The Girl He Knows Page 6

  “I beg your pardon?” I do a mental shake of my head and question my own hearing. I take another sip.

  “I’d love to be that straw you are sucking on.” He winks at me and leans forward even farther.

  In a flash, I’m angry. The sounds of the restaurant are muted as is Ted’s voice. His mouth is moving but the thumping sound in my ears makes it impossible to hear. I tremble from the adrenaline rush and my palms itch to smack his face or, at the very least, the table. Ted has shown little to no interest in me and he thinks it’s appropriate to make sexual innuendos? Who does he think he is?

  I bare my teeth, bite the straw, and pull it from the drink where I spit it on the floor. I slam my glass onto the table and stand. Ted looks surprised and confused, and my anger flares, spreading heat through me like a bush on fire in a drought.

  “Is there something I did or said to make you think I want to be talked to this way?” I put my arms akimbo, lean slightly forward, and stare at him.

  “Uh...no...but I uh... Aren’t divorced women looking for some fun? If you know what I mean?” His smile is more a leer.

  I blow out a huff of disbelief.

  I scan the crowd for Kenley and Doug and find them arguing over by the restrooms. Uh-oh, trouble in paradise.

  “Thanks for dinner, Ted. I have to leave though.” I snatch up my purse and jacket, berating myself for thanking him when I should have slapped his face. Kenley and Doug stop their heated words when I approach.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I tell them. “I have to leave.”

  “I’m sorry, Paisley.” Kenley reaches out and squeezes my arm and promises to call later and explain. I wave off her apology and leave as fast as my feet can take me without actually running from the building.

  When I get home, I take a shower and dress in my comfy pajamas. Do men actually think a woman likes to hear those things? Yuck. He didn’t even bother to get to know me before he made his creepy pass, thinking I’m different than the average single girl, something more or something less, all because I’m divorced.

  Too furious to do anything, I lie on my bed and watch the ceiling fan go round and round. I promise myself no matter what, I will not settle for just any man. Once was enough. I would rather be by myself than shackled to some idiot like pilot Ted. Trevor used to talk to me the same way. I thought it was because he found me pretty, even sexy. What I learned was he talked to all women like that. Women were objects to him, a means to an end. I was nothing more.

  The hardest thing about divorce, for me anyway, was the sudden change of life. One minute I was getting married and buying a house and the next minute I was out of the marriage and living in an apartment only slightly better than the one I’d inhabited in college. I don’t like being single, but if my track record with men is a testament, I’m not very good at being married either. Where does that leave me?

  Single. Alone?

  I feel the tears before I realize I’m crying. I pull out my phone and stare at the screen. I guess I need to know someone is out there. Someone who cares.

  I text Hank. Hi.

  I wait a few heartbeats, and he texts back. Hi yourself. I like that it’s late at night and you’re thinking of me.

  Don’t let it go to ur head. I’m just saying hi.

  You OK?

  I hesitate. Yup.

  R U sure ur OK?

  I sigh. Do I want to share with him? Yeah was going to bed and thought I’d say Hi.

  What r u wearing?

  OMG! Never mind. I’m going to bed now:-)

  LOL. Sweet dreams.

  I hold the phone close to my chest and fall asleep.

  Chapter 8

  The last few weeks of school are some of my favorite times in the school year and a highlight of my job. Being a school-based occupational therapist can be frustrating because it can seem the progress the children make is slow or the weeks appear to repeat, though the last week of school everything is different. No one stands out more than anyone else on crazy-hair day, everyone gets to go on the field trips, and who doesn’t love watching movies instead of doing classwork?

  With only a week of school left, I have spring fever worse than the kids. I’m ready for unplanned days, no obligations, and sleeping in on weekdays. When Josie calls midafternoon in a panic, I’m more than ready to change my scenery.

  “Can you meet me at the Tea Room?” she cries without returning my greeting.

  “Now?” I look at my watch. I’ve just come back from a field trip and need to finish my notes and clean my room. However, I never turn down an opportunity to eat out and the Tea Room is one of my favorites.

