Chapter Six
“Are you at Steven’s yet?” asked Gabby, her voice hushed and covert-like over the phone speaker. “I really wish you would have let me come along. What if things go south? You need protection.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Peyton, sliding onto the wooden stool at the bar.
The countertop was a frosted, backlit glass top that glowed pale yellow.
Behind the bar was a mirror reflecting both the hundreds of bottles of liquor as well as her warped reflection.
At least the lights were dim and if you didn’t know that the sun was still out, the sky a silvery blue, you’d think it was midnight.
“I can’t believe you decided to meet up with her,” came Gabby. “She seems absolutely crazy. What if she spikes your drink?”
“I don’t think that will happen, but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll keep my drink far away from her.” Peyton shifted her cell phone against her ear and flicked a finger at the bartender. “Bourbon, neat.”
The door to the bar suddenly opened.
Josie walked through it. The dim golden bulbs hanging from the ceiling caught not just her face but the soft cleavage sticking out of her scoop-neck black T-shirt.
Out of nowhere, a thrumming sensation started at her navel and meandered down to her thighs.
Peyton picked up the tumbler the bartender had just deposited in front of her and gulped down its contents, shivering when the alcohol hit her bloodstream.
At least she had the common sense to suggest a bar as a point of meeting and not a coffee shop.
Alcohol was rarely her crutch, but tonight she was bound to lean heavily on it.
“Peyton, are you there?” asked Gabby. Her voice sounded disconnected, probably because Peyton had subconsciously lowered the cell phone down to the counter and was staring far too intensely at Josie ambling toward her.
She snapped her head back to her glass and quickly muttered, “I’ll call you back.” Then ended the call. Placing the phone screen down on the countertop, Peyton just managed to gather herself before Josie reached her.
“Hi,” said Josie. Her lips quirked faintly. She didn’t sit down at first and instead slid her elbow across the countertop and leaned into it. “I thought you might bail.”
“Believe me, I was considering it,” mumbled Peyton, who was finding it hard to look at Josie.
It was like looking at the sun and knowing you might lose twenty percent of your vision.
She just caught the woman out of the corner of her eye.
Bright brown eyes. Faint traces of mascara on her long lashes.
Blonde hair pulled back into a low bun with two wavy strands of hair framing her face.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”
The bartender walked toward them. Peyton ordered another bourbon and Josie asked for a glass of white wine, both of which were placed down in front of them within a minute.
“So, why not just apologize over the phone,” said Peyton, running her fingers across the tumbler.
She was reminded of that day, one year ago, when Josie had sat across from her, her thumbs running up and down the side of her glass as if she was trying to rub it dry.
Over the last year, snippets of that night had plagued her like a song stuck on repeat, and whenever the images bounced into her head, she would toss them out of her mind so quickly they could have been balls of fire.
Peyton would never admit it to anyone and could hardly even admit it to herself, but Josie had, in fact, made an impression on her. She just hadn’t figured out what kind of impression yet.
Josie sat down on the edge of the stool. She took a deep breath in, flicked her gaze across the room where two men played pool, the balls clacking together, and focused her attention back on Peyton. “I realized I came off too strongly the other day.”
“You think?”
“It’s just that I’ve always believed in fate. I believe in the idea that everything happens for a reason.”
That word made Peyton shudder, a physical shudder that Josie had noticed.
At least she hadn’t asked her about it. The last thing Peyton wanted to do was to explain to Josie that fate was the reason her life had crumbled around her.
Fate was the reason there were broken pieces of her life she could never get back.
Josie continued. “My dad was a big believer in fate, always saying that we’re guided by unseen forces toward our destinies. He believed that people’s paths are woven into the fabric of the universe.”
“So, your dad’s a quack?”
“Was,” corrected Josie. “He died two years ago. Stroke. It came out of nowhere.”
Peyton winced and glanced down at her glass of bourbon, which was once again empty.
She tried to will the amber liquid back into it, but considering the bartender was nowhere to be seen, she could do nothing to numb the regret.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” she muttered. “I’m sure your father was a good man.”
“It’s fine,” said Josie, waving it off. But it was clear that it wasn’t fine.
Peyton swore she could see a glint of a tear in the woman’s eyes.
“And yes, he was. He was great. A little eccentric maybe, but that’s one of the reasons my parents got married…
” Josie stopped speaking when a man walked up to them.
Peyton had only spotted him when he was standing right beside her.
His blue eyes were shrouded by thick brows and hair that was meticulously cut.
He was good looking, no doubt. A dimple sat center on his chin, and broad shoulders shone through the sky-blue shirt.
“Can I buy you two a drink?” he asked, his smile so cheeky it could charm the fizz out of a can of soda.
Another drink was exactly what Peyton needed.
But what she didn’t need was a man trying to pick her up.
So, she swiveled on the bar stool to face him as she put on a faux grin.
“We’re talking about periods. You know, big bloody periods.
If you want to partake in our conversation, then please feel free to do so.
Maybe you have some advice on cramping?”
He stepped back, his face panicked like a deer in headlights, and before she could pat the stool beside her, he ran off.
