It's Just a Little Crush

by Caroline Fardig

  Yeah, Blake! He’s out there lurking around somewhere. At this point, I realize I’m no longer scared—I’m just downright mad. These guys are pissing me off. That’s it. Killer or not, Blake Morgan is getting a piece of my mind tonight. I’m tired of being stalked, I’m tired of his sudden grouchy attitude, and I’m also just plain tired. I’m done with Jed’s interrogation, and I’m leaving whether he likes it or not.

  Seeing this as a perfect time to make my exit, I suddenly announce, “I gotta go,” and head for the door, leaving Jed to clean up his mess.

  I get into my car and, hoping I’m not being watched, pull into the cross street just past where Blake is parked. I’ve never really appreciated how quietly my Prius runs until now, seeing as how I’ve never had to be all stealthy before. I park and run over to Blake’s Porsche and find it empty, which means he’s still out there somewhere. I quickly sprint across the street back toward Jed’s house. Instead of going all the way to his house where Blake might see me coming, I cut through the neighbors’ yards a couple of houses away. I scurry out onto the golf course, hoping that the handful of trees lining the fairways will hide me as I approach Jed’s backyard. When I’m close enough to see the rear of Jed’s house, but still behind a tree so I can’t be seen, I wait. Blake has to go back to his car sometime, that is, unless I’m totally wrong about all of this, and his car is here because he’s paying a visit to some lonely housewife whose husband is out of town on business.

  I only have to wait a few minutes to discover some movement near the corner of Jed’s property. A couple of pine trees are shaking. Trusting that it’s sufficiently dark for me to get out from behind my tree and not be noticed, I quietly skitter to another group of pine trees about twenty feet from the ones I saw moving. I peek carefully through the branches and can see a tall figure backlit behind them. Here goes. I’m a little more apprehensive than I am mad now that I’m out here and ready to go through with my crazy plan, but I’m committed. On the other hand, if he has a weapon, I’m seriously screwed.

  I run as quickly and quietly as I can in a wide circle, coming up behind the dark figure, which I’m now positive is Blake. What was that move we always did in junior high that knocked down anyone who was standing in front of us? Oh, yeah—punch them hard in the backs of both knees! Their legs will buckle, and they’ll go down every time. Blake is considerably taller and heavier than I am, so I only have one shot at this. Crouching down and pretending to be a linebacker, I run at the back of his legs, shoulders down and elbows out. I make solid contact, and he is going down!

  “Oof!” Blake yells as he hits the ground.

  Yes! Then I realize I’m not stopping, and I end up landing on the ground next to him. Ouch! Blake manages to get up first, and, rolling onto me, pins me to the ground. Uh-oh. Not how I expected this to shake out, but then again, there are less attractive people I could be pinned under.

  “Are you crazy?” he asks in a loud whisper. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” I hiss back. Why do we keep having this same conversation?

  “I’m trying to keep you from getting yourself killed,” he replies angrily.

  Hmm. Maybe I’m not the only one who thought Jed might try to slip me a mickey. I’m still mad, though. “And all this time I thought you were stalking me so you could kill me yourself.” I glare up at him defiantly. To judge his reaction, I add, “Just like you killed Hannah.”

  Blake lets go of my arms and sits back on his heels. Now I can see his face in the moonlight. He looks bewildered and sad and mad all at once.

  “How could you even say that? Don’t you know me better than that?” he cries.

  “I don’t know you at all! How could I? You’re too busy swaggering around the office most of the time, and then this week you do a complete one-eighty and act like a sulking child!”

  “Well, how do you expect me to act when I’ve just lost—” He stops short, his face pained. This is more like how I had expected Jed to act, like he was agonizing over the loss of someone he loved. Blake is obviously hurting over Hannah’s death. I’m beginning to think that someone grieving this much couldn’t have hurt her. But what’s up with the stalking and the rock through Jed’s window? Before I have a chance to ask him, he says, “I’m out of here,” and gets up, jogging off into the night.

