One Good Thing

by Millikin, Jennifer

  “I’ve had two kids on the tit for what feels like longer than the Queen’s been on the throne, and now that the last one is weaned, Jacob thinks it means I’m open for business again.” Amanda, the only brunette of the group, makes a horrified face and motions toward her chest. “I don’t want anyone touching the girls again for at least two years.”

  “Just be happy you have tits,” Samantha declares, the corners of her mouth turning down. She runs a flattened palm down her front, as if running it along a wall. “Mine are gone. Gone!”

  “Why?” I ask, unable to comprehend how boobs just disappear.

  With her wine glass poised at her mouth, Amanda says, “Because she met Rory and let him put his penis in her. Now she’s paying the price with deflated balloons.”

  I press my lips closed to keep from spitting out the sip of wine I’ve just taken.

  Charlie’s laughing so hard she starts coughing.

  Samantha gives Amanda a side-eye. “You let Jacob poke your hole and you kept your boobs.”

  “That’s what happens when you have fauxbs,” Amanda responds.

  We all stare at her. “What are fauxbs?” Charlie asks.

  It clicks in my head just as Amanda says, “Faux boobs. Fakies. Breast implants,” she says, reluctantly using the medical term with a face that conveys how much of a drag we all are that we forced her to say it.

  “Oohhh I want to see them,” Samantha squeals.

  “Me too,” Liz pipes up. Dark circles sit below her lower lashes, but now her eyes are brightened by her piqued curiosity.

  “Let’s go,” Amanda says, inclining her head toward the ladies’ room.

  Samantha and Liz stand up, giggling and saying they can’t believe they’re doing this. Amanda sweeps her arm in the air like it’s no big deal.

  “You girls keep our table safe,” she says to us, then walks off with Samantha and Liz.

  “Oh my gosh,” I say, turning to Charlie when they’re gone.

  She grins. “I told you they were fun. Tonight may be a third glass kind of night. They went through that first glass faster than usual. I think they’re excited to have a new friend.”

  “I like them. They seem nice. And funny. Amanda is—”

  “Addison?”

  I turn to the voice I already know by heart. Brady stands beside the two guys I saw him with outside Sweet Escape a couple days ago. I know one of them is Paul, the son of the old man Brady helped, but I don’t know the second guy. He looks like he’s about twenty years older than us.

  “Brady, hi. What are you doing here?” Memories of our walk in the woods assail me. I’ve seen him since then, and each time my thoughts are dominated by the feeling of his lips on mine.

  My tongue darts out to moisten my lips and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. My nervous grooming annoys me, so I force my hand to wrap around my wine glass.

  “Just grabbing a beer. You remember Paul?” He gestures to him with his thumb.

  “Yes, hi. How’s your dad doing?”

  “Fine, thanks.” Paul smiles politely.

  Brady redirects his thumb to the other guy. “This is Ralph. I bought the truck from him.”

  “Hi, Ralph. This is Charlie,” I say, since we’re making introductions.

  They say hello and Paul looks over his shoulder. “I’m going to grab that booth while it’s still available. Ralph, come on.”

  They amble off across the place, but Brady doesn’t take his eyes off me. He sinks down into the empty seat beside me. Taking my hand, he turns it over and traces the lines in my palm with his fingertip.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he says, the compliment spoken under his breath.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself.” Roughly translated, too bad should really mean hottest man to ever step foot in this place. Brady shaved after he picked up the razor, but it’s been a couple days since then and his scruff has regrown. It only adds to his appeal, along with the navy blue tee he wears that has turned his blue eyes even bluer.

  His fingertip on my palm is so potent, he might as well be stroking a totally different part of me. I press my thighs together and let my fingers curl into my palm, halting his progression. I meet his gaze, and it’s like I can read his mind. First he’s confused, then understanding dawns, and the look in his eyes becomes hungry.

