by Chelle Bliss
Gin had motioned the bartender for another shot of Jack. When the man finished pouring our glasses, she grabbed the neck of the bottle, throwing her Visa on the bar. “Leave it.”
“Hell,” I’d whispered, tugging off my jacket to lean against the bar.
She’d asked to meet me as we’d left the set, something Gin never did. She had a routine, and Tuesday nights and Lucky’s weren’t part of it. Tuesday nights usually meant she’d be with her neighbor Madison at some kickboxing class downtown.
Not here on this side of the city.
Not drinking Jack straight from the bottle.
We downed two shots between us before she seemed ready to speak. By the time that happened, her face had gone pink in the cheeks, and her wide eyes glistened like wet glass. She wasn’t drunk. I’d seen how much Jack it took to get this woman sauced, and two shots wouldn’t come close to it. But Gin seemed determined and, yeah, maybe a little anxious.
“Thing is,” she finally said, rolling the empty shot glass between her fingers, attention on the bar as she spoke. Then the redhead inhaled, blowing out a breath as she looked over at me. “You and me, we’re good. Friendly. I like that. I can say stuff to you, and I know you won’t laugh at me.”
“’Course not.” It was true, but she didn’t need me trying to convince her of that fact.
“You don’t bullshit with me and, again, I like that. I like people who are honest.” She sat up, abandoning the glass to swing her legs around, resting on her elbow. “I don’t think it would be a stretch to say we’re friends. Maybe even good friends.”
“I don’t disagree with that, Gingerbread.”
Her mouth lifted up at the corner, and her body relaxed. “Good…that’s… I’m glad you think that way.”
When she directed her gaze back down to the bottle on the bar and reached for it, I caught the shake in her fingers. How that tremble made her grip on the Jack unsteady, and I took it from her. “Why don’t you relax and tell me what’s got you fussed?”
She watched the whiskey as I filled each of our glasses, and then her eyes were on me.
I felt the shift of tension, how she looked over my profile. Hard to miss when a woman like Gin looked at you that way. Hard to miss it, no matter who you are. She knew I was married. She knew I didn’t run around on my woman. Ever.
And she wasn’t the sort to try to tempt a man from what he had. She never flirted. She never looked long at me with any real intention. If she did, those looks got lost behind blinks or jokes or things she’d never take further.
But there was something in the way she said my name. In the things she did for me. How she listened, really listened, something I’d never felt with any of my friends, not even with Trudy, that had me thinking Gin was in a box with no label. I didn’t have one for her, and sometimes that mixed me up. Sometimes, for no reason at all, that made me feel guilty.
Right then, Gin was looking me over like there was something she wanted from me that she’d damn sure never ask for. For the first time since I’d met her, for the smallest second, I wondered what it would be like to push off this stool, take hold of my good friend Gin’s face and kiss her like a man kisses a woman who is above labels.
Christ, I bet it’d be sweeter than honey and burn better than the first shot of Jack all the way down.
Just then, the moment ended. Trudy’s face—her big blue eyes, her tanned skin, her bleach-blonde hair—came rushing to my mind, and I forgot about what might be and reminded myself of what was.
“There ya go.” I pushed the shot back at her. We took it at the same time. I glanced at her, attention on her mouth. The way her throat worked as she swallowed and then I smashed back the Jack, eyes slamming shut.
“Dale, I saw Trudy kissing another man.”
The Jack got caught somewhere in the middle of my throat. It stayed there as I lowered the glass, my movements slow and calm. Everything felt foggy, like a fuse had been lit, and I had seconds to move before the bomb ignited.
Gin’s eyes were wide as she watched me set the glass on the counter and swallow down the rest of the shot. I hung my arm off the bar as I moved my head just a fraction, looking her over, trying my damnedest to guess if she’d snuck in more Jack than I’d noticed and had gone off the rails.
