8. RIP Sexy Patterson
8
RIP SEXY PATTERSON
DAKOTA
I ’d made peace that my friendship with Wyatt Patterson was dead and buried, but now he’s turned the barn into something out of a children’s fantasy playroom.
I’ve never seen so many toys. Just this evening, on my way to Alanna’s picturesque cottage beneath the old oak trees, I almost tripped on a wooden shopping cart full of plastic vegetables that apparently... sing?
“He’s staying with me all summer, Lana.” I groan, sucking on the tip of the pre-rolled joint. The skunky smoke fills my head, quieting my buzzing worries.
My best friend tosses her red hair over one shoulder. “Why don’t you just kick him out?”
I blow out the smoke. “Because that’s mean, and I’m not a complete asshole. His daughter is stinkin’ cute, so that’s a plus, and he makes banana pancakes every morning, so there’s that.”
We used to do brunch with our parents every Sunday, and banana pancakes used to be our thing , so he’s been constantly knocking on my bedroom door with a plate of steaming pancakes like he wants me to remember we have things.
It’s actually pretty adorable.
“You’ve got to love a sexy single dad who cooks,” she says, sucking until the joint’s tip glows more red than her hair. “Does he have any brothers?”
“No, he’s an only child.”
“What a shame.” She blows a smoke ring. “Hey, will you come to the farmer’s market with me this weekend? I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”
“I can’t. I have to train.”
“You’re always training,” she whines. “Why do you say no to everything? Just come out with me.”
Guilt prickles in my skin. I want to hang out with her, but I can’t sacrifice any time training, especially not with the Granite Falls rodeo coming up at the end of the summer.
“I’m hanging out with you now,” I counter.
“Only because I basically dragged your ass here, which is fine. I’ll reel you back in anytime you pull away.”
“The world needs more Lanas,” I say. “You’re my favorite.”
“Aw,” she sing-songs. “You’re my favorite.”
I’ve sacrificed one too many relationships for my career, but I don’t want to think about all the sacrifices I’ve made. All it does is fill me with this weird mix of regret and determination. I’ve missed out on so much that I have to make it now.
Looking out at the rolling grassy fields, I rock back in a white porch chair. Alanna’s teeny cottage is nestled on an acre of old oaks, but it’s decorated like an upscale designer renovated the chic interior, whereas my place is a hodgepodge of hand-me-down antiques.
I wind up my arm and toss the tennis ball high into the pink sky, watching it arc before it lands with a soft thud in the tall grasses.
Luna hobbles off. It always takes her forever to get it, but she loves fetching.
“If you’re still hunting for someone at farmers markets, I’m sure Patterson would date you,” I say. “He’s the commitment type, so I could put in a good word.”
Alanna shakes her fiery hair. “Nope. No thanks. Kids are cute, but I’m not like you. I want to keep my life as it is, and I don’t want to give up my preventative Botox appointments during pregnancy.”
“Why do you do preventative Botox? You’re naturally stunning.”
Alanna is one of those women who turns every head in the room, and she’s got a killer personality, so she’s basically got it all.
She gestures to herself with a snort. “You think this is au naturel ? Babe, I drive into Austin three times a month to get work done. Once to color my hair so it’s this ‘natural’ shade of auburn, once to get chemicals injected into my forehead so it stays wrinkle-free, and once to get my eyelash extensions. I’m a carefully crafted stunner.”
“But a stunner nonetheless.”
“That’s because I don’t scowl all the time like you,” she throws back, gesturing to her forehead. “I can’t afford frown lines.”
“I don’t scowl all the time,” I grumble, but Alanna has a point.
My sense of humor is painfully sarcastic, my raspy voice sounds like a chain-smoker, and I don’t like my face when I smile, so I rarely smile. All of that is the perfect combination for a chronic case of resting bitch face. I’ve had guys tell me I look constipated when I grin, so I stopped. But I care deeply about the people in my life, and all I want is for someone to love my rough edges.
People call me mean, but I’m just a little spicy.
“You do, babe,” she says. “But that’s why you’re the Bonnie to my Clyde. The yin to my yang. The coffee to my cinnamon roll dairy-free creamer.”
I laugh into the sunset. Alanna and I shouldn’t work as friends, but I’ve been trapped in a man’s world for so long that I crave female friendships. I’m an only-child boys’ girl, and she’s a textbook big-family girls’ girl, but for some reason, we’re like long-lost sisters.
Alanna’s a Houston princess who comes from old money, and she’s high maintenance but handles her own maintenance. She’s got a closet of snakeskin boots and fringe jackets she only pulls out in winter and always manages to keep her linen jumpsuits wrinkle-free. She’s what we call “cowgirl chic” because you’d never actually wear those clothes on a ranch.