  “This is supposed to be ladies’ night, but someone as handsome as you might be allowed to join us.” Amanda’s throaty voice breaks through the moment.

  Brady quickly gets to his feet. “I’m sorry, did I steal your seat?”

  Amanda slings an arm over his shoulder as if she knows him. “And he’s polite too? Keeper!”

  She lets him go and walks around the table to her chair. I stand up and make quick introductions, then turn my attention to Brady. As much as I’d like to attach myself to his hip right now, we both came here with friends. “Do you want to meet me for a run tomorrow morning-ish?”

  Brady smirks. “Ish?”

  Lifting my glass, I explain, “This is my second glass. Which means I’ll want to sleep later than six.”

  “How about nine?”

  “Perfect. I’ll smuggle some breakfast down to you and we’ll run after you eat.”

  Brady leans in, his hand on my hip and his lips at my ear. “I hear you have an extensive male fan club in this town.”

  I honestly don’t know what he’s talking about, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.

  “Are you a member of said club?” I whisper back.

  “I’m the president.” His words are a growl that vibrates my ear.

  “That’s all I care about,” I assure him, letting my lips graze his earlobe.

  He pulls back, that dark, hungry look in his eyes once more. “See you in the morning.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I murmur, pivoting and turning my attention back to the girls.

  For a second I feel him looking at me, then the feeling vanishes.

  “Uh, yeah.” Samantha looks around the table. “Anyone else ready to go home and screw their husbands after watching those two?”

  “And get pregnant again? No thanks.” Liz’s answer is accompanied by a lip curl.

  “Your mouth can’t get pregnant, Liz,” Amanda says loudly enough to draw attention from the table of older women nearby. I duck my head and look away.

  “Anyway, can we please talk about that walking sex machine? I’m going to call him that because that’s what I want to call him,” Amanda informs me, but she stares at me, making it clear I’m supposed to respond.

  “I cannot confirm your new name for him. We’re just friends.” I think. Friends who kiss. I know that’s a thing. What about friends who hold truth sticks and say the worst things they feel? And then kiss.

  “You won’t be for long.” It’s Charlie speaking now, which takes me by surprise. “That tension was” —she holds a fist in front of her and makes slashing motions— “thick enough to cut. You’d better hop on that stool before someone else gets there first.”

  I shake my head, wishing I could sneak a peek at Brady without being obvious. “Brady’s getting over something very significant.”

  “He has a broken heart?” Samantha asks, her tone doing this half-simper, half-maternal thing.

  I look around at their faces. A moment ago they were going to go home and pretend their husbands were Brady, and now they all want to take him under their wings and place a cartoon-themed bandage on his heart.

  “Can we talk about something else, please?” I drain the contents of my glass. I don’t want to spend any more time talking about Brady, or me and Brady. I don’t know what I have to offer, I don’t know what he’s capable of offering, and it’s all too much for me right now.

  Liz yawns loudly and grabs some money from her wallet. “I’m going to have to move on completely, ladies.” Amanda moans like a whiny child, which prompts Liz to say, “I have to get up with a baby at least twice tonight.” She points to her breasts and makes a moo’ing sound.<
br />
  After she leaves, I ask, “Is it really that bad?” I’ve always wanted a family, but tonight I’m getting introduced to the dark side of the dream, and it’s frightening.

  “Nope,” Amanda says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Kids are the best. Sometimes they’re assholes, but name somebody who isn’t every now and then. It comes down to this,” she taps the tabletop with the tip of her fingernail. “A kid will fill a hole in your heart you never knew was there.”

  I blink. Amanda has been forthcoming all night, but something about what she just said feels incredibly intimate.

  Charlie claps her hands. “I’m so excited to meet this little guy!”

  “Don’t wish these days away,” Amanda warns. “Once he’s here, you can’t put him back.”

