Not the Rebound Guy

by Abby Knox

  For me, there’s not much to “get ready.” While Eliza takes over the bathroom, I head to the porch and pull out a clean shirt from my duffel bag and wait quietly for my turn to shower. I’m not actually dirty, and this isn’t technically a date. Still, I want to smell good if I’m keeping her company tonight.

  Gertie and Helen spot me outside and scramble up to the porch to say hello. Gertie bleats, and I scratch her behind the ears. “Hush. Trust me, you don’t want to interrupt Pat Sajak.”

  Chapter Three

  Eliza

  I’ve chosen to stay in the same jeans I’m wearing—Hijinks is not a dress-code kind of place, last I checked—but pair them with a sheer white peasant tunic over a bright red camisole. Instead of my usual high heels, I wear whenever I go clubbing, I dig out the teal cowgirl boots from the back of the closet in the guest room. They were my mom’s. The last time I slid them on was four years ago, and I can’t believe they’re still here. Yet I understand why Grams never got rid of them. I’m glad she kept them. It makes me feel a little bit closer to my mom, even if she and I aren’t getting along at the moment.

  As Garrett and I walk down to Hijinks together, I find myself as nervous as I would on a first date. Which this isn’t. My head knows that. My head is fully aware that I just ended a four-year relationship less than two days ago, so there’s no way I’m on a date right now. Except, Garrett smells like a first date. That wild man smell is still there, underneath, but he’s also freshly showered, and that shirt has been laundered with something that smells heavenly. He’s combed his hair. Still a mess, but now it has the look of a mess that happened on purpose. The sight of him, along with that charming boy-next-door smile, is too dangerous. I’m already warming up to him because of how devoted he is to looking after Grams. I’m already attracted to his tall, lean body and soulful eyes.

  This isn’t a date. This is your heart rebounding…looking for evidence that there are good men still out there. Your sensitive, broken heart has spotted that evidence and wants to explore further. But you’re not going to do that because that’s not why you’re here. Now is the time to heal, not get involved with an almost-complete stranger.

  My brain tells my heart, “You’re just friends. This is a new friend. That’s all.”

  I make this my silent mantra as the two of us pass the grocery store with its boxes of flowers lining the sidewalk, elementary school with its flagpole in the yard, and the diner with its sandwich board outside announcing later hours tonight.

  “Since when does Otto’s Diner stay open late? And on a Thursday?”

  “My buddy’s band has started bringing in people from all over the county whenever they play Hijinks. It’s an opportunity to feed the drunk masses.”

  “Smart,” I say.

  “Yep, and the grocery store has even started stocking organic produce,” he points out.

  “And here I thought nothing ever changes,” I reply.

  “Oh, it changes all the time,” he says, with an air that makes me think he’s about to tell a joke. “In fact, the entire town’s stock rose by a hundred percent in just one day.”

  I think I know where this is going, but I take the bait anyway. “Oh really?”

  “Yep. The second you came back.”

  “Oh boy,” I breathe. “So corny. But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  We pause at the empty intersection to cross the street to Hijinks. Garrett offers me his arm for me to hold while we cross. I take it, knowing I shouldn’t.

  As soon as I do, he remarks, “Look at that. I just got eighty-five percent prettier.”

  “Only eighty-five?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “Well, I’m a little bit pretty. Give me some credit.”

  Garrett is pulling on a thread at the frayed edge of my broken heart, and I desperately need to cut off that loose end and stitch it back up on my own. I don’t want to start all over again with the first handsome guy to charm me. Still, I can’t tell that to parts of my body that flutter to life whenever he talks.

  Garrett buys me a light beer while I secure us a booth in a well-lit area near the stage. If we’re going to sit and chit-chat, it’s better if all eyes are not on us. Not that I think he’ll try anything, but I can feel my body betraying my broken heart. I might just crawl into his lap and start making out if we’re together in a dark corner of this bar.

