by Allie York
I left with Rae and Nick to go get George from Nick’s parents and head to their place for the evening. I gave Beck and Briggs a quick farewell that Beck returned with a slightly groping hug. His touch made my skin crawl.
Briggs shook my hand. “Hopefully next time we can talk more books. I bet you could recommend a book or two,” He didn’t let go of my hand until Rae linked her arm with mine.
“I’m sure I can find something for you to read. Next time, I’ll be more prepared.” As bad as I wanted him to be, he wasn’t B. Briggs was a handsome architect and an avid reader with eyes I could get lost in. All just a very bold coincidence. A bold coincidence I could run with. And run with it I did. I spent the better part of the evening searching social media for Briggs Layton. Unfortunately, I came up empty-handed, and it was a huge bummer. I was hoping he would at least have a Facebook page for me to stare at until the next time I figured out how to see him.
Chapter Ten
Briggs
We had barely gotten into the car when Beck said the first thing that made me want to hit him, but I knew better than to let him know I wanted her, needed her. “So Harriet is hot as hell. She had the hippie thing down to a fucking art. I bet she is crazy wild in bed.” I shrugged, clearing my throat. “You don’t think she’s hot? She’s all fiery and comfortable with her body. Hippie chicks are fun to ride.” The desire to beat the shit out of Beck was not a new one, but it had never been as strong as it was in that moment. If he thought he was going to touch her, my brother was sorely mistaken. I was borderline rude at lunch, just staring and not engaging her, but Beck was my reason for that. Any hint of interest from me would make him crazy. Unfortunately for me, I needed the woman like I needed air.
“Yeah, she’s pretty.” I calmed my pulse and my anger. It wasn’t worth getting worked up. I had no claim to her but was possessive as hell, like Harriet would ever give me the time of day. Although she did seem to want to talk to me and her cheeks turned pink when I caught her looking at me. God, it was sexy. Beck wasn’t worth my anger. He kept on with his master plan of how he was going to seduce Harriet. If I had said a word, even breathed that I wanted her, Beck would have amped it up. My brother would have thrown everything he had at her. He did it with Penny and called her ugly every chance he got. Penny slept with him, of course, but Penny was fucking everyone but me. He told me after she left me, because leave it to Beck to kick his brother while he’s down. Typical Beck.
Halfway home, it hit me that Harriet would recognize me on the bus. It was too coincidental for her to not piece it together. She would know as soon as she saw me. Part of me thought it wouldn’t be so bad. It would put it out there, mean that she spoke to me, and we would share a laugh. Her reaction when Nick brought me up, or the mystery guy up, was to blush and play innocent, so she wasn’t freaked out. Harriet even made a point to say it wasn’t a stalker. I could play the newspaper reading card. Then we could continue our game. It was like a game, and it was kind of fun. Or I could keep paying Sal off; not like I had better things to spend money on.
It was the next day when he came from his run, that I knew Beck was going to be a huge obstacle for me. Granted, I was the bigger obstacle, but he wasn’t helping. I was stretched out on the basement couch, enjoying my book when he burst through the door. “That hippie chick lives in Parnell Towers.” I assumed so based on where Harriet got on the bus, but she could have lived in a house behind them too. His stare forced me to look up from my reading. The asshole always had to be center of attention. “I talked to her. She was sitting on the stoop reading and drinking some green shit. Figured she’d have a garden or something, but whatever. I planted those hard to get seeds. She’ll be begging me to fuck her soon enough, they always do.” He laughed, tossing his clothes in the hamper and walking down the hall butt naked. Beck stripped his shirt off in front of me as often as he could, reminding me how damaged I was compared to him. Maybe I needed to bulk up a little. No, I really had no desire to look more like him than I already did, but not being scarred all to hell would have been nice. Once he was singing in the shower, I slipped out to take a walk. I put Murphy on the leash and we strolled the sidewalk opposite Parnell Towers. Sure enough, my girl was there, sitting on the stoop and drinking green tea. She had the brown sweater pulled tight around her and a book in her hands. I would have to fall for a beautiful woman, wouldn’t I? She was friendly at lunch, maybe even a little more than friendly, but if Harriet knew how broken I was underneath, she wouldn’t have been. If she knew how ugly I was under my clothes, all the chemistry would have fizzled out before it started. I had officially crossed the line into stalking territory, but I didn’t linger. Lingering would have made it grounds for arrest. I just watched for a moment and turned toward the park to let Murphy have some time off the lead. Walking away from watching her was damn hard.
Chapter Eleven
Harriet
I spent the night with Rea, staying up late and watching movies while I told her about B and let her read the notebook. She gave me some ideas for a response—some were serious, but most weren’t. Actually, most involved offering him sexual favors in exchange for his identity. If I agree to a quickie in the back of the bus, will you tell me who you are? Rae was hell-bent on getting me a man, or just a friend with benefits. My best friend just wanted to share the love she and Nick had, but nothing like that was in the cards for me. I had relationships; most didn’t involve sex, and none made me think I had been in love. That was supposed to happen at least once before twenty-five, right? Not to mention that everyone in my life left me. My father, boyfriends, my sister, and finally my mother. No one stuck around for Harriet, so a casual partner was all I would ever get, but a friend with benefits sounded good.
