The Girl He Knows Page 5
“It’s a disaster in the making.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jeez, where do I start? This whole thing is wrong. My friendship with Gigi, our friendship. It could all go up in smoke. Is it worth it?” How does he not see this?
“I’m just talking about going out together.”
“Sure, you make it sound harmless. But the last time we got together it led to sex. When I get around you, my judgment gets out of whack and I might do something stupid.” OK, perhaps I should say I might continue to do something stupid. Stupid has already come and gone.
“As I see it, if you’re gonna do something stupid, who better with than your old pal Hank? I can think of a thousand stupid things to do together.” Does he really think it’s that simple? He turns toward me, rests his hand on the top of my seat, and gives me a toothy grin.
I want to laugh or shove his shoulder because he’s being flippant but he needs to know where I’m coming from, that I was once broken.
“Ugh, Hank.” I groan. “Don’t you get it? I’ve already hit my stupid quota for my lifetime with the divorce. I can’t keep adding to the tally.” I can’t lose the friendship I have with Gigi or with him either. A possibility he doesn’t seem fazed by.
“What if all those things you’re worried about never happen and you actually gain something instead?” he asks.
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” I shrug and shake my head with emphasis. “Nope.”
He shifts to stare straight ahead. I can tell he’s a tad bit annoyed by the set of his jaw. “Why?”
I struggle with my words, my thoughts. I’m not sure what to say. For starters, how do I explain to him I don’t want to be involved with a guy who will always have women slipping their numbers, or worse, room keys, in his pocket? Sure, I trust Hank, but I’ve never been in a relationship with him, at least not one involving sex. Because of Trevor, I now see things differently.
Yes, Hank told me he wasn’t interested in Melinda, yet her number is still in his front pocket. Then there’s the issue of his chosen career. Talk about a buzz kill. Who wants to always move? Not me, I like my predictable life. Adventurous spirit my ass.
The most important reason is I’m nowhere near ready to be with someone, short or long term. This next part of my life should be all about me.
“You know what divorced means, Hank?” I’m about to tell him something I’ve recently admitted to myself, and it might make him understand me a little more. “Divorced means you’ve failed. If you stay single, you do so by choice. When you’re divorced, it means the other person didn’t want you.”
“That’s utter bullshit.” He starts to say something more but instead puffs out a sigh and tosses the remains of his bagel in the bag at my feet.
“Says the guy who has never been divorced. The fact remains, I failed at my marriage and now I have to make sure not to repeat my mistakes. I have a track record, and it’s not a good one. I went from high school to college to Trevor. On an experience meter, I’d be surprised if mine registers. I want to do now what I should’ve done in college.”
I stare at his profile. He’s leaning against the car door and tapping the steering wheel with his index finger in annoyance. The mood in the car is heading south fast. Aware of the sudden thick air between us, I hope to lighten it once again with some levity.
“Besides, if I see you next weekend it will be like having three dates and in my book three dates is the beginning of a relationship and that’s the last thing you need. As you are well aware, I’m a relationship nightmare.”
He’s quiet, his lips pressed together into a thin line. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I wait for him to decide whether or not he’s going to allow the mood change.
“Who says it needs to be a relationship?” He quirks a brow at me like his sister does, and I look away.
“What do you mean?” When I think of Hank in terms of a relationship, I used to think friend, trustworthy, and dependable. But now when I think of him, I automatically relive our first kiss. How we stood ankle-deep in the sand and it felt so natural when he lowered his head to press his lips gently to mine.
“I mean it doesn’t have to be serious. Just a good time. You say the last thing you need is a relationship....”
“I think I need to...want to...date...lots of guys.” I chew on my bottom lip. My brain hurts just thinking about what he’s suggesting.
“Fine. You want lots of guys. I get it. My job has me coming and going and there’s always the possibility of a deployment. Makes it difficult getting to know someone, much less building a relationship.”
He continues, “Exactly the reason why this is so perfect. I like being with you, and I hope you like being with me. We already know each other, this is us getting together every so often to have a good time. No strings. No awkward first date. No expectations. Not even sex if we don’t want to.”
I stare at him, processing what he’s said and I find I’m hung up on one word: deployment. To a war zone? I can’t even imagine. If something happened to him... Well, I can’t go there.
“Paisley?”
“Do you go to dangerous places often?” I have to know.
He looks at me, confused. “No, not often. Occasionally. About us?”
Every ounce of common sense is telling me to run, avoid this inevitable pain. My mind pulls up the memory of him, lying pale in his bed following surgery for appendicitis. It was fifteen years ago and I remember being scared to pieces then and we weren’t sleeping together.
“Paisley?” he asks again.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Just two friends getting together. Something we’ve done hundreds of times in the past. I like being with you and you can practice your dating moves on me. No strings,” he says, again.
“There are always strings,” I caution. “What if we do have sex again? I really do think it could change everything.”
He shrugs. “If things start to change in a way that makes you uncomfortable, we back out and call it a day.”
