by Gemma Weir
Me: Hey, this is Smoke.
I hit send, then curse myself for sending such a dumb fucking message. Seriously, four words, that’s the best I can do. I have exactly seven women’s numbers stored in my cell. My mom, Grits, Rosie, Nikki, Dove, Brandi, and Liv. That’s it, and every single one of those women I consider family. What the fuck do I know about texting a woman I don’t think of like a sister or mom?
Shit, I’m over-thinking this. It’s just a text, just a ‘hey so she has my number and so we can maybe talk’ or something. I need to calm the fuck down. Reaching for the box that holds my vape and weed, I’m surprised to find my hands shaking a little. Fuck, Riley is messing with my head in a big way, I need to get myself under control.
Deciding to turn my cell off to stop myself from texting her again or maybe stalking her on Facebook, I lean forward and grab it, only to find the three dots at the bottom of the message screen, signaling that she’s replying.
When a message flashes up on my screen I’m practically vibrating.
Riley: It’s 3 in the morning. WTF?
A snort of laughter bursts from my mouth. Any other women I texted would be all nice or super slutty, sending me pictures of her pussy, but Riley doesn’t sugarcoat her words and I fucking love it.
Me: Sorry, didn’t think you’d see it until the morning. I just finished work.
I want her to, but I’m not sure if she’ll reply, so when a response appears almost immediately, I’m smiling broadly and settling back into the couch cushions, my body relaxed for the first time in hours.
Riley: At the strip club?
Me: Yeah, I work most Sundays.
When she doesn’t immediately reply, I panic. I don’t want her to stop talking to me, so I quickly type out another message.
Me: What are you doing up this late anyway? Did you have a good time at Blade’s?
The three dots appear, and I exhale audibly.
Riley: You woke me up texting me at 3am!!!
I’m typing a reply when another message comes through.
Riley: I actually had a great night. Their house is beautiful.
Me: It’s a nice place, they haven’t lived there long, but she did a load of work to it before she moved in.
Riley: It’s nice that her and Dove live so close to each other.
Me: Do you have any siblings?
I wait for the three dots to appear. When they don’t, I immediately start to panic. Was asking about her family off limits? I don’t really know anything about her.
My cell bursts to life with an incoming call from her and I stare at the screen, unsure what to do. It takes me a moment to snap out of my bullshit frozen state and I swipe the screen to answer the call lifting it to my ear.
“Hello.”
“I don’t have my glasses on, and I can’t be bothered to find them,” she says simply.
A smile takes over my mouth and I bite my lip to stop a laugh escaping. “So, you called me?” I say, the words a question rather than a statement.
“Yeah,” she says, then I hear her yawn.
“You never answered my question about brothers and sisters.”
“Oh yeah. Err, I have two sisters and two brothers.”
“Wow, big family, where are you? Oldest or youngest, middle?” I ask, loving that she’s chosen to call me, to talk to me.
“Youngest, but only by two minutes,” she replies, her voice soft and sleepy.
“Two minutes? Do you have a twin?”
“Triplet,” she says on a yawn again.
“You’re one of triplets?”
“Yep, identical. Anna, Tiffany, and me.”
Holy crap, I whisper. Not letting myself say the words out loud. She’s one of three; two more women who look exactly like her?! Fuck, I am so not ready for that! “What about your brothers?” I ask, needing to distract myself for a moment.
“Older, they were already out of the house at college when Mom and Dad got us.”
Her choice of words is strange, and it prickles something at the back of my mind. “When they got you?” I ask, realizing that’s what sounds odd.
“Oh, we’re adopted. Mom and Dad got us when we were nearly three,” she says, her voice trailing off on the last word as though she’s too sleepy to speak.
“You should sleep,” I say quietly. “But I want to see you this week.”
“Uh huh,” she murmurs.
“How ‘bout tomorrow? I’ll come pick you up from work.”
“Okay,” she says, her words distorted through her yawn again.
“Okay, go to sleep, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Smoke,” she whispers, her voice slurred and barely audible, but I hear her and my heart thumps excitedly in my chest.
When my alarm bursts to life the next morning I feel like I’ve barely slept. My eyes are gritty, and my body is sluggish and tired. Groaning, I remember the late-night texts and call with Justin; he’s the reason I’m so tired. I’d wanted to talk to him though. I’d been waiting for him to turn up at Blade and Nikki’s, but he hadn’t, and I’d been disappointed.
Their house was beautiful, a mix of modern and comfortable. We’d all sat outside on their patio, eating and drinking until the sun went down, and the fire pit was lit. It was the most chilled-out night I’ve had so far in Archer’s Creek, and I’d both loved it and hated it at the same time.
I fit in with these people, with this town and this weird family they’ve created here, but this isn’t my home. All of this is temporary and in just a couple of weeks, I’ve got to get back to reality. Normally, when I’m away from the hustle and bustle of New York for too long, I get homesick. I long for the city, for the familiarity of my home, my life. But this is the first time since I stepped off the plane, that home has really crossed my mind.
