38. Alexandra
thirty-eight
After Christopher leaves, I stand from the couch. It’s still warm, from where he was sitting just now, and his scent lingers.
I can’t take it.
He looked so good tonight. He was wearing a white shirt, open collar, dress pants, sleek leather belt.
He shaved.
I like him better with a three-day stubble, but that’s not the point. He made an effort tonight. He got all dressed up to go to Emma’s. Like he was going on a date.
And that frigging hurts.
So I shake the funk, heat up a bowl of soup in the microwave. Then I sit at the cold table in the empty kitchen and eat while I finish memorizing the last chapter of my textbook.
As I’m closing the book, my phone rings. Sarah. Yay!
I pick up, shove my earbuds in, clean my bowl and tidy the kitchen while I talk to her.
“Watcha doin’?” Sarah asks.
“Getting ready to go out to the Growler.”
“Sounds fun. What are you wearing?”
“Not dressed yet,” I say as I get to my room. I strip down to my undies and start curling my hair. “I was thinking jeans, cowboy boots, and my clingy dark green top. What do you think?”
“Sounds sexy. More importantly, what does Chris think?”
My heart sinks. “He’s not coming. I’m going with Grace and some other women,” I say as I check the back of my hair in the mirror, then move the curler to the front.
“Oh. Girls Night Out? He’s on babysitting duty?”
My stomach sinks again. “He’s having dinner at someone’s. Skye’s friend’s mom.”
“Oh?… Oh.” She pauses for a beat, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “We’re cool with that? Did you ever tell me about her?”
“Yeah, Emma. The CPA who makes him homemade yogurt and has her mug and frother and other stuff at his house?”
“Oh.” Sarah’s silence is telling. “Well, at least it’s not her toothbrush.”
I take a deep breath. “I guess…” I unplug the curler, plop my hair, and spray it a little. It looks awesome, all curly and stuff. Too bad Christopher won’t be there to see it. He usually sees me with my hair pulled back, or worse, in a hair net.
I bet Emma is all dolled up for him.
I dig into my makeup pouch and start on the foundation.
“It looks like I caught you at the right time. Talk to me.”
“I know it’s not a date, but I’m not stupid. Christopher is maybe the only person who doesn’t see how Emma would be a perfect life partner for him. A perfect wife. She’s hot, a great mom, a single parent like him, she has a good relationship with her ex, meaning she’s levelheaded and has her shit together, emotionally. Something still debatable as far as I’m concerned, if I’m being honest.”
“Wow-wow Alex, back up a little. What the hell?”
“She’s perfect for him. She runs her own business like a pro. She’s a CPA, for crying out loud! She makes her own yogurt.”
“So what?”
“So? I don’t know anything about taxes, and running a small business, and she does. She does his books, she looks over his contracts, and she brings him fresh eggs from chickens she raises herself. She’s like, this perfect small-town wonder-woman.”
“And?”
“And I don’t even know what hole the egg comes out of!”
“What hole?” Sarah laughs.
“Yeah. The eggs were covered in shit. Do they come from the butthole? Or from the chicken’s vagina?”
“Ohmygod, Alex you’re too much,” she laughs hysterically, then calms down. “And that’s important because?”
“It’s important because it’s a reminder for me why I’m not Christopher’s person and cannot be anyone’s person.”
“Riiiight,” she says sarcastically. “Because you don’t know if the egg comes from the butthole or not. That’s critical to him. Makes perfect sense why you wouldn’t be the one for him.”
I take a deep breath. Not just because there’s no way I can explain this to Sarah, but also because I’m about to apply eye liner, and I need a steady hand.
I do my eyes extra smoky, and for some reason I always have to pull my face down when I do that, so my voice comes out funny when I say, “Point is, we’re not a couple. We agreed on that.”
“Really. You agreed on that.”
