If You’re Ready

34. Fallon

Chapter thirty-four

Fallon

“Shay, get back here,” I yell from the table. Shay’s off to find the next tonguing partner. I wouldn’t be surprised if her tongue’s the strongest thing on the planet at this point.

Only now, she’s apparently looking for a tonguing partner for me as well. As quickly as Shay leaves, she’s back with two men. I’ll tell Jeb they’re both the I-played-college-ball type. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure they’re part of the bachelor party we saw a few days ago. Shay’s coworkers are nowhere to be found.

“Fallon, this is Clay and his friend Ethan. Clay and Ethan, this is my best friend, Fallon. And she’s looking for love tonight.”

I internally roll my eyes and scoff. Both Clay and Ethan are wide-eyed after that statement. Of course, they think she means sex, not love. The two of them flank my chair, making eyes at each other.

“I’m not looking for love, Shay. Those are your words, not mine.” The pissing contest between the two of them dissipates with my letdown.

Clay and Ethan. Their names alone make them sound like tools, right?

“Fallon bo ballon,” the one in the blue short-shorts says.

“Me my mo mallon,” the other one adds. God. How embarrassing. This time, I look at Shay and roll my eyes.

“Well, that’s my cue to get drinks. I’ll be back, boys. Need anything?” Shay tucks her hair behind her ear, her tits an inch from blue-short-shorts’s face.

“I’ll go with you,” he suggests, picking up on her advances. I’m pretty sure that’s Ethan. Too bad. Shay and Clay would’ve been a cute name mash-up.

“So, Fallon, what do you do for work?” Clay asks.

“I work as a graphic designer. My next project is designing invitations, thank-you cards, place settings, and buffet cards for a safari-themed baby shower.”

“Wow, sounds like a fancy baby shower. I have a cousin who also does graphic design. She loves it. I, on the other hand, spend practically the whole day outside. I’m an assistant coach for the WPU track and field team. I dabble a bit in the cross-country world, but my main focus is track.”

“I got a college athlete vibe from you, so I guess my intuition is right. Did you play college sports?”

“D2 track and field. I was mainly a distance runner, although sometimes they’d put me in the 800m if someone was sick.” His eyes follow the ass of a woman walking by in a white skirt.

“Wow, that’s cool. So you’re here for a bachelor party?” I ignore his wandering eyes since I’d actually prefer he wander.

“We are. The rest of them left yesterday, though. Clay and I are headed to Charlotte, and we couldn’t get a flight home until tomorrow.”

“Oh, fun. Shay and I are from the East Coast, too, in lower Virginia.”

“My grandparents used to live in Hyatt. Do you know that area?”

How can I get away from Clay so he can get some love from someone else tonight? This is painfully boring. “Hyatt is where I did dance growing up. Nice town. It’s about forty minutes from me.”

Clay asks my favorite color and a few questions that must be dating profile prompts, like what season would you describe yourself as? I can only describe our conversation as interview-like. It flows decently enough with no awkward lulls, even though we practically have to yell at each other once the band starts.

Shay and Ethan take a surprisingly long time to return to the table. Shay’s alcohol slushie is half empty when she slides onto the barstool at the high top, so I’m sure she was dancing or working her magic on Ethan.

I huff under my breath, but she doesn’t notice, her hand twirling her hair while she leans into Ethan’s lap. I’d rather not be ditched every thirty seconds.

“Finish the drink, then let’s dance,” Shay yells over the music.

I can’t help but wonder what’s going on with Shay. She’s always a bit of a wild card in public, but this seems like overkill, even for her. I’m not out of my mind to feel like she should be hanging out with me and me only, right? Had Rhett not died, I’d be on my fucking honeymoon right now. It’s my first vacation since long before the accident. Why is Shay acting like she can’t handle time alone with me?

I do what she says, anyway. I sip the fruity slushie drink she handed me while Ethan, Clay, Shay, and I talk about the resort amenities. As soon as my drink is finished, Shay grabs Ethan’s arm and announces it’s time to dance.

Clay hovers a hand on my lower back, guiding me to the dance floor. It’s weird to have a man touching me who’s not Rhett… or Jeb, I guess.

When the fast-beat country song changes to “Da’ Dip,” I know I’m in trouble. The vibe is wild, and the dancing is, too. Arms fly. Hips swing. Sweat drips. The man next to me is shoving his tongue into his girl's mouth. Clay steps behind me to hold my hips to the words in the song.

