Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
OWEN
“Hey there, cowboy, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Wyatt’s mother slides into the seat across from me. Like Wyatt, she’s short, with round pink cheeks and a mischievous grin. Her hair is dyed a shade of red that definitely doesn’t occur in nature.
I reach a hand across the table for a shake. “I’m Owen,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“Such a gentleman,” she purrs, grinning. “Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
I glance over her shoulder and spot Wyatt, who looks like she’s considering hurdling the bar and dragging her mother out of the Half Pint by her dyed hair.
I give her a little shrug, and she actually bares her teeth at me.
Libby spins in her seat and catches Wyatt staring daggers. She turns back to me, rolling her eyes. “That girl can be a bit prickly,” she says, then leans across the table like she’s sharing a secret. “It’s because she’s had to take on so much.”
“She is very good at taking care of her people,” I say. “She’s been a great friend to my little sister.”
“Oh, Wyatt is a good friend to all. All but me, but I guess I have to earn that right back,” she says with a one-shoulder shrug. She picks at a cocktail napkin on the table, carefully shredding it into little bits.
Behind her, Wyatt huffs and spins on her heel, pushing through the door into the kitchen.
“She should be out here, not me,” Libby says. “She deserves some happiness. A little something good, if she’ll just let herself have it.”
“Oh?” I ask. I know Wyatt would sooner die than let me learn anything about her from her mother, but I’m desperate for Wyatt Hart lore. Absolutely starving for it.
Libby sees my obvious interest and smiles, abandoning her cocktail napkin. She leans toward me on her elbows. “You ever heard of that marshmallow test? Where the kids were offered a marshmallow but if they didn’t eat it right away, they got two?”
It’s a staple of freshman psych and often misinterpreted, but I know it. I nod.
“Well, Wyatt would wait for the second marshmallow and then give both to someone hungrier than her,” she says. I can tell she’s simultaneously proud and dismayed. “She’ll never put herself first, but she needs to. Not that she’d ever take my advice.” Libby leans back in her chair hard, huffing out a little breath. “And she probably shouldn’t, because what do I know about life?”
“Switch!” Mrs. Eberle calls.
“It was nice talking to you, Ms. Hart,” I say, still turning over this bit of information.
“Oh, please, call me Libby,” she says, then glances over at the bar, where Wyatt is back at the register, closing out a tab. “And good luck, honey.”
Before I can say anything else, Jasper Francis from the body shop is shuffling me to the next table so he can take my spot in front of Libby. I move down to the last chair, across from Delilah Perkins, who waits tables at Pete’s Diner. I’ve known her since we were kids. We graduated from CS High a year apart but spent a semester in the same gym class. She’s always been cute, a little nerdy, and totally in her own world.
“Hey, Owen,” she says with a warm smile. She’s got the same long dark hair and thick bangs she’s had since she was little, but the wire-framed glasses have been replaced with a cool pink retro pair that matches the color of her cheeks. “How’s it going?”
“Good, Delilah,” I say, crossing my leg over my knee and leaning back in my chair. My back is killing me. I try to keep up a semi-regular home yoga practice, but I’ve been sleeping like shit lately. Maybe I need a new mattress? Or a new pillow?
And then I remember that this is not the time to assess my sleep hygiene. I’m on a speed date with a beautiful woman, one of only two at this whole event who are in the same generation as me. And if the stubborn spitfire behind the bar is going to keep pretending I don’t exist, then I should at least try. So I put a smile on my face and try to focus. “How are you doing?”
She grimaces. “Ugh, completely exhausted. My feet are killing me. This is my first night off after a week of doubles.”
“And you’re spending it here?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her. This speed dating event is for charity, and I’m here entirely against my will. Felix demanded we all show up, and I’m pretty sure he’s only here to get Keeley Wentworth’s number. I glance over at him and see him leaning across her table, a grin on his face as she tosses her head back and laughs. Every time a guy has tried to hustle him out of his chair, one stern look from Felix sends him on to the next open seat.
