by Meghan Quinn
I nod. “I do.” I pick up my glass and hop off my bar stool. “I grew up with him.”
“Damn,” Adalyn says from behind me. “I wish I grew up with him. Hell, I wish he would grow inside me right now.”
“Self-respect, Adalyn,” Logan chastises. “Christ.”
“Be back.” With drink in hand, I walk over to Tucker who turns on his stool, one arm still resting on the bar, the other gripping the back of his chair. He watches me walk toward him, and I realize it’s the way he’s always watched women walk toward him: with unbridled attention. It would be intimidating if I didn’t know the boy Tucker once was.
“Never would I have imagined seeing your tiny ass in a place like this. I thought college girls like yourself hung out downtown,” he says in greeting, that smirk turning into a full smile now. He runs his hand through the side of his already unruly hair, giving him some amazing sex appeal. It’s really unfair how some men can grow hotter and hotter by the minute.
I pop my hip to the side and say, “I’m almost a graduate. I have to start expanding my bar options. Downtown is so last year.”
Like second nature, I open up my arms and pull him into a hug, which he returns, bringing me into his familiar arms. Since Sadie is one of my best friends, I’ve spent a lot of time with Tucker, a lot of time talking him down when he and Sadie would get in a fight, and a lot of the time lecturing him on how to handle Sadie who also dealt with her fair share of childhood drama.
“It’s good to see you. Where’ve you been? I didn’t see you at Smilly’s for her Christmas gathering. You missed out on dirty Pictionary.” Smilly is the queen of the group. She throws the parties whereas I watch over the parties, ready to spring into action when needed.
“Wasn’t my scene.” He shrugs and then takes a sip of his drink.
Wasn’t his scene? Translation: he didn’t want to see Sadie with her new boyfriend who everyone loves. Hell, Tucker even liked Andrew before he knew Andrew was dating Sadie. It’s hard not to like the guy. And I would never say this to Tucker, but Andrew is perfect for Sadie. He has shown her joy, contentment, and the softer side of life, qualities from a man she needed . . . desperately. Not that Tucker couldn’t give her those things, but it was as if they were stuck and couldn’t find their way out of the quicksand sucking them both in.
Tucker has always been somewhat serious and somber, as if he carries the burdens of many on his broad shoulders. He hid this from most, but I spent a lot of time on the outside watching my friends hurt each other, time after time. Looking at him now, he still seems somber and serious, but also . . . melancholy. When he smiled in greeting, it almost looked as though he doesn’t do that as often as he used to. Smile, that is.
Knowing diving into the reasoning he avoided the group at Christmas would be a tad cruel, I say, “Well, we missed you. It’s never the same without you.”
“Maybe next time.” It’s a generic response, one I don’t think he means. I’m not sure we’ll ever see Tucker at another party, and that makes me sad.
“How’s life? How’s the job?”
He nods. “Good. I’m a project manager which has its good and bad days.” He glances over at Adalyn and Logan and nods, “Boyfriend?”
I laugh as I look back at Logan and shake my head. “No, just a friend.”
“Huh.” He takes a sip of his drink and then looks at me with a tilt of his head. “The way he’s staring at you, you could have fooled me.”
“Just friends.” I pause and then ask, “Want to meet them? You’re just sitting here over by yourself, might be nice to have some company.”
“How do you know I’m not waiting for someone?” he asks, a smirk on his handsome face.
“Are you?”
“Nah.” He chuckles and stands from his chair. With his arm wrapped around me, he walks me back to my friends.
When I approach, Adalyn’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets. It’s a natural reaction when in Tucker’s presence. He’s gorgeous with his dark blonde, messy hair that’s trimmed shorter on the sides and thick on top, his five o’clock shadow, light blue eyes, and unforgiving, hardworking muscles. But Logan doesn’t look as thrilled with the addition to our little get-together.
“You guys, this is my friend Tucker. We grew up together, he knows far too many secrets about me from middle school that will horrify you and if he wants to keep his balls intact, he will keep those stories to himself.”
