Chapter 4
4
HANNAH
“If you had any doubt before, I am officially your bestest of best friends,” Brittany huffed, eyeing me over the top of a heavy box of books we were carrying up the three flights of stairs from the lobby of our building to my apartment. “There is no way this is less than fifty pounds.”
Regardless of box hauling, Brittany was my best friend, ever since I moved in across the hall two years ago. She was a year older, a Leo and wore heels every day. That–the heels–wasn’t the reason we were struggling with this box. The box was well over the airline regulation checked bag weight. And I was a total weakling.
“It’s seventy-seven pounds.” I swiped my cheek against my shoulder, trying to get my hair out of my eyes without any luck. Sweat trickled down my back and I was puffing like a magic dragon. “I gave the gate agent twenty bucks to let it through. Another one’s,” –I awkwardly adjusted my palms again– “coming in the mail. I had to ship it.”
“Wow, look at you breaking the rules and being a rebel. Might have to take that good girl tiara away.” Her teasing was softened by a wink and a sly smile.
Both boxes were filled with all my precious book finds at the romance convention. Where Brittany spent money on fancy shoes, I bought books. Heavy ones.
The problem? I wasn’t strong enough to get my new stash upstairs to my apartment by myself. There was no elevator in this old building.
We were struggling together under the heavy load. She hadn’t been home the day before when I got back from the trip, which meant I had to leave the box tucked in the corner of the lobby. She’d recently gotten home from work, dressed in cute pants and a sleeveless blouse. I was in yoga pants and a green t-shirt, having already changed into comfy clothes after my day at the library.
“I couldn’t bribe Raul, the rideshare driver, to carry it beyond the lobby,” I told her, breathing hard. “Otherwise, he’d be in your bestie spot.”
“Raul,” she muttered, stumbling on a step, tipping me off balance for a moment. “I could take him. Jesus, this is heavy.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, then groaned when the box slipped, digging into my hip. When I righted it, I took the bulk of the weight. All of a sudden, it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t hurting my back. It felt… not heavy, which made no sense.
“Um, you got it?” Brittany asked, eyeing me carefully and having her hands out in case I needed her again. I felt like a kid learning to ride a bike.
Growing up in Texas, Brittany was raised to never leave the house without her face on or her hair done, her momma telling her she never knew when she’d meet Mr. Right.
I’d grown up the barely remembered middle-child between two overachievers. My family didn’t notice what I wore, so I set my own standard of making sure I always had nice underwear on, never knowing when I might be in an accident and medical personnel got to see it.
Not that I didn’t pull myself together when I left the house. I wore cute clothes–or at least I thought so–and makeup. I couldn’t keep up with Brittany. She was gorgeous–with amazing teeth. All tall and skinny with the most gorgeous soft brown skin. I had to wear those little overnight acne patches and I burned an unattractive shade of pink without sunscreen.
She didn’t need makeup. Or a push-up bra. Or exercise. Or extra protein powder in her smoothie. I sure as hell did, to all of it, not that I did a ton of exercise. Or had reason for a little extra cleavage. I had plenty.
Fumbling with the box, I got it settled better in my arms. It wasn’t so bad, which was ridiculous because I’d needed a hotel cart to get it to the taxi in Vegas, then pushed it like a bobsled across the drop-off area from the taxi to the curbside check in.
“Look at me go,” I huffed with a surprising grin. “I actually have it. And it’s in the best friend handbook. They carry heavy boxes together. Even though you’re not actually carrying it any longer. ”
Going solo, I turned to face up the stairs instead of sideways as we had been. Brittany was beside me every step of the way as a pseudo-spotter. “I think you have the wrong handbook. Best friends get mani/pedis together. They get drinks together.”
“I have wine in my fridge,” I offered as we turned at the next landing. “The fancy box kind.”
Her eyes lit up and she snapped her fingers. “Put some back into it, girlfriend.”
Said the woman not carrying the box.
Ten minutes later, our glasses of wine were full and the box half empty on my cheap IKEA coffee table.
“I’m not sure why you needed my help. You did it just fine,” she said, comfortably settled on my couch. Even after helping the first flight, her short hair was perfect with the tight curls, and her clothes weren’t even wrinkled. “Good thing you’re going back to the gym and lifting weights. I didn’t go to dental school to be a mover.”
