by Kristi Rose
He reaches out and catches my legs, pulling me back to stand in front of him. I try not to shake and steady my breathing. My heart is pounding in my ears. The burning of his hands on my thigh holds my attention, making it impossible to focus on his conversation. My mind screams, asking me where’s my self-respect? But I have no answer, I’m a pliable shell of a person.
Jake disconnects the call and yanks me toward him. He buries his face in my stomach, nips at my flesh, looks up, and says, “I have to head out, girl. I’m sorry we were interrupted.”
I’m not.
I shrug as if there isn’t anything we can do about these things. He pushes me away, gets up, and gathers his keys, phone, and shoes.
“Can I take the beer?”
“Sure.” Take whatever you want. Just leave.
“I have to go to Ft. Lauderdale for at least a week. I’d love to see you when I get back.”
A lock of brown hair flops over his eyes, and he looks nothing like the guy I spent a fun day with, the one who asked for permission and seemed to take things slowly. He looks like the player Josie warned me about and worse.
“Um, it’s going to be hectic soon. I’ve Josie’s wedding and... I’m in the wedding, um, so I may be out of town.” My goal is to avoid a confrontation that could get ugly quick. Instinct tells me I’m no match for him.
“Oh yeah? Let me know what day and time and I’ll make sure I’m free to escort you.”
Did he just invite himself? It doesn’t matter. Just leave! I want to scream it at him. Leave already!
“We’ll talk about it when you get back,” I say. I’m such an idiot. I know I should say no, that I already have a date, or make up some other reason. The idea of spending the weekend out of town with Jake has absolutely no appeal. Shoot, spending any time alone with Jake has no further appeal. But I’m hoping once he’s gone I’ll have the advantage of distance to help me avoid the problem.
He gives me a kiss and leaves, oblivious to my unease. I bolt my door and go around checking the windows. I want to call Josie, but am too ashamed. Gigi? I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone, much less dial.
I start a hot shower and sit on the tub floor, letting the water wash over me until my skin is shriveled. I ignore the welt on my chest, even though common sense tells me I should put a cold pack on it. But, I can’t face it. I can’t face myself and my inactions.
When I was married to Trevor I used to stand up for myself, try to set limits but he always wore me down. Even a simple disagreement was exhausting. Tonight, I saw the same mannerisms in Jake, the desire to manage me. I’d thought I’d moved on from those days and that person I use to be and it’s a devastating crush to my soul to know that I haven’t entirely done so. I cover the welt with a baggy T-shirt and leggings, and climb in bed, where I channel surf for several hours until sheer exhaustion forces my eyes closed.
Chapter 19
I need to accessorize my new bridesmaid gown and the best place in town to do is Jayne’s shop, the Daily Mirror.
I’m still unnerved from my incident with Jake. Every time I think about how I handled the situation, I get angry. I have a talent for finding fault with myself first, rather than assigning the responsibility to the person who deserves it. In this case, however, that person is me. The last time I was overcome with self-loathing because of another’s actions, I was with Trevor.
Jayne’s shop is always busy. Lots of people drive from all points around Florida to get her exclusive, European-style clothes. She carries both high-end and off-the-rack fashion. Jayne is incredibly talented with putting together outfits for every body type and accessorizing with a flair original to her.
I carry my shimmering navy blue gown in and wait for Jayne to get to me.
“Give me fifteen more minutes, love. Mrs. Anderson needs a little more reassurance.” She winks and moves into the area separated from the off the rack shoppers like me.
In the back private dressing area, Jayne offers her clients tea, coffee, or wine, and fresh scones. She also has a woman on hand to complete tailoring. Out front, we poor peasants are subjected to mints, Walker’s butter cookies, and our choice of water with lemon or cucumbers. Point is, it’s still water.
Stains must be avoided at every cost because, clearly, we spill things.
A classic eighties song comes on overhead, and I walk around the shop, trying on hats, scarves, and costume jewelry, singing along.
