Jeb and I are alone in this town. We need each other’s friendship. “Maybe we can go for a hike sometime.”
“We’ll see,” he nods.
As the silence grows between us, I realize I’ve just been dismissed, but I’m struck with a new dilemma. I need to pass him to get to the trailhead, but his dark mood scares the beejesus out of me. If I turn back the way I came, he’ll know I’m avoiding him. He’ll think he has some control over me, which he doesn’t or at least not completely.
I decide to walk past him. I pull Fischer close to me leg. “Well, see you later.”
Fischer snarls at him. Jeb takes a step back, his eyes cautious.
“Sorry,” I shout over my shoulder.
Chapter Seventeen
I press #2 on my speed dial and wait for Drew to pickup. He didn’t call me last night or tonight. He broke our weekly phone date again. AGAIN. I don’t ask him for much, so I expect him to keep his promise that I will remain a vital part of his new life.
The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. I glance at the clock. It’s twelve thirty. He sure as shit better be home and not out partying with his roommates somewhere.
The phone clicks. “Hey babe,” Drew yawns. “I got good news.”
“Oh really, I wouldn’t know. No one called me.”
He groans. “Oh shit, Tiff, I’m sorry. Jonesy and Peacock wanted me to go out to some bar they heard about. I just got home a little bit ago.
Fischer’s big brown eyes watch me pace back and forth. “Don’t you have a double header first thing in the morning.”
“Yeah,” he yawns. “I’m supposed to pitch too.”
“What the hell Drew? Didn’t you party enough in college? I thought you were going to take this opportunity seriously.”
“Calm down. I had a couple drinks.”
“And knowing those two pervs, naked girls everywhere.”
“It wasn’t some seedy titty bar. Besides,” he says, “I didn’t think it bothered you, as long as I don’t touch.”
I take in a shaky inhale and rub my burning nose. “Well, it does,” I pause to gather my thoughts. I don’t want to fight with him. I just want to talk to him. His voice reassures me that everything will be okay, that I’m doing the right thing by waiting for him while he’s off living his dream. “I miss you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing great. The head scout told me if I can reel in my pitches, he wants to move me up in a few months.”
Tears well up in my eyes. Drew slips farther and farther away from me with every pitch he throws. “That’s fantastic. I’m really proud of you.”
“And you can move to New York and get a real job. Start bringing in some money.”
And the happy bubble pops right the fuck in my face. “I have a job and may I remind you, I pay all the bills, including your student loans.”
“It’s not a real job,” he snorts.
“It’s more money than you make.”
“Babe,” he says, “let’s not argue. You tried the whole writing waitressing gig. It’s time to face reality.”
I squeeze the phone so hard I’m certain it will split it two. “Reality? Huh.” Fischer hides in the closet with his tail between his legs. I can hear his soft whimpers from here, but he’s not my concern right now. “How’s this for reality—twelve hours on my feet serving grease on a spoon, so you can play a fucking game with a bat and a ball.”
He groans so loud my hair blows. I picture him rolling his eyes. “Are we really going to do this?”
I slam his pillow to the floor. “Yes, we fucking are.”
“I can’t talk to you right now,” he yawns. Yawns. Really? His lack of interest, his total boredom with this conversation infuriates me.
I jump up and down on his pillow. Bits of stuffing billow out from the corner. “You can’t talk to me period. You show up out of the blue. I cancel Cassie. I miss work. Walter threatens to fire me—which by the way means we won’t have a place to live, and then you forget to call me, not one night but two nights after you promised, you promised you wouldn’t forget to call me this road trip.”
“In a few months, nothing from that shit town will matter. I’ll get a flat in the city.”
“Am I a part of that shit town? Because it certainly feels like it.”
“I’m done.”
I jump up from the bed. Pacing helps keep my anger directed at Drew. “You’re done. What does that mean?
“Good night Tiffani. I love you,” he says, then click.
