Junk

by Komal Kant

  “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s beautiful.” She opened her beer, licking up the foam that ran down her fingers. “I wonder if I ever came here as a child.”

  “Maybe.” I tried not to stare at her mouth as my pants grew uncomfortably tight.

  Shit.

  I repositioned myself.

  What a stupid idea to give her something that would draw attention to one of the parts of her body that hounded my thoughts.

  “It’s weird being back in Wisconsin and not remembering much about it,” she continued, oblivious to the hot lust pounding through me. “My mom drove Drew and me around Pine Bluffs the other day and I actually recalled that your mom used to be my teacher.”

  “Yeah, she was. She taught until I was in my teens.” Good. Focusing on my mom would kill all thoughts that led to boners. “See anything else interesting?”

  “Yeah, kinda.” A dark cloud passed over her face. “I noticed the Harlen Walker Museum, too. Pretty sure that’s new.” There was unmistakable bitterness in her tone.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, immediately picking up on her change in mood.

  “Nothing,” Blair lied, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize he was from your small town. Also, the guy’s kind of a jerk.”

  “Our small town,” I corrected, which made her bristle. “Anyway, I knew him briefly back in the day,” I continued, recalling the younger years when we would “borrow” our parents’ booze, light up some cigarettes, and hang out in one of the run-down barns on the outskirts of town. “His movies are shit.”

  Over the top musicals, kissing-in-the-rain romances—who watched that crap, anyway? Movies like that fueled false hope for love and marriage, both of which were bullshit.

  “Do you like anything?” The stiffness of her tone gave way to amusement as her dark eyes probed me.

  Sipping on my beer, I considered her question. “I like being alone.”

  “No surprise there.” Blair rolled her eyes and fell silent again, fidgeting with the can in her hand. Minutes passed before she spoke again. “So, then why did you stand up for me against that Hunter dude? Why even bother leaving your safety net of solitude and defending me?”

  That was a good question. I wanted to believe it was because I didn’t stand for bigots, which I didn’t, but a niggling part of me was telling me there was more to it.

  “Even though it’s easier to stand by, keep your head down, and let bad things happen, it’s harder to live with yourself knowing you could’ve helped.” I gulped down the rest of my beer, once again craving something stronger.

  I curled up my fists and took a deep breath. I did not need anything stronger. I was fine. I was fine.

  “That’s strangely deep of you,” she commented, her eyes following my movements. Deep. I wanted to be deep in her. I shook the ridiculous thought away. “I never thanked you for that, by the way. It almost makes up for you spilling coffee on me, stealing my blouse, stealing my shoe, wrecking my car-”

  “Whoa. Only two of those things are true,” I corrected her, but I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice.

  What was it about this woman that brought me out of my shell? That made me feel. Anger, frustration, even humor—she knew how to get them out of me.

  “Can I ask you something else?” Blair shifted position, her dark eyes vulnerable, as she absently brushed her elbow against mine. “It’s been bugging me for days.”

  A tingle shot through my spine. Shit.

  “Hmm?” I grunted, irritated at myself for reacting to her touch like that.

  “Why were you at my grandmother’s funeral?” She took a sip of her beer and immediately made a face.

  “She was always good to me. Never treated me any different just because-” I paused, catching myself. Shut up, moron. “She talked about your mom a lot.”

  “My mom barely talked about her.” Blair frowned down at her lap. Strands of her long, dark hair were blowing in the breeze, shrouding her face, but I knew it was fighting with sadness.

  We wanted to be close to the ones we’d lost. I’d learned that the hard way.

  “Does that bother you?” I asked, itching to tuck her hair behind her ears.

  But I couldn’t. No touching.

  “A little,” she admitted, head still bowed. “I wish I’d known her better.”

  It shouldn’t bother me if this insane woman was upset or not. I was determined not to like Blair, yet in that moment, I couldn’t help feeling bad for her.

