Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone (35 page)

“MOM, I’LL BE
home late tonight, don’t wait up,” I tell her, zipping up my knee-high boots.

“I’ll be home late, too,” she says, walking out of her bedroom with a really short dress on. “Zachary is taking me out again tonight.” Zachary. The forty-something-year-old business mogul she met in the lobby of our apartment a few weeks ago. The divorce isn’t final between her and Dad yet, but it’s close enough that she’s moving on in a true non-housewife fashion. And to a man halfway between her age and mine.

A few weeks after I moved out here, I called her. After wrestling with what I hadn’t told her about dad, I let her know what she needed to hear, and I made her come out to Boston. She needed me, and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I know I was supposed to do this on my own, find myself and all, but I realized she needed to do the same thing. So we’re together, but finding ourselves separately. Plus, the rent out here is almost completely impossible by myself.

Boston is high stress but also peaceful. I’ve enjoyed feeling lost in the midst of thousands of people occupying this city. No one knows who I am or anything about me, and that’s exactly what I want.

I take the T down the few blocks to my office building and stop at the coffee shop on the ground floor for my usual. They know me now and a lot of the times have my hazelnut coffee waiting for me. They must have memorized thousands of orders from the number of people who work in this building, since I think there are at least eight companies occupying the space here.

“Thanks, Rosie,” I say to the barista as she hands me my coffee. “Add it to my tab, please.”

“Already done,” she says with a fuchsia-lined smile.

I head into the glass elevator and up to the fifteenth floor where my cubicle awaits. I didn’t know how I’d like this whole office job business, but the paycheck is nice, and I get to design menus for one of the top-rated restaurants in the city. It’s almost perfect.

As I’m waiting for my computer to boot up, I glance over at the one and only picture frame I have sitting on my desk. It’s Jags and his silly grin with me at the bar the night I got a little too wasted. I only vaguely remember some moments of that night, but I remember taking selfies, and I remember dancing with him and singing at the top of my lungs—feeling like a million bucks, even if I was very aware that I would not be feeling that way in the morning. It was all worth it.

The thought of that night encourages me to take my phone out and send him a quick message like I often do.

Me:
I just smiled at your silly grin that stares at me every day on my desk.

Placing my phone down face up, waiting for a response, I log into my computer, finding a full inbox.
It’s going to be a long day
.

My first email is from Cali, though.

Miss you, lady. Tyler sent you another letter full of drawings yesterday. You should have it in a couple of days. She misses her auntie. How’s Boston today? Cold? Freezing? Is it below zero? It’s eighty here, just saying. You must be cold. You must miss the heat. You must miss me too. Okay, well, enjoy your hot Boston coffee and your knee high boots, and your scarf, and your chapped lips. Love you.

For someone who so badly wanted me to venture off into the world on my own, she hasn’t let a day go by where she hasn’t tried to convince me to come back. Shortly after I arrived in Boston, she informed me that Landon had been arrested, but not for anything he did to me or us. We don’t have the full story, but it sounds like he robbed something or someone. Whatever it was, he’s in for life. Part of me wonders if Cali, Tango, and/or Jags had something to do with his arrest, but I’m pretty sure I won’t ever know—the three of them are in a league of their own.

My phone vibrates with a return message from Jags:

Jags:
I miss your pretty smile.

I take my phone and snap a picture of just my smiling mouth and send it to him.

Me:
How’s that?

Jags:
It’ll do I guess.

Since I left, we’ve maintained something, but I’m not sure what. I don’t know if he’s dating or doing what Jags does best, and if he is, we don’t talk about it. But I chose this path.

Me:
You don’t sound like Jags today.

Jags:
Sorry, I’ve got a lot going on. Bambi’s been a mess this week with her niece being back in rehab again.

Me:
Poor thing. I thought she was doing better?

Jags:
Yeah, her parents showed up and ruined that.

Me:
Tell Greta I send my best, and I’ll make sure to send her another box of cannolis from the North End soon.

Jags:
You’ve made a best friend because of those cannolis. You know she questions my motives every time I open the fridge at home? I’m watching my weight, though, and she knows that, but still doesn’t trust me.

I try to forget that they live together now. My mind still wanders, but what right do I have to ask questions when I’m the one who left? Sometimes, though, I feel like part of my heart stayed back in Texas, and I wonder if this was a mistake I’m forcing myself to pay the consequence for. I know I needed this, and I still need it, and I know I love it here, but I love someone back there too. And if he’s living with someone he’s that close to, and she’s as beautiful as Greta is, I can’t expect everything to continue going my way forever. That would be selfish, and how could I do that with how selfless Jags has been for the past year.

Me:
Well, I miss my best friend.

Jags:
You miss Bambi?

Me:
Jackass.

Jags:
God, I love it when you talk dirty.

Me:
Soooo…I was thinking about maybe coming to visit next week. Will you be around?

Jags:
Wherever you find yourself, I’ll be there. I told you that a year ago.

What I really want to ask is, do you still love me? Do you miss me like that? Have you moved on? Will I be the third wheel? Did I make a really big mistake? The odds to all of those questions being
no
are so slim, so it’s making me truly debate if I should go out there.

I miss him so much it hurts, though. While I don’t know if there’s anything left of us now, I’m grateful we stayed connected this past year, even if it was nothing more than joking text messages and lame updates on how many times a day he poops. Even with those lovely thoughts, I miss his smiles and the way the whole room shakes when he laughs hard at something.