  Charlie starts asking questions about childbirth and infants, and I only half-listen. Someday this will all be fascinating to me, but right now I’m more interested in my current issues. Specifically, the issue sitting across the room from me. I’m dying to turn around and find him, but I don’t want to get caught.

  “Does anybody want another drink?” I ask, interrupting Samantha. “Sorry,” I tell her, placing my hand on her forearm.

  The group consensus is that another round is needed. I wave away offers of cash and insist this one is on me. I’m a nice person, but this run for more wine is really so I can locate Brady without craning my neck.

  I walk to the far end of the bar and place our order, then lean back against it while I wait, casually (at least, I hope it looks that way) scanning the place. In a corner booth, Brady sits facing me. Our gazes lock, as if we’re magnets.

  “Hi,” he mouths.

  “Hey,” I mouth back, my stomach doing back flips and my fingers curling into a surreptitious wave.

  Suddenly, his face darkens. I’m confused, but the reason for Brady’s look is cleared up almost instantaneously.

  “You look like you could use some company.”

  My gaze swivels to the voice coming from right beside me. A dark-haired man stands too close, smelling of whiskey and arrogance.

  “I’m good,” I tell him, my voice cool and calm. “I’m here with my friends.”

  “I noticed,” he says, leaning in further. I refuse to back away, even an inch. I get the feeling he likes intimidating women, and I don’t plan on giving him an ounce of what he likes.

  “You’re not with them now,” he drawls, his words slow. “They haven’t even noticed you’re gone. Bet they wouldn’t miss you if you slipped into the bathroom with me for a few minutes.”

  I look him dead in the eyes. “Leave me alone.” My voice is clear, my tone firm.

  He leans in farther and my mind races with what I should do next. “How’d you know I like a challenge?”

  “Get the fuck away from her.” His voice is a low, menacing growl. If I didn’t know the owner, hadn’t felt the warmth of his hand and the gentleness of his kiss, I’d be terrified.

  The guy shifts his slow, lazy gaze to Brady. “Fuck off, bro.” He turns to leave, and for a brief second I think he has given up, but as he’s turning he snatches my hand, yanking me to him. The force is too much, causing me to stumble, and I catch myself on his chest.

  “Look at that,” I hear him say, but I’m positive his words are meant for Brady. “She can’t wait to fuck me.”

  Two seconds later, the guy is on the ground. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but the grip on my hand is gone and I’m standing on my own two feet, looking down at the guy. His chest is rising and falling, but he’s out cold.

  I raise wide eyes to Brady. “Did you—”

  He nods. We both look around, but it appears what happened didn’t grab the attention of very many people. The bartender catches my eye and loudly says, “That guy arrived hammered. I’ve been wondering how long it would take him to pass out drunk like that.” He pushes the three glasses of wine and one mocktail closer to me. “These are on the house,” he says in a lower voice. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.” He comes out from behind the bar and looks down at the guy still slumped on the ground.

  “You get one side, I’ll get the other,” Brady says, bending down. “Let’s get him to that booth over there.”

  They work together and lay the guy on the empty booth.

  Brady shakes hands with the bartender, who goes back behind the bar like nothing happened.

  Brady comes to my side, running two knuckles down my arm. “You okay?”

  “Are you?” I ask, instead of answering. He’s the one who hit someone.

  “I’m good. The bartender said he knows someone who’s friends with this guy. He’s going to call and tell him he passed out here and needs to come get him.” Brady looks down at his hand, straightening and flexing his fingers. “I’ll have to call Finn tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “We got in a fight a long time ago and, afterward, he taught me the right way to throw a punch. He’ll be happy to know I finally had use for his lesson.”

  I gape at him. “Why did you fight your best friend?”

  Brady eyes me. “It was over Lennon. We were young. In middle school, I think.”

  I nod once, slowly. “I see.”

  I’m starting to feel curious about this Lennon person. Apparently she’s pretty great, since she had two guys in love with her at once.

  “Can I help you carry these to your friends?” He tips his head toward the drinks still sitting on the bar.

