Driven to Distraction

by Olivia Dade

  Con couldn’t help a little wiggle of pleasure at how well he understood her. “Word.”

  He took her hand as they walked toward the dark-timbered entrance, which was illuminated by brass ship’s lanterns on either side of the oversized door. The urge to pull away nearly overwhelmed her, but she fought it and won. They wouldn’t see anyone they knew on a random Wednesday night at Buccaneer Times. They could maintain their privacy despite the PDA. And after a few more feet of walking together hand in hand, she kind of even…liked it? Maybe?

  His broad hand fit well against hers, warm and dry and strong. He didn’t play with her fingers or get cute with it. Once in a while, he squeezed gently. And whenever people exiting the early show barreled toward them, he used his hold to tug her to safety.

  She didn’t need his protection. She was more than capable of dodging overexcited audience members wielding wooden cutlasses and shouting for their “mateys” at top volume. Or, even better, moving those rum-soaked yahoos aside with a judiciously placed elbow or a prod of her steel-toed boots. But if playing the gallant made him happy, so be it. And for a brief minute, it felt nice to relax. To let someone care for her, rather than the other way around.

  Just as she was about to compliment him on his choice of date venue, she heard someone call her name. His too. And before she knew it, they’d nearly tripped over Angie and Grant, who were pushing Pretend Pirate Clarence in his wheelchair.

  So much for keeping her newfound thing—relationship?—with Sam private.

  Angie offered Con a hug, whispering in her ear, “I told Grant you were totally jacking Sam off under that reception table. But he didn’t believe me. Said you wouldn’t ever act on your lust for Penny’s little bro, especially in public. So thanks for winning me ten bucks, Chen.”

  Con sighed. Note to self: In the future, do not overestimate your stealth while groping a man in public.

  She whispered back, “At least I didn’t get finger-banged on a pile of stuffed animals. Stuffed animals that’ve been gummed by every plague-carrying infant in the tri-state area.”

  “That orgasm was worth every flesh-eating disease I’ve contracted.” Angie pulled away and winked. “Clarence, I know you’ve met Constance Chen, my friend and Bookmobile wrangler extraordinaire. But do you know Sam Wolcott, Penny’s brother and one of the library’s IT gurus?”

  “Ahoy, me hearties!” Clarence’s lone visible eye crinkled at the corner when he grinned. “I be delighted to see both of ye again. Angela, lassie, Sam sails to me house weekly with rations of swashbuckling books. And Constance’s Bookmobile visits—blimey, they be like buried treasure to a bored buccaneer!”

  Grant offered his usual sincere smile to Sam. “I had no idea you were stopping by his house. Angie and I have tried to watch out for Clarence since he”—Grant cleared his throat, his lips twitching—“incurred battle injuries, as it were. But we haven’t been able to make it every week.”

  If my heart keeps expanding, I’ll have to start calling myself the fucking Grinch, Con thought.

  She cast an appreciative eye over Angie, Grant, and Sam. All busy with their own lives. All going out of their way to help a sweet man with limited non-piratical social skills and a temporary disability. Sure, Angie and Grant were used to dealing with wheelchair-bound people because of Grant’s father. But no one was paying them to help Clarence or take him out for dinner and a sea battle. Sam too was volunteering his time and gas to make his weekly visits, and Con knew for a fact he often brought extra groceries on those trips.

  Such good people. Such good friends. No wonder I’ve stayed here, in the middle of nowhere, for more than a decade now.

  Over the years, she’d considered returning to the west coast. Often, and for good reason. During her siblings’ daily calls from across the country, they begged her to come home. They did so shamelessly, with blunt appeals and wheedling pleas that gnawed at her sense of sisterly responsibility.

  Her mom took a different tack. Every Sunday after church, Lin called to discuss her aching joints, her long shifts on the reference desk, her unkempt garden, and her messy house. Then she’d offer news of job openings in the San Diego library system and wait for a dutiful response that never came. Disappointment clear in her voice, she’d end each call with the same statement: “I love you, Constance. But I don’t understand you.”

