Catching Whitney

by Amy Hale

  I groan and put a pillow over my face, groaning louder once the noise is muffled by the soft, fiber-filled rectangle. I know I have to stop running all these questions through my head. I can’t change anything that happened. It’s history. I have to move on. I tell myself that my reaction to Aidan’s presence in my classroom was simply just shock. I never thought I’d see him again. I’m sure it’s normal to feel flustered in this situation. Normal? C’mon, Whitney. There is nothing normal about any of this. And once again the voices in my head are arguing with each other. I wish they’d all shut the hell up so I could sleep.

  I spend the next two hours tossing and turning with the occasional dozing in between. I must have slept at some point, though, because I remember dreaming about Aidan. He was in my classroom, doing all kinds of delicious things to me on my desk. That isn’t the kind of visual I need to carry around with me, especially at work. I give up all efforts at getting sleep and finally decide to get up and greet the day. Thankfully it’s Saturday, and I don’t have any plans for the morning, so I can take it easy. Our school has a booth at the county fair this weekend, and I had promised to help run it for a couple of hours this evening, but otherwise my day is free.

  After a long hot shower, I dress in a pair of faded jeans, a light sweater, and my favorite pair of boots. I pull my hair up in a messy bun, letting a few curly, auburn strands frame my face. The humidity is thankfully disappearing as September nears October, and my natural waves are finally starting to look more like hair and less like I stuck a fork in a light socket. I apply a little makeup and survey myself in the mirror. I look comfortable but not sloppy. My signature style in a nutshell.

  Grabbing my keys, I head out of the door and slide in the driver’s seat of my 1990 VW Beetle. I named my beetle Sir Bubblebutt—I get odd looks when I tell people that. Not everyone gets the reference to Sir Mix-A-Lot and having junk in the trunk, but then most people don’t get me either, so I don’t really try to explain anymore. Sir B, as I sometimes call him, is getting old, but he’s comfortable, and thanks to my mechanic who also happens to be my dad, he runs like a top. I drive Sir B to the fairgrounds and decide to have a look around, maybe grab some lunch, and possibly risk life and limb on a few of the rides before I have to take over at the school booth. With any luck, I’ll get my mind to wander somewhere other than the vicinity of Aidan.

  As I enter the Midway, I soak in the familiar sights and sounds. I’ve always loved the fair. The smell of a variety of foods I should probably never eat mixed with the exorbitant costs of games that are almost impossible to win draw me in every time. And I can’t forget the rides, which any reasonable person will admit should require a living will before you buckle in.

  Entering the Exhibit Hall, I stroll down the various aisles of watercolors, pencil drawings, and framed photography displays. I’m admiring a particularly gifted drawing of a horse when I feel someone approach me from behind. I always thought people were exaggerating when they say they felt the hair on the back of their neck stand to attention, but here I am, feeling that very odd sensation. And then I hear his deep, melodic voice.

  “Wonderful drawing, especially for someone so young.”

  I turn to face Aidan only to step back quickly and almost run into the table display behind me. He reaches out quickly and pulls me toward him, helping me avoid the embarrassment of destroying the carefully constructed presentation of sixth-grade artwork. Now the embarrassment stems from practically being in his arms in front of about twenty other people. I notice a few of them are watching us with great interest. I place a hand on his chest - partially to steady myself and partially to put some space between us.

  “Hello, Aidan.” I mean to say it in a friendly, you-aren’t-important-to-me-at-all kind of way. Instead, it comes out in a breathy, I’d-like-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-throw-you-to-the-ground kind of way. Adult communication loses once again.

  “Hello, Whitney. It’s nice to see you again.” He smiles, and it causes small little crinkles in the outer corners of his eyes. It’s obvious he smiles often; I like that about him. We both smiled a lot that night, but I can’t let myself go there. It was a fling and nothing more.

