Break You (12 page)

“Umm, water, I guess, and maybe an aspirin,” I said.

“Got it.” He winked, then came around the counter to where I stood and took the little bottle. “Where are your cups?”

I pointed him in the right direction. “There.”

“Thanks,” he said.

I watched him as he got down a glass and filled it with tap water for Paige. He was cute. I could see what Paige saw in him. He had dirty-blond hair, brown eyes, and a dimple in the center of his chin. He didn’t have massive muscles, but he wasn’t pudgy or a wimp either. He was somewhere in between.

Lauren poured herself a glass of orange juice around the two of us. My kitchen was too small for this many people crammed in here all at once. We were practically rubbing elbows.

“I’ll set this in there with her and then I gotta go,” Craig said. He darted down the hall.

“Wonder where he has to be so quick-like?” Lauren asked. She’d read my mind, because I’d been thinking the exact same thing.

“I don’t know, seems to be pretty important. He’s said he has to go more than once,” I said.

“Paige will be pissed when she wakes up. She’ll think he thought she was disgusting or something,” Lauren muttered.

“I know.” I frowned. I’d have some explaining to do when she woke. She’d grill me for hours, I was sure.

* * * *

I laid around for most of the day, watching movies and eating junk food with Paige and Lauren. I’d dozed off a few times, catching up on the sleep I’d missed the previous night. When six o’clock rolled around I was already starting to spazz out some. It had been a while since I’d been on a date. I always seemed to find the weirdoes and the sketchy ones, never the Prince Charming type. Sometimes I wondered if that type even existed. Maybe those guys were just a product of books and movies created by women who fantasized about how they really wished the men in their life were.

When I thought back to my childhood and remembered my parents’ relationship firsthand, the qualities of Prince Charming weren’t present at all. Dad never once remembered an anniversary on his own. He only remembered Mom’s birthday and to get her a Christmas present because of Bonnie and me. He hardly ever cooked or cleaned. In fact, I don’t think at any point in my childhood did I ever see him even switch out a load of laundry.

And then there was Bonnie’s relationship with Brice—no Prince Charming there either. He never appreciated the things she did for him. That was one of the major complaints she always seemed to have—that and the fact that he didn’t spend as much quality time with Tinley as she would like to see.

Men. They sucked. So why was I spazzing about a date with Jason? I knew this wouldn’t go anywhere. I also knew he was probably cool as a cucumber about the entire thing tonight. There was no promise for a long-term relationship. He lived in Tennessee. Why he was here I didn’t know, but I didn’t think his stay would be permanent.

Pulling the yellow dress I’d bought from my closet, I draped it over the edge of my bed and turned to rummage through my jewelry for something to set the dress off. Even if Jason wasn’t my Prince Charming…I still wanted to wow him.

Holding a pair of pearl earrings up to the dress, I smiled. Those would look classic paired with it, and my wedge sandals would be the fun and hip addition to the outfit.

“No, no pearls,” Lauren said. She stood leaning against the doorframe of my room. I hadn’t even heard her walk up. “You don’t want to look like Betty Crocker, you wanna look flirty and fun. Trust me.”

“Betty Crocker? Pearls are not Betty Crocker,” I argued.

Glancing at the combo again, I realized Lauren might be right.

“He’s meeting you at a bar, not a bake sale. And you want to fuck him, not marry him.” Lauren crossed the room and began to riffle through my jewelry box atop my dresser.

My cheeks heated at her words. “Jesus, don’t beat around the bush.”

She glanced at me with a wicked grin. “What? You know it’s true. You didn’t agree to go out with him to talk and get to know one another… You agreed because you want what’s in his pants and you know it. I’ve seen him, Blaire, the guy is the definition of eye candy. If you thought about anything else other than what he’d be like in bed when you looked at him then you’d have problems.”

I laughed. “Wow, sometimes I forget how blunt you can be.”

“Okay, so you’re going for sex vixen, not schoolteacher. Although some guys are into that, I don’t think that’s what he wants on a first date.” She pulled out a pair of turquoise dangly earrings I’d bought last year at the flea market. “You need some flirty colors paired with that classic dress. He won’t think you’re a sleaze, but he won’t think you’re a prude either.”