I have a home at my parents’ place and a home in New York, but something about being here feels right too. Maybe I could look for a holiday place out here? Somewhere to use to recharge when I need to. But if I’m going to invest in property anywhere, it should be in New York. I could buy an apartment or maybe a brownstone, move out of my place and away from my roommate’s drama.
The great thing about being freelance is that I can literally work from anywhere as long as there’s electricity and WiFi. I could pack up and move to Jamaica if I wanted. So why am I considering buying a home in this little backwater town?
The faces of the new people I’ve met all jump into my mind. I’ve made more friends in Archer’s Creek in the last six weeks than I have in New York in the last six years. I’ve had more down time in the last six weeks than I have in the last few years as well. I took this contract with the sole purpose of earning a load of money and boosting my resume with a consultancy position. But somehow, my job, the thing that’s been my sole focus since I graduated from college has taken a backseat.
I’ve found a life and friends in this town, and as I glance down at my cell gripped tightly in my palm, I think that maybe I’ve found a guy that I like too and all of it has been a result of Rosie and the club, and this town.
Al picks me up from outside my hotel and I’m so glad that it’s his day to get coffee when he hands me a huge cup and a delicious looking chocolate croissant dusted with sugar. “God, I love you,” I groan, after my first sip of coffee is gone and I’m heading for my second bite of croissant.
Al chuckles. “I take it you needed that today?”
“So much,” I mumble, my lips pressed to the cup.
Dropping me off at the curb, I wave to Al then make my way into the office. Unlike most days, I don’t lose myself in the code, time doesn’t zoom by, and I don’t look up to find that the day is gone. My eyes drift to the clock every five minutes and the day drags. By lunchtime, I can’t sit at this desk for a minute longer, so I grab my cell and some money and head out for an energy drink and some junk food.
The bright sunshine immediately perks me up and five minutes later, I have a broad grin on my face and most of the le
thargy has gone. This is what I miss about working from home: the freedom to set my hours and not be answerable to anyone. My freelance work tends to be project based, so once the task is assigned, I just have to have it done by the completion date. No-one cares if I work all night and sleep all day; they don’t care if I take a three-hour lunch or if I don’t start until midday.
Working in the Winters Inc office has reminded me why I don’t want to work for a corporation. Grabbing a burrito and two Red Bulls I slowly walk back toward the office and my thoughts drift to Justin.
I hadn’t expected to hear from him. I’d assumed him not turning up at Nikki’s was him avoiding me again. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might be at work. When his text had come through last night, I hadn’t been asleep. I’d been tossing and turning since I’d crawled into bed, my thoughts plagued by him.
I can barely admit to myself how pleased I was when I saw it was him messaging me. For a moment I was worried he’d been trying to score a booty call, but instead, he’d been cute, almost awkward. I have no idea what we’re doing, if we’re doing anything at all. But this side of him, this caring, sweet side is incredibly tempting.
My thoughts wander and before I’m fully aware of what I’m doing, I’m climbing the steps that lead to the Winters Corp building. I don’t really feel like working today. I want to have Al drive me to Archer’s Creek to visit with Rosie or Nikki and then maybe see Justin. Who am I kidding? I want to see Justin. Rosie didn’t mention any plans for this weekend, but I’ve been at her place so much since I got to Houston, maybe her and Park are planning a quiet weekend alone.
I could message Nikki or Dove to see if they want to meet for dinner, but it seems unfair to expect them to come to me in the city when they all live together in the same town. The office is buzzing with noise when I walk in and no one even lifts their heads to acknowledge my arrival. It’s not personal, geeks like us tend to get engrossed in our work and the outside world becomes obsolete.
The last few weeks, I’ve been working with the coders and trying to help them understand the finesse that is required on their code before they can take it to market. Dan was right, his staff are all incredibly talented, but they lack experience. Even Tony who graduated in the same class as me, hasn’t had enough front-line involvement to fully understand what the final product should look like.
I’m doing what I can and I’m hopeful that the knowledge I’ll leave them with should help. But I think the only reason Dan offered me this consultancy contract was to get me in the door and then try to convince me to take a full-time position.
Settling back into my desk, I lift the lid of my laptop, pull out my burrito and start to eat. Clicking into my email, I browse the new ones and my eyes fall on an advertisement for a property listing. I’d signed up to a couple of agencies when I was considering renting a short-term lease rather than staying in the hotel. My fingers move without thought and I click into the mail and scroll through the property listings. The majority are apartments in the city, but then I see it, a listing for a double story townhouse, with exposed brickwork, and grey windows and doors. Clicking into the full listing, I select the location tab and see that the house is located in a suburb north of the city and grossly overpriced.
Suddenly curious, I click into the search bar and google ‘Property listings Archer’s Creek’. The search engine immediately returns with thousands of entries, the first being Creekside Realtors. Like Alice down the rabbit hole, I know I should stop and turn back, but I don’t, instead I click the realtor’s website and a moment later I’m scrolling through houses and apartments for sale in Archer’s Creek.
I don’t exactly have money put aside to buy a house, so I’ve never really considered what my budget would be, but in comparison to the price of the other house I clicked on, Archer’s Creek property prices are much more reasonable.
