Down to You (13 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN- Olivia

Maybe it’s PMS. Maybe it’s just the stress of
too much change too quickly. I have no idea really, but I feel like
all of a sudden, my life is a train wreck.

And most of the wreckage revolves around two
guys. Two guys that, for totally different reasons, are tearing me
up inside. Two guys I want. Two guys I can’t have. Two guys I can’t
stop thinking about.

I want Cash—badly—on a purely physical level,
although he is cute and charming, which only adds to the danger
level. But I want Nash just as badly, but in a different way.
There’s a physical component for sure. He turns me on something
fierce. But he’s just the
kind of guy
that I want, that I
need
in my life.

I don’t think I retained a single word from
any of my three classes today. I’m more thankful than ever that a
lot of it is fluff stuff—statistics, sociology and body mechanics,
which is like the college version of gym class.

By the time I get back home, I’m exhausted.
More emotionally than physically, but it ends up feeling like the
same thing. In the quiet of the apartment, knowing I’ll have it all
to myself for two weeks (a fact which I gleaned accidentally rather
than Marissa actually telling me herself), I decide to lie down on
the couch to take a short nap.

I wake up at 4:30, feeling no better. Just
dead-headed. I’m still feeling icky in general, so I reach for my
phone and call Shawna. I get her voice mail, which informs me she’s
with her mom picking out flowers for the wedding.

The only other really close friend I have is
Ginger, the bartender I worked with at Tad’s for years. Thankfully,
she’s home.

After we talk for several minutes, she gets
blunt, Ginger style. “All right, spill it. Something’s wrong.”

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re a terrible liar and I hate you for
trying.”

I giggle. “No, you don’t.”

She pauses. “Okay, I don’t. But the only way
you can make it up to me is to tell me what the hell’s up your
butt.”

Ginger also has a way with words.

I sigh. “I guess I’m just missing home and
friends and…I don’t know. Life just feels…complicated.”

“Uh-huh. This sounds like penis
problems.”

“Ohmigod, Ginger! It’s not penis problems.
You think everything is about sex.”

“Isn’t it?”

I laugh. “No. It’s not.”

“So this has nothing to do with a guy?”

I pause.

“Ah-ha! I knew it! Penis problems.”

“Well, it seems that the
cause
of some
of my problems happens to
have
a penis. Well, two
actually.”

“Oh sweet Mary! You’re dating a guy with two
dicks?”

“Ginger, no! It’s about two different
guys.”

“Oh,” she says, obviously disappointed.
“Damn. That woulda been kinda cool.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. One for each hole?”

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I laugh again. “At least you’re not afraid to
admit it.”

“Girl, I own it! I’m too old to pretend to be
something I’m not. Takes too much effort. Just like faking orgasms.
If you don’t bring you’re A-game, don’t bother showing up at all.
I’ve only got a limited number of orgasmic years left. I plan to
squeeze every last drop of pleasure out of them that I can. And I
do mean squeeze.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Oh,
Ginger…

After a few more minutes of wildly
inappropriate shock-and-awe talk, Ginger promises to come take me
out for drinks tonight, which actually sounds like a lifeline. We
make plans to meet at a pub she’s familiar with downtown and, by
the time we’re hanging up, I’m already feeling more
lighthearted.

********

I’m finishing my second drink when my cell
phone rings. My heart sinks when I see Ginger’s number.

“Where are you?” I ask without preamble.

“I can’t make it tonight, sweetie. Tad needs
some help. Norma called in sick and he needs the help. I just
turned around to head back home. I’m so sorry, Liv. I’ll make it up
to you. I promise.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s fine, Ginger. We’ll
do it another time.”

“In the meantime, get those penis problems
fixed. Every hen house needs a cock, but only the special hens can
handle more than one. Try ‘em out then pick one and stick with it.
You’re not old enough to play with two toys at the same time.
That’s cougar territory.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” I say
derisively.

“You just send the rejected one my way. I’ll
make him forget all about you. At least for a few hours.” She
laughs in her gravelly smoker’s voice. “Talk soon, sweetie.
Smooches.” And then she’s gone.

