Abby waved me down. “Evan, over here.”
The auditorium was huge for a show of this size, so the back half had been roped off. There were still a couple dozen rows to choose from, though. Of course Garland had picked the two seats in the very front and center. It’s like he didn’t trust me to behave. In all fairness, I wouldn’t have trusted me, either. I didn’t trust me now.
“Hey, Garland,” a random chick called from the stage. “Get your butt up here.”
“Coming!” he yelled. He grinned at Abby. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” she replied, and he took off.
“Which one do you want?” I gestured to the chairs.
“I’ll take whichever one you don’t want.” She smiled. It was heart-stopping.
“Doesn’t matter to me. Same exact view.”
“True.” She chuckled, sitting in the spot on the left.
I took the other spot and shrugged out of my coat. She did the same. A whiff of her body spray hit my nose. My mouth salivated. The neckline of her blouse was cut wide enough that I could see her collarbone. It was so sexy. The makeup on her eyes made them pop, and the gloss on her lips looked delectable. I concluded that visual contact was out of the question tonight.
I pinched my eyes shut and faced forward before speaking. “I should have mentioned this earlier, but you look really beautiful tonight.” I mentally justified the compliment. It’d have been rude not to say something when she made such an obvious effort. Also, it was true. Any decent human being would have said something.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t see her smile, but I could feel it. I could also tell when it morphed into a playful grin. “I picked this shirt just for you. Figured it’d look good with your skin tone and you might want to add it to the borrow list.”
I caved and glanced sideways. “It would look lovely on me, wouldn’t it?” She giggled. I loved that sound way too much. I’d have to stop making jokes.
“So, I thought you were going to hang out with Garland and me afterward?”
“I did, too. But my mom wants to take the extra stuff to Goodwill tomorrow morning, so I kind of have to go through it tonight.”
“Oh.” Now I could feel her frowning. “Do you want us to come help? I bet Garland wouldn’t mind the trip.”
“Thanks, but you’d probably be bored. And an hour’s a long way to drive for boredom.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I’d love to see where you live.” She paused. “Meet your parents.”
She wanted to meet my parents. That had to mean she liked me. Really liked me. I wished she hadn’t said that. It only made my next words harder. I smiled generically, then turned forward again because I was too big of a coward to face her when I brushed her off.
“I’ll take you sometime. We’ll find a weekend when Sam’s here, and the four of us can go together.”
“Okay. That’s probably a better plan.” She was disappointed. I felt like the biggest heel on the planet. Maybe I was.
Thank heavens the house lights dimmed and the stage lights brightened. The emcee came out to get everyone pumped up. It was supposed to be a participation-based show where the audience could call out ideas and the group had to play off their suggestions. I wasn’t in the mood to participate. Abby didn’t seem to be, either. We laughed when things were funny, but neither of us tried to interact. With the show or each other.
Didn’t stop me from thinking about her the entire time. I wanted to touch her—pull her close, hold her hand. But I was a good boy. Whenever her knee swept against mine, I repositioned. When our shoulders brushed, I pulled away. When we bumped on the armrest, I jerked back. Every incidental touch lit my skin on fire. It was the longest hour of my life.
The show ended, and Abby stood abruptly. “I’m going to the restroom.”
“I’ll wait for you here,” I replied, praying that Garland made it out before she got back.
Ten minutes later, they walked up at the same time. Abby’s face was a little red and splotchy, but she gave Garland a megawatt smile. “Oh my gosh, that was so funny. You were amazing. I mean, the whole group was, but you were the best. Seriously.”
Garland beamed. He blew on his fingernails and polished them on his shoulder. “I’m talented, what can I say?” She laughed and he turned to me. “What did you think?”
I chuckled. “I think I’m glad I quit the improv group.”
He pulled a face. “I think I agree.”
“It was good. Abby’s right; you’re the funniest. Well, you and the guy with the blue hair.”
Garland nodded. “Christian is pretty hilarious. You should see him do impressions.”
