Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  Will shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  We sat together for a bit, companionably chewing. The longer I spent with Will, the easier it was to be silent with him. I appreciated that. Silence had never been my strong suit.

  “So, your mom,” he said as he spread some jam on his toast. “Is her drinking really that much of a problem?”

  “Oh,” I said, taken by surprise. He really wasn’t going to beat around the bush this morning. “Um, well. She likes a drink. Or five.”

  “And it’s a problem?”

  “She…sometimes it makes her a handful,” I admitted. But I didn’t say more than that. Instead, I took a big bite of eggs and shrugged, choosing to study the thick crust on my bread instead of looking at him. I knew he would see right through me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.

  Will looked at me hard for a few more seconds, then turned back to his food. “It’s none of my business,” he said quietly.

  For a second, I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that it could all be his business if he wanted it to be. But then I thought about the way he’d stood me up, or our first few interactions, where he had practically shoved me away from him. And of course, there was the minor fact that any time I asked him anything about himself, he completely and totally shut down.

  So I kept quiet. Things like this made a person vulnerable. Everyone else liked to shove my mother’s issues in my face. I didn’t doubt that with one nasty snap, Will would do it too. And the problem with that was that I suspected it would hurt more from him than other people.

  And just why was that?

  I shook the question away while we ate in another round of silence.

  “All right,” Will said once we were finished. He cleared our plates and made quick work of the dishes before turning back to me. “We’ll swing by your place so you can change before we run, and then grab some food after. Sound good?”

  I nodded. “Fine by me.”

  Will paused, reaching back a moment to mess with his hair again. “Lil…” he started. “I…this is really hard to say.”

  I frowned, concerned. “What’s up?”

  “I…okay. I might still be an asshole sometimes, but I want you to know, it’s not you.”

  I frowned, suddenly suspicious. “That’s what assholes say before they do something dickish.”

  Will sighed and dropped his hands to the counter. “If I’m a dick, you can tell me to fuck off. But…”

  He peered through the windows uneasily, lingering a moment on the few boats already buzzing around the water. There weren’t many. It was seven in the morning on a Sunday, and most people in the area were either just waking up or getting ready to go to church.

  “I don’t really do well with a lot of people,” he said. “Or any, really.”

  I cocked my head. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”

  Will drummed his fingers on the countertop. “Sometimes I might just need a break. If I…if we’re ever hanging out, and I just need to take a walk or something, will you remember that? It’s not because of you.” He swallowed, and absently rubbed a hand over his newly shorn face, stopping a minute, as if he had just realized again that his beard was gone. He looked at me, green eyes glazed slightly with something that looked like fear.

  And then there was a small smile. Barely visible, but both sides of his mouth turned up. It was so quick I almost missed it, but the effect it had on his face was undeniable.

  “For some reason,” he said quietly, “I don’t seem to mind being around you.”

  His hand dropped on top of mine where it rested on the granite. He didn’t move it, and neither did I—instead, we both just stared, transfixed by our sudden touch.

  “I have an idea,” I said, still looking at our hands.

  “What’s that?”

  “A safe word.” I dragged my gaze up and smiled at him. “If things get too much, you—or me too—can say the safe word, and the other will know it’s not them. No harm, no foul.”

  Will licked his lips meditatively. It made it hard to focus, but somehow I managed it.

  “What’s the word?” he asked finally.

  I sipped more of my tea. “Anything you want. But probably something you don’t say a lot.”

  A hint of a smile spread across his face. “How about ‘lily pad’?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really?”

  The smile widened. It wasn’t full, but it was more than before. I almost fell off my stool.

  “No,” Will replied. “You’re right. I have a feeling I’m going to be saying that a lot.”

  Was it weird that I wondered when? And where? And immediately started thinking of some very dirty places? Snap out of it, Maggie. This guy comes with a pickup truck full of issues.

  “How about ‘pine cone’?” he suggested, pulling me out of my daze.

  I shrugged. “Works for me. So, if you get overwhelmed, just say ‘pine cone.’ And I’ll know you need a step back.”

  Will nodded. Our eyes locked again in mutual understanding, and the hand that was still over mine pressed down a little harder. Eventually, I started to pull away, but Will didn’t let me. He weaved his fingers between mine, lingering his thumb over my knuckles for a second, before then and only then, letting it go.

  I ventured another small smile. “You ready?”

  Will sighed, full of reluctance I couldn’t quite understand. It was just a run, right?

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he muttered. “Let me grab the keys, and we’ll go.”

  But there were no people to avoid on the trail that morning. Whether it was too early, or even too cold under the scattered clouds, the concrete path along the Spokane River was almost completely empty for the hour and a half it took us to jog close to ten miles toward the Idaho border and back.

  The sun rose quickly, and by the time we returned to the truck, Will had been running for several miles with his shirt off, tucked in the waistband of his shorts. I had to keep my gaze strictly turned forward. One look at the thick blocks of abdominal muscles flexing with each step he took, and I was bound to trip over my feet right into the river.