Leaning over to shake hands with Adalyn and Logan, Tucker quickly winks at me and says, “We’ll see.” He turns his attention to my friends, pulling from his outgoing personality that never seems to fail him, and shakes their hands. “Tucker, nice to meet you. It’s rare I get to meet people outside our little friend circle, especially friends of Emma’s. Whenever I see this girl,” he wraps his arm back around my shoulder and squeezes me tight, “she’s either butterfly stitching someone’s head or patting down their ass with Neosporin. I’m glad I caught her without her first aid kit tied around her waist and instead with a drink in her hand.”
“You’ve never seen her drink?” Adalyn asks and then says, “Oh, I’m Adalyn by the way.”
“Ugh, I’m the worst,” I reply. “Tucker, this is Adalyn and Logan. Sorry.”
He nods at them and then says, “I’ve seen Emma drink, but I’ve never seen her get drunk.” He smiles down at me. “She always took care of us.” The sentiment is sweet. I know my friends from back home appreciate me, but it’s always nice to hear on occasion.
“You’ve never seen Emma drunk?” Adalyn asks. “Wow, that’s surprising since I feel like I see drunk Emma more than sober Emma.”
“Seriously?” Tucker’s eyes shoot up to his hairline.
“No.” I playfully swat at Adalyn. “She’s lying. I don’t drink that much. But when I have time off and need to relax, I might throw back a few Old Fashioneds.”
“And shots of whiskey,” Logan adds, tipping his drink back into his mouth.
“Well, fuck, I’ve never seen this side of Emma.” Tucker rubs the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on me. “Next party, you’re getting your ass wasted. No excuses.”
“That’s if you show up.” I’m joking, but there is a layer of darkness that blankets his expression, and it makes me sad. Tucker is different to most guys. He masks his demons and always tries to put on a good show for everyone around him, which he’s doing right now.
My question is, why is he drinking tonight? Alone. Does he do this often? I’ve been so consumed with my life that I’ve neglected catching up with my friends. How long has he been going to bars by himself? Is this something I need to be concerned about? My need to know—to care—kicks in, but not here. He’s not an open book when it comes to his life, especially in front of people he doesn’t know very well.
Two fingers push against the wrinkle in my brow. I look up to Tucker who pulls away. “What’s with the worried face?”
“She has no place to live,” Adalyn answers before I can even formulate a response. “We got evicted from our place a few days ago and have to be out in two days.”
“Adalyn,” I chastise, not wanting Tucker to know about my woes. I’m the girl who always has everything together, the friend who can see ten steps ahead.
“You don’t have a place to live?” Tucker asks, concern in his voice.
Squeezing my eyes together for a brief second, I turn to him and say, “Eh, I’ve got it handled. Just waiting to hear back from a few places, that’s all.”
“They all said no.” Come on, Adalyn! What is she drinking over there, truth serum?
“It’s all right, she has a place to stay,” Logan says, nudging me with his shoulder.
Leaning over the bar to see me, Adalyn says, “There is no way you’re going to share a three-bedroom apartment with six men.”
“Six men?” Tucker raises an eyebrow at me. “I could see five, but six?” His teasing lightens the irritated mood moving through me.
“It’s tempo
rary until we can figure something out.” Logan grips my hand to let me know he’s serious. “You can have my bunk and I’ll take the couch. It’s better than having no place to go.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It seems like a lot of people for a small place. I don’t think I can do that to you . . . or me.”
“It’s not a big deal. Tyler and Travis are never home and if they are, you don’t see them very often and the other guys, well, they think you’re cool.”
“They’ll make you do their laundry and cook them food,” Adalyn points out.
“Not true. We know how to cook dinner and do laundry. Just the other night we made a five-gallon pot of Kraft Mac and Cheese. We even fried some of it.”
“And the kitchen almost caught on fire.” Adalyn snickers to herself.
“Last fucking time I tell you anything.” Logan’s scowl is washed away when he turns back toward me. “Seriously, we can make it work, Em.”
