What am I doing? I’m an engaged woman only a week from her wedding. I have no business doing this. What sane person jumps in the car with a man she hasn’t seen since he was a boy and drive thousands of miles with him on a whim? There isn’t one. It’s clearly a sign of insanity.
Or lack of impulse control.
Either way, it’s not me. I’m not one to do anything on a whim. I don’t whim. My idea of taking a risk is drinking my creamer a day past the expiration date. Maybe eating leftover Chinese after two days in the refrigerator. Not climbing in a car with a man I barely know and two puppies.
Besides, who strips for a living because of how much medical school costs? I mean, sure, it’s expensive, and he certainly has the talent for the job. I can see it now, by the time he’s two years into his career as Doctor Hottie, he’s going to own social media. There will be gifs and memes with his washboard abs and only a stethoscope as a shirt filling my timeline. Those thighs and that tight ass will be . . . FOCUS!!! There is no sane reason for doing this. None.
It’s not too late to say no. I just need to get dressed, walk down to the lobby, and tell Lucas I lost my mind for a few minutes and to travel safe. That’s all. He and I exchanged numbers and can meet for coffee or something when he gets back. We can easily be friends again. I’ll figure out my life, and he can deliver his puppies and go back to straddling women on stage . . . heat flushes my skin as I think of the way it felt to have him in front of me. Trenton would rather die than do something so primal and exhilarating.
With one hand, I wipe a spot on the foggy mirror while the other hand tugs my long hair from the messy bun on my head. I note my tangled locks and wonder if there’s any chance I can brush them without making a frizzy mess of my hair. Unlikely. Instead, I run my fingers through my tresses and retie the bun. I hurry to finish my time in the bathroom and exit to find the girls dressed and their bags packed.
“You look ready to road trip for sure. We had enough clean stuff to get you a few days’ worth of clothes. Thank goodness we’re all close to the same size. Of course, Courtney’s shirts will be an excellent dress option for your short ass.”
I shake my head at Jessi’s assessment. I am the most petite of our foursome but she’s only a few inches taller. Courtney stands from the chair in the corner and stretches, which emphasizes how tall she is when her hands almost touch the ceiling. Okay, maybe not touch but it’s closer than I’ll ever be.
“Thank you for this weekend. I don’t know what I’d do without you all. This should have been the worst three days of my life, but you’ve made them great. I’ve made my decision, and I’m not going. It was ridiculous to even consider. I have too much to do. Besides, what will Trenton think?”
“For starters, he’ll probably think he shouldn’t have let some slut suck his dick. If he has any sense, he’ll realize he fucked up and just lost the best thing to ever happen to him.”
“Can we not with the sucking? I don’t need to relive that moment.” Rolling her eyes, Jessi motions for me to continue. “It’s immature and irrational of me to think this is a good idea. I’ll walk down with you guys and tell Lucas I’m not going. Then, we can head home. Or, at least to your home. I don’t think I can handle my own house today.” Before any of the girls can offer a retort, I unplug my phone charger and slide it into my tote along with my phone before pulling my sunglasses from their case and putting them on.
The girls follow me down the hall to the lobby, but when I come to a complete stop at the scene in front of me, they almost knock me over. Each mumbling something about eating shit, it’s like a movie as they each gasp and hit one another to claim each other’s attention.
Standing in the lobby, dressed in a pair of low-slung tan shorts, tight navy T-shirt, with a pair of sunglasses resting atop his head as he taps on his phone is Lucas. All tan and toned six feet of him. Holy pinging ovaries. “Sweet Jesus.” My comment is only a breath but loud enough for the girls to hear.
As if I’ll see him clearer, I push my sunglasses to the top of my head. Yep. It’s better without the tint of my sunglasses. The scruff he was sporting last night is gone and replaced is smooth skin that any woman would give her left pinky to touch.
“I swear if you do not go with that man and let him help you figure out this Trenton thing, I will fucking kill you.” I turn to Jessi who is literally wiping drool from the side of her mouth.
“Are you drooling?”