“It’s a stupid idea.” Look what happened on one unchaperoned night together. There is no possible way we can hang out and not fool around on some level. At least I think we couldn’t. Avoiding his repeated glances, I reach into my bag, pull out a magazine, and settle in, pretending to read the pages.
“Remember when we went tubing on the Ichetucknee?” He breaks the silence.
“Which time?”
“The time Hunter Norris swam up behind you and gave you a wedgie.”
I grimace at the memory and nod my head. He not only gave me a wedgie, but subsequently flipped my tube over, allowing me to share the experience with most of Hank’s senior class and a fair number of juniors and sophomores, too.
“You have the same pinched face look now that you wore then.” He laughs when I narrow my eyes at him. “Relax. Pull your panties out of your crack. Have I ever led you wrong?”
“Yes.” I wag my finger at him.
“When?”
My hesitation is enough of an admission.
“That’s right. I’ve never led you wrong. I always bail you out. Have some faith.” He reaches over and tweaks my nose. “All I’m asking is to hang out, get together now and then, and enjoy each other’s company. I bet when you give it some thought, you’ll see my idea is brilliant.”
“Brilliant? Ha, not likely.” I snort. “Seriously, you don’t,” I pause, looking for the right words and decide on being frank, “expect sex and it’s not a relationship or anything? Because I plan on getting my date on. I don’t plan to sit at home and wait for any guy to get back to town and call me. Besides, until this weekend, I’ve only been with two other guys and I plan on trying some on for size.” Sounds like a good idea to me. In theory.
His knuckles whiten when he grips the steering wheel; it’s gone in a blink. Did I imagine it? It’s only right that he knows the score up front. If he wants no strings attached, the
n he can’t be off getting mad if I’m on a date.
“Wait. What? You’ve been with how many guys?”
“You heard me. Three. Austin Calhoun.” I tick off one on my finger. Hank grimaces. He never did like Austin, my first serious boyfriend. “Trevor, and now you.” I hold up three fingers and wave them. “I’m a bit inexperienced, and I believe that’s part of the problem.”
Hank chuckles. “Your ‘inexperience’ is certainly not a problem and it’s not your problem.”
Steam starts to build up between my ears, “Just exactly what is my problem?”
“You think too much about everything and don’t listen to what’s going on here.” He taps above my left breast where my heart is. “And here.” He taps my gut.
“Instead you get spun up in here.” He taps his index finger against the center of my forehead.
I slap his hand away.
“I don’t expect anything, Paisley, except for you to be yourself and have a good time. What happens, happens.” He shrugs and glances at me before focusing back on the road.
“You’ve got that pinched-face look again, and now your eyes are squinty. Lighten up.” He smiles.
“You lighten up.” I continue to glare at him. I’m being childish, but his words twist in my brain.
Next thing I know he has his bicep in my face and is flexing his muscle, making it pop up and down. “Besides, y’know you want to get some more of this. You can’t resist.”
Laughing, I push away his arm.
“You know you want to get some of this.” I tell him, pointing to myself. We laugh together, and he reaches over and picks up one of my curls and begins twisting it between his fingers.
“Seriously, Hank. You’ve been my friend for my entire life. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t. I promise. Think about it. It’s a win-win situation. We make some basic ground rules. If we sleep together again, we’ll address any awkwardness right away. If we should sleep together again and then with someone else, we tell each other right away. Full disclosure. No more hiding out either. We’re adults. If we happen to be in Lakeland at the same time and want to hang out, we hang out.”
I’m sure his smile is meant to be encouraging, but I’m glad when he turns his gaze back to the road, afraid my face will show my doubt and hurt his feelings. He slides his hand from my curl to the back of my neck and begins caressing my jawline with his thumb. Instinctively, I turn my face toward his palm. He glances at me and winks.
“I dunno, Hank. So much can go wrong.” I can’t believe I’m considering it. I make a mental note to go see a shrink immediately when I get home to have my head examined. I must be, unequivocally, out of my mind. Because right now he’s rubbing my jaw and I want to jump him. At the very least kiss his palm.
“You know you want to do this,” he tells me.
He’s right. I do.
“Besides, I’m a sure thing. A safe bet. A fun guy. You don’t have to do the whole awkward, get-to-know-me dance. We can get down to having a good time.”
“And what if there’s no more sex? Or what if there’s lots of sex between us and between me and some other guys. Can we be two friends getting together with no expectations?”
“Stop worrying. Have some fun. Good grief.”
Maybe I should get some meds, too, because I have to be delusional to think this will work. I’m heavily engaged in my mental argument when Hank moves his hand from my neck, snatches up my coffee, and finishes it.
“Hey. You’re a jackass.”
“So you keep telling me.” He grins, both dimples peek out, and hands me the empty mug. “About next weekend. You free?”
I smile back, resisting the urge to touch him. “No, but the weekend after, I am.”
Chapter 7
Against my better judgment, I agreed to let Kenley set me up on a blind date, and today it’s going down. It’s why I couldn’t make plans with Hank.
