Chapter 7 #2
Neither of us comments on how sad we are.
Me, crushing on his sister five years my senior, and him still hung up on his first love.
Oh, we cover both up, choosing to live life as best we can.
I mean, we are twenty-four, almost twenty-five, respectfully.
We do everything you’d imagine guys in their early twenties would do.
But we both carry extra weight, on our shoulders and chest. Pressure we don’t talk about unless we’re alone and feeling the heaviness like tonight.
As I so often do, I think about Charli. Though, this time, I see her in a slightly brighter light.
Something was different about our interactions today in her studio.
Not only did I feel her eyes on me when she walked in and saw me standing there in my underwear, but her words held a slight change.
One that danced on the side of flirting instead of our normal back-and-forth banter.
The entire room felt sexually charged, a feeling I’ve never gotten from her before.
Hell, maybe I’m just imagining it because I want to feel that.
I want her to look at me as a man she’s attracted to, not her younger brother’s best friend.
Seeing the way her eyes dilated as she drank in my entire body like I was a cold drink of water after a long day of working outside was a jolt to my libido.
It made my desire for her increase tenfold, and it was already on the verge of consuming my every waking thought.
Now, I picture the way her eyes burned into me, feel the tingle across my skin from her hands.
It’s a form of hell I wasn’t prepared for.
It’s a memory I’ll never forget.
“You got it, sweetheart?”
I glare over at my friend. If I wasn’t carrying the hundredth sheet of OSB, I’d lift my hand and flip him off. Instead, I voice it. “Fuck off,” I mutter, tossing the sheet onto the stack in his trailer and ignoring the sound of his laughter.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks, grinning from ear to ear as he takes off the pair of leather work gloves he put on before we started loading the wood.
“Nope, it was great. Just the workout I needed after a long day of lifting sheets of steel to make cabinets from,” I bark out, trying not to sound annoyed.
It’s been a very long Wednesday, and I’m more than ready for a bite to eat, a shower, and bed.
It’s been a week and a half since I went to Charli’s studio, and even though we didn’t make another appointment, I contemplate what to do.
She may tell me to beat it, to go back to the big place in North Ridge, or she’ll tell me she has an appointment available Saturday, before we celebrate her thirtieth birthday.
The way I’m feeling, I’m going to need another massage soon.
At the end of the workday, Camden called to ask if I’d help him load OSB sheets into his trailer at the hardware store.
He got his landlord’s permission to redo the interior of the old garage, reinsulating the space and replacing the interior wood that’s been there since the garage was built in the seventies.
Since Camden utilizes the space often for tune-ups and small mechanical jobs, he made a deal with the landlord that if he purchased the materials, Camden would do the work.
Which means I’m helping…
Camden laughs. “Quit your bellyaching and help me strap this down,” he says, tossing me the hooked end on his strap so I can secure it to the trailer.
The insulation is already loaded in the bed of his truck, and as soon as we finish securing the load on the trailer, we’ll head back to his place and unload inside the garage.
Just as he tightens down both straps, his phone rings. “Hey, big sister,” he answers, catching my attention.
I haven’t seen or talked to Charli since the meal we shared after my massage.
I paid the tab, and she covered the tip, as she said she would.
It was an enjoyable late lunch that was over way too quickly for my liking, but it wasn’t a date.
It was me feeding her after she didn’t have time to stop and eat during her workday.
“Uhh, yeah. I can do that. I just gotta run home and drop the trailer.” He listens for a moment before adding, “No, don’t do that. I got you, sister. See you in a bit.”
When he hangs up the phone, I just watch him, waiting.
Finally, he tells me what the call was about.
“Charli’s sick. She went to see Dr. Houston this afternoon.
She’s got a sinus infection, ear infection, and the start of an upper respiratory infection.
He prescribed her some meds, but the pharmacy was backed up and Sommer was off today and they weren’t ready yet.
She asked if I could stop by and grab them for her. ”
“I can do it,” I suggest without even thinking.
He just pins me with a knowing look.
“It would make things easier. You’ve got the trailer, and we both know that thing’s a bitch to get in and out of the pharmacy lot. I’m in my work truck so I can stop by, grab her stuff, drop it off at her house, and be over to your place in time to help you unload.”
