The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1)

by Martin, R. C.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” She takes a few hurried sips of her beer before running her fingers through her blonde hair and pulling it to one shoulder. Crossing one leg over the other, her long limbs bare until her upper thigh where her short skirt stops, she props her arm across her knee and leans toward me before she begins her story.

  This is how it works. We come, we fill each other in on the details of our bad day, and then we move on.

  “I woke up in someone else’s bed this morning. It was just weird, you know? Disorienting.”

  “Um…” I’m at a loss for words.

  “Don’t give me that judgy-asshole face,” she demands, reaching out to smooth away my furrowed brow.

  As soon as her fingers leave my skin, my eyebrows return to their previous state. “I’m not judging you. I just—I didn’t know you—I just didn’t know you were seeing someone,” I stutter.

  “I’m not. Well, I suppose I was last night.”

  “Oh,” I manage.

  “Stop it!” she demands, smoothing her fingers over my forehead again. “I'm not a slut, you know? We didn’t have sex.”

  I hold up my beer and lift my free hand, palm up, signaling my innocence. She's always telling me that I think more than any guy she’s ever met; and yet, right now, I'm not thinking anything. “Stop trying to figure out what I'm thinking. It's not that.”

  “Alright, Mysterious, then what’s going on up there?”

  “Nothing, keep talking.”

  She squints her eyes and studies me for a few seconds. “Nothing?” she asks suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I repeat with a shrug. “Tell me about this guy.”

  “Well, he was a lot more attractive last night than he was this morning, that's for sure.” She cringes in remembrance and I can’t help but wonder if he was really that bad. As far as I can tell, she’s got some pretty high standards. “He must have been a really good kisser or something.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “You're judging me again.” She points her finger at me accusingly before taking a sip of her drink.

  “I’m not. I just—you shouldn’t go home with people you don’t know. Especially if you’re not in a state to remember what you did the next day.”

  “Aww,” she murmurs. Her shoulders relax and her face softens as she smiles at me. For a fraction of a second, her I-could-care-less-queen-bee persona slips and I see the girl that I know so few are really previewed to. I like her best in moments like these, when her green eyes gleam with innocence and her heart is suddenly on her sleeve. Not that there is anything wrong with who she portrays herself to be—bold and beautiful—but it's the girl underneath that seeks my company just for the sake of talking. It's the girl underneath that’s been writing Dear Madge for the past ten years. I know it's the girl underneath whose heart broke for Daphne when she ended up pregnant; that girl nurtured their friendship in a situation not many people would respond to in that way.

  Then, just as suddenly as she came, she disappears and Logan’s armor is back up. I don't mind though. I appreciate just knowing that there's more to her than what meets the eye. “That’s sweet,” she coos. “You worry about me. But it's fine. Really. I remember enough to know that all of my clothes stayed on. It was mostly just kissing and heavy petting.”

  “Heavy petting?” I laugh, shaking my head at her. “Alright, now I'm judging you. Who says that?” She giggles and smacks the back of her hand against the middle of my chest. This is why we spend our bad days together; because no matter what, there’s always something for us to laugh about.

  “Shut up! You know what I mean.”

  “How did you meet this heavy petter, anyway?

  “Ew! You make it sound so disgusting!” She curls her lip in revulsion and shudders before she continues. “I went out with Daph last night.” As she rolls her eyes, I take a sip of my beer, knowing an explanation is coming. “She let me get all cozy with this guy.”

  “She let you?”

  “Okay,” she concedes with a small smile. “I’m not always the best listener after a couple drinks. I guess she tried to tell me I’d regret it, but he was hot! At least, I thought so at the time. And it was raining and—”

  “What does the rain have anything to do with it?” I interrupt with a grin.

  “It’s just my thing. Never mind,” she says, batting away the comment with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, she left me at the bar with him!”

  “She left you?” This is also something we do. She tells me her side of the story, and I whittle out the truth.