  I smile back, although inside I feel like elephants are using my heart for a trampoline. I’m sure if it were quiet enough, he could hear the loud thumps beating through my chest. I feel the need to retreat. I’m suffocating from his nearness, and I need air.

  “Oh, yes. Nice to see you too.” I glance at the door looking for an escape route, then attempt to excuse myself. “Well, have a nice day.” I step around him and power walk toward the doors. Nice, Whitney. Real smooth. That didn’t look like a desperate attempt to flee at all. Annoyed with my inner critic, I snap, “Oh shut up!” as I let the doors slam behind me. Except they don’t slam.

  “Who do you want to shut up?” Aidan is right behind me. Damn.

  “No one. I’m just... never mind.”

  He puts a hand on my arm to keep me from running away again. “Since were friends, sort of, and I don’t really know too many people here, would you mind showing me around the fairgrounds? This is my first time here.” He notices my hesitation. “I’ll buy you lunch for your trouble.” I sigh, torn between wanting to be a friendly, sensible adult and wanting to run like the coward I am. He pushes further. “Please, Whitney.”

  He says my name in a way that instantly takes me back to his hotel room. He said my name many times in the hours we spent in his bed. Each syllable was full of promise and this time feels no different. I can’t help but look up into his eyes. They seem to plead with me and for some reason my brain starts to short circuit.

  I’m absolutely sure my lips form the words, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Except my ears, and his, hear my voice say, “Sure. I’d be happy to.” Well, hell. I can’t even trust my mouth anymore. It’s no longer taking commands from my brain. This is certain to be a recipe for disaster.

  He smiles at me again, and I wonder if I’m going to have to spend the afternoon being mean to him so his gorgeous lips will stop making my legs malfunction. I steel myself and smile back. I can do this. I can resist his charms. I’m a bad-ass single woman. I don’t need him, or anyone else. I’m sure if I repeat this enough I might actually believe it one day. Here’s to hoping.

  “So, what do you want to see first?”

  “I want to see it all. I’m not a cat, but I’m sure you can keep me sufficiently wrangled during the tour, so I’ll let you start where you like.

  I smirk at his reference to my cat wrangling abilities. “Okay, but keep in mind that if you do stray, I’ll have to trap you. Do you have an affinity for boxes? Or is there something else that tempts you?”

  Aidan’s expression changes for just a moment. It’s something serious, and deep, and almost frightening. He quickly regains his smile, tinted with a hint of orneriness. “Yes, there is something else that tempts me. But as the wrangler, you’ll have to figure that one on your own. I can’t make it too easy for you.”

  I laugh. “Challenge accepted.” I start walking toward the midway, and he falls in step next to me. We walk for a few moments, and the silence is only slightly awkward. I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say, but Aidan saves me the trouble.

  “Have you lived here all your life?”

  “Yes. I was born here and have never lived anywhere else. It’s a small town, but it’s cozy and safe. I like it.” I pause a moment. “What do you think of our little town? I know you haven’t been here long, but what is your impression so far?”

  He scratches his chin. “It’s nice. I’m used to bigger cities, but I think I’m adjusting fairly well. I like the slower pace.”

  We pass a corn dog stand, and the smells cause my stomach to complain audibly. If Aidan notices the loud grumbling, he’s gentleman enough not to mention it. But, he does mention grabbing lunch.

  “I know it’s a little early for lunch, but would you like to eat now? I’ll admit I skipped breakfast, and I’m starti
ng to feel it.”

  I could have kissed him then and there. It’s very kind of him to pretend he’s hungry so we can eat now. Or it’s coincidence that we both skipped breakfast. Either way, I am happy to agree with his suggestion, so I nod. “Yes, that sounds good.”

  He stops and surveys the variety of food offerings. “What would you prefer?”

  “I’m really fine with anything. I’m pretty sure any of these items would kill us if eaten on a regular basis, so choose your poison and I’ll happily join you.”

  “Ah, we’re a regular Romeo and Juliet then. Are you going to see if I die first? Or will you just dive right in with me?” He gives me a teasing wink.