“Couldn’t miss the good company,” Delilah says. “I chatted with Mrs. Tingle earlier and got three new book recommendations! She’s got me into bully romance.”
I frown. “I don’t know what that is.”
“You don’t want to,” she replies with a laugh. Then she rests her hand delicately on my forearm, leaning in like she’s got a secret. But before she can get it out, the sound of a glass shattering fills the air.
“Wyatt, are you drunk?” Ernie calls from the other end of the bar.
I turn and see Wyatt reaching for the broom and dustpan. “No, just tired,” she grumbles. This is the second glass she’s broken tonight. The first was when Libby sat down across from me.
Ernie rolls his eyes. “Well, wake up, or I’m gonna start taking those out of your tips.”
I bring my focus back to Delilah, whose hand is still resting on my arm. She’s gorgeous, no doubt about that, with her shiny, deep chocolate hair and milky white skin, a gentle dusting of freckles across her cheeks. And she’s always been kind, ready to shut down mean girls who made fun of her friends for playing board games in the cafeteria. Speed dating is stupid, but I shouldn’t waste this opportunity in front of me by pining over a woman who’s made it very clear that nothing is going to happen between us.
“Sounds like your night’s turned around, then,” I say.
She smiles, then drops her voice to a whisper. “If I’m being honest, I actually just started seeing someone,” she says with a sheepish smile. “This woman I met at my D&D night in Bloomington. She’s great, and I think it’s going to be something.”
Well, there you go. Speed dating really is a total bust.
“Why did you come here, then?” I ask. “You don’t need to get propositioned by Jasper Francis just for fun!”
“Because I signed up for this the day before I met Kirsten, and Mrs. Eberle scares the shit out of me. I was too afraid to back out. Luckily there aren’t a whole lot of good candidates for me here. I mean, it’s clear Felix has a hard-on for Keeley, Archer looks like he’d rather be chewing glass, and Carson is terminally straight. You would have been my only hope,” she says. “But now I don’t need you!”
I flinch. Yeah, get in line, Delilah.
She grimaces. “Sorry, that was meant to be self-deprecating, but I think I just sounded like an asshole.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine. I didn’t have a whole lot of faith that Mrs. Eberle’s speed dating would find me a girlfriend. I only came because Felix threatened to switch my toothpaste for Bengay if I didn’t.”
That, and because I was hoping Wyatt Hart would cut the shit, jump over the bar, and drag me out into the alley.
I look back over and lock eyes with the tiny bartender, her brow furrowed as she watches me with Delilah. Is it my imagination, or does she look almost…jealous?
“Oh, please, like you need help finding someone,” Delilah says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, have you seen you? Women all over town would cut a bitch to get in line. That jawline alone!”
I laugh and feel my cheeks going red. My embarrassment is punctuated by the sound of another shattering glass.
“Dammit, Wyatt!” Ernie yells.
“Time!” Mrs. Eberle calls, her voice slicing through my awkwardness like a hot knife. “Everybody write down your picks on your index cards and bring them to me. I’ll send out emails with your matches tonight!”
“I’m just writing down Mrs. Tingle,” Delilah says to me.
“Same,” I reply, and we laugh again. Behind the bar, Wyatt spins on her heel and pushes through the swinging door to the kitchen with a little more force than is necessary.
Maybe speed dating wasn’t a total waste of time.
I pass my card to Mrs. Eberle, who narrows her eyes when she reads it. But I don’t stick around to hear her admonishment. Instead I head straight for a stool in front of Wyatt. She’s back behind the bar, drying freshly washed pint glasses with a white towel, her toned arms flexing.
“Pick up any chicks?” she asks, her tone spicy.
“We’ll just have to wait and see what Mrs. Eberle has to say,” I reply with a grin.
“Seems like you and Delilah hit it off,” she says, then immediately presses her lips into a firm line, like she can’t believe that slipped out.
Shit, she really is jealous.
I love it.