I hang up and look around the bar. As much as
I really don’t want to go back to an empty apartment and think
about all my troubles, I don’t really want to stay here by myself
either. With a depressed sigh, I slide a few dollars under my empty
glass and scoot off the bar stool, digging my keys out of my purse
as I go.

Try ‘em out then pick one and stick with
it.

Ginger’s words run through my head. They
sound ludicrous! And completely slutty. But at the same time…

No matter how much I want it to work, the
thing with Nash is impossible. He’s dating Marissa. I mean, I saw
them together this morning. Even now it makes me sick to think
about it.

But then I remember him brushing my face. It
makes me wonder if I’m in his head like he’s in mine.

And then there’s Cash. At least a
relationship with him would be less complicated. Less meaningful,
with less of a future, of course, but at least I’d know what’s
what.

Insane thoughts are running through my head
as I get in and start the car. Or should I say
try to start
the car.

What now?

I bang my hand on the steering wheel as the
lights flicker weakly. “No, no, no!”

I turn on the interior light and it barely
sheds a dim cone of illumination into the back seat. These are
sick-car symptoms I’m familiar with, ones I know.

The battery.

“You are such a piece of shit,” I yell into
the quiet cab, slapping the horn accidentally. It makes a sound
like a wounded duck. “Don’t you talk back to me! You’re this close
to going to car heaven at the junk yard.”

Yes, it makes me feel a tiny bit better to
get rid of some of my frustration, even if it means sitting outside
a pub, yelling at an inanimate object. A very inanimate at the
moment.

Now what?

I need someone to jump me off. I hate to call
a tow truck for something so simple. It would cost me a fortune.
And my friend resource pool is frighteningly shallow here.

That’s what happens when you spend the first
two years up a guy’s ass and the third one as a wallflower.

I close my eyes and try to think. As always,
two faces, identical faces, float through my mind.

Nash probably has plans. According to
Marissa, he stays incredibly busy. I’d hate to play the damsel in
distress card and interrupt him, no matter how much I like the
thought of him coming to save me.

Then I think of Cash. He owns his own
business and disappears for hours at a time pretty regularly each
night. Plus he’s just a few blocks away. He would be the logical
choice. But remembering our last conversation, my stomach flutters
with nerves wondering what he might ask for in the form of
payment.

I can’t deny that the prospect excites me,
though.

Try ‘em out.

Pushing Ginger’s voice out of my head, I
reach for my cell phone and pick out Cash’s number from the contact
list. He answers on the second ring.

“Cash, this is Olivia.”

“What’s up?” he says abruptly. His clipped
tone surprises me. I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it.
Maybe I thought he’d be all schmoozy and sexy, and try to talk me
into sleeping with him. The sad thing is, I’m a little disappointed
that he’s not.

“Am I bothering you? Because I can
totally—”

“You’re not bothering me. What’s up?” he
repeats.

“Well, I hate to call you over something like
this, but my car battery is dead, I think, and I’m sort of stuck. I
was wondering if you could come and jump me off. I’m just a few
blocks away.”

There’s a pause. And it feels like a long
pause, especially when I’m already on pins and needles. I think for
a second of just hanging up. How childish would that be? Yeah,
after doing something that embarrassing, I’d be forced to quit
Dual, quit school, move back home and leave all my recent
humiliation behind in the big city. And as drastic as that sounds,
sometimes it seems incredibly appealing.

But I don’t. I just wait. While my face burns
in humiliation.

“Tell me where you are.”

I give him the address.

“Will you be all right for about fifteen
minutes? There’s just something I have to do before I can leave,
but then I’ll be right there.”

“That’s fine. Take your time.”

“Can you go back inside and have a drink
while you wait? I don’t like the idea of you sitting outside in
your car by yourself. You
are
by yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m alone. But I’ll be fine. I
just—”

“Olivia, I really don’t like it. Can’t you
just go back inside? Consider it a favor.”

When he puts it like that… “Okay. I’ll go
back inside. Just call me when you get here.”