I stare at the phone in disbelief. Drew hung up on me. He actually hung up. He’s never hung up on me. EVER. I’m so mad I spit on his pillowcase right where his scruffy lips dripped drool just days ago.
I fling the phone across the room. Tears stream down my cheeks. A wet nose probes the bottom of my foot. I pat the bed next to me.
It’s times like these that I wonder what the hell I’m doing. There’s one thing I do know, I can’t keep pretending everything’s okay with our relationship, because it’s certainly NOT okay.
Chapter Eighteen
Anger brews inside me. Who does Drew think he is? I snap the white apron around my waist and cinch it tight. My eyes water and it hurts to breathe, but I like the pain. The pain reminds me how pissed off I am.
I slam the locker so hard it bounces open.
Even the fucking locker mocks me. I shove it closed and throw my shoulder into it. I twist the knife further into my back when I let his ‘real job’ jab roll over in my mind again. And like I gave the writing/waitressing gig a chance. Right! I haven’t written a fucking word down on a fucking piece of paper since graduation. How the hell can I write when I have to work all the fucking time to pay off our student loans?
Maybe if I got a six figure publishing contract, he’d appreciate my dream. I didn’t even blink when he went to that minor league tryout, and that son of a bitch actually got called up. And now, I don’t know if he even wants me in his new life. In his flat in the city. After all the sacrifices I’ve made for him, how dare he leave me behind?
I stomp out of the locker room and rip the pad and paper off the counter. Walter better keep his gingivitis halitosis lard ass away from me. I cast a scornful glare around the Diner, daring a customer to annoy me. In the far booth, I spot a tan arm with the pretentious black tattoo and decide to pick a fight.
“What’ll it be?” I ask, without glancing down.
When he doesn’t answer, I roll my eyes and look down. “Do you know what you want?”
His eyes open wide. I glare back at him. “Yes?”
His gaze shifts to my neck. I suppose he’s searching for any remnants of my hickey. The last bits of yellow disappeared Wednesday afternoon. Thank god.
The corner of his lip turns up. “Do I get a menu?”
“Don’t you have the menu memorized by now?”
He smiles at me. “Everything alright?”
I smash my pen against my notepad. “Sure.”
“You seem a bit tense. You and Drew get into a fight?”
I clear my throat and glare at him. “That’s not something I discuss with patrons, but yes, yes we did.” My eyes tear up, but I will not break down. I will not.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”
“Humph,” I reply. I tap my pen to the pad to remind him I’m waiting to take his order.
“I’ll have a number four with rye toast and a hot tea with honey.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. Orange juice is his usual. Sometimes coffee, but never tea. “Tea today?”
His lips pull to the side in that crooked smile he likes to give. One vein in my icy heart starts pumping, but I have a long way to go before I’m defrosted. “I have to keep my voice silky smooth for this weekend,” he says in a game show host voice that sounds absolutely ridiculous. Another vein thaws. “I’ll be at Liquid again Saturday night. Maybe you can make it this weekend? Unless of course, unexpected company shows up again.”
He nods. I watch the green and gold flecks dance around his eyes and get lost in them for a minute. “The show starts at 9, and there isn’t a lot of seating room. You might want to get there early.”
I’m about to walk away, but he reaches up and squeezes my hand. His hand feels warm and reassuring. The gesture is enough to make me crack and I don’t want to, not here in this crummy place. The gold and green flecks in his eyes orbit around each other in a steady predictable rhythm. “And Tiffani, I mean it about what I said, if you need a friend to talk to, I’m here for you.”
“Thank you,” I sniffle. “I’ll put your order in.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Diner’s door chimes jingle as I step out onto the sidewalk. I immediately sidestep out of the way to avoid the dog walking lady and her gang of pooches. She added a squat schnauzer and a rambunctious yellow lab to her rainbow web of leashes. I wonder if she knows each dog by name or if she calls them by the color of their leash—pink, raspberry, blue, orange, cow print. I laugh to myself. The thought amuses me more than it should. Cassie’s right, I do need to get out more.
