by Edie Sommers
Oh! Was that a coffee stain on my desk? Scrubbing the invisible spot with a tissue kept me from seeing what had to be an accusing glare.
“Looks like you can add cock-blocker to a list of its, um, attributes. Really, girl, I know you love your aunt, but surely she’s forgotten about that horrible knitting accident by now. Tell her you wore it out.”
“She’s got a matching one and expects us to be twins at Christmas dinner every year. And since Christmas dinner is the only time I wear the thing, it’s doubtful I’ll have worn it out by the time I’m seventy.” Damn the luck. “Knowing her, if I did, she’d just make me another one.” I hazarded a look up.
My friend shook her head. “Anyway, enough about the sweater from Hell. Tell me more about your date. Did he call or stop by before work? Text?”
Why did she have to rehash the whole thing and make me more miserable than I already was? Oh. Right. Best friend. It was in the job description. Right before, “Tell her anything you think will lift her spirits. If all else fails, show her cute kitten pictures.”
I tapped my keyboard, bringing to life a blue-eyed tabby screensaver.
Darlene and I both “awwwwed”.
“To keep things fair, we’ve agreed not to hang out between dates. Besides, they spend most of the weekend at their grandfather’s farm, cutting hay or doing other chores.” What a visual: both men naked to the waist, muscles bunching as they hefted square bales onto the truck.
My mouth went dry. I moistened it with another swallow of coffee.
I jerked back from a hand waving in my face. “Earth to Cassie!” Darlene scowled. “You can stay in dreamland if you’re conjuring up you and the hotties in a three-way.”
“Darlene!” I poked my head out of my cube, glancing right and left. “Keep your voice down.”
The neighboring cubes remained suspiciously quiet.
All of a sudden a chair squeaked and nails clacked against a keyboard in the next cube, so no such luck of nobody overhearing. Darlene bolted upright. “Boss alert! Catch you later.” She disappeared around the wall panel. Her head reappeared. “Don’t think this is over!”
Saved by the boss. Who would’ve thought?
Darlene sat down at the table with me during break, glanced over her shoulder, sighed, and took the opposite chair.
I followed her line of sight. Oh. Brenda from accounting. “She can see you staring, you know.”
Darlene swallowed a sip of what was likely her fortieth cup of coffee for the day. “She needs to know I’m interested.”
“Yes, but everyone else in here thinks you’re a stalker.” My conscience took a jab at me. And you don’t stare at your neighbors from the living room window? I told my conscience to shut up.
Only a handful of people being in the break room made her blatant appraisal all the more noticeable.
Darlene dropped her attention to the container she pulled out of her insulated lunch bag, but not for long. The moment Brenda got up, she shot to her feet.
Brenda strode across the floor toward the vending machines. Darlene snatched up her container and darted for the microwave next to the machine. She shoved the container in, hit a few buttons, and tried and failed to appear nonchalant. “Oh, hi, Brenda. How’s things down in accounting?”
“Okay. Busy. We’ve got two out on vacation this week, which makes more work for everybody else.” The object of Darlene’s desires fed quarters into the machine and walked away with a canned drink.
Darlene stared after her crush and jumped when the microwave buzzer sounded. She grabbed her dish, came back to the table, and collapsed onto the chair. “She spoke! She finally spoke!”
I wrested the container from Darlene’s hand and opened the lid. Liquified peanut butter and jelly oozed from between two slices of bread.
And I thought I had it bad.
At least being at work gave me time to sort my thoughts—thoughts that kept my head spinning. Andy fled after our date. That didn’t mean he changed his mind, did it?
“What’s on your mind?”
For all her bluster, Darlene really cared about me. “It’s just that Andy took me on a nearly perfect date. He’s smart, caring, a little on the quiet side, but he’s just plain awesome.”
“And that’s a problem why?” Darlene broke off a piece of bread and sopped up the gooey mess she’d made of her sandwich.
“It’s just that… One date and I think I’ve made up my mind. That is, if I haven’t scared poor Andy off for good.” First chance I got, I’d toss the offensive Christmas sweater into the attic. Maybe some moths would be hungry for dreadful.