Jayne walks by and unwinds a lavender scarf off my head. “Go put your dress on, Paisley, and stay away from this shade of purple. It does nothing for your skin. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I look at my eggplant tank top and grimace.
“Darker purples with blue tones are fine.” She walks into the back with an armful of clothes.
I move to the changing room with my gown. It’s a simple dress I like better than the original one we picked out. Strapless, with a sweetheart bust and tea-length, since it’s an afternoon wedding, the gown tightens right below my breasts and goes straight out in what Jayne would call a conservative A-line. The length makes me looks leggy. I hope Jayne can hook me up with the right shoes and jewelry. Maybe even suggest a hairstyle.
I slide the dress over my body and admire how well it fits. I may not have the most becoming of faces, unflattering hair, and pale skin, but I did inherit my mother’s fantastic legs and running keeps me lithe. It also keeps my boobs on the smaller side, and with the right garment I can go braless without flopping everywhere.
I try to zip it in the back, but I’m all elbows and keep bumping the stall walls. I wait for Jayne, holding it up until she’s free. I poke my head out of the dressing room and she’s there so I turn and let her work the zipper.
“This is quite lovely on you, Paisley.” Jayne stands back and studies the dress. Together we take in the shimmering navy blue with threads of silver running through it.
Peeking above the gown line is the red bruise.
Jayne raises an eyebrow and smiles to encourage me to spill the story.
I shake my head in disagreement. “It wasn’t like that, Jayne.”
“Oh please, you don’t have to be shy with me. It can be however you like.”
“No, really. It was a bit....” Jayne fusses with my hair, twisting it into various updos. I struggle to find the right word and shudder with the memory.
“What happened?” She brings me to a cozy seat and pushes me in it.
I wonder if I might get a scone. Jayne’s mother makes the best scones. I smooth the folds of the fabric, tracing a thread down the length of the dress. Better not get a scone. I’d probably get a stain on the dress.
“I don’t know what happened. One minute he’s trying to get me to talk dirty and the next he’s doing this.” I look at the angry red mark and cover it with my hand.
“Just tell Hank you don’t like it.”
“This wasn’t Hank.” He’d never do something like this without the girl’s explicit consent. I don’t want to tell Jayne it was Jake, afraid of the lecture she might give me. But I do anyway.
Jayne is quiet for a moment, and stands abruptly. “It sounds to me like you both have different sexual energy and you’ll have to come to a compromise before you go any further. If you want to go any further that is.” She leaves the room, comes back with a tray of scones, and holds them out to me for selection.
“Bless you, Jayne.” I bite into one full of cranberries as she spreads a napkin over my lap. “You may be right.” About the sexual-energy part, how we are on different wavelengths. Though I don’t see myself talking to Jake about it. There’s no possible compromise in our future. How do we meet halfway on this?
“Make sure you don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with in the future. Be honest with him and see where it takes you. Now, I bought some lovely silver sandals from Italy a few months ago and they’d be perfect with your dress.”
She vanishes into the back room and comes back a mom
ent later carrying a small shoe box. She pulls open the lid and pulls out a shoe bag.
These must be some shoes, wrapped up better than Waterford crystal.
She slides the shoes out of the bag and I’m stunned. The silver of the shoes looks almost translucent and they sport a three-inch heel. Thin straps cross over the foot, swirling around to finish as they wrap around the ankle.
I “ooh” like Nana and my mother always do. The shoes are breathtaking.
“Try them on.” Jayne hands them to me.
I slide them on, stand, and feel like a princess. I walk to the full-length mirror and like what I see, minus the red mark. I’ll try to cover that with makeup if it isn’t gone in three weeks.
“OK.” I brace myself. “How much are they?”
“I’ll give them to you for a bit over cost.” She smiles, names the price, and I sway. They come pretty close to the cost of my dress, but since I didn’t paid for my dress and I’m in love with the shoes, I go ahead and buy them.
