Anything but Love (Wingmen #3)

by Daisy Prescott

  “She’s homeless. You didn’t notice all the stuff in her car?”

  Now that I think about it, Cari had a lot of junk in her backseat. And her trunk, if I’m being crass. “Maybe she’s one of those messy car types who hoards all her old pop cups and fast food wrappers.”

  “She left the ex. Put her stuff in storage. Couch surfed for a week. Once Justice denied it was him, she started looking for you.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Because I had a normal conversation with her. I didn’t throw insults at her and storm away.”

  “I only stormed out twice.”

  She gives me the scary look women get when they’re silently calling bullshit.

  “Okay, okay. There’ve only been two encounters total.”

  Hailey closes her eyes and exhales through nose before shaking her head.

  Message received. I’m acting like an idiot. Something she said earlier filters through my flight or fight reaction. “She’s living out of her car on the island?”

  “No, she found a room to rent in Greenbank.”

  “Why there?”

  “It’s cheap I guess.”

  “Why is she even sticking around?”

  Hailey’s annoyed expression returns. “Ask her. I don’t know the whole story. Tom chatted with her after you ran out of the Dog House.”

  “I didn’t run.” This time I’m not lying. I left through the backdoor and cut around the side, then made a loop down along the beach and up the stairs to my truck. At no point did I ever run. Not even jog.

  “You’re being an idiot. What’s the worst that can happen? Just keep your clothes on around her this time and you should be fine.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “What does that mean?”

  “So she can’t take any naked pics of you? Remember? The whole reason for all this drama?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

  “Good.” She smiles at me. “No naked videos either. No one wants to see your sex tape.”

  “Except Gomez Jeffries and his millions of followers.” I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “There’s a petition and everything.”

  “Don’t tell Tom.” She hops off the counter and then grabs a bag of her favorite roast. “I’m taking this as a thank you for sharing my words of wisdom with you.”

  “Does it matter if I ignore you?”

  “Suit yourself.” She waves over her shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee!”

  SOME DAYS AFTER work when the sun is shining, I take the top off the Bronco and drive around the island, listening to music and losing myself to my thoughts.

  I reach for my pop in the cup holder and lift it to my mouth. Movement on the straw catches my attention. A yellow jacket climbs the straw, its wings creating a low, ominous buzz.

  “What the—”

  My unexpected hitchhiker freaks me out, and I drop the cup into my lap. When the lid slips off, the unexpected chill of ice and liquid on my crotch causes me to swerve. Now it looks like I’ve pissed myself. I set the half empty cup back in its holder.

  Mr. Yellow Jacket crawls over my upper thigh, too close to my junk. Only denim separates me from a painful sting.

  “Fuck!” I don’t want to anger him so I carefully try to encourage him out the window with gentle swats. He lifts off my leg and buzzes around my fingers. Warning received, I lift my hands in surrender.

  Look, Mom, no hands!

  Bad idea. The Bronco drifts out of the lane and onto the rough shoulder. I overcorrect and fishtail slightly.

  The wasp happily crawls over my fly. I’m guessing on his mood, but he doesn’t seem nearly as upset as I am.

  With my attention split between the road and my crotch, I realize it’s not a question of getting stung, but when and where, if I don’t do something drastic. And now.

  I’m on a narrow section of road near the state park without much of a shoulder. Ahead and behind me are blind curves. If I stop here, I could get rear-ended. Then again, there’s a real possibility of a wasp sting where there should never be a sting.

  A glance at the road makes me swerve again to avoid a squirrel.

  This time I don’t correct in time and bounce off the pavement, over the gravel, and squash a few ferns under my tires before I hear a pop. The Bronco’s wheels spin for a second before I’m able to get back on the road. A flap-flap sound tells me I’ve popped a tire.

  At least my new friend has relocated to my sleeve.

  After stopping, I shift into park.

  When we get out, the little bastard flies away without even a good-bye.

  The rear driver’s side tire is flat.

  With a sigh, I walk to the back bumper to get out the jack and spare tire.

  I flip on the hazards to give me more visibility to anyone coming down the road before getting to work.

  I’m crouching near the tired, systematically loosening the lug nuts, when I get the feeling of being watched.

  If this were a horror movie, my go-to scenario in all things, I’d look around and see nothing. Then the camera would switch to the killer/monster/creature’s point-of-view in the woods.

  Stalking. Watching. Waiting.

  Despite recent events, my life is not a horror movie.

  Cari stands at the curve of the road behind me. A nice camera with a big lens hangs around her neck. Of course it does.

  Ignoring her, I refocus on removing the flat tire. If she wants to take more pictures of my butt, let her.

  I’m sure it looks magnificent in these jeans.

  Her feet softly crush the gravel along the shoulder as she approaches me. When she’s close enough, the breeze catches a familiar floral scent. I inhale deeply, filling my nose with her fragrance. My body responds to the combination of dream and real memories of her, unable to tell the difference between reality and twisted fantasy.

  “Hi.”