“Fuck yeah I am. Do you see that man? He isn’t a scrawny fifteen-year-old science nerd anymore. He’s what my mama told me to avoid and my sister told me to ride like a fucking bronco,” Jessi declares as she walks away from our group and toward the bronco himself.
Jen nudges me forward and after shooting her a scowl I start following Jessi. Suddenly shy and overwhelmed, I stand back while each of the girls talk to Lucas. There’s barely a lull in the conversation for me to say hello, which I’m grateful for. But when Lucas raises his gaze from the girls to me, I suck in a breath.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
Then he smiles.
I smile back.
“Like a bronco,” she whispers for only me. “We’re out of here. You kids have fun. Don’t worry about anything, Whit. Call us tomorrow.”
It all happens so fast and before I know it, the girls are gone, and Lucas is reaching for my suitcase. I let him guide me out of the hotel without speaking a word. No hello and no effort to tell him this isn’t happening. Instead, I walk to his truck and watch as he tosses my suitcase in the back of the bed. When he turns toward me I open my mouth to speak, but he puts a finger to my lips.
“Just go with it. It doesn’t mean anything other than I get to hang out with one of my oldest friends and drive a couple of puppies to their new home. Stop overthinking.”
Nodding, I wait as he opens the passenger door before tossing in my tote and climbing in. Thankfully he isn’t one of those guys who has his truck raised ten feet in the air. I dated a guy like that once in college. After two weeks together, I realized I’d never wear a skirt or dress while dating him. Or, I’d need a step ladder. Neither the sacrifice nor the need to rely on a piece of equipment to get ice cream seemed worth the effort. That spoke volumes about that relationship.
When Lucas settles behind the wheel, my nerves kick in again. A million thoughts run through my head, and I open my mouth to speak when to my surprise, my favorite eighties hair band song fills the cab. I spin in my seat to face Lucas. His left arm rests on the wheel while his right is tapping what I assume is the volume control because the song gets louder and louder.
“I love this song.”
“I remembered. I made you a playlist. I’m sure we’ll have to add to it, but I figured it couldn’t hurt as a starting point. Ready to do this?” He made me a playlist. As the lyrics of White Snake’s “Here I Go Again” vibrates through the speakers I return the smile he’s giving me and nod my head.
“Good. Before we go, I have to know something.”
“Shoot.”
“Why eighties music?”
“My parents. Music was a constant in our house when I was growing up. It still is, they even go to concerts for some of their favorite eighties groups and bands. Don’t tell anyone but I think my mom went on a cruise for a boy band she was obsessed with last year. She only called it a “girls trip” with her best friend but it was no coincidence she returned with random concert memorabilia.”
Laughing, we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes as he maneuvers the morning traffic. “And the hair bands?” he asks.
“My dad. We’ve had “Hair Band Friday” in our house since I was seven years old.”
“Well, I’m happy to support the music of your youth. Now, sit back and enjoy your playlist while I deal with this shitty traffic.”
“You cannot hold them both the entire way.”
I don’t know if Lucas thinks telling me this every fifteen minutes will change
that I know this, and yet I can’t seem to put the little critters back in their travel kennel. When we stopped to pick up the puppies I wasn’t sure what to expect. It sure wasn’t two little fur balls running toward me like a puppy food commercial. I dropped to the ground immediately and let them smother me with kisses and even tolerated the pain from their razor-sharp teeth.
Fred and Wilma are the cutest little black and gray lab babies I’ve ever seen. Well, technically they’re the only lab babies I’ve seen but that’s neither here nor there. I’m not sure I’ll be able to give them to their forever family when we get to Washington. Lucas warned me to not get too attached but it’s like he doesn’t know me at all. I was attached as soon as they ran to me. Obviously.
“I can hold them the entire way if I so please, thank you very much.” My declaration leaves no room for argument and Lucas shakes his head at me in disbelief. He has such little faith in me. It’s sad, really. There’s nothing wrong with holding these adorable, loving, shit . . . what the fuck?
“Shit. Hell. Oh, Fred . . .”
“And that is why you can’t hold them the entire way. He pissed on you, didn’t he?”