  When we reached the truck, Will unlocked the front so we could grab the water bottles he’d stashed under the front seat. I whipped off my sweat-soaked tank top and mopped my face off before pouring a bit of water on my head. I closed my eyes toward the sun, letting the water drip gloriously down my face and neck. The breeze coming off the river combined with the water felt amazing after the long run.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  I opened my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Will just stood there, staring at me with one hand thrust into his hair, the other gripping his bottle hard enough that water had squeezed out of the top. His eyes grazed up and down my body, lingering slightly on the expanse of my bare legs and torso, then fixed completely on my breasts.

  “Hey!” I snapped my fingers, breaking his daze. “Eyes up here! You live on a lake, Baker. I know you’ve seen women in way less than this before.”

  “Yeah, well, their swimsuits aren’t white and transparent, Maggie,” Will retorted as he slapped a hand over his eyes. “Lil, can you please cover the fuck up?”

  “What? Why—”

  I started to argue until I looked down and saw exactly what he was talking about. We had run for ten miles, and I’d sweat completely through my sports bra, as one does. But the problem was, the material was exactly as transparent as Will said, which meant my nipples, now erect from the cold water, were fully on display.

  “Oh my God!” I screeched, jumping back to the truck to grab my sweaty shirt.

  “That’s what I was saying!” Will shouted, turning to the side to give me some privacy. “You dressed yet?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said, turning back around to find him standing in profile. “I’m—whoa!”

  Now it was my turn to stare. Will’s shorts were loose, but the thin material was relatively clingy, especially with sweat, and it definitely didn’t leave
much to the imagination when his, ah, equipment was on display. Which right now, it very much was. Apparently my nipples had quite the effect. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him normally, but the man was seriously packing.

  No joke. I practically had to pick my jaw up off the parking lot.

  “Now what are you staring at—” he started when he opened his eyes before following my gaze down to his very prominent erection. “Oh, Jesus,” he barked, scrambling behind the end of the truck when he realized what I was staring at.

  I immediately collapsed into giggles against the car door. “I don’t think Jesus is going to help with what you have going on there, buddy.”

  “What do you expect, flashing your headlights at me that way!” Will barked, now crouching by the fender. “Can you just get in the car, please? I’ll, uh, just be a minute.”

  Still giggling like a middle-school girl, I climbed into the passenger seat, but immediately turned around and peered at him through the windows that opened to the truck bed. Will stood at the back of the truck, facing the sky with his eyes squeezed shut. His lips moved, and though I couldn’t hear everything he whispered, a few phrases floated back to me.

  “Golf scores…Grandma’s underpants…Algae… Goddamnit.”

  “Everything all right back there?” I called through the window.

  Will’s eyes shot open, and he glared at me. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

  I grinned. “Sure would,” I said without thinking, only afterward realizing how dirty that actually sounded.

  Will rolled his eyes, but the glare was gone. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” He twisted his lips together, and I could have sworn it was to avoid smiling.

  “I’m fine,” he said as he came around to the driver’s side. “If you’re done torturing me, Lil, maybe we can grab something to eat.” He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  And then Will Baker, world-class misanthrope and grouchy mountain hermit, full-on winked at me. And it was my turn to repeat nonsensical phrases to myself all the way to the restaurant.

  11

  Grabbing something to eat with Will turned out to be a little different than I imagined. We stopped at a diner on the way back to the lake for some breakfast sandwiches. But instead of waiting in line with me, Will took one look at the interior of Norm’s Burger Barn, turned on his heel, and went straight back to the truck.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded as he slouched into the front seat. “Something wrong with this place?”

  He pulled a wad of cash out of the glove compartment and thrust it at me. “I just don’t feel like waiting in line. Do you mind?”

  I looked over my shoulder. “There are literally two other people in line to order, and one group of kids eating in the corner booth. It’s not exactly hopping in there.”

  Will sighed. “Lily. I just don’t want to stay in there. You saw the place. The owners are weirdos.”

  I frowned. The diner was decorated with a pretty standard mishmash of Hollywood paraphernalia and old car photos. Nothing to write home about. “Kate and Norman are super sweet,” I said. “I’ve known them since I was a kid. Come on, I promise they won’t be weird.”

  But Will just stared at the steering wheel, sticking his lip out like a toddler.

  “Are you for real? Will. You’re going to fry in here.”

  His truck didn’t have air-conditioning, and he had refused to open his window while we drove. There was a bit of morning traffic circling the main road through Otis Orchards and Liberty Lake—the suburbanites making their way to the lakes for some Sunday fun. Will had glared at all of them.

  He just set his jaw stubbornly. “Then you’ll have to hurry, won’t you?”

  Seeing that I could either go without food or leave him in here to melt, I rolled my eyes and slid out of the car. Will clearly had major issues being around people, and this wasn’t the time to fight them. But seriously? Sitting in a car in eighty degrees instead of waiting five minutes for a breakfast sandwich? It was a little nuts.

  “Be serious,” I tried again. “This is so dumb.”

  Instead, I just received a green-eyed glare. “I told you I don’t like people, Lil.”

  “But, Will—”

  “‘Pine cone,’ Lily.”

  I sighed. He had me there.

  “All right, all right,” I said, pushing off the truck. “What do you want?”