He exhales loudly, knowing my idea is better and more efficient than his. But he’d do his idea—run home, drop the trailer, and head back to the pharmacy—in a heartbeat just because she needs him. “Makes sense. Grab pizza on your way back though.”
I snort and pull my keys from my pocket. “Of course.”
“Oh, and grab her some Gatorade or something too.”
“Done,” I reply, trying to contain my anxiousness at getting what Charli needs and over to her as soon as possible.
“Want me to call in the pizza?”
“Sure,” I reply, turning and heading for my truck, which is parked across the lot. “Give me thirty minutes, just in case the pharmacy is still busy.”
“Yep,” he hollers.
I climb into my truck and start the engine, glancing back to where he’s parked and finding him on the phone.
He’s most likely calling in our dinner order before he gets on the road and sidetracked.
That leaves me with thirty minutes to pick up what Charli needs and drop it off—checking on her in the process.
I hate the thought of her being sick but love the idea of getting to take care of her, even for only a few moments.
Placing a quick call to the diner, I head for the pharmacy with my mental shopping list.
My time might be limited, but I’m going to make the most of it. I find a parking spot on the street, halfway between the diner and the small pharmacy. Climbing from my truck cab, I keep my pace clipped until I reach the old glass door for Feldman’s Pharmacy and give it a tug.
“Hello, Quinn!” Mrs. Feldman hollers from the front counter, where she’s worked since she and her husband purchased the pharmacy before I was born.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Feldman,” I greet, grabbing a shopping basket and heading for the over-the-counter medicine aisle.
I grab everything I think she might need without knowing what she might or might not have.
Kleenex, cough drops, pain reliever, cold and flu medicine, and even some nasal saline.
Then, I head for the coolers and fill the basket with Gatorade.
I know for a fact Charli likes the grape flavor, so I buy all five bottles they have in stock.
Finally, I make my way to the back of the pharmacy and get in line.
There are only two customers in front of me, but since Jerry Feldman is the sole employee behind the pharmacy counter, I know it’ll take a few extra minutes for me to reach the front of the line.
I scroll through my phone just so I don’t have to chat with anyone else, which might be rude, but all I want to do is secure her medicine and get it to her house.
I hate the thought of her not being able to grab it earlier before she went home to rest.
When I reach the front of the line, Jerry gives me a toothy grin. “Hey, Quinn. Dropping off?” he asks, probably mentally running through the prescriptions he’s received and coming up empty for my name.
“Actually, I’m here to get Charli Miller’s prescriptions.”
“Oh, yes. Charlotte,” he says, spinning around to collect her bag. “Two today, an antibiotic and also a steroid. Do you want me to run through the instructions?” he offers, like he does with every prescription he fills.
“No, thank you.”
He nods, scanning the barcodes. “Any questions?”
“Not today, Jerry.”
“Want me to ring up the rest of your items?”
I’m torn between allowing him to do so and taking them up front to his wife. Honestly, it’ll probably take longer to go up front, since Edna Feldman is a master chatter. Plus, she’ll zero in on the fact I’m buying items for someone clearly not feeling well and try to get the details out of me.
“If you don’t mind,” I tell him, setting my basket on the counter.
“I don’t mind at all. Easier this way, running one transaction,” he replies, scanning all my purchases and placing them in a large paper sack. He even double bags it, since I have several bottles of Gatorade in there.
“No Sommer today, huh?” I ask to fill the time.
“Nope, she’s always off on Wednesdays,” he replies as he scans. “I gotta hire another tech. I’m getting too old to work by myself like this,” he says with a chuckle, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious.
“Thanks, Jerry,” I reply, signing my name and handing over the slip of paper from running my credit card.
“No problem, Quinn. Have a good one.”
I’m off, waving in greeting to those I pass, but not stopping to chat the way I might any other time. I stop at my truck and throw my purchases in the front seat. Then, I make my way to the diner to grab the soup I ordered.
Finally, I’m back in my truck and heading to Charli’s place, and the closer I get, the more anxious I am to help her.
I just pray her claws are retracted.