This is fine , I tell myself. I let my eyes close. My head sways side to side while my hips grind back and forth. His hands move from my hips to my stomach, creeping under my shirt, and back to my hips. I lean forward, jetting my ass into his front, and he puts a hand in the middle of my spine, holding me there for a second.

He pulls my ass tighter to his crotch and I feel every inch of his dick. I lift my arms in the air, while he holds me in all the right places. Grabbing his hand with mine, I settle them both on my lower stomach. My spine tingles when I press my back across his chest, tucking my cheek against his neck.

He grabs the lobe of my ear between his teeth. “Jeb,” I moan, my breath a whisper no one but me can hear over the music.

When the song changes, he spins my body toward his for a slow dance. Reaching for his neck, I open my eyes.

My arms freeze in midair. My eyes lock with the unfamiliar hazel eyes in front of me. It takes me a second to scan the room and gather my bearings.

“Sorry, I can’t do this,” I tell Clay before speaking to Shay dancing right next to us. “I need to go. I’ll see you in the morning.” I double-tap Shay’s shoulders and bolt before she can convince me to stay.

I don’t want to stay. Not with a man behind me who’s not the one I want.

Oh fuck.

The one I want.

I have a mild internal panic attack on the way to my room. Like a zombie, I ditch the golf cart and fast-walk through the resort, into our villa’s entrance, onto the elevator, down the hall, and unlock the door to my room before have a second to think.

I quickly contemplate all of my life choices and wonder if I’m certifiably insane while I get ready for bed. My body goes through the motions while my brain is on another planet.

It’s been an incredibly long time since Rhett and I got together, and for so long, if I pictured a man’s hands on my body, they were his.

Until today.

The first person I thought of when I closed my eyes should have been Rhett. I should’ve thought of him first. But I didn’t.

I pictured Jeb.

And I liked it. It was such a fucking high. I wasn’t worried about anything else in the world when I pictured his hands all over my body.

I dip my head toward the faucet and splash water on my face before I stare at myself in the mirror, letting the water drip down.

There are two choices, I guess. Maybe three. Maybe zero. I don’t even know how to present myself with viable options anymore.

What I do know is that I can’t go back to a time when I only focused on Rhett. Logically, I know he’s not here on this earth, and he won’t ever be here again. After Rhett passed, I heard stories of women whose spouses died young. They never remarried or had kids. They lived a widowed type of existence for the rest of their lives, and I don’t want that life.

I can start casually dating until I find someone I’m compatible with. Can’t be that hard, right?

I splash my face again. This time, I use a towel to dry off and then climb into bed. Rhett wouldn’t necessarily be ecstatic to see another man’s hands on me, but of course, that was when he was alive.

I know he’d want me to be happy no matter what.

I lie in bed and think about slapping myself in the face because no matter what choice I try to rationalize myself into making, deep in my heart, I know the one I want to make.

Jeb.

I want Jeb.

I don’t want to casually date random sleezeballs until I find someone I half like. I already found someone I can’t stop thinking about. Someone who gets me.

Maybe it fizzles out after a month or maybe he wants nothing to do with me. But I want to at least try to see where things could go.

A smile rushes to my face, and my lips purse while I think. Remember what it’s like to have a new crush, Fallon? I get a giddy little feeling in my throat, and I position a spare pillow next to my body, then hug it while pretending to drape an arm across Jeb.

I’m too old for shit like this, I know. Just let me have my moment, okay? It’s been a while since I was excited for a romantic future.

If Pillow Jeb were real, he’d curl into me, pushing my hair back from my face, pressing a kiss along my jaw. My shoulders are a little burnt from spending all day at the pool, so he would slather me with aloe and then blow air across my back, cooling me.

I start to wonder whether I’m half asleep and dreaming when my phone buzzes, waking me from my daze.

It’s Jeb. I smile in the dark.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, just wanted to call to see if you were ready for tonight with Shay.”

“We went out early. I’m already in bed.” I close my eyes and hug the pillow while listening to his voice.

“Already? It’s only eight. I thought I’d catch you before you went out. Did something happen?”

“Nothing really. I was dancing with Shay. She found two guys for us to dance with, but I realized that wasn’t for me, so I ditched her.” I let out a little laugh.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to date or to move forward with someone,” he whispers, like he’s in bed in the dark, too. “Your timeline is just that. Yours.”

