Wings Over Poppies (Over #2) (15 page)

I shake my head and laugh at my ridiculous friend. Before I can thank Marlo for the save, I feel fingers brush against my collarbone, pushing my hair out of the way.

“I can’t seem to keep my eyes off you. One dance. Just give me one dance.”

When I turn to the side, I’m met with deep blue eyes and a killer smile. Thinking of his five o’clock shadow brushing gently up the side of my neck gives me a slight tingle.

“I’m Hank.”

“I’m Alex,” I answer back shyly, looking up at him through my lashes.

My barstool jerks forward with the brute force of Marlo’s foot, and I hold onto Hank’s arm to keep from crashing to the floor. I shoot her a murderous look, but Marlo just smiles and tips her head toward the dance floor, suggestively raising her eyebrows.

I step down from the stool and let Hank lead me just as the music takes a turn. The slow, seductive beat has me lacing my arms around his neck as his hands lightly brush my sides. A gentle nudge on my lower back pushes me closer to him, and his forehead falls to mine. I don’t know him at all, and the gesture feels overly intimate, but I welcome the closeness, however contrived it may be. I need it. I crave it.

I miss it desperately.

He moves in closer, gently running his lips up my neck before stopping at my ear.

“I’m just gonna say it and hope we’re on the same page. If you and your friend come home with me tonight, I’ll fucking guarantee you a religious experience.”

His words flow through me like ice, and my body stiffens. I resist the urge to knee his balls up into his throat. That one moment of tenderness between us makes this feel like betrayal, which is utterly ridiculous.

After deciding against swift retaliation, I pull back and walk away from Hank the asshat without a word. I pick up my purse from Marlo, my exasperated look telling her everything she needs to know.

“Call me tomorrow, girl,” she says with sympathy.

After the short drive to my house, I leave a pile of cat food by my back door for the kittens under my porch. Even though I love their fuzzy butts, I refuse to let them inside. I have this irrational fear of becoming “The Cat Lady,” but it doesn’t feel completely ridiculous taking into account recent events.

I shower off the bar stench, hoping the hot water pounding my muscles will relax me. As I crawl into bed, the urge to grab my journal is overwhelming.

When will I stop needing this?

West,

I hate that you dismissed me without a second thought. I hate the look of indifference I saw when you threw me away. I hate that I’ve devoted my heart to a man so unworthy of it. I hate that, after all these years, the mere sight of you grips me like a vise.

I hate that even though you’ve crushed me, I still can’t wish you away. You still own me, and I hate that most of all.

Alex

“
By Your Side
” by Tenth Avenue North

“COME ON, CELIA. I promise it’ll be fun,” I beg, using my sugary sweet voice.

“Fun? I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the opposite of fun. Besides, I don’t date, Alex.”

The Courtyard is hosting a speed dating night this week, and while it may sound cliché, I’m willing to give it a shot. My run of bad luck is laughable. The problem is it’s my life, so it’s becoming less funny by the second. Last week, my date had steel balls hanging off the bumper of his pick-up. Yes, that’s right, tailgate testicles. No. Fucking. Way.

“Don’t think of it as dating. Just think of it as meeting new people and doing a ginormous favor for one of your friends. I would be forever grateful. Please!” I squeak, hoping to irritate her into saying yes. It may not be the best tactic, but I’m all out of ideas.

She releases a pent up sigh, and I can almost see her shaking her head in frustration through the phone. “You owe me big, girl. Whatever I ask, and I mean it.”

“You got it. Extra hours at the clinic, scrub your floors with a toothbrush, whatever you want, you got it.” My heels pump up and down with excitement.

“Count on it.”

“Love ya, Cece.”

“Yeah, you better,” she threatens before hitting the end button.

I toss my phone onto my porch and get back to the task at hand. I take a great deal of pride in my home, having renovated it little by little. Others may have seen a money pit when they looked at the run-down cottage, but I instantly fell in love. I immediately put in an offer and spent the last two years in a constant state of construction. Once the inside was livable, I turned some of my attention to the landscaping.

My flowerbeds are a labor of love and never ending source of relaxation. Wildflowers of every variety are sprinkled throughout with no rhyme or reason. Lavender, wisteria, tiger lilies, Louisiana irises—you name it, I’ve planted it. I wanted vibrant color, chaos, nothing manicured.

“Morning, Alex. Beautiful day, huh?”

I turn and see Mr. Burt, my mailman, sliding the envelopes into my box. I pull off my gardening gloves and walk down the sidewalk to meet him.

“Yes, sir. It doesn’t get better than this.” I walk through my picket fence to retrieve the mail. My mother keeps telling me I should paint the fence white to clean it up a bit, but I love the rustic feel of the natural wood. Like I said, natural chaos, nothing manicured.

“Those flowers are looking good, sweetheart. Keep up the good work.” He keeps moving, sparing me a quick wave.

