Across From You

by Amabel Daniels

  “Right. Well, since you’re already going to be there, why not be, oh, say, a groomsman!” She followed up with a too-bright and pleading smile. Like I’d never witnessed the impact of the begging moue she followed with. That trick might work with her fiancé, but I didn’t owe her anything.

  “I sense a catch.”

  “No catch. My mom’s worried one of my brothers might not be there for the whole wedding. Schedules and all. He’s flying from overseas or something.”

  And he couldn’t make do for his relative? Bev’s career, like mine, wasn’t anything grand. State Trooper. Her family, however, hosted many big law enforcement types. Her dad a former senator. Her mom a district attorney. Her older brothers had military or diplomatic jobs.

  “Okay…”

  “And that’s it. I need another guy to stand in for him. I can’t have five bridesmaids and four groomsmen!”

  I didn’t see why she couldn’t. Wouldn’t be the end of the world. Given how much she was stressing and nit-picking about her wedding, though, I could respect that she’d be anal to have symmetry on the altar.

  “That’s it? Just be a groomsman?” I’d known Paul almost for as long as Bev had. It wouldn’t be a hardship to help with his wedding.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  “Really? Wow. That was easy.”

  I shrugged. “I’m an easy kind of guy.”

  “Maybe in bed, yeah. From what I see.”

  How my supposed reputation exceeded me. Too bad I didn’t give enough damns to care to change it. If Bev imagined I was some kind of player, it’d take a good, long while to explain I was the opposite. And to what point? It wasn’t as though she’d allowed a conversation to last more than one minute without the urge to redirect attention back to the fact she was about to get married. When a car drove past our parked cruiser, not speeding, but swerving at a low speed, I pointed through the windshield.

  Bev set the car in drive and flipped the lights on. “I’ll text you the info about the tux. And the account number you’ll need to give them.”

  I groaned. Tux? Regrets took root. Unnecessary headaches were better off avoided.

  She grunted. “Okay. I’ll pay you back. What’s it gonna take?”

  “Lunch is on you for a week after you get back.”

  “A week?” She glared at the windshield.

  “Do you think it’s fun getting fitted for a tux?”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll make you look even hotter. And up your chances of a wedding hook-up.”

  Help I didn’t want.

  “Fine. Lunch on me for the week after I’m back.”

  After we’d driven behind the white Honda for less than a minute, the offender pulled off to the shoulder.

  “Your turn?” Bev asked.

  I sighed. “Yeah. Yeah. My turn.” A burst of cold air blew in my face as I opened the door and went to approach the driver. Drunk, as I’d assumed, nearly falling asleep. In a manner of minutes, I’d cuffed the guy, relayed pertinent info to our dispatch, and then packed the guy in the back.

  Once I got back in my seat, shotgun to Bev, I opened my mouth to ask her for the tux info, but she was on the phone. Propped up on the dashboard, Bev’s phone showed an active call still in progress via speakerphone.

  Lexi again?

  It wouldn’t be the first time Bev chatted with her cousin. And in the last couple weeks leading to the big wedding, it seemed she called her often. Clingy often. Downtime was abundant some days on the road, and Bev usually spent the free moments chatting to Paul or others. Lexi was the only other voice I’d recognized because more than a few times Bev had asked me to answer for her when she was otherwise occupied—with someone we’d pulled over or when she’d stepped out to grab lunch.

  “I don’t see why you don’t care if you don’t have a date to the wedding,” Bev said.

  Lexi’s voice came clear in the quiet space of the car. “First of all, I don’t have time to find one.”

  I checked over my shoulder at the drunk in the back. Nearly asleep. It’d be an easy drop-off.

  “What happened to…” Bev hesitated.

  Rupert. That’s the guy she’s dating. I scratched my chin, trying to remember the details. Some gym rat? Rupert or Rory? R something.

  Lexi was quick to cut Bev off. “You seriously don’t know?”

  “Should I?”

  “No!”

  Bev glanced at me at Lexi’s sudden reply.

  “No, you shouldn’t. We’re just, uh, not together anymore. End of story.”