Josie chuckled and tucked a strand of wheat blonde hair behind her ear. Three small diamond piercings lined her lobe. “Smooth.”
“What can I say?” said Peyton, transfixed by the earrings she hadn’t noticed before. Considering that she had studied every line and curve of Josie’s body, and not spotted the studs, she could only assume they were new. “It’s not my first-time chasing men away.”
A fiery flicker suddenly blazed in Josie’s eyes.
A retort perhaps. Peyton was more than ready to give one back, especially since that prickle of annoyance that had arisen when Josie’s voice had sounded on the other end of the station’s line yesterday still hadn’t faded.
But Josie looked to swallow whatever she had wanted to say and instead brought the glass of wine to her lips, saying nothing at all.
So far, the reason for meeting at Stevens was as clear as a dirt-stained piece of glass.
Peyton didn’t care about an apology. She didn’t need one, and the longer she sat there—Josie so close she could smell her flowery scent. Imagine fresh cut jasmine and blades of newly mowed grass—the angstier she got.
“Why are we here, Josie?” she asked, her voice sharp and blunt.
Josie looked startled. She cleared her throat and moved her fingers around the stem of the wine the glass, gazing briefly at them before she met Peyton’s gaze once more, latching on tightly. “It all started with a bedtime story my dad used to tell me.”
Geez. The woman couldn’t get any weirder. Peyton tried to break her gaze free from Josie’s, but it was like trying to escape from golden handcuffs. Her body suddenly felt soft, her breath heavy and when she managed to speak the words “A bedtime story?” it was so quiet she barely heard herself.
“About a pirate and his childhood love,” said Josie. “I want to show you where that story came from. Maybe if you can see it, feel it, you can understand why I said what—”
“A pirate,” interrupted Peyton, and then, like a sledgehammer had come and gone, the golden handcuffs were broken, and a chuckle escaped her throat. She did nothing to sugarcoat the sarcasm. “You can’t be serious?”
But the look on Josie’s face was deathly serious. “I knew if I asked you to come somewhere with me, you would just end the call—”
“Of course, I would’ve.” Peyton wanted to spell out ‘coincidence’ and ‘you’re completely bonkers’ but bit back the retort.
She had already stepped too far by calling Josie’s deceased father a quack.
Another remark and she would be considered a bad person.
But then again, who cared about being a good person when a crazy woman was desperately trying to convince you that fate, the most illogical thing in the world, existed?
“The last thing I want to do is go anywhere with you.”
“I knew you would say that too.” Josie stepped forward, less than a foot, but her thigh had just knocked against Peyton’s knee and Peyton’s heart had then somehow dropped down to her hips, beating hungrily.
It really didn’t help that Peyton hadn’t had sex in at least three months, and it definitely didn’t help that Josie’s skin-tight jeans showed off her deliciously soft curves, and that cleavage… oh hell, that cleavage was like a soft, satin pillow she wanted to fall right into.
“I won’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try,” she added.
Peyton’s heart lodged back in its rightful place between her ribs. “Try what?”
“To show you that there’s a reason we met again exactly one year after…” her voice trailed off. Peyton knew what she meant. After they had sex. Great sex. So great that Peyton had once—fine, at least three times—pleasured herself just by remembering how Josie’s legs had fallen apart for her.
But that was all it was. Just great sex. Whatever had happened at Manuel Antonio was nothing more than a hook-up meant to numb the pain of a broken heart.
And then Josie spoke again. “To convince you that us meeting each other after all this time, in small town Morro Bay no less, can’t just be a coincidence.”
Peyton wanted to laugh at the top of her lungs. Hell, she wanted to shout too, but she had to handle this right, like coaxing a fire into submission. It required the right approach, no funny business, no reacting recklessly.
“So, you really think that taking me to some…” Peyton waited for Josie to finish the sentence. She wondered what bizarre location the woman wanted to whisk her off to just to prove a point.
“Beach.”
“So, a beach,” repeated Peyton, not at all expecting something so simple. “Is this going to make me believe in fate?”
“Yes.”
For a second, they just watched each other. A second too long as something unexplainable, something like a torrent of static, passed between them. Peyton’s breath caught in her throat. That damned fire between her thighs grew again and she had to uncross and recross her legs.
The only thing she could think of was to rip the band-aid off with one swift flick. The sooner Peyton could disprove Josie’s beliefs and show her that fate was nothing but an illusion, a whimsical notion spun from coincidence and wishful thinking, the sooner she could get Josie out of her life.
“Fine. I’ll go with you,” she relented, hating herself for it. But what could she do? Let the cut beneath the band-aid fester? “But if you don’t convince me, then that’s it. I don’t want to see you again or hear from you again, alright?”
A shadow passed over the woman’s face for the briefest second, but then, as if the lights flipped back on again, Josie’s face brightened, and a grin spread across her cheeks. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at your house tomorrow. Just give me the address.”
Peyton shook her head furiously from side to side. The last thing she wanted was for Josie to know where she lived. “I don’t think so. How about I meet you at your house tomorrow after work? I get off at five.”
Josie nodded. “That works great too.”
Since there was nothing more to do, Peyton slid off the barstool, put cash on the bar, and left without a word.