Saying Yes

by Edie Sommers

  Jack focused on the road and mumbled.

  “What?” I glared.

  “Mumblemumble.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Remember the cookout at Grandpa’s?”

  “Um… Yeah. The one where you broke a watermelon over Andy’s head. How could I forget?” Then there was the potato salad fight. I’d picked onion bits out of my cleavage all the way home.

  Muscles in Jack’s jaw jumped. “You ate squirrel. Had seconds too, if I recall.”

  What the…? My stomach rolled. “Squirrel! You fed me squirrel?” Really? He wasn’t kidding?

  Jack stopped at a red light and held up his hands to ward off the blows I’d smack him with if the mountain of papers on the console would let me reach. “Not me! Grandpa.”

  Argument over. I loved the old guy. If Grandpa Getsinger wanted to feed me squirrel, by God, I’d eat squirrel and ask for more. Um… come to think of it, I had.

  Truth be told, it hadn’t been bad. Maybe squeamish “city girls” missed out on some good things. I’d never correct him about my being a city girl. Where I’d grown up could scarcely be called a town. Still, I scowled and narrowed my eyes. “What else should I have known about that you didn’t tell me?”

  “That Grandpa says if he was forty years younger, you’d be his.”

  “What? Grandpa? Oh my God. Now I’ll get nervous every time I’m around him.” I buried my face in my hands. This couldn’t be happening. The grandfather of the guys I was dating? No!

  “Hey! You asked. But you know, he does have a point, what with me and Andy being over forty years younger and thinkin’ the same thoughts. But I’m glad you’re not into Grandpa. It’d be ten kinds of wrong if you wound up as my grandmother.”

  “What!” Oh the horrors! Someone please pass the brain bleach.

  “You asked!” he reminded me.

  Yes, I had. And wished I hadn’t. Two weeks ago I’d been Little Miss Single. Now I had two brothers and their grandfather interested. There had to be a Southern joke in there somewhere.

  I lifted my head.

  A dimple formed in Jack’s cheek when he smiled. “Grandpa says you’ll be real purdy when your hair goes gray.”

  Obstacles or not, I whapped him.

  Turning into the skating rink parking lot might have saved his life. He turned off the truck and handed me a pair of socks. Oh. Great. I’d forgotten I’d need a pair.

  Jack didn’t help me down from the truck or extend his arm the way Andy had. I grabbed it anyway when three teenaged girls started making goo-goo eyes and giggling behind their hands. We were on a date, damn it, even if we had acted like cousins on the way over. Yes, I know. Southern joke.

  Andy had put a lot of thought into our first date and brought along the expected jitters. Jack took me skating and treated me no differently from when I was just a warm body with a pulse to keep his bowling team in the league. It would take one hell of a lot for him to come close to my date with Andy. There I went, comparing again. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Give the guy a chance. Yes, I could do that. If I didn’t kill him first.

  My date didn’t reply when the attendant asked what size skate I needed, simply tossed his head in my direction. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Oh, points to him for not letting this guy treat me like a second-class citizen. “Eight.” I plunked my flats on the counter in exchange for four wheels for each foot—that might kill me before I got the chance to kill Jack for any pranks he’d yet to pull.

  Squirrel. Blech.

  “Thirteen.” Jack dropped his boots beside my shoes. They hit the counter with a thud.

  Thirteen? Every bawdy joke I’d ever heard about comparing the size of a man’s feet to the size of his equipment replayed through my head. Of course, well-read woman that I was (I faithfully devoured every issue of Cosmo, plus People and Time, thank you very much), I knew there was no truth to the rumors. However, recent studies suggested a correlation with the size of the index finger. I glanced at the fingers Jack drummed against the countertop.

  Hallelujah, would you look at those hands? I wanted to happy dance around the room! Lucky girl here, lucky girl! Oh, wait. I didn’t have sex on the first date, and I didn’t have sex with guys who might wind up being my brother-in-law. Most importantly, I didn’t have sex with guys in danger of being shoved headfirst into the friend zone because I was into his brother.