I decided to make my way home on foot the next day. It was about three miles, but I had all day and could stop into shops on the way. The first stop I made was for a latte. I sipped it slowly on the patio, flipping through the notebook.
Dear B,
Thank you for the compliment. Flattery will get you everywhere with me. It’s also nice to know that you don’t have a prostitution habit, those are rather tacky. To answer another question of yours, my skin tone is just that, not a tan. My mother was Native American, so I inherited her lovely complexion. Lucky for me that’s all I inherited. As far as my wardrobe is concerned, clients or customers never see me so what I wear is a moot point. Now that I have answered several questions, it’s my turn. Why won’t you let me know who you are? Do you have an unfortunate face? No one on the bus has been horribly disfigured, so that can’t be it. Are you a serial killer or in hiding from the mob? Witness protection maybe?
Sincerely,
H
I spent the rest of my time at the coffee shop doodling a little picture on the next page, coloring in swirls and flowers. I kept thinking of Briggs from the night before. He wasn’t B, but was handsome, and while not my typical attraction, we did have similar taste in books. My typical attraction had never gotten me anywhere, so maybe a new crush was in order. Beyond the book coincidence, the man lit a very strange fire in me. I had the crazy urge to lick all along his stubbled jaw and wanted to feel him against me. Actually, Briggs was all I thought about on my way to the library. His brown eyes and quiet demeanor had me completely fascinated. Briggs was sexy in a rugged way despite his polo and slacks. I wanted to ask Nick about him, but the idea was embarrassing. He was obviously older than me, too, and wouldn’t want to waste time on a girl who couldn’t remember a damn thing with so little experience. Blake was the first and only guy I had ever had sex with and it was pretty crappy most of the time, or all the time.
“Hi, Faye.” Her dark blue eyes met mine and she smiled wide. Her trembling hands tucked a slip of paper in her book and she clasped them on the desk. The woman was a complete joy and a little dirty. Faye was my favorite person at the library by a landslide.
“Harriet, how are you?” Faye was only a volunteer but worked on weekends, and I was drawn to h
er. We talked about her Parkinson’s and trashy romance books. She was so pleasant and so, so funny. Faye was also sympathetic to my mother’s addiction. Her deceased husband was an alcoholic and took his anger out on her whenever he could, so she understood a little too well. It made me ache to know she went through something so terrible at the hands of the man she chose to be her partner for life. No one deserved to suffer like that. I checked out a couple of books and headed out to get back home, waving at Faye as I went.
I drifted in and out of shops, picking up some lunch at a bakery on my trip home. I finished my book and returned it to my bright pink painted shelf, picking the next book to start. Carmen hadn’t called in a while, so my sister had probably given up on trying to contact me. Part of it made me sad, but I couldn’t keep up the mental abuse. Being free from our mother taught me that I hadn’t been caring for myself, not at all. Eventually, I would have broken, but I started my new life just in time, and Carmen wasn’t ruining it for me. My sister probably needed money but quit calling around the same time I got my inheritance, so she probably got hers too and didn’t need me any longer. It was a shame that my own sister who grew up in the same house was just as much a user as our mother she despised so much.
I sat on the stoop to my apartment building, reading and sipping my fresh-brewed green tea until I heard my name. I snapped up in time to see Beck jog up. He was all sweat, muscles and shirtless, but it was him. “Hey.” He jerked his earbuds out, stopping in front of me.
“Hi.” I looked up from my book, tucking my note for the day in as a bookmark, and he dropped next to me, sitting far too close for my comfort. Not that he wasn’t handsome, but he kind of creeped me out.
“You live here?” Beck sounded like my apartment building was gross or something. I nodded and watched him check it out further. “Huh, took you more for the type to have a yard and a garden. Or at least have a nicer place.” I could have afforded a nicer place, even without the inheritance, but I liked the location and it was homey. Plus, my neighbors were so sweet.
“I wish I had a garden. Not that I could use one this time of year. I kind of ended up here on a whim, but once I have more roots, I’ll have a yard. Maybe I’ll even have a house.” I shrugged off his judgement. The guy was just solidifying his asshole status with me. Karma be damned, I was hating Beck Layton more by the second.
“You take the hippie thing seriously, don’t you?” He tilted his head at my green tea. I hated being called a hippie. Or anything else. Labels bugged me to no end.
“I suppose. It’s just who I am. I wear what I want, eat what I like, and live how I please.” He seemed shocked at my words but just shrugged. I could say the same about the “arrogance thing” that Mr. Layton took so seriously.
“Well, I guess I’ll finish my run, these abs don’t make themselves. It was really good to see you, though. You look great.” Without even a good-bye, Beck put his ear buds back in and took off the same way he was traveling before. I watched him until he turned a corner and checked my list again. The man seriously just asked if I took my life seriously. Granted, I kind of didn’t, but it took some nerve to ask something so rude.