“Are you taking anyone to the wedding?” She rewraps them.
“Well, no. Jake volunteered. He’s not an option.”
She gives me a face to indicate she agrees.
“And there isn’t anyone who I could take up to Amelia Island anyway and spend the whole weekend with.”
Jayne snorts in disbelief. I narrow my eyes, remembering when I bumped into her and Josie huddled together at the bar.
“And who are you taking to the wedding?” I know it’s a mean thing to say since she’s been on an even longer dry spell than me. Apparently, Jayne is pickier than I am because I know she’s turned down several men.
“I’m not taking anyone, and I chose it to be so. You, on the other hand, have a secret man named Hank who sounds absolutely lovely and you should take him.”
I shrug at the mention of Hank’s name. “I think he’ll be out of town. Maybe I choose to go alone, too. Ever think about that?”
She rings the shoes up, along with a classic simple silver choker, earrings, and three-quarter gloves in silver, and hands me the purchase. “It’s quite possible you’re being a dolt where this man is concerned.”
“Which one?” She ignores my sarcasm.
“Both. Give me the hunky Hank. He sounds like a keeper.”
“You can have him. He’s like a brother to me anyway.” A flare of jealousy streaks through me as I picture Jayne with Hank.
Jayne looks off as if daydreaming; she purses her lips and crinkles her delicate British nose. “Hmm, isn’t it against the law to do those type of things with one’s brother?” She smiles.
Damn Josie and her very large, fat mouth.
I snatch up my bag and walk off in a snit.
“Have fun at Josie’s tonight. If you don’t want this hot nerd, throw him my way,” she calls to my back, chuckling.
I give her a flippant wave and huff out of the store, anxious to give Josie a piece of my mind.
* * * *
“Oh my God, you aren’t wearing your hair like that, are you?” Josie inspects me, scanning from top to bottom.
“You’re lucky I’m even here. I saw Jayne today and it seems someone has been telling her things about Hank.” I push my way in and throw my purse on the bench in her foyer.
“I haven’t said anything other than what you’ve told them. Just giving them my perspective. Nothing more. Come on, let’s do something with your hair. Brinn and Stacy haven’t landed yet, we have time.” She heads off toward her master bedroom, dragging me behind by my hand. It’s a complete mess with clothes and makeup scattered everywhere, so unlike Josie.
I’ve done nothing different or special with my hair and am wearing it au naturel, loose and curly. She pushes me onto the little bench in front of her vanity and starts fussing with my hair. But she’s mumbling and sighing impatiently and I as I watch her in the mirror she keeps glancing at her watch.
“Josie, how are you going to be married to Brinn for the rest of your life if you’re a nervous wreck every time he’s out flying?”
She shakes her head and starts gathering small sections of hair around my forehead. “I’m not nervous because he’s flying. It’s this start-up he’s doing. He’s competing against another company for the same area and with similar routes and it’s gotten ugly. There’s been more ‘accidents’ than normal at the hangar, things that could set us back or take us out of the running for good. Until this is behind us, I don’t think I’ll be OK.”
“Holy shit, Josie. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” It explains a lot with her edginess and mood.
“Brinn wasn’t telling me. He was acting weird. I did a little digging and started putting the pieces together before I confronted him. He’s starting to fill me in now, though I know there’s more he’s not telling me.”
I grab her hand and our eyes meet in the mirror. “Tell me how I can help.”
She laughs. “You can help us have a good time tonight. We need a few laughs.”
“Did you say his name was Stacy? You know you aren’t painting a good picture here. I believe you’ve used words like nerdy, number cruncher, and his name is Stacy.”
She pulls the sides of my hair up and clips them with a small mother of pearl barrette. I like it.
“I believe I also used words like hot and....”
“Yeah, you used only hot. Hot could go either way. As in smoking hot to look at or excessively sweaty.”