  Bull. She might be the next thing to a stranger, but I knew that fading tone meant a lie.

  Another one bites the dust. None of my business, but it seemed Lexi was no stranger to breakups.

  “Aww, maybe you could call him and recons—”

  “No.” Lexi cleared her throat. “Final answer is no.”

  Bev frowned and caught me watching her. “Ah. Well, what about I set you up with someone?” As I continued to watch her drive to the station, her smile tripped higher and higher. Too high. She was up to something. Again.

  Me? She’s going to set her up with me? First, the favor to be a groomsman. And a blind date? Hell no. I nudged her shoulder and shook my head.

  “No thanks.”

  I nearly sighed with relief at Lexi’s refusal.

  “Come on,” Bev whined.

  “I don’t even want to know who you’d have in mind.”

  Bev laughed. “What’s that mean?”

  “Well, you met the love of your life by pulling him over. You probably pull over plenty of other kinds of men, too,” Lexi said.

  I smiled at the wise and smartass remark.

  “I have no trouble attracting attention from men who are bad for me. I don’t need you to help the process.”

  In the small stints I’d ever spoken or listened to Lexi, she never seemed like a promiscuous or thrill-seeking kind of woman. Polite with a healthy twist of sarcasm and wit. That was Lexi. I could only assume she was a magnet for assholes because she might be too trusting.

  “Then what about Jack?” Bev said.

  I yanked my sunglasses off and narrowed my eyes at Bev as soon as she finished the question.

  “Jack?” Lexi checked.

  Jesus. Does she not know she’s on speakerphone?

  “Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

  Again, I nudged Bev’s shoulder and she bit down on her smile.

  “I bet he could be hot,” Lexi admitted.

  “Oh, Jack very well is. Not as much as Paul, of course.”

  Dammit. Setting my lips in a line, I shook my head at Bev. Bev had a sneaky side, but teasing Lexi like this wasn’t—

  “I mean, the whole officer uniform and such. That could be sexy.”

  Just like every other woman who thinks she might be turned on by role-playing. I rolled my eyes. Another woman who called her shots based on looks alone.

  “Hang on a minute. You’re saying I’m sexy then?” Bev teased.

  “Um. You’re not…bad…”

  “You just said the officer uniform’s a turn-on.”

  Lexi rushed to reply. “Seriously? Is the wedding stress making you get even weirder now? First of all, we’re cousins. And I’m not into incest. And second, we’re both girls. And I’m not into that, either.”

  “Are you sure?” Bev taunted.

  “Oh, for the love of God, Beverly. It was one dream. One single dream, which was probably more of a hallucination from the drugs after I had my wisdom teeth taken out. One damn dream while I was unconscious—”

  “Who was it again?” Bev taunted.

  I reached for the phone to hang up, tired of Bev’s too-teasing manner. It wasn’t often, but she could go too far.

  Lexi groaned. “It doesn’t matter. One stupid dream about that one pro soccer player girl going down on me—”

  “This is the best time I ever been ’rested!” the drunk from the backseat exclaimed.

  “Oh, my G—”
Lexi sucked in a breath. “Who was that? You have me on speakerphone?”

  “Calm down,” Bev said around laughter.

  “No, no. No calming down,” the backseat passenger whined. “Keep going!”

  “Shut it,” I warned and rapped my knuckles on the separating pane.

  Another gasp. “Jack? Was that you? Did you just hear—”

  No point to keep her wondering. “Hey, Lexi,” I replied lightly.

  “Oh, Beverly! You b—”

  I finally snatched the propped-up phone and hung up. “Wasn’t that kind of low?”

  “Oh, come on, Jack.” Bev sighed as she pulled into the turn for the station. “Just teasing. She’s not a lesbo.”

  “And why’d you put me on the spot like that?” I demanded. “I’m already doing one favor for you. Remember?”

  “I know, I know. But she could really use the help.”

  I doubted Lexi would ever want Bev’s cruel jokes.

  “She’s never going to keep a guy.” Bev parked and then we both exited. Facing each other over the top of the car, I set my forearms on the roof. “Lexi’s the kind of girl who needs assistance getting a man,” Bev said.