I close my eyes and let the sun’s rays penetrate deep inside my icy heart.
“Are you planning to stand around all day, or do you want to go for a climb?”
I peek an eye open to see Jeb standing before me. A thick green climbing rope is slung across his chest, and a wide black belt with all sorts of loops, carabiners, and harnesses hangs from his waist. He’s wearing a pair of quite possibly the brightest blue and orange climbing shoes I’ve ever seen. A matching set dangles from his hand. “I thought to myself, a girl friend takes you out on the town for tequila shots when you’re upset. Since tequila shots and I don’t get along, I figured a boy friend takes you rock climbing.”
I furrow my brow. I’m unsure what to make of this situation. “And have you had success in your girl friend climbing ventures?”
He chuckles to himself. Maybe I should go into comedy. Maybe then Drew would call it a real job. “Let’s make a deal,” he says, “if you aren’t laughing and smiling by the end of the day, I’ll paint my fingernails and take you out for shots.”
I pull my lips to the side, debating whether I want to go for a climb with him. I point to his feet. “Do you like to draw attention to yourself wearing those Rainbow Brite boots?”
He laughs a full-on, belly rumbling laugh. A blue jay shoots through the sky, laughing with him. “When the situation necessitates it, yes. Besides, I won’t be alone.” He drops the other pair of boots into my arms. “Go up and get changed. I’ll show you a natural high without a killer hangover.”
I shift back and forth on my heels considering his offer. I haven’t climbed since my Outing Club days at the Rock. Fischer can’t spot me. Drew hates the tedious focus needed to climb up a steep granite face, yet a ball and a glove on a flat diamond thrill him to no end. Bastard. But is it really in my best interest to go rock climbing with Jeb?
He pushes me toward my doorway. “Hurry, we’re losing daylight.”
His excitement seals the deal. I sprint up the stairs two at a time while I squeal in delight. I freaking love rock climbing.
I burst into the apartment. “Hi Fischer! Mommy’s going climbing!”
He wags his tail and stands by the door. “Oh cutie, you’re not allowed to go today. Sorry.” He whimpers and flops down on the worn blue braided rug he’s adopted as his own.
I run into the bedroom and rip off my shirt and jeans. I head over to my dresser prepared to dig for my old blue climbing shorts since I haven’t worn them since I moved to Wellsboro. To my surprise, the shorts and my climbing tank top are side by side at the top of the drawer. I grab my favorite Green Rock sweatshirt off the rocker and wrap it around my waist.
On my way out the room, I glance over at my phone charging on the nightstand. Drew probably called and/or texted. I stomp over to it and hit the power button. Nothing happens. I press the button again. Still nothing happens. I swear I plugged it back into the charger this morning, but after my fight with Drew, who knows what the hell I did.
I plug the charger into the phone, but the power still doesn’t come on.
What the hell is the problem?
Peeking between the wall and the nightstand, I realize the main power cord is unplugged. Fischer must have rammed into the nightstand during his early morning ‘I’m so happy to see you’ sprint. I plug everything back in and dash out the door.
Chapter Twenty
A mountain of tortilla chips and two bowls of salsa sit in the middle of the bright tiled mosaic table. The waitress hands each of us another round of salt-rimmed lime margaritas. My lips already feel chapped from the first glass, but my mouth waters all the same.
“I thought you didn’t like tequila,” I say before taking a sip. The cold glass feels wonderful against my raw fingertips. Hours of stuffing fingers and toes into tiny crevices ripped the pads right off.
Jeb takes a sip from his glass, and then he smacks his lips together. The salt must be affecting his lips too.
Hmmm, his lips.
I am not going there. After a fun evening of climbing, I don’t want any tension between us. Our friendship is in the perfect place right now.
“I said I didn’t like tequila shots. We’re drinking margaritas, the beverage of choice after a climb.”
