After the Storm

by Faith Andrews

  But Sloane doesn’t come up for air. “And how long were they in there before she came out? Was she a hot, disheveled mess? Or did she look the same as when she arrived?” This woman is wasting her talents as a teacher. She should be a reporter for the tabloids. She’d make millions.

  “I told you this already. I didn’t see her leave. I didn’t want to.” And that’s the biggest problem. This whole situation is a big problem. Why the hell do I give a flying shit?

  “What’s that look, Lo? I mean, I know what that look is, but I need you to tell me.” Sloane’s glaring disapproval makes it obvious that I’m obvious. I like him. I have more than an unhealthy crush on someone I shouldn’t feel anything for, and my best friend can read me like a book spread eagle before her. “You got it bad, babe, don’t you?”

  I shake my head, stuffing my mouth with another wad of oil-soaked bread so I don’t have to answer. If I don’t say it out loud it means it isn’t true. Right?

  Resting her elbows atop the white tablecloth, Sloane leans forward and bores her eyes into mine. “I haven’t seen you this into a guy since—well, you know since when. This means something, Lo. You can’t just ignore what you feel. You need to do something about it.”

  I snap to, slapping the table with a loud thud. “That’s the worst possible advice ever, Sloane! You’re supposed to distract me, get the waiter’s number for me, tell me how wrong it is to have feelings for my boss. You’re not supposed to set me up for failure!” She knows how much I hate being single, but this is bad advice. Noah isn’t the one for me. It would be a mistake to hook up because it wouldn’t go anywhere and then it would be awkward at work.

  But Sloane presses on, oblivious to my insecurities. “Who says it has to end in failure? Maybe you two would be good together.”

  Segue! “Like you and Blaze?” I tease, trying desperately to divert the attention from me and change the subject.

  “Um, no. He’s just a friend . . . and we’re not done talking about you yet, so don’t even think about it.” She’s stoic, but I wonder if she’s hiding something.

  “Why? Do I sense a secret dying to be spilled?” I shimmy in my chair, harassing her for more.

  “Listen, Lo. There’s no mistaking that Blaze is fine, especially if you’re like me and have an unwholesome addiction to a man who can rock a bun. Damn, I just want to braid it for him!”

  The two of us lose ourselves in a fit of uncontrollable giggles as the waiter approaches with our drinks. “Sorry to interrupt your fun,” he apologizes as he places our glasses on the table, careful not to spill a drop of my overflowing martini. “Are you ready to order yet?”

  I glance to Sloane for approval. She shrugs, I shrug, and simultaneously we both order—“The Waldorf salad.”

  Our dark-eyed cutie of a waiter smiles bright at our BFF synchronization. “Anything else, my dears?”

  “Nah,” Sloane says, handing him back her menu. “I’m thinking this is going to be a primarily liquid meal. Just keep the drinks coming and take your time bringing the salads.”

  The waiter grips the menu I’ve extended to him a beat longer than anticipated, staring at me with a flirtatious smile. “No problemo, ladies. I’m Ricardo if you need absolutely anything.” He winks and then walks away.

  Sloane can barely contain herself until he’s out of earshot. “Oh, did you hear that, babes? Ricardo is at your beck and call tonight.” She imitates a terrible Spanish accent, rolling the R in Ricardo.

  I ball my napkin up and throw it at her. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

  “No, you’re terrible! Open your eyes, Lo. There are beautiful, available men all around you—all for the taking. Would you fucking take some, for goodness sake?”

  It shouldn’t strike a chord anymore, but it does. “You make it sound so easy. You think I don’t want that? You think I like being alone? Maybe you think I’m happy that Kurt left me because I—”

  “Don’t,” Sloane interrupts. “Don’t you dare even mention his name! He doesn’t deserve to have it come out of your mouth anymore.” Sloane hates Kurt as much as I do. Maybe more. She lets me vent when the occasional need rolls around, but using his name isn’t allowed.

  “I’m sorry. Let me rephrase. When Asshole Prick Fuck Face left he took something with him. A part of me. I want more than anything to find someone else—someone deserving—to fill that empty hole, Sloane.” I wave my arms around, demonstrating that there is no line of guys surrounding me. “I can’t just pull him out of thin air, hun. It’s not like they’re knocking down my door.”

