What She Forgot

by Tammy Falkner

  “I’ve never slept with a man before, so no, I can’t say I always stare.” I rested the side of my head in my upturned palm. He still had his eyes closed, but I knew he was awake.

  He snorted, and then he reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re a virgin.”

  “I said slept with, Clark. I didn’t say fucked.”

  His breath hitched. It was almost imperceptible, but I caught it. “There’s a difference?”

  I lowered my voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “Well, one involves a penis and a vagina,” I began. “And the other just involves a bed and exhaustion.”

  “Stop talking about my penis,” he said, his voice getting raspier, more than just sleepy. He reached down and not so discreetly shoved his junk to the side.

  I laughed and buried the noise in his pillow. I stopped to sniff it. “Your bed smells like you,” I told him.

  “That’s because you’re on my pillow. On my side of the bed.” He finally turned his head to look at me. “Why are you in my bed, Shelly?”

  “Channing Tatum came in here to see me, just as I was getting out of the shower. He hopped up, so I stopped to pet him. I guess I fell asleep.” I raised my arms over my head to stretch.

  “Do you have on pajamas?”

  “T-shirt and shorts. Why?” I rolled my head so I could look at him again.

  “Just checking.”

  “You didn’t check me out while I was asleep?”

  “I prefer to check out women who are conscious.”

  I still stared at him. “This sleeping with a man thing is a novel experience,” I said. “Thanks for being my first.” I blinked my eyes at him like I’d seen women in old movies do.

  He groaned. “Sometimes I could strangle you.”

  I tossed the covers back, sat up, and swung my feet over the side of the bed. “What’s the plan for today?” I asked. “I’m guessing we’re going to bait the trap by looking normal but being anything but normal.”

  “You couldn’t be normal if you tried.” But he didn’t say it like most people said it. He said it with something akin to admiration in his voice, and that did things to my insides that I couldn’t fully understand.

  “Thank you.”

  He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

  I stood up and stretched, getting ready to walk to the bathroom.

  “Shelly!” he said loudly, covering his eyes with his forearm.

  I spun back around to face him. “What?”

  “You said you had on shorts!” he said, then he groaned into that forearm. “Jesus,” he whispered. The muscle in his jaw ticked.

  I looked down. “I do have on shorts.”

  “Those are not shorts, Shelly.” He didn’t move his arm, so he didn’t take a second look. “If I can see your ass cheeks, you can’t call them shorts. Holy fuckballs,” he said, as he not so discreetly adjusted his dick again. “And you can’t wear them again while you’re here. Throw them in the trash. Get rid of them.”

  “Oh, you’re a butt guy, huh?” I rolled my eyes at him. “You men are so predictable.”

  “There’s a certain law of decency, Shelly,” he said slowly, like he was hell-bent on explaining something to me that I couldn’t understand. “When you’re a guest in somebody’s house, you have to follow their rules.”

  “Oh.” I thought for a minute. “It’s really not my fault that your dick is hard.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him and stared at his groin until he grabbed the pillow I’d been sleeping on and shoved it in his midsection. “Go get dressed or something,” he grumbled. “And stop talking about my dick!” He dropped his voice down to a grumble I almost didn’t hear. “And I just woke up, damn it.”

  “You always wake up like that?” I asked, just because I was curious.

  He finally lifted his head and glared at me. “Seriously, Shelly? Do we have to do this right now?”

  “When would be a better time?”

  He heaved a sigh and swiped his hand down his face. “Okay, Shelly.” He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “Occasionally, I wake up hard. Occasionally, my dick gets hard for no reason. Every now and then, my dick gets hard when a beautiful woman is standing in my bedroom wearing nothing but underwear. Sometimes, when I smell your cherry lip balm, I think about kissing you and then my dick gets hard. And now…” He lifted the pillow I’d slept on to his nose. “…now my fucking pillow smells like that perfume you wear.” He looked down at his lap. “And my dick is hard. Fuck.”

  I said nothing.

  “And for the first time ever, she’s quiet,” he said on a low, annoyed breath. “And I have never, ever spent this much time talking about my dick and its unfortunate propensity for getting hard at inopportune moments.”

  “Do you read a lot?” I asked.

  He swiped his hand down his face again. “Why do you ask?”

  “Occasionally, you toss out big words that most people don’t know.”

  “Do you know them?” He was nearly growling now.

  “Yes.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “Then what does it matter?”

  “Are you always this cranky when your dick is hard?” I asked, just because I was curious.

  “Only when somebody makes me talk about it ad nauseam.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he repeated.

  “How long will you be annoyed at me?” I asked. Just because I needed to know.

  “Until you stop talking about my dick,” he groused. “Little Willy is not an appropriate topic for conversation.”

  I choked out a laugh. “You call your dick…” I snorted. “…Little Willy?”

  “Still not a topic for conversation,” he sang out.