  “Do you want me to pose this time? Or do you want to do the whole spontaneous angle again?” I don’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  Her sigh is exaggerated and loud. “I’m not going to take a picture of you again. Ever. Not as long as I live.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” The wheel comes off and I roll it to the side.

  She pushes the spare tire closer to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Do you need any help?”

  I lift an eyebrow in question.

  “My dad taught me how to change tires and the oil in my first car. He didn’t want me beholden to any man.”

  “Beholden? Don’t hear that word very often.”

  “His word, and sentiment. He encouraged me to be independent.” She leans a shoulder against the truck. Her legs are close enough to touch. Not that I think about touching them.

  Or pulling her in front of me and burying my face in her.

  Never.

  “Did you hear me?” she asks

  I have no idea if she’s kept talking after beholden. “Um . . . no?”

  “You sound so sheepish.” Her laugh reminds me of something.

  Not laughing children or happiness, or wind chimes.

  No, it reminds me I dislike her. How dare she laugh at me and my not paying attention to her?

  “You’re blocking the light.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. Her shadow shifts and sunlight spotlights the tire. I don’t really need the bright light.

  “Sorry.” She plays with her camera strap.

  “Looking for other unsuspecting men to take photos of today?” I jerk my head at her camera.

  “Naked pics aren’t really my thing. I walked down to the state park to see the big trees.”

  The big wood joke is right there, waiting for me.

  “Big trees, big wood. The jokes practically write themselves, right?”

  I laugh. “Did you read my mind?”

  “You were thinking about big wood?” She giggles and the giant boulder of tension sitting on my
chest lightens.

  “Depends. We’re talking about trees still?”

  Her green eyes blink in fake innocence. “What else?”

  I turn away to hide my smile. “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost lost on the breeze that rustles through the tall cedars along the road.

  Pretending I didn’t hear her, I stand to roll the flat to the back of the truck.

  She follows me. “I’m sorry.”

  I attach the tire. “I heard you.”

  With a nod, she frowns. “I see.”

  “Apologies are just words. They don’t mean anything. They can’t change past events or the fallout.” I know this from my dad and the endless circle of fucking up and apologizing.

  “I know I can’t change things, but I am sorry for what happened.”

  Her words annoy me. “Doesn’t sound like you’re taking ownership for thinking it’s okay to post naked pictures of me online. Smart move to tag them as Justice to get them to go viral. Maliciously evil. Well done.”

  She fills her cheeks with air before exhaling an angry puff. “I took the picture, but I didn’t post it. I deleted it as soon as I found it.”

  A car speeds around the corner at the same time she steps around me. I yank her out of the road and without thinking, spin her so my body protects her from harm.

  In other words, I pin her to the side of the vehicle. The car honks as it passes us. A gust of air follows, whipping Cari’s hair around her shoulders and into my face.

  “Are you okay?” My heart hammers against my ribs. “That was close.”

  She blinks up at me and licks her bottom lip. “Too close.”

  I tuck a wild lock of hair behind her ear to keep it from hitting me in the face.

  Her voice comes out a shallow whisper. “Your eyes are really pretty.”

  I open them wider in surprise.

  “In fact, I’ve never seen brown eyes like yours. Brown is too simple to describe them. Maybe tawny is better. Is that a freckle?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I close the eye with the blemish in the iris. She’s the third person I’ve ever met who’s noticed it. This makes me uncomfortable and I retreat to sarcasm. “Are we paying each other compliments now?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “If we are, it’s your turn.”

  I brace my hands on the window by her head. Before answering her, I let my eyes follow the shape of her shoulders, skimming over her breasts, coasting down her stomach, and sliding around her hips. She’s got more curves than I realized.

  Not that I’ve memorized anything about her. Unfortunately, I do remember her sweet ass and how it felt brushing against my fly. “You have small feet. Even for a girl.”

  With a quick shove to my shoulder with both hands, she frees herself and steps away. “That’s it? I have small feet? Small feet are not a compliment. It’s a statement of fact.”

  From her harsh tone, I’ve annoyed her. What am I supposed to say? She knows she’s pretty. She must know how hot she is.

  I shrug. “Fine. You have pretty eyes, too.”

  She twists her mouth as she studies me. Arms crossed again, she looks pissed. “You’re hopeless.”

  “In what way?”

  “With women.”

  “Ladies love me. I have zero problem, thank you very much.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re so handsome you probably think you only need to show up and women will fall at your feet. No effort required.”

  I lift an eyebrow and bite my lip to stop myself from agreeing with her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Oops. I left off cocky.”

  “You think I’m handsome. How can I not be cocky?”

  “No I don’t. I said you think you’re handsome”

  “Your words were ‘you’re so handsome.’ I’m not arguing with you. Glad we can both agree on something for once.”

  She growls at me.

  It’s all sorts of hot.

  “I’ll take cocky and handsome if it makes you feel better.” I scratch the side of my mouth with my thumb. Her gaze follows the movement to my mouth, her lips parting and her lids getting heavy.

  It’s a look I know well.

  She wants me.

  We stare at each other for a few moments before she glances up the road.