  Her father remained silent during those conversations, but Con knew he was listening to every word, his black brows furrowed in bewildered disapproval. It was a familiar expression. Not simply because she’d seen it so many times on his face, but also because those same lines appeared between her own eyebrows every time she frowned.

  Under most circumstances, she resembled her fine-boned, lightly freckled mother. When discontented, though, Con could clearly discern her father’s austere features in her face, just as she could hear his heavy, stomping stride in every impact of her boots on the ground. Honest, calm, and hardworking, he nevertheless didn’t suffer fools gladly. And he didn’t comprehend how a family member could refuse the responsibilities she’d been assigned.

  Sometimes she wanted to ignore those Sunday calls. Her parents’ expectation that she’d fulfill her daughterly duties, uproot her life, park her ass in San Diego, and resume taking care of everyone remained an unspoken but weighty accompaniment to every conversation, even after a decade away.

  It made her head ache. Shit, so did her siblings’ calls.

  No way in hell she was moving back to California. Ever.

  She loved her family. Would fight for them and take care of them until the day she died, even though they exhausted her. But her friends in Maryland, Sam included, had become just as real a family to her. As real as anyone related by blood or marriage. More real, in some ways.

  They’d become her family of choice. And she couldn’t be more proud of them. Especially in this moment, as they offered kindness and assistance to their swashbuckling patron in need, without hesitation or resentment.

  “What did you think of the show?” she asked Clarence.

  His face drooped. “Arrrrr. It be very enjoyable. But…”

  She patted his shoulder. “You wanted to rule the waves too. Not watch the battle from a distance.”

  “Sí.” He adjusted his eye patch. “But I be grateful to my adventurin’ amigos for the voyage tonight.”

  Sam caught her gaze and mouthed one mystified word. Spanish?

  She shrugged and patted Clarence’s shoulder again. “Give yourself a few weeks, and you’ll be ready to walk the plank. Don’t worry.”

  “You two had better head inside soon.” Grant nodded toward the building. “If you don’t order your food before the battle starts, getting a server’s attention can be tough. Unless, of course, you offer to shiver the timbers of anyone bringing you a turkey leg.”

  A wicked grin split Angie’s face. “Which I totally did. Loudly too.”

  “Yes.” Grant sighed. “Two minutes later, we were drowning in a tidal wave of roasted poultry limbs and horny would-be buccaneers.”

  “The servers were very disappointed when I just shook their hands.” Angie looped her arms around Grant from behind. “But I told them the only dinghy I allow in my inlet these days belongs to Grant.”

  “Dinghy?” Grant raised his brows. “Really?”

  Angie laughed. “Sorry. Schooner, not dinghy.”

  “Thank you.” Grant shook his head and turned back to Sam and Con. “Have a good night, you two. I’d say not to do anything Angie wouldn’t do, but we all know that wouldn’t place any restrictions on you.”

  After one last round of farewells, Con watched Grant steer his motley crew away from the building and into the parking lot.

  At some point during the encounter, Sam’s hand had slipped from hers. Without letting herself think about it too hard, she reached over and intertwined their fingers again.

  “Guess the secret’s out, huh?” she said, suddenly feeling fidgety.
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br />   He swung around to face her, studying her expression with solemn intensity. Then, after a moment, a smile dawned on his face, and he bent down to press a soft kiss on her lips. A soft kiss that rapidly deepened, becoming open-mouthed and wet.

  God only knew how long they stood in front of Buccaneer Times, making out like stupid teenagers. But by the time he gave her lower lip a final nibble and lifted his head, the crowds had thinned.

  “Let’s get inside.” Determined to regain control of herself and the situation, Con hustled toward the door with Sam in tow. “The show’s going to start any minute.”

  “Whatever you want. You’re in charge, Con,” he said without even a hint of irony.

  I don’t think so, she thought. Not a version of me I recognize. Not anymore.