  “Well, I’ve got a story for you. About your grandmother.” I repositioned myself so that my entire body was now turned towards her. “One day, I was in town and saw her struggling with a bunch of grocery bags, so I helped her carry them to her car. She asked me over for dinner to thank me, and I couldn’t refuse.”

  “That was a nice thing to do,” Blair said, finally lifting her head. Her face had a crimson, scrunched up quality to it, like she’d been on the verge of tears.

  “Anyway,” I continued, pulling another beer out of the cooler, “when I got to her house, she had a roast ready with all the fixings. It was Heaven.” I leaned back, partially closing my eyes as I drifted back to the memory of the stout, little woman with the dazzling smile. “Then she pulled out the tequila.”

  “That sounds-wait, what?” Blair choked out.

  My eyes flew open and I started cracking up at the look on her face. Her dark eyes were bugging out of her skull and into the atmosphere.

  “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. By the end of the night, she said the margaritas were slowing us down and lined up shots instead.” The memory brought a smile to my face. “Those shots got her going and she told me some great stories, especially about the guys she’d reeled in back in the day. It was a hoot.”

  Blair gaped at me, speechless, the lines on her face working as she processed my words. “You’re telling me that my grandmother got you drunk and told you about her conquests?”

  I nodded, sad that such a zestful woman no longer graced this world. “It was the first time I’d laughed since I got back. That’s why I was at her funeral.” And that was the truth.

  “Back?” Blair asked, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice. “You said since you got back. Where were you?”

  Shit. I’d given too much away.

  Trying to act like it was no big deal, I blatantly lied. “Sometimes, I go out of town for work, but not so much anymore now that Dad’s retired.”

  When Blair nodded, the curiosity fading from her face, a surge of relief flooded through me.

  I had fooled her—at least for now.

  Time to change the subject.

  There was an insane part of me that wanted to know more about the man who got under my skin.

  Wade was the most enigmatic person I’d ever met, and believe me, there were a lot of enigmatic crazies in Chicago. In fact, last week, I’d had a baffling encounter with a wild-haired woman in a raincoat, clutching a pink parasol. When I’d walked past her, she’d twirled her parasol at me and muttered rapid incantations under her breath.

  I wasn’t sure if she’d cast a spell on me or if she was part of some new age interpretive dance group.

  Either way, that’s exactly what Wade was to me—he was my pink parasol moment. Now I knew why he’d stood up for me at the bonfire and why he’d been at my grandmother’s funeral, but there were still so many unanswered questions. For example, why had he taken my blouse and only one shoe? Why was he out here spending time with me?

  That’s how frustrating he was. The more I grew to know him, the more intriguing he became. It was that intrigue that had my journalist senses tingling. I was kind of like Spiderman, but without the latex suit.

  “It’s strange,” Wade mused, studying me so intently that a flush crept onto my neck.

  I quirked a brow at an attempt to exude composure. “What is?”

  “How prissy and uptight you are compared to your grandma.” His gaze never wavered from mine as he spoke. “I bet you�
�re a real bore in bed.”

  “Am not!” I cried, elbowing him in the ribs. Jerk. How dare he imply that I was a bore in bed! Sure, I technically hadn’t had any bed action in three years, but that didn’t mean I was boring. Right? “And that’s incredibly sexist of you to comment on my sexual prowess.” Or lack of.

  “Alright, sorry, Goochee. I won’t mention your sexual prowess again.” Wade let out a gruff laugh and grinned at me in an annoying way as he laid back on the soft grass.

  My eyes were forced to take in the entire length of his body. The blue flannel he wore was unbuttoned, revealing the white wife beater he wore underneath. It stretched across his stomach, outlining the ridges of his abs. Abs that I wanted to touch, and-ohmigosh, I was sexualizing him right after I’d reprimanded him for being sexist.

  Cut it out, Blair!

  “Also,” I snapped, and in the process snapped out of my crazy thoughts, “just because my ambitions extend beyond living in a small town and doing more with my life doesn’t mean I’m prissy and uptight.”