I think back to that night last month, how fun it was to play with her. It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. In longer than I’d like to admit, honestly. Women are lining up for me, according to Delilah, but until recently, I never noticed. Not until Wyatt sat down at my table in that dive bar. That night, it was like something came online in my brain. Something I hadn’t felt in years. Even though I drove home frustrated and half hard, it was worth it just to wind her up. To feel her pressed between me and my truck.
I’m just about to remind her of that night when Wyatt’s mother sidles up to the bar. She opens her mouth like she’s got something to say, then pauses, her gaze ping-ponging between Wyatt and me.
“What?” Wyatt finally snaps.
Libby puts her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. Just wanted to let you know that I’m going to walk home.”
“Isn’t it thirty degrees out?” Wyatt says.
Libby shrugs. “I spent eight and a half years letting other people tell me when I could go outside. I’ve got eight and a half years of fresh air to make up for. I’m going to take a walk whenever I damn well please.”
Wyatt rolls her eyes, but Libby ignores it, shrugging on her coat. “I’ll see you at home, honey bun,” she says.
When she’s gone, I turn to Wyatt. “Honey bun?”
“Don’t you fucking dare ,” she replies with a glare.
“How’s that going?” I ask, nodding toward the door that’s shutting behind Libby’s retreating form.
Wyatt shrugs, but there’s nothing nonchalant about it. “Six months ago I lived alone, and now I’m crammed into a tiny house with my sister, a baby, and my mother the felon. It’s going peachy,” she grumbles, and I can tell she needs a change of subject.
So I give her one.
“So about that night,” I begin, and just as I expected, a light glitters behind her eyes.
“The night you attempted to set my panties on fire during an impending ice storm?”
I laugh, nodding. “That’s the one. I just wanted to apologize, in case I pressured you?—”
She holds up a hand. “First of all, don’t prostrate yourself like you took advantage of some fair maiden. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Not even your golden boy magic can sway me if I’m not into it.”
I linger on the notion that she wanted to . It seemed pretty evident from the way she parted her lips for me, writhing against me, that she was interested, but it feels pretty fucking good to hear it confirmed.
Wyatt slings the towel over her shoulder and leans over the bar. “Second, it was Friday the thirteenth. I feel like that’s Vegas rules or something. We don’t have to count it.”
I roll my eyes, then catch her gaze with mine. “I count it.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”
Several times while alone in the shower.
“I’m just glad we were interrupted before we could do anything stupid,” she says.
“Like what?”
“Something that might get in the way of your obvious connection with Delilah Perkins,” she says, and I can see the question mark in her eyes. She doesn’t want to ask, but she wants to know. She’s using that smart mouth of hers to try and get it out of me.
I could tell her that Delilah is dating someone. That the only name I wrote on my card was that of an eighty-year-old widow with a penchant for smutty books who also doesn’t want a relationship.
But I don’t.
I like that Wyatt’s jealous. I like the look on her face, the way she crosses her arms over her chest and pops a hip.
When I don’t respond, Wyatt sighs. She leans back into the bar, chin in her hand, and shrugs. “It’s probably for the best. Nothing could ever happen between us anyway.”
“And why is that again?”
She points at my chest. “Relationship guy.” Then she taps the exposed black ink of her tattoo at her collarbone. “Decidedly not a relationship girl.”
Someone down the bar calls for a Coors, and Wyatt gracefully pulls the pint. But the whole time, she keeps her eyes on me.
“It’s a real shame too. Because…” She slides the pint in front of the customer, then taps her tattoo again. My eyes follow her finger as it brushes her skin, then moves across the bar to tap my chest. “This thing between us would be really fun.”
I shift on my barstool, trying not to visibly adjust my scrubs. “I’m not going to beg, but?—”
“That’s too bad, because I bet that would be hot.” Her voice dips low and sultry, sending a chill up my spine.
“I think you’re on the verge talking yourself into something,” I say.
“I think you’re dreaming.”
