Chapter 10
Jealous Again
Istop for groceries at the Fresh Mart close to home.
Peach pie was, umm … mentioned, but I’d need more time for that.
It doesn’t take long to find everything I need and make it home without further incident.
Hopefully, we can turn the page on this chapter of my crappy car saga, but I still don’t trust it.
As soon as I’m home, I chop strawberries, fold in the glaze by hand, and put the plastic lids back on the filled pie shell containers, leaving them to chill in the fridge with a few cans of whipped cream. I’ll keep one here for Daniel and take the rest to The Drip.
Neither of us slept much after our late-night drive and the storm.
But there’s no time for a nap or to review all the emotional fishtailing right now, so I take a few minutes to freshen up my hair and makeup.
I pull up a Southern rock playlist to hype myself up for some fun and let The Black Crowes set the mood.
No more feelings today, thank you very much.
The humidity worked in favor of my wavy hair, but there’s no escaping sweaty summer pits, so I change into the black Poison T-shirt I cut into a tank top, with an off-white lacy skirt over some bike shorts.
A long hippie fringed vest and combat boots complete the look, and I laugh at my reflection.
My dad would hate this outfit.
Ironically, so would Nathan.
The parking situation at the coffeehouse is maddening, so I check the weather to decide if I want to walk the two blocks.
I could ride with Daniel and Jace, but we might need a break, even if it’s just an hour.
I load the pies and whipped cream into a reusable grocery tote with some paper plates and pull out my phone to see where Annie is.
Me: Annie are ya ok? Are ya ok Annie?
DC’s loading a couple of guitars and small amps into Jace’s truck right outside our front window, but I really should go with Annie or walk.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I do a double take at the name that appears.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Heading out. Do you want to ride with us?
What the actual heck? Who is Jude Daniel?
Oh. My. Goodness.
Aunt Judy called him JD all day, and at least once I thought I heard Jude. I knew it!
I don’t know how all that fit in his contact information, but I do remember when he helped himself to my back pocket. The one attached to my rear end. He’s always flirty, but that was bold. Even for him.
My stomach flutters with a bit of embarrassment remembering I was the instigator that time.
Me: Waiting on Annie. Go ahead. What does this mean? Are you saying your first name is JUDE?
It’s not lost on me that he’s named for the song that brings me the most comfort in the all-time history of music. And we’re both named after Beatles songs. Okay, he could be named after Jude from the Bible, but still. What are the odds?
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: I wasn’t sure if you knew, but I also saved my job description for you. See you soon.
I laugh to myself and send back my usual hearts and hang loose emoji, then check to see if Annie answered. She hasn’t. I must’ve missed some messages while I was gone.
3:25 p.m.
Nathan: Where are you?
3:42 p.m.
Nathan: Seriously? You’re ignoring me?
3:55 p.m.
Nathan: Freaking unbelievable
4:11 p.m.
Nathan: Apparently you have other people to see. Just like you to kick me when I’m down …
There are some other words in there, and they feel like fists. Maybe he’d understand if I explained in person, but I’m not going into battle with him tonight. He’s not going to speak to me for a while anyway. My eyes sting, but I shake it off. I need to walk.
Me: I was gone most of the day getting my car fixed. Then I got groceries. I’ve been home since then but didn’t hear my phone. Heading to the coffee shop with Annie.
Do I intentionally not mention Daniel?
Yes, but not because I’m trying to get away with anything.
When we started dating, I thought we’d be one big happy family of friends, but Nathan apparently doesn’t play well with others.
The rules I follow to avoid upsetting him have gotten completely out of hand. Sometimes it’s easier not to tell him things … which sucks. That’s not who I am. I know I’ve spent too much time with Daniel lately, and I hate how it looks, but I’m struggling here.
I’ve felt more alone with Nathan than I ever did without him. And communicating has become a lot like defusing a bomb. I don’t know how to get out without blowing everything up, but lighting the fuse and walking away may be my only option.
An ugly breakup seems imminent, so missing his texts is a temporary reprieve. Guilt presses its way into my thoughts. How would I feel if he didn’t answer all day? Actually, I know exactly how it feels. It happens all the time.