  I reached into my bag and took out my cosmetics case, and then I laughed all the way to the bathroom, where I brushed and flossed my teeth. When I came back out, he was standing in front of the dresser buttoning his shirt, looking as dressy as he normally did in khaki slacks and dress socks. It felt strange standing in a room with a man who was getting dressed. I’d never done it before. I’d been in a room with a man who was dressing, but not in a getting dressed for the day kind of dressing. It was always a get dressed and get the fuck out kind of dressing. This seemed almost more intimate than sex, and my insides had that quirky, weird feeling again.

  “Are you done in there?” he asked.

  “For now,” I replied.

  “Good,” he said.

  “We need to go shopping today!” I called toward the closed door.

  He opened it back up, his eyes slowly raking up and down my body. “I know. We need to get you some appropriate pajamas.” He slammed the door in my face, much harder than was necessary.

  “Well, then,” I said to myself. Then I started to get dressed.

  I tried to figure out what that weird, bubbly feeling was, but I couldn’t be sure. If Lynn called today, maybe I could ask her, because I was quickly learning that asking Clark about certain topics would make him grumpy.

  Chapter 21

  Clark

  She didn’t buy pajamas. But I did follow her around the mall as she bought a few dresses she didn’t want me to see and some shoes. Then we planned to stop at the food court for something to eat. I didn’t eat out much, since MeeMaw was such a great cook, but I knew we needed to look like a couple.

  Shelly came out of the store she’d dashed into with one more package. I hooked it with my finger and carried it with the others.

  “You are aware that I am perfectly capable of carrying my own bags, right?” she asked.

  I leaned close to her ear and whispered, “This is what boyfriends do.”

  Her face scrunched up. “Why?”

  “Because we typically feel absolutely useless while out shopping, and it gives us a reason to keep breathing.” I looked down at the packages in my arms. “What all did you buy?”

  “Is that a boyfriend question?”

  I bit back my smile.
“No, it’s just me being nosy.”

  She eyed the bags hooked over my arms. “I just got some date clothes.”

  “What are date clothes?” I asked. I looked into one of the bags but she slapped my hand away.

  “Well, I assume they’re flirty dresses and high heels.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “But I’m not one hundred percent sure. I’ve never been on a date.”

  I lifted my nose a little so I could stare down at her. “Stop lying.”

  “I never lie. I don’t need to.” She adjusted her handbag.

  “Now I know you’re lying.” But when I looked at her face, I saw the utter truth in her gaze. Shelly had never been on a date. And she didn’t tell lies. She didn’t need to. “Are you serious?” I finally asked.

  “About which question?” The vee between her brows deepened the way it did when she was confused.

  Shelly was a beautiful woman. She was stunning, actually. She was take-your-breath-away beautiful. While we’d been walking through the mall, men had been gawking the whole time, and she was just wearing her customary pencil shirt, a simple blouse, and her strand of pearls. She drew attention everywhere she went. How could no one have ever taken her out on a date?

  She started toward the food court and I followed, in awe of the elegant way she walked in her four-inch high heels, which she almost always wore.

  “Are all the men around you blind?” I asked. “Or just stupid?”

  She stopped walking. “What?”

  “You are stunning, Shelly,” I said quietly. Her eyes darted left and right, like she was trying to find a place to set her gaze, and she didn’t want it to be on me. “Sometimes you take my breath away.”

  “Is this something a boyfriend would do?” she whispered at me, confusion still marring her face.

  I shrugged. “Maybe.” I stared at her startled face. “No man has ever asked you out?”

  “I’ve been asked. I’ve just never said yes.”

  “Why have you never said yes?”

  “Because dates lead to emotional intimacy, and I don’t have time for that.”

  Stunned, I repeated: “You don’t have time for emotional intimacy.”

  “I have a very busy life. Until recently, I spent most of my time taking care of Lynn.”

  “And now that Lynn is fine?”

  She started to tick items off on her fingers. “I teach self-defense. I give lessons at the gun range. I take a cooking class sometimes. I like to make glass.”

  “Glass?”

  “Blown glass,” she said and waved a hand to dismiss my questions. “It’s a process.”

  I grinned at her. “You’re going to run out of fingers.”

  “I stay busy.”

  “And when you want companionship?” I watched her face closely now, hoping to catch a glimpse of the truth.

  “Why would I want that?” She snorted, and it was the cutest damn sound I’d ever heard.

  “Friendship. Someone to spend time with.” I waited a beat. “Sex…”

  “I don’t need friends.” She gave a small shiver that I was sure she didn’t even notice. “And sex is easy. And useful.”

  I stopped walking and she stopped too, turning back to find out why I’d stopped our forward trajectory. “You find sex to be useful,” I repeated.

  “Orgasms lower your blood pressure. And sex can sometimes be used to make people more pliable.” She motioned for me to walk with her again.

  I scrubbed a hand across my forehead instead and stood there staring at her.

  “What?” she asked, when she realized I wasn’t moving.

  “I’m so confused.” And I was. I didn’t understand. And then it hit me. No one had ever loved Shelly. She’d never experienced that connection with another person. She’d never experienced the fit of someone else’s body with hers, when the fit was more than just physical. She’d never had it. She probably didn’t even understand it.