  I’m a little on edge when I realize it’s country music night tonight. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not the biggest fan, but that’s hardly the problem. The problem is country dancing often involves a lot of coupling up. And Garrett and I are not a couple.

  Thankfully, he sees my nervousness as I scan the bar for any signs of Nora, and doesn’t try to drag me out to the dance floor right away.

  I swig my beer a little less graceful than intended and say, “I know I was weird about you staying with Grams when I first found out, and I’m sorry. And I’m really sorry that your house burned.”

  Garrett nods his head. “I appreciate that, but it’s all good. None of the animals were in the house at the time.”

  “Animals as in, more than just the dog?”

  He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to mock him. “Helen and Gertie are the most attached to me, so yeah, if I’m inside, they’re inside. But Big Bird and Grover wander in off and on. The rest of the chickens keep to themselves. Carl, the potbellied pig, only comes inside to watch Jeopardy. He hears that music and comes running across the yard; it’s quite a sight.”

  I squint at him. “You know what, while the contractors are working on your house, you should tell them to add some doors that close.”

  He laughs and says, “I’ll take that under advisement.” And then he winks. God, that wink is too adorable and totally uncalled for.

  “Still, that all sucks so bad. How did it start?”

  “Gertie chewed up some old wiring that wasn’t properly maintained. I didn’t realize it until too late. The next time I started the broiler? Snap, crackle, pop. Kitchen wall caught fire right away, and it spread to the upstairs. I’m just glad it happened while I was awake.”

  I shiver at the thought of him or any animals being hurt. “What were you cooking?”

  Garrett’s eyebrows knit together in bemusement. “No one ever asked me that. Tortilla chips.”

  I grin and sip my beer. “Here’s something you might not know. They sell tortilla chips at the market.”

  He grins back at me. “Do they?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “They got the good Mission kind too. Not just Frito-Lay. Take that under advisement, too.”

  “Aw, but homemade is better.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Burn-your-whole-house-down better?”

  “Nah, just-singe-the-kitchen-and-bedroom better.”

  “I look forward to a side-by-side comparison of these amazing house-destroying chips,” I say. “Maybe topped with some slow-roasted filets of house-destroying goat.”

  Garrett rolls his head back and laughs loudly. Boy, am I glad he has a sense of humor about all that’s happened to him. It’s not like me to blurt out jokes at someone else’s expense, and I apologize.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t make jokes about goat meat.”

  “Gertie can’t hear you; we’re good,” he says.

  “Still. I feel like you need an opportunity to mock my sad story now. You want to have a go?”

  “Absolutely,” he says. “Grams told me you broke up with your boyfriend and came here for some R&R and to get your mind off things. But she didn’t say why the breakup happened. If that’s too personal, we can let it go for now.”

  I’m happy this isn’t a date because I would hate to ramble about my ex if it were, even if it were a date with a rebound guy. Which it isn’t. Not either of those things.

  “A few weeks ago, he went on a spiritual quest, or a retreat, or whatever you want to call it, to Ecuador. I told him he was an idiot for going, that people should just leave those villagers alone. He came home and said
he’d met the woman of his dreams while tripping on ayahuasca. She was on a plane to New York to be with him when he told me all this. Basically, he cheated on me and had no regrets about it because it was a spiritual experience. Fated mates or whatever. So, that’s four years of my life down the drain. Wasted with a guy who I thought was nice enough for me to overlook his hang-ups.”

  For the first time today, a shadow washes over Garrett’s face. “What sort of hang-ups?”

  Oops. I shouldn’t have hinted at that.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, my cheeks heating.

  He leans forward across the booth and says conspiratorially, “It’s not nothing if you had to make a choice to overlook it for four years.”

  I take a long swallow of my beer. And then another. And then I down the rest of it, enjoying the cold, tasteless burn of one-dollar domestics. I would kill for a craft brew, but I know better than to say shit like that in Piper’s Grove.