“You can stay with me.” We all turn to look at Tucker who is leaning back in his chair, his glass dangling in his hand and his head tilted toward the ground, his eyes the only thing pointed in our direction.
“What?” The bewilderment in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed. “I . . . do you . . . where do you even live?” Caught off guard, yup, that would be the perfect way to describe how I’m feeling.
“I have a house in Hillcrest. Probably a ten-minute drive to campus.”
“You have a house?” When did this happen? How did I not know? Am I a bad friend for not knowing? Does everyone else know?
“Yeah.” He shifts in his chair, drawing back just slightly. He clears his throat and adds, “There are some things I need to fix in it, but it has a spare bedroom.”
“You’re serious.” Live with Tucker Jameson?
“Yeah.” He shrugs and then looks at his watch. Standing from his chair, he dresses into his black leather jacket, which fits him like a glove, and lays a twenty on the bar top. “You have my number, think about it.” He nods at Logan and Adalyn, pops the collar of his jacket to avoid windburn, and says, “Nice meeting you.”
Then takes off.
All three of us turn back to our drinks and stare at the counter, trying to recover from the Tucker whirlwind that just blew through.
“Holy shit, he’s hot,” Adalyn mumbles while gulping down the rest of her drink. “If it were me, I would be asking him for his address right now.”
“Em, I know you were friends growing up, but you didn’t even know he had a house. You can’t be that close to the guy.” He sounds irritated.
I hate to say not that close, because we used to be. Seeing him in the bar tonight, on his own, It actually makes me sick to my stomach to think that he’s been grieving so . . . alone.
“We used to be close; our entire group of friends were close, but this past year, we’ve all been trying to look for jobs, graduate, and when his ex-girlfriend moved on, he stopped hanging around us because I think it was too hard on him. I don’t have much downtime and when I do, it’s spent with you guys.” I take a sip from my drink. “God, I’m an ass, I should have checked up on him more. I really don’t know what he’s been doing for the past year. I’m such a bad friend.”
“No, you’re not.” Logan pulls me into his chest and kisses the top of my head. “You’ve been consumed with earning your RN degree. You know friendship is a two-way street, right? It goes both ways. He could have reached out to you as well.”
I shake my head. “That’s not the kind of guy Tucker is. Plus, I’m best friends with his ex, Sadie. He wouldn’t have reached out to me for that sole reason.” Not to mention, he was undoubtedly aware that I’d never been a true supporter of him and Sadie together.
“You can reach out now,” Adalyn suggests. “Reach out and stroke his penis.” She laughs hysterically at herself, makes a lewd gesture, and taps the bar for another drink. Oh, Adalyn.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, unsure what to do. “On one hand, it’s a place to live, which I don’t have in two days, but on the other, it’s my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Even though we’re friends, would that be weird?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Logan and Adalyn talk over each other, defending their stances. Much help they are. Should I consider this? Or is that crazy? I still have some time. I can find a place. It’s Binghamton, New York, there has to be apartments somewhere.
Chapter Four
TUCKER
“Where are the tiles?” I look around the room and don’t see anything. “Jared, where the fuck are the tiles for the bathroom?”
“On the wall,” Jared answers, looking slightly terrified.
On the wall? I walk into the bathroom and sure as shit, there they are, being spaced out and placed on the wall. Fuck, I’m losing it.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” I run my hand over my jaw and stare down at my clipboard, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.
I’m off. It feels like my entire equilibrium is out of whack, like my world is tilting on its fucking axis and I have nothing to grip on to.
There is only one reason why: Emma Marks.
When I went into The House of Reardon last night to grab a drink, I was looking for solitude, to drown myself in a few glasses of whiskey and get lost in thought, any kind of thought that didn’t involve Sadie, the baby, or the mausoleum I call my home.
