Faith, Honor & Freedom (8 page)

“Drink?” I ask Hoss, as I reach under the island and into his wine fridge. Strangely enough it’s never stocked with wine. Hoss likes whiskey, but always keeps a bottle of my favorite gin on hand since Rhett died. We spent plenty of nights here drowning our sorrows.

“Yeah,” he replies.

I grab two glasses from his cabinet and fill them with ice. I pour a glass of whiskey for Hoss and a glass of gin for me.

“Bit much for you, don’t you think?” he asks, moving toward me to grab his glass.

“It’s been a rough week,” I reply, downing my first gulp. It stings my throat, and I close my eyes. It’s a good burn; it’s one I can control.

“Sorry Sunshine,” Hoss says, pulling me into a hug. I set my drink down on the island and wrap my arms around him, too. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of a hardworking man, and some sort of delicious body wash Hoss has used since he was a teenager. It’s a familiar smell, and I welcome it.

“Thanks,” I say weakly.

“Pool?” I give him a smile, letting him know that it’s a great idea. Biggest perk to Hoss’s condo is his spare bedroom, which houses his pool table. It was his dad’s when we were growing up, but when he turned eighteen and moved out, his dad let him take it with him.

I grab my cue stick and give it a rub with the chalk while Hoss sets up.

“So what’s up with that douche bag?” Hoss asks, and I know the question has been eating him alive.

“He’s a nice guy; you just haven’t given him a chance,” I say truthfully.

“Lana, you told him to turn around, and he wouldn’t. I don’t want you near him anymore,” he says sternly.

“Hoss,” I respond, pulling my dress up to reveal my underwear. “See these, they’re my big girl panties. Why don’t you stick to your bad guys, and I’ll stick to my personal life. I can handle myself from here on out.” I watch as Hoss’s eyes light up in shock. I drop my dress, but he’s still staring at where my panties were exposed.
Probably wasn’t your brightest idea, Lana.
Vi would get the joke, but apparently it’s not appropriate for friends of the opposite sex. Duly noted.

“Lana, that wasn’t a good idea,” Hoss says, echoing my thoughts.

“Honestly? You saw me naked today; I don’t see the big difference. It’s like a bathing suit,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Lana, that was a see through black g-string with a bow on the front. Have you ever seen a bathing suit that revealing?” he asks.

I blush and grab my drink, downing it. “Would you like another?” I shout as I leave the room, and make my way back to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he mutters.

I pour us each another drink and take the time to regain my composure. In all the years I’ve known Hoss, he’s only looked at me once like he really wanted me—my prom night. I thought he was going to jump Jonathan Baikie to take his place, but he never made a move that night, or ever again. I can’t help but feel like tonight, he’s been looking at me like he wants to see me naked … again! What does it matter anyway? My crush died out over a decade ago. Of course I still find him attractive; I’d be a fool not to. But that’s not all there is to Hoss. I’m sure he’s slept with hundreds of women that all mean absolutely nothing to him. He’s probably looking at me the same way he does them—as a good fuck. That’s it. And that’s not what I want, or need, from a man right now.

Alec told me last night he wants a family, kids, and the whole white picket fence dream. We’re on the same page, and he’s a safe bet. Safe? He’s into choking and pain. Ugh, why is this all so confusing? I grab our drinks and make our way back to the pool table where Hoss just finished racking the balls. I hand him his glass, and we set about playing an awkward game of pool, in silence.

Hoss wins, but it can’t be that hard. I’m on my fourth glass of straight gin now, and it’s getting difficult to think straight. Hoss tried to stop me after the second, but I ignored him. The discomfort was eating away at me—Jenny was dead, Gavin just had surgery, and I needed to take my mind off of everything. Hoss stopped after his second glass, but I kept on trucking all by my lonesome.

I stumble into his kitchen, looking for a snack, and Hoss takes off in the other direction. I find a bag of popcorn in his cupboard and pop it in the microwave. I grab a glass of water, instead of gin, to try and ward off the morning hangover I know is looming. Hoss doesn’t come back into the kitchen until I’m halfway through the bowl of white cheddar popcorn.

“You’re missing out,” I slur.

“I’m good, thanks. How about we get you into bed?”