  Side by side we sat on a bench, pulling on our skate boots, Jack lacing his like he did this every day. He finished and waited for me. The scent of pizza and Jack’s cologne teased my nose and provided a distraction from the patented aroma found in every skating rink I’d ever been in but had never been able to identify. Somewhere a company must manufacture “Skating Rink in a Can” for such places. Come to think of it, they probably also made, “Hospital in a Can”, “Library in a Can”, and “Weird New-Age, Crystal-Selling Store in a Can,” too.

  The frayed laces on my skates didn’t bode well for how my night might go. I was so going to make a fool of myself. Why hadn’t I said no when Jack told me where we were going? It’d been too long since the last time I skated, and I hadn’t been much good at it then, coordination not really being my strong suit.

  He held out his hand and I took his fingers in mine. Whereas Andy’s hands were soft, Jack’s were rough, permanently stained, with a touch of black under the nails. A mechanic. He made his living with his hands, and Andy, bizarrely enough, used his brain and his mouth to sell cars.

  While the roughness was different, it wasn’t bad. Once again I had a quick flash of what those rough hands might feel like on my breasts, and shook my head.

  “You okay?” Jack asked.

  “We who are about to die salute you,” I said, only half joking. Bad enough losing my footing while sock skating in the privacy of my own living room. Here? With over fifty people watching?

  Sometimes I questioned my life choices.

  Hand in hand we made our way the few shorts steps to the rink, Jack skating, me tippy toeing and pulling myself along on the waist-high concrete wall.

  How could the man be so at ease? Kids and teens flew by us, close enough to let me feel the breeze. The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything as I pushed forward and grabbed his arm to keep from falling.

  I growled, “You bring your dates here to let them look like idiots?” That was it. Andy won!

  Pain flashed through Jack’s expressive brown eyes and his smile fell. “Um, no. I just know you like to have fun, and I’ve always had fun here.” Silently he moved into position, skating backwards and leading me. He placed his hands on my hips, not in a suggestive manner, but in a way that allowed him to guide my movements.

  Jack became as serious as I’d ever seen him. “I haven’t brought anyone skating, not in a long, long time. I worked here in high school, but I never got to just come and skate. Thought it might be about time. We can leave if you want to.”

  How could my heart not melt? When I glanced up, we’d already gone a half-circuit around the rink. I could do this—for Jack.

  “No, skating is fine.” I leaned in, allowing him to lead me, trusting him to keep me safe.

  And I did trust him. He made me feel safe yet scared at the same time. He wouldn’t let me fall, wouldn’t let me get hurt, but he could break my heart so easily.

  He held me lightly, so strong and secure, until my fear drifted away and I felt comfortable in his arms.

  Maybe too comfortable.

  Jack stretched his legs out in front of the bench where we sat, nodding toward the concession stand. “One night, that drink machine right over there went on the blink. Sprayed us all. Took me a week’s worth of showers before I stopped smelling like orange soda.”

  Jack? Covered with soda syrup? Syrup I’d love to lick off. Oh shit. My smile fled and I glanced away. No thinking of licking Jack. Bad, Cassie! I’d run right into a wall the next time we took to the floor with such images in my head.


  “Want another slice of pizza?” Jack wiped his lips, kind enough not to mention my sudden turn of mood. Yes, the warmth in his eyes said he understood, that no matter what thoughts careened around my brain, he’d be okay with them.

  The lights flickered.

  “Uh-oh, that’s our cue. Shutdown in five minutes.” Jack wolfed down his pizza, stood, and held out his hand. Sweet Home Alabama played over the speakers. “I know you like classic rock,” he said. “I might have slipped the DJ, um… a suggestion.” For the first time since knowing him, Jack wouldn’t meet my eyes, suddenly intent on the floor.

  Jack and Andy had both picked a song for me. Nothing sweet and romantic, but oh so serious Andy chose one to be playful, and Jack chose one from a genre I liked. They’d both put thought into the gesture.

  Awwww.