  As I trek back to my car, I keep replaying the events of this evening. I can’t believe what began as a fact-finding mission, and by “facts” I mean “gossip,” ended with Blake Morgan wrestling me to the ground, and not in a good way. I’m beat. I just want to go home and sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Back at home, I’m just finishing filling Bob’s food bowl when I hear my screened porch door scrape open. Not again. I’m entirely too tired for another altercation with my stalker. I know it’s him because anyone in their right mind would have called before coming over after ten o’clock. I have one hand on the phone, seriously considering calling the cops, when I hear a knock at my back door. I sigh. Maybe if I tell him to go away, he will. This time last week I was drooling all over myself if Blake so much as looked my way, and now I can barely stand the sight of him.

  I pad over to the door and call, “My cat eats stalkers for breakfast.”

  Blake’s smooth voice comes from the other side of the door, “It’s not stalking if you knock.”

  “I’m pretty sure it still is.”

  “Okay, then. It’s not stalking if you brought dinner. And, I made my specialty.”

  I can hear the smile in his deep voice. What the? Not even an hour ago, Blake had been stalking me, yelling at me, and holding me against my will. To be fair, not completely against my will—I never really stopped finding him physically attractive, and he smelled incredible. What I can’t figure out is what in the world he’s doing at my house after ten o’clock with dinner. Now that I’m (almost) convinced he’s not Hannah’s murderer, I don’t think he came here to try to kill me. He’s had plenty of opportunities to do that and hasn’t yet. Then again, why is he here? To get information out of me? To get into my pants? He’s going to have to start being a lot nicer to me if he expects that. Oh, who am I kidding? Even after everything that’s happened, I’d still hit that.

  Just to be sure, I ask, “You aren’t packing are you?”

  “Packing?”

  “Weapons. You know—guns, knives...rocks?”

  I hear Blake’s deep laugh. “No, I left my rocks in the car.”

  “One more question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Ha, ha. Why did you really throw the rock through Jed’s window while I was there?”

  Blake’s voice turns serious. “Like I told you before, I was trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. I don’t trust Stewart, and when I saw him give you a glass of something, I wanted to create a diversion to make sure you didn’t drink it. What if he had drugged you…or worse?”

  So I wasn’t the only one who thought that. “Um, thanks.” Wow. Blake was saving me. That’s hot.

  Satisfied with his answer, I open the door to find a smiling, ever-so-slightly disheveled (I assume from our roll in the grass) Blake Morgan standing in my screened porch with pizza and beer in hand.

  “Pizza is your specialty?” I ask, unimpressed.

  “Hey, give me a break. I’m a bachelor.”

  Before inviting him in, I give him a warning look. “You gonna be nice to me now?”

  “Scout’s honor,” he says, holding up two fingers. I thought the scout thing was three fingers. Poser.

  “You don’t strike me as much of a boy scout,” I say doubtfully, “but come on in.”

  “Nice place,” Blake says, looking around.

  “Thanks. This was my grannie’s house.”

  “You know, I think my grandfather knew your grandmother,” Blake reveals with a smile.

  “Why is that?”

  “I assumed you were a native here, and he knows every family in town, so I asked him if
he knew your family. Seems he and your grandmother had a special date in high school,” he says, raising one eyebrow.

  “Oh, yeah. I had forgotten that story. They went to a dance together downtown, and the band playing was the Duke Ellington Orchestra. How cool is that?”

  “I’m certainly jealous,” Blake says with a twinkle in his eye.

  Okay, so I guess my anger toward him is melting a little. And, yes, his eyes really are twinkling, at least from where I’m standing. I hope this isn’t my Blake-vision kicking in again. Blake’s back to being Mr. Suave, at least for the moment. I like him a lot better than the bratty child he’s been this week. Then again, I’m a lot more likely to give in to Mr. Suave than the bratty child. Better be able to hold onto my liquor and my pants tonight.

  As I start to turn on some music at my iPhone dock, Blake comes up behind me and says, “Allow me.” He pops his iPhone onto the port and shuffles through his music until he finds some Duke Ellington. Poetic, but what is he trying to accomplish this evening?