  “You’re annoying,” she says with a smirk. “Daphne wanted to leave and I didn’t. I told her I’d find my own way home. Happy?”

  “Yes. Keep going.”

  She proceeds to tell me about the rest of her night, or what she can recall, and the consequences she faced in the morning. To make matters worse, after she made it back to her car, which was left at the bar, she found she had a flat tire. Luckily, Trevor’s tattoo shop is close by and he was able to come help her change it—but her trip to the mechanic to get a new tire made her late for work. Apparently, work sucked, too.

  By the time she’s done filling me in, the seat beside her has opened up and I snag it right away. We order dinner and continue nursing our first round of beer as we wait.

  “So, what lesson did we learn today?” I ask, propping my elbow against the bar.

  “Uhhh….” she bites her bottom lip before offering me a coy shrug.

  I shake my head and chuckle. “Don’t go home with strangers. Even if it is raining,” I add, teasingly.

  “But what if he’s hot?” she retorts, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Apparently, your beer goggles can’t make that differentiation. So my rule stands.”

  “Oh, now it’s a rule?”

  “Seriously, though, why don’t you just try dating? Aren’t hook-ups exhausting? They sound exhausting.”

  “Sometimes,” she admits. “But they also aren’t complicated.”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  “Don’t get it twisted, scrumptious, I’m not afraid of dating. I just don’t date. I play.”

  A small smile tugs at my lips as images of Addie fill my head. She’s the only girl that I’ve ever been in a relationship with. Sometimes I think that’s crazy, but mostly I realize that I’m so lucky to have found her. I don’t envy people who are out there searching for that person they’d like to share their life with—or, worse, just one night—only to end up disappointed time and time again.

  “I think you’re missing out,” I tell her.

  “Or,” she starts and then she stops. I watch her as she traces the tip of her middle finger around the rim of her glass, seemingly lost in thought.

  “Or what?” I ask when my patience runs out.

  She smirks at me. “Or—maybe I’m just holding out. Right guy. Right time. Less complicated. Only time will tell.”

  I’m not sure if she’s referring to someone in particular or speaking generally, but she changes the subject before I can find out. It’s not long before our food comes; as we eat, we discuss our weekend plans and the upcoming semester. When we’re finished, we both decide to call it a night, our contagious yawns cluing us in on our shared exhaustion.

  “Are you coming out tomorrow?” I ask as I walk her to her car.

  “Tomorrow? Oh. The birthday thing. I can’t. I’ve got an outing with my co-workers. A little end of the summer bash. But, who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other.”

  “Maybe we will.”

  “Thanks for walking me to my car, Mysterious. And for dinner, of course. You bumped this day up to a five. Bravo.” I bow in jest and she playfully smacks my shoulder. “Don’t get cocky. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “In that case, I’ll just say you’re welcome.”

  “Better.” She hugs me before climbing into her car. “See you.”

  I wave, slipping my fingertips into the front poc
kets of my jeans as I watch her drive away. Heading to my vehicle, a tired half-smile lifts the corner of my mouth. It’s nights like this one that humble me; nights like this one that remind me, my life isn’t just full—it’s overflowing.

  If I had to pick one word to describe my summer, it would be weird. I know that I’m studying to be a teacher and that my vocabulary should probably be able to boast of itself with a far more creative choice of word, but that’s the best I can come up with. Weird. It wasn’t particularly superb or dreadful, but it certainly wasn’t pedestrian either.

  I spent a lot of my time doing what I normally do every summer. I caught up on my reading, I spent a good amount of time working at the pub, I enjoyed the company of my friends, and I adopted the perfect summer workout routine—that last of which was essential, as our baker babe has outdone herself over the last few weeks. In fact, the only thing that made this summer significantly different than any other was my separation from Beckham. That’s part of the reason the last couple of months have been so…weird.