  “All right then, since we’re friends and both adults, I’ll just tell you. He wouldn’t…you know.”

  “No, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking,” he says.

  “You’re smirking, Garrett. I know you know what I’m saying. He wouldn’t…”

  “If you can’t even say it, then maybe that’s the real problem.”

  I don’t know why but this makes me feel flames shooting out of my ears as my temper flares. “Jared refused to go down on me, okay?”

  Observing him, I can see him working hard to control his reaction. He’s trying not to spook me. He goes from shock to dismay to concern in about three seconds.

  “Wow.”

  “Sorry, that was too much.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. He should be sorry he’s missing out.”

  My thighs clamp together automatically. “Excuse me?”

  Garrett leans back in the booth, spreading out as casually as if he’s on his own couch. “I’m just saying. If a man likes women but doesn’t eat pussy, he ain’t a real man.”

  He’s just saying this as a friend, Eliza. He doesn’t mean your pussy, specifically. Still, dark and dangerous things are happening between my legs, and my imagination runs wild.

  I put my lips to my bottle, forgetting it’s empty. I look around for our server, clearing my throat. “I think I need another beer.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Eliza. I was just speaking in general. I don’t find sex uncomfortable to talk about. It’s just one of those basic human needs. Food. Sex. Connection. Companionship. My thing is, if you’re in a long-term relationship, you should at least try to do things for your partner that are out of your comfort zone.”

  Having waved down the server and ordered another round, I tug at the label on my empty bottle while I think about how to respond to what he’s just said.

  “Oh, it wasn’t a comfort zone thing. It was a machismo thing.”

  Garrett rotates the base of his bottle back and forth in his hand. “I gotta tell ya. For me personally, nothing makes me feel more macho.” My lips parted, I watch Garrett take a slow, sensuous draw from the bottle, lick his lips a little too thoroughly, then set the bottle down forcefully on the table. “But that’s just me.” He winks again and wipes a droplet of beer from his bottom lip with the side of his thumb.

  I’m so slick right now I might slide right off this cheap vinyl upholstery and end up between his legs under the table.

  Nora to the rescue.

  “Eliza! Sorry, we’re late!”

  My childhood friend Nora and her husband Jake appear at the table just at the right moment.

  She goes on to explain the babysitter canceled, and they had to call all of their backups.

  I shoot up and wrap Nora in a tight hug.

  She glances past me and raises an eyebrow. “Who’s this? You got yourself a rebound guy already?”

  “No! I mean, no.” God, I hope I didn’t blurt that out as if I’m repulsed by the idea of being on a date with him. Because I wouldn’t be. Hypothetically.

  I make introductions, and Garrett stands and shakes Nora’s hand.

  Suddenly, she gasps. “You’re the honey man! From the farmer’s market!”

  He nods. “That’s me.”

  “We love your stuff!” Nora then turns to me. “He makes the best honey, and the soap! Oh my gosh, you gotta try his soap and take some back to New York with you, your New York friends will go wild for it.”

  I look back at Garrett. “Really?”

  He shyly plants his hands inside his front pockets. “Well, I don’t do much; the bees make the honey. And the goats do the hard work with the soap.”

  Nora grabs my shoulder like she wants me to understand. “I’m serious. This man’s soap is so lathery and moisturizes like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I shouldn’t be thinking of Garrett in the same thought of showers and soap and bare skin. I should not be feeling turned on by listening to Nora describe soap. It’s just wrong. But look at him. And look at the way he’s looking at me. I bet he knows exactly what to do in the shower. Jared never wanted to fuck around in the shower ever. Why…why was I with him again?

  Lightheadedness forces me to sit down as the server returns with our beers. Nora claps. “Yes! That’s what I need. You all have a tab going? Here.” She shoves a large bill in my hand then turns back to the server. “Two more rounds and keep ‘em coming. I am away from the twins for the first time in three months, and I am pumpin’ and dumpin’ tonight!”

