by Lacey Black
I feel his eyes on me. “You’re only thirty-two. Still plenty of time for that.”
“I agree, but tell that to my mom. I know she just wants the best for me, and her idea of that is married with babies.”
“You don’t want that?”
I can’t help it, I turn and look at Rueben. Something in his tone draws my eyes to his. It’s as if he understands my position, yet is still afraid of the answer to his question. So, I answer him honestly, hoping that he gets it. “I think I do, but I guess I just haven’t found the right person to make me really stop and truly consider it. To me, it’s something that’s down the road, off in the future.”
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Totally get that. I guess I feel the same,” he adds with a shrug.
“So why are you still single?” I ask, not really sure if I want to know the answer to this question or not. Something pulls deep in my gut, a foreign feeling that burns of hesitation and jealousy. Just the thought of Rueben with a woman suddenly makes me a little unsettled, maybe even a little ragey. I shake that thought from my head, refusing to go there.
He shrugs. “I’ve dated,” he says, but doesn’t continue. I start to think he’s not going to elaborate, when he finally continues. “It can be a little difficult to find that special someone when you live so remotely and really only go to town for groceries. Plus, the background on the last one I was seeing didn’t come back so great.”
Wait. What?
“Excuse me, did you just say background? You do background checks on the women you date?” I couldn’t fight the smile if I wanted to.
He glances my way for a second, a look of shock on his handsome face. “Don’t you?”
“Uhh, no, no I don’t. I wouldn’t even know how to do a background check.”
“It’s easy, actually. With a little computer work, you can find out just about anything about anyone.” He makes it sound so easy, and it probably is for a man who spends fourteen hours a day in front of a computer screen. “Just say the word and I’ll run checks on any future suitors.”
“Suitors?” I ask with a chuckle. “Is this the 1950s?”
Again, he shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road and a subtle smile on his lips. “The offer stands.”
We drive a few more miles before a question pops into my head, and even though I probably shouldn’t ask it, I can’t help but want to know the answer. No, I need to know the answer. Now. “So, what was in her background that made you run for the hills?”
He laughs and shakes his head.
“You can’t leave me hanging, Rueben.”
“I can, Crick. In fact, it’s probably a violation of her privacy to share the information with you.”
“That’s a violation of her privacy? You’re kidding me, right? You run a check on her background without her consent, and now you’re worried about protecting her? Give up the goods, Rigsby. Now.”
“Fine, fine. Just hold your horses, Hill.” Rueben has always called me Crick, yet sometimes he’d throw my last name at me, mostly after I use his. Just the way he says Hill has me blushing and a little tingle hits me between my legs. “We had dinner at this little barbecue joint and had a nice time, so we agreed to meet up again later that week. She had mentioned being between jobs, but didn’t really say what she did.”
“You could have just asked her during your next date, Creepy McCreeperson.”
He rolled his eyes. “But I doubt she would have told me she was in the process of going to court for an assault charge.”
I stop and look his way, my eyes practically as wide as the wheels on the SUV. “Seriously? Assault for what?”
“For throwing a pie at her boss.” Even though he says it with such a straight face, I’m having a hard time believing him.
“Umm…what?”
“Apparently, she was a waitress at a café and when her boss asked her to stay later to help after a particularly busy lunch rush, she quit.”
“And the pie?”
“I believe she was carrying it out to the display case when she tendered her immediate resignation.”
“And it somehow landed on the boss.”
“His face.”
Shock mixes with humor and I can’t help but laugh. I feel a little guilty, but still, that’s funny. “He filed assault charges?”
“Well, not right away. Apparently, she was proud of her pie-throwing abilities until the cops showed up the next day. Then, she screamed it was an accident.”
“Let me guess, she tripped?”
Rueben taps the tip of his nose. “Heard this one before, have ya?”
“Well, no, but that seems like the obvious choice when backpedaling your way out of a possible assault charge.” He snickers from the driver’s seat. “So, what you’re saying is pie is a hard limit for you? No pie in the bedroom?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and I start to worry that I might have overstepped with my sexual reference, which is stupid of me anyway. Rueben is my friend and never in the history of our friendship have either of us taken it anywhere outside of that neat little friendship box. So when he finally speaks, I’m both happy that he’s talking to me again and a little turned on myself. “Actually, pie is disgusting. It’s mushy on the inside and the crust is always dry. So, yes, pie is a hard limit for me. Now, whipped cream is another story…”
And just like that, my face is burning with embarrassment and my panties are wet.
Clearing my throat, I find myself saying, “I’ll remember that.”
The truth is, I probably will remember that. Every time I see a can of whipped cream, I’ll forever associate it with Rueben, specifically what he’d do with it in the bedroom. My overactive imagination, mixed with my underused lady bits, is working overtime now, picturing Rueben spreading me out on top of soft sheets, my body completely under his spell. He pushes my legs apart, exposing my bare core. The can of whipped cream isn’t the only noise filling the room as he shakes it and squirts a dollop under my belly button. My breathing is labored, a mix of excitement and nerves. The dessert draws a downward line to my clit, a welcome cold hits against my overheated flesh. Then, his mouth descends, gently sucking and licking…
“Earth to Cricket,” he says, pulling me from the fantasy that was just starting to get good.