“Sure thing, Mr. Burt.”

I shuffle through each envelope until I come across a letter from Westlake Insurance Agency. I sit on my porch, break the seal, and pull out a check made out to Tara Trahan.

“Shit.”

Why did they send the check for Tara’s bumper to me? The paper reminder of my humiliation causes a sick feeling in my stomach. I know what I have to do, so I get right to it.

I scroll through my contact list and hit the green button. Tara picks up on the third ring, sounding cheerful as ever.

“’Lo?”

“Hey Tara, it’s Alex, the one who hit your car?”

“Yeah, I remember. Hey Alex! What’s up?”

“For some reason, the insurance company mailed the check for your repairs to me instead of you. If you text me your address, I’ll send it in the mail today.”

“Well, the body shop said I can pick up my car tomorrow afternoon, so I could really use the check to pay them. I’m out of town today, but why don’t you drop it off in the morning at my work?”

Shit. The last thing I want to do is return to the scene of the crime.

Tara quickly figures out the reason behind my silence. “He won’t be here, Alex. He has class in the morning. He doesn’t come in tomorrow until after lunch.”

I hear the pity in her voice, and I cringe at how transparent I am. I may sound like a chicken, but she’s right. I don’t want to see him. Even more, I don’t want him to see me.

After several more assurances from her that he won’t be there, I agree to meet her in the morning. It will be a quick hand off.

In and out. West will be none the wiser.

The door chimes as I push it open, something I didn’t notice on my first visit here. Remembering that day, I cross my arms protectively across my chest and walk up to the sliding glass window. Before I get to the counter, Tara slides the window open and her face lights up.

“Hey Alex! Thanks so much for coming. You are such a lifesaver,” she gushes as her ponytail bounces.

“No problem at all, Tara,” I say with a muted smile. I open my purse and hand her the envelope. “Here ya go. I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning, so I’ll get going. Thank you so much for being so understanding through all of this. It means a great deal to me.”

Her smile softens slightly. “Sure thing, girl. Listen, you have a great day.”

I return her smile and quickly exit the way I came. My keys jingle in my fingers as I take the porch steps two at a time, more than ready to leave this place. I hear the door chime behind me just as I hit the parking lot.

“Alex, wait!” Tara calls out, following me to my car.

My eyes squint in confusion as I wait for her approach. I’m not sure what’s left to say. I give her an expectant look and unlock my doors in anticipation of hauling butt.

“Look, I know it’s not my place, and I have absolutely no idea what’s happened between the two of you…”

“No, you don’t know what happened.” My answer is curt, hoping to stop her from sharing whatever it is she’s about to share.

“You’re right, I know. But I do know he’s really a good guy. He just doesn’t know how to act with people he knew from before. Just … try not to hold it against him, okay?” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she bounds up the stairs and through the door.

She leaves me standing in her wake with more questions than answers. What the hell is she talking about?

From before what?

I sit quietly, slumped in my seat, sunglasses lowered, and my magazine covering my face from view. Every so often, I lower one corner and survey the parking lot for new vehicles, then snap the magazine back in place. I’m not particularly proud of what I’m doing, but sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands. I’m probably the world’s worst spy, but I’m determined to get to the bottom of Tara’s statement.

When she said “before,” could she have meant before West left for the military? Sure, there’s always that possibility, but I get the feeling it’s more than that. So here I sit, in my car, across the street from Providence Sports and Rehabilitation Clinic, like the stalker I am.

The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence, making the magazine fly into the air and my heart race. I quickly press the green button, right my now crooked sunglasses, and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I whisper quickly, looking both ways to be sure no one finds me out. I’m in my car with the windows rolled up, so I’m not sure who I think is going to hear me. God, I’m terrible at this!

“Alex? What are you doing?” Holly asks.

How can she sound so suspicious when I’ve only said one damn word? She knows me too well, so I better get off the phone quickly, unless I want to spill my guts. She’s never had a problem making me sing like a bird.

“Nothing. I’m busy. What do you want?” My words are terse, emphasizing I don’t have time for chitchat.

“Why are you whispering, Alex? What the hell? You know you’re a shit liar, right?”

“Shut up, Holly. I’m in the middle of something, and you’re distracting me,” I say, just as a black truck drives into the parking lot. “Damn it. I gotta go, Holly. I’ll explain later.”

I frantically toss the phone in the back seat and grab the crumpled magazine off my lap to hide my face. As soon as the driver takes off his sunglasses and puts them on top of the visor, I know it’s him.

And, as always, my pulse quickens at the mere sight. Will he ever stop affecting me this way?

He steps out of the truck, seemingly in a hurry. He’s dressed in black wind pants, a red fleece sweatshirt, and a baseball hat pulled down low. Even at this distance, I see his dark hair curling at the edge of the hat. Although he’s all man now, I still see the boy from the past. He’ll always be that boy to me.