Wreck Me
Page 22

“Keep what up?”
“That charming, pretty boy, flirty thing.”
“I honestly didn’t even realize I was doing it.” Well, kind of.
“Sure you didn’t,” she says doubtfully yet she’s grinning.
I grin back at her, feeling so much better than I did this morning. I have no clue how that’s possible. I’ve been so upset since I kissed her because it felt like so much more than a kiss to me.
I wanted it to be more.
Then came that thing I’m all too familiar with.
Rejection.
And sober, I can’t handle it.
Sober, I can’t handle much of anything.
Avery’s smile abruptly vanishes, and I feel my own dissipating. But before she can say anything, the waitress interrupts us to jot down our orders. I decide on the chicken, while Avery choses the hamburger and she divulges that she hates seafood too. The waitress jots down the order then turns to leave. She gets two steps away from the table before Avery’s attention locks on me.
“All right, we need to set some ground rules.” She shuts the menu that’s in front of her and folds her arms on top of it.
“Ground rules?” I ask as I reach for my glass of water.
She nods. “Yep, for us being friends.”
I restrain a smile. “So we’re friends?”
She points a finger at me, all serious and getting down to business. “Yes and this is very important, so pay attention.”
I’m trying not to laugh at her, but it’s really f**king hard because she looks so sexy being bossy. “All right, I’m all ears.”
“Good.” She begins to count down on her fingers. “The first and most important rule to our friendship is that what happened in the alleyway can never happen again.”
“You mean the kiss?” I aim to sound joking, but my displeasure shows.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says with a deep sigh. “It has to be done in order for me to do this.”
“But what is this?” My lips wrap around the straw, and I sip my ice water before setting the glass back down. “Because I’m not sure I understand why you’re here sitting with me when you really don’t want to be.”
“No, I want to be. I really, really do. In fact, I think it might be imperative that you and I become good friends.” She pauses. “I just can’t…”
“Make out with me in dark alleyways,” I finish for her, stirring the ice in the cup with the straw.
She frees a trapped breath, nodding. “Yeah, there’s that.” She starts counting down on her fingers again. “And then there’s the no wearing your shirt thing and being all sweaty.”
I pick at the piece of gauze on my hand, chuckling. “So are you saying that my sweaty, shirtlessness turns you on too much?”
She nods, her honesty astounding me. “It really, really does.”
I protect my eyes from the sun with my hand as I slump back in the chair. “But it’s super hot here.”
“I know.” Her fingers enfold around the dewy glass of water and she picks it up. “How about you just keep your distance whenever you have your shirt off?”
“I guess I could do that,” I reply unenthusiastically, unable to stop staring at her mouth as she drinks from the straw. “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“It’s clear that I’m attracted to you, so how are you going to prevent that?”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s unmistakably amused and flattered. “You just let me worry about that.”
“What are you going to do? Shave your head and wear sweat pants every day? Because I hate to break it to you, but you’d probably still be attractive.”
She traces her tongue across her teeth, stifling a smile. “Rule number two,” she says, sidetracking the conversation, “no more flirting.”
I snort a laugh. “That is never going to happen. It’s part of who I am.”
She crosses her legs and squares her shoulders. “Well, you’re just going to have to find someone else to do that with.”
“Sorry, I can’t.” I give an unapologetic shrug. “I’m fine with rule one but rule two is never going to work.”
She sighs, but it’s unclear if it’s a defeated sigh or an annoyed one. “And rule number three, no drugs or drinking.”
I deliberate what she’s said, wondering if I can do it and if I even want to. “I’m not sure I can do that, either.”
“Then I guess we can’t be friends.”
“Right now, you’re putting a lot of faith in the fact that you assume I want to be friends with you.”
She arches her brow. “Don’t you?”
I dither. “Maybe.”
She examines her fingernails. “Well, it’s your choice.” She appears unconcerned but if I look close enough I can almost see a wall around her, put there to protect herself. Why can I see it? Maybe I do the same thing.
“No, I want to be your friend,” I tell her guardedly. “But I have to ask... Why all the rules all the time? I mean, you’re making these rules now and then there’s the no guys rule.”
Her hand lowers to the table. “Because they’ll keep me from getting wrecked again.”
My jaw practically hits my knees at the honesty her words carry.
“Look.” She leans forward. “You saw the little fight between Conner and me and you know we divorced two years ago. Well, he also got arrested a little over two years ago, so I’m sure you can put two and two together as to why.”
Sadly, I can. The fact that Conner almost hit her that night probably means that he used to beat her and that’s why they’re divorced now.
“Okay, I get it. But can I just ask why?” I ask. “Why would you want to help me after the stuff that you’ve been through? It seems so much easier just to walk away?”
“Walking away isn’t always as easy as it sounds. And I’m helping you because I need to. Not just for you but for me. You remind me so much of myself, lost and confused”—she lifts her shoulder and shrugs like she really doesn’t understand it herself—“and in need of some help.”
“And what do you need, Avery? Who helps you?”
Her hazel eyes reflect in the sunlight as she stares up at the sky. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” A haunting look fills her expression and when she glances back at me all I see is pain. So much agony.
But before I can ask her about it, the waitress delivers our mozzarella sticks. The interruption is kind of an icebreaker and then our conversation drifts back to mundane things.
“I used to work here,” Avery tells me as she dunks a mozzarella stick into the bowl of marinara sauce. “As a waitress.”