I came out here to find myself, and I have a little, but I’ve mostly found that the best parts of me are things I only feel when I’m with Jags, and I’m not sure that’s good. No man should be the reason a woman feels like she’s living, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that to be a little bit of the truth.

“What’s on the menu for today?” Grant asks as he sits on the corner of my desk.

“A little menu humor, huh?” I joke back. I’ve lucked out in the whole boss area. He’s pretty down to earth, relaxed and lets me come and go as I please so long as the job gets done. But there may or may not be a reason for his easiness with me.

“I’m working on the Valentine’s Day specials right now,” I tell him.

“Nice, just don’t let hearts throw up on the menu like you did when you first started last year.” He places his hand on my shoulder and gives me a quick wink as he moves onto the next cube. He’s a schmoozer, and he’s got those dimples that can make a woman melt in his hand.

“Oh, Sasha?” he says, sticking his head back in my cube. “What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

I look over at the calendar and see it’s next Friday. “I think I’m going to go visit home for a few days.”

“Hmm,” he says. “Good for you.” He offers an unsettling smile and pushes back off of my cube wall. I see the signs. I get the looks. I know the cues and the awkward pauses. I’ve just avoided them since I have one smile burned into my mind and I’m not sure anything can cover it up. However, I’m pretty sure if I gave in and hinted at being interested, that door would be wide open, regardless of the fact that he’s my boss, and that’s so wrong on so many levels.

“Actually, Grant?” I call over.

He’s quick to return, eagerness and all. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Mind if I take a few days off next week?”

He smiles an, “I just lost a battle” smile and nods his head before leaving again.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound grateful.

I have this silly idea that Jags will be waiting at the airport for me—one of those romantic gestures after I left him cold turkey. Unlikely. Of course, if his heart felt anything like mine did—does, it was probably in a few different pieces. Even more of a reason for him not to be here waiting. When someone leaves someone else like that, it doesn’t typically result in a movie-scene ending. It results in me showing up a few days early to surprise him and finding him in bed with Bambi. I mean, Greta. If I’m being honest with myself, that’s how this will all probably play out. I should just tell him I’m coming home early, make it so I don’t have to find out anything crazy, and that way I can keep living in this fantasy world of mine.

I clutch my bags tightly as I walk out of the airport terminal. My feet quickly carry me through the long walkways, out past security where everyone is waiting for the people they’re picking up. The only person who knows I’m coming in early is Cali, but she’s working. I asked her not to tell Jags, and while part of me thought she still may have, she’s pretty loyal when I ask her not to do something.

There’s no one here for me, and there shouldn’t be. I made it that way.

After an hour of locating my luggage and retrieving my rental car, I’m making the trek out to Candlewood. The roads are familiar, yet now seem old and something that can only be a part of my past. Twenty-eight years I lived here, heading in one direction in my life, and I had no idea during all that time how easy it would be to break away.

The moment I pull into town; I debate which direction to go. I know no one is home at Cali and Tango’s, and I don’t think anyone would be home where Jags and Greta live.

I’m supposed to see Dad, but I’m not ready to face that just yet. He calls me a traitor. I ruined his life. He has no cooked meals on the table, no one to iron his clothes, no one to clean up around him, and his secretary just got married to a man her own age. That is the rumor I heard through Cali, anyway. So, he can wait.

Driving down the main street, I pull right into the auto body shop. Of course, this would be my first stop. It’s where Jags probably is, and he’s the real reason I’m here. A year of pain in my heart has proven that leaving him behind was nothing more than a big mistake. Even if it was for all the right reasons, my heart has strongly disagreed from the beginning. I was with him for only a few weeks, and I wouldn’t have thought I would become so attached to someone in such a short time. It took me a year to tell Landon I loved him, and I think that may have been because I thought it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t. I know that now.

I park in the front because I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to park around back where the staff leaves their cars during the day. I should act like no more than a customer right now.

What if they’re in there together, and their behavior proves everything I’ve feared?
She
didn’t run out on him. I did. She’s beautiful, tough as nails, and has a dirty mouth—all the qualities he loves in a woman. On top of that, he saved her life. It’s like the fairytale ending to any good story. Except mine.

With a deep breath, I pull open the front door, hearing the door chime in my ear as I walk inside. I look around, finding Hal, one of the technicians, pulling himself out from beneath a car. “Hey, girl, it’s been a long ass time. Where the hell have you been? You were here one day and gone the next,” he laughs, standing up against the car.

“I made a split-second decision and moved across the country,” I say, feeling a little sheepish about picking up and leaving so quickly.

“Oh, I heard,” he says. I thought he just asked me where I’d been? “It was the only thing spoken about in this shop for a good three months.”

Then what?

“Do you know where Jags or Greta are?” I ask.

Hal offers me a side-smirking smile and wipes some of the grease off his forehead. I don’t like the way he’s smiling at me. “You didn’t hear, did you?”

“Hear what?” I snap.

“Go on into the back room maybe you’ll find more answers back there.”

My insides hurt while the random thoughts are flying into my head like saucers smashing into walls. “Oh.”

I turn the corner and walk into the back room where Greta’s office is, finding her with a pair of glasses on and her hand holding her head up on her desk. She’s alone, at least. “Hi,” I say quietly, knocking on the door with a gentle rap.

“Oh my God,” she says, looking up at me. Looking down at her watch and back up, she continues, “You’re early. I thought you weren’t coming in for another few days.”