  Only two people remained on the rink, a thirty-ish couple too engrossed in each other to notice a little thing like being run off the premises. Twenty or so people swarmed the shoe counter, and in the corner, mothers tied their kids’ tennis shoes.

  Though the song came with a heavy beat, Jack and I skated slowly, face to face, dancing more than skating. I’d forevermore think of this as “our song.” The music ended and the DJ said, “Good night, folks. Come see us again here at Skate-Away.”

  The evening couldn’t be over already. I’d had fun. With Jack. Now the night I’d promised him was ending.

  He’d kept up a running banter the whole evening but stayed quiet on the way home. Was he relieved the night came to an end?

  Fire shot through my feet and straight up my leg the moment I stepped out of the truck. “Ow!” I hopped from one sore foot to the other, which didn’t help at all.

  Jack was by my side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

  “Blisters. I’m not quite used to skating.” Running three times a week didn’t keep my leg muscles from screaming at the unexpected exercise.

  “Got some Epson salts? A good soak will do you good.”

  Was that an offer? The world spun. Jack scooped me up in his arms and carried me to my door, checking about six items off my perfect fantasy list.

  Now if only I weren’t in too much pain to think of sexy times.

  He sat me down beside my door. “Want me to come inside and check the closets for the boogie man?” His eyes twinkled in the porch light’s glow.

  This was it. I could invite him in and really mean bed and breakfast. Hope he liked scrambled eggs and toast—my specialties. Usually I picked up a bagel on my way to work.

  He stepped away, assessing me with his gaze. Then his mouth was on mine, his arms around me, lifting me. No gentle kisser, he plundered. Tongue to tongue, he dared me to keep up.

  Keep up I did. Somehow I wound up wrapped around him, arms and legs. Must’ve been starfish in the family tree somewhere. Hardness pressed against my crotch, every bit as large as his fingers suggested.

  I broke the kiss and stepped back. How embarrassing. My face flamed clear down to my toes.

  Jack laughed and brushed his lips across mine. “You’re beautiful when you suddenly remember you forgot everything your mama taught you about playing hard to get.” Then he was gone, leaving me with the female equivalent of the hard on from Hell.

  But wait. You’re beautiful? Holy hell. Now I stepped back to square one and the big question: Andy or Jack?

  8

  Darlene plopped down next to me at the break room table. “Spill.”

  I stared into my half-full cup. “I refuse to waste good coffee.”

  She managed a nearly-audible eyeroll. “You know what I mean. I saw you walking funny when you got to work this morning. Did you do the nasty all flipping weekend?” She took a sip of her vending machine coffee. “Not that I’m particularly interested in the mating habits of heterosexuals, mind you.”

  Her attention wavered between me and a lone figure two tables away. Sometimes I wished she’d go ahead and ask Brenda out so if she got shot down we could handle the aftermath with chocolate and sappy movies, or actually get a sex life of her own so she could stop prying into mine—or at least we could compare notes.

  As Darlene’s bestie, I supposed I should try to befriend the object of her affections, find out relevant information, like, was she lesbian. If not, possibly hetero-flexible?

  Working for a pharma company meant no additional background checks needed into criminal records, and our regular pee-in-a-cup tests ruled out drug use. We’d been thoroughly researched before being hired, and on a regular basis thereafter.

  Darlene cleared her throat. “I’m wait-ing,” she sing-songed.

  “Jack took me skating.”

  “What about after?”

  “After what?”

  “You know, the moaning, the ‘Oh, God!’ the ‘more, more, more, more!’”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, I had sex. Happy?”

  “Oh my God! Really? What’s that like? I’ve forgotten. I want particulars. How is he in bed?” A dreamy smile came over her face. “I bet Jack’s a demon in the sack. Andy probably is too. You know what they say about the quiet ones. I want every detail, a play by play.” She sat her coffee down and propped her head on her arm. “Don’t leave out any details, no matter how small. I bet Jack’s into whips and chains and shit.”

  I glared at her. “Whips and chains?” But oh, the mental images I had. Jack, all dressed in black leather… Nope, thoughts not suitable for work. “I don’t know what either of them is like in bed.” Darn it. I sighed.