  Thank god for friends who are starved for a good time; no more talking about my vastly neglected nether region.

  Chapter Four

  Garrett

  Eliza’s friend Nora seems like a lot of fun, and I’m enjoying the conversation while the band takes a break.

  Andy, the lead singer, returns to the stage and turns the mic back on, only to interrupt the conversation. “I don’t normally do this, but I heard that my friend Garrett Strong is here tonight, and I’d like to invite him up on stage to sing a song he wrote for us.”

  “Oh no,” I grumble, wolfing down my third beer of the night.

  “You sing, too? Do you also pluck kittens out of trees and build houses for Habitat on weekends?” I deserved that. I probably seem like the do-goodiest do-gooder that ever did good.

  I crack my knuckles, a thing I do when I’m nervous. “Sorta.”

  Eliza cackles. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

  I shrug as I stand. “What can I say? A man with a big ladder is always in demand. I’ll be right back, okay?” I look down at her widened eyes and briefly touch her shoulder.

  The heat of her skin radiates through that sexy bohemian-style shirt she’s wearing, and I can still feel her warmth on my fingers after I step up to the stage.

  I don’t want to be behind a mic; I want to stand next to Eliza. Or sit next to her. Hold her on my lap. If I’m honest, bury my head in her lap. Reluctantly, I accept the acoustic guitar from my buddy, then adjust the mic stand because I’m freakishly tall. I catch Eliza’s face while I’m strumming a few warm-up chords. She’s still surprised but also looks impressed. Too bad she’s about to be let down massively because I’m awkward as a thirteen-year-old when I’m on stage.

  “This is a song I wrote after a bad heartbreak, and it helped me a lot. So tonight, I would like to dedicate this song to a new friend. I hope it helps.”

  I play my silly song, sing my silly words, and try not to make too much eye contact with Eliza. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her wiping her face. She’s probably so angry she’s been brought to tears over me gently calling her out.

  I try to ignore the applause when I’m finished. Quickly I thank everyone and head straight back to Eliza to face the consequences of what I did.

  To my surprise, she’s not even mad.

  “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she says. “Thank you.”

  As the band eases into a popular tune with a steady beat, and we find ourselves dancing the tw
o-step together. I don’t remember asking, and I don’t remember her hesitating. We just sort of fall into it. She follows my lead around the dance floor, our bodies a little closer together than most. I was always taught it’s better to keep enough distance from my partner so nobody steps on the other’s feet, but with Eliza, it feels like we were made to move as one. “Where’d you learn the two-step?” I ask.

  Eliza grins. “Piper’s Grove High School physical education. It’s pretty much a graduation requirement. And six years of dance team as a girl.”

  “I’m impressed. I learned by going to way too many country bars over the years and spending way too much money on beer.”

  She smiles and keeps her eyes on me as our feet take us around and around. With one hand keeping her close and the other hand holding hers, I’m tempting to buck tradition and draw her in even closer. I want to feel her warmth, inhale the perfume on her neck. The organized movement of our feet has been secondary; our eyes communicate some distant storms brewing.

  At the end of the song, I turn and dip Eliza over my knee, my heart knocking against my ribcage. For that half a second while we’re dipping, she looks up at me with curious eyes, parted lips. The friendly smile is gone, replaced with a look of cautious invitation to try. It’s purely chemical, and my blood reacts like baking soda to vinegar. I blink, not knowing where to look but not daring to look away. My eyes drift down to her mouth as she bites her lip.

  I have no idea how long we’ve been holding this pose. Probably only for a second, but it feels like an entire minute. I can’t control the faint groan from deep inside my chest.

  By the time I set her back upright, me back to standing, I feel out of breath and not from the dancing.

  We clap in appreciation for the band, who announces, “We’re going to slow it way down for all you romantics out there.”

  Eliza’s eyes go wide, and she panics. I can’t blame her; this is too much for a friendly outing. She turns away from me and beelines for the booth.