FEELING IT_A Best Friend's Brother Romance Page 5

  “Absolutely not!” I cried. I was horrified. “I’ve just about to collect a whole pile of drugs for you enough to make a junky green with envy, so there’s no way you’ll be mixing all of that with booze!”

  I looked over at him. “You were drinking when you crashed the car, weren’t you?”

  “Oh. I’d had one or two,” he said, closing his eyes and waving his hand. “I wasn’t drunk. I told you I skidded on some oil.”

  “How much have you been drinking?” I asked. “Really? Do you drink like that every day now?”

  “Of course not,” he snapped. “What do you think I am; some kind of a bum? I’ll have you know I’m a man of the law. I know my limits, and I know what I can handle.”

  We drove home in silence and, even though he held the twenty out to me again, I ignored it. I drove past the liquor store without stopping and ignored him when he told me to slow down a little; that I was driving too fast.

  Once we got to the house, though, I couldn’t ignore him any longer because I had to put the wheelchair against the open door and help shift his tall frame out of my tiny car and into the chair. I was relieved to see that he moved pretty easily though and, once I pushed the chair up the path and into the house, it was a relatively easy task to get him out of it again and onto the couch.

  I went back to the car and collected his things. Back in the house, I plumped up the couch cushions and fetched a stool so he could put his legs up. Then I went into the kitchen and made him scrambled eggs on toast and a pot of fresh coffee. He ate well and drank the coffee, asking for a refill.

  When I’d first arrived, the stark emptiness of the kitchen cupboards and the equally empty shelves in the fridge had troubled me. As soon as he finished his meal, I sat down on the couch next to him, pen and paper in hand. I needed a list of things he wanted to eat while I was home.

  “How long are you staying?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered shortly. “Do you like tomato or barbeque sauce with meatballs?”

  “Either, I’m not fussy when it comes to meatballs as long as I can have some,” he said. “Are you going back to Montpelier soon?”

  “I don’t know,” I said again. “I can take a couple of weeks but we’re getting into a busy period and there’s still my apartment to pay for, so, I can’t stay away too long. Do you prefer ground beef or pork?”

  “Beef. Do you really want to stay in the city?”

  “Yes. It’s where my job is. My home. What about fish? Do you want me to make you a tuna casserole?”

  “No, but I’d like some shrimp. Why can’t you get a job back here? We have bakeries in town, you know.”

  “Jameson’s is hardly a high-end patisserie, Dad. Would you like some fresh fruit or do you still only eat the stuff that comes in a can?”

  “Can. With syrup. Why don’t you open your own place here?”

  We continued in this strange, back-and-forth mix of discussing my future and penning down the dinners I was planning to make for him over the next couple of days; until I’d had enough.

  I needed to go out and clear my head. I thought about going back to the diner. Cheyenne would soon be finishing her shift and although we’d made plans to go out, the thought of going for a drive or just getting a quick bite to eat somewhere instead of going to a formal restaurant, seemed more inviting.

  “Will Jack be over soon?” I asked. “I’ve made plans with Cheyenne. Are you okay on the couch by yourself for a little while until he’s here?”

  “Of course,” Dad said. “Just leave me with the remote control and I’ll be fine. I’ll tell Jack you’d said ‘hi’. You’re sure to see him around while you’re here.”

  I handed the remote to him and he switched on the television as I went upstairs to change. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, looking at my black trousers, when I thought back to my earlier conversation with Logan. I walked down the hallway to the closet and opened it, reached up and pulled out two large black bags from the bottom shelf. I’d pushed them in there several years ago when I left for college and, as I sat on the threadbare carpet in the hallway, I opened them up again and dove into nostalgia.

  I saw the clothes I used to wear in high school and even the dress I wore to prom. I dug a little deeper and found the thick Christmas jumpers I always had to wear when I went to see my grandmother in Burlington and the woolen tights that made me itch so bad I would rip them on purpose just to have a reason to get out of them.