  “What, you’re so obsessed with marriage and the wedding you want to force everyone around you into relationships? Asking me last minute to be a groomsman and a blind date?”

  “Jesus. Why are you defending her? It. Was. A. Joke.” She mock-smirked. “Don’t worry. She’s not your type, anyway.”

  Type. How the hell would Bev know what I wanted in a woman? Or that it was insanely frustrating to never find her. Like people fit into specific categories so neatly.

  “Now I’m going to meet her at the wedding. And she’ll be embarrassed that I overheard her,” I added.

  “God. You’re such a damn gentleman. For a man-whore, you really are a softie.” She dismissed me with a wave before moving to get the drunk out of the car. “Lexi’s always embarrassed about something, so it won’t be anything new. She’ll get over it. Like I said, it was just a joke.”

  “Still sounds like a lousy first impression,” I groused.

  Three

  Lexi

  I was optimistic when I pulled out of the East Ridge Mall parking lot at only three on Friday. Reality usually smashed my attempts of actually leaving work early. Because new trainees had as many questions as a census form. Or a customer line piled up. Or the stuffing machine went on the fritz and it was snowing in the shop.

  But that Friday, before I could even pump my fist—in solitude, of course—and rah rah TGIF, I hit my brakes just in time. Red lights popped on and off in a weak strobe effect. Traffic. Rush hour, everyone-get-the-hell-outta-my-way standstill traffic.

  “Lucky fucky ducky.” I growled and let my head fall back to the rest. Which only reminded me that I’d already stabbed all the bobby pins of the world into my hair. My skills were iffy, but it was an up-do, reinforced with miniature sticks in a prickly maze. Didn’t mean it was a good do.

  I should have known better than to flip the visor mirror down and check the damage. Tresses lay in bent and twisted chunks like I’d gone through a wrestling match with a drunk raccoon. So much for thinking ahead and trying to tame my waves into some elegant-bedhead bun that was supposed to be sexy. I’d spent thirty minutes stooping in the “office” to get a head-start on getting ready for the rehearsal. The only mirror in the closet/office was at boob height. Between kneeling on a chair or hunching over in a failed and painful yoga pose, it was a challenge to consistently view my hair. My solution? Darting down in a million squats to check the progress of each pin inserted into my hair. And damn did my quads burn now.

  Since it didn’t look like I’d be driving forward anytime in the foreseeable eon, I extracted all the pins out of my hair. I’d have to start a trend for sophisticated bedhead non-buns. It wouldn’t matter one way or another. My arriving late to Barton Hall for Bev’s rehearsal would put a bolder demerit on my name, never mind my less-than-elite appearance. Besides, wasn’t everyone else supposed to look like shit so the bride could stand out even more?

  It was one thing to face the not-so-silent criticism from my family and their failure to accept I was the antithesis of being on time. But Bev was still cranky I’d missed all the fun of the last couple days and I didn’t want to poke that particular nest. Excuse me. I had to work. No cushy benefits and time off. The world of stuffed animals was a demanding one. Or the realm of customer service was a bitchy one. Not to mention, her little prank of letting her coworker and some drunk stranger hear my one lesbian hallucination still irritated me enough to say meh to bending backward that much to appease her.

  I’d managed maybe two blocks of progress when my phone chimed in the cup-holder.

  If it was Bev, again, I was blocking her number for good. I’d told her I’d try to get there on time for the damn practice dinner. Screw me for not consulting my crystal ball and taking stock of idiots clogging the way to the expressway. It wasn’t my fault no one knew how to merge on the damn highway.

  I set my knee to the steering wheel, hoping for a miracle that I might score a chance to speed to five miles per hour. In my left hand, I tugged out more offensive pins while I grabbed my phone with my right.

  “Carly,” I greeted and immediately set it to speakerphone.

  “How’s the rehearsal going?”

  “En route.” I checked the time. Fuck. How was it already four-thirty? I’d been inching slowly but steadily. Wasn’t that how the damn turtle won? “Almost.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Please. I know better than to trick myself into looking forward to this.”

