2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
LEDGER
Has that water stain on the ceiling always been there? I cock my head like that’s somehow going to give me the answer to my question. Ah, yes, looking at it at a thirty-degree angle not only allows me to see that it looks like an alligator with its mouth open, but also that the stain appeared approximately two years ago. I snort to myself and roll over with a groan. It only takes half a second before TP’s claws are digging into my back, her little hands and feet clutching my shirt to hold herself steady.
“I should teach you how to give me a back massage,” I mumble with my face against the floor.
A loud knock at the front door makes TP chirp and bound off me. With another grunt, I push myself up and go to answer the door. I already know who it is before I open the door. There’s only one person I gave my address to and only one person I know who would show up on a random Tuesday night without warning. Not that I don’t have plenty of other friends, but none I’d let see this place before it’s fixed up.
My best friend, Jericho, stands on the porch still wearing his khaki ranger’s uniform, his shirt untucked and misbuttoned, with a tired smile on his face and a bottle of tequila in hand. He holds it up and shakes it back and forth like he’s trying to tempt me.
“Figured you could use a drink after our high adrenaline day.”
I chuckle and shake my head, leaning against the doorframe to block his entrance.
“High adrenaline day? We found the missing kid in twenty minutes. Not exactly an excuse to get shitfaced on Jose Cuervo on a weeknight.”
“Would you have preferred Patrón?” he asks blandly.
“You and Dick call it quits again?” I guess, moving out of the way to let him in.
“It’s over for good this time,” he says firmly, stepping inside and bending down to give TP a belly rub when she rolls over for him.
I bite my tongue against the urge to remind him that that’s what he said the last three times he caught Dick doing what he does best… or maybe it’s what he does worst if Jericho’s drunken confession last time that the man never bothers to get him off is true. But, hey, he didn’t try to correct me by calling him Richard this time, so maybe this one really will stick.
If it doesn’t, I really will demand the expensive booze next time.
I snatch the tequila from him with a grin.
“Believe it or not, I actually have orange juice and grenadine in the kitchen, so I’ll mix us up a couple of tequila sunrises.”
Jericho stands back up with a grim expression, taking the bottle back from me and shaking his head.
“I walked in on him raw dogging Ben.”
My mouth falls open and I gasp. “Your ex -fiancé Ben? Love-of-your-life Ben ?”
He nods and unscrews the cap. “Yup. So no sunrise nonsense, we’re drinking it straight.” He takes a swig and then grimaces, wipes his hand across his mouth, and hands the bottle to me.
“Shit,” I mutter, taking a gulp of my own. “How did they even meet?”
Jericho shrugs. “I don’t fucking know. I thought Ben was still living in Portland.” He takes another drink, tilting his head back, his throat bobbing as he guzzles down at least a shot’s worth of tequila. He sputters a cough when he comes back up for air and we wander into the living room. “I’m done with men.”
I chuckle and we both get comfortable on the couch, passing the bottle back and forth while the smell of seared meat makes my stomach grumble and my mouth water. Is Griff grilling? Gah, he looks so sexy when he grills. Last time I actually watched that man maintain a full-on scowl while he clicked his tongs.
“You’re not even listening, are you?” Jericho stretches his legs out towards me on the couch and nudges me with his foot.
“Yes, I am. You’re done with men, joining a convent, et cetera.” I wave my hand, and he jabs me harder with his foot.
“Convents are for nuns, genius.”
I roll my eyes. “A manvent then.”
The tortured look on his face breaks and he barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb,” he mutters, then takes another drink.
I pluck the bottle out of his hands before he finishes and stand back up. I’m all for supporting him in his endeavor to get drunk about his feelings, but I’d rather not end up taking him to the hospital for alcohol poisoning later.
The tequila is already going to my head, making me a little wobbly as I cross the living room towards the back window. Jericho groans behind me as I tug back the corner of the curtain and peek out at Griff grilling on his deck.
Griff.
Griff.
Griff .
It’s such a good name. It fits him. Maybe because it kind of sounds like a growl.
“You need help,” Jericho says from closer than I expected.
I turn my head to find him standing right behind me, craning his neck to peek out the window.
“It’s creepy if we’re both staring at him,” I say primly as I drop the curtain and let it flutter back into place.
“It’s creepy that you spend all day staring at him.” He already sounds drunk and much more relaxed than he was when he got here.
“It’s not creepy.” I bristle. “It’s just a crush.”
Jericho raises his eyebrows and gives me a look, calling me on my bullshit without saying a word. Of course, no matter how effective the look alone is, no true bestie can leave it at that.
“You are obsessed ,” he says. “All the dude has done is glare and growl at you and you’re licking the window every time you spot him outside.”
“I have a weakness for grumpy bears. Sue me.” I tug the curtains closed a little more, just to make sure Jericho won’t actually spot the nose smudge on the glass.
“Have you considered that ‘Forest Ranger’ might not be the job for you?” he asks dryly, yoinking the Jose Cuervo back out of my hand and taking another drink.
I throw back my head and laugh. “You’re such an ass.”
“Well, get used to it, because something tells me we’re going to be a couple of single guys stuck with each other for life.”