I ended up in bed, watching some documentary on Netflix and was asleep by ten. The alarm went off way too soon, but I dragged myself out of bed and put on a decent outfit. Once I got on the bus, I scanned the crowd, sat in my seat, and pulled out my Gena Showalter book. The only slightly suspicious sight on the bus was the person hidden by the newspaper in the very back of the bus, tucked in a corner. He was one of the business men I had trouble making out because of my position and his choice of seating. I could see his button-down shirt and black slacks, but that was it. A few others were out of my sight too. Otherwise, it was the same group of people paying me no attention. One stop before my usual, I got off, leaving the notebook in the seat and glancing back to tell Sal bye. I went on with my day in a dense fog of my own thoughts. I began obsessing over what B would say next, what I would say next. Who he was stayed at the forefront of my mind and I found myself painting a mental picture of who he could be, what he could look like. Assuming he wasn’t lying, B was a suit and tie kind of man, so professional, and I was willing to put a heavy bet on him being the one hiding behind the newspaper. No matter how many times I tried to shake it, every face I came up with looked just like Briggs. I really need to get laid.
I had dinner with the neighbor, Mrs. Chastain, making her a tofu casserole that she loved and then went to bed, book in hand. The only things that registered over the next few days were nights I spent with Rae and time I spent reading his words. It was genuinely fun exchanging notes with him. There was something to be said about knowing someone on a level like writing before meeting them. It was like I got a glimpse into the unedited B before I decided I had to meet him. Exchanges in the notebooks were no holds barred, free from judgement, and it seemed easier for him.
H,
I’ll address your question first. No, I have never been called unfortunate although that word choice made me chuckle. I would like to think that I am relatively attractive. I guess the reason for my reluctance is that I am a poor conversationalist. More than my lacking people skills, I am weighing my options with you. We established that I am a coward, but you make me more so. I have a deep seeded fear of rejection and my more reserved nature doesn’t seem to compliment your free spirit. Now that we’re communicating, I am holding onto the romantic notion that you will fall madly in love with my prose, and my short comings will be over shadowed. My wording there left something to be desired. Let me rephrase. If you fall madly in love with my prose, my poor conversation skills won’t matter. I would really hate for you to get the wrong idea and think I had ‘short comings’. Now, tell me about the animosity toward your mother. That seems like quite the story.
Sincerely,
B
He was entertaining to say the least. The term shortcomings would forever make me giggle. Some days Sal handed me the notebook, other days B was reading his newspaper, but he usually wasn’t there. It kept me guessing. As weird as it seemed, I liked our game. It was different, but fun. It eliminated the fear of saying something stupid, or embarrassing. I could openly admit anything with no repercussions, because it was all a game. None of it seemed real.
B,
Animosity is putting it lightly. My mother was a long-time drug addict that I spent far too long caring for. Losing yet another home before she passed away from an overdose pushed me over the edge and that is how I ended up in TN. I needed a new start, far from the place I called home. There was really nowhere for me to go after I lost her, the house, and the car. I had a close friend here and now I have several more. They have all become my new family and to be honest, they are far better than my mother ever was. Now, if you expect me to fall in love with you via penned word, and ignore your ‘short comings’ you need to step up your game and give me more to work with. So, tell me about you. Tell me everything.
Sincerely,
H
H,
I can’t imagine the torture of watching someone you love destroy themselves. It took courage to do what you did for so long and even more to make a choice for yourself. As far as I’m concerned, I am 32 and have a decent job. I am fairly well educated, as in I have a degree, and I now have a slight obsession with reading whatever peaks your interest at any given time, or with you in general. You have opened up several new genres for me and your reading keeps me guessing. Family wise, I have a brother and my mother. My father died of a heart attack about ten years ago. I also have several close friends in the area. Do you want to know my sign as well? Or how I eat my eggs? How I take my coffee?
Sincerely,
B
B,
Oh, I must know your sign. What if we are both wasting our time with an incompatible sign match? And the way a person has their coffee and eggs speaks volumes. That would have us wasting quite a bit of writing time. I am a Leo, fiery and such. I’m twenty-five and have a business degree
, although I don’t really use it. I like my coffee sweeter than coffee actually should be, and I don’t eat eggs. My reading taste changes daily, so try not to judge when I read someone like Sherilynn Kenyon as opposed to something a little more sophisticated. I have a cat named Morticia and I don’t eat meat (thus the eggs). Tell me more about your hobbies. Other than stalking and reading that is. I appreciate your honesty, maybe more than you could know, so whenever you are done hiding behind the newspaper…
Sincerely,
H
He kept the notebook over the weekend, and it made me crazy. Not knowing him made me crazier and I decided that I needed to get out and do something fun. So, Sunday afternoon I made plans to play odd-man-out and go with my friends and their husbands to the Chalk Walk downtown. Local artists used chalk to create sidewalk masterpieces and food vendors were set up all over Market Square. It was a win-win for me. I got to be outside in the sun and got to get in some time with three fat babies. It turned out that Ewan’s sister tagged along so she and I got to talk books. Amelia was easily the best teenager I had ever met, probably because Ewan raised her. She was funny and very sassy. It was no wonder Jovie loved her so much—they were exactly the same.