  I’ve grown used to not seeing him as much. I don’t like it, but I’m not crying about it. I do miss him terribly, though. Not just him but him in the capacity of my boyfriend. I would say him in the capacity of the man I love—but together or not, he will always be that. The ache of my longing sometimes renders me useless, but I try not to dwell on it. I know that if I think too much about it, my fears will start to creep into my heart and I’ll be a complete mess. Instead, I’ve been seeking out healthy distractions when necessary. I’ve done a lot of journaling. I’m not sure where Gray got the idea for me to take up the practice, but I’m so grateful for the gift he and Ave bestowed upon me right after the breakup. Sometimes, I just need to dump my thoughts somewhere. The pages of my personal novel are filled with my worries, my fears, my questions; they are also filled with pleasant memories, my hopes and dreams, and my love. It’s almost as if the little leather bound book is a place instead of a thing; it’s my safe haven—a place to pray, grieve, celebrate, and reminisce.

  One of the benefits of having the journal is my friends don’t have to hear me talk about what I’m struggling with all the time. I know they would listen, because I have wonderful friends like that, but it’s nice to just enjoy their company and the moment we are in instead of making everything all about me. Besides, I really like hearing about them.

  My favorite part of the summer, by far, has been my time with my friends. It’s also another reason why it’s been weird, because I’ve surrounded myself in new company the last couple months. Beckham and I don’t hang out alone anymore; at this point, I’m not even so sure it’s because of the breakup, he’s just been really busy. It definitely makes me appreciate the times I do get to see him even more.

  While I have spent some quality time with my other half, she spends most of her free moments with Grayson. I’m incredibly happy for her, though, so I don’t complain too much when I miss her. I’ve never had to share her like this before, but now I know how it feels to be the single one of us. I won’t try and convince myself that I don’t get a little jealous of her sometimes, because I do…but just because I’m currently single doesn’t mean I’m alone.

  Sarah, Roman, and I have kind of become the Three Musketeers—which I love. Besides our shifts together at work, we’ve spent a good amount of time doing things around town in our free time, too. Every open mic night at Little Bird we can be found there together, huddled around a table right smack dab in the middle of the room. It happens a couple times a month; and just like the first time, we always hang out with Daphne afterwards. Sometimes Trevor, and whoever was working the shift with Daphne, will come too. Some of my best memories over the past few weeks have been created while in the company of my new friends—especially the one whose voice now fills this room.

  As Avery would say, Roman is proof that God loves me. I’m convinced that he’s a gift. I won’t claim that he’s my gift, because he’s far too great to be confined within the boundaries of my world, but it can’t be denied that he entered my life at the right time and in the perfect place. There are so many reasons why he’s been such a blessing; aside from the fact that he makes me laugh, he relates to me and understands my situation better than anyone—excluding Beck, of course. No, our stories aren’t exactly the same, but his experience comes closer than anyone else’s. Plus, since he knows my history—and has been witness to all of my public meltdowns—and he hasn’t run away, I know he has my back. He assured me he was a good listener and he’s never been anything less. He’s also a really great and supportive friend, for whom I am so grateful.

  Starting next week, I’ll be seeing him a lot less. I know I’ll miss the routine of seeing him at yoga four times a week and at the pub almost just as much. I’ve promised myself that I’ll make it a priority to squeeze in yoga every Saturday once the semester begins; and I know I’ll see him whenever I pick up a shift at the pub or when I pop in for a bite to eat. Also, the Three Musketeers have promised to keep our open mic night tradition going, no matter how busy we get.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you are getting stronger,” says Roman as I gather my things.

  I smile up at him before I stand to my feet, tucking my yoga mat underneath my arm. “You think so?”

  “I know so. It’s all in your technique.”

  “Well, I’ve had a pretty good teacher,” I say with a shrug.

  “And yet, you’re dropping out on me,” he teases, placing one hand over his heart as if he’s been wounded.

  I laugh, turning to tap him with the end of my cushy mat. “Stop it. You’ll see me every Saturday.”

  “Promise?”

  “Barring any weekend trips home, yes.”

