by Kristi Rose
On my way. Give me 10, I text back
I tuck the phone back into the armband and take off, my thoughts and questions forgotten and my stride easy and quick.
Jayne is waiting outside her parents’ bar by her little sports coupe. When she sees me, she shakes her head. “Why people run for sport is something I’ll never understand.”
“It feels good. Why people voice memo instead of text is something I’ll never understand,” I say and stretch out my legs before they stiffen up.
“Mmm. Other things feel good. Like sex, eating chocolate, and Jacuzzi. Any of those are perfectly good alternatives to running, and I voice memo because it’s hard to text and capture my intonation and the loveliness of my accent.”
We carry on two separate conversations with the ease of friends who’ve known each other years, when in fact the opposite is true.
“But none burn the calories like running does, and when I run I can eat as much chocolate as I like, guilt free. I’ll be less judgy about your voice memos from now on. What’s up?” She doesn’t look like her usual collected self. She looks distracted and a tad pissed off. Her lips are pulled back as if she’s caught a whiff of something rotten and the odor has stuck.
“You remember that guy I was seeing? The one from Atlanta?”
Brad. The every other week shag. I remember her talking about him, so I nod.
“Turns out the wanker is married. With children.”
Jayne is not a fan of children. Not that she dislikes them; she just doesn’t want to be around them. She’s quite proud of her lack of maternal instinct. But I know that’s not what’s really bothering her. She’s not a homewrecker and to be placed in the position, even unknowingly, must have her experiencing fifty shades of rage.
“Seriously? How did you find out?” I stop stretching my calves and give her my full attention.
“His wife came to see me.”
“Get the fuck out!”
“She came into the store and at first I thought she was a nutter, acting all dodgy, just walking around and looking at all the people in the shop. She never looked at the clothes. When I asked her if she needed some help, she looked me up and down and said ‘I’m Brad’s wife’. I’m such a slag. She showed me pictures of them with their kids.”
“Did she want to fight or threaten you?” Jayne doesn’t strike me as the type to fight back.
“Ha, no. Said he’s done this before. Can you believe it? Fucking tosser. Men suck. I called the wankstain and gave him what for.”
“Good for you.” I can’t resist teasing so I say, “I guess your radar for nut jobs only applies to women.”
She laughs bitterly and pairs it with an eye roll. “Lucky me, right. Now I’d like to get pissed and toast my good fortune. Imagine being saddled with a bloke like that. We should have all men fully investigated prior to entering into any relationship.” She unlocks the car and pulls open her door but doesn’t get in.
“Unless your expectation with them is nothing but a good time.” McRae’s six-pack comes to mind.
She taps her chest. “Case in point. I wasn’t looking for long term. I don’t like being played or lied to.”
“True. Good point. Can you run me by the tire shop to get my car? I had new tires put on.”
“Ah, that explains the running.” Jayne nods.
I pull the door open but stop when someone calls my name, followed by Jayne’s.
Over the hood of Jayne’s car, our eyes meet.
“Bloody hell,” she says then groans.
I look over my shoulder. Pippa runs toward us, waving. I’d met her a few days ago when I came into work and she was helping wait tables.
“Namaste, my lovelies. What are you two going on about?” She clasps her hands together in front of her and does a slight bow.
She’s cute as a button, but an annoying one that won’t stay fastened, and that’s a clear sign she’s an oddball. I’m also not sure if her brain has the capacity to power up fully or not. Her blond shoulder-length bob has light lavender streaks that match her cropped yoga pants and cream tunic, and she’s always smiling and saying positive things. I want to throat punch her.
“I was just giving Josie a lift home,” Jayne says.
“Might I come along?” Her face is smooth with ease; a slight smile plays on her lips. What would it be like to live in her bubble of happiness? Barf.
“Ah, well. We thought we might also get a drink.” Jayne looks at me and I know that our party of two just grew. I shrug. After all, it’s Jayne’s night out. If she can stomach Positive Pippa then that’s her call.
“Oh, fabulous. I’ve been baking with your mum all day. I could use a drink.” She steps up to the car and I flip the seat forward to let her crawl in to the cramped backseat. After pulling on her seatbelt, she folds her legs, cross-legged, with one hand, palm up, on each knee. As if she’s going to meditate on the way.
Jayne drops me off at the tire shop and follows me to my apartment. They wait while I do a quick shower and change. Jayne says we need loud music, booze, and the opportunity to turn men down, so she’s taking me to some place called the Ocean Deck. Under Jayne’s fashion wisdom, I wear cut-off jean shorts, a cream-colored, slouchy, loosely woven sweater that has more openings than fabric, and a coral tank underneath. I use my cork wedges to give me height and pull my hair back into a high ponytail. Jayne’s in an aquamarine slip dress with beaded flats. Pippa has assumed eagle position and says she’s OK with what she’s wearing.
“Damn, we look good,” I say, hoping to elicit a smile.
“Can you drive a manual?” Jayne asks as we’re getting into her coupe.
“Is the Pope Catholic? You planning on getting that drunk?”
Her expression is serious as she backs out of the driveway. “Yes. Just make sure I get home in one piece and alone.”