“Really? One date and you’ve decided.” Darlene waved a hand. “Girl, I taught you better than that. As long as you’re dating, they’ll treat you like gold. Enjoy. Suck it up. Once you’re in a relationship, don’t expect romance. Besides, don’t you still have yet to date the brother?”
I tore my own vending machine sandwich into tiny pieces. “Yeah. Jack. What will I tell him? How will I face him?”
Darlene stilled my food-torture with a grip to my fingers. “First off, what did that sandwich ever do to you?”
I stared down at the mess I’d made.
“Secondly, you made a bargain. So keep an open mind, date the other brother, give him a fair chance, then decide—after a dozen or so more dates. Now, what say we toss the remains of these sandwiches in the trash and run next door to the fast food place for something greasy and unhealthy?”
Worked for me. My thoughts definitely weren’t healthy.
7
Only Jack’s truck kept my car company in the driveway. I swallowed hard and sauntered into the house slowly, head high. And tripped up the stairs. Thank goodness I was out of visual range from my neighbors’ front windows.
I reached the front door and turned around. Darn. I’d been so preoccupied that I’d forgotten to check the mail.
I traipsed out to the mailbox. Bill, bill, bill, flyer for a local oil change place, political ad, also known as litter box liner.
No sign of Jack or Andy all week.
Well, a deal was a deal. No hanging out between dates, and only a text message from Jack telling me he’d pick me up at six.
I missed them. Would things be this way if we managed to mess up our friendship with this little experiment?
God, I hoped not. For the hundredth time I questioned my sanity. What the hell did I think I was doing, dating two brothers? Especially when I’d already decided on one?
Longest week in history. I hadn’t thought Saturday would ever get here.
Heart heavy, I shuffled back into the house. Now to shower and get ready for my date with Jack—if he hadn’t reconsidered. Why didn’t I ask him where we were going so I’d know what to wear?
Well, Andy took me dining and dancing, which wasn’t Jack’s speed. No, he’d want something casual. I perused my full closet, determined not to repeat last weekend’s mistake.
Jeans. Wherever we went jeans would be appropriate, knowing Jack. I slid hangers over the closet bar. Nope, those were the baggy jeans I wore to cut grass. Those I hadn’t worn since college. Hmm… those weren’t too form-fitting.
Now for a shirt. I decided on a silk T-shirt, donned some of the perfume sample I’d used for my last date, and slid my feet into a pair of flats.
The mirror said I looked great. Why, then, did I feel so miserable? One date and I’d already made up my mind. He wasn’t the world’s best communicator, but Andy Getsinger made good boyfriend material. He had a decent job, looked out for his brother and grandfather, and he’d had his eye on me for a while.
If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have wasted precious time on Tim, or Tom, or whatever the hell his name was, the guy who’d taken me to McDonalds and asked for three hundred dollars to pay his child support.
Nor would I have given the time of day to the guy on the dating site who’d lied about every single key factor but his name. Thirty, hell! Not that I didn’t like older men, but lies I could do
without, and he was older than my father. If someone started out telling lies, they wouldn’t become more honest with time, in my experience.
Speaking of honesty… Jack. What was I going to do? I’d already decided which brother I wanted to continue dating, but how could I break the news without breaking a heart? I snorted. Me? A heartbreaker? How’d that happen?
Please, let my decision not tear the brothers apart.
My heart sank further when Jack showed up, right on time. Well, both brothers were punctual. “Though I’m sure Andy insists on opening your door, given your independent nature, I’m taking it that’s not high up on your list of things you look for.”
Yet, I’d not minded Andy opening doors for me on our date. Strange.
In skintight jeans and a buttoned-down chambray shirt, Jack was the epitome of bad boy. Those work-callused hand would feel rough on my breasts. And good. So very, very good. A quiver started between my legs. No! Bad me for having wicked thoughts about Jack when I’d all but boxed Andy up and taken him home.
“Is something wrong?” Jack peered down at me with knowing eyes.