  “Any kind of egg sandwich will do. Nothing with meat, thanks.”

  I nodded. “Coffee?”

  Will shook his head. “I’ll wait until I’m home.”

  “Okay.”

  I went inside grumbling to myself, and walked directly up to the counter to order.

  “Heya, sweetie,” Kate said from the till. “We heard you were back in town. We were wondering when you were going to pay us a visit.”

  She and Norman had owned the place since I could remember, and had made a name on their huckleberry shakes and endless baskets of fries. But I happened to know they made a kickass fried egg sandwich.

  “Two breakfast sandwiches, please,” I said. “Hi, Kate. How are you and Norm doing?”

  “Good, good.” She rang me up and took the cash with a smile. “Ellie in the car?” she asked knowingly.

  I sighed. I couldn’t count how many times I’d come in here on the way to school and bought breakfast while my mother nursed a nasty hangover in the car. Norm’s was also one of the few diners anywhere in the Spokane-Coeur d’Alene area that had a twenty-four-hour drive-through. They were well acquainted with Ellie Sharp’s late night munchies, as well as the assorted men who helped her satisfy them.

  Kate didn’t wait for my answer, just chortled away with a knowing smile to Norm, who was working the grill.

  I loitered to the side, waiting for the sandwiches while Kate helped another customer. I tried to see just what about the restaurant Will found so objectionable. Red vinyl booths, all of them clean. Black-and-white photos of old cars, movie stars, Hollywood posters. Most of them were old, but some were new, too. They even had a row of signed headshots on one wall—“famous” people who had come into the diner. Most of them were bit actors, local politicians, etc., but there was even a photo of Dolly Parton.

  I checked out the movie posters—Kate usually changed them out every few years to keep the place current, but they were still a fairly even mix of the last fifty years or so. There were classics, of course: The Godfather, Titanic, Star Wars. And there were newer ones that I didn’t even recognize. It was funny—I didn’t think I’d been to a movie in close to ten years. I never went in New York, where tickets cost close to twenty dollars a pop. In college, I had just been too busy with school (not to mention too poor), and when I left and tried to make a go of it with music, all of my attention had gone into that. Not to mention the tips I made waitressing went to my overpriced apartment. I knew absolutely nothing about the film industry other than what popped up here and there in the supermarket aisle or the news.

  “Hey, Kate,” I called out.

  She moved down the counter. “Whatcha need, hon?”

  “Have you seen any of these?” I asked, suddenly feeling the urge to stay in. Maybe binge a little on the pop culture I’d missed, ironically, trying to become a pop star.

  “Oh yes, every one of ’em. I don’t buy the posters for movies I don’t see, y’know. And me and Norm, we’re regular movie buffs. We watch ’em all.” She sighed. “Now that one there was probably my favorite, a few years back. Did you ever see The Dwelling?”

  “No,” I said with sudden interest. “I haven’t.”

  I squinted at the poster, which was a picture of a blond man, so gaunt you could see the vertebrae sticking out of his back, curled on the ground in a messy apartment. He looked over his shoulder at the camera, a searing green-eyed expression that seemed strangely familiar.

  “So good,” Kate sighed. “I tell you, Maggie, I didn’t know anything about AIDS or alcoholism really at all, until I
watched that movie. That actor, Fitz somethin’ or other, isn’t he dead now? Such a shame. He was so good.”

  I took a step closer. There was something about the poster. Maybe I had seen the movie. Something about it was intensely familiar.

  Brrrrrinnnggg!

  “Order’s up, hon!” Kate called out.

  I turned, my stomach growling, all thoughts of The Dwelling or any other movie gone. “Thanks, Kate. Say hi to Norm for me.”

  “Tell your mama to take it easy,” she replied before turning to a new customer. I just nodded and went back to the truck.

  “Thanks,” Will said, looking appropriately sheepish when I handed him the sandwich. We both tore into them almost immediately, starved as we were after our run.

  “Thank you,” I said as I set his change in the center cupholder. “Thanks to your weirdness, you paid. But was it really a pine cone situation?”

  There was a pause, and tin foil crinkled in place of conversation.

  “It was,” Will said a moment later, then started the car. “It just was.”

  We drove back to the lake as we ate our sandwiches and enjoyed the breeze through the window that Will had finally allowed me to open. But given his demonstrated phobia of people, I was surprised when he got out of the truck instead of just dropping me off at the stairs leading down to my house. He followed me to the top of the steps, then paused.

  “Swim tomorrow morning?” he asked.

  His hand fluttered out and almost touched mine again before he pulled it away. I wished he hadn’t, but at the same time, the butterflies in my stomach after our run still hadn’t died down, and I wasn’t sure what I thought about that.

  “Sure,” I started to say, but was interrupted by Lucas’s truck rumbling down the gravel. I could sense a new layer of tension radiating from Will as we watched the shiny blue Ford kick up dust and then roll to a stop next to us. Lucas stepped out carrying his toolbox and blinked between Will and me.

  “Ah, hey, Mags,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Went for a run, huh?”

  I glanced down at my shirt, and Will snorted, earning a dirty look from me. I turned back to Lucas and nodded.