Sweet Nothing (9 page)

I sneered. “Maybe for you.” I looked at Dr. Rosenberg with a new respect. “But not him. He’s one of the good ones.”

“Get a few shots in him and see if that’s the case. He’s only human.”

The multi-colored lights flashed over the bar, highlighting Deb giggling and pawing at Quinn. I hadn’t even noticed she’d left the love seat. Corner Hole was packed. The ten-by-ten wooden dance floor was shoulder to shoulder, couples were laughing and kissing, meeting for the first time and falling in love, and sitting next to me was my knight in shining armor, advocating adultery. I peered into my longneck bottle, wondering if maybe he was just a cynic in a tinfoil hat.

My eyebrows pulled in. “Not every man shares your lack of morality.”

He balked, almost offended. “I have never cheated.”

I shot him a dubious look. “Because you’ve never been in a relationship.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t commit to someone if I wasn’t ready. That’s much different from those who are willing to leap but still stray.”

I put down my beer. “I did … like you. For about two seconds. Then you started talking.”

Josh put down his beer, too, only more determined. “That’s because you’re not listening. You’re the type of chick—”

I glared at him and he rephrased.

“You’re the kind of
woman
who listens to reply, not to understand. But I can’t fault you for that. I’ve come to learn that is the way most women are. It’s in your genes or something.”

“In my genes?”

“You know …” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “If you let me into your jeans, maybe I could get to know you better?”

I burst out laughing, and Josh’s arrogant smirk faded. “Does that usually work for you?” I tried to make eye contact with Deb, hoping she’d be ready to leave, but she was turning out to be an awful wingman.

“Dance with me,” Josh said.

I looked at him, waiting for him to admit he was joking, but he was serious. For once, I didn’t have a witty retort. He stood and then held out his hand.

“We can’t dance to this,” I said, referring to the band’s cover of Ellie Goulding’s
Halcyon
.

Josh looked at the lead singer and put his thumb and middle finger in his mouth, filling his lungs and then blowing a loud whistle that cut through all the loud talking and music. He pointed to me, the singer nodded to her band, and the music transitioned seamlessly into a slower song.

“You know her?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I know everyone.”

I stood, following him to the dance floor. He slid his arm around my lower back, his fingers pressing against the thin fabric of my blouse. The heat from his hand warmed my skin as he pressed me against him. His other hand gently enveloped mine, dwarfing it in his palm, and he began to sway slowly to the beat. As she began to sing the opening lines to
At Last
by Etta James, I relaxed into him.

“I like this song,” I said just as Josh touched his cheek to my temple.

“Good, because it’s our song.”

I smiled. “It is?”

“It is now.”

I looked up at him, not wanting to let go of this Josh, who looked at me like he was searching for forgiveness and I was the only woman who could give it to him. “If you were like this all the time, I could like you.”

“Same.”

I pressed my lips tighter, trying to suppress a smile.

He opened his mouth but hesitated.

“What?” I asked. When he shook his head, I prompted him again. “Oh, c’mon. Be brave.”

He sighed, and then he turned his head an infinitesimal amount, just enough that the side of his lips brushed my skin as he spoke. My eyes fell closed at the simple touch.

“I was just thinking … we could just make it easy on each other and play nice.”

I leaned back to scan his face, noting the tiny bit of vulnerability behind his eyes. “You first,” I said, dubious.

He stopped dancing and looked down at me, pondering his next words. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“What, like strippers and hot wings?”

He looked up to the ceiling before sighing loudly. “I prefer mild wings, but I guess I can make an exception for you.”

The corner of his mouth twisted up into a grin, and as much as I wanted to scowl, I couldn’t help but grin back.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” he asked, clearly expecting a different answer. I was stubborn but no fool. Josh may have been a notorious whore, but his surprise in that moment was all I needed. He was different now, too.

I smiled. “I get off at eight.” I left him standing on the dance floor alone, signaling to Deb that I was leaving.

“Avery,” Dr. Rosenberg said, stepping in front of me with a smile. He looked relieved to see me.

“Hello, Doctor.”

“You can call me Reid here,” he said, looking around. When he looked back at me, there was something in his eyes, but now that I’d experienced the way Josh looked at me, Dr. Rosenberg’s attention wasn’t as charming as before. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

I peeked back at Josh, who was fixed on my exchange with Dr. Rosenberg, his lips pressed into a hard line. I nodded and smiled politely. “It was nice to see you, Doctor,” I said. I walked away, still feeling Josh’s touch on my skin.

Deb hooked my arm with hers. “Josh is smiling.
Super
cheesy. He looks like an eight-year-old boy on Christmas morning.”

I grinned, unable to help myself.

“Is Quinn watching me leave?” she asked.

I glanced over my shoulder to the bar, seeing the disappointment in Quinn’s eyes. “Yep. He’s devastated. You should have left your shit shoe behind like a deranged Cinderella.”