We laugh and Josie busies herself touching up my makeup.
“Stacy is crazy nice. He’s been here a week looking for a house to rent. He’s funny—”
“Looking?” I ask.
“No, funny like ha-ha. One of those honest-to-God nice guys. Who happens to be good looking.”
“You do know calling them nice is the kiss of death for men? Nice guy, nerdy, carries a calculator... His pluses and minuses aren’t equaling out here, Jo.”
“Just wait and see. You’ll like him.” She twirls a brush in blush and lightly sweeps it across my face. She’s going back for a second sweep when we hear a door bang closed.
“Honey, we’re home.” It’s not Brinn’s voice.
Josie smiles and her shoulders relax. She tosses the brush on her vanity, grabs my hand, and drags me out of the chair and through the house to the kitchen where Brinn and his business manager, Stacy, are standing.
“I thought you guys were stuck circling the tower waiting for clearance.” She gives Brinn a hug and a kiss.
“We got clearance right after I texted you. We stopped and grabbed some beer, too,” Brinn tells her.
“Yeah, we would’ve been here sooner, but genius can’t figure out how many cans are in a six-pack. I told him to grab about three varieties so we’d have enough beer.” Stacy shakes his head and smirks.
He’s very good-looking, dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy smile. He stands as tall as Hank, though his lanky frame makes Hank look stocky.
“Stacy, this is my friend, Paisley. Paisley, this is Stacy,” Josie says.
We shake hands. Something about the softness in his eyes, the way they stay crinkled in the corner, and the gentle but firm way he shakes my hand puts me at ease.
“Thanks for joining us, Paisley. You being here will give me someone to talk to when those two get lovey and forget someone else is in the room.”
“Oh, they ignore you, too? I thought I was the only privileged one.” We laugh when Josie takes a playful swat at me.
“Come on, everyone in the car. We have reservations.” She steers us into the garage and drives to one of my favorite restaurants on the water. We sit outside and enjoy the Atlantic breeze coming off the ocean.
The evening goes remarkably well. I spend dinner getting to know Stacy better. He doesn’t have a wandering eye or a wandering hand. His attention is on us, the people he came with. He’s easy to be around. It’s as if we’ve been friends for a long time. He tells me about getting his MBA and how he’s always been a su
pernerd—his words—for numbers and math. I tell him about occupational therapy school and dissecting cadavers.
“Oh, Paisley,” Josie says, “Stacy needs to know which area has the better elementary schools.” She turns to him. “Your daughter’s going into third grade right?”
He nods. “That’s right. Where I look for a house is based on the school. I want to give Cordie as much stability as I can, considering everything is going to change for her.”
“Cordie?” I ask.
“Cordelia, I didn’t name her. Her mother did.” He gives me a smile and picks up his beer. “No, I don’t have a wife waiting for me at home. Or any other kids. I’m going to have to tell you the story aren’t I?”
I pause. “You don’t have to tell me the story, but I’m curious. Or plain nosy. Depending on who you ask, and it might be better if you do tell me, or else I’ll be forced to create my own story about your life.”
He laughs and clinks his beer with mine. “Who wouldn’t be nosy about this? OK, I dated Karen, Cordie’s mom, briefly in college. As these things sometimes happen, she ended up pregnant. As the guy in this scenario, I didn’t have too many options. It’s not like we’re given much say in these matters. I wasn’t going to marry her, but I was willing to date and see where things went. She wasn’t. She thought she could be a single mother. Two days after she delivered Cordie, she left her with me and took off. Haven’t seen her since.”
“Holy cow. You raised a newborn, alone, while in college?” I’m certainly impressed.
“I wish I could say yes. I’d look like a hero stud, but my parents helped. I moved back in with them and my mom stayed home with Cordie. I couldn’t have done any of it without them.” He pulls out his phone and shows me pictures of a cute eight-year-old with blond hair and his blue eyes.
“She’s beautiful,” I say.