  “You think my ambitions don’t extend beyond that?” he asked, cocking a brow.

  “Your parents are wealthy,” I said, shooting him a pointed look, “and you work at a junk yard your dad started. Can you say ‘entitled?’”

  Wade shot up so fast, I thought something had stung him. “You know nothing about me, Blair Fonseka.” His expression was pained, like I’d struck his weakest point. ‘I’ve worked my ass off my whole life. I’ve been through shit that you couldn’t imagine.” His lip curled with disgust. “I work at the salvage yard because it means so much to my dad and because my brother won’t. So, don’t for a second assume you know me.”

  My heart was pounding in my skull. He’d never looked at me like that before and it made me feel small.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, realizing I’d been holding in my breath this entire time. “What I said was stupid and so judgmental.” Was I devolving back into the very person I’d been trying not to be? “You’re right. I am uptight and prissy.”

  Wade’s gaze softened, and he released a breath. “Well, we can all get like that. I used to be like that too—shallow and superficial—but material things don’t matter to me anymore. Sometimes you have to sacrifice the things that you once thought were important and give it all up for the things that should be important.”

  The words were powerful, deep, and struck a chord with me like no one else’s words ever had before. I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I didn’t know him well enough to spill my own story to him. Maybe in a different moment we could be nothing but truths, but it wasn’t this moment.

  “I honestly don’t know why you’re so anti-social and shut down around people,” I wondered aloud, somewhat boldly. “What you just said was so…” I trailed off, unable to find the right word.

  Poignant? Meaningful? Non-rednecky?

  Once again, we’d gone from hating each other to being brutally honest with each other. Maybe there wasn’t really a difference between the two. Maybe that’s all it took to uncover the pieces of ourselves we carefully hid away from everyone else.

  “I’m speaking to you,” he murmured, running those incredible eyes over the parts of my body I wanted him to touch. My face. My neck. My lips. “I guess I just like to socialize unsocially.”

  Something in his words resonated with me. Other than going to work and spending time with my family, I had more or less become a recluse myself.

  “I get that,” I said finally.

  There was silence. Then Wade chuckled. “Did you and I just agree on something?”

  Turning my head, I noticed the hint of a smile on his face, and it was that smile that returned my heart to my chest where it raced a little faster than usual.

  Why did he have to be so damn sexy? That beard covered up his features, but his lips were full, his face chiseled, and his eyes a dreamy blue. When those lips quirked, the urge to taste them was so tempting.

  Oh, no. No, no, no!

  There was no way my foolish heart was going to get carried away by a smile. At least that’s what I had to keep reminding myself, and the night was still young.

  ‘THE WORLD’S END’ WAS A fitting way to describe my time with Wade.

  It also happened to be the name of the bar we’d ended up at in Oak City. Despite being a bar, there was an old-school diner vibe about the place. Blue and white, checkered table cloths covered the tables, a large jukebox dominated a corner of the room, and the bar was lined with metallic stools.

  As Wade and I slid into one of the booths, conversations buzzed around us, some louder than others.

  “The big, bald guy was lying on my front lawn.”

  “What? Again? That’s twice this week!”

  Wade and I locked gazes, hiding our smiles as the bartender came over to hand us menus and take our drink orders.

  “Cheapest beer you got on tap,” Wade said immediately, disappearing behind his plastic menu.

  “Um,” I said uncertainly, picking up the menu and realizing I couldn’t even afford a drink. “Just a glass of water, please.” Ice cubes could be a meal option. “With ice. Lots and lots of ice.”

  Wade popped his head over his menu and gave me a sharp look. “I got you, Goochee. Get whatever you want.”

  “I don’t expect you to pay for me,” I said, growing hot with embarrassment.

  After all, I’d been the trigger-happy moron who’d forgotten to bring anything and everything that would’ve been essential for an out of town trip.

  “Blair,” he said, an edge to his voice that was kind of sexy, “I got you.”