“He gave me his number. Slap me in the tit if I try to drunk text him later. Where are we going now?”

“Home,” I said. “I have a ten-hour shift tomorrow and a date after. I need to get in a full eight hours of sleep.”

“Home?” Deb asked. “But I’m not even buzzed.” She pressed her key fob, unlocking our doors.

I didn’t pull the handle. “How much have you drank?”

She shrugged. “Just the shot Josh sent over. Is he your date, or does the doc want to plant his seed in your bush?”

I cringed. “I agreed to a date with Josh, just to … I dunno … get him off my back.” I downplayed our plans, trying not to grin like an idiot.

“Get him off your back? I’d let him put his hands on me like a gorilla scaling the Empire State Building.” She began thrusting her hips and I looked away, embarrassed. “You really like him,” she said, half teasing, half surprised. “That’s great, I think, but I thought you couldn’t stand him.”

Slipping inside the car, I waited for her to get inside before resuming our conversation.

“I don’t know. Something about him fishing me out of my wadded up car and holding me until the ambulance arrived made me rethink his character.”

“I mean … I guess,” she said, unimpressed. “His tight ass probably doesn’t hurt either.”

“Why are we still here? I need to get home and figure out what the hell I’m wearing.”

“Why? You’re going to bail. You always bail.” She started the car and tapped the buttons on the radio.

“Not this time.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Twenty bucks says you’ll call him by seven thirty and tell him you’re sick. You
hate
dates, and you’re going to come to your senses about McPanties by quittin’ time tomorrow and develop a sudden case of the Hershey squirts.”

I lifted my chin. “Fine. Twenty bucks. I’m going on this date, even if my anxiety goes nuts.”

She clicked her tongue, backing out of her parking spot. “You should just give me the money now.”

I was too amped to sleep after scoring a date with Avery, so I began to prepare.

Behind my apartment, in a brick shack that leaned slightly to the left, I stared at my battered and bruised car, Mabeline.

Compared to Avery’s matchbox car, mine had stood up against the small impact. Muscle cars were built that way, to be tough. Cars today crumbled like a wadded up tissue. I saw it every single day, and most people weren’t nearly as lucky as Avery. That girl was her own rabbit’s foot or … I reached up and gripped the penny beneath my shirt that I had found on my floorboard right before our impact.

Sinking down on my haunches, I wiped my hand over the baby-shit-green paint that had marred the front left fender.

“What did she do to you?” I did my best to brush away the flecks of paint before standing, blowing out a heavy breath. Avery’s Prius was part of Mabeline now. They couldn’t be more different, but now they shared the same story. I could buff the hell out of it and repaint, but I kind of liked the smudge from Avery. She’d left her mark on me, too.

“Looks like I need to make a trip down to the junkyard and find you a new headlight. You are in no shape to take on a date.”

Digging my phone from my pocket, I swiped my finger over the screen so I could check the time. The junkyard wouldn’t be open for a few more hours, and if I knew Bud, he wouldn’t be pulling parts until he walked his partner, Dusty, down to Emerson’s Country store to get his morning coffee.

If I left early, I could grab us some joe on the way and maybe get Bud moving with a breakfast sandwich. I only had one day to get everything in order.

I wasn’t worried, though. I had practically built Mabeline with my own two hands over the past six years. She had been my dream car since I was a boy, and I knew every inch of her frame. I could have her looking as good as new in no time. I’d always enjoyed working with my hands and fixing things, people included. As an added bonus, it was cheaper than therapy. There was hardly anything a little grease and hard work couldn’t cure.

I rolled my neck from shoulder to shoulder, relishing in the relief from stretching my tight neck muscles. I was still sore from the accident, and I wondered why Avery didn’t seem to be in any pain at all. I was actually looking forward to figuring her out.

The hardest part would be planning our date. Avery probably hadn’t set the bar very high for me. Like any confident, sensible woman, she had taken one look at my scruffy face and grease-stained hands and seen trouble. But she was wrong about me.

Pulling open the driver side door, I slipped inside my car and turned the key. Stepping on the gas pedal, I made her roar, relieved that the only damage seemed to be cosmetic.

The drive across town was peaceful. Bud owned a large swath of property just outside Philadelphia, and even though the city was close by, it felt like another world. Amish buggies clogged the roads as they made their way to their vegetable markets, the relentless summer heat failing to slow them down.

I waved as I passed an older man who held the reins. Nodding, his beard rubbed against his plain, hand-sewn shirt.

The horse didn’t startle as my engine roared louder, thanks to its blinders that kept it focused on the road ahead.

Slowing as I crossed three small hills, I turned down the old dirt drive to Bud’s junkyard. I hadn’t lived in Pennsylvania long, but Bud was one of the first people I’d met when I’d arrived in town with an oil leak and no place to stay. He had let me crash on his couch until I was able to find an apartment and a new start.