  “I bet the waiter would at least hold it open for you,” she jokes.

  “I’m sure he would, but I’m not looking for the same old casual hook-up anymore.” I stare down at my martini, blinking to stave off the tears. I hate crying in public places. I despise letting my ex get the best of me when I’m trying to have a good time. But sometimes the weight of it all creeps up on me with an unexpected twist to my gut, and if I don’t let it out it will eat at me.

  “I miss being married. I loved belonging to someone, being someone’s other half. I want that again. Not just some roll in the hay or a sexy nightcap. I know you think I’m crazy for wanting to settle down after one failed marriage, but it’s what I was built for. To love and be loved, unconditionally. So what if I’m not perfect, or if I can’t do what every woman can. I still deserve happiness, right? Is that too much to ask?” I’ve spent the last two years trying to explain this to her, but it hasn’t sunken in yet. Why would tonight be any different?

  Sloane straightens in her chair, pointing a finger at me. “You listen to me. Carefully. Without taking this the wrong way. The old weeping Willow of the past needs to pack her shit and get the hell out of town! There is nothing wrong with you, and any guy would be fucking blessed to have you as his wife. So, stop allowing what that piece of shit did to you define who you are! Got it?” Her eyes narrow and she clutches the stem of her wine glass before taking a long slug. Sloane’s pep talks always make me feel better, but either way—I’m still going home alone tonight. What’s the use in arguing? I change the subject because I’m tired of thinking about my woes.

  “Thank you, love. Now, if you tell me everything about what’s going on with you and Blaze I promise to think about what you said about Noah.” I cross my fingers behind my back because I’m not in a position to make any kind of promises.

  She rolls her eyes, but adjusts herself in the chair, visibly making herself cozy. “Honestly, there’s nothing to tell. In the beginning he totally rubbed me the wrong way. That night in the bar I wanted to chop his dick off and hand it to him for being so crass and cocky. But then he kind of grew on me in that this-dude-would-make-a really-fun-friend-to-chill-with-sometimes-and-not-mess-up-with-a-hookup sort of way.” Have I mentioned that Sloane can hyphenate and string together every word in the English dictionary and make it seem normal?

  “Okay, so . . .” I press on.

  “So, nothing. I felt bad for him when I saw what that nutcase did to him.”

  “Nutcase, as in the man whose wife Blaze fucked in Mr. Nutcase’s very own mansion?”

  Sloane flicks her wrists, dismissing the crime. “Like he’s the first man to ever take advantage of a desperate housewife. It doesn’t mean he should be brutally beaten and basically left for dead.”

  She’s not totally wrong, and we’re still missing the point. “Okay, so he won you over with broken ribs and confessions of deep, dark sins?”

  “Nope, not at all. Really, Lo, I can’t explain it. Like I said, he’s definitely good looking and I can see the two of us having insane chemistry in the bedroom, but—it’s more than that. I don’t want to fuck up what we do have. I like taking care of him, he appreciates it, he needs me, and instead of hitting on me like he did in the beginning, he respects me.” Her face lights up with a peaceful glow. It’s hard to believe that Sloane Callahan has found a way to be platonic with a guy she finds desirable, but I guess stranger things have happene
d.

  “So, now that you know the real deal Holyfield about me and Mr. Scruffy, let’s figure out what we’re going to do about your panties getting all wet for Boss Man.” Her inappropriate remark falls from her lips just as Ricardo comes back to the table with our salads.

  I blush so deep my ears tingle with heat.

  Ricardo clears his throat, grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary.

  And Sloane simply sips the rest of her wine as if she hasn’t just embarrassed the hell out of me. “Thanks, Ricky. This look delicious. Another round of drinks for us, and please be on standby. My friend is falling for this guy who she doesn’t think she’s good enough for, and you, my sexy Spaniard, might just be who she needs to get him out of her system.”

  “Sloane!” I screech. I want to slither under the table and hide.

  Stifling a laugh, Ricardo nods and walks away—sure to report to the entire restaurant staff that there’s an easy girl who needs to get laid at table ten.

