by Shen, L. J.
He paced back and forth.
Robert, Kyle, and Tim trickled out of the club, sweaty and disoriented.
Rob looked at me with murder in his eyes, pointing a finger to my face. “I’m not getting into a car with this psycho.”
“Better get a head start if you want to make it home by morning. West’s that direction, in case your drunk ass needs a map.” I spun the keys on my index finger, starting toward Wyatt’s car.
They all trailed behind me, Robert included. Wyatt was the first to catch my step.
“Is it serious?” he asked.
I knew exactly what he meant.
I weighed the pros of telling him the truth. There was no way at least some of this evening wasn’t going to make its way to Mrs. Underwood, who’d make sure to tell everyone else in Fairhope.
No point in pretending otherwise.
“Yeah.”
“Does Mom know?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
I rubbed my chin. “If Tennessee’s okay with it. Either way, we’ll wait until after your wedding. I don’t want your bride to die of a heart attack.”
“I appreciate it. Finding a third one would be a hassle.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You still have most of your hair and a respectable chunk of inheritance. You’ll be all right. Just don’t tell anyone before Tennessee and I are ready to.”
“You got it, bro.”
There was silence for a few moments. I wondered if the other guys had heard us. I wasn’t sure if I wanted them to know or not.
“You kissed someone else,” I pointed out to Wyatt.
He sighed. “Baby bro, not all relationships are the same. Trinity and I have a very good idea of what we want from each other. I doubt she expects faithfulness from me. She just wants to marry into money and stop working.”
“Good,” I said. “Because she is a pretty crappy nurse.”
“Nessy is a good waitress. Kyle says Jerry told him she gets the best tips.”
“She’s talented.”
“I hope she makes you happy.”
“Wyatt?”
“Whaddup?”
“Tell Trinity what happened tonight. Because if you don’t, I will.”
The next day was a Saturday, and my day off. A real blessing, considering I couldn’t show up at the clinic looking like someone punched the daylights out of me.
A blackish-purple bruise formed around my right eye over the course of the night, and by morning, I looked like I’d been mugged.
I screwed on a baseball cap, put on my Aviators, and made my way to Jerry & Sons, where Tennessee was floating between booths, popping her pink gum loudly and joking with the customers.
I slid into an empty seat and waited for her to notice me, admiring the way she worked her audience like a starlet from the fifties. She had too much charm, which made her burst in colors and personality.
She was insufferable in the eyes of those who couldn’t be her or be with her.
My chest filled with sharp pride when I noticed she wore a black pair of tights under her uniform, so no one could see under her dress anymore.
I ripped my sunglasses off and slipped one stem into the collar of my polo shirt. Looking like I got punched square in the face trumped looking like a creeper. Wearing glasses indoors was only passable if you were:
1) Brad Pitt, or
2) Blind.
I was, at least to my knowledge, neither.
A few moments passed before Tennessee swept her head sideways, her laughter rolling from her throat at something Jerry said, before noticing me. Her smile dropped and she put down a tray full of soda and burgers on the counter, rushing to me.
The color drained from her face, and that’s how I realized not only was she wearing leggings, but she also wasn’t wearing enough foundation to moonlight as a circus clown.
She was evolving, becoming the most authentic version of herself I’d ever seen, and I wanted to grow right along with her.
“Holy sheep, Cruz!” She slid into my booth, grabbing both my cheeks in her hands and studying my face. It looked much worse than it felt. “What happened to your face?”
“I fell.”
“What’d you fall on?”
“A class-A jerk.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that. But first things first—can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? A milkshake? Maybe some Tylenol? Scratch that, I’m going to get you a Tylenol anyway. This looks nasty.”
“It’s mostly harmless, but what I’m about to say to you isn’t, so get me a cup of coffee and sit your cute ass down.”
I wasn’t used to courting women.
I especially wasn’t used to popping into their lives unprompted, which was exactly what’d been happening with Tennessee. Ever since we started sleeping with each other on the cruise, she hadn’t called, texted, or given me any indication she wanted anything serious with me.
At some point, I had to get a shred of commitment from her, too. But for now, I gave her some leeway, considering her insecurities and history.
She pinned me with an unreadable look, her concern morphing into trepidation. “That doesn’t sound too good.”
“Depends on who you’re asking.”
“Wait here.”
A minute later, she came back with a fresh cup of coffee and an apple pie that had seen better days, probably in the early nineties. She slipped two Tylenols into my hand discreetly.
A waitress I guessed was Trixie, the new girl, took over Tennessee’s tables while we spoke, patting her shoulder to show her allegiance.
I began by explaining I hadn’t known Rob was going to show up to the bachelor party, and then the thing he’d told me, about me getting his leftovers, and how he’d left me no choice but to punch him square in the face.
“So now he knows we’re hooking up?” She paled.
Was that what we were doing? Hooking up?
I felt a second hit, this time to the gut.
I wanted to correct her definition, but now wasn’t the time.