There was a brief lull in conversation. Garland’s eyes widened, his jaw clenched, and his head tweaked to the side. That was my cue to leave. “Well, I’m going to head out. Don’t want to be on the road too late, and I still need to grab some dinner. You kids have fun.” I walked toward the door.
“Be safe,” Garland called.
“I will,” I replied.
Abby was silent.
I drove to the dorm but sat in my car for a while. Now what? I couldn’t stay here. I’d get caught if they came back to our room. And there was only one reason to be in our room, so if I caught them, Garland was a dead man. I couldn’t even leave my car in the parking lot. Seeing it would blow my cover. Seeing it anywhere was problematic. The most logical choice was to actually go home.
I shot off a message to my mom, letting her know I was coming. Then I ran inside for a few minutes and collected a change of clothes, some toiletries, my book bag, and my laptop. Might as well be academically productive tonight since my social productivity was trashed.
It was about fifty minutes to my house. I punched in the gate code and pulled up the long driveway. We had about five acres of property with a 5000-square foot chateau-style home. Excessive for three people, but then again, there were only three of us. What else were my parents going to spend their money on?
One of the four garage spots was always left open for me. I pulled in and killed the engine, then picked up my phone. It’d buzzed a handful of times on the way. I didn’t bother looking. I might speed on occasion, but I don’t text while I drive. Besides, I figured the messages were from Garland, and right now I didn’t care what he had to say.
As I got out of the car, I set my finger against the print reader and the phone lit up. The first text was from Mom. There was also one from Garland and three from Sam. My heart clenched. At the very bottom of the list was Abby’s name. I contemplated opening her message, but before I could click on it, the interior garage door flew open.
“Hey, sweet pea!” Mom was at my side in seconds, sweeping me into a hug. “What brings you home so spontaneously…and late in the evening…on a Saturday night?”
I patted her back. “Can’t a guy want to see his dear old mom?”
She put her hands on her hips. “If he had an old mom, he could. But you don’t, so the excuse is a little suspect.”
There was no point in lying. She’d pester me until she got what she wanted. “I’m hiding.”
Her thin, perfectly manicured eyebrow arched as much as the Botox would allow it. She wasn’t particularly vain or pretentious, but aging and wrinkles were a sore spot for her. “Hiding from whom? Did you get into a fight with Garland?” She was shocked, and her brow naturally tried to furrow. But it couldn’t, and the ending result was a split second of going cross-eyed.
“Kind of.” I shrugged. “Not really.” Her lip stuck out, and I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“Ooh! It’s because of a girl, isn’t it?” She squealed and clapped enthusiastically.
I grabbed my things out of the back seat and walked around her into the house. She followed, hot on my heels. “Wrong reaction, Mom.”
“Sorry. But I can’t imagine a scenario that would have Garland arguing with anyone unless it was over a girl. And since you never talk to me about your love life, I’m excited to know you have one.”
There was a carton of Chinese takeout on the top shelf. I sniffed it before digging in.
She folded her arms. “Am I wrong?” I thought about making something up, but she’s a mom, so she’d know if I was being untruthful. And I thought about waiting her out with the silent treatment, but the woman has more patience than Garland. She’d be sitting—or bouncing—there all night.
“No,” I grumbled through a mouthful of cold noodles.
“What happened?”
How little could I get away with sharing? “We like the same girl. And he’s out on a date with her right now.”
She frowned. “Poor baby. I can’t believe Garland would do that to you.”
“He doesn’t know I like her.”
Her frown got deeper. “Are you going to tell him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he spoke for her first.” Technically, I spoke for her for him first. But I didn’t feel like getting into that much detail.
“I’m sorry, honey. Love’s hard. Do you want some cookies?” Moms were great when you needed a little sympathy. Or if you needed freshly-baked depression cookies.
The noodle box was almost empty, so I gave up on the fork and tipped my head back to dump the rest straight into my mouth. “Who said anything about love?”