She was a dentist and had a small practice in town she shared with a guy patients called Dr. Todd. With a last name of Aszkielowicz, he didn’t have much choice.
“I thought you went to dental school to get me free toothbrushes.” I stood beside the open box, pulling the books out one at a time.
She took a big sip of her wine and rolled her eyes.
“No way have I gone back to the gym. I went with you last year, remember? That thirty-day free trial where I did all the classes with you? I actually gained weight.” I took another book from the box, petted it lovingly, then set it on the shelf in its new home.
She assessed me over her glass of wine. “Huh. ”
“Yeah, huh. I forgot, but I even hefted my carry-on into the overhead on the plane by myself. I’m not sure what’s up.”
That made me think of the hot guy who saved me from those two smelly, crowding jerks. Actually, I hadn’t stopped thinking about him.
“You’re strong as fuck in your own way, Wonder Woman. You’re not having any more headaches, are you?” she asked, concern in her dark eyes.
I shook my head. She’d been by my side through my radiation back in May and recovery. “No. I mean, I did in Vegas because the event was crowded and the casino I had to cut through to get to my room was loud.”
She seemed relieved as one of the side effects for me was headaches.
“I don’t know how anyone works in a place like that. Rowdy, drunk gamblers.”
“You put your fingers in peoples’ dirty mouths after you give them laughing gas,” I countered. “What’s the difference? And those drills, don’t tell me those aren’t slowly making you deaf.”
She only rolled her eyes again and changed the subject. “Tell me about your trip. Please say you gambled or went to that sexy male stripper revue or hooked up with a hottie or something.”
I gave her a look right back. “I was at a romance convention where it’s like ninety-five percent women. Besides, this is me, boring Hannah Highcliff.”
She tipped her glass toward me, then took a healthy swallow. “They have models there. I’ve seen the photos. And you’re not boring. ”
I wasn’t going to argue with her on the boring part because it was a known fact I’d rather have my nose stuck in a book than do most other things.
“What gorgeous male model is going to be interested in me?” I asked, setting another book on my shelf, my back to her.
“A smart one,” she replied fiercely, making me look her way. “I’ve lived across the hall from you for two years. I see the way men look at you.”
I laughed because I was nothing special. Forgettable. “Please, if we’re standing side by side, they’re looking at you. And my track record with guys is total crap.”
With a sigh, she set her glass on the coffee table. “We’ve got to work on this self-image of yours. And don’t even mention Kevin. You’re a total catch and he’s a dipshit. He should’ve been run over with a snowplow for how he dumped you.”
What she meant was I told him I had a brain tumor and he told me he was done.
“And cheated on me,” I reminded. Obviously, I wasn’t a woman who kept a man’s attention or interest. Per Kevin, I was defective sexually. And physically. Totally not a catch.
She growled. “Don’t remind me. I want to go pull all his teeth. He showed his true colors. Not worth your time or energy. You’ve got a new lease on life, and it should be with someone amazing.”
“I’ll take amazing.” That sounded good, but not very realistic. I grew up in this small town. Knew all the guys. The pickings were slim. And Kevin lived here and probably told his friends about me, although I didn’t want to date any of his friends .
I was twenty-six. A weak, slightly overweight librarian with medical debts who was supposedly bad in bed. Not much of a catch.
She grabbed the bag of chips and set it on her lap, ripping the top open. “Fine, so Vegas. No jackpot, no male model, only books?”
She was more invested in my social life than I was.
“It was so great,” I said. I couldn’t help but smile because I’d been in my happy place surrounded by books and others in the industry. “So many authors whose books I want to put in my store.”
My dream was to open a romance bookstore in this little shop space on Main Street here in Coal Springs. I had the space picked out, the business plan written and money to get started. It had almost come about. If I put my pointer finger and my thumb close together, I was right there. Then my radiation bumped my plans out months… or years because of medical bills.
Brittany reached out, took my hand and gave it a squeeze and a sympathetic smile. “It’s happening and it’s going to be amazing.”
I swallowed hard because I tried to compartmentalize the disappointment I felt about my dream being stalled, but it was hard. The only reason I’d been able to go to the book signing in Vegas was because I’d paid for it all–registration, hotel, and airfare–before radiation. It wasn’t just the tangible problems, like bills. It was mental gymnastics, too. To be told by a doctor that I had a brain tumor had been devastating, even when she said it was completely treatable with a special kind of radiation procedure. It had been a “do or die” situation and I hadn’t wanted to die .