  “Oh no. I’ll let you eat a bite or two first. If you don’t die, I’ll eat with you. If you do expire, I’ll just sneak away and look for the beer vendor.”

  He clutches his chest. “Oh, you wound me! You’d have beer without me?”

  I can’t hold back my smile. “I promise I’ll drink one in your memory.”

  “Thank you. That makes me feel much better.” His words drip with teasing sarcasm, and I find myself relaxing. This might be okay. If we can keep our friendship like this—like it was before we had sex—then maybe we can pretend like it never happened and just enjoy hanging out now and then. I think I’d like that very much. I work to remember the evening without the stop at the hotel room, but it’s almost impossible to blot out. Maybe it will just take time.

  Aidan’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Whitney? Are you okay?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Why?”

  He chuckles softly. “Because I’ve asked you twice if you’d prefer corn dogs or hamburgers and you didn’t seem to hear me.” His eyes roam over my face. “Where did you go? What were you thinking about?”

  I blush, and I’m afraid he now knows exactly where I went. “I’d like corn dogs.” My mind screams at me that corn dogs are too phallic. I won’t be able to eat one in front of him without embarrassing myself with mental images I’m better off forgetting. “No! I mean I’d like a hamburger!” My sudden change has him raising one of his perfect eyebrows at me.

  “Okay. Hamburgers it is.” He takes my hand in his and pulls me to the right side of the path that leads to the 4-H hamburger stand. I try not to balk at the hand holding. Do friends hold hands? I can’t remember. I see the younger kids do it all the time, and it means nothing. This can’t be all that different, right? But my heart is telling me otherwise. I can feel that it’s meaningful, even if I can’t explain it. Once we reach the stand I make sure I let go and step back a bit. He doesn’t try to take my hand again, but I sense he’s disappointed. Maybe I’m just being silly. I don’t really know anymore.

  Aidan orders two hamburger plates, and then we sit at the picnic tables nearby. In minutes, a teen in a green t-shirt brings our food to us, along with two bottles of water.

  “Thanks for lunch, Aidan. It’s very nice.”

  He looks at me, but doesn’t crack a smile. “You’re welcome.” He takes a few bites of burger before he speaks again. “I think it’s amazing that I ended up moving to the same town you live in. The odds of that happening are pretty astounding, actually. Do you think it’s fate?”

  I chew a bite of French fry slowly and consider his question. “I don’t think I believe in fate. It’s just coincidence.” My mind races at the possible implications of fate somehow taking an interest in us. Fate and I don’t understand each other. In fact, I think if fate really exists, it’s been out to get me for years. I prefer not to believe.

  Aidan takes a swig of his water and wipes his mouth. “That’s possible, I guess. But I don’t really believe in coincidence either.” He gives me another contemplative look before returning to what is left of his burger.

  “So if it is fate, just what does that mean?” I ask cautiously.

  “I suppose it means we are meant to know each other. Be in each other’s lives somehow.”

  I swallow another bite of burger, but it seems to stick going down. I take a big drink of water and try to think of an appropriate response. “So we were meant to be friends?”

  He blinks a couple of times, then slowly nods. “Yes. I think that’s likely the case.” I don’t respond so he continues on. “We get along well and have fun - at least we did the last time we hung out.” One corner of his mouth lifts in a small smirk, and I once again have to hide a blush. We did a lot of things the last time we hung out, and the last half of them were not things friends do to one another.

  “Yeah, we did. The bar and the pancakes were pretty fun.” I purposely leave out the rest.

  “Yes,” he says in a quieter voice.

  We finish our meals in silence as we people watch. Excitable children and patient parents make their way through the ever-growing crowds. The ticket booth line has grown considerably since we sat down for lunch.

  Aidan turns toward me. “Do you enjoy the rides?”

  “I do. Most of them anyway. There’s a few I’m not too crazy about.”

  “Which rides scare you?”