  I grab some plates for our pizza and lead him into my living room. We both take opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, and eat in silence for a while.

  He finally takes a deep breath and says, “Hart, I’m truly sorry about this week. I’ve just been a wreck. I haven’t been able to talk about it with anyone.”

  “Yeah. I’ve noticed,” I reply quietly.

  “It’s just that…you’re the only one who seems to want justice for Hannah, besides me.” He hesitates, gazing at me with anguished eyes, then says softly, “I need to tell you something.”

  I move a little closer to him. “What is it?”

  Blake lowers his head. “We…had an…affair, Hannah and I.”

  “I know.”

  His head jerks up and his eyes lock on mine. “You knew? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Like what—‘Hey, Blake, been banging any of the office staff lately?’ Come on.” Wow. That was a little crass, even for me. I tend to lose the filter between my brain and my lips when I’ve had even a little alcohol. I’m going to need to rein it in a little. “I mean, I just found out tonight. So what happened?”

  He sighs. “A few weeks ago, Hannah and I were both working late, and she asked if I’d like to get some dinner. Said she needed to talk to someone. I never turn down a pretty lady, so I agreed. She told me all about her cheating bastard husband and how they were separating. She was so sad. I tried to comfort her…and one thing led to another. It only lasted a week. Hannah started feeling horribly guilty about us being together and told me it could never happen again, and we were never to speak about it. I cared about her and wanted to help her out if I could, so I brought it up the next time we were alone, which was at the fair. She still didn’t want to talk to me about anything, and we argued about it. Then, right before she died—” He pauses, his voice breaking. “I went to talk to her again in the barn…”

  Whoa. I’m starting to get a little nervous here. This is certainly a new twist to the story. Blake was with Hannah in the barn right before she died? Am I wrong to trust him? He better not be confessing to her murder—I was just starting to like him again! All the same, I slide back a little farther away from him on the couch.

  He continues on, oblivious to my growing anxiety. “I had told you I was getting taffy, but that was a lie. I saw another opportunity to talk to her alone, so I followed her to the barn, and we fought a second time. This time she told me not to speak to her ever again. I said some harsh things to her and left. I walked around a few minutes to blow off some steam, and that’s when I bumped into you. You know the rest.” He smiles, seeming relieved. “You don’t know how much better I feel, getting to talk to someone about all of this.” He leans toward me and takes my hand. “Thank you.”

  From the expression on his face both during and after telling his side of the story, I am certain that Blake is telling the truth. He did not kill Hannah. Unlike the rest of us, Blake didn’t just lose a co-worker in this deal, he lost a lover. And, whether or not they had already called it quits, they still had a bond. This is a man grieving. No wonder he was angry and hostile, lashing out and acting strangely. He had lost someone who meant something to him, and he couldn’t talk about it with anyone. It must have been eating him up inside.

  I pat his hand. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “So you’ll be my friend? Even though I’ve stalked you, crashed your girls’ night, and wrestled you to the ground, all in twenty-four hours?”

  “Of course,” I say, smiling. “I’m really not that picky.” Blake laughs, but only for a moment when I continue, “But what was up with the stalking thing? I was starting to think you were a creeper or something.”

  Blake lowers his eyes. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…I knew you thought there was more to Hannah’s death, and when I saw you back at the fairgrounds that next morning, I realized you were doing your own investigating. I followed you and spoke to all of the people you did, but I don’t think I got as much information out of them as you did.”

  I frown. “Why do you think that? You’re an investigative reporter—it’s your job to get people to talk. Surely you were able to pull more out of them than I could.”

  “Actually, no. Everyone kept muttering about not knowing me and not wanting to talk to the press.”

  “It pays to be a hometown girl.”

  “Obviously.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Why didn’t you just ask me instead of going to all that trouble?”

  Blake sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly after Hannah died. Plus, I didn’t want to seem so interested that it would make you think I did it, but you did anyway, right?”