  “Yes, now. Get your ass over here. I already ordered your favorite.” She hangs up before I respond.

  Josie Woodmere and I met when Trevor and I separated. She clerks for the attorney I hired and while taking my information to prepare for my divorce, we formed a friendship I knew would span time. She’s also part of the group of girls I hang with on a regular basis.

  I throw my paperwork and work toys into the back of my car and drive, barely within the limits of the law, to the Tea Room. I find Josie at the table with several magazines spread out before her.

  “Hey.” I take the seat across from her and pick up the iced tea she’s ordered for me. We’ve done this before.

  I look at one of the magazines and am not surprised to see it’s a bridal magazine. Josie is getting married at the end of summer and has the tendency to obsess in general. Wedding planning is fertile ground for twenty-four-hour obsession. I pile up the magazines so the waitress can deliver our food.

  “You bringing anyone to my wedding?” Josie digs into her salad.

  I don’t have an “anyone” and can’t think of who I want to bring as a date other than Hank, and I’m not sure he’ll be in town or interested in going. I know how men are about weddings.

  “Probably not.” I shrug.

  “Good, because you won’t be wearing the bridesmaid dress we picked out.”

  “What?” Josie, the other bridesmaids, and I spent hours picking out dresses we all liked and thought we might wear again.

  “Yeah, apparently there’s a back order on the dresses and my pain-in-the-ass mother thinks this is something I planned to stall the wedding. We need to find a backup, quick.” She rolls her eyes and takes a gulp of her drink.

  This is Josie’s third wedding and, if it happens, it will be her first to come to fruition. Her first fiancé was a guy she grew up with, a family friend. They decided to call it off on the eve of their wedding. Not the smartest move, according to Josie, but it was better than marrying a guy who was in love with another girl yet was going to marry Josie out of obligation, friendship. Josie said this guy’s life plan would have turned her into her mother, not that there is anything wrong with Josie’s mother. To hear Josie tell it, she wasn’t interested in becoming a tool for her husband’s career nor a charity-running, crash-dieting snob.

  Josie tosses a magazine at me. “Start looking for something we both can live with. I’ll pay for it since it’s unlikely you’ll use again.” She gives me an apologetic look.

  “Don’t sweat it.” I pick up a magazine, flipping through the pages, pausing on the pages she’s dog-eared.

  “Thanks, Paisley, you’re a true pal.” She smiles and uses the side of her finger to dab at her misty eyes.

  I know this wedding stuff is hard on her. After running out on groom number one, Josie left her parents with a wedding expense equal to a house down payment and ran off to find herself, moving often. At one time, she ended up at some artist commune. There she met groom number two, a struggling artist who was the extreme opposite of her father. She announced her happily ever after intentions over social media sites and her parents were furious. Halfway to Vegas with the Picasso wannabe, she found herself with cold feet. Though she hadn’t cost her parents the expense of another wedding, she’d once again embarrassed them. Apparently, in her hometown, s
he’s developed a reputation for her wedding mishaps.

  Josie comes from a wealthy and affluent family and her parents are quite obvious with their expectations of a mate for her. When she became engaged to Brinn McRae, a grew-up-hard, street-smart pilot instructor and business owner, Josie was told she was on her own. If she followed through with the marriage, they would consider reimbursing her some of the expense. If she stayed married for more than five years, they would reimburse her the entire cost.

  In her no-nonsense, would-never-guess-she-grew-up-privileged way, Josie told them to stuff it, though the words she used to convey this message were something often heard from a sailor’s mouth.

  That’s our Josie. A beautiful, ebony-haired siren who can make men swoon with her looks and hardened criminals blush with her vocabulary and word combinations.

  “This one isn’t too bad,” I show her a picture of a long, elegant-looking gown with simple straps and an empire waist. “Is it too long for an afternoon wedding?”

  “Yes, it’s very pretty. I might consider moving my wedding to the evening so you can wear it. Keep looking.”