  “Scared? Me? No, it’s not that. I just prefer my head stay above my feet. It’s a personal preference.”

  He laughs. “I see. So you aren’t opposed to some less spinny rides?”

  “If it doesn’t dump me upside down, I’m good.”

  He picks up his trash, then holds his hand out for mine. I hand him my plate, and he tosses them both in the nearby bin. “Well, Miss Dawson, looks like it’s time to continue the tour. Where do we go next?”

  I look around and consider our next stop. “I guess we could take a ride on the Ferris Wheel. You can see most of the grounds from there, and I could point out anything that looks interesting.”

  He smiles. “Sure, sounds like a good idea.”

  We stand in line for our tickets, and Aidan refuses to let me pay for mine. In fact, buys a large roll of them. “I can use the leftovers when I bring Caleb here tomorrow.”

  I nod. That makes perfect sense. “Where is Caleb today?”

  Aidan tears off the tickets we’ll need as we walk to the Ferris Wheel. “He’s with Rebecca. She promised to take him to the museum today.”

  He doesn’t offer any more information, like who Rebecca is, so I work to tamp down my disappointment. It’s not like it’s my business, so I can’t understand why it bothers me so much to hear her name again.

  The line for the ride is relatively short, so it’s not long before we are seated in a bright yellow cart and moving our way up the wheel. The space is a little snug, so no matter how much I try, I can’t seem to avoid my thigh touching his. The heat this one little touch causes is enough to set my jeans on fire. My brain files away the idea that someone should make flame-retardant panties. Now there’s a thought that belongs in a vault of things that should never be said in front of Aidan.

  We reach the top, and I can’t stop the stupid grin that forms on my face. I love it up here. The views are amazing, the sky is a gorgeous shade of blue, and there’s a light breeze blowing past us. It’s kind of cool, but feels good just the same.

  I notice Aidan looking around, and I decide to break the silence. “See anything you’d like to explore further?”

  He smirks, then presses his lips together. I can only imagine what he was planning to say. He twists his torso a bit to face me fully. “I see a lot that I’d like to explore.” He stretches his neck out a bit as we start to move again and looks around me at some of the booths on the midway. “A few games might be fun.”

  I smile. “You realize those are all pretty much impossible to win, right?”

  His smile widens, and there is a gleam in his eye that makes me wonder what he’s up to. “Sure, but if it were easy, then it wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

  I’m no longer sure we’re still talking about midway games.

  As I stand in front of the dart game, I focus my aim and pray I don’t mortally wound someone. It’s not that I can’t throw in a straight line. I can, to an extent. But s
omething about these darts feel a little kamikaze. No matter how hard I try to throw them at the correct target, they tend to veer off in random directions. I’m wondering if they are purposefully designed to be difficult. I start thinking about the science behind such a manipulation and get distracted.

  Aidan interrupts my thoughts. “Are you afraid they’ll come back to attack you?” I can hear the laughter in his tone.

  I turn, pointing one of the metal tips at his nose. “No, but I am concerned that my next throw might be the one that sends someone to the emergency room.” I hand him the remaining darts. “Here, you do it.”

  He shakes his head but takes my place in front of the balloons. His first throw lands just left of a large red balloon. I smile a bit, feeling justified that it’s not just me. He throws again and this time the dart lands between two blue and green balloons. This time, I don’t even try to hide my grin.

  “Not so easy, huh?” I’m secretly happy that either we both suck at darts, or the game is rigged so we both look like we suck. Either way, I’m not alone in my suckage.

  He gives me a wink, then turns back to the balloons. He takes an extra moment to adjust his aim and then throws. The dart hits a bright pink balloon, and the resulting pop almost makes me jump. I obviously didn’t expect him to hit something.

  He points to a small yellow duck. “I’ll take that one.”

  The game operator hands him his prize, and I mentally concede that he’s pretty damn cute when he wins something. I don’t want to admit that to myself, let alone out loud, but the thought is already there. He turns and hands the duck to me.