  She pulls out her phone. “It’s later than I realized. I’m supposed to meet Hailey. I’m never going to make it back to the house to get my car and get there in time.”

  “Get in and I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Are you going to kidnap me and dispose of the body in the woods?” She gives me a wary look.

  “Too obvious. I’d be the first person the sheriff would question.”

  “Gee, that’s comforting.” She buckles her seatbelt and leans as far away from me as possible.

  “It should be. Murder has crossed my mind when it comes to this mess.” I laugh, but it comes out cold and stilted.

  She gives me directions to her rental in Greenbank. Otherwise we ride in silence. My attempt at humor makes me sound like a super creeper and I decide it’s better to keep my mouth shut around her.

  “Stop at the yellow mailbox on the right.” She points to a row of boxes up ahead. “It’s a long driveway. You can drop me here at the road.”

  I ignore her and drive down the road.

  “You’re incredibly stubborn, aren’t you?” She sighs when I park in front of a classic A-frame on a high bluff. A view of the water peeks out between tall cedars.

  “It’s getting dark. You might be attacked by wild animals. Then blame me.”

  “What sort of wild animals?”

  “Deer.”

  “You’re worried I’m going to be attacked by vicious deer?”

  “If anyone could provoke a doe, it would be you.”

  Her hand rests on the handle. “I’ll be sure to watch out for the attack deer. Thanks for the ride.”

  She hops out and pauses with the door open.

  “You’re welcome.” I’m not sure what else she wants me to say as she stares at me.

  She blinks and shakes her head before closing the door. I watch as she follows a stone path around the side of the house past where her little Mini car sits. I sit with the engine idling, waiting for a sign she made it inside, but I can’t see the back of the house.

  I’m guessing she’s renting a sunlight basement apartment given the style of the house and the location. I don’t know this area of the island that well. I hope the owners aren’t ripping her off.

  I scratch my beard, lost in wondering why she’s still on the island. Maybe now that she’s apologized to my face, she’ll leave.

  That would be nice. Knowing she’s lurking around Whidbey only complicates things.

  NOW THINGS ARE getting ridiculous.

  Nothing is sacred.

  My mother is happily sharing photos of me on Facebook. I remember when the only people on there were college students and recent grads. Both my mother and grandmother have accounts now. Apparently, they also know how to tag me in pictures.

  Pictures I thought were sacred and for the family albums only. Not to be scanned and uploaded online. Something to be shared with future wives and grandkids.

  What am I even saying?

  Nothing like seeing my pint-sized cheeks being liked and given the thumbs up on social media.

  What’s wrong with everyone? Have they all lost their minds?

  Nothing is off limits. Not even me in the classic bear skin rug pose creatively recreated using the back of our golden retriever, Wally Walla Walla, as the bear.

  Someone suggests a then and now version of the photo.

  That someone is my brother, who should start sleeping with one eye open if he wants to think he’s so funny.

  Wally, bless his wet nose, died ten years ago. At least he isn’t here to see my humiliation.

  Carter doesn’t think it’s as funny when Grandma posts a pic of
our naked “heinies” at Maxwelton beach. We’re both under four in the picture. Before I told her to set the privacy to friends only, it had three thousand likes on Facebook.

  I want to get one of those cars with the big speaker on the top, then drive around telling people it’s just a butt. If they reach their arms around, they can touch their own ass. Hell, stand in front of a mirror and take a selfie. Done. Now they can look at a naked ass all day long on their phones.

  “Destroyed ’em? He totally wrecked ’em.” Jonah pauses for effect. “Get it? Sounds like rectum.”

  He’s not the first person to tell me a butt joke this week. The list is long. “I hate you.”

  He’s still laughing as he gets in his old VW camper. Unlike most of the guys I know, Jonah doesn’t drive a truck. This is probably the fourth bus he’s owned. They break down, he fixes them. They fall apart, he salvages what he can for parts, and buys another one.

  I get the love of vintage cars, but the man lives in an infinite loop of repairs and parts.

  The engine putters and chugs down to the main road.

  Back inside the warehouse, we’re in major packing mode. Our weekly orders go out today and everything needs to be bagged, labeled, and boxed.

  Jonah took a bunch of local orders with him. I guess his van is handy for making deliveries around the island. As long as he doesn’t break down again.

  I pull Layla and Amber into the packing area to help fulfill the orders, leaving Nick to handle any post-lunch customers. Weekday afternoons tend to be quiet in the café.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, busy double-checking this week’s invoices. I’m missing one for a restaurant in lower Queen Anne that has a standing order. I’ll have to print another one.

  Inside my office, my phone buzzes with another text.

  I locate the invoice and reprint it. While the printer whirs to life, my phone goes crazy. I pull it out and see Carter’s name all over the home screen.

  My first thought is something’s happened to Dad.

  *You should sit down.*

  *Are you sitting?*

  *You ready?*

  I scroll to the bottom.

  *You’ve been outed. Check Gomez*

  I reread Carter’s text.

  Fuuuck.

  “Fuck,” I shout and kick my chair, sending it spinning across the small space into Jonah’s desk.