And then Emma walks in with her friends. From a distance, I observed her, how carefree she was, never once fussing over the people surrounding her. She was different, and it threw me for a loop. I’ve known Emma for quite some time, sweet girl with a heart of gold. When she said she wanted to go to nursing school, everyone praised her. She was born to be a nurse, so fucking caring toward others. But the Emma I saw last night joking around with her friends wasn’t that Emma.
Last night, curious as hell, I wanted to know more about this Emma Marks, which is why I joined her friends. And I met college Emma, a beautiful, carefree girl who looks like she loves to have fun. Not hometown Emma, whose role is to clean up and sort through everyone’s issues. But then her friend hit me with Emma’s dilemma and before I could stop myself, I offered her a place to stay. What. The. Hell?
It’s not that I don’t have the space, I do, but I don’t want her to see that space. I avoid seeing the space myself. If I could sell without losing money, I would. I hadn’t had it long enough, or finished the necessary improvements to avoid it becoming both a shitty investment and a giant waste of the money I’d saved since I can remember. When I get the chance, I spend my weekends working on the house, intending to flip it myself for a profit, but with my long days during the week, and being the only person to work on the house, it’s taking me way fucking longer than I want.
But maybe she found a place. Maybe I’m twisting a nut for no damn reason. I can only fucking hope.
A strong hand grips my shoulder and pulls me out of my flashbacks. “Couldn’t find the tile, huh?” Racer asks, humor strong in his voice.
“Fuck off.”
“Heard you’ve been a hot mess today,” Racer pushes. I start down the stairs of the house we’re working on and head to my truck for lunch. “Heard you were searching for your hammer for five minutes until you realized it was still attached to your hip.”
“It wasn’t five fucking minutes,” I grumble.
I fish out my lunch and bring it over to a stack of wood where I take a seat, setting my hat down next to me. Racer joins me, his lunch pail in hand as well. When he sits down, he removes his hat and runs his hand through his thick and sweaty hair.
“What was it then? Two minutes?”
“A few seconds. Christ.” I unzip my lunch and Racer immediately starts sifting through it as if we’re in grade school sitting in the cafeteria.
“Dude, what’s that shit? Salad?” He fingers the lettuce I have in a bag.
“It’s lettuce for my tacos.”
“Tacos?” Racer eyes my lunch again and then his.
“Want to trade?” Yeah, we are in grade school.
Being that Racer is one of my closest friends, I know the ins and outs of his life, and I would bet a thousand dollars on what he has in his lunch box right now. It’s always the same thing: two bologna sandwiches with mustard, a Coke Zero, and grapes. There is no way I’m trading in my tacos for bologna.
“Never. I never want to trade.”
“Suit yourself.” He unzips one of his sandwiches and takes a big bite out of it. He’s a man-child. “Is Julius on your back again today? Is that why it took you an hour to find your hammer today?”
“An hour?” I quirk a quizzical brow in his direction. “It went from five minutes to an hour. That’s quite the fucking leap.”
He holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m just repeating what’s being thrown around by the guys.”
“Dickheads will be getting pay cuts. All of them.” I start to put together my tacos when I answer Racer. “Just saw an old friend last night.” I have no clue why seeing Emma is throwing me off though.
“An old friend, huh? Was it Sadie?”
Racer and Smalls are not blind to what I went through the last couple years; they were the ones I leaned on when it felt like I had no one else. They were there when Sadie told me she was pregnant, they were there when I bought my house, when Sadie lost the baby, and when she met someone else. They were the ones who picked me up when I was a distanced motherfucker.
So Racer’s question doesn’t surprise me.
I shake my head. “Not Sadie. One of her best friends I grew up with actually.”
“Yeah? Is she hot?” Horny fucking bastard.
“Emma?” I ask, thinking about the question. “Uh . . . I never really thought about her that way. She’s always been the mom of the group somehow.”
“Moms can be hot. Moms also need a little dick tickling every now and then.”
“She’s not really a mom, asshole.” I shove the rest of one of my tacos in my mouth and chew.
“Doesn’t matter, even a pretend mom gets me going. Do you think she would wear an apron for me?”
“What?” I shake my head.