Crazy Imperfect Hearts

Chapter Nine

Lucas

Without smiling, and like she’s totally playing the part, she picks up a bottle of Montana Winery chardonnay, reads the label and muses aloud, “I wonder if this one has a good body.”

My lips turn upward. “It does.” I take it from her. “This is one of our full-bodied wines.”

“Mmm. And is that how you prefer them? Full-bodied?”

Facing the wine display, we’re not looking at each other, both pretending this is some random meeting. I like this game. I like it a lot.

Finally, I turn and let my eyes rake over her from head to toe. Her curves are electric beneath the well-fitting top, that looks straight out of a seventies psychedelic hippie movie, tucked into frayed bell-bottom jeans with carefully placed rips on the outer thigh and knee and more frayed ruffles encircling the calves. My mouth actually waters. “That’s exactly how I prefer them.”

When the words come out, I realize just how true they are. In a flash, all my previous girlfriends cycle through my head like I’m looking through a lens of one of those retro-style view master toys. All of them were slender. You might even say they were petite. Beautiful, sure. Hot even. And most of them sufficiently endowed. But, my god, I thought some of them might actually snap in half in bed.

With Regan, a whole different kind of reel cycles through my mind. Pictures of what I want to do to her and all the ways I want to do it. Fantasies far more daring than what I used to whack off to.

She doesn’t even flinch under my heated perusal and obvious objectification.

“Some men are put off by the weight and viscosity of full-bodied wine, which is why they prefer the lighter ones.”

“Au contraire. I would argue exactly the opposite. That light-bodied selections are deemed inferior. They are less complex, lacking fullness and deep flavor.” I hold out my free hand. “Why, Regan Lucas, what a pleasure it is to run into you.”

Now is when she smiles so big, it practically splits her soft round face in two. She extends her arm and places her hand in mine. “Imagine that.” She pulls back her hand when Mr. Truman walks by. Then she narrows her eyes. “In fact, I’m having a hard time remembering our last meeting.”

“Hey, now,” I whisper, drawing closer. “Don’t go stealing my line. Besides, things have started coming back to me.”

“Oh, so all this is quite unnecessary.”

She spins as if she’s going to walk away.

“Wait,” I say to her backside. “There are still some blanks that need to be filled in.”

She stills, as if contemplating, then turns slightly, her playful expression cluing me in to the fact that she’s still playing the game. “I’ve got a few more things to pick up.” She glances at the basket on the floor next to her. I hadn’t even noticed it. She really is doing her shopping. “It’s been nice seeing you, Lucas.” She turns away, studies her list and mumbles, “I wonder where the condoms are.”

“I’ll take care of those,” I whisper into her ear as I pass.

With the wine still in my hand, I head to the store’s one register, manned by Mr. Truman’s wife. She looks oddly at the bottle as she scans it, then up at me. “You’re Lucas Montana.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Don’t you have an endless supply of these at your winery? Why would you want to pay retail?”

“Wine emergency,” I say.

“Ahh.” She nods, still looking confused. “Well, enjoy.”

“Oh, I plan on it.”

Outside, I light up a cigarette and lean against the building, watching the world go by as I wait. I am supposed to wait, aren’t I? We didn’t talk about it. Maybe she doesn’t even want to be seen with me. Last time, it was late. Nobody was out and about. But now, people are walking along The Circle. Kids are racing down the sidewalk. A few couples walk hand-in-hand going to or coming from dinner.

Across the street, Hawk McQuaid emerges from the ice-cream shop, his daughter perched on one hip, her hand dripping with the sticky remnants of the cone she’s licking. Hawk lifts his chin when he sees me. To be neighborly, I do the same.

I watch him walk away. That could have been me if I hadn’t ruined every single one of my relationships. Hell, I could very well have a gaggle of kids by now if Kaitlyn and I had married after high school like we’d planned.

Just as all the bad thoughts of my failed engagements come creeping back in, Regan comes out of the grocery store, two bags in hand. She eyes the wine bottle I’m holding. “You bought it? You could have just brought one from work, no?”