  “What?” Sloane asks with a mouthful of avocado.

  “You can’t just do that, Sloane! It’s rude. It makes me look desperate.” I’m beyond mortified. This is a thousand times worse than Noah seeing my tattooed and sexy Pinterest board.

  “Guess what, hun, you are desperate. You basically said so yourself. You don’t like being alone. You want a soulmate. So, stop with the modest act and put yourself out there. I don’t believe a man is the answer to everything, but in your case—the right man will solve all your problems.”

  As much as she’s trying to help, the last thing she says stings. She of all people knows this isn’t true. No guy can fix my biggest problem. Sometimes she’s so insensitive. It’s not done on purpose, but still—this isn’t why I called on my friend tonight. I don’t need to be berated and made a fool of because I’m single. I do that to myself. She’s supposed to be my cheerleader. The one to tell me that the smartest thing a woman can learn is to never need a man (one of my favorite pins). Why is she coming down so hard on me? “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s change the subject.” I cross my arms against my chest, like a sullen child, and let my gaze wander across the restaurant.

  Sloane reaches across the table with her free hand, grasps mine in a tight squeeze and regains my attention. “Lo, what that fucker did to you can only be undone by falling in love even harder. I know you—better than you know yourself—and he did you a favor. You have so much to give and he didn’t deserve any of it. You’re meant to share your joy, your sarcasm, your quirkiness, your gentleness, your beauty with someone worthy. With someone who won’t take it all for granted. That guy—he’s out there somewhere. And unless you take a chance on someone who makes you feel the way Noah gets you all hot and bothered—then there is something very wrong with you. It means you’ve lost hope.”

  I take in everything she just said. It would be a lie not to admit it makes me somewhat sad that she summed up my entire life over a shitty salad with Ricardo waiting on bated breath for me to call him over and fulfill my needs. But, damn it! Sloane’s right! I cannot allow what Kurt did define me any longer. Ignoring the swarming butterflies in my belly when I’m around Noah is getting harder and harder as each day passes. It’s time I do some serious soul-searching and decide if I’m ready to take a chance by crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

  “Wait . . . What?” Tell me I did not just hear that. Please, God, this woman—who I do not love, nor will I ever love—cannot be having my baby. “Is it mine?” The words rush out of my mouth, without time to consider how harsh they sound.

  Tori’s eyes water again, this time spilling over her heavily lined lashes. “No! It’s not yours, actually,” she cries. “I came here . . . because . . . I had nowhere else . . . to go.” She whimpers between words. She’s actually shaking. I can’t be a dick—especially now that I have a reprieve. Thank you, Lord. I’ll start going to church on Sunday. I’ll volunteer at a homeless shelter. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  Coming out from around my desk, I pull out a chair and wrap an arm around Tori’s quivering shoulders. “Sit down. Talk to me. I’m sorry I reacted that way. It was insensitive, but you gave me quite the fucking scare, you have to know that.”

  “And you don’t think I’m scared? I’m not even sure who the father is!” She pulls a tissue from her purse and dabs at her eyes.

  Yikes! That blows!

  I take a seat beside her, my hand still at her shoulder. “So how do you know it’s not mine? I mean . . . for sure.” I want all the proof I can get. Shitty timing, but oh, fucking well.

  “Because we haven’t been together in two months. Am I that forgettable and disposable to you, Noah?” Her face contorts with disgust. I’m not sure if her abhorrence is for me or herself. After all, she’s the one with the reputation.

  “Of course not. I’m just—”

  “You’re fucking relieved,” she interrupts. “Go ahead, say it. Who would want a baby with someone like me? None of the guys I’ve been with will take this as a blessing. They’ll see it as a curse—eighteen years of having to be connected to me. The town whore who got herself knocked up—and I don’t even know by who!” Her face falls into her hands, her cries becoming inconsolable moans. I can’t help feeling bad for her.

  I rub the spot between her shoulders in small circles, trying to coax her. But how can I? She’s right in everything she said. It’s not that she’s a bad person, but she’s made a bad name for herself by being reckless, easy, and available. I fell for it, and by the looks of things, so have plenty of other guys.