  Blushing under his gaze, I glanced up at the bartender. “Er, a vodka and cranberry juice, please.” The bartender nodded and walked away, and I turned back to Wade. “You really don’t have to-”

  “The Chilling Chicken and Waffles look good,” Wade commented, ducking behind his menu again.

  The what?

  Opening the sticky, faded menu, I perused what The World’s End had to offer. It was the typical cuisine you would expect from any diner/bar, except with the most depressing names imaginable.

  Wasted Wings. Misery Loves Company Mozzarella Sticks. Hellish Jalapeno Poppers. Forlorn Fried Chicken. Despite the off-putting names, the thought of some deep-fried food was making my mouth water. If ‘eating food’ was ever promoted to a legitimate hobby, I would excel at it.

  The bartender returned to take our food orders, with drinks in hand. Wade went with the chicken and waffles, while I got the chicken fried steak with an extra helping of mashed potato. Mmm, carbs.

  Wade didn’t say much as he drank his beer and stared around the bar with his usual, observant air. This left me in an awkward limbo of ten minutes where I took too many generous gulps of my vodka and cranberry juice.

  When I finally glanced back at Wade, my head full of buzz, he was watching me with a weird look on his face. The hand that wasn’t clutching his beer, shook a little as his complexion turned a shade paler.

  It hit me then—swift and strong. Wade was a recovering alcoholic.

  Earlier on, I’d noticed the way his hands would shake or clench whenever he was around alcohol. It explained why his beer was so weak or why he didn’t drink anything stronger.

  Wade caught me staring at his quaking hand and moved it under the table like it was no big deal. He leaned against the back of the booth, his wife beater stretching across his broad chest and outlining his glorious pecs.

  I tried to focus on his face, but it was just as distracting as his body.

  “Are you checking me out?” he asked out of nowhere, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “No!” I cried a little too defensively. “Definitely not ever!”

  Was I checking him out? No, I couldn’t be. I was just trying to understand more of the Wade Welsecky puzzle.

  The smirk turned into a grin. “What? You don’t think the owner of a salvage yard could seduce you if he really wanted.” There was a gleam in his cerulean e
yes that unsettled me.

  “Um, well, uh,” I stammered, taking a gulp of my drink as I imagined his well-endowed, naked body pressing me against the wall.

  I took another gulp just to cool down my lustful thoughts.

  Wade let out an easy laugh that vibrated through my entire body. I could tell he was on some level of drunk that was making him more upbeat. “You’re probably fallin’ for me already, Goochee.”

  “That’s definitely not what’s happening,” I snapped, shooting him a glare. “You’re too rough around the edges. I want a successful man with a beautiful house and a BMW.”

  “Ah, it’s nice how you’re focused on the important things in life.” His tone changed. There was now a drop of disdain in it. “Your Goochee shirt and expensive shoes and big house and flashy car. You’re about as superficial as they come.”

  “Well, we can’t all look good in flannel,” I said, giving it right back to him. “Or grease-stained jeans.”

  “Did you just give me a compliment?” Wade leaned across the table, his palms pressed flat on the table, his expression as smooth as stone. “I knew you were checking me out.”

  The comment made my eyes fall to the rolled up sleeves of his flannel shirt that showed off his tanned, muscular forearms. The blue of the shirt complimented his eyes perfectly. It was hard not to notice the small things about him that I found attractive.

  “I really wasn’t,” I retorted, forcibly turning my head away to gaze around the bar. “It looks like all that beer is getting to you. No wonder you don’t-” I stopped, catching myself.

  Crap. Trust me and my big mouth to talk about the one thing that could actually hurt his feelings.

  “What, Blair?” Wade’s expression was somber as he studied me. “Say it.”

  “You, uh, have a, er, drinking problem,” I stuttered, drumming my fingers on the tablecloth from anxiety.

  He barely flinched, though the air around us seemed to plunge to freezing temperatures. “Am I that obvious?”

  “No,” I said slowly, the anxiety clutching my chest. “I’ve just been paying attention to you.”