I glanced down, unable to look at him. “Well… I…”
Jack placed a fingertip on my chin and lifted my head. No escaping his dark-eyed concern. “Give me the same chance you gave him is all I’m asking. Please?” Under his breath he muttered, “Serves me right for losing the coin toss.”
I gulped.
Well, giving Jack a chance only seemed fair. Words wouldn’t come. A ball of worry lodged in my belly.
“Yeah, that’s what I promised, isn’t it?” I managed to get out.
Points to the guy for not whining and squalling, “But you said…” like I’d heard before. Stop it! No good would come of comparing the man to others.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m warning you, though, the door opening is sort of my brother’s thing, not mine, and I won’t stoop to acting out of character to impress you. Besides, you can’t fool a lady who’s heard you belch.”
Yes, I had. And belched back.
But opening doors wasn’t Jack’s thing, and it hadn’t been mine until Andy.
To be honest, no man had ever opened doors for me except my father and my younger brother, and him under duress. Mom insisted on raising him to be “a true Southern gentleman”.
Now twenty-two and soon to graduate from college, he dated his childhood sweetheart. Little brother would likely beat me to the altar. Fine by me. Maybe. Sorta. Look, the whole white gown, wedding bell adventure wasn’t what I dreamed of. Rolling over in the night and having someone lift an arm for me to snuggle beneath? You betcha. If marriage happened, it happened. It wasn’t the end all, be all.
Especially if I wound up like too many women I’d known, who were married and miserable.
Of course, my brother’s romantic success and my failure could be because parental efforts toward ladylike behavior on my part fell short. Hell, of the two of us kids, I’d climbed the most trees. Climbed higher too. Bobby might be a gentleman, but also a bit of a wuss. Little Bro could never hold his own to belching pros like Jack.
In reply to Jack’s unasked question, I swung open the door to his truck and put my climbing skills to good use, grasping the “oh shit” handle and hauling myself into his jacked-up stump-jumper. A Cheetos bag rained orange dust on its way to the floor. Thank God for blue jeans, or I’d now have no secrets from Mr. and Mrs. Emerson across the street, taking in the sight from their porch swing.
Jack got into the driver’s seat and grinned. “Ten points for style, I’ll give you that.”
I eyed the cavernous truck cab. Plenty of room, but with gear shift, console, and more than a few empty Big Gulp cups, the place wasn’t conducive to a quickie. What was I thinking? Not five minutes ago I’d firmly had my mind made up on Andy.
Also, I never had sex on the first date. Ever! And never before Darlene had a chance to run a background check on my dates or I’d wouldn’t hear the end of the matter.
But did Jack teaching me to change the oil in my car count as a date? Or the time his buddy got sick and I filled in so his bowling team didn’t lose their place in the league? Hmm… Technically, this could be date three, or date three hundred, if you counted movie nights with him and Andy, backyard cookouts, and other times we’d been together.
Oh shit. I was in so much trouble. Last weekend I’d set my heart on sweet, thoughtful Andy. Now my resolve wavered. Bad boys had a lot going for them too.
“Where are we going?” Jack could have planned anything from a night of Jell-O shooters to mud wrestling. For certain there wouldn’t be a dull moment.
His grin would’ve turned most women to putty. I wasn’t most women. “When was the last time you went roller skatin’?”
Roller skating? Mr. Sex-On-Legs planned to spend Saturday night at the local skating rink with the teenagers? “It’s been a while,” I conceded. More like ten years. When had I gotten old enough to count things in decades, not months? However, I’d never back down from a challenge. Besides, we’d never get close enough on roller skates for my libido to start making demands.
I stared down at my hands and bid my painted nails goodbye. Hopefully, nails would be all I broke tonight.
Mom used to spend lots of time preaching about “lust rearing its ugly head” when it came to boys. She seemed to forget one little fact: A woman’s blood ran hot too. Whereas I’d learned to say “no thank you” to anyone who didn’t meet my approval or who assumed seven bucks worth of chain store burgers and fries gave them bedding rights, the Getsinger boys were making molasses flowing uphill look fast.
