by Lucy Score
So what bad karma led me to this mirror in this restaurant on this shitty date where Bowie Bodine of all people got to witness my humiliation?
Something needed to change.
I’d name my cats Smokey and Bandit, I decided. I’d figure out how to cook and host elaborate dinners for friends. I’d learn Italian. I’d have strings-free sex with handsome, sexy, STD-free gentlemen. I would be the cool aunt. If June ever got over her disinterest in people. Gosh darn it, I would have a rich, full life all by myself and never again subject myself to the Baxters of the world. Or the Bowies.
The restroom door opened and closed quietly.
“Cassidy, right?” Bowie’s perky, adorable date asked. She barely came to my shoulder in her cute wedge boots.
“Yeah,” I said warily. Usually when female strangers approached you in the bathroom it wasn’t good.
She joined me at the mirror, opening her small clutch and pulling out lipstick. “He mentioned you on our first date.”
First date? They’d gone on more than one date? I hated the icy wave of pain that ran through me. He wasn’t mine anymore. He had never been mine.
“I grew up with his little sister,” I mumbled, making a show of washing my hands.
“Yeah, that’s what he said. But here’s the thing.” She reapplied her already perfect lipstick and slipped it back in her bag. “It was the way he said it.”
“What way?”
“Like you were special. Important. Who brings up a little sister’s friend on a first date? Girl to girl, that man out there has some big, scary feelings for you.”
“I don’t understand.” I dropped all pretense of washing my hands for a third time. “He told me in no uncertain terms years ago that I was nothing but another little sister to him.”
Shut the fuck up, Cassidy! Mayday! Mayday!
I turned back to the mirror. “I’m sorry. You’re his date. I shouldn’t be saying any of this.”
Erin sighed. “Look, no matter what he said, the way he looks at you says something entirely different. He looks at you like you’re the center of everything.”
I looked down at the soap suds in the sink. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t play second fiddle. No matter how cute the conductor is.”
“Are you warning me off? Because we’re next-door neighbors. It’s hard to avoid each other. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
She smiled. Damn it. She had a dimple in her right cheek. “I’m not warning you off. I’m letting you know that my date has some powerful feelings for you, and I’m going to go back out there, make an excuse, and leave you two to what should have been your date.”
“I’m here on a date,” I reminded her. A date from hell.
“The way Bowie was laying into Mr. Shithead when I left the table, I doubt he’ll be much of an obstacle.”
She started for the door, then paused. “Good luck out there.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
She gave me another smile, and I immediately pictured her at the top of a pyramid at a football game. “Maybe I’m a romantic at heart. Or maybe I’m just annoyed it wasn’t me he was looking at that way. Either way, there’s a tall, sexy drink of water at the bar I might let buy me a drink,” she mused.
“I spent most of my life thinkin’ I’d marry him,” I confessed as she turned.
“Maybe it’s time y’all get started on that.” With those parting words, Erin floated out of the restroom.
I took another couple of minutes to breathe cleansing breaths and repair my armor. I didn’t know if what Erin was saying was true or if I wanted it to be true. To be honest, I didn’t have the energy to consider either option. I wanted to go home. Alone.
Bracing myself, I returned to the dining room and found my table empty except for the stuffed mushroom caps Baxter had ordered. Even his toothpick was gone. Bowie was staring pensively into his beer and looked up when I approached. Erin was nowhere to be seen, and a quick peek at the bar showed that neither was the hottie she’d mentioned.
Good for her.
“Where’d Baxter go?” I asked.
“He had an emergency,” Bowie said. I knew he was lying because he squinted just a little bit. The corners of his eyes crinkling up. The first time I caught that tell was when he was desperately trying to cover his slip-up about there being no Santa Claus.
I flopped down in my chair.
“He was my ride home.” I guessed I was about to find out how expensive Ubering back to Bootleg was.
“I’ll take you home,” Bowie said.
“Where’s Erin?” I asked, ignoring his offer.
“She had an emergency, too.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
I picked up my wine and stared down at the appetizer. Everything sucked.
“Come on now. Don’t look like that, Cass. You know it kills me to see you sad,” Bowie coaxed.
“Oh, now you care how I feel? Even though I’m a ‘shitty friend?’” I shot back.
“I was mad,” he said simply.
“Yeah, well, now I’m mad.”
He rose from his chair and took Baxter’s vacated one. “I’m sorry, Cassidy.”
I tried looking everywhere but his face.
He leaned in, helped himself to a mushroom cap. “Now, it’s your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“To apologize.”
I could actually feel my nostrils flare. “I’m not going to apologize for doing my job.”
“No. But you could apologize for the fact that doing your job hurt us.”
“I already apologized to Scarlett,” I sniffed.
“You hurt me, Cass.”
Crap. Crap. Crap.
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” I asked quietly.
He rested his elbows on the table. “You live next door. You’re part of my family. I’m not going to let this fester between us. We’re too important to each other.”
I swallowed hard and poked at a mushroom with my fork. Erin’s words popped into my mind in big bold font. But I’d opened myself up once to those kinds of possibilities with Bowie and had to pick my devastated self up off the floor when the door slammed shut in my face.
