He leaned back in his chair and gave me a look. “Take a seat, Woods.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I said sit, asshole. Don’t give me any shit.”
I glared at him for a second, but I perched on the edge of a chair, back stiff, knees apart, fists resting on my thighs.
“DeSantis said you seemed out of sorts today.”
Grunt.
“I believe pissed off at the world was his take. Still bothered about that girl?”
“I guess.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you ask her out?”
“No.” I paused, then gave in. “I slept with her.”
Mack grinned. “You’re so predictable.”
“Fuck off.”
“So how was it?”
“Good.”
“Just good?”
“Too good.”
He nodded. “Was this the first woman since your ex?”
“No, but this was the first one that actually meant something.”
“And that’s the problem?”
I scratched my jaw. “Yeah.”
Mack picked up a stress ball on his desk and played around with it. “You gonna see her again?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
“She’s leaving tomorrow.”
“So take her to dinner tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do, Woods. Even guys like us. Especially guys like us. They come home and do normal shit in an attempt to appear normal, if not actually feel normal.”
“Maybe I don’t want to feel normal. Maybe I don’t want to feel anything.”
“Maybe you’re just scared of what would happen if you did.”
I shook my head. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
He gave me another grin. “So I’ve heard.”
When I pulled into my driveway an hour later, I saw Stella loading something into the trunk of her car. Was she leaving?
I parked my bike in the garage, took off my helmet, and ran a hand through my hair. I imagined her standing out there, wondering what my next move would be. She’d clearly seen me pull in but hadn’t lifted a hand to wave or even smiled in my direction.
Because she’s upset with you, dipshit. She thinks she doesn’t matter.
I had a choice. I could let her go on thinking that. Would it really be so bad? She’d go her way, I’d go mine, and we’d leave last night behind. Call it a fun mistake, call it a one night stand, whatever. But let it go.
Or … I could go over there and talk to her. Apologize again for being difficult. Ask her to dinner. Try to be normal, whatever the fuck that meant.
Torn between retreating behind the safety of four walls and giving in to the urge to be with her again, I began walking up the driveway toward my house. When I reached the walkway to the back door, though, I didn’t take it. Instead, I walked around to the front to see if she was still there.
She wasn’t—and that’s when I really panicked.
I hated the thought that I’d never see her again, that she’d leave thinking I was a dickhead who’d used her for sex. And it’s not like she was asking anything of me. Just a little time. I could give her that, couldn’t I? One more night? How dangerous could that be?
Taking a deep breath, I walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door. I saw her through the pane and my stomach muscles tightened. She was so fucking pretty.
But damn, she was pissed. The look on her face as she opened the door said WE ARE NOT AMUSED and I could practically feel the icy air surrounding her.
“Yes?” she said without opening the screen door.
“Can I come in? Or can you come out?”
She shrugged. “What’s the point?”
“I want to talk to you.”
Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder. “Grams? I’ll be out on the porch for a minute.”
“Okay, dear!” I heard Mrs. Gardner reply. “Shall I make you a cocktail?”
“No, that’s okay.” Stella pushed open the screen door, the hinges groaning.
“I’ll run home and grab some WD-40 for that,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Now that I was standing here, I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”
I hurried down the steps and jogged back to my garage, where I grabbed the can of lubricant off a shelf. I was a little worried she wouldn’t be there when I returned, but she was—sitting on the swing at the far end of the porch. Arms still crossed. Expression still cool. She was all buttoned up again, wearing a collared shirt beneath a camel-colored cardigan with jeans. But her feet were bare, making her seem a little vulnerable.
“Just give me a minute.” I thought I heard her sigh as I went to work oiling the hinges, a task I finished all too quickly. When I was done, I tested it out. The door opened soundlessly. “There. That’s better.”
I recapped the can and set it down before wandering over to her, sticking my hands in my pockets. I should have cleaned up first, I thought. The other night when she’d come looking for me, she’d looked so beautiful and smelled so good—and here I was with dirty, rough hands, mud on my boots, and probably smelling like horses and turpentine. Not sexy.
When we were toe to toe, she looked up at me. “What do you want, Ryan?”
