by Kylie Scott
Huh. That’s what he thought.
“Therefore, I suggest this. You have to start getting out there and saying yes to people.”
“Wha—”
“And I have to start saying no,” he finished. “No more Mr. Nice Guy letting things slide, fitting in with what everyone wants and fuck what I want.”
No words came out. My throat was jammed shut.
“Valerie said you’d planned two weeks off work. You stay here for that time, work with me on this project. Help us out with ideas on design and decoration and such-like.” He looked about the room. “In return, I’ll teach you about building. So when you go back to Seattle and eventually buy your property you’ll know the basics. During that time, we’ll put each other to the test, see if we can’t push each other out of our comfort zones. What do you say?”
“What, so we take turns daring each other to say yes or no?”
“Yeah, basically.”
Holy shit, he was serious. As serious as serious could get. Could I do that? Be that brave? Everything inside me squirmed, saying no, probably not. After all, I’d be effectively putting myself into his hands, but then, he’d also be putting himself into mine. I could easily get it wrong and hurt him. Fuck up his life. God knows I’d failed before. No way was believing in me a safe bet for him.
“What happens if we can’t break our learned behavior and step out of our comfort zones?”
He put his hands on his waist, lips pressed tight together. “Unending shame. Shit like that. I don’t know, we’ll make it up as we go along.”
The man made me curious, that much was for sure. About him, the things we could do together, his life here, everything. Deep, deep down in the subcockles of my soul, I’d regret it if I went home too soon and failed to figure out what might be happening between us. If anything was happening between us. Who the fuck knew?
“Alex,” he said. “Come on. Try.”
Shit.
“If this whole psychic-stripper ordeal has shown me anything, it’s that we’ve both got stuff that needs sorting. So let’s do that,” he said. “If it doesn’t work, in a week and a half you go your way and I’ll go mine. We’ll be friends at a distance again.”
I nodded, taking the leap. “All right. I’ll stay on at the hotel for a while longer. See how it goes.”
For some stupid reason, the relief on his face nearly brought me to tears. Probably all of the dust in the room.
“Clean slate. We’re starting over.” Carefully, he brushed the dust from my face, gently tracing his fingertips over my forehead and cheeks, the line of my nose. “Agreed, friend?”
I could run. I could hide. Do the usual. Stick to my bad habits. Or I could stay and try to break down some more walls. Feel more of the rush of excitement and satisfaction.
“Okay, friend,” I said. “Agreed.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Message sent five weeks ago:
ME:
Hi Eric,
It kind of amazes me every time you talk about all of your friends. There’s so many of them! I’ve really just always only had Val. We’ve been best friends for about as long as I can remember. I guess I’m a keep your circle small kind of person. Relationships wise, I’ve dated a fair amount, but there haven’t been many I’d describe as long term. Maybe I’m just picky. I don’t know. What about you?
A xx
Message received:
Alex,
Nothing wrong with being picky. I pretty much still live in the same area I grew up, knowing most people is just the norm. I either went to school with them or met them somewhere else along the way. But I love living in CdA, can’t imagine being anywhere else. One major relationship with a girl I was on and off with during high school and then for quite a while after. I was willing to settle down, but she wasn’t. Hell, we probably were too young. She was best friends with Nell so part of our group for a long time. Last I heard, she was living down in the south-west somewhere. That’s the only relationship I’d say got really serious.
xx
People scared me and relationships terrified me. That was the truth. Also, no was way better than yes. Yes sucked.
Despite these facts, for hours my ass remained stuck to a barstool as promised. Joe had asked me to say yes to a night of hanging out at the Dive Bar while he worked. Confront my whole dislike of crowds, public places, and socializing in general. The first step in our agreement. I’d yet to decide what act of no-ness Joe would be required to do in return. I needed more information to move carefully but with effect.
“For you.” Eric set a small plate down on the bar in front of me, throwing in a fancy hand flourish, like a magician’s assistant.
“What are these?” I asked, eyeing Nell’s latest offering.
“Crumbed goat’s balls.”
I just looked at him.
“Crumbed goat’s cheese balls.” He winced. Drama skills–wise, the man wouldn’t be up for an Oscar anytime soon. “My bad. Forgot to throw in the cheese there in the middle.”
“Funny,” I said flatly, popping one of the warm entrées into my mouth. Creamy amazing mind-blowing goodness. “Wow. Yum.”
A hand neared the plate, fingers making to grab one of my goodies. No way. I gave it a solid slap. “Mine.”
“Sharing is caring,” said Eric, rubbing the back of his hand.
“Well, there’s your problem right there.”
“Harsh.”
I popped another cheese ball into my mouth. Food as art. Ecstasy.
Bartender Eric got busy doing things with bottles and glasses. Down at the other end of the bar, Joe busily filled an order for Rosie, one of the waitresses. Nice woman. She’d apparently been hitched for a few years and showed me pictures of her kids earlier. They were cute. They had the same curly hair and gorgeous dark-colored skin as their mother. I’d never given babies much thought. Considering the lack of serious relationships in my past, it wasn’t really an issue. Eventually the hormones would probably start screaming. I’d decide then whether to ignore them or not. Single parenthood, adoption, getting a kitten from the Humane Society. I had options.