  I may have known Josie for only these last eighteen months, but I know how much she loves Brinn. Nothing is going to keep her from marrying him. I also know how much he loves her, which is why he’s footing the bill for the whole wedding. He won’t let Josie consider paying for anything and tells her he wants to make all her dreams come true. If only her parents knew their daughter is about to marry a self-made millionaire.

  I look at the pictures of the brides and grooms in a variety of formal wear and am surprised I’m not bothered by them. In the past, seeing others in wedding garb would remind me of my failure. Today the pictures don’t trigger any desire to see Trevor or any remorse over my lost marriage. I suppose I’m getting used to being at odds with where I want to be in my life and where I currently am. I pat myself on the back for having made it this far without self-destructing, there’s something to the concept of taking small steps.

  “Are you going to Kenley’s this weekend?” Josie asks. She holds up a picture of a dress with puffy shoulders and I shake my head.

  I groan at the thought of Kenley’s party, not just a regular party, a sex-toy party. She thinks it’s a brilliant idea and will be loads of fun. I’d rather be shot out of cannon buck naked, in front of my friends and family, with a YouTube video taken for eternal viewing pleasure.

  Who has these parties?

  Apparently, lots of people, because I’ve already been sent a catalog for preorders. Kenley called the day after my disaster date with Ted, begging forgiveness and offering apologies. I was over it by then. I tried to use her guilt to get me out of going to her party. So far, I hadn’t been let off the hook. There’s still hope.

  “Not if I don’t have to.” I grab another magazine. “Oh, this is pretty.” I show her a dress, hoping to keep her focused on the wedding and not the sex party.

  “Oh come on, Paisley, we’ll have a blast. And this party is perfect for you. Since you’re so selective with who you celebrate your newfound freedom”—she wiggles her brows at me—“you could use a little buddy.”

  I bury my face in my hands, hoping to hide my blush. Not because she’s talking about getting me a toy, but because I rang in my newfound freedom with Hank.

  When I look up, Josie’s head is turned sideways and she’s giving me a quizzical look, similar to a dog hearing an unfamiliar sound.

  “What have you done? Did you sleep with the blind date Kenley set you up with?” she asks.

  Some people are meant to be friends, and Josie and I are those people. To her, I’m an open book. That’s why I spill my guts. First about my disgusting date with Ted, and then about my two weekends with Hank, and how we have plans to meet up the following weekend.

  “No shit. You slut.” Her voice is loud, her vocabulary unexpected in the quaint, mock-English tea room. Those sitting around us share their glares.

  I raise my eyebrows and nod. “Yep, it’s true. I’m a tramp,” I tell her.

  “Ha.” She chuckles. “If you’re a tramp after sleeping with what, your third guy? I’m... Well, there aren’t words for girls like me if three or fewer men makes you a tramp.”

  “Yeah, I’m a bad friend, right?” It’s a thought that’s plagued me.

  “What did Gigi say when you told her?”

  The bite I took hits my stomach like a rock. “I didn’t tell her.”

  She looks at me for a few seconds. “You need to tell her before she finds out some other way.”

  I groan. “I can’t. What if she hates me?”

  “She’ll hate you more for not telling her. What if you sleep with him again this weekend?”

  “I’m not going to. Are you crazy?”

  Her look tells me she thinks I’m crazy, stupid, or both. “I don’t think you realize how good Kenley’s party will be for you. If you feel like a tramp now, dating is going to be difficult. Imagine the relief you can get without having to sleep with anyone. You won’t have to worry about this bullshit guilt you seem to love to carry around.” She gives me an evil smile with hints of secrets I’m about to learn. I swallow.

  “Was it any good?” Of course Josie would want to know.

  “It was better than Trevor on his best day,” I tell her, fanning my face.

  “Girl, if that’s true, you should scoop him up.”