Glaring I offer a simple response, “Shut up.”
Laughing, Lucas continues to drive for a few miles until there’s an exit marked gas and food. Once he pulls into a parking space at a fast food restaurant, I sigh in relief. If Fred did his business, I can only assume Wilma won’t be far behind. Lucas jumps out of the truck and runs around to my side, pulling both puppies from my hold and walking them to a patch of grass a few feet away. Cringing, I search the glove compartment for napkins or something to wipe up this mess. I come up empty-handed. What kind of sorcery is this? Who doesn’t have napkins in their glove box?
“There’s a towel in the back seat. You may want to change,” Lucas shouts.
Rolling my eyes, I climb out of the truck and open the back door to retrieve the towel. Once I’ve patted my leg dry, or drier at least, I walk to the back of the truck and pull out my suitcase for a change of clothes. So much for a few days’ worth of clothes.
Not wanting to be one of those people who only uses a bathroom and doesn’t buy anything, I snatch my wallet from my tote and quickly rush inside to change and get a snack.
After the impromptu stop, we snacked on the orders—yes plural—of French fries I bought and enjoyed our chocolate shakes in silence. Silence usually drives me crazy. Normally, I have this ridiculous need to fill the void, but with Lucas it doesn’t bother me. Every so often, I’ll catch him singing along to one of the eighties songs on the playlist I chose after our stop. Wilma is having a puppy-mare in the back seat and Lucas and I both start laughing at the same time when her whimpers turn to snores.
As I look out the window, I’m disappointed in the view. I’ve lived in California my entire life and while I’ve spent most of my time in beach cities, I had no idea how dreary the scenery was in other parts of the state. Thankfully, the sun shines bright regardless of the backdrop. Closing my eyes, I let the sun warm me as I begin to doze off.
They say dreams tell a person a lot about their subconscious. What do nightmares tell a person? Because, like Wilma, I’m having one hell of a nightmare of wedding cakes, ripped dresses, and crying mothers. One dream morphs to another and soon I’m standing on a swimming platform wearing a torn dress, a bottle of champagne in one hand, and a piece of pizza in my other. The theme song from Golden Girls plays in a constant loop and I’m shaking as I stare down to a dark lake. The shaking is out of control and now the music has changed to a chant of my name.
“Whit, wake up.”
Shake.
Shake.
“Whitney, goddammit, do not make me pull over. You need to wake up.”
Jumping from my resting place against the window, my hands fly in front of my face, smacking the hand on my bicep. Disoriented, it takes me a few minutes to realize where I am. The sun is no longer shining bright as it sets in the distance, the sky beautiful hues of purple, orange, and yellow. Lucas’s truck. I stop flailing around when I hear my phone ringing in my purse. Golden Girls. Jessi.
“Shit. Sorry,” I mutter as I rummage through my tote for my phone.
“That song has been playing every thirty seconds for the last ten minutes. I thought I was going to have to pull over and chuck it out the window.”
“It’s Jessi. This can’t be good.”
Victory is mine when I find my phone lodged between my wallet and tablet. Sliding my finger across the green “answer” icon, I don’t get a chance to greet my best friend before she starts on a tirade.
“He was at my house, Whit. Do you hear me? Are you there? Shit. Do you even have reception where you are? What do I tell him?”
“May I speak?” I ask, and Lucas sniggers in the seat next to me. We approach a sign that indicates restrooms only seven miles away and I point to it, indicating my need for a potty break likely to match that of the little fur babies in the back seat. When Jessi doesn’t respond, I take that as my cue to answer her question. “Tell who what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Trenton. I didn’t know he knew where I lived. Yet, there he was. Sitting on my fucking porch when I pulled up. Dickhead. I swear. Like he thinks I’m going to tell him shit. I mean, I can’t, right? I should tell him to suck it.”
“Wait, what? He was at your house?” I shout into the phone, startling not only Lucas but the puppies. Mouthing “sorry” I turn my attention back to Jessi but with less emphasis as before. “Why was he there? I told him I would call him when I was ready.”