  “I’m holding you to that.” He points a demanding finger at me as he knits his eyebrows together.

  “Fine by me.” I scoop up my purse and throw it over my shoulder as he walks me to the door. “So, are you coming tonight?” Today is Grayson’s birthday. Later on, a bunch of us plan on taking over the pub. I say taking over because Avery has done her best to invite as many people as possible. Our little group, plus friends from church, plus guys from the football team. Eric and Henry are going to lose their minds! If Marla’s working, though, she’ll love it. I know it’s going to be so much fun. Roman’s church has an extra service on Saturday nights that he usually attends, but I’m hoping that won’t deter him from coming out.

  “Yeah, I’ll stop by.” I smile, pleased with his confirmation. “Church gets out around eight, so I should be there shortly after. Besides, if I don’t, I’ll have to deal with the wrath of Avery. Daphne tells me she’s been planning this for weeks.”

  “You’re right,” I reply with a grin. “She wants it to be really special. Your presence will definitely be appreciated.”

  “Then I will definitely be there. What are you up to now? Want to grab breakfast?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve got to help Ave do a few last minute things. Raincheck?”

  “You bet. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

  He extends his arm out, welcoming me in for a hug. “Yup,” I reply, giving him a squeeze. “Be there or be square.” As I pull away from him, I hear my phone alert me to a text. I roll my eyes, knowing right away who it is. “That’ll be the party planner.”

  “Get out of here,” he says with a laugh, shooing me off. “I’d like to see you in one piece, later.”

  I join him in his laughter, as I’m so apt to do, and wave my farewell before hurrying to my car. It’s definitely going to be a busy morning, but we’ve got all hands on deck. Claire got into town last night, and I’m sure Avery’s already got her hard at work. A smile still lingers on my lips as I imagine how this day will turn out. It’s going to be pretty epic. I hope Gray loves every minute of it.

  I’m startled out of my sleep, as if my body knows that I should be awake by now. When I sit up, I’m surprised to see the magnitude of the sunshine that floods my room. The sun s
houldn’t be that high. I twist around to catch the time on my alarm clock. 9:48. What the—? My thoughts are interrupted when I see a green envelop propped up against the lamp on my night stand. I reach for it, recognizing Avery’s handwriting scrolled across the front. She has lyrical script; every time I see it, I’m reminded of music. How fitting, right?

  The only thing written on the front is my name—my Avery given name. I open it without delay, curious as to what my girl is up to. Inside is a birthday card. When I flip it open, I see that it’s blank, aside from the note she’s written.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I prop the card up next to my clock. I still have no idea what my day will consist of, but I can tell already that it’s going to be full of surprises. While there is a part of me that wants to treat this day like it’s nothing special, I know that it means a lot to Avery to show me love today. I throw aside my sheets and climb out of bed, determined to see what these breakfast plans are.

  “Oh, good, you’re up,” says Jackson by way of greeting. He’s already dressed, sitting on the couch watching ESPN. “Beck! He’s up!” he calls from where he’s sitting.

  Beckham emerges from his room and offers me a smile. “Hey. Get showered. We’re taking you to breakfast.”

  “You are?”

  “Yup. Now hurry up, Big Red, I’m starving,” insists Jack with a smirk. “We were given strict instructions not to wake you. Little Red is very bossy when she wants to be.”

  I chuckle at his comment and his use of her new nickname. After spending some time with the guys on the team, they started referring to her as Little Red. I’m pretty sure it started because someone couldn’t remember her name—but it stuck, nevertheless.

  I do as I’m told and hop in the shower really quick. I’m dressed in no time, tossing on a plain navy t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I tuck my feet into my canvas shoes, not bothering with the laces, before spending all of five minutes on my hair—I’ve gotten faster, thank God—and then I’m all set to go. I don’t ask questions, content to just go along for the ride. Our destination ends up being Morning Glory and I know before we walk in the door what I plan on ordering.