Keeping my voice as calm as I could muster, I stared right at her, wondering when she’d laugh. Why the hell she’d thought this shit was at all funny. Friend or not, there were just some lines you didn’t cross, no matter how funny you think the joke is.
“Gin,” I started, my mouth drying up when I caught the way she sat up straight. “That shit ain’t funny.”
“No,” she said.
I’d seen the woman mad before. I’d seen her worried. I’d seen her working through the typical shit that messes with everyone’s head at the worst possible moments. But I’d never seen the expression she wore on her face in that instant. It was calm, but concerned, edging on the side of scared. Gin was no coward. Logic told me she wasn’t the sort to start shit where there wasn’t any. So why the hell would she say something like this about my wife?
“I get that Trudy isn’t your favorite person.” It wasn’t a stretch to say.
Trudy had gotten drunk at the network Christmas party and thought for some fool reason that Kit and Gin were both after me. No matter that Kane and I both promised her there was nothing to whatever bullshit she made up in her head, the woman wouldn’t hear it. She cornered both women and made an ass of herself, announcing to the entire crew that I was off-limits to “any bitches with plans on taking” what was hers.
I was still apologizing for that shitshow.
“This has nothing to do with the Christmas party, Dale. I’m not one to hold grudges.” I cocked an eyebrow, and she didn’t flinch, kept her composure like she dared me to challenge her promise. “Think what you will. You know I’m not that kind of woman. I say what I mean, and I don’t make up stories when there aren’t any.” She emptied what was left of the bottle into our glasses, giving me most of the contents. She pushed my glass toward me as though she thought I’d need it. “Last Tuesday…”
“Tuesday?” My voice went loud, topping above the low steel guitar and Patsy Cline’s alto coming from the speakers behind the bar. “You’re claiming my wife is stepping out on me, and it takes you a week to fill me in?”
She motioned to the glass, and I took it, ignoring the way she lifted her eyebrows like she wouldn’t finish what she had to say until I was good and buzzed. “Like I was saying, Tuesday, Madison and I were leaving our kickboxing class. We have to use that parking garage on Third.”
I opened my mouth to complain, something I guessed Gin knew I’d do because she held up a finger to silence me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d complained about that parking garage. There’d been four stolen cars and two carjacking attempts in that garage in the past year.
“Like I was saying, you gotta walk a few blocks from the studio to get to the garage.” She took her shot, scooting to the edge of her stool. “Gotta pass a few bars. Tuesday is ladies’ night at Side Car. There’s always a bunch of drunken idiots being obnoxious. Madison likes to make fun of them. I’d just as soon get out of downtown and get myself home.”
“You got a point coming anytime soon?”
She was crawling around her story, and the longer she took, the angrier I got. I counted on Gin. I trusted her. Sure, Trudy could be a pain in the ass, but she’d never cheat on me. We’d gone through some rough patches, but she loved me. She’d waited for me on my last deployment. A woman who will wait for you will stay with you.
“Listen to me, Dale,” Gin said, her voice getting louder. “I’m not sitting here for my health or to start some sort of drama. You know me better.”
“Thought I did.”
At that, Gin stood, looking like fire had set between her dark eyes, and the pink splotches on her cheeks that I thought earlier were from her nerves grew darker. A clear sign that her temper was rising. It was a
warning I was too stupid to heed.
“You know what? Fine, believe what you want. Think I’m lying? I don’t care. But go ask Madison what we saw as we passed that bar, and I swear to you, she’ll tell you, just like I am, it was your wife and some suit kissing on her neck, his hands all over her ass as she pulled him against… Well, I’ll spare you the details, but it was not just a friendly drink after work.” She started to walk away, thought better of it, and turned to face me again. “Strike that. It was the friendliest dang after-work drink I’ve ever seen in my life. With tongues.”
She stood there watching me, her gaze steady, and her mouth in a sharp line. I could only stare back. Out of my control, my jaw clenched, and a thousand different thoughts ran through my head.