“How long ago was that?” I pluck a mozzarella stick from the plate between us.
“A couple of years ago.” Her tongue glides out of her mouth and she licks the marinara off the mozzarella stick.
The sight of her tongue making that movement makes me go rock hard, and I have to adjust.
“I bet you made a good waitress. You have good people skills.” And a f**king body that probably makes every guy want to tip her generously.
“I did okay.” She pops the mozzarella stick into her mouth then cleans off her fingers on a napkin. “It’s definitely not what I want to do with my life, though.”
“And bartending is?” I bite the mozzarella stick.
She shakes her head. “No way. Benny’s a decent boss but I hate the environment... and some of the stuff I have to do.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Flexible hours. Pays well.” She shrugs. “Benny lets me do his books too, so it should help when I graduate. At least I hope it does.”
“Books?” I stuff the rest of the mozzarella stick into my mouth. “Like illegal booking?”
She laughs, nearly choking on her food. “No, books as in his records and payroll and stuff.” She picks at the napkin. “It’s my major—accounting.”
“Awe, the boring major.” I give her a lopsided grin when her gaze darts up and her eyes narrow at me. “Hey, you said it first.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” The hardness in her eyes diminishes. “I’m getting a minor in astronomy though, for fun.”
“You like the stars?”
She presses her lips together and nods. “Yeah, kind of.” Her eyes light up, revealing a deep love. “Well, a lot actually,” she admits. “Probably way more than is healthy.”
“So do you know all the constellations?” My gaze floats to the sky even though it’s broad daylight.
“Well, not all of them,” she explains. “That’s nearly impossible.”
“So why don’t you do that?” My gaze resides on her. “Do something in Astronomy? If you like it so much.”
She sweeps the shredded napkin aside. “Sometimes there’s more to life than just loving what you do. Sometimes you have to do things in order to make it through life.”
“Yeah, but you only live once, right? And why not do something that makes you happy?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” she says, scratching her head, giving me a glimpse of the cross and Survivor tattoo on her forearm. “What about you?”
I don’t like where this conversation is going. “What about me?”
She props her elbows on the table. “What do you want to do with your life?”
I reach for a mozzarella stick to busy myself and hush the emotions stirring inside me. “Drift.”
She’s unamused. “I’m being serious, Tristan.”
“So am I.” I stuff the entire mozzarella stick into my mouth then give her my best grin. “I’ve always wanted to be a drifter.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Her shoulders hunch as she slouches back in the seat. “But everyone wants to be something, Tristan. Now, whether they do that is a whole different story, but everyone wants something.”
I want you. “You might be overestimating the human race.”
“Nah, I know you want something and sooner or later, you’ll discover it yourself if you haven’t already, and then you’ll tell me.”
“You seem so sure of yourself,” I say smugly. “And so sure of my trust in you.”
She matches my smug grin as she leans over the table and I get a straight view down her shirt. “Oh, I am.”
I have the strongest urge to move closer to her, slide my hands across her br**sts, feel her soft skin, taste her lips just like the night in the alleyway.
“And P.S.,” she says with a cocky grin. “You have cheese on your chin.” She reclines back in her seat as she taps her finger against her chin. “Right here.”
I dab my chin with a napkin. “Ha, ha, you’re a f**king riot. How long have I had it on there?”
“Just a couple of minutes.”
I shake my head. “What else aren’t you telling me? Do I have sauce on my face? Stuff in my teeth?”
She smiles, but there’s a trace of sadness to it. “Actually there’s a lot I’m not telling you.” Before I can ask her what she means by that, Avery throws a napkin at my face. “The cheese is still on there,” she chuckles. “You need me to get it off for you?”
I consider her offer but then decide that her touching me might not be the best idea. “No, I can get it myself.”
I wipe the cheese from my chin with the napkin. What is she not telling me? By the look on her face when she said it, I’m guessing a lot of complex and personal stuff. And it stings because she knows more about me than most, even in the short time we’ve spent together.
She never gives me a chance to try to pry into her life some more though, because she keeps the rest of the conversation light. Talking about school. Asking me questions about Wyoming. Telling me about fun places to go around here. By the time we’re pulling back up to the motel, I’ve almost forgotten why she picked me up in the first place.
“Thanks for this,” I tell her as I open the door. “And I mean that. I needed to get out of that motel room and out of my own head.”
“Anytime,” she replies then genuinely smiles. “And I mean that. If you need me at all Tristan, you can call me. In fact, I think we should exchange numbers.”
Our friendship feels official as we trade cellphones to type in our contact information. I smile as I hand her phone back to her and she returns my elation. But I want more. I want to ask her to come inside, stay a little longer, continue talking because it makes everything so much easier. But fearing she’ll say no, I climb out of the car.
“See you tomorrow?” she calls out as I’m getting ready to shut the door.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow. I never should have missed so much work in the first place.”
The biggest and most beautiful smile I have ever seen graces her face. “Good.” She bites on her lip, letting her gaze linger on me before she blinks and shoves the shifter into reverse.
I close the door and watch her as she backs away, unable to look away until she’s pulled out onto the road and the Jeep is out of sight. Then I turn to go into the motel room, but slam to a halt when I spot my neighbor hurrying in my direction.
His eyes are glazed over and he keeps scratching at his frail arms. “Hey Tristan, you got that stuff I told you to hold for me?”
I blink at him. “What stuff?”