“Not necessarily. I kept it vague. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the fact he called you leftovers? This is the so-called reformed man who wants a second chance with you.”
Translation: he is getting a second chance with you over your dead body, right?
“I wish you’d let me deal with Rob. This only brings more attention to me, Cruz.” She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Messy Nessy strikes again, causing trouble between two best friends. Trinity’s going to kill me.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I pointed out.
“She told me to stay away from you.”
“We’re not having this conversation again. You need to stand up for yourself.”
“Says who? Someone who is still trying to be everyone’s darling?”
This was getting old.
And tiresome.
Even though I knew she was right—I was still far too agreeable to everyone around here, even those who needed a good ass-kicking—I stood up.
“Where’re you going?” she looked left and right, whisper-shouting.
God forbid someone knew we were having an intimate conversation about something that didn’t have anything to do with how I wanted my eggs fried or our siblings’ wedding.
“Gonna go find a girlfriend with a spine. If you see one, send her my way, would you?”
“A girlfriend?” She jumped up from her seat, her eyes big and wild.
I gave her a defiant, what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it look.
She rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks crimson-stained. “I guess…I just…” She chuckled. “Okay. Wow. This is moving fast.”
“We’ve known each other since nursery school. You were pretty late to be potty-trained, by the way,” I said flatly.
“I had nightmares.” She punched my arm, laughing. “And what I mean is a month ago I didn’t even know that you liked me.”
“Well
, I do.” I softened on a sigh.
“I like you, too. I just…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I’m scared of my family, and to be perfectly honest, I’m scared of myself, too. I’m Messy Nessy. I mess things up. And I’m pretty scared of you. Can we keep it on the down-low for now?”
Ah, yes.
Messy Nessy didn’t deserve anything good. Especially when that something could overshadow her precious sister’s wedding.
“Until after the wedding,” I said curtly. “I’m not going to live in shame. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“A girlfriend,” Tennessee murmured, her eyes wide. “I haven’t been someone’s girlfriend since I was sixteen.”
“Well, it’s high time someone tamed you, Miss Turner.”
I turned around and walked away, out of the diner.
I watched from the reflection on the glass door as she ran to whisper something in Trixie’s ear, then followed me out, not bothering to say goodbye to Jerry.
Tennessee slipped into my car, ducking her head to make sure no one saw her.
“Are you following me?” I asked extra loudly as she buckled up, just to be a dick.
She grinned at me like a loon, her head tucked next to the glove compartment, still in hiding. “Maybe. Where am I following you to?”
“My house.”
“Nice. Bear is with his mamaw all day and mentioned he wants a sleepover so he can help my dad tomorrow morning with putting together a tree house for their neighbor.”
“All I heard was quality time with my girlfriend.”
She reached across the center console and kissed my thigh, still out of sight from whoever peered into my car.
It was secretive, and forbidden, and even a little crazy.
A calamity waiting to explode in my face in a very public, very un-Cruz fashion.
And I fucking loved it.
I woke up in Cruz’s bed to hot coffee, a heated croissant, and a note.
Dear girlfriend,
Shanna Duggar, Beau’s wife, went into labor earlier this morning and they called me to help. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Your clothes are on the right-hand side of my walk-in closet (don’t freak out).
—Cruz.
I clutched the note to my chest. Instead of freaking out, I contemplated how nice it would be to actually date Cruz.
After I woke up and used a spare toothbrush he left for me in his bathroom, I gave myself a tour. I’d never been inside my Barbie Dreamhouse before.
Yesterday, we were too busy having sex and wolfing down takeout food for it to be appropriate to ask for a tour. Plus, a part of me was still heavily guarded around him.
It wasn’t exactly an even playing field.
He had so much leverage over me, being who he was, and me being who I was, that I didn’t want to point out I’d had vivid dreams of living in this house ever since I was pretty much a (not yet potty-trained) toddler.
The house was gorgeous from the inside. With chevron accent walls, ranch-style furniture, and golden light switches. He had a classic white kitchen, sprawling with space and filled with patterns and textiles.
The bathrooms had claw-footed baths and all kinds of soaps I bet were strictly decorative, but wanted to use anyway, the philistine that I was.
There was no doubt in my mind this place had been the passion project of a pricey interior designer from out of town, and for a minute, I wanted to cry, I was so impressed with how beautiful and yet familiarly intimate it felt.
I rushed to find the game room, the one Bear had wanted to visit, when I heard the doorbell ring.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
My instincts told me not to answer it—it wasn’t my door after all, and Cruz and I had both planned to keep this a secret at least until Wyatt and Trinity’s wedding (and, let’s admit it, long after it, too, if I had my way).
Then again, Cruz had left the house so hastily. What if he’d been waiting for something and was now counting on me to receive it?
I slipped my phone out and shot him a quick text.
Tennessee: Hey, boyfriend. Your doorbell’s ringing. Should I get it?
His answer came less than five seconds later.
Cruz: Please.
Well.