He’d never know how much he hurt me that day all those years ago. I’d vowed it then and I reminded myself now. Part of that meant being cordial now. Not taking out old hurts on him.
One deep breath and I took the plunge for the good of the many. “I’m sorry that what I did hurt you,” I said. I chanced a look up at him. He reached out and stroked a finger over the knuckles of my hand. It was so different from Baxter’s sweaty pawing. So intimate. So stirring.
Damn it. Think about cats!
“I accept your apology,” he said.
“You don’t have to drive me home,” I said, changing the subject. His finger was still running the mountains and valleys of my knuckles.
“We live together,” he said dryly. “It would be stupid not to go home together.”
“All right. But I’ll pay you gas money.” I wasn’t about to start owing Bowie anything again.
“Since we’re here, why don’t we grab a bite before we go.”
Not a date. Not a date. Not a date. Do not think of this as a date.
And I was hungry. Starving actually. “Since we’re here.”
The waiter returned and cast a baleful eye at the now abandoned second table.
“Change of plans,” Bowie said.
“Musical chairs,” I added.
We ordered and sat in awkward silence for several moments. The tables around us filled with happy couples and loud parties. Everyone enjoying the night except for us. I’d known this man my entire life but couldn’t seem to find the words for small talk.
Bowie had never been one for small talk.
“So where did Baxter really go?” I asked.
His lips quirked, and he squinted at me.
“And before you say anything, you do kn
ow that I can tell when you’re lying, don’t you?”
“No you can’t,” he argued amicably.
“Try me,” I encouraged.
“I hate oysters.”
No squint. “True.”
“Hm. I think football is overrated.”
“False. Come on, really test me,” I told him.
He paused, studying me. “I think you look real pretty tonight,” he said finally.
No squint.
I shoveled a mushroom cap into my face to buy myself some time. I had fallen for this once before. Bowie being nice to me did not mean he was attracted to me. I’d learned it the hard way. Where this man was concerned, my instincts were garbage. “True. But I already knew that I looked good. Is that all you’ve got?”
“I think they should bring back Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” he announced.
“Hmm. True. And I agree.” I nodded my approval.
“Erin left because she thinks you and I have feelings for each other.”
I wasn’t sure which one of us was more surprised by the statement.
“Why did Baxter leave?” I asked again. Softly this time.
“Because he wasn’t good enough for you. When are you gonna stop wasting your time on these assholes and find someone who deserves you, Cass?”
12
Bowie
I shouldn’t have said half of the things I said to Cassidy tonight, I thought to myself as I steered in the direction of Bootleg Springs. I was already kicking myself for it. Those feelings were locked down long ago and had no business being voiced.
She shifted in the seat next to me, and I tried not to think about how right all this felt. Dinner had felt like a date. But not just any date. The kind with a whole history behind it, behind us. The kind with a cozy future in front of it.
I was walking a fine line right now. I could reach out and take the hand she rested on the console between us. And that would be crossing the line. The line Cassidy didn’t know about. The line I spent more time than I cared to admit wondering if it still existed.
I’d worked so damn hard trying to erase the stain of my upbringing. I was the son of an alcoholic and an emotionally unavailable mother. We’d been poor. Once in a while we’d been hungry. And that’s still what some people saw when they looked at me.
Not the master’s degree-earning high school vice principal. Not the community volunteer. The town council member. Or the shoveler of sidewalks, the carrier of groceries.
Cassidy had never seen me that way. But others had.
“Mighty big sigh you got there,” she commented, still looking out her window.
“I thought you fell asleep.”
“Nope, just running through my shopping list,” she said.
“Whatcha buyin’?”
“Cat supplies.”
“Cat supplies?”
“I’m adopting a cat.” Her tone implied that she was daring me to have a problem with it.
We lapsed back into silence, and I found myself once again wishing that I was holding her hand.
“Sorry about Erin,” she said, breaking the silence again.
“Not your fault.”
“She seemed nice.”
“I think she left with a guy at the bar,” I told her.
I could see the corner of Cass’s mouth lift. “Did she now?”
“And what’s so amusing about that?” I wanted to know.
“Nothin’ at all. Not a damn thing. Were you two serious?”
I shrugged and turned the radio on low. “Nah. Just a couple of dates.”
“You ever been in love?” she asked, turning to look at me.
“Nope,” I lied.
“Mmm.” She made that skeptical-like noise she tended to when she wasn’t believing the line she was being fed.
“You?” I asked.
“Never.”
We rode in companionable silence, listening to the radio.
When the lights of Bootleg appeared ahead, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Still early. Want to get a drink at The Lookout?”
She glanced my way, looked at the clock. “Sure. Why not?”
The Lookout was a bar that sat high up on an outcropping of rocks that overlooked part of town and the lake. It got its name from its storied and exaggerated history as a lookout for bootleggers running their ‘shine across the lake into Maryland.
Now, it served as the center of our town. A place for neighbors to catch up, games to be watched, dances danced, and fights fought.