“Yeah, really.” I don’t need her to break down the barriers I put up. She doesn’t understand how hard it is for me, to see everything within reach, yet unattainable. I need these mental stops. These reminders that this is temporary. That my real life is something else and that with Christopher, I’m just making it easier while I’m here.
He wouldn’t want me for anything more than what we have. Otherwise, why would he go to dinner at Emma’s all dressed up like he was? “We said, if I tagged along tonight, we’d look like a couple, so we’re not doin’ that.”
I close the eyeliner thingy, stick it in my pouch, and pull out the mascara.
That I can do with my face straight, for some reason. “I had a good conversation with Barbara,” I tell Sarah and update her on our plans for Red Barn Baking. “Even if it’s a long shot, I’m excited to be working on making it a better place. Righting some wrongs, you know?”
“I get you, honey, and I’m glad it’s working out for you. Just don’t give up on yourself, okay?”
“Sarah. This is me not giving up on myself.” I think. “It helps me to focus on something where I can really make an impact. Something I have a right to.” I apply the last touch of mascara. My makeup is on point, with the focus on my eyes. I’ll finish it with a nude lipstick once I’m dressed. I don’t want to look like I’m trying to pick someone up.
“You have a right to the happy ever after too, Alex. You’re just refusing to see it.”
“Not in that way. Not for me,” I mumble.
She sighs, exasperated. “Two things. You’re wrong about that. And I love you.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up, and I put on the skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and clingy green top that makes my boobs look awesome without showing too much cleavage. I add gold dangle earrings, an emerald pendant, a stack of rings, and a spritz of perfume, and am ready right when Grace texts me from her car that she’s out front.
I look at myself in the mirror.
I look hot.
At least there’s that.
“How’s the hottest bachelor in Emerald Creek doing?” a girl with long red hair croons my way.
She’s a friend of Autumn’s, and we bumped into Autumn and Kiara the minute we got to The Growler.
“That would be Chris,” Autumn volunteers.
I feel myself blushing. “Um… good. Great, I guess.”
“Great?” the red head gushes. “Tell us everything.”
I’m pretty sure I’m scarlet by now. Kiara is watching with sadistic fun. Grace comes to my rescue. “Guys, seriously. Leave her alone.”
“I want to know if you broke his armor,” the girl insists. She’s two drinks ahead of us.
What is she even talking about? “Broke what?”
The girl sighs. “He swore off women after Skye’s mother—”
“She’s not Skye’s mother,” Grace cuts in.
“Birth mother,” Autumn corrects.
Grace shakes her head.
“That’s beside the point,” the girl says. “What we want to know is, are you breaking him? Autumn says he commissioned a whole bedroom makeover for you. I don’t wanna sound crude, but that’s kind of… So, did ya? Break him.”
Autumn giggles.
Kiara still has her sadistic grin on.
“What?” I’m totally confused.
The girl sighs. “Like I said, he swore off women after… whatever. Bottom line, she ruined him for the rest of us. He needs fixing. Breaking in.”
“He’s just protecting Skye,” Grace cuts in.
The girl ignores Grace. “We were thinking—hoping—that you would break the spell. Make him see that women aren’t all bad.”
“We?”
“Us girls. We talk. You’re perfect for him, by the way—” she says, looking me over from top to bottom.
My heart flutters.
“—because you’ll be leaving.”
“Oh,” I say stupidly.
“No risk of attachment,” she explains. “He’ll be more inclined to, you know, test the waters again.”
I force a chuckle. “Oh. You’re funny.”
“I’m serious,” the red head says.
Kiara hands me my first drink of the evening, an amber liquid on the rocks. “Bambi,” she says quietly, “put your big girl pants on. Drink.”
The liquid burns my mouth, hits my upset stomach, and gives me an internal pat. My eyes narrow on Kiara. “What’s my new best friends’ name?” I ask her.
The redhead opens her mouth, but Kiara interrupts her. “Whistle Pig,” she tells me, then turns to the girl. “She means the whiskey, honey.”