“You mad at me?”
She exhaled and looked toward the street. “I don’t know. Kind of. I’m more mad at myself, though.”
“Why?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I keep setting myself up for disappointment.”
“I keep setting myself up to disappoint people. Quite a pair we make.”
She looked up at me, and I gestured to the spot next to her. “Can I sit?”
“I guess.”
I lowered myself onto the swing, setting it gently in motion. “Thanks. Sorry if I smell like a barn. I was working in the stables this afternoon.”
“I didn’t realize Cloverleigh was still a horse farm.”
I nodded. “The farm isn’t huge, but they still board maybe a dozen horses and keep some sheep, goats, chickens. I don’t really work with the animals, though.”
“I haven’t been there in a long time. I hear it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” It was the perfect opening to ask her to dinner, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out yet. “So I saw you packing up your car. Are you leaving tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
I frowned. “Guess I deserved that.”
She crossed her arms even tighter, and looked out at the street again, away from me. “What are you doing here, Ryan?”
I forced myself to say the words. “I’d like to take you out for dinner.”
She looked at me like she might have heard wrong. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Dinner. Maybe at Cloverleigh, if you’re up for it.”
“But last night you said you don’t date.”
“It’s true. I don’t.”
“So this would be what?”
I thought for a second. What would a normal person call it, if not a date? “Dinner with a friend?”
“Are we friends?”
“I’d like us to be.”
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, appearing to think it over. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll have dinner with me tonight?”
“Yes. I’m not leaving until tomorrow. I was just loading some things in my trunk that Grams wanted to give me.”
“You think she’ll be okay if I take you to dinner?”
That made her laugh. “Uh, yeah. I think she’ll be very happy, actually.”
“Good. Seven o’clock work for you? That gives me time to go home and clean up.”
“Seven is fine.”
The plan was made, and there wasn’t really a reason to keep sitting there, but I didn’t want to get up yet. There was something nice about sitting next to her on that swing, about the way I could smell her hair, about her bare toes. What would happen if I put my arm around her? Would she move a little closer? Put her head on my shoulder? Her hand on my thigh?
“I’d rather stand.”
“I said sit, asshole. Don’t give me any shit.”
I glared at him for a second, but I perched on the edge of a chair, back stiff, knees apart, fists resting on my thighs.
“DeSantis said you seemed out of sorts today.”
Grunt.
“I believe pissed off at the world was his take. Still bothered about that girl?”
“I guess.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you ask her out?”
“No.” I paused, then gave in. “I slept with her.”
Mack grinned. “You’re so predictable.”
“Fuck off.”
“So how was it?”
“Good.”
“Just good?”
“Too good.”
He nodded. “Was this the first woman since your ex?”
“No, but this was the first one that actually meant something.”
“And that’s the problem?”
I scratched my jaw. “Yeah.”
Mack picked up a stress ball on his desk and played around with it. “You gonna see her again?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
“She’s leaving tomorrow.”
“So take her to dinner tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do, Woods. Even guys like us. Especially guys like us. They come home and do normal shit in an attempt to appear normal, if not actually feel normal.”
“Maybe I don’t want to feel normal. Maybe I don’t want to feel anything.”
“Maybe you’re just scared of what would happen if you did.”
I shook my head. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
He gave me another grin. “So I’ve heard.”
When I pulled into my driveway an hour later, I saw Stella loading something into the trunk of her car. Was she leaving?
I parked my bike in the garage, took off my helmet, and ran a hand through my hair. I imagined her standing out there, wondering what my next move would be. She’d clearly seen me pull in but hadn’t lifted a hand to wave or even smiled in my direction.
Because she’s upset with you, dipshit. She thinks she doesn’t matter.
I had a choice. I could let her go on thinking that. Would it really be so bad? She’d go her way, I’d go mine, and we’d leave last night behind. Call it a fun mistake, call it a one night stand, whatever. But let it go.
Or … I could go over there and talk to her. Apologize again for being difficult. Ask her to dinner. Try to be normal, whatever the fuck that meant.
Torn between retreating behind the safety of four walls and giving in to the urge to be with her again, I began walking up the driveway toward my house. When I reached the walkway to the back door, though, I didn’t take it. Instead, I walked around to the front to see if she was still there.