My stomach knotted. What had I gotten myself into with this date thing?

“I’m not going to give it up on the first date,” I said. “I’m just going to have a couple of drinks with him, talk for a bit, and then head home.”

“No, you’re not,” Lauren insisted. She locked eyes with me. “You’re going to get you some of that, because Lord knows if he was interested in me I would, and get over this rut you’ve been in. A nice healthy dose of meaningless sex is just what you need.”

Meaningless sex? I didn’t do meaningless sex.

“I don’t know about that.” I dropped my eyes back to the dress spread out on my bed.

“Then lead him on…and then drop him at the end of the night. Either way, have a little fun.” Lauren winked.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JASON

At six thirty I decided maybe I should have offered to pick Blaire up. I sent her a Facebook message, because I didn’t have her number, and wondered if she would even get it in time. Stepping into the shower to wash away the cheap bar stench of Blue’s from last night and the sweat from working at Gramps’ house all afternoon, I thought about the simple fact that I was meeting with Blaire tonight. I’d looked forward to this little date thing of ours for over a week now.

Last night had been fun. Marla had been awesome to hang around. Matt had been a blast, same as he used to be. And then when they’d snuck off together after an hour or so of drinks and dancing, I’d caught a ride home with a guy I used to play football with. I’d gotten home at a decent enough hour; since it wasn’t my house and I didn’t want to be disrespectful to my mom by coming and going at all hours of the night, I’d set the curfew of one AM for myself recently. That seemed reasonable and it was two hours past the curfew she’d given me in high school, so it still made me feel like an adult.

I hated the fact that I would practically be living here for the summer while I got all of the shit fixed at Gramps’ house. If there had been furniture still there and I knew it wouldn’t upset my mom, I’d simply stay there.

After towel drying myself off, I slipped on the outfit that I’d acted like a damn girl about picking out and glanced at myself in the mirror. Fuck. I needed to shave. I had a serious five o’clock shadow going on and my Phillips shaver was at the apartment. Damn it. Maybe Blaire was into the whole scruffy look; I could only hope.

* * * *

I’d checked Facebook a million times in an hour. Seriously, it had to be some sort of a record. Blaire had responded to my message with a standard yes and directions. That was all I got. I wasn’t sure what I’d hoped for, but that had not been it.

Driving to her place, I found myself wondering how tonight would pan out. Everything I imagined I was sure would never happen. In fact, my fantasies were just a reminder that I really needed to get laid. It had been way too damn long.

Pulling into the parking lot of her apartment complex, I glanced at my phone once more just to make sure I’d gotten the number right—3A.  Inhaling deeply, I started along the little sidewalk in front of the building.

3A was easy enough to find, it was my confidence to knock on the door that wasn’t. When I finally gathered up enough courage to do so, Paige was the one who answered. Was it a written rule that the actual person you were there to see never answered the door with girls? Because that’s always what seemed to happen, to me at least.

“Hey,” Paige said. She moved out of the way so I could squeeze past her and into the living room. “Blaire will be out in just a minute.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. Could I sound more like an idiot?

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The apartment was nice. The walls were a shade of tan with the farthest wall being a bright red. I knew it was called an accent wall, but it seemed a little too bright and bold for my taste. I was more of a neutrals man, hence the grayish shirt I’d picked out for tonight.

“Hey, are you ready?” Blaire asked as she strutted down the hall toward me. She was dressed in a sexy little yellow dress that looked sophisticated and chic on her. There were some long necklaces that came right where I was sure her cleavage would be and she wore some strappy shoes with a wedge heel that made her legs look long and lean.

Hot was not even a word I would use to describe her—scorching was more like it.

“Yeah,” I said.

Blaire grabbed her purse off the table by the front door, said her goodbyes to her two friends, and then I had my hand at the small of her back, guiding her out the door.

“You look amazing,” I commented once were outside.