  Carly laughed. “At least it will be over soon.”

  I nodded even though she couldn’t see.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” she asked. Maybe teased.

  Putting it like that, nothing. My inability to please my parents was nothing new to shoulder. Bev was probably going to ride out this bridezilla brattiness until after she got back from her honeymoon. At least I’d be as prepared as I could get for the expected headaches of family time. What could be so bad about getting out of town for a weekend?

  “My great-uncle could try to match-make me with one of his employees.”

  “Eww. The mortician?”

  Shudders shook my limbs, too.

  “Yuck. And to think you’d actually had a date planned.”

  Actually? Thanks. “No more.” After the art fun, we’d gone for a drink and I’d apprised her of my famous breakup. She didn’t believe me and I had to have the bartender show her his newsfeed to search for it and prove it. I still couldn’t bring myself to look. There were thousands of reactions to the post at that point.

  Carly sighed. “Giving up after the hashtag breakup?”

  “More like giving in. I’m not fated to find a normal, non-asshole man. Been looking for fifteen years. Maybe it’s time I take a break.”

  “That’s more the spirit. Men are dicks.”

  Well, they had dicks. Not that I’d seen one in a long time. Okay, that wasn’t playing fair. The personal trainer who’d hashtag-dumped me had revealed his in the one time we’d sort of, kinda, almost done the deed. Imagine…a baby carrot. A malnourished one. I hadn’t seen a firmer vegetable of a dick in a long time. Wait. Again, I still wasn’t playing fair. A blush rushed up my cheeks. Au contraire. I had seen a very impressionable appendage recently—

  Carly’s scold wasn’t over, though. “Take my word for it. There is no man sexy enough to be worth your time.”

  “Says the bitter divorcee.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I don’t know. That nude model from your class…”

  Carly’s huff was loud and harsh, even from the cup-holder. “You’re still thinking about him?”

  “Are you so burned from divorce that you can’t even appreciate how fine of a specimen that was?”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Those muscles. All that tight skin and wicked tat
s. Mesmerizing brown eyes.”

  “Remember when we took Violet to that art exhibit? Her eyes were like dinner plates when she looked at that David replica.”

  “Oh funny.” I was not that gobsmacked at the model. Um. No. Lying had never worked for me. I had been frozen with a no-holds-barred attraction. “Well, maybe I was a little lustalyzed.”

  “Lusta—” Carly’s bark of belly laughter pulled a grin on my lips. Shoving some good humor into her life was worth the expense of my own dignity. Or lack thereof. “Good thing you didn’t have a chance to talk to him.”

  No. Good thing traffic finally eased up. I stepped on the gas and passed a truck that didn’t understand the concept of tailing one’s ass. Voila. On the way. I headed down the ramp for the expressway, still fondly recalling the image of that man and less of Carly’s words.

  No, I hadn’t talked to the nude model. But I’d wondered no more than fifty times a day what he might sound like. I bet he’d have one of those lethal, honey-smooth but raspy voices. Something with a hypnotic quality that subliminally urged women to strip. A dangerous kind of voice like a sexed-up cross between Vin Diesel and the Marlboro Man, sans the smoking. In fact, I’d bolted out of there as fast as I could when the class was over to avoid meeting him. God forbid I let temptation be my voice of reason again. “Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If you’d so much as said hello to him, you would have gotten all ga-ga and want to date him. Against the rules for a gal who’s taking a break, no?”

  “You saying I throw myself at men?”

  More laughs. At least it was getting easier to make her smile. “Hardly. But you have no trouble attracting the worst ones.”

  And when that happened, my gut instincts were a lush drunk, urging, what the hell, go for it. YOLO, sista!

  “Too true.” I sighed sadly. Hey, I could admit my faults. Denial seemed like too much of a hassle. “I should hire you to be my non-dating coach to warn me off temptation. But at least I got a peek of a man out of my league.” Because even if he was such a rare breed of a decent man, he was probably too hot to stick with a nest-haired manager of a stuffed animal boutique like me.