Gin was a stand-up woman. She’d never bullshit me. She’d never lied, as far as I could tell, but things had been different since that Christmas party. She’d made it clear she was no fan of Trudy.
Was this her play now?
Making up shit?
Seeing my wife in some woman who might look like her?
Or was I a blind asshole, not seeing the truth right in front of my eyes?
“I don’t know where this is coming from,” I told her, not sure what to think or how to sort out all the shit clogging up my mind.
“It’s the truth, Dale.” Gin touched my arm. Her voice was soft and, for a second, I saw what a friend she was to me. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but Trudy is cheating on you.”
“You lying bitch!”
Behind Gin, my wife’s voice squawked so loudly. She moved so quickly. We both only had warning enough to break apart before Trudy attacked. There were a few seconds of quiet, unbelievable milliseconds of surprise where everything stilled.
Then all hell broke loose.
“You unbelievable cunt! How dare you?” Trudy jumped on Gin like a flea after a fat Yorkie. She pounced, her hands going around Gin’s neck before I could stop her.
Gin pivoted back, blocking one of Trudy’s hands and those manicured fingernails of hers with her forearms. “Just…having…” Gin panted, pushing Trudy back when she lunged at her again, my wife swinging, moving faster than I could catch her, “my…friend’s back!”
“Bitch, please. We both know you just want him on his back!” Trudy screamed, lobbing another swing, which Gin deflected.
I managed to get my arm around my wife’s waist, ignoring the scratches she made on my wrist.
“Let me go! I mean it, Dale. Right damn now!”
“Calm the hell down.”
“Crazy…bitch,” Gin muttered, incensing my wife.
“Shit…” I said, sighing when Trudy stomped on my foot, wiggling away from me, jerking a bony elbow into my gut so sharply that I doubled over. I was only distracted for half a second, but it was half a second long enough for Trudy to lunge again at Gin.
This time, though, the redhead didn’t hold back. And when my wife missed, clearly not expecting Gin to do more than weave from the jab, Gin caught Trudy hard right in the jaw, shooting her head back and knocking her off her feet.
Gin stood over my wife as she wailed and screamed on the floor, blood pouring from her mouth. She did a piss-poor job of trying to keep a loosened tooth from falling out of her mouth.
“What the fuck?” I yelled, holding Trudy, torn between trying to calm her and wanting to scream at Gin. I glared up at her, getting more pissed. She didn’t look a bit sorry that she’d bloodied up my wife. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Gin asked, widening her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“She’s fucking bleeding!”
“She kept swinging at me. What the hell did you expect me to do, stand there and let her throttle me?”
I managed to get Trudy up and off the floor. She held on to me, still carrying on. It was her alone that kept me from screaming at Gin. It was getting my wife cleaned up and looked after that kept me from asking my friend why she’d messed things up between us.
“This is bullshit I never expected from you.”
“Yeah.” She shook her head like I was the biggest disappointment of her life. “I know the feeling, asshole.”
I left the bar with my wife sobbing on my shoulder the entire way to the emergency room.
Two hours later, Trudy lay on the hospital bed, her nose full of gauze and her front tooth missing. I camped out next to her, listening to the rain outside the window drench the city. I’d thought she was asleep. But Trudy was never more motivated than when she was pissed off.
“She wants you, Dale,” she’d said, her voice soft, a little defeated.
It tore at my insides to hear my bullheaded wife sound that way.
“You’re an idiot if you don’t see it.” Trudy curled to her side away from me, looking small, her arms shaking.
Couldn’t damn well help myself. I went to her, covering her up with a blanket. She grabbed my hand, pulling me onto the bed. I curled around her, still not convinced of anything but how confused I was.
My wife let out a shaky breath and pulled my hand under her chin. “No one goes so far as to lie about their friend’s wife cheating if they don’t have ulterior motives.”
“It ain’t like that,” I told her, still unable to believe that Gin would stoop to lying. “She’s not like that.”
“She’s a woman, honey. We’re all like that.”