“Must be love, if you’re willing to talk with me about it.” She had a point.
“I’m pretty tired. I’m going to head upstairs.” I threw the carton away, dropped the fork in the sink, and picked up my things. Mom walked around the island to give me another hug.
“Good night, sweet pea.”
“Good night, Mom.” I made it to the stairs and stopped. “By the way, if you wanted to bake cookies tomorrow, I wouldn’t complain.” She grinned and blew me a kiss.
The bed in my room was a million times softer and bigger than the one at school. I lay back on it and sunk deep into the mattress. It was heavenly, but I couldn’t relax knowing there was a message from Abby waiting on my phone. I clicked on the screen and went through the texts in order.
MOM: Okay. Love you. Drive safe.
GARLAND: Thanks, man, I owe you.
Yeah you owe me. You stole my girl.
SAM: Abby and Garland are on a date!!!
SAM: Did you know they were going on a date?!
SAM: Hello??? How come you didn’t tell me they were going on a date?! (angry emoji)
I looked at the last flashing message. Did I want to know what Abby had to say? Was she mad? Did she hate me? Had the date gone well? Did Garland kiss her good night? Were they on a plane to Vegas so they could elope? A thousand possibilities crossed my mind, and none of them were good. But not opening the message would drive me insane.
ABBY: Are you mad at me? I’m sorry if I did something wrong.
I grabbed my pillow and yelled into it. What was I supposed to say? It’s not you, it’s me? This sucked! Garland sucked. Sam sucked. I definitely sucked. The only person involved in this nightmare that didn’t suck was Abby. I wasn’t a crier, but moisture coated my eyes. I blinked it away. I was done lying. At least for tonight.
EVAN: You didn’t do anything wrong. And I could never hate you.
It took me a while to fall asleep, and when I did it was fitful. The next morning I woke to another text from Garland.
GARLAND: Where are you?
EVAN: I went home.
GARLAND: I thought that was an excuse to ditch us.
EVAN: It was. But I had to go for real if I wanted to sell the story.
GARLAND: Makes sense. When are you coming back?
EVAN: Not sure.
Before I went anywhere, I had to figure out how to be normal around Abby without making myself miserable. Until then, it seemed like avoidance was the best tactic. I padded downstairs in my p.j.’s and slippers. There was a plate of freshly-baked oatmeal butterscotch cookies on the counter. They were my favorite, and they were still warm.
“Good morning,” Mom said. She was frying bacon. I had bacon for breakfast all the time, but there was something about smelling it while it cooked that made it taste better.
“Mother, I wasn’t suggesting you get up at the crack of dawn so I could have cookies for breakfast.”
“I know, but your Dad had an eight o’clock tee time, and he woke me up being loud in the bathroom. I couldn’t go back to sleep.”
I grabbed a cookie and ate half of it in one bite. Mom’s cookies were almost good enough to make me move back home permanently. “The bum didn’t want to take me?”
“He actually called Rich to see if there was room, but they already had four guys going.”
That was unfortunate. Three hours on the golf course would have helped clear my head. “It’s all good. I have a lot of homework and studying to do anyway.”
“Well then, we better start you off with a hearty breakfast.” She grinned as she stirred something in a pot on the back burner.
I glanced at the double oven. The top one was set at 400 degrees, which if I recall correctly was too hot for baking cookies. That meant biscuits. “Biscuits and gravy?” I asked hopefully. Nobody could bake a better biscuit than my mom.
“I figured if I couldn’t comfort you with my words of wisdom, I could at least comfort you with food.” The timer went off, and she pulled the tray out of the oven.
“Mom,” I said with a straight face. “I’d be fine talking to you. It’s just that you don’t know the whole story. And when I said it’s complicated, I wasn’t making an excuse. It really is complicated.”
It wasn’t that complicated, but how was I supposed to tell my mother I didn’t want to spill the details about my love life to her? Especially after she made my favorite breakfast. She’d get all gushy and emotional. I couldn’t handle that right now. It was bad enough that I almost cried last night. But if I did it in front of my mom, I’d be mortified.