“It’s not that I’m not ready. I just didn’t want to entertain the guy Shay found for me.”

“Not your type? What was the vibe of guy number three?” he jokes.

“Nice guy. Cute. Just not anything I’m looking for.”

“Oh, okay.” He pauses, and I can hear him swallow through the phone. “What are you looking for?” He clears his throat. “Maybe I can help. Find someone, I mean.”

How do I tell Jeb I’m interested in Jeb?

“I haven’t figured that out,” I lie. This can’t be a conversation on the phone while I’m an ocean away. No. I want to touch him and see his face when I tell him.

He could turn me down. But I hope he doesn’t. Gosh, this is crazy.

Jeb starts talking, but I can’t hear him over the knocks at my door.

“Hold on a second, someone’s at the door,” I tell him and rush to look through the peephole. “It’s Shay,” I say as I open the door and she waltzes in.

“I'm sorry. It took me forever to pay my tab, and then I wanted to change before I came over here."

“Can I call you back later?” I ask Jeb.

“You don’t need to do that. I’ll see you tomorrow when you get home, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then. Good night,” I say, hanging up the phone.

“Sorry,” I tell Shay, gesturing to the phone.

“That’s all right. Was Corbin checking in?”

“No, Jeb was calling to talk before I went out tonight. He didn’t know we were going out early.”

“Oh, Jeb, aye!” She raises her eyebrows up and down.

“He’s just a friend, Shay, you know that,” I lie again. Well, I guess technically it’s not a lie. He’s just a friend right now, since he knows nothing about my feelings for him.

“Good.” She claps a bunch of times in a row. Her face lights up. “Because I made you a dating profile.”

If my face falls, she doesn’t give any inclination that she notices. I make an effort to keep my expressions as neutral as possible while she brings her phone’s screen to her face, unlocking it. She swipes and clicks a few things. When she shows me the screen, it’s my face staring back at me.

A picture of me and Shay at a wedding a year or two ago. Her face is cut from the photo, but I know exactly which picture she used. One that Rhett took.

“Here—” She swipes again. It’s another picture of me. This one, I’m in my old house with a glass of wine in my hand. It rubs me the wrong way that she used pictures from when I was with Rhett on my new dating profile, but she probably didn’t have many others to choose from. “So, I just said some basic shit about how you like the outdoors and animals and hanging out with friends, blah blah. I put five pictures on it, but you can add more if you want. And you can finish the dating prompts.”

“Okay…?” I stare at the phone, and she hands it to me.

I fully thought she was knocking on my door to apologize for practically ditching me the whole weekend, but I guess she’s just here to show me how to work a dating app.

“Right, so here’s the page for you to finish. You can change the age and location of the men you want and also filter for things like looking for kids or religion or pet preference. I filled it out to the best of my ability, but you’ll want to add little fun touches to make a guy want to message you.”

Shay takes the phone from my hands when I don’t respond. “Let’s get you started. What age range, Fal?”

“What are the options?” I ask with annoyance.

“Let’s just do twenty-five to thirty-five. Does that sound good? Or do you want to go older or younger?”

“No, that’s fine.” I bite my nails, taking a seat on the bed. Shay lies on her stomach across the foot of the bed.

“We’ll do a thirty-mile radius from your house and see who we get.” She hits a few buttons and motions for me to join her.

I go along with it, clicking a little star icon on a few random cute guys, but mostly, we laugh about viewing the profiles of the men we know: Ray from the bank, Jude from elementary school, our friend Savannah’s brother Cash, and one of Shay’s old boyfriends, Jake.

Shay and I laugh and laugh. What had me angry and nervous ended up being a fun night with my friend. I have absolutely zero desire to date any of these men, but their profiles and the answers to their dating prompts are so dumb they’re funny.

This is what I needed from a girls’ trip. Not Shay hitting the bars every night.

“Brown eyes, brown hair, jawline like a ‘giga Chad.’” I side-eye her choice of words. “Hey, that’s what my younger cousins would call it. It’s a Gen Alpha thing. But fuck, this guy is hot.”

I hold my breath, hoping to God we don’t scroll and find Jeb. I don’t think he has a dating profile, but we’ve never really brought it up. He could have one, I guess.

