

  Still afloat, I forced my head to move and nodded yes.

  Wren drove us in his BMW, black with leather interior, to his potential future place of residence. I tried to fight the uneasiness I felt…the whispers of suspicion that lurked inside of me. Did he own a car like this to get women—to impress them? His place was nice enough. Would his potential new home blow his current one out of the water? He was a catch, so damn attractive, and going places while my life seemed to stand still. When we pulled in the driveway, my heart ached a little as I climbed out of the car and gazed down at the water. Definitely better. The house was adequately sized and was set perched on a hill, allowing a perfect view of the river.

  “We’re a bit early,” Wren announced. “You wanna walk down to the water with me?”

  He didn’t wait for my response, he simply grabbed my hand and led me through the cast iron gate into the backyard and down the unleveled stone path leading to the water. A long pier, maybe one hundred feet, led out into the water where a boat lift was set at the end. As we meandered down the wooden planks, a million memories cascaded over me; the pitter-patter of bare feet as my brother and I raced each other to the end of the dock to jump in the lake, night time fishing with country music playing softly on the radio, throwing sticks out for our dog Polly to swim after. She’d only passed away a few months before we lost the house. We’d had a beautiful home—a beautiful life once upon a time. I swallowed back the lump in my throat as the weight of the past and the heaviness of my current situation settled on my shoulders.

  “Does that grim look on your face mean you don’t like it?” Wren asked as we reached the end of the pier. He took a seat on the wooden bench while I stood with my back to him, drinking in the amazing view. The property was on a cove, which offered seclusion. It was definitely a plus.

  Blinking a few times to clear any emotion from my eyes, I halfway twisted around to semi face him. “Does it really matter what I think?” I asked with a smirk. I knew it didn’t. I was a woman he’d known for, like, five seconds. But I did appreciate that he wanted to hear my thoughts.

  And then he smiled. Stretching his large arms out and resting them on the back of the bench, he quirked his mouth a little higher on one side. “Might be a nice place, for say, a writer to write, don’t you think?”

  I snorted. Loudly. Was he giving me a line or what? It was such a…futuristic statement for only a third date. And though I knew he was probably just trying to mess with me, my hackles went up at the thought that he meant it. Did he think this amazing place and view would just soak my panties? That implying we had a future together, and that I would be a part of this amazing place, would just have me crawling into bed with him? The idea he thought I was some idiot that could be swayed by falsities and bought with hints of forever and impressive property was insulting. As I shook my head, he asked, “What?”

  I decided not to give in to the last thought. Even if he had thought that, which I told myself he couldn’t have—that I was reading too much into it like everything—I still decided it wasn’t worth addressing. Instead I curled my lip and rolled my eyes, letting him know I thought he was ridiculous, and laughed it off.

  “Oh yeah,” I played along. “I can’t wait to see what the bedrooms look like. I want my office to have a view.”

  He grinned and held his hand out. Taking it, he pulled me in his lap and squeezed me, rubbing his face against my shoulder, his beard scratchy on my skin. “It’ll be your next big novel,” he went on.

  I grimaced with his words. He couldn’t have known the slump I was in career wise, or just how much depended on my next novel being a success.

  “I looked you up,” he mentioned casually. “From the reviews I’ve read, it seems you’re a damned good writer.”

  Something curled in my belly, an uneasiness. I was touched he’d taken the time to look me up and read reviews, since we hadn’t really discussed my writing much, which thinking about it, I didn’t mind. At the moment it happened to be the hovering black cloud of doom over my head. It wasn’t my favorite subject. He was complimenting me, and these days I took those about as well as an insult. Given my current foothold in life—my suffering career, my financial chaos, and my failed marriage—I felt as far from “good” at anything as we were from the moon. Courtney had scolded me for this way of thinking many times. She said I was self-deprecating. I considered myself humble. Still she loved feeding me pushes of confidence.

  “Accept a compliment. Do not talk them out of telling you how awesome you are,” she’d said.

  “I’ve been lucky,” I replied to Wren. “Still have many things I have to work on. I’m not a New York Times best seller or anything.”

  “Yet,” he stated.

  Looking down at him, my stare fixed on his dark gaze. “What?”

  “You’re not on the New York Times yet.”

  “Hey there,” a woman called, effectively causing us to jerk our eyes from each other. I hopped off Wren, a little winded by not only his last words to me but by the sudden interruption, and backed up so he could stand.