  I shake my head. “It can’t go anywhere. It is what it is or, should I say, it was what it was because it’s not happening again. We are just going to be friends who hang out.” I stab the tomato on my salad and give her my best matter-of-fact look.

  “And why is that?” She’s serious now. She’s stopped flipping through magazines and stares at me.

  “Lots of reasons—”

  “Name five.”

  “That’s easy. One, he’s been my friend forever and I could lose that.”

  “He’s been your friend forever and knows you so well you don’t have to worry about him not liking you. He’s seen you, warts and all, and still wants to have sex with you.”

  I shrug off her words. “Two, he’s Gigi’s brother. I’m clearly breaking the friendship code.”

  “Or Gigi will be over the moon—”

  “Until it crashes and burns, and then it’s awkward and weird.”

  “Assuming it does,” she replies.

  “And that brings me to three, four, and five. He’s never been in a long-term relationship. He’s a sailor who is going to be gone all the time, not to mention in danger. Women flock to him like... Well...they just like him. Always have. I’ve been down that road, Jo, and I can’t go there again. And I’ll give you a sixth reason. He’s my rebound guy. Everyone knows rebound guys go nowhere. You know I’m in no position to be entertaining the possibility of a relationship.”

  She does an eye roll, but sits quietly with her lips pursed. She looks me in the eye, as if to make sure I’m listening, and says, “You know not everyone is like Trevor.”

  “I do know that. Hank’s a good guy, but good guys still get tempted. Besides, you know I’ll worry to the point of being obsessive, which will make me paranoid and jealous and that’s when it crashes and burns.”

  “Do you plan on meeting a guy who will let you chain him to a chair so you can watch him twenty-four, seven? Don’t judge the man on the similarities he has with Trevor. Judge him on his actions. People will always be tempted, Paisley; it’s what they do with it that’s key.”

  I give her words some thought, but not much. Josie’s marriage false starts can’t be weighed the same as a divorce. She doesn’t get it; there’s no way she could. Divorce does something to you.

  “You make good sense—”

  “Of course I do.” She looks appalled. “Don’t close the door on him. If you have a good time together, why wouldn’t you hang out? You can stand to have some fun.”

  She sounds like Hank.

  “What if I sleep w
ith him again?” I think about it a lot, to be honest.

  “Wear protection and enjoy yourself.” She grabs a magazine and flips it open.

  “Here’s the rub, my mother has pounded into my head that good girls keep their legs crossed. Doesn’t make much sense, does it? I’m supposed to be an adult, get married, and have children, while remaining a good girl and not having sex.”

  “Screw your mother. Do you think it’s normal she hasn’t dated since your father died? I bet she could stand to come to Kenley’s party, too. Remember, Paiz, it’s not like you’ve slept with every man you’ve ever been on a date with.”

  I cringe at the thought of my mother and sex toys and agree with Josie on my mother’s dating status. Her practical approach to my dating life makes sense, and I’m comfortable with her path of logic. I want to believe she’s right.

  “You feel better?” Josie’s smile is open and wide, the light catches her diamond-stud piercing in her lower lip and it twinkles.

  “Yeah, thanks, Jo. I knew I could count on you.” Confiding in Josie brings a sense of relief. I haven’t done anything wrong, other than not tell Gigi, and my thoughts move on to other things. Things like Kenley’s stupid party.

  “Good. Since you’re done whining about your problems, do you mind if we get the fuck back to mine?”

  We burst out laughing and continue flipping through magazines, agreeing on a few options and making plans to hit up Orlando on Sunday.

  Chapter 9

  Kenley’s “fun” party consists of twenty women of a variety of ages and marital states, volleying for the most outrageous behavior of the night. Even Kenley’s mother is present, wearing a simple skirt and blouse and going around the room tossing up her skirt and showing her thigh-high stockings and garter belts. It’s too much for conservative me.

  Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe I am a prude. Oh, hell.

  My empty stomach roils, and I berate myself for bringing Josie and promising to stay the whole time. If I excuse myself to the restroom and use the one at my place, would anyone notice?