“Yeah, you probably have a point there.” I sprawl out on the couch, and he plops his ass down on the floor. “I fall head over heels for guys who are emotionally unavailable and then I’m all Shocked Pikachu when it turns out they’re actually closed off and terrified of emotional intimacy. I might be tempted to break the cycle if scowly, grumpy bears weren’t so damn hot.”
He snorts at me. “Hate to tell you this, Ledgie, but the reason you like them is because they’re closed off and terrified of emotional intimacy. It’s your trick to never get your heart broken. You pick guys you never stood a chance with from the start.”
I make an indignant sound in my throat and steal the bottle back from him.
“Half a dozen shots of tequila and you turn into my therapist? You are officially cut off.”
“Rude,” he mutters, but doesn’t try to fight it, which means he’s definitely already drunk.
I tuck the bottle between the couch cushions and pull out my phone. The room is spinning, and a pleasant, fuzzy feeling cocoons me. Never stood a chance? That’s just uncalled for.
He’s maybe a little right though.
“You really think I don’t have a chance with Griff?” I ask, rolling onto my side to frown down at him.
“Who the hell is Griff?” He screws up his face in confusion.
“My neighbor.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He waves his hands and sighs. “Ignore me, I’m just feeling very anti-love right now.”
I hum in understanding. The room really is spinning now, and if I don’t do something to perk up my mood then the tequila demons might win. I open my TikTok app and the first video that pops up is the cute twink who runs the flower shop in town and recently had some big drama with the tattoo shop next door.
“Oh my god, I have an idea.” I sit up so fast that I manage to somehow lose my balance and tumble off the couch.
Jericho cackles and I scramble for my phone again, already pulling up the website I have in mind.
“Little Shop of Flowers?” He reads out loud over my shoulder.
“I’m going to send Griff flowers,” I explain, squinting at the order form like that will somehow make the words stop swimming on the screen. “Okay, what should I put in the message?”
“Dear Griff, please rail me, love Ledgie.”
“Noooo,” I groan with a laugh. “Something classy.” It takes me a second, and then I’ve got it. I laugh with glee as I type in the message and finalize the order, then roll over onto my back again and drop my phone somewhere I don’t bother paying attention to.
“Hey, has that water spot always been there?” Jericho asks.
“I have no fucking clue.”
GRIFF
Some nights the quiet feels more stifling than others. It’s like the silence reminds me too much of how things used to be. Riley acted like he was fucking allergic to the quiet. I would come home from work and stepping inside the house would feel like getting clobbered by sound—the TV blaring at full volume, music playing just as loudly, and more often than not the background noise of whatever video game he was obsessed with at the time. I grumbled about it back then, threatening to bring earplugs home with me from work, sometimes actually daydreaming about what it would be like to come home to silence.
My chest squeezes and I sigh around my next bite of grilled pork chop, chewing it slowly and staring down at my plate. I guess I should have been more careful what I wished for. I won’t make that mistake again… if I ever get around to dating again.
It’s not that I haven’t moved on. I went to therapy, I know all the cliché bullshit like “Riley would have wanted me to be happy” and “Just because he died doesn’t mean I did too.” I know I wouldn’t want him moping around, single for the rest of his life if I’d been the one in the car instead of him. I just can’t imagine anyone else wanting anything to do with my ornery ass. I couldn’t believe Riley found me charming enough to fall in love with, and it’s even harder to imagine I’d win that lottery twice.
I spear the last bite of food with my fork and shove it into my mouth. I haven’t bothered to eat at the table in eight years—it’s just fucking sad sitting there all by yourself—so it’s easy to slide my plate over a few inches on the counter and leave it next to the sink to wash later.
Maybe I really should give some serious thought to the hobby idea. Building with Legos or learning how to garden has got to be more thrilling than spending my nights haunting my own house like a fucking ghost. My knees creak a little and my back and shoulders ache from my workday as I wander into the living room. At least turning the TV on will break the silence.
Movement out the back window catches my attention before I can sit down. Curiosity and boredom draw me over for a closer look. Maybe a small part of me is hoping to see my chatty, way-too-cheerful neighbor in his underwear again. I haven’t had any company other than my own hand in eight years, so excuse me for a split-second pervy daydream.
It is Ledger… and he’s not alone. I shift to one side so they won’t see me staring if they happen to look over, but I keep watching as he and another guy stumble out onto his deck. The dusky, fading daylight makes it hard to see too many details, but the other guy is definitely attractive. He has thick biceps like Ledger does and long, dark hair. The two of them bump into each other and laugh. Are they drunk? Is that his boyfriend? I don’t think he’s married, unless his husband is never at home.
I let out a rumbly huff and shake my head at myself, stepping away from the window. It’s none of my business. I don’t want it to be my business who Ledger dates or marries or gets drunk with on random weeknights. I don’t even know him. Maybe I’m just trying to live vicariously, imagining a life where I have someone over to drink and laugh with.
I make another noise in my throat, almost laughing at whatever bleak mood decided to creep up and steer my thoughts tonight. It’s a doozy, that’s for sure. I’ve never been the ‘come over for a drink’ guy, and I’ve definitely never sat on my deck giggling with anyone. I doubt that’s going to change now in my late forties.
If I knew how to snap my fingers and change it, maybe there would be some hope that I wouldn’t have to spend the second half of my life alone. But I am who I am. Riley got that. He liked me the way I was, resting bitch face and all.
Maybe there’s someone else out there who will too, but I’m not holding my breath.