He could’ve at least held my hand. But no, that’d involve moving the stack of unopened mail off the console. How could anyone who ritually worshipped his truck every weekend in the front yard with a water hose neglect the inside?
“Just so you know, I’m not the kind of girl who’ll clean out your truck for you.” I crossed my arms over my chest since he hadn’t offered something better to do with my hands. If he slammed on brakes we’d both be caught in a paper avalanche.
Jack glanced my way long enough to wink. “Counting on it.”
I gave him some serious side-eye. His growly voice did things to me I wasn’t ready to admit.
He shrugged, a lazy smile creeping across his face. “See this?” He plopped his arm down on the mail. “I know every piece of paper in the stack. If I need it, I can find it.”
“What about up there?” I took a hand from my chest long enough to point at the visor over his head, so full of paper slips it wouldn’t sit flush with the ceiling.
“Receipts.” He took one hand off the wheel and flicked the papers, one at a time. “Gas, spark plugs for a ’77 Ford, a lift kit for a Chevy, and Tuesday’s lunch. I gotta turn ‘em in at work.”
“You know, they make these handy little folders with tabs and everything.” I mimicked sliding a receipt in. “Would make things easier.” I wouldn’t dare admit owning two of the darn things—courtesy of a super-organized mother—that I never used. I hugged my purse closer, hoping he couldn’t somehow see the mass of old receipts and slips of papers I used to make notes to myself throughout the day.
“I don’t do easy.” Jack’s low growl sent a shiver up my spine. “And I’ve watched you make twelve trips to your car and back ‘cause you didn’t want to ask for help hauling groceries in. You don’t do easy either.”
No, I didn’t. I’d never in a million years tell him I carried the Pringles in one chip at a time in hopes of seeing him or Andy.
“’Sides, organized is Andy’s thing. Only one per family allowed.” Jack patted the paper pile again.
“Organized and obsessive/compulsive aren’t the same things.” I should know. I’d sure watched Andy enough.
“Nope, not at all. Hey! Look at that. Old man Tucker finally painted that eyesore of a house.”
Obsessive compulsive brother versus attention deficit brother. Who’d win? Either way, I’d have my hands f
ull. Could be worse—at least they were nice obsessive compulsive ADD brothers. They could’ve turned out to be assholes. But then I wouldn’t be sitting in a truck going God knew where playing “einee-meenie-mynie-moe” with a set of hot twins.
I shouted, “Squirrel!”
“Where?” Jack whipped his head around.
I chuckled. Hard to believe he fell for such an old joke.
“What? They make a good gumbo.”
I did my best impression of a character from the movie we’d recently rewatched. “No, squirrel on a stick. I lurve squirrel on a stick.”
Jack laughed. “Ookay, squirrel on a stick it is. While we watch Stuart Little.”
Oh no! He called my bluff! I shook my head. “I really don’t want squirrel on a stick. You can’t make me eat squirrel on a stick.”
“No, but Monty did get all the best lines in that movie. I won’t make you eat roadkill unless it’s so fresh I got the license number off the truck that hit it.”
“Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” I wailed.
“Just teasing, City Girl.” Jack licked his lips.
Whoa! That tongue. On his lips. Leaving them glistening. Full lips, perfect for kissing—or other things. Fluttery feelings grew inside. God, the man was beautiful, all dark and dangerous.
There went my libido again, screaming, Me, me, me, me, me!
The problem with dating friends is that you sometimes had totally inappropriate conversations for a date, because, well, you’re friends, and you’ve had many inappropriate conversations before. Even though you call it a date, you’re in the truck with your friend and old habits died hard.
Why had I thought this a good idea?
The flash of those white teeth, the way Jack raised one eyebrow, his total joy in the moment. Yeah. The guy squeezed more living out of a single second than anyone I’d ever known.
But… What had we been talking about before I’d been distracted?
Oh. Squirrels. I shuddered. “I’m not eating squirrel, so don’t even try.” I stuck out my bottom lip.