I nod to Pippa.
“Oh, I never learned to drive and I’m shite at saying no,” Pippa calls from the back.
“She’s right. Worse than shite.”
“Wait. A few weeks ago you told me she was your designated driver.”
Jayne throws back her head and laughs. “Too right I did. I wanted you to give me more wine and a lift home.”
“Well played,” I say. “OK. If you’re sure you want to let it all hang out.”
“I’m more than sure. I open late tomorrow and I need this.” She peels out and speeds toward the beachside of the city.
The Ocean Deck is a loud, reggae music bar that opens out to the beach. I love it instantly. All sorts of people pack the place and the tension I felt during my run is gone as Jayne, Pippa, and I hit the bar and then the dance floor. But not before Pippa makes us take a picture of her doing a handstand next to the entrance of the Ocean Deck. I space out two cocktails and Jayne hammers hers back. Pippa drinks water.
The more alcohol that goes down Jayne’s gullet, the louder she gets. The band takes a break and the piped-in music is great for dancing, so we don’t stop, laughing and bumping hips as we move across the floor. Pippa is in the corner trying to incorporate yoga into her dance moves and that makes us laugh harder.
Still dancing, I lean in toward Jayne. “I’m dying of thirst. Ready for another?”
“Yes, and I think I may need some air.” Her dancing has slowed to a floppy, half-assed swaying and there is a green hue to her flushed skin.
“Why don’t you go outside and I’ll grab you some water.” Her chin-length hair has come out of its knot and hangs in waves around her face.
“And a beer.”
With a shake of my head I say, “Yes, a beer too.” I give her a push to the outside, signal for Pippa to follow, and then go to the bar to order drinks.
Once outside, I find Jayne leaning against a post and Pippa in tree pose. I hand Jayne and Pippa each a water and hold back the beer until Jayne finishes the water.
“That’s really cool,” the guy next to Pippa says.
“Strength,” she repeats. Her top slides down and exposes her midriff.
“Wow, that’s awesome.” The dude bends down to fist bump her free hand before turning back to his friends.
“Thanks,” Pippa says. She flips out of the position and points down the beach to a volleyball game. “Let’s go do that.”
“I think if I were to move suddenly I might cast up my accounts.” Jayne leans her head back against the pole.
“Too much Downton Abbey,” Pippa says sotto voce. “She wants to be Mary.”
“Shush, Pips,” Jayne says; her eyes flutter closed. “I am like Mary. Changing my small corner of the world one outfit at a time.” Her lips curl into a slight smile.
“I’m all caught up on Downton,” I say. “I’ve been mainlining Sherlock. Again. This wait for the next season is killing me.” I lean against the railing and sip my water. The phone in my back pocket vibrates and I whip it out.
It’s McRae. Thanks for this awesome online calendar. Used it twice this evening.
I quickly respond. UR welcome.
Is that really why he texted? To thank me? I weigh the merits of waiting for the proposition or making one.
“Are you getting a booty call?” Jayne asks.
“Nope, getting a compliment about my work.”
“From super-hot pilot guy?”
“Maybe.”
“Does he have any friends?” Jayne straightens up coming back to life. She tosses her empty water bottle in the garbage across from us. “Who might go for an arrangement like you have?”
“I don’t think he has any friends, except his cell phone.”
“And that girl at the bar,” Jayne adds.
“Yes, her, but I don’t even see how he has time for her. I put together his schedule and aside from the flight school he also teaches at the University, mostly evening classes. The man’s a workaholic.”
Another text from McRae. What are you doing?
“Look,” I say and show the screen to Jayne. “He doesn’t even use text abbreviations.”
She gestures with her chin to the phone. “You’re buggering off aren’t you? To meet up with him?”
“What? No way. I’m all about this girls’ night. Want to go back in and dance?” Miss this moment? Not a chance. This is what I should have done—even occasionally—while in college instead of trying to CLEP courses and outdo my already high marks. Experiences such as this, well, maybe I should have tried to have them sooner, but I’ll take this one right now and enjoy it for everything it’s worth.
I text McRae. Out with friends. U? Working, aren’t ya? This part of the night may be all about us girls, but the later part can be all about McRae in hopefully all his buff glory.
Jayne slides down the pole, coming to rest against her heels. “For future nights out like this I propose we do something either with less movement or alcohol. The combination of the two aren’t working for me.”
My phone zings in my hand. Lots to do with Mark out of town.
Oh brother. This guy needs a Josie intervention. U+me=sex later?
Yes. It’s funny how quick his response comes.
I’ll text you, I text back and refocus on Jayne.
“Have you had anything to eat? You’re looking a weird shade of...”
“Puce. It doesn’t work with your skin tone,” chimes Pippa, who flips out of a handstand and stares down at Jayne. “I bet she’s had a bag of crisps today and nothing else.”
“You know me so well,” Jayne says.
I stand and Pippa and I offer Jayne a hand. She takes ours and we haul her up.
“Any good restaurants around here?” I ask.
“I’d actually like to go home,” Jayne says. Her hair is loose, sweat-formed strands clumped together, and her lips are devoid of the light pink gloss she favors.