  I found the red t-shirts I wore that final summer after graduation when Cheyenne and I had walked around town and talked about me leaving for college.

  Then, at the bottom of one of the bags, I found what I was looking for. A pair of denim shorts, frayed at the bottom. I stood up and undressed before slipping my legs into them, buttoning it up easily. Resisting all the cream cakes and pastries surrounding me at work every single day paid off when I saw I was still able to get into clothes I hadn’t worn for nearly five years.

  In front of the mirror in the bedroom, I turned one way and then to the other, looking at myself. Then I decided to step back in time completely and, instead of reaching for one of my newer tops, I pulled the red t-shirt I found earlier over my head. Then I brushed my hair and was about to scoop it up into a clip again, but changed my mind, letting it fall in loose curls around my shoulders. I applied a little mascara and some lipstick, and I was ready to go.

  Calling Cheyenne from the car, I heard that she’d left work and was home already. So, I drove over to her place. It didn’t seem to have changed at all. I stepped out of the car as Cheyenne came to the door, having changed from her work clothes into jeans and a t-shirt as well. She grinned when she saw me. “Wow. Looks like you’re back home for good!” she said.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I told her. “I just came across some old stuff and I’m pretty surprised it still fits.”

  “Come on in,” she said, “I’m just finishing getting ready. What do you want to do?”

  Even though it was early spring, the weather was already pleasantly warm. Inside, the air conditioning blew through the house, keeping it cool. I walked through to the large kitchen at the back of the house and sat down at the kitchen table. I’d always loved coming here. It felt more like home to me than my own empty house. More often than not, my dad knew to come straight to Cheyenne’s after work to pick me up because he knew I’d be here.

  The pool at the back of the house was still covered, but would soon be uncovered again as the weather warmed. I thought about the times Cheyenne and I had jumped in, just to climb out and do it all over again. We would run around in the backyard, squealing and shouting, playing for hours on end during the summer months.

  Later, when Willa was old enough, she’d joined us. I thought back to how she loved the water. She would jump in and swim lengths at a time, like a true little water-baby. The irony of the memory was like a stab to my heart and tears immediately pricked my eyes.

  I was relieved when Cheyenne came back down the stairs. “Ready to go?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “Have you decided what you want to do, yet?”

  “I was thinking of maybe getting a burger and beer at Mike’s,” Cheyenne said as we got into my car. I was surprised. I’d never once known her to want to drink in a dive like that. I pressed her on it, but she didn’t answer until I saw a blush creep up her neck, and then it dawned on me.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Mike’s son! The golf guy!”

  “Parker,” said Cheyenne, in a low, syrupy voice. I couldn’t help but whoop with laughter.

  “Oh, my God!” I cried. “You’re still into him? After all this time?”

  Back when we were in high school, my best friend had a crush on a boy a couple of years older than the both of us. Parker Liebeck, whose dad owned the bar downtown, worked as a golf caddy at the local club and spent every waking second he wasn’t in school on the greens, hauling clubs around for those rich enough to afford the club fees. Parker would come
to school in smart chino pants and Polo golf t-shirts. Cheyenne would stare at him sitting with his friends in the cafeteria, but he never took much notice of her.

  “Is he still caddying?” I teased.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny, Roseanne. I’ll have you know he’s a really a very good player. He works at the bar during the week but then he’s at the club over the weekends,” she said. “I think he has the chance to turn pro if someone would just pick him up. He’s looking for a sponsor.”

  “So you’ve spoken to him?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we talk sometimes,” she said, and I could see from the way she couldn’t help but smile that she still had a serious crush on the guy.

  “Fine then,” I said. “Mike’s it is. I hope good old Parker can flip a burger as well as he can swing a golf club.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LOGAN

  †

  AFTER FINISHING CLEANING OUT the gutters, I went home and, as I promised Betty, I peeled off my clothes and threw them into the washer. I added a few more pieces from the pile that had been steadily growing and poured a big scoop of detergent into the dispenser before turning the dial to ‘start’.