“Come on, guys,” Grace says once we all have a drink in hand. “Let’s have fun.”
As we elbow our way through the dense crowd, I try to shake away the uneasy feeling taking root in my stomach from what the girl said.
It’s not too long until a group of guys who know the redhead from her work introduce themselves. I promptly forget their names, but most of them are eye candy, so I mingle in the conversation.
Little things, right?
I realize I miss going out with a man. Tagging along with a group of friends on a Friday night while having someone’s arm to latch onto, someone’s hand on the small of your back as you enter a crowded space. Someone whose body language tells everyone, She’s mine, and she’s the one I’m taking home tonight. Am I shallow? Maybe. Shallow feels good to me, especially tonight. Shallow keeps me going.
Shallow is where I won’t drown.
There’s a guy in the group who’s making eye contact with me. A lot. He’s very tall, taller than Christopher, with ash blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a strong jaw.
He looks like a Viking. And the Viking seems set on me. He remembers my name and leans over to ask me questions like he really cares. After maybe fifteen minutes, I know enough about him.
I do let the Viking slide his hand on the small of my back as he hands me a refill on my drink, though. No harm in that, I think.
Then the girls decide to go play pool, and I move away from him.
He and his friends follow us, and I wish I hadn’t accepted his drink. Hadn’t let his hand stay on the small of my back like he owned me. A drink doesn’t buy you someone.
Men only bring misery.
They also bring massive headaches, I realize as I take my turn at the pool table, and he uses the excuse to wrap his body around me, his hands over mine on the cue. I try to push him back before taking my shot, but only succeed at rubbing myself against his erection.
I elbow him. “Stop it,” I say.
Instead, he wraps himself tighter around me.
“I said stop,” I repeat, louder.
The energy in the room shifts, and I hear Christopher’s voice right behind me. “She said stop.”
I freeze, and the Viking digs his fingers in my waist, making me wince.
“Hey, man, get your hands off me. Mind your business,” the Viking says, still at my back.
“She is my business,” Christopher says, making my heart rattle.
The guy releases his grip on me. “You never said you had a boyfriend.”
“I—I don’t have a—” I begin to protest.
The Viking doesn’t have time to process what’s going on. Christopher shoves him so powerfully away from me, he crashes against the wall.
Christopher hooks his arm around my waist and flattens it on my belly. “You do now,” he grunts. He keeps an eye on the guy picking himself up and moving away from the wall but glances at me. His grip on me releases slightly, giving me the option to uncouple myself from him. There’s a question in his eyes, and he’s waiting for an answer. I grab his loosening hand and tighten it around me.
In the background, Autumn and the redhead’s eyes are glued to us with their mouths hanging, slow smiles building. The redhead gives me a thumbs up and tilts her beer bottle my way, while Autumn mouths, “So hot,” and fans herself. I’m not sure where Grace and Kiara are, and I don’t have time to find out.
The Viking comes charging at Christopher, who tucks me to the side and dodges him, then grabs my wrist and pulls me out a back door. The door slams behind us, only to reopen a moment later, with the Viking silhouetted against the light and the music spilling into the parking lot.
Christopher pushes me behind him. “Get in the car,” he says, and although the guy has his fists balled up, Christopher takes the time to take his key fob out his pocket, unlock the door, and pocket his key as the guy lunges at him. He swerves, and the guy misses, losing his balance and stumbling past Christopher. Christopher grabs the guy’s collar and pulls him back toward him, then swiftly head butts him.
One hit. The guy teeters then falls straight back on the asphalt.
Christopher grabs the guy’s feet and drags him next to the back door. Sits him against the wall. The guy’s head lolls down. Christopher pulls the guy’s pants down to his ankles then ties the legs around the guy’s neck. Hands on his hips, he tilts his head, seemingly satisfied.
But as he walks back to me, his gaze switches from mild amusement to an intense fire.
I slide into the passenger seat.