“I told you I’m not sleeping on those dirty pussy sheets.”

“I changed the whole bed. I even flipped the mattress. Rhett would have my ass if I let you sleep on the couch. It’s not very comfortable,” he says, reaching out his hand. I place my hand in his.

“What the hell, you’ve probably had sex on the couch anyway,” I slur, and watch as a sheepish grin spreads over his face. I feel some jealousy rise up inside of me, but quickly push it back down where it belongs. He leads me into his room and grabs a t-shirt and black sweatpants from his drawers.

“They’re going to be big, but it will be comfier than that dress,” he says, looking me over. I feel myself start to heat up. I know it’s the alcohol, and I should probably just go to sleep, but I can’t help myself. I need to know.

“You’ve known me forever, so you know I can’t sleep in clothes,” I say, turning my back to him. “Could you please undo the zipper?”

I hear him inhale and hold his breath as one big, rough hand sweeps my hair out of the way and over my shoulder. He undoes the zipper slowly, and I slip out of it immediately, so that I’m standing there in my black lace bra, and matching g-string. He bites his bottom lip and groans. It’s a physical attraction. I knew it.

“Can you help me into bed?” I ask. His bed is huge, king sized and almost as tall as I am. He has a few steps going up to it, but I’m scared of them at the moment. My coordination while inebriated could definitely use an upgrade. He lets out a breath and grabs a hold of my hand, leading me up the steps. I climb into his bed and under the soft sheets.

This is nice.

He pulls the comforter up to my chin and kisses my forehead. “Sweet dreams, Sunshine.”

I lose all sanity I have left and say, “It’s a big bed, Weston. You don’t need to sleep on the couch.” I truly have no interest in having sex with him, but a warm body to cuddle up close to seems like a great idea at the moment. Not to mention, he’s said the couch isn’t comfortable.

He gives me a pained smile. “Yes, I do,” he says and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I don’t dwell on the rejection. I’ve had far too much to drink and coupled with the stress, I’m drained.

Thump, thump, thump. I wake up and know right away that this isn’t going to be a good day. My brain feels like it’s trying to escape my skull, and my stomach isn’t too pleased with me at the moment either. I roll over and find a glass of water, and what I’m hoping is Tylenol, on the nightstand. I swallow eagerly and chug the whole glass of water.

I feel terrible.

I lay my head back down on the pillow, and the events of last night come crashing back. Did I really strip down to my skivvies in front of Hoss? What had I honestly hoped to accomplish? God, I’m never going to be able to face him again.

At that thought, Hoss opens the door and walks over to the side of his bed I’m currently laying on. I look down and make sure I’m covered.

Phew, I’m good.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he says with a smile. Clearly the gallon of whiskey he consumed last night was a lot easier on him than my gin was on me. Maybe I should switch? Or maybe I should just not drink double what a two hundred pound man does. Yeah, that should do it.

“Go away, you’re too happy.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a beautiful day outside, and you’re missing it all.”

I groan in frustration and pull the pillow over my head. I can’t even think about moving out of bed yet.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I need to go into the station and get some work done. Just call when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll drive you back home,” he says, and I thank the Lord he’s not making me get out of bed yet … or bringing up last night. I’m really not sure which would be worse at the moment.

I pull the pillow off my head. “Thanks Hoss.”

“No problem. There’s breakfast on the counter if you get hungry.” I nod and watch as a strange look comes over his face, as if he wants to say something, but instead he turns and walks out of the room. I hear the front door close, and lock, a few minutes later. Strange. I lay in bed for a little while longer until curiosity gets the best of me. Hoss can’t cook, so how in the hell is there breakfast on the counter?

I pull on one of Hoss’s t-shirts, inhaling his scent. It calms my stomach a little. I pad down the hallway and into the kitchen. On the counter is a massive box of donuts and a cup of coffee. I could cry. Coffee is my cure-all. I grab the cup and drink eagerly. It’s a little cool, but definitely not bad. It’s even made right, too—one perk to having a best friend who knows you well. I open the box of donuts and find a toasted coconut, my favorite. I take a huge bite and grab my phone, sitting down at the island. There are a few messages from Mom and one from Vi. Shit, I was supposed to bring her things.