  “Sure.”

  We each grab two. I lead the way over to the table, and Brady smiles when Amanda asks where the hell I’ve been.

  “Some guy was giving Addison trouble. I helped her out,” he says modestly. I like that he’s not bragging about knocking someone out.

  “And he fights for the lady’s honor as well!” Samantha throws a hand into the air. “Is there anything you don’t do?”

  “I have plenty of faults, don’t worry,” Brady assures her. He turns to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Unless you need a ride home tonight?”

  “Charlie’s my designated driver, but thank you.”

  I brush a kiss onto his cheek and when my lips touch his skin, a jolt of electricity shoots down my body, making everything inside me stand at attention.

  “Have fun,” he says, backing away. “Try not to attract any more assholes.”

  “I promise not to leave this table alone again.”

  He turns, and I watch him go back to his table. I sit back down and am enfolded into the conversation as if I never left.

  And even though I’m surrounded by interesting, funny women, I feel a pang in my heart.

  I miss Brady.

  17

  Addison

  I’m glad I told Brady nine-ish. Wiggle room is needed when someone had three glasses of wine the night before.

  I feel okay, not great. I made sure to drink lots of water while I was there and when I got home. Still, I have a niggling, dull headache.

  Hopefully the breakfast and run will banish it. I’ve packed ham, egg and cheese croissants, fruit, and coffee.

  My grandma gives me a curious stare on my way out of the house, but since she’s engaged in conversation with a guest, I don’t have to answer any questions about where I’m going or who I’m going to see.

  I still can’t believe Brady hit that drunk guy last night. He seemed so calm and collected, so level-headed. Maybe it wasn’t out of character for him. Maybe it was another facet to him, one that is adjacent to his extreme dislike for injustice. I can add it to what I already know about him, like a brightly colored stone being placed in a mosaic.

  When I get to cabin seven, I find the front door propped open.

  “Brady?” I stay on the threshold and peek my head in, peering around.

  “Just a sec,” he yells from the bedroom. He comes out wearing running shorts, pulling a shirt over his head as he walks. For the two seconds of time it takes for the shirt to clear his face, I get to appreciate his midsection witho
ut getting caught.

  Without the interference of a porch screen, I can see clearly what a drool-worthy midsection it is. Defined muscles, even all the way down to the lower portion, and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. He’s lean but not skinny, muscular but not bulky. In a word, perfect.

  If I were better at checking out guys, I’d have gotten away with my gawking, but I’m substandard in that area. That particular skill isn’t one I practice, and Brady catches me. Big time.

  “If you want me to run shirtless, I can,” he offers, lifting up the bottom of his shirt just enough to reveal a thin line of smooth skin. He breaks into a grin, enjoying the look on my face. If I’m reflecting in my expression what I’m feeling on the inside, it’s complete mortification.

  “I brought breakfast,” I announce, ignoring him and walking inside.

  “Let’s eat on the back porch. The air smells so good right now.”

  “Is that why your front door was open?” I walk past the little living room and kitchenette and through to the back porch. “It’s pre-rain air.” I unpack the food and pour coffee into paper cups.

  Brady grabs a croissant sandwich and takes a bite. “You’re always hungry,” I tell him, grabbing the second sandwich. Today, I’m probably as hungry as him.

  Brady nods at me while he chews, agreeing with my observation.

  We finish off the food and coffee and Brady leads us both through some pre-run stretches. I don’t usually stretch before a run, even though I know I should, but I follow along.

  Brady locks the front door on our way out, and we start off. We run at a slow jog so we can chat. He tells me about his night with Ralph and Paul, skirting around the whole rescuing me from the drunk guy incident, and I tell him about Charlie’s friends.

  “Apparently no matter how old women are, they still go to the bathroom together,” Brady comments. He’s only slightly winded, even though we’ve been jogging without a break for fifteen minutes.