  * * * *

  Until the phone call from her sister, Sam would have termed his first official date with Con an unqualified triumph. In the parlance of the venue, smooth sailing all the way.

  Which stunned and confused him, actually, given Con’s stalwart resistance to anything couple-y. But he’d used every ounce of persuasion and trickery he possessed to get her to this point. He didn’t intend to quibble when good fortune had chosen to smile on him, and he was damn well going to appreciate every manifestation of his success.

  He didn’t need to know why it was happening. He just wanted to enjoy it.

  If Con chose to hold his hand, he’d take pleasure in each sweet brush of her fingers and the impressive strength of her grip. If Con seemed okay with the abrupt outing of their secret relationship, he’d gladly claim her as his woman in public. If Con wanted to french him in front of a crowd of hooting faux pirates, he’d pull her close and french her right back. With wholehearted enthusiasm.

  And if Con decided to imply filthy things with the way she ate her turkey, he couldn’t do anything but relish the show. Not the one on stage, either. Nothing happening on that wooden ship, no shouting or gargling death cries or plank-walking, could compare with the sight of his new girlfriend essentially deep-throating the leg of a flightless bird.

  Sure, he was now uncomfortably aroused. And sure, he couldn’t help wincing and hunching protectively over his junk when she finally bit into the roasted meat. But that was a small price to pay.

  So he was relaxed, turned on, and very, very happy by the time the captain’s mechanical parrot started squawking about a nearby kraken. He and Con had finished eating and were sitting back in their chairs. He was kneading the silky nape of her neck as he fantasized about the night ahead. She was murmuring in pleasure at the massage and beginning to squirm a bit in her seat.

  Perfection. Sheer perfection.

  Then her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket. The muscles in her neck immediately tensed beneath his hand, and she shifted away from his touch as she checked the display. It was illuminated in the dim light, revealing the name of the caller. Prudence. Her sister in grad school, if he remembered correctly.

  Con bit her lip but tapped the screen to reject the call.

  “I’ll phone her after the show,” she whispered, settling back into her chair.

  His fingers had just located the new knots in her shoulders when her cell vibrated again, this time with a text message. Con’s head dropped to her chest, and the tip of her boot tapped rapidly on the floor.

  After squeezing her neck one more time, he lowered his hand. “Why don’t you go into the lobby and find out what’s happening? When you get back, I’ll let you know whether the kraken dragged them all down to the ocean floor.” He smiled at her. “I’m rooting for him, by the way. He’s the clear undersquid. It’s hard to battle pirates when you’re just a giant stuffed cephalopod someone won at a fair.”

  He’d hoped for an answering smile, but she simply nodded and got up without another word.

  She was gone a long, long time. Long enough that she was going to miss the climactic battle sequence. And as soon as the show ended, hundreds of people would fill the lobby. If he waited any longer, he’d have a hard time spotting her in the crowds.

  So he gathered their belongings and headed out of the theater. After a brief hunt, he located her in a dim little alcove off to the side of the lobby. Her forehead was resting against the wall, and her eyes were squeezed shut as she spoke on the phone.

  “I’ll get you another laptop. Just pick one out, and I’ll take care of it. Or if you tell me what features you need, I can pick it for you and have it shipped as quickly as possible.” She paused. “I know. I know a new computer won’t have your thesis on it.”

  This was a computer issue? Why the hell hadn’t she come to get him?

  She raised her forehead, then let it hit the wall again with a thump. “I’ll pay for tech support to recover your work, Pru. Just promise me you’ll use your flash drive to back up your documents from now on, okay?”

  An agitated flurry of words, too muffled and rapid for him to understand, came from the speaker. And his heart twisted at how tired Con suddenly looked. Older than her years.

  He wanted to snatch that phone from her hand and deal with the problem himself. But she’d agreed to casual dating, not his uninvited intrusion into a family matter. Even a family matter that fell within his area of expertise.