Vi – Thanks for the Chinese last night. You know me too well. The flowers are beautiful, too. Jack has to get some work done today, so don’t worry about bringing my stuff. He’ll bring it later. I’d love some company for lunch, though, if you’re up for it.

I stare down at my phone and will my brain to function. The caffeine is kicking in slowly, and I manage to type out a few basic sentences.

Lana – I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But if I smell like alcohol, don’t judge me.

Vi – You went out last night?

Lana – Just to Hoss’s. He didn’t want me to go home. The street’s pretty busy.

Vi – Right. Poor Jenny :( So you had a sleepover with Hoss, did you? Did all of your sixteen year old self’s dreams come true?

Lana – Ha! Anyway, I’ll see you at one.

Vi – See you then
.

I laugh at Violet’s poke at me. I liked him for all of about a month when I was young and naive, and I’ll never live it down. I check the next text message. It’s from Mom.

Mom – How’s Gavin doing?

Lana – He’s good Mom. His incision site is a little infected so he may be there a little longer.

Mom – Poor little guy, and poor Violet and Jack, too! Why don’t you come for dinner tonight, Lana, and I’ll send you back with some food for Violet and Jack?

Having dinner with Hoss now doesn’t sound nearly as bad as it did yesterday. I could probably stomach it, especially for Violet’s sake. Her mom was never much of a cook. She took advantage of every time she was invited over for supper when we were growing up, which was just about every night, and in turn, she loves Mom’s cooking.

Lana – I’ll make it work, Mom. I’ll see you there at 5.

Mom – Thanks Lana. Your dad is going to be thrilled. Love you!

Lana – Love you too, Mom
.

I look at the final message in my inbox. It’s from Alec; I gave him my cell number last night on our drive. I know he had some big, romantic picnic planned, and I completely ruined it for him. I almost feel disappointed before I think back to Jenny.

Alec – I’m sorry about last night. I just really wanted to see you. I had a candle-lit dinner set up on the mountaintop, and really wanted to surprise you. I’m sorry about your friend, I truly am. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Lana – Of course. I was just upset. Jenny was a great girl—she didn’t deserve that.

Alec – No, she didn’t. I saw it on the news this morning. Would you like to try it again tonight, maybe this time we can keep it quiet, so there are no interruptions?

I briefly consider inviting Alec to my parents for supper. Hoss will be there, though, and I know he doesn’t like Alec. I really can’t handle the macho-man feud between them at the moment.

Lana – I’m busy tonight. Raincheck?

Alec – Of course
.

I close the message and set my phone back on the counter. I finish my donut and look around. The place is still littered with glasses from last night, and of course my half eaten bowl of popcorn. I busy myself cleaning up the kitchen, and then the spare bedroom that houses the pool table. I wonder how many people he’s had sex with on that table. I cringe at the thought, considering my hands were all over it last night. I suddenly feel incredibly dirty and decide to grab a shower.

I realize I have no clothes to change into so I grab a pair of his boxers, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. I slip into his shower, turning the heat up high so that it scalds my skin. My mom always got after me for making it so hot, but I feel cold if it’s any cooler than that. I wash my hair and then reach for his body wash. It smells heavenly, and as I lather it on, I unabashedly hope his smell stays on my skin today.

I finish my shower and dress in the insanely-too-big-for-me clothes. He’s got close to a foot on me, and probably close to a hundred pounds, too. I begin searching for a blow dryer, but there’s nothing. Damn it. You’d think in the past decade a woman would have forgotten a blow dryer here. I towel dry my hair and look around for a brush—nothing. Seriously, Hoss? I find a comb, and do my best, which isn’t much considering how thick my hair is. I find a ponytail holder in my purse and throw my hair up in a ponytail. Damn, I must look good today.

I call Hoss to pick me up. I’ve got a lot to do today between the hospital with Vi and dinner with Mom and Dad.

The drive home with Hoss was pretty awkward. As covered up as I was in his clothes, all I could think was that he’d seen me naked. Once by accident, but the second time, while not completely nude, was very intentional. Was he comparing me to all of the other women he’s been with? I run, and I’m naturally on the thin side, thanks to family genes, but I’m in no way, shape, or form physically fit. My breasts are also real, and I’m sure he’s used to the ones filled with silicone. Whatever.