I shrug. “Why would I have had one with me? This is accidental after all.” I nod in the direction of her shop down the street. “If it bothers you to be seen walking with me, I’ll go on ahead.” I take a drag of my smoke.

“I couldn’t care less what people think, Lucas.” She eyes my cigarette. “It’s that thing that bothers me. Must you?”

I throw it down and stomp it out. “Don’t worry, the flavor of the wine will mask the taste of it.”

“So we’re actually drinking the wine? It’s not just for show?”

I laugh. “Regan, I may not be an expert at one-night stands, but I’m fairly sure most of them happen because of alcohol.”

She giggles. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

I offer to carry her bags, but she doesn’t let me. I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. But it’s just one more indication that she has no intention of taking this beyond what it is. And as a smart woman, she’s wise to think that.

We don’t pass anyone on this side of the street, but there are a few families strolling the other side. I look at Regan to see if she has any reaction, like putting distance between us to prevent the rumors that will most definitely spread if anyone sees us together. But she doesn’t. It makes me think she was telling the truth when she said she doesn’t care what people think. Then again, looking at her clothes, I’m not surprised. Someone who dresses as outrageously as she does wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the opinions of others.

Just outside her door, I hold out my hand for the keys.

“It’s open,” she says, skirting around me and pushing into it with her behind.

Once through, I ask, “You left your door unlocked?”

“Where have you been living all your life? I’ve been here in Calloway Creek where people respect one another.”

“But you don’t leave it unlocked at night, do you?”

She shrugs. “I lock it when I remember to.”

“Regan.” I admonish her with a stern look. “We’re not that far from the city. There are still a lot of bad people out there. And you’re a beautiful single woman.”

“Who knows self-defense.”

I raise a brow. “Really?”

“Learned it several years back. Anyway, here”—she finally hands the bags over—“my arms are killing me.”

“I would have carried them all the way, Regan.”

“I know.” She turns, hands on hips. “I may not care what people think, but sometimes it’s best not to pour fuel on the fire, you know?”

“Right.”

She opens the door to the stairway and I follow her up.

Halfway up, I have a memory. “Did I fall down the stairs the other night?”

She laughs. “Almost rearranged that handsome face of yours.”

I perk up. “You think I’m hot, eh?”

“I said handsome. There’s a difference.”

We walk into her apartment and immediately her rabid cat comes into view. He greets her with a rub on her calf, then looks up at me and runs in the other direction.

She giggles. “He still likes you, I see.”

Heading straight for the kitchen and depositing the bags on the counter, I find some wine glasses, uncork the wine, and let it breathe as she puts her groceries away.

She holds a package of pasta in her hand and glances back at me. “I just realized I didn’t buy enough for two, because this—”

“Isn’t a date,” I finish, stepping over and brushing her hair behind her shoulder.

Taking the box from her hand and putting it in the pantry, I snoop around, find some crackers, and then open her fridge and pull out a brick of cheese. I hold both items up. “This will do. It’ll go with the wine.”

I find a knife, slice the cheese, and then search for a small platter to put it on. I arrange the crackers and cheese on a rainbow-colored plastic serving tray that’s the shape of a fish, trying not to laugh because the serving tray is so her . Then I look under her sink for cleaning supplies and sanitize the entire counter.

“Shall we sit?” I ask, tray in hand, motioning to her couch.

She grabs the glasses and the bottle and we go to the living room, which is really just an extension of her kitchen, making it one large room. Her cat peeks out from behind the couch. He looks at me like I’m a cat butcher in search of fresh meat.

“How was your day?” I pour the wine and hand her a glass before shoving a piece of cheese in my mouth.

“I’m not one for small talk, Lucas. Besides, that’s not really why we’re here. But there is one thing I’ve been curious about.”

“What’s that?”

“I really want to know what the hell happened when my dad walked in on you.”

I laugh heartily. “Is that why you agreed to this? Curiosity?”