I pulled into the gravel lot, already overflowing with cars, and together we walked toward the front door. Cassidy stumbled in her impractical heels, and I caught her elbow. “Bootleg’s not gonna know what to do with you dressed like that,” I told her.
Usually she was in uniform. Who knew khaki and badges could be so sexy? Her off-duty uniform was jeans. And if I were being real honest, I couldn’t tell you which Cassidy I preferred. The stern deputy. The casual girl-next-door. Or this new creature in a slim-fitting dress and stilettos that Jayme would approve of.
Her eyes were smokier tonight, lips painted. I wanted to wipe the lipstick off with my mouth. I wanted her to mark me with it. Face. Neck. Chest. Cock.
I’d given up trying to stop the fantasies a long time ago.
And damn it. There it was. The erection that had been lurking since I sat down at the table next to hers.
I followed her into the bar, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. Nicolette was tending bar in one of her snarky t-shirts. Tonight’s read Y’all Need Jesus and Whiskey. The lights were dim. The tables were full. And there was a band on the stage doing their best to butcher Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Our neighbors and friends crowded around the bar watching the Steelers gain ground on the field.
I pointed Cassidy in the direction of the tables skirting the dance floor and mimed getting a drink. She gave me a thumbs-up and headed off to find us seats. I ordered two drafts of Cass’s favorite.
“You’re lookin’ spiffy tonight, Bowie,” Nicolette pointed out.
“Somebody had a date,” Opal Bodine, no relation, piped up. She was wearing a Cockspurs sweatshirt and nursing some moonshine concoction in a jar.
“Guessin’ it didn’t go well?” Nicolette asked, plopping the beers down in front of me.
I looked over to where Cassidy waved from a table in the corner. “It didn’t go too bad,” I told them.
Weaving my way through the crowd, I found Cassidy sharing a table with Millie Waggle, Nash Larabee, and—damn it all to hell—Amos Sheridan, Cassidy’s ex four or five times over.
Cassidy had taken the chair next to Amos, and they were arguing about Zac Brown’s new album. I pulled out the chair next to Millie and slid Cass’s beer across the table. “Evenin’, all.”
“Hey, Bow. You two are looking fancy tonight,” Millie said. Millie was my sister and Cassidy’s age and dressed like a 70-year-old Sunday school teacher. She also baked like an angel and did the bookkeeping for the Bootleg Springs Spa.
“Yeah, y’all finally go on a date?” Nash asked.
The table erupted in laughter except for me and Cass.
“Did you know you two were voted least likely to hook up in the last town newsletter?” Amos pointed out. “See, Cassidy here is never gettin’ over me.”
Cassidy elbowed him in the gut with a familiarity I didn’t much care for. I hated it when she dated him. Hated it when she dated anybody, but especially Amos.
“What’s your name again?” Cassidy asked him sweetly batting her eyelashes. Everyone laughed again.
“What’s this about the newsletter?” I pressed.
Millie giggled. “Oh, it’s just silliness. Every week there’s a poll. You two were voted least likely to date. Y’all beat out Misty Lynn and Rev. Duane.”
I must have been making a face because Millie leaned in. “It’s for fun, Bow. Nothing to get your knickers in a knot. You two are as close to brother and sister as you can get without the blood
is all.”
I looked across the table at Cassidy. What I felt for her wasn’t even a distant relation of brotherly.
“I really need to start opening my newsletters,” Cassidy joked. I could tell she felt as awkward as I did over the topic.
I sat back in my chair and forced myself to relax. We yelled over the music, and I tried not to want to punch Amos in the face when he looped his arm over the back of Cassidy’s chair. When the band shifted gears into something low and slow, I went with it.
“Wanna dance, Cass?”
The table shut up right quick, and Cassidy blinked. She was a sucker for Chris Stapleton, and “Tennessee Whiskey” was one of his best.
“All right,” she said slowly.
I stood and held my hand out to her. She took it after the slightest hesitation, and I led her onto the dance floor. It was crowded with bodies swaying and sliding. I pulled her into the darkest corner and thanked the sweet baby Jesus when she slid her arms around my neck.
I didn’t care what anybody said. This was right.
We ticked and tocked with the slow beat. I’d shed my suit jacket and loosened my tie at the table. Cassidy had pulled the pins out of her hair. Here we were halfway between who we were every day and who we were on special occasions.
I thought she’d talk. Ask me why I’d asked her to dance. But she kept her eyes glued to me as we worked our way around in a lazy little circle. I felt her fingers playing with the ends of my hair and pulled her close enough that neither one of us could pretend this was a friendly dance.
Our faces were close. Cassidy’s heels put her within easy kissing distance. I could feel her breath on my neck. Could see her pulse flutter at the base of her throat. I wondered what she was seeing of me up close and personal.
We’d danced before. About a hundred times over the course of our lives. But this was different. And I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the clothes. Maybe it was the challenge from the newsletter. I was a Bodine after all. Tell us we can’t do something and watch us do it with both middle fingers flying proudly.
“People are gonna talk,” Cassidy said softly.