“What?” I ask, adjusting myself in my seat. If I were a guy, I’d have the biggest case of blue balls known to man.
“I asked if you need to stop anywhere before we hit the hotel,” he says.
I notice we’re approaching our exit, our destination within reach. That’s good because I’m in need of a cold shower and maybe a nap. Hopefully, I’ll wake up as the same ol’ Cricket who sees her friend as just that and not someone she’d love to get tangled up in the sheets with. Because those images, oh, those images aren’t ones I should be picturing right now, or ever. “Uh, no. I’m good. Just the hotel,” I confirm.
“Are you sure? You’re looking a little flushed. Are you feeling okay?” he asks, his eyes assessing me. I’m terrified of what he’ll see. Maybe a note across my forehead that says “I was picturing you eating whipped cream off my pussy?” Yeah, nothing about that screams “we’re friends.”
“No, no, just a little flushed. It’s hot in here,” I insist. It’s not, of course, but Rueben doesn’t call me on my blatant lie.
“You’re staying at the Marriott, right?”
I nod my reply. There are several hotels in the area, but the alumni association offers a group rate deal at the Marriott.
We’re both silent the rest of our trip, and before I know it, we’re pulling up in front of the hotel. It’s busy with guests coming and going, and I instantly start to scour the faces for anyone familiar. Part of me is hoping to connect with someone from school, yet the other part is worried about who that might be. I know Danny is coming this weekend. In fact, he’s the other speaker at the alumni brunch on Sunday. I didn’t, however, know this when I accepted my invitation to
speak, and it seemed a little rude to withdrawal after finding out.
Plus, I don’t want him to see me sweat. That means he wins.
Rueben pulls up at the valet and gets out. He comes around to the passenger door as I’m gathering up my things, holding it open for me, which is completely unnecessary, but I don’t say that. I just relish the fact that there are a few polite, good guys with manners left out there. When I’m standing on the sidewalk, he goes to the back of the SUV and starts to retrieve our bags. I join him, reaching for the handle of my suitcase, but he won’t have it. He takes his suitcase in one hand, throws his garment bag over it, and reaches for my suitcase with the other.
“I can get that,” I tell him, adjusting my shoulder bag and ready to grab my handle.
“I got it, Crick. Let’s go,” he maintains, waiting for me to lead the way to the hotel entrance.
The Valet attendant stops and hands him a piece of paper, Rueben slipping him a few bills in the process, before picking back up his handle and meeting me at the door. I once dated this guy, Harris, in San Francisco who refused to tip the bellhop or valet attendant. We took a weekend trip to a vineyard in northern California, and I was shocked by his lack of decorum. I ended up slipping tips to everyone the entire trip, which went completely unnoticed by him. He was too busy checking out the hotel clerk and the restaurant hostess.
“I’ll pay for half the tips,” I tell him as we enter the hotel.
He snorts a reply, not very manly, yet so incredibly cute at the same time. “I got it.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance back at him. He’s pulling all of our luggage, yet doesn’t seem to be affected by the extra weight a bit. In fact, I can see the slightest outline of the muscles in his shoulders as he pulls the suitcases toward the desk. The shirt is pulled tautly against the hard plains of muscle, and I can’t help but want just one little peek…
“Excuse me!” a woman says right before I run into her.
“Oh!” I reply, looking forward to the woman I just bumped into. She’s tall and slender, a picture-perfect image of well put-together. She’s also a harsh reminder of the struggles I had in one of my history classes. “Ellen. Hi.”
Ellen Montgomery rolls her beautifully done-up eyes. “Cricket Hill. Of course you wouldn’t be paying attention to where you were going.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.” And that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t like I barreled into her at full speed. It was a tap of my torso into her arm, yet she’s making it sound like I just tried to knock her off her feet.
Ellen was my arch nemesis in college. We took many of the same classes together, and while I was a good student, she had always one-upped me. She was better at tests, at public speaking, at reviewing the material on the fly for group discussions. She also always let me know how easy it was for her to be one step ahead of me the entire time.
Lucky for me, she’s the first person I run into when I get to Carbondale.
“And who is this?” she asks, her ocean blue eyes fixed over my shoulder as a gorgeous smile spreads across her face.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see she’s talking about Rueben. She leaves her bags in place in line but moves around me and sticks her manicured hand out for him to shake. “Ellen Montgomery,” she coos, each word dipped in sugar and sex.
“Uh, Rueben Rigsby. We had history together,” he reminds, shaking her offered hand. I watch their interaction, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at full attention but am shocked when he doesn’t seem as affected by her charms. In fact, he kinda just drops her hand and turns to me.
“Oh, yes! I totally remember you,” she adds, stepping into his personal space and touching his forearm. Her nails practically dig into his flesh in a predatory and asserting way.
But when his eyes connect with mine, it’s a hint of panic that I see etched in those dark brown orbs. He’s uncomfortable, as if her touching him makes him a little nervous.
Ellen turns her eyes to me, and I don’t miss the way they narrow just the slightest. “Are you two…” she starts, leaving her question wide open.