She sliced open two biscuits and set them face up on a big plate. Then she smothered them in country gravy with sausage and put four pieces of bacon on the side with a spoonful of cheesy scrambled eggs. I called this meal the heart attack platter. She grabbed a fork and handed the plate to me.
“Is there anyone who knows the whole story that you could talk to? I find it helpful to work out problems by venting to someone.”
“Not really.” I could call Sam. But in my estimation, that had a 90 percent chance of going sideways. I knew how roommates worked. Garland and I talked about a lot of stuff, and we weren’t even girls. Girls shared everything. None of my secrets would be safe with Sam. What I needed was an impartial third party.
I dug into my food and was practically moaning with delight when the idea slipped into my mind that I should call Chrissy. She didn’t know Abby, but she knew Garland better than I did. And she’d undeniably give it to me straight. Maybe a little too straight.
When I’d left their house after Christmas, she and I had gotten over the weirdness of the whole dating debacle. We hadn’t spoken since then, but I thought we were on good terms. And Nate was too far away to pummel me for talking to her.
“You know what, Mom, there is one person I could talk to.” I’d call Chrissy right after I finished eating. She’d know what to do, and she wouldn’t be afraid to tell me, even if I didn’t like the answer.
“Good. And if they don’t have any solutions, you can always talk to me.” She winked. “I promise not to make a fuss.” I snorted, and she laughed because we both knew that was highly unlikely.
I polished off the whole plate. Not so quickly that I didn’t enjoy it, but fast enough that I didn’t have time to rethink my decision and back out. I went straight to my room and grabbed my phone. There was a voice mail from Sam. I hit play.
“Hey, Evan. Abby messaged me saying a buttload of paper goods for the dance got
delivered to our room. I guess she didn’t know where else to have them sent. She asked when I’d be back so I could help her move everything. I told her to call you for help, and she said never mind, she’d figure it out. Did you guys get in a fight or something? Call or text me back. Bye.”
Sam was pretty and flirty and a bit silly at times, but she wasn’t dumb. I wouldn’t be able to put her off forever, but I wasn’t about to say anything before I was there to do damage control. Having a verbal conversation was out of the question at this point. I sent her a vague text.
EVAN: I’m at my parents’ house. Have her call Garland.
Luckily, she didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t ready to field follow-up questions. After stalling for a minute or two, staring at my contacts list and debating whether it was a good idea to call Chrissy, I bit the bullet and dialed.
“Please go to voice mail,” I chanted. One ring, two rings, three, four—
“Hello?” A familiar voice answered. “Evan?”
I cleared my throat. “Hey, Chrissy. How are you?”
“Is something wrong? Is Garland okay?” It was a little sad that that was the first thing she thought. I should have tried harder to keep in touch.
“No,” I replied. “Garland’s fine.”
“Cool, then I’m good. What’s up?” I heard a scuffling noise in the background. “Stop!” she yelled, sounding distant. A deep voice came over the line.
“Can I inquire as to the nature of this call? Are you back to scamming on my girlfriend?” Nate’s tone was playful, but it was a thinly-veiled warning.
“I’d like to remind you that she wasn’t your girlfriend at the time, so I did nothing wrong. I’m calling for relationship advice.” I paused. He was quiet. “And the girl isn’t Chrissy.”
After a second, he said, “Very well, you may proceed.”
There was some more rustling and a dragging sound across the receiver, followed by grunting noises. “Go bug my mom or something,” Chrissy snapped. A bit of muffled arguing and a slammed door later, she was finally back. “Sheesh! I had to lock him out. It should last all of five minutes before he finds a screwdriver small enough to pop the lock from the outside.” I laughed. In another life, I think Nate and I could have been friends. “Girl problems, huh? You seem to have those in spades.”
The Problem With Cupid (Holiday Romance Book 2) Page 8