“Home then,” Pippa says and points down the beach toward stairs that I presume will lead up to the garage where we left Jayne’s car.
It’s slow going as Jayne stops to clutch her stomach every few steps.
“She’s a baby,” Pippa says. “Never could hold her drink. It’s the only time she gets impulsive. Jayne lives to be deliberate.”
By the time we climb the stairs and make our way to the parking garage Jayne is several feet behind us and moaning.
“Feeling that bad are you?” To give her a chance to catch her breath, I pull myself up to sit on the ledge of the short wall that was designed to keep people from trampling through the bushes.
“I wish I could toss it up already.”
“Greasy food will soak it up.”
“Ugh.” She’s still leaning forward; I suppose hoping gravity will assist. “Actually, that sounds good.”
Pippa lines up, positioning herself to do another handstand against the wall.
“Fuck all, Pippa, just sit on the wall like a normal person,” I say.
Jayne starts laughing and Pippa suppresses a grin. She doesn’t sit on the wall but she doesn’t do a handstand either.
“Come on,” I say. “You can hang your head out the window if you think you might get sick. I know just the thing you need.”
After driving through a local burger joint, the massacre of three cheeseburgers and several orders of large fries, we arrive at Jayne’s townhouse. She’s caught somewhere between exhausted, too much booze, and a greasy food crash so we help her inside, out of her dress and into her bed. Pippa vanishes into the guest room after blowing me a kiss.
I place a large bowl on Jayne’s night table along with a bottle of water and aspirin.
“Thanks, Josie,” she mumbles.
“Of course.”
“Take my car. I’ll get my mum to come and get me tomorrow.” Her voice is fading as if sleep is soon to claim her. I hear her breath even out and I click off the lights, leave her keys on the table, and pull out my phone.
Ready? I text McRae.
It’s just after midnight on a work night. He’s probably crashed out in some very serious pajamas that cover every inch of his body. But the dancing and pulse of the music still hums through me and I have energy that needs to be spent.
Chapter 11
I wait what seems like an extraordinarily long time before he replies.
Yeah.
Sleeping? I ask.
Nah. Still Working.
I glance at the time and am willing to bet he was out cold a few minutes ago.
I could use a ride. ;-)
Seriously?
Yes. I send my location. If you’re hesitating, remember that you want me to be on time tmrw.
I’ll be there in 10.
I wait outside, leaning against the cool, dewy bricks of Jayne’s townhouse. A beat-up old pickup rumbles into the parking lot and cruises slowly toward me.
It’s him, but I look in the passenger window just to make sure.
“Thanks,” I say with a smile and slide in before pulling the door closed. “This truck new?” I tease. “Bench seat. Awesome.”
McRae is all sleep-tousled and sexy with a simple green T-shirt stretching across his divine body. He’s pulled on worn jeans with a hole that gaps by his knee, so sexy I want to crawl across the seat and sit on his lap.
“This is mine; the other is Mark’s company truck. Where’s your biker friend’s motorcycle?” He nods to the townhouse.
“What?”
“The biker. The guy that dropped you off this morning. This his place?”
His hand rests on the shifter, as that’s how old this truck is.
I give a short laugh and place my hand on his bicep. “How many guys you think I got on the hook?”
He shrugs.
“You know that bar I work at, the Fox and the Hou
nd? This place belongs to the owners’ daughter, Jayne. She and I went out tonight.”
After a short pause, he shifts the truck into drive and slowly makes tracks toward our neighborhood. He’s not looking at me and is not as excited to see me as I thought he might be. As I am to see him.
“What’s this about?” I flip off my seatbelt and scoot next to him in the space fondly known as riding bitch. “You jealous, McRae?”
“What? Hell no.” He stares at the road.
“Mm-hmm. I see. This is about wondering if you’re the backup hitter. Relief pitcher.”
When he says nothing, I consider a new tactic, uncertain how to traverse these unfamiliar waters. But because my ponytail is too tight, I don’t bother trying to use brainpower until I set my hair free, which causes the dull ache in my head to ease. I massage the spot and involuntarily moan. McRae shifts in his seat, adjusting his jeans.
“You want to tell me where we’re going?”
I give a few short commands, steering him toward my place. He leaves the engine to idle and stares straight ahead.
I put my hand on his knee, the one exposed from the hole in his jeans.
“You’re the only one I’m doing, McRae. Let’s be honest, I should say you’re the only one I’ve done because we currently aren’t doing anything.”
“So you and that biker guy... I mean, I just need to know because I’m not looking to get into a fight with some dude.” Finally, he looks at me and I see something I recognize but can’t label. Loneliness perhaps?
“There’s nothing going on between Will and me. To do so would be punishable in a court of law, besides being completely disgusting. He’s my brother.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot you mentioned having a brother.” He thumbs out a pattern on the steering wheel. “I just now realized I know hardly anything about you.”
I turn the key and cut the engine. “Now is just as good a time as any to learn.”
He glances around before leaning toward me. “What do you have in mind?”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him lightly. He tastes of minty toothpaste, fresh. Nipping at his lower lip, I wrap my hands in his T-shirt and tug him closer.