“See you in a few,” he says then hangs
up.

Tossing my phone in my purse, I pull down the
visor and check my makeup. I know I shouldn’t care, but I’m glad I
got all dolled up to meet Ginger. After I reapply a little rose
lipstick, I run my fingers through my straight hair and adjust my
red off-the-shoulder shirt.

Back inside, I order a beer. It’s
inexpensive, so I don’t mind leaving it when Cash shows up, plus
sipping it won’t give me a buzz.

Twenty minutes pass and I’ve checked my phone
for the sixth time. I’m beginning to wonder if everyone’s going to
stand me up tonight when the door swings open and I look up to see
Cash striding toward me.

My mouth goes completely dry when his eyes
meet mine and he smiles a lop-sided, cocky grin. I wish his long
legs didn’t devour the space between us so quickly. I could just
look at him, just watch him move all day long. He’s built so
perfectly and he looks stunningly edible in his “work clothes” of
snug black jeans, a snug black t-shirt and black boots. It sets off
his wide shoulders, his narrow waist and the honey color of his
skin. And those eyes. Damn those black eyes. They sparkle like
drops of an ebony pond in his handsome face.

By the time he gets to me, I’m debating the
need for a change of panties.

I start to slide off my stool, but he stops
me. “Finish your beer,” he says then nods to the bartender. “Jack.
Neat.”

When the bartender slides his drink across to
him, Cash takes a sip then turns to me, as if he’s settling in.
“So, why are you here, drinking all by yourself tonight?”

Nervously, I use my thumb nail to scrape at
the label on my beer bottle. “I was supposed to be meeting someone,
but they had to cancel. After I’d already gotten here, of course,”
I explain, bitterness dripping from my voice.

“Want me to kick his ass?” he asks. I look up
at him and he’s grinning at me over the top of his glass.

“No. You might be embarrassed when
she
gets the better of you.”

“Ahhhh, your butch girlfriend?”

His eyes are twinkling. He’s teasing me. And
enjoying himself tremendously, apparently. This is more like what I
was expecting when I called. Well, not even this much, really. This
playfulness is unexpected and very…disarming.

Don’t let him charm you.

But then I think of Ginger’s words again. And
I get a little bolder.

“No, I’m not into girls. I very much
like…men.”

I can’t help but wonder if the “vampy” in my
head comes across as “campy” instead.

Too late.

“I got the feeling you might be last
night.”

He arches that one brow and his lips twitch
with the smile he’s containing.

Holy shit! He’s so effing sexy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s kinda hard to describe,” he says,
leaning toward me and lowering his voice. “But I’d be happy to show
you if you like.”

There’s a dare in his eyes. But I just don’t
know if I’m up for all that he’s offering. Can I go there without
letting my heart get involved?

I clear my throat and look back at my beer
bottle, backing down simply out of a need for
self-preservation.

Smart guy that he is, he picks up on the
shift in my mood.

“So,” he says in a very nonchalant manner,
“tell me all about Olivia.”

I shrug. “There’s not much to tell. I’m from
Salt Springs. I grew up on my father’s sheep farm and I’m a senior
in college.”

“Wow, a lifetime reduced to two sentences.
I’m not sure if I’m
im
pressed or
de
pressed. Were
there boyfriends and parties mixed in there? Or…”

I smile. “Yeah, there were a few of each. I
wasn’t a wild child, but I wasn’t a shut-in either. Just average, I
guess.”

“There’s nothing average about you,” Cash
says quietly.

My eyes fly to his. He’s not smiling and he
doesn’t appear to be teasing me, which triggers my blush.

“Thank you.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds,
right up until the air starts crackling with electricity between
us. That’s when I look away.

“So what’s your major?”

“Accounting.”

“Accounting? Accounting is for spinsters who
wear their hair in a bun and have a closet full of orthopedic
shoes. Why’d you pick accounting?”

I laugh at his vision. “I’m good with
numbers. Plus, with an accounting degree I’ll be able to help Dad
with the business. It just makes sense.”