I should have listened to Trudy then. There was a confession in what she told me that night in the hospital.
But loyalty makes you blind.
Love makes you an idiot.
Truth was, I had no idea about any of it.
The next day, Trudy was released, and I was given an ultimatum: keep away from Gin or lose Trudy.
I was a faithful husband.
I’d been a shitty friend.
Gin didn’t speak to me for two weeks after I announced that we couldn’t have anything other than job-related discussions.
“Because of your wife?” She narrowed her eyes. I managed a nod, just one, before she shook her head, muttered a low “fucking idiot” under her breath, and knocked my shoulder as she passed me.
Two weeks later, I came home to an empty house and a note Trudy left on the refrigerator.
Dale,
I’ve outgrown you and am moving on to better things.
It’s over.
That little ginger whore can have you,
Trudy
It rained the night she left. It always rained in the Pacific Northwest, but the rain that night was torrential. The bars had closed, and nothing was open but a 7-Eleven. I spent two hundred dollars on cheap liquor and drove until the white lines on the road became blurry.
I drove until I was sure my truck did most of the navigating on its own.
Until I found myself soaking wet with a bottle of Jim Beam between my knees as I camped out on Gin’s front porch.
Thunder cracked against the black sky, and I could see the streets flooding with water. The onslaught flowed into the ditches and storm drains as I leaned against the door, that heavy bottle getting lighter and lighter the longer I sat there.
And just like that, Gin’s face hovered in front of me. She didn’t smile. She looked, if I were honest, pissed beyond belief. So, I smiled and offered her a swig of my bourbon. The woman shook her head, like I was pathetic and stupid.
She still took a drink.
“You feeling friendless, Hunter?”
“Nah.” I grabbed the bottle when she tried to keep it from me. “Feeling cheated on.” The bourbon went down smooth but heavy, and I took in a deep breath. “Feeling left by my wife.”
The look on her face was one I hated seeing on anyone—pity. I suspected she knew this, likely she saw something of that hatred in my expression. Gin stood, pulling me to my feet, and hustled me inside. She let me lie on her sofa. She even threw a thick quilt over me after she helped me tug off my boots.
Gin didn’t even bother trying to take the bottle from me.
“Don’t suppose you wanna talk about it,” she said, sitting on the floor next to the sofa.
“I do not.”
She nodded, fiddling with the tie of her open robe, pretending not to notice me watching her. Her nose was straight, with the smallest bump in the center. For a second, I thought of touching it. I thought of running a finger down the center just to see what it would feel like, but I realized what a dumb thing that was to do.
Hell, I was drunk.
“You were right, and I’m an asshole.” I leaned back against the pillow as I handed over the bottle.
She took it, moving it to the coffee table at her side. Then she looked at me, brushing the hair from my face as though it were a favor, not something she did to be sweet. “I didn’t want to be.”
“No one does when it’s bad news.” I shut my eyes, kept them closed and grinned, feeling her stare on my face. “Serves me right.” I hated the whine in my voice, but I was too drunk to care much about it. “Always figured I’d sinned too much, did too many dirty things to ever be forgiven.”
“Everybody deserves forgiveness, Dale.”
“Not everybody.” The sofa dipped when she pushed herself up to stand. I caught her hand, bringing it to my mouth as I looked up at her. “Swear to Christ, I’ll never doubt you again.”
“Good,” she said, smiling at me. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Back then, all I had left was my honor and the friendship I had with my Gingerbread. Now, I was trying to win both back. She’d been honest. She’d been real with me when I couldn’t be real with myself. Right then, as I looked down at her talking to Carelli, as the crew dispersed and the day came to an end, I told myself I’d have to be real with her when I met with her at the diner.
It was the only thing of value I had left.
My cell vibrated again, and I slipped it out of my pocket, irritated when I saw Trudy’s text lighting up the screen.
The woman was relentless, I’d give her that. But I didn’t have time for her.