Shay turns the screen toward me, and I sigh in relief when it’s some other brown-haired guy with a chiseled jawline.

“Your homework is to download this app onto your phone. I’ll give you the password, and I want you to message three guys daily. It’s fine if it’s just one message, although I prefer you be somewhat flirty. Actually, let’s change the distance so you can practice chatting with guys a little farther away. Don’t want to scare the local ones while you practice.”

“Fine,” I say on a sigh, debating whether or not to tell her how I feel about Jeb.

Ultimately, Jeb deserves to be the first to know.

After a three-hour delay in the airport, Shay has to go directly home to make it in time for an afternoon meeting, so Corbin picks me up from the airport.

“Guess the guy never left?” Corbin nods toward Jeb’s truck when we pull up to the front of my house.

“Guess not.”

“He’s funny once you get to know him,” he says, fishing for more information about Jeb.

“I know.” I don’t give any other information.

“Wait. Don’t open the door yet.” I stop and turn to look at Corbin, waiting for him to explain why he doesn’t want me to open my door yet.

“Why?” I scrunch my eyebrows.

“Look.” Corbin points toward the driveway and the garage. “He can’t see through this window tint, so it’s okay to stare. But look at Jeb waiting for you. He has his hands in his pockets and everything. He seems nervous.”

I stare at Jeb’s bare feet, muscular arms, soft smile, and kind eyes, wishing I could take a picture, but not with Corbin next to me. Instead, I purse my lips, trying not to smile in front of Corbin, but it’s no use. A bundle of electricity courses through my veins, and a smile overtakes my face before I can stop it. Jeb looks hot as hell.

“Go get your man, Fal. I’ll drop your luggage on the side of the house.” He smirks at me and I don’t disagree with him. Instead, I hop out without a look back.

The look on Jeb’s face when he sees me can only be described as the opposite of Couch Guy. His face says it all, while his body stays still like a statue at risk of cracking and crumbling with one wrong move. What starts as a fast walk ends with a jog as I run up my driveway toward Jeb. He holds his arms out to hug me, and I jump into them. My legs wrap around his waist, and he spins us. I block out how Corbin’s probably leaned against his truck, watching the whole thing go down.

“Fallon.” He nestles his face in my hair, and I squeeze him a little tighter.

I’m so nervous about the dating app situation that the first words I say to him are, “Shay made me a dating profile.”

Jeb all but drops me on the driveway, and I feel the loss of him before I see it. His face falls. Like an actor portraying the emotion of betrayal, Jeb can’t hide it. If one sentence can douse the fire crackling between us, it’s that one.

“That’s probably a good thing, Fallon. If you’re ready, that is.” The fake, cheerful tone of his voice has me wondering if that’s any indication he’s masking other feelings.

“Let’s go inside so I can tell you about the trip.” I change the subject, and it feels shitty to do, like I’m hiding something. I grab a Yuengling for him and a High Noon for me, then we sit on the couch.

“You look like you’re glowing, Fal. The beach did its thing to you.”

“Thanks.” I twirl the rogue braid with beads hanging under the rest of my hair.

“So tell me about the dating app. Have you met anyone?” His expression is indifferent. Is he worried we can’t be friends if I’m dating? Is he dating?

“No. Well, Shay had me click the star on some guys, and some of them had starred me, but I haven’t messaged any.” I open the app to show Jeb, but decide it’s a bad idea when I see some guy named Mitch has messaged me.

“This might be good for you.” His jaw ticks, his actions not matching his words.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready,” I divulge. “But Shay thinks it’s a good idea, so I’m going with it.”

“Oh, okay. Well, maybe the dating app will pull through for you.” The inflection of his voice is the only hint that he doesn’t mean it.

Does he think it’s too soon for me to be dating, or is there another reason?

“Have you thought about dating since the accident?” I ask him.

“I have.” He concentrates on peeling the label from his beer.

“You’ve thought about it, or you have dated?” I clarify.

“I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t dated.” He looks up from his beer, “My last relationship ended a few months before the accident. I kept in touch with her after the breakup, and we’d talk occasionally, but I haven’t heard from her since the accident.”

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“I think I’m ready, but I would probably need to take things slow. I mean, I still live in my parents’ basement,” he jokes.

“Maybe you need to make a dating profile for yourself.” I smile politely, waiting to gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t have one.