Some might consider that a line, and maybe I’d used it in the past as that a time or two, but this time it wasn’t. It was the truth. Walking her to my Jeep, I was suddenly grateful I’d remembered to put the soft top on, because I would hate for her perfect looks to get messed up on the ride to Shooters from the wind. Blaire looked like perfection to me right now.

“Thanks,” she said.

She went straight to the passenger side door and opened it without waiting on me to do so for her. Obviously she wasn’t into the whole male chivalry thing. I could get down with that, I guess. I cranked my Jeep and shifted into reverse, my engine whining as I backed up. Shifting into drive with a little force, I flicked the dial on the volume of the radio and some rap song blasted through the speakers. It was better to fill the silence before it became palpable. Those were my thoughts on it, anyway.

When we reached Shooters, I found the closest parking space to the door I could. Blaire got out as soon as I cut the engine, again without me having the chance to open the door for her. Was she really that against chivalry or did she just not want to be here? Damn it, was this a forced pity date? Fuck. Blaire Hayes wasn’t the sweetheart from high school I’d figured she still was.

She paused at the front of my Jeep. “I love that color,” she said, motioning toward it.

“Thanks.”

We walked to the door of Shooters side by side. The music filtered through the thin glass and I cringed at how this night was not going the way I wanted it to so far. Blaire was making me nervous—normally I didn’t do nervous. Not that I was one of those arrogant guys who thought they were God’s gift… I was just a little more confident in myself was all.

Not in the presence of Blaire, it seemed. I needed a drink…some liquid courage.

I reached for the door and pulled it open, allowing her to step in before me. Call me a tad old-fashioned, but I at least thought the guy should open the damn door to a place for the girl… Maybe not the car door, that looked a little whipped and creeper-like, but to a place of business, yes.

“Oh. Thanks.” She said the words as though my actions had surprised her.

“What?” I smirked. “Didn’t think I had a chivalrous bone in my body? I have a few.”

She laughed and began toying with the strap to her little wrist-purse thingy. It was like a cell phone case and a wallet combined. I bet she looked goofy as shit talking into the phone with a wallet pressed to her ear. I secretly hoped she got to use it in my presence tonight after we’d had a few drinks so I could laugh at her without the fear of pissing her off.

After showing our I.D.s at the door, we crossed the oversized red tile floor to the wooden bar against the back wall. Shooters. I’d come here a few times when I was eighteen. My hand had been stamped with that awful X of doom and my horrible fake I.D. had been shredded in front of me. Didn’t stop me, I’d still gone into the bathroom and scraped at the back of my hand until it was raw trying to get that damn X off. I hadn’t succeeded.

Glancing around, I realized the place hadn’t changed much. There was still the same crowd hanging here, the same music playing, the same neon lights hung and the same painted wood paneling walls framed in the place. Shooters wasn’t run-down or nasty by any means, but the coolest thing about this bar was its name.

“So, what do you want to drink?” I asked as we both took a seat at the bar.

Blaire set her little wrist-purse down and flicked her big blue eyes my way. “What are you having?”

“A shot of Captain Morgan.” I needed something to get over this nervousness building in my stomach. “Want one?”

Her nose scrunched up in a cute little way at the thought. “No, I’m not much of a straight liquor person. Besides, don’t you think you’re starting out a little strong?”

Swiping a peanut shell someone had cracked and left on the bar to the floor, I glanced at her sideways. “Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, never fear,” I said, adding a little cockiness to my tone for good measure. “We’ll be here for a while anyway, don’t you think?”

That was my nonchalant way of figuring out if this had been a forced pity date. If she answered with a “maybe” or an “I don’t know,” then it was. But if she answered with a “could be” or an “I guess you’re right,” then things were okay and I was just being paranoid.

“I guess you’re right.” She smiled. My lips twisted to mirror hers and my heart thumped triumphantly. “I’ll take a Long Island iced tea.”

Waving the bartender down, I handed him a twenty, told him to keep any change, and then ordered our drinks. I’d learned a while ago that tipping the bartender first gave you stouter drinks and made him, or on occasion her, your friend for the night. Once the shot glass of liquid fire was placed in front of me, I picked it up and held it out to clink Blaire’s cup for a toast.