“Only of you,” I say.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s biting her lip hard to keep from smiling.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Mrs. Tingle says as she and her cane thump up behind me. “Owen, I was going to call an Uber, but according to the app, Joe has been sitting at the bowling alley for the last half hour. I don’t think I stand much of a chance. Can I trouble you for a lift?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Tingle,” I reply, sliding off my barstool and reaching for my keys. “I’m parked in back, so just let me pull around and I’ll pick you up at the door.”
“Boy Scout,” Wyatt quips.
“Eagle Scout, actually,” I reply. I hold up three fingers in a Scout salute and grin, enjoying the flush in her cheeks and the widening of her eyes as she takes in the size of those three fingers. Neither of us is thinking about salutes at the moment. “Until next time.”
Five minutes later I’ve got Mrs. Tingle loaded into the front seat of my truck and we’re making our way through downtown to her little white house. “So how’d you do tonight, Mrs. Tingle?”
“I met two nice young ladies who wanted book recommendations, and at my age, I’m just happy to make friends. Though Larry Andrews from the VFW asked if I’d like to go for a cup of coffee sometime,” she says. “And you?”
I shake my head. “Tonight wasn’t really for me.”
“Oh, I think there was someone there for you tonight,” Mrs. Tingle says. “You should work on that girl, you know.”
I shrug. I could pretend I don’t know who she’s talking about, but I respect Mrs. T too much for that. “Unfortunately she’s not interested in what I have to offer. We want different things.”
I feel her eyes cut over to me. “Let me guess—she’s only interested in sex, and you’re a relationship guy?”
I throw my hands up. “Why does everyone keep saying ‘relationship guy’ like that?”
“Like what, dear?”
“Like it’s a euphemism for ‘serial killer.’”
Mrs. Tingle laughs. “See, I knew you had spunk.”
I pull up to her driveway and leap out, racing around to open her door. The truck is high for a woman with a cane, so I offer her my arm to help her out. When she’s got herself situated on the driveway, she turns to me.
“The way I see it, you have two options. You can apply some of that hustle I remember from your high school baseball days, work a little harder, change her mind,” she says.
“Or?”
She gives me a knowing look. “ Or you can change your own mind.”
“Meaning?”
“Don’t be a prude, young man. There’s nothing wrong with a little hit it and quit it,” she says with a wink, and then she turns and heads up the stone path to her front porch.
I climb back into my truck but watch her until she’s safely in the house. The whole time I’m clutching my phone, staring down at the glowing screen. At Wyatt’s text messages from that night a month ago when I got so close. When we were both willing to ignore all the warning signs and take a risk.
Why are we both so adamant now? What has changed?
Nothing, as far as I can tell.
And that’s the push I need.
Owen
Turns out Delilah’s dating a woman she met at her D&D club
It takes a minute for the response to come through, the little animated dots bouncing for entirely too long before I receive her entirely-too-short message.
Wyatt
Were you trying to make me jealous?
Owen
Did it work?
My phone lights up with a selfie of Wyatt, her eyes closed, her tongue out, and her middle finger raised. Her curly bob, dyed lavender now, skims her jawline. My fingers itch to tuck that one rogue curl behind her ear.
Owen
I’m adding that photo to your contact. It’s what’ll appear when you call me
Wyatt
Who CALLS?!
Owen
Not into phone sex?
I type that last message without even thinking, and as it pops up in a little blue bubble, I’m simultaneously turned on and terrified.
But Wyatt fires right back.
Wyatt
It’s really too bad you don’t do casual. I think we could have a lot of fun
There it is. Another invitation.
I’m thinking about what to say back when another text comes in.
Wyatt
Maybe in another life, Doc
I think about Mrs. T’s advice, my two choices. There’s the hit it and quit it. And while thinking about that makes my pants tight, I know it’s not what I want. I want more than one night. I want more of her .
But the hustle? The competitive spirit? That makes my blood run hot. So I type one more text.
Owen
Us Eagle Scouts are persistent, Wyatt. Unless you tell me to give up, I’m not done.
I wait a solid five minutes, staring at the glowing screen of my phone, but there are no bouncing dots.
No messages.
And so I’m not done.