‘Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Mi Amor. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Mi Amor.’
A mariachi band plays on the other side of the restaurant. The soft sounds of trumpets, violins, and guitars echo off the plaster walls.
I dip a chip in the green chile salsa. The fresh cilantro gives it just the right tang, though I pray to god that I don’t get any disgusting green chunks in my teeth. “Why is that do you think? We always hit La Tolteca after climbing at Slippery Rock.”
Jeb takes a scoop of the spicy red salsa. “I don’t know. The wholesome goodness of Mexican aligns with the natural rhythm of climbing.”
A smirk crosses my face. I scrunch my forehead at him.
“What?” A drop of salsa trails down the corner of his mouth. I’m tempted to wipe it off, but I don’t want to get anywhere near his lips. We’re friends. Nothing more.
“I spend a lot of time with jocks. They call me a ‘granola.’”
He wipes off the salsa with his napkin. “And your point?”
Some nearby patrons clap, clap, clap to the beat of the band.
“If the shoe fits…,” I grin. Clap, clap, clap. Tap, tap, tap.
He sets his margarita in front of him. “Not a lot of profound thoughts emerging from your muscle bound jock heads, I take it?”
I trace the rim of my glass with my finger. When it starts to hum, I stop. A pang of sadness overtakes me. I should not talk about Drew with Jeb. There’s a line even friendship shouldn’t cross.
“Hey, no sad faces on girl’s night,” he says in his corny game show voice that always makes me laugh. I try to smile but my skin feels tight and stretched.
“To good friends!” He brings his glass to the middle of the table. It hovers in no man’s land. Beads of condensation drip down the side of his glass. They remind me of teardrops.
I press my lips together. I won’t let Drew ruin my night. He’s ruined too many nights over the past few months, and I’ve spent more nights that I want to admit sad and alone. “To good friends,” I agree and bring my drink to his. The liquid sloshes against the rim of the glasses and all over my hand. Without meaning too, I watch him as my lips wrap around my hand to suck the renegade liquid. He pulls his tongue slowly along the top of his lip reminiscent of my recurring fantasy of him. A shiver rifles through me. The far off noises of the Mariachi band and the other patrons disappear as a wall of tension builds between us, en
capsulating us in a tiny sliver of space. Our eyes don’t leave each other, and neither of us utters a word.
I wish I could lie to myself and pretend we don’t speak because we have nothing to talk about, but it’s not true. Not in the least. Our common interests outnumber the populations of a half dozen small countries he’s traveled too. As much as I try to deny it, Jeb and I have something more than friendship. Something, I’m not ready to put into words.
But if I fall for him, where will I land?
‘Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Mi Amor. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Mi Amor.’
The arm of the violinist thrusts in my face. I pull my head back just before his silver embroidered elbow smacks me square in the nose. Jeb jumps up and shoves the violinist out of the way. As the musician murmurs a low curse in Spanish, Jeb kneels next to me. “Are you alright?”
I burst out laughing. “That’d be an injury to write about. I can see the headlines now, ‘Local Waitress Gets Elbowed Out.”
He laughs as he stands up. “There’s a first for everything.”
I shift away from him so I can watch the mustached men. My feet, my knees, my fingers bounce to the catchy, addictive rhythm.
‘Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Mi Amor. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Mi Amor.’
He bows in front of me, offering his hand. “My lady, may I have this dance?”
I consider his offer. Two margaritas chant, Yes! Yes! Yes! But I know I shouldn’t. WE shouldn’t. Before I can answer, the waitress places a chicken rice burrito in front of me and all the fixes for steak fajitas in front of him. She pours two large glasses of water. I gulp down half of mine to push the buzz of the margaritas out of my system, but it’s not the alcohol I’m worried about.
Sometimes a night of over-eating leaves you hungry for something you can’t name. An emptiness haunted me. An emptiness I didn’t have a name for until I met Jeb. Now, I’m starving.
And Then He: A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel Page 7