  “Hey, Linda,” he called after an awkward clearing of his throat as he went to her and they shook hands. Still a little blown away, I made my way over and shook hands with Linda, the realtor, as Wren introduced us. He gave no details. Didn’t call me a date, though that was better than being called practically a stranger. He simply introduced us by name, which was good enough for everyone. As we all made our way to the house to view the inside, I tried to shake Wren’s words from before getting interrupted. He hadn’t said anything wrong or shitty. He’d said something simple, but it had spoken volumes to me. He
’d poked at my mind-set. He’d pointed out a chink in my armor. I was being pessimistic. I was noting I’d rejected his compliment just as Courtney had told me not to, instead of being positive and optimistic. Instead of saying I’m going to do this, I’d focused on what I hadn’t done. In just a few short words he’d afforded me a clarity somehow. It was as if a fog had lifted, and I could see what was before me. And I didn’t like it. Okay. Fine. So I was negative and predictable. Courtney knew I’d react this way, and I had. Like everything else I knew I needed to accomplish, it was miles out of reach, over a mountain I’d have to climb. Just because he made me see what I was doing, didn’t mean I could change it overnight. Changing your mind-set takes time and diligence. Was acknowledging it my first step? Could I not write again, or write well, until I changed the way I viewed myself?

  Shaking it off, I walked through the house and nodded, adding my two cents when invited. The realtor probably wondered who I was to Wren, but I simply smiled and spoke when spoken to. The home was as nice on the inside as the outside, with a view of the water from almost every room. When we left, as we rode down the road, I asked him, “Are you going to take it?”

  “You think I should?”

  I frowned a little. We were away from Linda. He didn’t need to ask for my opinion anymore in order to be polite. Why was he still asking what I thought? This was his life, his move. The opinion of a woman he barely knew, and what he did know of her he thought was pure insanity, was irrelevant. Did I have an opinion? Hell yes, I did. If I were him I’d have moved in yesterday. It didn’t upset me so much that he was asking for my opinion, but more that asking me made it seem liked he cared about my opinion, as in…I mattered. Which was ridiculous. It was too soon. I knew I didn’t matter, and I wanted to steer clear of even the idea that I might. That would only set me up for disappointment.

  “Would you live there?” he pushed when I didn’t respond.

  “If it were me making the decision for myself, not you, yes. I would.”

  “So you like the place?”

  My stomach tightened. Why did my mind have to fracture into a million thoughts? Did he really care if I liked the place? Or was he trying to see if I was impressed by it? Was this his way of seeing what a prime bachelor pad it would be? He couldn’t be that nice.

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “It was a really nice place.” My mind traveled back to the water, the pier, my childhood memories drifting like fog through my head. Who wouldn’t be happy living on the water? There was something so damn healing about it. How many days as a young girl had I floated in the lake and stared up at the sky—blue by day, starlit by night? How many times had I jumped off into the deep end and sank to the bottom where the water was coolest, settling on the murky bottom like an anchor and waited to see how long I could hold my breath? All I’d ever wanted back then was to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid; she’d wished for legs to walk land…I’d have given her mine to have her tail and spent my life weightless in the water. My first kiss as a girl had been in the water. I was five—I know, I was a hussy—but I’d never forgotten it. The fishing and late nights sitting on the end of the pier with our feet dangling off the corners watching fireflies float in the dark and listening to the crickets and frogs…God, the water was a place of so much peace. I didn’t know Wren well, but I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving that place. And I didn’t know his motivation behind asking me for my opinion, or if there was any motivation at all. Not surprisingly, I was overthinking it. I knew I was a highly skeptical and over-analytical person—maybe he was really only asking to make conversation. But he asked, so I answered. “I would love to have a place like that.”

  The town Wren lived in was quaint with a storybook charm to it. The local shops ranged from antiques to insurance businesses, all in perfect little brick buildings with huge front windows. When we pulled in at an inn, I wasn’t sure what Wren had in mind but as he drove around the back to park, a small neon sign above the back door read: PUB, clueing me in.

  Inside, the entrance led down to a basement, the brick walls painted white giving it a clean look, yet somehow maintaining the feel of underground. Which was so much cooler. We made our way down the stairs and my hand started to sweat when he held mine in his. I quickly wiped it on my clothing once we made it to the bottom. Taking a seat at the tiny bar strewn with white lights, a beautiful, young bartender greeted us, taking our drink orders. She looked like me a decade before. The way she looked at him, I could tell there was an attraction there. I wondered if there had been something between them once upon a time, or if maybe she was simply like I was, drawn to him. What was it about the alpha male that made women willing to toss aside their inhibitions—ignore those blaring warning signs in our heads that roared at us to steer clear?