  Then I got into the shower. The hot water felt incredible against my skin. I quickly washed my hair and soaped the rest of my body, washing away the day’s work.

  I pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt, and my stomach gave a gurgle of hunger. I didn’t need to look in the fridge to know there was nothing in there for dinner; I’d been too busy to make it to the local market. I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since I left my half-eaten breakfast on the counter in the diner that morning.

  I also craved a long, cold beer and there was only one place in town that served what I was looking for. Going all the way across town to get a gourmet pizza from the new place suddenly didn’t seem like the good idea it had earlier in the day. Nope, a beer and a burger at Mike’s would do nicely to quench my thirst and quiet my hunger.

  When I got to the bar, I didn’t need to say a word for Mike to shove a clean pint glass under the tap, pulling the wooden lever down to release a long stream of foamy golden liquid. He placed the glass on top of the bar in front of me and I was quick to gulp it down having the thirst of a man who’d just crawled in from the desert; the whole glass was drained without me stopping to come up for air once. Mike didn’t need to be asked to fill it up again, either.

  “Can you order me a couple of burgers to go with that?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “Sure will,” he said. “I half expected to see you this evening.”

  I sipped at the second beer that was going down a lot slower than the first. “Have you heard how Bill’s doing?” I asked. “I saw Caitlyn’s back in town.”

  “Yeah, he’s gone home today,” Mike said. As he was about to call the order through to the kitchen, the door opened and Parker emerged. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I saw him. Even when he was up to his elbows in grease and dishwater, the guy still wore those damned beige pants and that striped golf shirt. Fuck, he looked like a human billboard advertising golf apparel. How did the saying go? Dress for the job you want. Well, that was Parker, all right. Golf pro hopeful.

  I think his dad was a little embarrassed by the way his son dressed. Mike Liebeck was a rocker through and through, sporting a thick white beard and arms covered with tattoos. Parker couldn’t have been more different with his slim frame and his fair hair although he seemed to be in good shape; probably thanks to years of lugging heavy golf bags around. For his sake, I hoped that one day he was going to make it as a professional player because his heart was clearly set on it.

  A couple of times, though, I’d suggested that Mike has a word with the boy about training as a chef if the golfing gig didn’t work out. He could rustle up a mean burger and he made his own secret sauce that went damn well with a plate full of home fries.

  My food arrived within a few minutes of placing the order and I demolished it in an even shorter space of time than it took making it, licking my fingers clean before I finished my second beer. I called for a third. The night was hot and the beer was cold, a recipe for a good night in my book.

  I dug into the back pocket of my jeans for some loose change and chose a couple of tracks on the jukebox. As I walked back to my stool, I felt a hand on my back. I turned around to see a familiar face. I smiled. “Hey, Kristin,” I said.

  Kristin Baxter worked at the library with my mom. By day, she was a studious, mousy girl with large glasses who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, but by night she seemed to morph into someone totally different. She and I had spent one or two drunken evenings slow dancing in the bar and the last time, I’d taken her back to my apartment where we’d continued the dancing; no need to explain that further. I’m sure you get the picture.

  She stroked my shoulder now and pressed her lips against my ear. “Why haven’t you been around?” she asked me, pulling away so that I could see her pout.

  “Ah, don’t be like that,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. “I’ve been busy. You know how it is. But, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “Well, aren’t you going to buy me a drink?” she asked and I nodded to Mike. He filled up another glass of beer and placed it next to mine on the bar. Kristin was already a little drunk. I could tell by the way her body swayed. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; pushing one between her lips and left it to dangle there while she rummaged through her purse again, in search of a lighter. I reached over and took it out of her mouth. “Hey, I need a smoke,” she protested.

  “No smoking inside, remember?” I said, pointing to the red and white sign above the bar. “You don’t want to get kicked out.”