I’m just about to go into my “we’re friends” spiel, when Rueben shocks the shit out of me with his own statement. “Yes. We’re together. Isn’t that right, snookums?”
My wide eyes meet his. There’s a plea there, an unwritten desperate cry for help, and I’m pretty sure my brain does a little pop and drop at the idea of “winning” Rueben over Ellen. “Oh, yes. Together. You’re right, sweet pea.” I almost choke on the endearment and have to fight the smile. Rueben smirks at me, as if unable to control his own laughter.
“Together, together, together,” I find myself adding. “We’re definitely…together.”
Now I’m just stammering like an idiot.
“Look at that, Ellen. I think you’re up next in line,” Rueben says, nodding to the hotel clerk.
“Yes, of course. Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing both of you around,” she says, a little dumbfounded. It’s as if the idea of someone not being interested in her is completely out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe it’s just that it’s me he’s with. I mean, I did date Danny through the second half of college. Everyone wanted him, Ellen included. She was one who publicly stated on many occasions that she couldn’t understand what he saw in me.
In fact, she wasn’t the only one who thought that. I, myself, had wondered a time or two why he picked me out of all the females at Southern. Actually, I’m pretty sure there were a handful of guys standing in line too, even though he wasn’t gay.
After Ellen checks in, it’s my turn. The process is quick, and I’m handed a room key. Thankfully, I had used my new card to reserve my hotel room, so there wasn’t the same mix-up as at the car rental counter. That would have been embarrassing.
I hang around, off to the side, as Rueben checks in. He gives the clerk a friendly smile that makes her stutter over her own tongue. I totally get what she sees. He’s gorgeous, for sure. As he heads over to where I’m standing, the elevators just off to the left, he seems a little distracted. “Everything okay?” I ask, wheeling my own suitcase to the bank of elevators.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, shoving something in his pocket.
“What’s that? A phone number?” I tease, grinning from ear to ear as I watch the elevator numbers drop in descent.
“Yeah.”
That causes me to pause. When I turn around, he seems embarrassed again. “Seriously? That clerk gave you her number?” I’m not surprised, actually. He’s totally sexy and hot, and he did just check in to a hotel room alone.
He rubs the back of his neck, nervously, as the elevator chimes its arrival. “No, not her.”
I’m stumped as I look at him in confusion. “Then who?” I find myself asking as the last person exits the car.
“Ellen.” That one word brings all sorts of feelings bubbling to the surface. The first one is anger. Even though it was a lie, we told her we were together. Yet, here she is, giving him her phone number, as if that didn’t matter.
“Wow,” I reply, slipping inside the elevator and turning to face the doorway.
Just as he goes to follow me into the awaiting car, a loud voice makes him stop in his tracks. “Rueben Rigsby! Dude, it’s been years!”
I know that voice. I’ve had dreams of it, usually totally false dreams of him begging me to take him back. I don’t, of course, because, well, it’s my dream. But I’ll never forget that voice.
Danny Ohara.
My eyes clash with Rueben’s, and I picture my shocked and fearful ones mirror his. No, I’m not afraid of Danny, per se, but more of the actually running into him part. First off, there’s the fact that I have day-old hairspray hair that’s probably sticking up in a billion directions. Then, the fact that I’m not wearing something sexy that would remind him of what he lost that day, but instead wearing comfy leggings. I’m in no way prepared to run into my ex-boy
friend for the first time in a decade right now, so I do the only thing I can think of to get myself out of this situation.
I push the close button on the elevator wall and watch Rueben disappear behind the door.
Yes, I totally just left him to deal with Danny alone, but they’re friends, he’ll survive. And I realize the only way I’m going to survive this weekend is to tuck in my big girl panties and face him head-on. Of course, if I were wearing the short gold sequins dress in my luggage and the totally hot black stilettos, then so be it.
Oh, and booze.
It’s definitely going to take a lot of that to get me through this too.
Chapter Four
Rueben
I watch the elevator door close, wishing I was on it with her. Not that I’m not excited to see my old friend, Danny, but that I’d rather be with Cricket, even if only for a few more seconds. Weird, right?
“Hey, Danny, how are you?” I ask, pasting on a smile, as he approaches.
“Fan-fucking-tabulous, dude. Can you believe it’s been ten years since we’ve been out of school?” he asks, throwing his arm around me and patting me on the back. Danny is a little shorter than my six-foot two frame, but has more bulk. Though, is that a little belly in his midsection? Hard to tell, but he’s looking a little soft in the gut, which surprises me completely because Danny has always been the most vain male I’ve ever met.
“Hard to believe it’s been ten years,” I confirm, though it hasn’t been nearly that long since we’d last spoken. Although, it has been a while, Danny and I have always kept in touch, due mostly on my part. I’ve always been the one to initiate the text exchanges or the phone calls.
“So big plans tonight? I think a few of us are gonna hit the bars, like ol’ times. Oh, did you hear I’m giving one of the two addresses Sunday morning at brunch?” he asks as another elevator arrives on the lobby floor. I slip on, Danny hot on my heels. He doesn’t have any luggage, which tells me he’s been here a while already.