“I don’t know. I hightailed it out of there and went to the gym to shower. I have no problem talking to him, but I also know you don’t want me to tell him what I really think, so I figured I’d call you. But you haven’t been answering my texts!” Cringing, I pull the phone from my ear as she shouts the end of her statement.
“Sorry, I dozed off and didn’t hear my phone. I guess I should send him a text. I’ll do that now and tell him to leave you alone. Please don’t tell him off or anything. I don’t need any more chaos right now.”
She begrudgingly agrees, and we say our goodbyes before I pull up my blocked numbers and tap Trenton’s name. I know him and his need to have the final say so I blocked him after arriving at Jessi’s on Friday.
Me: I’m fine. I told you I would call you when I was ready.
Me: Please leave my friends alone.
He must be sitting with the phone in his hand because before I see the “delivered” confirmation on the second text, a response is already coming through to the first.
Trenton: You can’t just disappear, Whitney.
Oh, the hell I can’t.
Me: Let’s be clear about something. I CAN do whatever I wish. YOU cannot have other women suck your dick.
Trenton: You haven’t even let me explain. Baby, we’re getting married in five days. Come home.
Me: Fuck you, Trenton. I’ll be back when I am ready.
Trenton: You’ll be back before Friday, right? Our families will be here for the rehearsal.
Me: I don’t know. Please give me the time I asked for.
Instead of waiting for the delivery, I block the number and toss my phone in my tote. Sighing, I rest my head on the seat with my eyes closed. I can feel a headache forming; the stress of the last few days seeps into every muscle of my body. When Lucas’s hand grips mine and squeezes, I blink back the tears that have formed. I will not cry anymore. With a tight-lipped smile, I thank Lucas without words. When he releases my hand, I feel the loss immediately.
The room is nothing to write home about. The walls are plain but for the one adorned with pink floral wallpaper. A television sits atop a large dresser that looks like it’s been in this room as long as I’ve been alive. Nothing special, but it’ll do for the night. Fred and Wilma whimper from their travel kennel drawing my attention away from the strange art work hanging on the wall. I’m using the term “art” loosely, but it did catch
my eye right away, so it works.
“Hey guys, are you sick of this thing. I bet Lucas is bummed I stole you from him. Come on, hop on out of there,” I singsong to the puppies as I open the door to their kennel. Barreling out, they stumble and tumble over each other. I can see why Wilma wasn’t named Grace, she’s definitely not graceful.
I sit on the floor with Fred and Wilma while they chase each other and roll around playing a real-life version of a dog pile. A knock on the door draws me from their antics. Standing, I reach for the handle and only crack the door open so not to give the babies a means of escape.
The delicious aroma of takeout fills my nostrils and my tummy rumbles in appreciation. Snatching the offered bag, I step back and let Lucas in the room. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until this moment. I go about setting the food out on the table in the corner while he squats down to pet the pups. When he stands with Wilma in his hands, I promise my ovaries don’t ping. Not a one.
Maybe one.
Fine, both.
Ping city here.
What can I say? There’s something about a hot guy holding a sweet baby puppy as he lets her lick his face like an ice cream cone that gives me the warm fuzzies. I know beyond a doubt I’m not alone, no way any woman can deny how hot that is. I mean, I suppose she could deny it, you know, if she was heartless. But I’m not. I’m full of gratitude for these days to figure my life out, for childhood friends that come back into your life, and for puppies who cuddle and give puppy kisses without prompting.
“Ouch. Dang little girl, those teeth are razor sharp. Go play with your brother,” Lucas scolds Wilma as he sets her down and turns his attention back to me. “Little barracudas. I brought Mexican, I hope that was okay.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
It may be a little too perfect.
We were up bright and early this morning. By we, I mean Fred and Wilma had me up before the sun rose. I insisted on keeping them with me last night, and I’m paying the price. Lucas knocked on my door, what felt like minutes after I fell back asleep, and while I wanted to cry at how exhausted I was, instead I accepted the hot cup of coffee he offered. The coffee helped, as did the donut he gave me, but I was still yawning as he ushered me to the truck a little later.
I Don't: A Romantic Comedy Page 5