  “Okay, so talk to me. What can I do?” It comes out stiff, but that’s only because I have no clue what the hell I’m doing.

  “You can make me not feel like shit by telling me this isn’t the end of the world.”

  Tori and I have never really done the talking thing. Sure, we engage in the occasional flirty banter, but I wouldn’t consider what we have a real friendship. We’re fuck buddies. Our connection to each other is purely sexual. How do I do this without making her seem cheap? She deserves better than that.

  “Well, you have to know that, Tori. Of course, this isn’t the end of the world. You’ll work it out. Come on, why don’t we start with: what do you want to do?” I sit upright in my chair. I feel bad for her, but is this even my place? Why me? Why isn’t she talking to one of her girlfriends about this? Do I really want to know what her plans for this pregnancy are? It’s really none of my damn business.

  Regardless of my indifference, Tori explains. “I want to keep it. I’m not exactly young anymore, Noah. I’ve always wanted children, I just wasn’t ready to settle down. But maybe this is God’s way of telling me to wake the hell up.”

  Sounds pretty smart and responsible, even for her. Tori isn’t a total lost cause. And I know that because as cute as she is, as good in bed as she is, and as carefree as she is, I wouldn’t sell myself short either. You are who your friends are and all that shit. “Okay, well that’s a good plan. But—and I hate to ask without sounding callous—where do I fit in to all of this?” It had to be said. She needs to know I’m not about to become someone else’s baby’s daddy, no matter how bad I feel for this poor, helpless woman weeping in my office.

  “Don’t get your balls twisted, buddy. I’m not here to ask for anything. I just—I thought I should tell you. We obviously can’t do what we used to do anymore. I wanted to end it the right way. Let you know that I really want to change. You’re a good guy and I think if I’d gone about things differently a few years ago—tamed myself, took good advice—things with me and you might not have to be over. But that’s not the case. I’m a perpetual fuck up and now I have to grow up. I’m going to be a mother.”

  Phew. Another sigh of relief. “That sounds fair enough, and don’t be so hard on yourself. If it’s any consolation, if it were my kid you were talking about, I wouldn’t dismiss you. I’d want to help—with decisions, with anything you needed. Once you figure things out, maybe this will wind
up being a good thing. Can’t you see the positive?”

  “I’m trying. I really am, but in retrospect, I just wish I would have done things differently. If this baby’s father doesn’t want anything to do with him or her—how can I tell it that?” She leans back, deflating in the chair. All hope isn’t lost, Tori. Hang in there.

  “We can’t change the past, but we can make the best of our future.” As the motivating words roll off my tongue with an insincere shrug of my shoulders, thoughts of Willow and her inspirational quotes make me smile. “Hey, can I ask you something kind of off topic?”

  Tori perks to attention. She’s no longer crying, but the angst is still clear as day on her face. It might not be the right time to tread these waters, but inquiring minds want to know.

  “Sure. Why not?” She blows her nose and sniffles, turning to face me.

  “What was that entrance about before?” I point to the door, remembering the show she put on for Willow. If her ultimate goal was to come here to end things, why did she throw herself at me and make it a point to act as though we were together?

  She chuckles underneath her breath, pulling her long raven hair up into a ponytail. “I did you a favor. Want to thank me now, or later?”

  Huh? What’s she talking about? Willow looked pissed. How is that good for me? “Care to explain?”

  This time her laugh is audible. I’m not sure how this is amusing or why it seems as if she’s talking in code, but I’m about to find out. “You like her, don’t you?”

  Her accusation startles me. Yes, I’ve come to the unnerving realization that I do in fact like Willow. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I haven’t vocalized that to anyone. I haven’t even come to terms with it. I’m still trying to make it go away. And now the woman I used to sleep with is here asking about a woman I definitely wouldn’t mind sleeping with. What a weird fucking day. “Why do you ask?”

  She rolls her eyes, standing from the chair. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she walks closer and places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you really that blind, Noah? When that door opened it was like I walked into a sauna. The sexual tension, the nervous energy. And don’t get me started on what that poor woman looked like when she heard me call you baby. When you get around to doing the right thing, make sure you apologize for me. I don’t need her hating me. Especially once Jabber Jaws out there tells her you and I have a past.”