Rock Bottom

by Emily Goodwin

  “No,” she laughs when I try to kiss her. “I know my breath stinks!”

  I go in for another kiss, making her push me away, laughing.

  “Seriously! I fell asleep before I could even think about brushing my teeth.”

  “I have an extra toothbrush if you want to brush your teeth,” I say without thinking. Then it’s like my words hit us both at the same time. I don’t offer my one-night conquests toothbrushes. I don’t invite them to breakfast. And I don’t kiss them like this in the morning.

  I roll off of her and look out the window, trying to act interested in the light flurries that are floating down to the frozen ground.

  “I’d very much like that.”

  “It’s in the top drawer on the right,” I start and motion to the bathroom, remembering that there are two separate sinks. “On the vanity next to the shower.”

  “Thank you.”

  She wraps the blue blanket around herself and gets up to use the bathroom. I shake my head, trying to rid the thoughts and feelings about that woman.

  She was fun. A lot of fun. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Getting up, I grab boxers and a pair of athletic pants from my dresser. I need to get into the closet to finish getting dressed, and you access the closet through the bathroom. I sit on the bed and answer another email inquiring about meeting to discuss building a house in the near future, trying to be productive and keep Blaire off my mind.

  She comes out a few minutes later, still wrapped in the blanket. “I’ll, uh, go find my clothes,” she says, offering a tight smile. It’s the first time since I uttered a word to her that things are a little awkward.

  After brushing my teeth and getting a long-sleeved shirt from my closet, I go downstairs and find Blaire sitting on the couch. She’s wearing her dress again, but has her bra draped over her arm.

  “It’s really uncomfortable,” she admits when she sees my looking. “It makes my boobs look nice, I know, but you’ve already seen them in their natural glory.”

  Her blunt honesty is refreshing, and a smile pulls up my lips. “I thought they were pretty fucking nice in their natural glory.” I tip my head, staring at her breasts. “And they still look good in that dress.”

  “Well, thank you, sir.” She looks down and her cheeks redden a bit. “It’s cold out there.”

  “Even better.” My mind goes to pert nipples and being able to see the outline through her dress, and then I remember it is actually fucking freezing and she’s wearing a short dress and didn’t bring her coat. “You’re going to freeze in that. Hang on.” I jog back upstairs and find a pair of black sweatpants Grandma got me for Christmas that were a size too small. I set them aside and have been meaning to go through the rest of my closet for items of clothing to donate but haven’t gotten to it yet.

  My laziness is paying off today. I grab them and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt and go back downstairs.

  “Here, this will help.”

  “Thank you.” She takes the clothes. “This will go great with my heels.”

  “Oh, right.” I laugh. “Sorry, I can’t help you out there. Unless you want socks.”

  “I’m tempted to say yes.” Her smile lights up the whole fucking room. “But I don’t think I’d be able to fit my foot in my shoes if I did. Though if anyone questions my fashion choices, I’m blaming you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She steps into the pants and pulls the hoodie over her head. It’s just about as long as her dress. “These are comfy. You might not get them back.”

  “The pants don’t fit, but I might have slight emotional attachment to that sweatshirt.”

  “To this old thing?”

  “That’s my lucky sweatshirt.”

  She rolls her eyes again, and I take her in my arms, wanting to feel her body against mine one last time.

  “Where are we going?” She eyes the clock. “There aren’t a lot of places open for breakfast around town, right?”

  “Right. The café is our only option. Have you been there yet?”

  She nods. “A few times. I’ve gone in on my way to the hospital for coffee.”

  “They have decent coffee. Though there is a rumor we’re going to get a Starbucks soon.”

  “No way!”

  I nod. “A new shopping center just got approved. We’ve been watching it closely so we can put bids in and have our company head up the construction.”

  “Wow. That’s a big project!”

  “Yeah, it is. I hope we get it.” I grab my coat and my wallet. “Do you want a coat?”