  She giggled and slammed her purse on top of the counter, then turned towards me and curled her hands around my neck. “Well, maybe I do,” she said. “Especially if I’m gonna be kicked out with you. Then maybe we can go back to your place and I can put something else in my mouth, like that big dick of yours.”

  It was certainly a generous offer. I looked down at her pale face, her full red lips tempting after a long day’s work and at least a couple of weeks without a warm, naked body pressed against mine. “Let’s have a couple more drinks,” I said. “And then see where the night takes us.”

  Mike refilled our beers once more, and Kristin left to choose another tune on the jukebox. He rolled his eyes and shook his head as a slow country music ballad started playing.

  Kristin grabbed my hand and dragged me onto the dancefloor, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek. Occasionally, she would reach down and grab my ass. It was a bit irritating, but she smelled good and the beers I’d drunk had me in a pleasant buzz although I was far from drunk, so, I let it slide.

  As we stood in front of the jukebox deciding which track to choose next, I looked up and saw my sister walk through the door. Trailing behind her was Caitlyn and, for a second, I was transported back five years earlier. She wore the kind of shorts and t-shirt she used to wear when she’d come hang out at our house and she wore a pair of worn-out sneakers that didn’t seem to have come from the big city but from the local shoe store down the street, instead. A black purse was slung casually over her shoulder, and she looked fresh and young, her hair falling long and soft around her shoulders.

  She looked nothing like she had earlier in the day. I couldn’t help but wonder whether the change in appearance had anything to do with me teasing her about the way she looked that morning in the diner. I smiled at the thought.

  She didn’t see me as they walked towards the bar, but I followed her with my eyes for a little too long as Kristin prodded me. “Stop gawking,” she said. “I thought we were on a date.”

  I raised one eyebrow as I looked down at her. “I don’t recall this being a date,” I said. “Besides, I wasn’t gawking. That’s my sister over there and her friend, Caitlyn. Bill Reid’s daughter. Surely you remember her?”

  Kristin turned and looked ove
r her shoulder, and her lips curled into a jealous snarl. “Oh, her,” she said, rudely. “She always thought that she’s far too good for this place with her big city dreams and going off to college like that.”

  I didn’t say anything. In fact, I’d always admired Caitlyn in a way for being so resolute about pursuing her dreams. An intelligent beauty, for sure.

  As she sat up at the bar in her shorts and red t-shirt, laughing at something my sister had said, I couldn’t ignore the way her ass filled out those denim shorts or the way the material of her t-shirt pulled taut across her full perky breasts.

  Kristin tugged at my arm, asking me if I liked the song she chose for us. She snaked her arms around my neck again and pressed her breasts against my chest, stroking the back of my head and pulling me down as she sang off-key into my ear. She moved her face so that her lips were near mine and even though I really didn’t want to kiss her, once her tongue slid against my lips, it wasn’t easy to stop. She tasted like beer and tobacco. She was grinding her hips against mine, rubbing her thigh against my crotch.

  “I’m just going to the little ladies’ room,” she slurred, and she broke away from our embrace and stumbled towards the bathroom, going over on her ankle as she did so and swearing aloud. She left her lipstick on my mouth and I wiped it away with the back of my hand as I returned to the bar.

  Cheyenne saw me and beckoned me over to join them. Caitlyn looked at me, smiled, then looked down at my mouth where there was obviously still a lingering sign that Kristin’s lips had been there moments before. She looked down and closed her mouth over a straw, taking a sip of her drink.

  “What the hell are you doing with her?” Cheyenne asked me, shaking her head. “The woman’s a mess.”

  “We’re just dancing. It’s nothing,” I said and, even though I directed the words at my sister, I couldn’t help but look at Caitlyn. She looked incredible, and I wanted to talk to her, but Cheyenne’s voice cut across my thoughts. She was pointing at the bathroom.