By nine o’clock, the dinner rush at the Dive Bar was over. Work had slowed down. I’d chatted with Lydia for a while. Hung out for a bit with Nell. I’d people-watched, head-bopping to the music. Mostly it was alternative and rock-and-roll. The odd bit of pop. No epic love songs, thank God. By midnight, customers were getting thin on the floor.
“You’re looking better,” Eric said.
“I’m feeling better.”
“Heading back to Seattle soon?” He poured sugar and lemon juice into a cocktail shaker. A measure of whisky. “Guess you got work to get back to.”
“Actually, I’m on a couple of weeks’ break.”
Like I’d told Joe, I could still see what had drawn me to Eric’s picture on the website. But I could no longer feel the magic. Today he matched a chambray button-down with black trousers and boots. All of it very nice and yet I remained unaffected. Attraction was a funny thing. What did or didn’t draw you to a person. I’d thought the neat, hipster-styling Calvin Klein underwear model was my type. How deluded I was. Joe in his black boots, worn blue jeans, and Dive Bar tee now drew my gaze.
Coeur d’Alene was giving me quite the education in my own stupidity.
Next, Eric added ice, put the silver cap on the cocktail shaker, and shook it all up. He strained the mixture into a glass and garnished it with a slice of lemon and a cherry before placing it in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Whisky sour.”
I took a sip. “Nice. Thank you.”
“Lydia’s got a sweet tooth and Nell’s a straight beer girl. But you, you’re different.”
The way he said it, along with the not so friendly look in his eyes, let me know it wasn’t a compliment.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, my chin rising.
“Don’t drag it out, Alex. Just go.”
I blinked,
caught off guard.
“You seem all right,” he said. “This isn’t personal. But you need to go.”
“I do?”
“Whatever you think of Joe lying, pretending to be me, he’s a good person. Obviously he likes you and I don’t want him getting hurt.” With a small, false smile, he rubbed his hands together. “Okay?”
Christ. “You still think I’m playing games with him. Making him pay penance.”
One shoulder lifted. The same half shrug his brother did.
“I’m not,” I said. “I like your brother. We’re friends. Anything beyond that is none of your business.”
“Bullshit.” Eric leaned across the bar, getting all up in my space. And good God, the way he started looking down his nose at me. Intimidation-wise, his good looks still kind of worked. My shoulders rounded, making me small, making me feel like crap for no goddamn good reason. This was why I hated going out among people. People.
“No,” I said, my voice thinning out despite my best efforts. “It’s not.”
“Yeah. It is,” he stated, seeming a little bored.
“How do you figure?”
“Because you’re into me.”
A pause.
“What?”
“It was my picture on the dating site. I’m the reason you came out here.” His hands moved to his slim hips. “A few years back, I might have fucked around with you anyway. Not cared that it would hurt Joe. But we’ve all got to grow up sometime, right?”
Both my eyes and mouth were wide open. Maybe even perfect circles, such was my surprise. “Just to check: This is you grown up now?”
“My brother’s a better man than I’ll ever be. And I’m not just going to stand around, let you mess with him,” the idiot declared. “You know he’s worked with our dad, doing the carpentry. Keeping the old man happy all these years with his dreams of Collins and Sons when I turned Dad down. When I needed money to buy into the bar, Joe lent it to me. He hasn’t talked interest or pressured me to pay it back even once in three years. And from the moment I told him about accidentally knocking up Nell, he was there for me. He’s been nothing but supportive. There’ve been plenty of times when women wanted me and I played that up. Made sure he knew he came second. But those days are over. That bullshit behavior is over. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So, you’re cute in a weird, geeky kind of way, but … I’m not interested,” he declared, winding up his speech. “My brother’s a good man and he deserves the best. Go home, Alex.”
I had nothing.
Luckily, Eric didn’t require a response. He wiped his hands on a cloth and wandered off into the restaurant, leaving me to sip the whisky sour and stew over his words. I couldn’t dismiss them completely, as nice as it would have been.
“Everything okay?” The golden boy leaned across the bar. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making it much easier to see his face. I liked that. A lot. Sweet baby Jesus, I was liking a whole lot of things about him lately. And sitting here slowly getting tipsy while watching him move about the bar with such efficiency and ease wasn’t helping to dull my libido any.
“Ah, yes.” I resettled in my seat. “I’m drinking a whisky sour.”
“How’s that working for you?”
I took another sip. “Not bad.”
“I’ve been watching you,” he confided.
“You have?”
“Yep. You’ve talked to at least five real live breathing people that I’ve seen. Face-to-face, even. Not on the Internet. Good work.”
“Oh. One guy was just apologizing because he nearly spilled his drink on me.”
“Nope,” said Joe. “Dude was trying to hit on you. Your elbow sort of got in the way and then I guess he lost courage. Ice hitting your crotch will do that to a man.”
“Really?” My brows rose. “My human interaction radar must be on the fritz.”
“Sitting there in your tight black jeans and sweater, looking hot.” He grinned. “Thinking no one would notice.”