Spotting a cute little single story house with siding painted a dark navy-blue, and with white windows, I click into the picture gallery and lose myself in the fantasy of buying it and making Archer’s Creek my home. It’s a ridiculous idea, but it’s just real enough to make me imagine what it would be like.
I could see all of my new friends whenever I wanted. I could have my sisters or brothers or parents to come and stay with me. I could have a home with a garden and maybe a pool, somewhere there are no cold, snowy winters. I could make a life here. I could be with Justin.
Justin. How had any of this become about him? We’ve only shared one kiss that wasn’t angry, frantic, or violent, and yet here I am considering him in my hypothetical house purchase. Time to end this fantasy before it even begins. I live in New York and I love it there, don’t I?
I get absolutely nothing done the rest of the day, wasting time reading and rereading some of the revisions the guys have done to the code from my suggestions. My mind refuses to absorb anything useful and when six pm rolls round, I’ve thoroughly wasted an entire day.
Rolling my neck from side to side, I pack up my laptop and slink out of the office feeling like crap. My muscles are tired, I’m sleepy, and all I can think about is having a hot bath then climbing into bed.
Pushing through the shiny glass door and out into the street, I’m on autopilot, heading for where Al is always waiting for me.
“Riley.”
Someone calls my name, and I lift my head and search for the source. Justin is sat astride his bike, lazily looking at me, a cautious smile tipping up the edges of his full lips.
“Hey,” I say, turning away from where Al is parked and moving toward Justin as if my body were on strings and he was reeling me in.
“You ready?” He asks, his voice low and raspy, careful.
“Ready for what?”
“Dinner,” he replies simply.
“Err.”
“I asked you last night; you said yes.”
A vague memory that feels like a dream drifts into my mind. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Get on,” he says, nodding his head to the back of his bike.
“Riley.” Someone calls from behind me.
Spinning around, I find Dan standing behind me, his arms folded across his body, his lips twisted into a scowl.
“Hi, Dan,” I say with a smile.
“Is everything okay?” He asks, his eyes darting behind me to Justin.
“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” I reply.
“Do you know this man, or shall I call security?” Dan asks, his voice becoming a little haughty.
Without turning to look, I sense the moment Justin climbs off his bike and moves to stand behind me. I can feel his body heat scolding me; almost, but not quite, touching me.
“No that’s fine, this is…” I pause, unsure what to call Justin. Friend feels wrong. I mean we’ve had sex more than once, we’re not friends, but it’s not like we’re together either.
“I’m Smoke, Riley’s man,” Justin says, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me back into his huge, warm chest.
I watch emotion fill Dan’s face; first shock, then sadness, then revulsion. It’s the last one that makes me tip my head back to rest it against Justin’s pec and lift my hand to slide it along his arm that’s wrapped around my middle. I never promised Dan anything; we had a couple of dinners and shared a handful of lackluster kisses. I’m not his and I never have been. I’m not Justin’s either, but I refuse to let Dan judge me or him.
Dan’s lip curls as he looks at us, his eyes narrowing coldly. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Prince.” Then he turns and strides quickly to his car where the driver is waiting with the door open for him to climb in. Moments later, his car pulls away from the curb and I exhale slowly, feeling a little shell-shocked.
Justin’s arm around my waist tightens. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get out of here.”
I nod and his arm loosens, sliding away from me, until only his hand is still resting on my hip. He turns me, leading me toward his bike. “Wait,” I call. “I have to tell Al I don’t need
him.”
“Who the fuck is Al?” Justin growls.
“He’s my driver; he’s just over there,” I say, pointing to the town car and the aged driver who’s standing by the side of the car watching me, an amused smirk evident on his lips.
Justin reluctantly releases me, and I walk to Al, my huge biker shadow following closely behind me.
“I take it you don’t need a ride back to the hotel?” Al says, his eyebrows lifting in question.
“No. Thanks, Al. I’m sorry I kept you waiting about all day. I forgot I made plans.”
“I’ve told you before, this is my job. Janette’s been over the moon because I’ve been home early every day since Mr. Winters assigned me to you. You going to introduce me to your friend?” Al looks at Justin behind me.
“Al, this is Justin,” I say, glancing over my shoulder then back to Al. “Justin, this is Al.”
Justin reaches around me and offers his hand to Al and the older man leans forward and takes it.
“It’s Smoke, but Riley refuses to use my actual name,” Justin says.
Al looks to me, his eyes glittering with affection and humor. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. She’s refused to sit in the back seat and actually be driven since the moment I picked her up from the airport.”
Justin chuckles and I stare between the two men, surprised that they seem to be instantly getting on.
“You two have a good night then,” Al says. “Riley honey, call me if you need me. If not, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, Al,” I say, watching as he climbs back into the sleek black car.
“He seems like a decent guy,” Justin says, curling his hand around my hip and guiding me back to his bike again.
“He is,” I say, standing placidly as Justin straps a helmet onto my head, then climbs onto his bike and holds out a hand for me to follow suit.
I stare at the bike, at him and his outstretched hand, then when I can’t think of a single reason why I don’t want to get onto the back of his bike, I take it and climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.