She shrugs and I wonder if it truly is the reason.

I lean back with my wine and put my feet on her coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. A story like this one definitely calls for settling in.

She palms a few cubes of cheese then curls herself into the corner of the sofa, watching me expectantly.

“In order for me to properly tell the story, I have to start from the beginning. Back in middle school, probably when I sprouted my first pubic hair, I was at the town fair and saw this amazing dark-haired girl playing volleyball in the sandpit.”

A smile overtakes her face. “I remember those town fairs. What ever happened to them?”

“I think they still happen. We just outgrew them.”

She looks at me oddly, like she’s disappointed that we did.

“Anyway, you were this voluptuous older girl, in high school by that time, but I’m fairly sure seeing you in those tight shorts resulted in my very first boner. Or maybe it was the top you wore. It said I like big balls. It was a volleyball shirt, but even at my young age, I got the double entendre.”

“You remember what I was wearing?” she asks in surprise.

“Hell yeah, I do. Regan, that image of you was the very thought I jerked off to for years.”

Her jaw slackens. “Years?”

“It was the reason I became friends with Ryder. I figured if I was his friend, I’d be closer to you. And it worked. By the time I was a freshman and you were a senior, you were driving us around in your parents’ Nissan.”

“Oh my god. I remember that. I hated having to drive you to football practice. I’d sit in the stands and do my calculus homework.”

“I know you did. Why do you think I didn’t make the team that year? I was too busy staring at the rockin’ captain of the girls’ volleyball team. You never looked back at me, though, and that pissed me off.”

She giggles. “Sorry. I did end up with a B+ in calc, so it was worth it.”

“That summer, your parents invited me on your beach vacation.”

“Right. Ava was there too.”

“Was she? I can’t remember,” I joke. “All I could see was you. And one afternoon, I was in the bathroom and looked out the window and there you were, sunning on the back deck in your tiny red bikini. I couldn’t help myself, and I knew that was the visual I’d be jerking off to from then on.”

“But then my dad walked in on you?”

My head shakes as I remember the horror. “It’s still the single most terrifying moment of my life.”

She giggles and takes a sip.

“He looked me up and down, my pants lowered, hand on my stiffy, then he looked out the window and saw you.” I run a hand across my jaw. “Jesus, Regan, I thought he was going to pummel me into the ground.”

“He didn’t?”

“Worse. He told me I’d never touch myself again at the thought of his daughter, because if I did, the only thing I’d see was his face. Then he took two steps closer, not even caring that my drawers were still dropped, pointed to his stern expression—one I can still see to this very day, right down to the small scar on his forehead—and he said, ‘This is what you’ll see, Lucas Montana. Every motherfucking time.’”

Regan’s hand flies to her mouth. “My dad said motherfucking ?”

“He did.”

“I’ve never heard the man curse. Not one time. Both of my parents have always been so strait-laced and traditional.”

“Well, he did that day. And fuck me if it wasn’t effective. I was never able to do it again. Every goddamn time I’d start thinking of you and got hard, his face was front and center in my mind. It was a genius move on his part, effectively ending my years-long Regan Lucas masturbation streak, and a tactic I’ll remember if I ever have kids. I gotta respect the guy for that, even if he did ruin you for me.”

She leans forward, intently interested. “What did you do after that? I mean when you…”

“Polished the banister?”

Her cheeks redden.

“I moved on, I guess. You went away to college, and I took up with Kaitlyn Carmichael.”

She nods. “Your first fiancée.”

“That’s the one.”

“So you never thought about me that way again?”

“Not until this week. Believe me, though, after Friday night, your face is the one I’m seeing again.”

“Again? You mean…” Her gaze goes to my lap. I’m confident she can see how I’m already getting hard.

“Are you asking if I fantasized about you this week, Regan?”

“Maybe I am.”

I put down my glass, hop off the couch and hover over her. “How about I just show you what I thought about.”

Her breath hitches. She pushes me back, gets up, takes my hand, and pulls me toward the bedroom.

Fuck yeah.