  “But… but… you said you had sex!” Did she have to talk so loud?

  “Turn down the volume, why don’t you?” I hissed, eying nearby tables. “I did have sex, but unfortunately, he’d gone home by then.”

  “Eww… Too much information, girlfriend.” Darlene wrinkled her face. “He didn’t stay the night?”

  “No. Both kissed me and pretty much ran. Leaving me alone with toys and an active imagination.” What images I’d had. Jack. Andy. Both of them.

  Oh, geez. Where were my morals?

  “The guys spent Sunday at their grandpa’s farm.” Though Jack had texted me and told me he had a good time Saturday night.

  Darlene let out a low whistle and held out a hand.

  I glowered, and then reached into my lunch bag and removed a container of homemade cookies. She’d figured out long ago that I responded to frustration by baking.

  Two more batches of cookies and a lemon pie waited at home.

  She helped herself to one of my cookies. “Damn. They must really like you. You’re an amazing cook.”

  “Or they think I’m gross.” I huffed bangs out of my eyes. The errant strands laughed and obscured my vision again. The better not to see Darlene’s smirk.

  “Oh, they like you all right.” She took a bite of chocolate chip goodness and took her time chewing.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You should see what arrived at your desk right before I came down here.”

  I wasted good coffee and hauled ass back to my cubicle.

  One dozen roses obscured the single spot on my desk not occupied by papers, a computer, and an overflowing “In” basket. A foil wrapped box sat in my chair. I didn’t need to read the card. Andy sent the lovely flowers. He’d broken tradition from the normal red, white, or pink. Lavender. He’d sent me lavender flowers. My favorite color. How’d he know?

  “Are you gonna open that.” Darlene pointed to the box in the chair. From Jack. Dare I open a gift from him in public? Of course, “public” amounted to a woman who’d once discussed the virtues of various vibrators with me, so what the hell.

  I lifted the lid and pulled out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs and a can of whipped cream. Oh my God! He didn’t! Darlene and I both laughed. Andy: sweet and romantic, Jack: the one Mama warned me about. They’d both played on their best qualities.

  “Girl, you are in so much trouble. See you at lunch.” Darlene darted down the hall. Brenda stepping off the elevator probably had nothing to do wi
th her rushing back to her cube near the accounting department. Nothing at all.

  The box slipped from my hand. Something tinkled to the floor. I knelt under the desk and retrieved a tiny roller-skate key ring and a card that said, “We’ll always have Skate-Away.” Yes, we would.

  Andy’s card bore only his name and a scribbled drawing of two people dancing. Their language might be different, but the messages were the same.

  If I died now the mortician would never get the smile off my face.

  The rest of the day went by in a blur, happiness keeping the paper-pushing blues at bay. For entirely too long I’d been here, waiting for my boss to fulfill promises of promotion. For this menial data entry job, I’d endured four years of college.

  Repeatedly glancing at the flowers and the empty box Jack had sent lifted my spirits. I’d locked his gifts safely away in the car at lunchtime.

  Bright spots in an otherwise dull workday.

  Just thinking of them made me smile.

  Even when the boss walked by. Was that envy on her face?

  “Would you mind only putting two items into each bag?” I asked the teenaged boy bagging groceries at the local market.

  He arched an eyebrow but did as told.

  I drove home humming the song Andy had played in the car for me on our date, hearing Metallica’s song played on a violin. Then Sweet Home Alabama. Thinking about the guys made short work of my evening commute.

  Andy’s car and Jack’s truck sat in the driveway.

  I made a big production out of hauling each bag into the house individually and made two trips to the mailbox: the first time to get mail, the second to put a quickly-scrawled letter to my auntie, who I could phone or e-mail just as well.

  No sign of Jack or Andy.

  My heart fell. I missed them so badly.

  I changed clothes, fed Magoo, popped in my earbuds, and went for a run. Running always cleared my head: my even footfalls, breathing in, breathing out. For a few minutes work disappeared from my mind, as did the choice I needed to make. I simply thought of the guys, our friendship, the many hours we’d spent together.