  Suddenly, her face fell. “Have I disappointed you?” she asked.

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  She motioned toward my face and said, “Because you suddenly look like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you don’t like me.”

  I liked her. I liked her more and more every time I spent time with her. Her brain was a thing of wonder. Her body was a work of art. Her personality was intriguing. But fuck if I could understand anything about her.

  “Lynn always looks at me like that when I’ve disappointed her. When I haven’t lived up to her expectations.” She began to wring her hands. “And now you’re doing it, but I don’t fully understand why.”

  “You haven’t disappointed me.”

  She finally breathed again. “Okay.”

  “I’m just confused. Sorry.” I started to walk again.

  Suddenly, a woman on the other side of the walkway yelled out, “Help! He took my wallet!”

  We were on the second level of the mall, walking down the walkway with the railing on the left side of us. The scream had come from the other side of the open area, on the other side of the mall.

  Then I saw him. A kid, maybe about sixteen years old, dashed down the aisle, and he was too fast for anyone to catch him.

  But before I could even blink, Shelly had kicked her shoes off.

  “Don’t!” I said, but she was already gone.

  “Fuck,” I said as I let her bags fall to the floor. I turned to dash after her, but she was already rounding the corner. She’d hitched her pencil skirt up her legs, and she ran like I’d never seen anyone run. But the part that surprised me the most was that she did what I would have done—and I seriously would have if she had given me one more fucking second—and she ran past the next connecting walkway and went around to cut him off.

  Next thing I knew, she’d tackled the gangly young man. His beanie fell from his head as he hit the floor with an umph and the woman’s wallet skidded out in front of him. Shelly put a knee in his back to hold him down. The young man grunted and kicked but Shelly subdued him until she could reach over him and get her hands on the woman’s purse. Then she lifted her knee, got off his back, mumbled something that only he could hear, and he ran in the other direction. Then she straightened her skirt and pushed her hair back from her face. She picked up the woman’s wallet and calmly returned it to her.

  People had recorded the whole scene on their phones as the woman cried about how her rent money was in there, in cash, and how very grateful she was. “How did you do that?” she asked.

  Shelly just shrugged, graciously accepted the woman’s thanks, and walked back to where I was still standing next to her discarded bags. She stepped back into her shoes, which made her as tall as my nose. “Are you ready to eat?” she asked.

  “You’ve never been on a date, huh?” I asked, still replaying the tackle in my brain. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Her brow furrowed. “Didn’t we just discuss this?”

  “Friday night,” I said on a laugh. “I’m picking you up at my house at seven o’clock. I expect you to be wearing one of these flirty dresses and I expect to take you on your first date ever. So be ready.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  I probably should have asked instead of just telling her, but Shelly wasn’t just any woman. She was different.

  “This is for Megan’s benefit, right?” She stared at me.

  “Sure,” I said. But I wasn’t sure that was entirely the case. I wasn’t sure at all.

  “Then I accept your invitation,” she said politely.

  I picked up her bags, hooking them over one arm, and then I took her hand in mine. She startled, mouthed the word boyfriend at me with a question in her gaze, and then she relaxed a little when I shrugged. Her hand tightened in mine briefly, and then we went to the food court for food.

  “Why did you let him go?” I asked as we sat and ate, keeping the conversation light.

  She shrugged. “He was just a kid. He made a bad choice. It’s one he won’t
make again.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I told him that if he ever tried something like that again, I’d come to his house, kill everyone he loves, and he’ll regret it for the rest of his life because it will be his fault.”

  I sat, stunned, unsure of how to reply. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Um…”

  She laughed. “I’m kidding. I told him that this was his one and only get out of jail free card, and that he should use it wisely.”

  The tension in me eased a little. “That’s all you said?”

  “Yes, why?” She looked at me, her gaze questioning.

  “Just checking.”

  “So, Friday night…”

  “Be ready.”

  She grinned, her blue eyes sparkling.

  I was taking Shelly on a date. And it wasn’t for Megan’s benefit. It was for mine. I wanted to give her the first date experience she’d never had. It was selfish and reckless, and I had no idea why I wanted to give her such an experience. But I did. I wanted it very badly.

  Chapter 22

  Shelly

  Clark bellowed at me from his office. “Shelly!”

  I closed the tab I had open and walked toward his office. “You bellowed?” I said drolly as I hitched a hip in the corner of the open doorway.

  He didn’t look up from the papers he studied on his desk.

  “Did you need me for something?” I prompted after a moment.

  He finally looked up. “I need your brain.”

  “Well, there’s one I’ve never heard,” I said as I walked toward his desk. I took the chair across from him. “What do you have?”

  He slid two stacks of papers toward me. “This stack is people who were killed.” He tapped his finger against the stack on the left. “And this stack is people who were caught. I need to know the difference.”

  “Caught?” I asked. But my brain was already buzzing.

  “Someone is being a vigilante, dispensing justice when there was none. I took the case files to Mason, and he says it has to be more than one person who is trying to dispense justice. I’m still not sure.” I could tell he was watching my face closely. “I was hoping you might take a look.”