The Girl He Needs (12 page)

I pick up my phone and show him the face. “I’m out of here at four-oh-five. If you’re not done with that asshat, make sure the storage room is locked.” I push him back because the sensation of his hand on my elbow is making me lose the capacity for common sense. I want to toss him down across my desk and have my wicked way with him.

“Smitty leave?”

“Yeah, he had a class.”

He backs up. “Too bad we’re not alone.” He follows the words up with a look that makes my toes curl.

I wave him off. “Go do your interview.”

I’m walking toward the restroom when he calls my name. “You need a ride home?’

“Nope, I’m running. But thanks for the offer.”

“Running? To your place?”

“Yes, running. You know that thing you were doing last weekend,” I tease.

“But it’s far, almost eight miles.”

“I’m only running to the garage where I have my car.”

“Well, you might as well get a start on it now. That way when I get done here I can rescue you on my way out.”

I laugh but it comes out a snort. “If you’re that hard up to see me, McRae, you could always text me. Maybe we can find something to do together.” I step out of the office space and hurry to change. If he does finish the interview before I leave, I’m not convinced I wouldn’t take that ride and then some.

I’m halfway to the tire shop and struggling with my run. My stride is off, likely because I have nothing to distract me from my thoughts, which go beyond the typical curiosity about people I’m getting to know. There’s a neediness to develop something of quality with Will, my easy and trusty friendship with Jayne, and eagerness to see McRae again.

McRae. Mercy, that man.

He walks into a room and my nipples instantly harden, pushing against my clothes as if desperate for him to touch them again. Fuck all. He’s good. Our collision of fun in the storage room was amazing and left me wanting a whole shit ton more. Soon, I’ll need a distraction from him.

Now that I’ve found Will, or more, he’s found me, I’m paralyzed with indecision. If I move on to another place, will my brother follow? But staying and fooling around with McRae could lead into that complacency I felt with Nick the Marine. I’ve never dumped someone and stuck around.

Awkward.

Not that McRae and I are dating. Technically, no dumping is required.

I groan with frustration at my erratic thoughts and pick up my pace. My phone, tucked in an armband, vibrates and the telltale chime of a text interrupts my music. I twist my arm and see it’s a voice memo from Jayne.
“
Total pisser of a day. Gagging for a drink. Want to join me?
”

I rip the phone from the band; continue to run and text my reply.
Hell to the yeah.

She’s quick to respond with another voice memo
.
“
Where are you? Can you go soon? The quicker I start drinking the better this day will get.
”

Laughing at the odd way our conversation is occurring, I slow and come to the end of the sidewalk, where I jog in place and look around to get my bearings.

About four blocks from The Fox,
I text, though not before debating whether I should simply call her and have this conversation.

Can you meet me there?
she responds.

Now?

Another voice memo. “
Is there a problem with now? I believe I mentioned I wanted to start drinking sooner than later and if I start drinking at the pub my mum will be like, ‘Oh love, what’s the matter? You know Moira’s son, Holland, is still single and a nice lad. He’d make a good husband, Janie-girl, and he’s willing to move to America.’ I bet he is.
”
Her voice drops low as if she doesn’t want to be overheard. “
He’s a DJ. A bloody awful one. I bet he’d like to come here and have me take care of him and his exceedingly large man boobs.
”

Man boobs?

Laughing, I picture a heavyset guy dressed as a really bad rapper wannabe. A quick assessment of my status leaves me with clothes to change into but no makeup. What’s the purpose of going out if I can’t wear war paint?

I’m running.

There’s a long pause. I stop jogging at a crosswalk, watch a few cars go by and the street light change as I wait for Jayne to say something or text something more.

“
Running errands or running running? I’m guessing the sort of running one does while wearing exercise shoes. Sod that. Run your arse here and I’ll drive you home to change. If I don’t get a drink soon I’m going to lose the plot,
”
comes the memo.

I laugh and picture Jayne with her blond hair pulled back into a chignon, her designer clothes, and polished nails. She likes things structured, much like McRae, and the concept of running out in the open and not at a gym baffles her.

On my way. Give me 10,
I text back

I tuck the phone back into the armband and take off, my thoughts and questions forgotten and my stride easy and quick.