We’re meeting at a local casual-dining seafood restaurant so I drive myself. I’m not experiencing the nervousness I’m usually crippled with when preparing for a date. I’m more laid-back with this planned arrangement for several reasons. One, Kenley and Doug will be there to buffer the situation should he turn out to be a weirdo or something. Two, I figure it’s time to get my feet wet and what better way to start than with someone who I have no initial interest in? Three, my intention is to use this date as practice because he doesn’t sound like someone I would pick for myself based on Kenley’s description. Yesterday, I cornered Kenley for some specifics thinking I should at least have some information.
“Who is this person you feel driven to set me up with?” I asked her. She’s happily married, in that disgusting, true-love sort of way, and probably can’t rest until all women have what she has.
“He’s a pilot,” she told me. “Has one of those big houses in the Fly-In.”
The Fly-In is an exclusive subdivision in Daytona Beach. Most of the houses have private hangars for private planes. A runway bisects the subdivision and finding pilots is as easy as throwing a stone. Daytona is a mecca for aviation aficionados, boasting an assortment of aviation schools and one of the nation’s best aeronautical universities, Emery Riddle.
“What does he fly?” I asked. A pilot, wouldn’t Momma be proud? I’m not interested in anything long-term with pilots, or military guys quite frankly. I can guess what goes on out of town.
“Big jets for one of the major airlines. I don’t remember which one. He and Doug belong to the same tennis club.”
“You know I’m not crazy about blind dates,” I reminded her.
“I know, but we have to strike while the iron is hot,” she stated matter-of-factly.
I wasn’t even going to dignify that remark with a comment. It was clear Kenley thought my time was running out. For whatever reason, I wasn’t sure.
The drive to the restaurant takes ten minutes. The breeze from the ocean pushes my hair around so I pull it into a loose and bouncy ponytail and I grab a light jacket in case the ocean breeze decides to get cooler or stronger. It’s doubtful, but at least this once I’ll be prepared.
I find Kenley and Doug sitting at a table on the outside deck with no sign of my guinea pig.
I make my way to the table and plop down next to Kenley, leaving the chair across from me empty.
“Hi.” I smile at them both. They are the perfect couple. A yin and yang. Though both tall and athletic, he is blond with milky skin and she has dark brown hair with cocoa skin.
Since my divorce, I’m more watchful of my friends and others in their relationships. I figure my failed one is an indication I might need some mentoring, tutoring, or at least guidance in the relationship department. Maybe that’s why Hank’s idea has such appeal or why I allowed Kenley to set me up.
I aspire to have a relationship like Kenley and Doug’s. They are always affectionate with each other, courteous, and considerate, and it’s obvious they love each other. I figure an interracial marriage in today’s world is far easier than it was sixty years ago but probably still has its moments. There are assholes everywhere. But Kenley and Doug seem undaunted. They have each other. Can one ask for anything more?
“You look great, Paisley. Ted went to the restroom.” Doug smiles at me and flags the waitress so I can place my drink order.
Ted arrives as the waitress delivers my drink. He isn’t bad-looking. He looks like a pilot with his tight, crisp haircut and graying temples. He’s tan, has a nice smile of capped teeth, and hazel eyes. He’s ten-to-fifteen years older than me, which isn’t a problem, and right before he arrived, Doug told me Ted is thrice divorced. A potential problem? Maybe. I’m not one to cast stones, but how could a relationship reject like myself get together and make something work with such an obvious relationship klutz like Ted?
“Wow, is this her? You are one foxy lady.” He smiles, oozes into the chair across from me, picks up my hand, and kisses my knuckles.
I pull my hand from Ted’s, introduce myself and try to spark up some conversation. My marriage to Trevor taught me one thing: if you ask a man the right questions, he’ll talk nonstop about himself, requiring only an occasional nod followed by a “mmm-hmm,” or “right.”
Ted is easier than most. I ask one basic question, “So, you’re a pilot?” and he launches right into his personal curriculum vitae.
I learn about Ted, his aforementioned three ex-wives, his bank account, and his golf handicap. He tells me he’s raising the last of his three sons. It’s the one redeeming quality I can find, though I wonder how they’ll fare in the relationship department. Throughout the conversation I manage to read the menu, nod at the right times, and place my order. A couple of times I glance at Kenley, who is now giving me a pleading look.
She is sooo in trouble.
As Ted orders the fourth round of drinks, Doug tosses back the remains of Kenley’s beer. He’s drinking more than his usual two beers. His voice has been slowly going up in octaves as the evening progresses and the drink order climbs. It’s none of my business until Kenley decides to share it with me, but she’s hardly spoken and is fidgety, two things uncharacteristic of my typically chatty and hard-to-fluster friend. After dinner is finished and the table cleared, Doug staggers his way to the restroom. Kenley excuses herself and follows him.
Ted is still going on and on.
Not one to let an opportunity go to waste, I decide to try some dating moves, hone my skills. I lean back in my chair, cross my legs, and pull up my iced tea, having switched to the alcohol-free drink three rounds back. To give me something to do, I use a straw to sip my tea, and play with it as I listen to Ted droning on.
“Lord,” he leans in and whispers to me, “I’d do anything to be that straw.”