  “Nah. I’m fine in this. I already look like a homeless hooker.” She sits on a barstool and puts her heels back on. “How do I look?” she asks, standing up.

  “You pretty much nailed it with homeless hooker,” I chuckle.

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “Try to resist me now.”

  “I’ll do my best. You don’t mind going out like that?” I ask carefully, surprised at her attitude toward, well, everything.

  “I’ve worn weirder clothes in public. Don’t ask. And I wasted a lot of my life worrying about what other people thought of me. They’re going to judge you no matter what, right?”

  “Right.” I shove my feet into my shoes and open the garage door. “Hang on a second, actually. With the snow, I think I should take the truck.”

  “Good idea. We don’t want to be responsible for knocking out the power as soon as it came back on.”

  I tell Blaire to stay in the house where it’s warm and quickly take the tile samples from the passenger seat of the truck, stacking them on my workbench in the garage. I brush off the seat and go back inside to get Blaire.

  “You weren’t joking when you said your truck was full of stuff,” she comments when she gets in, looking at the backseat.

  “Yeah, it’s all shit I need to take to the office, which I will this afternoon.”

  “Let’s just hope you don’t have to slam on the brakes or all this stuff is going to kill us Final Destination style.”

  “No pressure or anything.”

  She holds up her hands. “I’m not the one driving.”

  I fire up the truck and back out of the driveway, going slow through the neighborhood since it hasn’t been salted or plowed yet. We get a lot of drifting snow in Eastwood, thanks to the flat land and all the cleared fields during the winter.

  A few miles pass and Blaire is looking uncomfortable.

  “I, um, I need to tell you something,” she says, twisting in her seat.

  “You’re not married, are you?” I blurt. It’s one of my biggest fears and something I’d never forgive myself for, though I’d never do it on purpose.

  Bringing home a married woman.

  Being the asshole who broke up a marriage. A family. A home.

  It wouldn’t be done knowingly, and it’s not like my women of choice are going to come out and tell me they’re married right off the bat.

  “No,” she says quickly. “I’ve never even been engaged.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s good I haven’t had anyone want to marry me?”

  “Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I’m just giving you shit,” she says with a pretty smile. “Are you married?” she asks slowly.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Um, sorry?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. I’m better off now.” She’s still looking at me like she’s trying to figure me out. I’ve already said too much. She pulls her arms in close to her body and bites her lip, brows furrowed.

  “So,” she starts, taking a breath. Then my phone rings, and I see it’s one of the vendors we work with.

  “Sorry, it’s work. Do you mind if I take this?”

  “Of course not,” she rushes out. I answer, and end up talking to three different people before I resolve the problem. And now we’re at the diner and I’ve been on the phone the whole time.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine,” she p
resses. “Sounds like you got things figured out, though.”

  “Yeah. We’re good now.” The parking lot hasn’t been cleared yet, and there’s about an inch and a half of snow on the ground. Blaire is wearing open-toe high heels. “Stay there,” I tell her and kill the engine. I get out and rush around to her side. “I’m going to carry you in.”

  “Like a baby?”

  “If that’s what you like.”

  “Baby-play? Gross.”

  “Huh?” I push my brows together.

  Blaire starts laughing. “You’ve never heard of baby-play?”

  “Something tells me I don’t want to.” I turn around and have her get on my back.

  “You don’t, but I’m going to tell you anyway. And when we get inside, I’ll look up pictures.”

  I hurry through the snow, careful not to slip and take us both down. Blaire laughs as I run, holding onto me tightly. I don’t set her down until we’re in the café. We’re able to get a table for two right away, and are seated in a booth in the back.

  “This place is so cute,” she notes, looking around. “It’s like what you’d picture a small-town diner to look like.”

  “It’s looked like this for years. I think a lot of us would be sad if it got a major update, though it’s due for one.” I motion to the slightly warped table.