At the very least, I was wearing one of the beautiful Anthropologie dresses he’d gotten me. So if it was someone from town, I could always say we were working on last-minute arrangements for our siblings’ wedding.
The doorbell chimed again, and I raced from the second floor to the entrance, flinging the door open.
Gabriella stood on the other side of the threshold, her big shiny black curls and thin smile in place. She had a deep tan and a knee-length, trendy powder-blue dress, not much different than the one I was wearing.
Her smile dropped as soon as she saw me.
“Messy Nessy.”
There was no question mark in her voice.
Not much surprise, either.
I leaned a hip against the doorjamb, disappointed I didn’t have gum to pop in her face as I took her in. “Sherlock. How can I help you?”
I allowed myself an attitude with her when Trinity wasn’t around. My personal payback for all the times she’d mistreated me while we were in company.
“What are you doing here?” She clutched her straw purse in her fist, baring her too-white teeth.
“Cruz and I are running the RSVPs against the seating arrangement one more time before the rehearsal dinner.” The lie slipped from between my lips so naturally, I made a note to pat myself on the back after she left.
She raised a skeptical brow. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I have no expectations from you whatsoever, but I would like to get on with my day. So if you could tell me how I can help you sooner rather than later, I’d appreciate it.”
“I want to talk to Cruz.”
She tilted her chin up. I had to hand it to her, she handled the situation with (relative) grace. I knew better than anyone how desperate she was to bag Fairhope’s favorite bachelor.
“Sorry, he went to help the Duggars give birth.”
“And he let you stay at his house?” She craned her neck to look inside.
On principle, I narrowed the door a little, to keep the interior away from her prying eyes.
“Don’t sound so shocked. I couldn’t steal all the valuables even if I wanted to. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to remove that antique Astoria grand sofa? Unless you’re up to giving me a hand?”
That really set her off.
“Oh, this is nonsense!”
Gabriella pushed me into the house in one swift movement, joining me inside and closing the door behind her. For a moment, I suspected she was going to try to kill me, but then remembered I could take her.
Not to mention, she’d never be able to hide my body. She was the least creative person I’d ever met.
“Listen here.” She poked my chest, advancing toward me like a lethal tiger in a cage. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to let you get away with it, homewrecker.”
“Dang, I finally graduated from a hussy to a homewrecker. Took me a decade, but here we are.”
“You’re trying to get knocked up again, thinkin’ Cruz is not the sort of guy to turn his back on you.”
Another step toward me.
I took a step back on instinct, mainly because I suspected she would tear me limb from limb if I pushed her back and didn’t want to engage in a cat fight in a house that wasn’t mine (as much as I wanted a fistfight, I did not want the accompanying headline).
I laughed, because I was trying to do the exact opposite of getting pregnant. So much so, I put it on my phone calendar to make an appointment with my OB-GYN, who hadn’t heard from me since Bear was born, to go on the pill.
“Get lost, Gabriella.”
“I’m telling you right now, Nessy.” She cornered me into an alcove, her body pressing against mine, her face so close her spit peppered my skin. “If you d
on’t back off, I will make sure your life is a living hell in this town. First, I’ll make you lose your job. I have no idea what you even have worth taking, but then, I’ll make you lose everything else you’ve ever cared for.”
“Is that a threat?” I smiled, but inside, I was screaming.
I didn’t need this. Didn’t need to go head-to-head with Gabriella Holland. With the entire hometown. Because they would choose her. They were always looking to trample me to stand a little taller. They really needed new hobbies.
“It’s a promise. Leave Cruz alone.”
“On your request?”
“On my order.”
“You should know.” I pushed Gabriella off me, tired of her attitude. “I don’t take very well to threats. You may think you have huge pull in this town, but I’ve been holding my own for a long time, and I plan to do so long after you’re gone. Now, if that’s all, I suggest you call Cruz and try to arrange for the two of you to meet. Unless, of course, he’s been ghosting you.”
I made a pouty face.
According to the look on Gabriella’s face, I hit the nail straight on the head.
“This is not done.” She wiggled her finger in my face.
“Shakin’ in my boots here, Holland.”
She slammed the door behind her.
I collapsed against the wall, letting out a ragged breath.
Note to self: get boots whenever I can afford a pair. Because the shaking part? That was real.
Two days later, I walked into my parents’ house to drop off the handmade straw baskets I’d made for Trinity’s flower girls.
Technically, Gabriella was supposed to get them from a boutique out of town. But, also technically, Gabriella was a beach of massive proportions and cited headaches which had prevented her from making the trip.
I was wearing one of my Cruz dresses (that’s how I called them in my mind, which had made me imagine him inside said dresses, which was equally hilarious and sexy). I’d also let my hair down, both literally and figuratively, and it now fell gently on my shoulders.
The appeal of looking like the designated washed-out diner waitress who needed a shower and a clue had dissipated ever since I realized I could cut thirty minutes of preparation each morning only to make myself look less attractive than I was.