  The bartender took our drink orders and busied herself making them. And I breathed a bit easier. “They have the best burgers here,” Wren informed me.

  Looking at the beer tap, I noticed several Star Wars magnets on it. “Is the owner a Star Wars fan?” I asked, pointing to them.

  “Oh, I gave them those. I’m kind of obsessed with it, the movies, the franchise…Stormtroopers mostly.”

  I smirked, nodding. That would make sense. I could see why he liked it. I’d seen the bullets at his house. Probably enjoyed it as a kid. I did find it humorous that a man with so many…manly qualities still had boyish interests. Here was this macho male who loved Star Wars and Xbox. Just another layer to the complexity that was Wren. But I dug it.

  “Does that turn you off?” he asked.

  “Why would it?”

  He shrugged. “Just checking. We might have had to end this date right now if it did. I need a woman that will support my Star Wars fetish.”

  I laughed as the bartender slid our drinks to us, noticing she never quite made eye contact with me. Constantly analyzing people’s behavior was sometimes a pain in the ass. Okay. A lot of pain in the ass. It usually left me thinking people were up to no good. Which was often true, but still left me suspicious way more than was considered healthy. “Well, don’t worry,” I assured him. “I think we’re safe. For now.”

  “For now? Is crazy girl predicting we’ll have an episode tonight?”

  I glared at him, somewhat joking, though with a little heat. I should have also made fun of him for enjoying referring to me in third person. Hannah didn’t like that, I thought to myself, then thought better of it. And held back a giggle. Okay, it was funny. “The night’s still young. Who knows, right?” He enjoyed my sass, though he’d probably never outright admit it.

  Looking away from me, he crossed his arms and rested them on the bar. “Glad to hear you’re so optimistic.”

  I felt heat flare on my skin. It was one thing to not admit he liked my sarcasm. But he’d just made me sound like an asshole. But did I? Did I sound like an asshole? Was I being too snarky by saying something like that? I didn’t like how he’d used my one little comment to put me in my place. I hadn’t felt it was that strong of a statement. But at the same time…he did just that. Put me in my place. My pride was not happy about that. He had a point. I clinched my hands. If I was already anticipating us having some sort of disagreement…we probably would.

  I refused to apologize or acknowledge what I’d said. I decided the best thing to do was try and move forward. “I think your Star Wars fetish is cute.”

  “Aw, you think I’m cute,” he teased.

  Honesty spilled from my lips. “You know you’re cute, Wren,” I murmured. And I wasn’t finished. “I’m sure plenty of women have told you this.” Ugh. So snarky. Why, Hannah? Why? I was face-palming myself over and over in my head. I might as well have stood up in the bar and raised my fists, shouting, “I’m jealous and insecure.”

  Placing his hand on my leg, he twisted his body to face me, his expression serious. “I know I’m riddled with charm and sexual charisma, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy.” His features showed intent, but I could hear the sarcasm in his tone. He was making
fun of me.

  Deciding to play along rather than call him out, I shook my head as I gave him a confused look. “You’re hilarious,” I said dryly. “I’ll try to fight the urges I’m feeling.”

  “Thank you. Let’s keep this night clean and rated-PG, okay?”

  My gaze stayed on his. I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t as good at being funny and sarcastic as him about serious matters.

  The look on my face must have given me away. Leaning toward me, he put his mouth to my ear. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Hannah.” Goose bumps cascaded across my skin. Then he kissed me, chastely, before sitting up and taking a swig of his dark beer. Oh, he was good.

  This man was equally infuriating and enthralling. He sounded like an asshole…to me, anyway. But in the short time I’d come to know him, I knew humor and sarcasm were how he dealt with awkward or uncomfortable situations. He picked and rubbed on sensitive spots. I was thinking and feeling a million things about this night, about him, questioning it all. But I hadn’t really said anything about it, I’d pushed it all down and ignored it. Or tried to anyway. Wren must’ve sensed it, especially after my previous comment about “the night’s still young.” Now he’d brought the elephant in my mind to the forefront and addressed it. He was calling me out on thinking that he was playing me and all he wanted was sex.