She wasn’t—and that’s when I really panicked.
I hated the thought that I’d never see her again, that she’d leave thinking I was a dickhead who’d used her for sex. And it’s not like she was asking anything of me. Just a little time. I could give her that, couldn’t I? One more night? How dangerous could that be?
Taking a deep breath, I walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door. I saw her through the pane and my stomach muscles tightened. She was so fucking pretty.
But damn, she was pissed. The look on her face as she opened the door said WE ARE NOT AMUSED and I could practically feel the icy air surrounding her.
“Yes?” she said without opening the screen door.
“Can I come in? Or can you come out?”
She shrugged. “What’s the point?”
“I want to talk to you.”
Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder. “Grams? I’ll be out on the porch for a minute.”
“Okay, dear!” I heard Mrs. Gardner reply. “Shall I make you a cocktail?”
“No, that’s okay.” Stella pushed open the screen door, the hinges groaning.
“I’ll run home and grab some WD-40 for that,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Now that I was standing here, I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”
I hurried down the steps and jogged back to my garage, where I grabbed the can of lubricant off a shelf. I was a little worried she wouldn’t be there when I returned, but she was—sitting on the swing at the far end of the porch. Arms still crossed. Expression still cool. She was all buttoned up again, wearing a collared shirt beneath a camel-colored cardigan with jeans. But her feet were bare, making her seem a little vulnerable.
“Just give me a minute.” I thought I heard her sigh as I went to work oiling the hinges, a task I finished all too quickly. When I was done, I tested it out. The door opened soundlessly. “There. That’s better.”
I recapped the can and set it down before wandering over to her, sticking my hands in my pockets. I should have cleaned up first, I thought. The other night when she’d come looking for me, she’d looked so beautiful and smelled so good—and here I was with dirty, rough hands, mud on my boots, and probably smelling like horses and turpentine. Not sexy.
When we were toe to toe, she looked up at me. “What do you want, Ryan?”
“You mad at me?”
She exhaled and looked toward the street. “I don’t know. Kind of. I’m more mad at myself, though.”
“Why?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I keep setting myself up for disappointment.”
“I keep setting myself up to disappoint people. Quite a pair we make.”
She looked up at me, and I gestured to the spot next to her. “Can I sit?”
“I guess.”
I lowered myself onto the swing, setting it gently in motion. “Thanks. Sorry if I smell like a barn. I was working in the stables this afternoon.”
“I didn’t realize Cloverleigh was still a horse farm.”
I nodded. “The farm isn’t huge, but they still board maybe a dozen horses and keep some sheep, goats, chickens. I don’t really work with the animals, though.”
“I haven’t been there in a long time. I hear it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” It was the perfect opening to ask her to dinner, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out yet. “So I saw you packing up your car. Are you leaving tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
I frowned. “Guess I deserved that.”
She crossed her arms even tighter, and looked out at the street again, away from me. “What are you doing here, Ryan?”
I forced myself to say the words. “I’d like to take you out for dinner.”
She looked at me like she might have heard wrong. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Dinner. Maybe at Cloverleigh, if you’re up for it.”
“But last night you said you don’t date.”
“It’s true. I don’t.”
“So this would be what?”
I thought for a second. What would a normal person call it, if not a date? “Dinner with a friend?”
“Are we friends?”
“I’d like us to be.”
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, appearing to think it over. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll have dinner with me tonight?”
“Yes. I’m not leaving until tomorrow. I was just loading some things in my trunk that Grams wanted to give me.”
“You think she’ll be okay if I take you to dinner?”
That made her laugh. “Uh, yeah. I think she’ll be very happy, actually.”
“Good. Seven o’clock work for you? That gives me time to go home and clean up.”
“Seven is fine.”
The plan was made, and there wasn’t really a reason to keep sitting there, but I didn’t want to get up yet. There was something nice about sitting next to her on that swing, about the way I could smell her hair, about her bare toes. What would happen if I put my arm around her? Would she move a little closer? Put her head on my shoulder? Her hand on my thigh?