Jayne is waiting outside her parents’ bar by her little sports coupe. When she sees me, she shakes her head. “Why people run for sport is something I’ll never understand.”

“It feels good. Why people voice memo instead of text is something
I’ll
never understand,” I say and stretch out my legs before they stiffen up.

“Mmm. Other things feel good. Like sex, eating chocolate, and Jacuzzi. Any of those are perfectly good alternatives to running, and I voice memo because it’s hard to text and capture my intonation and the loveliness of my accent.”

We carry on two separate conversations with the ease of friends who’ve known each other years, when in fact the opposite is true.

“But none burn the calories like running does, and when I run I can eat as much chocolate as I like, guilt free. I’ll be less judgy about your voice memos from now on. What’s up?” She doesn’t look like her usual collected self. She looks distracted and a tad pissed off. Her lips are pulled back as if she’s caught a whiff of something rotten and the odor has stuck.

“You remember that guy I was seeing? The one from Atlanta?”

Brad. The every other week shag. I remember her talking about him, so I nod.

“Turns out the wanker is married. With children.”

Jayne is not a fan of children. Not that she dislikes them; she just doesn’t want to be around them. She’s quite proud of her lack of maternal instinct. But I know that’s not what’s really bothering her. She’s not a homewrecker and to be placed in the position, even unknowingly, must have her experiencing fifty shades of rage.

“Seriously? How did you find out?” I stop stretching my calves and give her my full attention.

“His wife came to see me.”

“Get the fuck out!”

“She came into the store and at first I thought she was a nutter, acting all dodgy, just walking around and looking at all the people in the shop. She never looked at the clothes. When I asked her if she needed some help, she looked me up and down and said ‘I’m Brad’s wife’. I’m such a slag. She showed me pictures of them with their kids.”

“Did she want to fight or threaten you?” Jayne doesn’t strike me as the type to fight back.

“Ha, no. Said he’s done this before. Can you believe it? Fucking tosser. Men suck. I called the wankstain and gave him what for.”

“Good for you.” I can’t resist teasing so I say, “I guess your radar for nut jobs only applies to women.”

She laughs bitterly and pairs it with an eye roll. “Lucky me, right. Now I’d like to get pissed and toast my good fortune. Imagine being saddled with a bloke like that. We should have all men fully investigated prior to entering into any relationship.” She unlocks the car and pulls open her door but doesn’t get in.

“Unless your expectation with them is nothing but a good time.” McRae’s six-pack comes to mind.

She taps her chest. “Case in point. I wasn’t looking for long term. I don’t like being played or lied to.”

“True. Good point. Can you run me by the tire shop to get my car? I had new tires put on.”

“Ah, that explains the running.” Jayne nods.

I pull the door open but stop when someone calls my name, followed by Jayne’s.

Over the hood of Jayne’s car, our eyes meet.

“Bloody hell,” she says then groans.

I look over my shoulder. Pippa runs toward us, waving. I’d met her a few days ago when I came into work and she was helping wait tables.

“Namaste, my lovelies. What are you two going on about?” She clasps her hands together in front of her and does a slight bow.

She’s cute as a button, but an annoying one that won’t stay fastened, and that’s a clear sign she’s an oddball. I’m also not sure if her brain has the capacity to power up fully or not. Her blond shoulder-length bob has light lavender streaks that match her cropped yoga pants and cream tunic, and she’s always smiling and saying positive things. I want to throat punch her.

“I was just giving Josie a lift home,” Jayne says.

“Might I come along?” Her face is smooth with ease; a slight smile plays on her lips. What would it be like to live in her bubble of happiness? Barf.

“Ah, well. We thought we might also get a drink.” Jayne looks at me and I know that our party of two just grew. I shrug. After all, it’s Jayne’s night out. If she can stomach Positive Pippa then that’s her call.

“Oh, fabulous. I’ve been baking with your mum all day. I could use a drink.” She steps up to the car and I flip the seat forward to let her crawl in to the cramped backseat. After pulling on her seatbelt, she folds her legs, cross-legged, with one hand, palm up, on each knee. As if she’s going to meditate on the way.