  “It’s part of its charm.” Blaire smiles and looks at the menu. We both order coffee, and she surprises me by ordering a big plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. “We have a diner like this at home,” she says, looking around as she chews a piece of bacon. “The food isn’t as good, but I’m probably biased. My dad owns a restaurant.”

  “Are you a good cook then?” I ask, stabbing a piece of a pancake with my fork.

  “That’s debatable,” she laughs. “I know how to cook, but I don’t cook often. Seems a little silly to make a fancy meal when I live on my own.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense. I don’t like to cook.” I reach for my coffee. “My mom’s the kind of mom who still makes food for me several times a week.”

  “Must be nice.” She nudges my foot under the table. “Mama’s boy.”

  “Like you’d turn down free food.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t. But I’m still going to call you a mama’s boy.”

  “You can call me whatever you like,” I laugh.

  “Dean!” someone calls, and I look up to see Quinn, Archer, and all their children bustling through the door. Blaire follows my gaze, and her fork falls out of her hand, clattering to the plate and splattering syrup over the table.

  Archer picks up Aiden and the five of them come over on the way to an empty table. Blaire’s eyes are wide as she watches, and her cheeks turn bright red.

  Right. She looks like a homeless hooker, as she puts it. She’s probably embarrassed to be seen by anyone other than me. I’ll get rid of Quinn as quickly as I can.

  “Hey, Rory,” Archer says, struggling to hold Aiden, who’s flopping around and trying to get out of his arms. Rory? Who the hell is Rory?

  “Well, it seems like I finally found a good match. Though technically I did set you up with Hilary, but I’m still taking credit for her getting her friends to go out instead.” Quinn beams at me, flicking her eyes from me to Blaire. “I knew I should have made you take a bet or something. A week of free babysitting would have been nice.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Quinn cocks an eyebrow. “Obviously your date went well.”

  “My date?”

  “The one I set you up on last night,” she sighs.

  “I didn’t go on a date last night.” I look at Blaire, who’s looking horrified right now. I lean back, eyes going from Blaire to my sister and back again. “You’re not Blaire from Canada, are you?”

  Chapter 14

  Rory

  If I could slither under the table and stay there until everyone leaves, I would. But even if the floor wasn’t sticky from a morning full of customers dripping syrup and dropping food on the ground, it wouldn’t solve my issue.

  Because my boss is standing just a foot from the table, looking confused as hell. It’s the first time I’ve seen that look on his face, which is probably a good thing considering he’s slicing people open and removing organs.

  My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I can feel Dr. Jones staring at me, along with all three of his kids and his wife, who I remember to be Quinn. Oh my gosh. We talked on the phone. She helped me find a place to live. And she likes cats.

  “No,” I finally say. “I’m not.”

  “But why do you…” Dean starts, looking at Quinn. “Why do you think you set us up? The blind date bailed last night.”

  No. No. No.

  Dean was the loser I blew off. Of all the guys in all the world…

  “Because she was.” Quinn looks at Archer, and everyone realizes what’s going on at the same time.

  “Why did you tell me your name was Blaire?” Dean slowly turns his gaze back to me.

  “Because I’d just met you in a bar,” I say, feeling like everything is happening in slow motion.

  “I was the loser you were supposed to go out with. The jobless, man-child.” He turns back to Quinn. “You suck at setting people up.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Quinn picks up a cute little girl, looking as uncomfortable as I feel.

  “I…I…I should go.” My fingers shake and my cheeks burn as I open my wristlet and pull out enough cash to cover my portion of the bill. I slide out of the booth and stand. “Never mind, I didn’t drive.” I start to dig my phone out of my little purse. “I’ll call an Uber.” I look at Dean and am taken back by the anger reflected in his blue eyes.

  “I didn’t know you were my blind date,” I say. “If I did, I wouldn’t have canceled.”

  His jaw tenses, and his brow furrows even more. “Just go.”

  “Dean,” Quinn scolds. “Don’t be rude.”