  “Honey, there’s nothing else I can do about it tonight. I wish there were. Maybe you can bring the laptop to the campus computer lab and see if they can help? If they can’t, ask your friends about a good computer repair place and go there first thing in the morning. Give me their number, and I’ll call them with my credit card information.” Another pause as her sister wailed some more. Con’s face pinched further, and she rubbed her temple. “Surely if you tell your advisor what happened—”

  Enough. He yanked the phone away from her and brought it to his own ear, ignoring her startled jump and the way she immediately reached to get her cell back from him.

  “Prudence?” He twisted away from Con, gently batting aside her hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but my name is Sam. I’m Con’s boyfriend.”

  The young woman’s hiccupping sobs came to an abrupt halt. “B-boyfriend? Con has a boyfriend?”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Unlikely as that seems. I work in the IT department of her library. So if you have a computer issue, lay it on me.”

  A few minutes later, Con had given up on getting her phone back and flopped onto a nearby wooden chest. Her sister had calmed down enough to explain the situation. And Sam was dealing with the easiest tech problem he’d encountered in months.

  As he’d been trained, he recounted the issue as he understood it. “So your laptop crashed while you were working on your thesis.”

  “It blue-screened me.” Pru blew her nose. “And when I reboot, it crashes before I can access my paper. Which is due tomorrow, and my advisor w-w-won’t—”

  “It’s okay, Pru,” Sam hastily interrupted. “Sounds like you won’t be able to get through the complete boot sequence. So let’s recover the data, put it on a flash drive, and have you finish your thesis at that campus computer lab tonight. Tomorrow you can work on finding someone to fix your laptop.”

  Con looked up from the floor for the first time in minutes, and the sisters spoke in unison. “You can recover the data?”

  “I think so.” Leaning down, he cupped Con’s tired face in one hand and pressed a kiss on her forehead. When she edged away from his touch, he tried not to take it personally. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. We’re going to reboot in safe mode. It’ll get you into the operating system so you can access the hard drive and retrieve your data. Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.” Pru’s voice had firmed, filling with a familiar brand of determination. Apparently some things ran in the family. “Let’s kick this laptop’s digital ass into last year.”

  Apparently many things ran in the family. Including a weak grasp of figurative language.

  He coughed to cover a laugh. “All right then. Start the comput
er and press F8 before the operating system logo appears. Keep pressing it.”

  Thirty minutes later, he and Con were sitting in his car. Overhead lights illuminated the nearly empty parking lot of Buccaneer Times, but the building itself had grown dark. To his immense satisfaction, he’d managed to talk Pru through the retrieval of her data, including her thesis. Both of the sisters sounded much calmer as they finished their conversation. And best of all, a long night alone with Con stretched ahead of him.

  Maybe. He was beginning to have his doubts about that. In fact, he suspected solving Pru’s laptop problems would prove much, much simpler than his next challenge.

  Con was ready to run. Again. Still.

  Her voice had turned gravelly with fatigue. “Love you, Pru. Text me tomorrow with the name and number of the repair place, okay?”

  When she disconnected the call and put the cell back in her pocket, she didn’t look at him. Didn’t reach for his hand, as she’d done earlier in the evening. Didn’t suggest restaging her turkey leg performance with a more appreciative partner, much to his regret.

  Instead, she strapped herself into her seat, closed her eyes, and leaned against the headrest. “Thank you so much for helping Pru, Sam. I don’t know what either of us would have done without you.”

  “But?” He knew it was coming, so he figured he might as well speed things along.

  “But I’d like you to take me home now.”

  Obediently, Sam fastened his seat belt and started the car. “And?”

  “And while I appreciate your interest in me, I think we should forget the whole idea of dating.” Her clenched fists glowed white under the parking lot lights. “I apologize for misleading you.”

  Because he’d braced himself, the words didn’t completely strangle the breath in his lungs. He could still inhale and exhale. Mostly.

  He pulled out onto the empty county highway, weighing what tack to take.

  “Okay.” No point in arguing with her. Not directly, anyway. “Are you willing to explain your reasoning?”