  “Well, yeah, kind of. I saw you guys fighting at the fair, and then this week you sulked around like a teenage girl, very unlike your normal, super-cool self, plus you started stalking me. Change in personality and change in habits are big, glaring, homicidal red flags. Plus, there was the whole affair thing,” I answer a little too truthfully. Damned beer. I change the subject quickly. “So, tell me. Is it really true you’ve had six girlfriends in the two months you’ve been here?” Great subject change, Lizzie. You’ve gone from rude to ruder.

  Blake seems a bit uncomfortable. “It’s true. My love life has largely been a string of meaningless hookups since…I was left at the altar.”

  Wow. I’m stunned. Who in their right mind would leave a hunk like Blake at the altar? I mean, sure, he’s been quite a jerk the past week, but that was forgivable, considering his relationship with Hannah. What was this woman thinking? He’s gorgeous, rich, successful, fun to be around, funny… Wait, back up. I can’t be getting all infatuated with Blake again. We’re friends now, and besides, I don’t want to be a rebound for him. So, I’ll be his friend for now, but after a reasonable cooling-off period, he’s fair game! But again, for now, he is only a friend in need of cheering up.

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve been able to make the best of it.”

  “Obviously.” I cringe as I realize I’ve been rude again. I’m cutting myself off.

  “Do I really come off that badly? Like some cocky playboy?” Blake asks, seeming genuinely surprised.

  “Well…yeah,” I admit gently.

  “I’m so misunderstood,” he says sadly. But, when I study his face I can see his eyes sparkling, and his mouth twitching. He’s joking. Blake’s a smart guy—he knows what other people think. He just doesn’t care. But for some reason, he wants me to understand why he is how he is.

  “Oh, come on. Your real friends know what you’re really like, right?” I ask.

  “You mean all one of them?” he asks ruefully.

  “Do you mean to tell me that I’m the only friend you have in this town? Are you kidding me again? So you’ve never gone out with the guys after work?”

  “Nope. Except when Abshire and I were beating information ou
t of Jackson,” he says, smiling.

  “What have you been doing all this time?”

  He looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh,” I breathe, as I understand who, I mean what, well yeah, who, he’s been doing. “The ladies,” I drawl.

  He laughs.

  “Want another piece?” I ask, holding up my empty plate.

  “Please.”

  I take his plate and head to the kitchen. Blake follows behind me and removes his phone from the speaker dock. He replaces it with my phone and starts perusing my music.

  “Hmm,” he murmurs. “You have quite the eclectic collection of music here.”

  “What are you doing snooping around on my phone?”

  “You can learn a lot about a person from their taste in music. Let’s see. You have classic rock, hair bands, metal, disco, funk, pop, R & B, jazz…but I don’t see any rap or country.”

  I turn to him. “Well, that’s because I don’t like rap or country.”

  “I get that. You’re not very street.”

  “I’m street, yo,” I protest.

  Blake gives me a dubious look for that comment. “Or corn-fed,” he continues.

  “You are so strange.”

  “You have every Poison album. You’re too young to have been a fan in their heyday,” he assesses.

  “So are you. How old are you, anyway?” I ask.

  “I’m twenty-nine. Why Poison?”

  “Um, Bret Michaels? Need I say more?”

  “Yes, you do. Did you know that nearly every song they ever recorded is about sex?” Blake asks as he starts playing “Talk Dirty to Me.”

  “Again, duh, every woman either has had or wants to have sex with Bret Michaels, and he knows it. Write what you know, right?” I turn back around to finish plating our pizza.

  Suddenly, I feel Blake’s breath on the back of my neck. “Every woman?” he asks smoothly, as he puts his hands on the countertop on either side of me. A shock wave runs through me. This has come as a total surprise after our friendly breakthrough this evening. Finally, my fantasy is coming true! Here we are, alone, and he’s coming on to me. I’ve never had a crush that has worked out before. I’ve always loved my crushes from afar but never actually got to date any of them. But now, here he is, the man every woman in town wants, and he wants me. Me! Woo-hoo! I think I need to take a breath before I pass out.