  “Rude?” He sweeps his hand out at me. “I didn’t blow off a date with a loser and then lie about who I am.”

  “Oh please,” I blurt, surprising myself. “You took me home for one reason and one reason only, and I think I checked off that box for you. Twice.” I take a step and falter, heel catching on the hem of the long pants. “I’ll drop off your clothes…later,” I add pointedly.

  “Wait,” Quinn says, setting the little girl down. “I’ll drive you. There’s like one Uber in Eastwood.”

  “I can wait.”

  “You could be waiting for hours.”

  I let out a breath and steal one last look at Dean, heart hurting more than I expected it to. He was supposed to be one night of unbridled fun.

  And he was.

  Yet I want more.

  Dammit.

  “At least eat first.”

  Quinn waves her hand in the air. “Archer knows my order. It’s not that far to the apartments from here. You did move in there, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Then we’re going.” She gives Archer a kiss and motions for me to follow her. “Come on.”

  I give Dean one last look and if there was a contest for avoiding my eye, he’d win.

  “I’m sorry about him,” Quinn says once we’re outside. “He’s a drama queen.”

  “So you know him?”

  She stops in her tracks. “Right. You have no idea. He’s my brother.”

  “Oh my gosh. That makes this even worse. I swear I didn’t know. Hilary didn’t even tell me his name, just that she was letting Dr. Jones know I was taking her place. I’m so sorry.”

  “Look, I get it. You meet a guy at a bar and you give him a fake name. I’ve done it before.”

  “At least I didn’t pretend to be British this time,” I mutter. “I didn’t think he’d be so mad. I mean…the first thing he told me was how he wanted to lick whiskey off my breasts.”

  “Ew. Well, no. Not ew because of you, but because he’s my brother and he…he’s been through a lot the last year. He came home to find his w
ife in bed with another man. Hence his issue with being lied to.”

  “Oh,” I say, stepping in a snow drift. My poor toes are freezing. “I had no idea.”

  “I doubt he leads with that. But I’ll give you inside information.” Quinn unlocks a black Escalade and motions for me to go to the passenger side.

  “Thanks, but I don’t think he wants to see me again.”

  “You’re the first woman he’s taken out to breakfast,” Quinn says and pulls her seatbelt on. “So you must have made an impression on him.”

  “Yeah, a bad one.”

  Quinn shakes her head and fires up the engine. Rotten to the Core comes on and she quickly turns it down. “Sorry. My kids love Descendants. And I do too.”

  “So do I. I was Evie for Halloween last year.”

  “No way.” She twists in her seat, looking at me with a smile on her face. “Every year, my brothers do this anti-love party at their bar and people are supposed to dress up as bad guys or villains. I’m going as Mal and my friend—and sister-in-law—is going as Audrey during her Queen of Mean phase.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  “You should go with us!” Quinn puts the SUV in reverse and slowly backs out of the parking space.

  “Maybe,” I say, feeling weird all over again. I liked Quinn from the short bit we talked on the phone, and knowing that she’s a fellow adult who loves made-for-TV Disney movies gives her bonus points.

  “Don’t feel bad about the whole Dean thing,” she says, as if she can read my thoughts. “He’s always been dramatic like that, and after the divorce…it was ugly. He’s not a player either, not really. He’s…he’s regressed or something.”

  “I can’t even imagine walking in on that.”

  “I can’t either. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I lack boundaries and overshare, so I am, but I never liked his ex-wife. I’m not happy with how things ended, but I think he’s better off without her because I never thought they were meant to be. Archer agrees, though he’ll never admit that to Dean.”

  “So Dr. Jones—Archer—is Dean’s friend?” I ask, trying to piece the little info I have together.

  Quinn nods. “Yes. They were college roommates, and I had a huge crush on Archer throughout all my teen years. Blah, blah, blah, we finally hooked up, I got pregnant, and we’ve been happily married since.”