They’d get too dirty.
She’s one of the best people I know. I managed to wiggle my way into her life when she moved here from the city.
There are just some strangers that pop into your life, and when you meet them, you think, Now, that’s someone I’ve got to keep , and that was Lana for me. We just work—even though she won’t stop trying to get me on her thirty-two-step skincare routine.
She creaks back in her rocking chair. “Why’re you so pissed at Wyatt, anyway? Don’t you want to at least hear him out?”
“Not really,” I say. “He’s going to leave again anyway, so what’s the point? I’d rather just be civil to him this summer. Like roommates.”
I suck in a long drag, needing an extra moment to gather my thoughts. “But I’m pissed ’cause we used to spend every summer together and then talk almost every week on the phone when he went back to Nashville, but then he stopped returning my calls. He wouldn’t even respond to my texts. Then, I read somewhere online that he had a little girl, and that was the last straw. That’s the kind of shit you tell your friends, you know?”
At least, that’s what I thought I’d been to him, but I’m not about to force anyone to be my friend. If someone doesn’t like me, that’s okay. I like who I am.
Luna comes back, dropping the tennis ball at my feet. This time, Alanna throws it for her. “You’re only pissed because you miss him,” she says, calling me on my bluff. “And I mean, he did have a kid. I’m sure that’s kept him pretty busy.”
“Yeah, but he still could’ve called,” I grumble. “I know he’s this hotshot NHL player, but it’s not like I was asking for much. I would’ve been satisfied with a few Happy Birthday texts, but instead, I got ghosted by my so-called friend. Men should know how to communicate by now.”
“Ugh, I know,” she agrees. “And when is manspreading gonna go out of style? There’s no way your balls need that much room.”
She blows out a perfect smoke ring, kicking up her cowgirl boots on her back porch. The cicadas hum to life now that the setting sun is about to dip behind the oak trees.
There’s nothing more beautiful than a Texas sunset sprawling across the Hill Country. I’m a morning person, but this is my favorite time of day—when the heat is about to burst, and the clouds look like they’re on fire.
“That Wyatt Patterson’s a looker though.” She whistles. “The whole town’s talking about him being back. I heard Ms. Thompson talking about setting him up with her granddaughter in the grocery store.”
Ms. Thompson’s granddaughter is in no way good enough for Wyatt Patterson, but like hell am I saying that out loud.
“Damn, it’s weird hearing people call him attractive,” I say, trying to picture it, but I can’t. “He’ll always be the little flower boy that followed me around every summer.”
I toss the tennis ball again for Luna, but she must’ve had enough because she plops down next to me on the porch, rolling over for a belly rub.
Damn, do I love this dog.
Alanna passes me the joint, and I’m definitely high now because I’m squinting at the longhorns in the field splattered with yellow wildflowers, thinking about how one of them has a spot that looks like the birthmark on Wyatt’s right ass cheek.
I saw that once when I dared him to go skinny-dipping in the stock tank the cattle drink from. He spent the whole time trying to shield his dick from me, but he did it. That boy used to do anything I asked. He spoiled me, and he was always too good for me.
“So you and Wyatt never...?” she prods, blowing another smoke ring.
“Never.” I grimace. “I’m two years older than him, so I’ve never thought of Patterson like that. I know two years isn’t a huge gap now, but when you’re teenagers? It’s massive. When I was sixteen, he was this gangly fourteen-year-old. He’s like family. Not like a brother, but like... a cousin.”
She swats her curtain of wine-stained hair over one shoulder. “Wyatt Patterson is really sexy, though. He looks like an archangel you want to rough up a bit, you know? I’m not into single dads, but you should fuck him for the plot.”
“No. Even if I were attracted to him, I couldn’t. Especially not after he drunkenly peed the bed with me in it at my eighteenth birthday party because he drank fuck knows how many beers. I ruined that kid’s innocence. I had to wash all my sheets three times, Lana. It kind of killed any romantic notions I could’ve had.”
Admittedly, at the time, I thought it was hilarious. I’m used to shoveling horse shit, so a little drunk pee doesn’t scare me away. I used to tease him about it, but anytime I brought it up, the tips of his ears would turn bright red, so I stopped because I didn’t want to embarrass him.
Little giggles splutter out of us.
“Yeah, there’s no coming back from the friend zone after that,” she says, clutching her stomach. “RIP Sexy Patterson.”
I salute her with my joint. “My thoughts exactly.”