“You think I look hot?”
Joe studied me in silence. “Friends aren’t allowed to think friends look good?”
“Hmm. I guess that doesn’t break pal privilege.” I smiled. “You’ve got a customer.”
With a rap of his knuckles against the bar he wandered off to serve the latest comer. When he bent over to get a drink out of the fridges under the bar, the denim of his jeans outlined his ass in a very nice way. The backs of his thighs too. And when he reached up for a bottle of liquor off the top shelf the sleeve of his Dive Bar tee stretched around his … whatever all those muscles were called at the top of the arms just below the shoulder. Shit, what was the word? I knew it, I did. Great. Now his attractiveness was making me stupid. Stupider. Whatever.
Also, I had a feeling these drinks were encouraging me to take pal privilege too far. Ah, alcohol. The ultimate in social lubrication leading to suspect decisions. Especially when it came to members of the opposite sex.
He looked my way as he turned back around, giving me a quick smile. Next, a beautiful brunette with long flowing locks approached him. She set her hands atop the bar, gave him an award-winning smile, and leaned forward. As various women were wont to do. Words were exchanged and Joe poured her a craft beer from a tap. Then he took her money and put it into the till, gave her a nod. Transaction done. The beautiful brunette returned to her table of friends. Much flipping of hair ensued.
Meanwhile, Joe pulled down another bottle, mixing up a new drink. The ink on his arms danced when he shook up the concoction in the cocktail shaker. Cool. Then he poured it into a glass, garnishing it with a slice of lemon and a cherry.
“Ninth,” I said when he returned to my end of the bar, placing a fresh whisky sour in front of me to replace the now empty glass.
“Ninth, what?”
“That’s the ninth set of breasts you’ve been presented with since I’ve been here. And thank you for the drink.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious.” I stood, setting my hands on the bar and leaning forward. “You know they intentionally do this. How could you possibly miss it? Of course with me, you have to imagine I’m wearing a low-cut blouse, and that I have something to fill it.”
His gaze jumped from my chest to my face. “Do that one more time for me, Alex.”
“Haha.” Demonstration completed, I sat back on the stool and consumed a healthy mouthful of my drink. I’d reached the fun stage of alcohol consumption. You know, when your body feels a little loose and sadly, so does your tongue.
“Thank you for calling me hot,” I said. Not meeting his eyes, because there was just no need to get all emotional.
“Thank you for noticing the women hitting on me.”
“Nine pairs of breasts versus one guy who wound up with ice on his crotch. Not much of a competition.” I popped the cherry into my mouth and started chewing. Sugary goodness. “I’d understand if you wanted to disappear with one of them. Or a set of them.”
Not that I’d like it.
He stopped, stared. “I’m a guy so it’s kind of hard to tune out breasts when they’re right there in front of me,” he said. “But if you think any other woman here tonight has my attention besides you, you’re an idiot. We’re hanging out together. That was the agreement.”
I blinked.
“Okay?”
“Relax, Joe. It’s not like I was jealous or something.” And I blinked again, my suddenly leaden tongue going nowhere. He did not mean that the way I thought (just for a moment) he meant it. But still. Whoa. His smile, holy shit. White teeth, pink lips, and golden beard. It nearly knocked me off my seat. There was definitely wobbling.
“Are you getting tipsy?” he asked.
“No.” I laughed. “I’m just slightly happily inebriated. Totally different.”
“Right.”
“I won’t get sloppy. Promise.”
“You can do what you like. It’s good to see you relax.” He leaned
in closer. “Between you and me, you can be a little high strung sometimes.”
“Which is completely cool and super-desirable, thank you very much.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” The laughter in his eyes was beatific. Delightful. Much more of this and I’d write the guy a sonnet or something, sing him a love song. “I was just about to say that.”
“Just as well.” I fluffed up my hair. “I wouldn’t want to have to get rough with you.”
“Oh, I think I could handle you getting rough with me,” he said with a sexy-ass smile.
For one long loaded moment, we just looked at each other. Neither of us said anything, but mostly I was just confused. Then without another word he walked away to chat with Eric.
Motherfucker.
What was that? No, seriously. I hadn’t even begun to drink enough alcohol to deal with this sort of shit. The two brothers talked about whatever they had to talk about, then he turned back to me, rubbing his big hands together.
“We’re good to go,” he said. “Unless you wanted to stay a little longer?”
“No, no. Fine with me.”
Mind reeling, I climbed down off the stool and gathered my things. We waved goodbye to Lydia and Nell and so on as we wound our way through the maze of tables toward the door. Outside, the crescent moon was high, the stars bright and the air cold.
“Have an okay night?” he asked as we walked toward his truck.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He unlocked the passenger-side door and held it open for me.
“Thank you.” I climbed inside, the seat chilling my ass despite the layer of material supplied care of my pants.
“You’re welcome.”
In no time at all, we were cruising through the dark quiet streets of Coeur d’Alene, heading toward the hotel. The heat blasted, warming my hands and face. Which reminded me … “Nell said her place still had no heat.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s okay. I’ll crash on the lounge at home. Think I’ve pushed your hospitality far enough.”