They zapped that tumor with radiation. They got it. I was still slowly coming to terms with the possibilities of death, that it could’ve happened to me this year instead of at ninety. Of surviving. Of being lucky, when I felt anything but.
“There was this guy on the plane,” I admitted. I didn’t have a Pollyanna-like well of hope and rays of sunshine like Brittany when it came to a happily ever after–and I was the book lover–because I was too realistic about things these days. Yet, it was fun seeing Brittany that way.
Her eyes widened and she set her glass down, practically clapping her hands in glee. She was so much more invested in my love life than I was. “Tell!”
I shrugged, remembering how out of place he seemed. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Had that square jaw and scruff thing going. Dark eyes. Hair that you wanted to run your fingers through. Suit, definitely not off the rack.” No way that material or cut was from a chain store at the mall. “He was like a billionaire who got lost and ended up in Economy beside me. Not the kind of billionaire who gets manicures and has four assistants, but the one who secretly wrestles bears and BASE jumps.”
Brittany fanned her face. I could only imagine what she was picturing. She was single and wasn’t interested in a relationship, more than willing to have a one-night stand to get the orgasms she wanted without all the hassle.
I liked the concept, but I couldn’t handle the execution. I was a long-term kind of girl, holding out for Mr. Right, not Mr. Right Now.
“He was reading over my shoulder, B.” When she continued to stare, not understanding the depth of the mortification I’d felt, I added, “ To Have And To Puck.”
Her mouth dropped open. Then closed. Then open again. “Tell me it wasn’t a sex scene.”
Sheepishly, I nodded. “He read probably fifteen chapters.”
She shoved a chip in her mouth and crunched away. “Shut the front door!”
I put my hand over my face, remembering how mortified I’d felt. Brittany would have probably unbuckled her seatbelt, straddled his lap and did everything in the book.
“And…” She twirled her greasy fingers in a circle to get me to continue.
“And he told me to not flip the page because he couldn’t keep up. He wanted to know what happened.” I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise just thinking about him. How he looked at me after I finally got enough nerve to meet his dark eyes.
She set her hot pink fingertips over her lips, smothering a smile.
“It was so embarrassing!” I said, tossing my arms up. “The heroine got railed by a hockey player so hard she didn’t remember her name and couldn’t walk right for a week.”
“If you can remember your name or walk right after a good pucking, then you’re not doing it right.”
I couldn’t argue, because my fingers or my vibrator delivered guaranteed orgasms, but a man-made one was much better. Or so I heard. Kevin never delivered. The guy from college had zero skills since we were each other’s firsts .
God, I would love to be able to not walk right from being fucked too well. I couldn’t even imagine.
“You struck up a conversation, and now you’re in love, getting married and having his babies.” Now she was a romance enthusiast.
I dropped onto the far end of the couch. My cozy corner where I snuggled in to read or watch TV. Also known as my spot. “We talked.” I wasn’t telling her what we talked about, how I told him what I wanted in bed with a guy. Getting bossed around. Railed. That would push her over the edge into contacting the FAA to find out his name and address. “Then after the plane landed, he got off with these two smelly guys who were traveling with him and left.”
I shrugged as if I hadn’t been thinking about him since he disappeared in the crowded terminal. Out of sight, out of mind. Not.
“Oh.” She reached for her wine and took a healthy swig.
I crossed my legs and pulled a throw pillow onto my lap. “I know I’m the one who’s a librarian, reads romance and wants to open a romance bookstore–”
“Will open,” she clarified.
“ Will open,” I repeated, knowing she was my biggest champion. “Will open a romance bookstore, but in real life, no hero sits beside me on an airplane and saves me.”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
I frowned, confused. “Huh?”
She reached across the couch, patted my knee. Static electricity had her pulling her hand back. She met my eyes with her serious ones. “You’re going to save yourself. You don’t need a man to do anything for you. Except fuck you good and hard like in your books. The right man can give you some really good D.” She thought for a moment, even tapped her finger to her lips. “That should be on a t-shirt.”
“The guy on the plane could give me some D,” I said, without thinking. “No question.”
“Too bad you won’t see him again.”
Yeah, too bad.