Jayne drops me off at the tire shop and follows me to my apartment. They wait while I do a quick shower and change. Jayne says we need loud music, booze, and the opportunity to turn men down, so she’s taking me to some place called the Ocean Deck
.
Under Jayne’s fashion wisdom, I wear cut-off jean shorts, a cream-colored, slouchy, loosely woven sweater that has more openings than fabric, and a coral tank underneath. I use my cork wedges to give me height and pull my hair back into a high ponytail. Jayne’s in an aquamarine slip dress with beaded flats. Pippa has assumed eagle position and says she’s OK with what she’s wearing.

“Damn, we look good,” I say, hoping to elicit a smile.

“Can you drive a manual?” Jayne asks as we’re getting into her coupe.

“Is the Pope Catholic? You planning on getting that drunk?”

Her expression is serious as she backs out of the driveway. “Yes. Just make sure I get home in one piece and alone.”

I nod to Pippa.

“Oh, I never learned to drive and I’m shite at saying no,” Pippa calls from the back.

“She’s right. Worse than shite.”

“Wait. A few weeks ago you told me she was your designated driver.”

Jayne throws back her head and laughs. “Too right I did. I wanted you to give me more wine and a lift home.”

“Well played,” I say. “OK. If you’re sure you want to let it all hang out.”

“I’m more than sure. I open late tomorrow and I need this.” She peels out and speeds toward the beachside of the city.

The Ocean Deck is a loud, reggae music bar that opens out to the beach. I love it instantly. All sorts of people pack the place and the tension I felt during my run is gone as Jayne, Pippa, and I hit the bar and then the dance floor. But not before Pippa makes us take a picture of her doing a handstand next to the entrance of the Ocean Deck
.
I space out two cocktails and Jayne hammers hers back. Pippa drinks water.

The more alcohol that goes down Jayne’s gullet, the louder she gets. The band takes a break and the piped-in music is great for dancing, so we don’t stop, laughing and bumping hips as we move across the floor. Pippa is in the corner trying to incorporate yoga into her dance moves and that makes us laugh harder.

Still dancing, I lean in toward Jayne. “I’m dying of thirst. Ready for another?”

“Yes, and I think I may need some air.” Her dancing has slowed to a floppy, half-assed swaying and there is a green hue to her flushed skin.

“Why don’t you go outside and I’ll grab you some water.” Her chin-length hair has come out of its knot and hangs in waves around her face.

“And a beer.”

With a shake of my head I say, “Yes, a beer too.” I give her a push to the outside, signal for Pippa to follow, and then go to the bar to order drinks.

Once outside, I find Jayne leaning against a post and Pippa in tree pose. I hand Jayne and Pippa each a water and hold back the beer until Jayne finishes the water.

“That’s really cool,” the guy next to Pippa says.

“Oh, this? It’s nothing. All about balance. But this...this is about strength.” She stands, takes a step back, and does a handstand while leaning her butt against the post Jayne’s leaning against. She lifts one arm.

“Strength,” she repeats. Her top slides down and exposes her midriff.

“Wow, that’s awesome.” The dude bends down to fist bump her free hand before turning back to his friends.

“Thanks,” Pippa says. She flips out of the position and points down the beach to a volleyball game. “Let’s go do that.”

“I think if I were to move suddenly I might cast up my accounts.” Jayne leans her head back against the pole.

“Too much Downton Abbey,” Pippa says sotto voce. “She wants to be Mary.”

“Shush, Pips,” Jayne says; her eyes flutter closed. “I am like Mary. Changing my small corner of the world one outfit at a time.” Her lips curl into a slight smile.

“I’m all caught up on Downton,” I say. “I’ve been mainlining Sherlock. Again. This wait for the next season is killing me.” I lean against the railing and sip my water. The phone in my back pocket vibrates and I whip it out.

It’s McRae.
Thanks for this awesome online calendar. Used it twice this evening.

I quickly respond.
UR welcome.

Is that really why he texted? To thank me? I weigh the merits of waiting for the proposition or making one.

“Are you getting a booty call?” Jayne asks.

“Nope, getting a compliment about my work.”

“From super-hot pilot guy?”

“Maybe.”