Another text buzzes in my hand.
Annie: I’m ok! No bloodstains in the carpet! Lab ran late. Go ahead and I’ll see you there.
I shove my phone, keys, and wallet into a cross-body bag and throw it over my head, pulling my hair over the strap as I pick up the grocery tote and lock the door behind me.
The evening heat has come down to a slow simmer, so I’m happy to walk.
Crape myrtles line the street in vibrant colors, and their late summer petals sprinkle the sidewalk like pink and purple confetti.
The nandina bushes strongly consider yellow for their first wardrobe change of the season, while patches of monkey grass remain blissfully unaware of any seasonal change.
This is my favorite little stretch of Crappie Branch, as long as I watch my step. Those hard green persimmons dropping onto the sidewalk are unforgiving little ankle breakers.
I wonder why Daniel never mentioned his name before today. Wait—is he named after Aunt Judy? I think I solved the mystery, but my thoughts are scurrying around like squirrels. I need a nap.
A flashback of the hallway and “Tearin’ Down the Walls” zips through my thoughts, making me shiver. Mercy, stop it. I don’t have the mental capacity for this.
It’s just friendship.
But why would I want a relationship without friendship?
I may be completely insane—arguing with myself—but that pushy Fairy Snark Mother voice in my head keeps getting louder.
Movies always show your conscience like Jiminy Cricket or a fluffy cartoon angel on your shoulder. My conscience is either a sarcastic Gen X truth bomber with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes, or Dean Winchester. Maybe Uncle Jesse.
It doesn’t talk me down from the ledge—it smirks and double-dog-dares me to say what I’m really thinking. There’s a constant inner battle between verbal assault and rolling over to play dead. I’m capable of both, but I probably roll over when I should fight back.
I haven’t fully mastered the controls.
When I push the door open, Ms. Liz, the owner, comes around the counter to hug me, commenting on my big hair as she takes the tote from my hands. There’s been so much hugging. I’ll be decompressing for days.
“Look at you! So stinkin’ adorable. Are these pies for Danny’s birthday?
I have cake pops too. I’ll put them in the back for later.
Here, give me your purse. Hurry and rescue him.
” She waves me toward Daniel. “That little redhead’s been glued to him for the last fifteen minutes.
He was getting twitchy watching the door for you. ”
Well, great, now I’m twitchy.
“Me?” I scrunch up my face. “Maybe he likes her. How would I know?”
“Oh, please. She’s like twelve.” She swats me with a bar rag. “And he’s been raising his eyebrows at me to get your attention since you walked in. Look.” She turns my face with her hands and forces me to look at him. “Go save your man.”
“But he’s not …”
She laughs, shooing me in DC’s direction as she goes back to the kitchen.
He’s not mine.
Sometimes we play fake me and fake mine. It’s a super fun game where the rules are made up and the score doesn’t matter.
I meet Daniel’s eyes, and he silently pleads with a tight-lipped grin and the slightest lift of his chin, willing me to come to him. He’s tuning a guitar next to an adorable redhead who’s gawking at him like he’s the cutest member of a boy band.
Occasionally, when the light hits just right, he might look a little dangerous, but I could burst her bubble. He has no interest in being a rock star. She won’t become famous or gain a million followers.
The way she looks at him with stars in her eyes makes me feel a teeny bit homicidal. It shouldn’t, because this happens all the time. Some girls are just into musicians, which I could not possibly relate to, but DC’s not into meeting girls this way.
I don’t know why not. If I were hot, a little broody with a silly side, and insanely talented, I’d go with it.
But alas, this is not my first rodeo. Playing the part of his girlfriend comes way too naturally, and he finds a way to up the ante every time.
I’ve done it for Jace on occasion too, but that assignment stretches my acting skills pretty darn thin.
Where is Sam? Our beautiful drummer boy is perfectly willing to be ogled. He’s hard to miss at six feet four inches of blond-haired, blue-eyed, ripped, Southern perfection. And he likes to meet girls. Plural. As in, as many as possible. She’ll spot him soon enough.
But until then …
I walk up to Daniel’s chair and try not to react when he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me between his legs to send a clear, yet very false message to his young admirer.
“Hey, baby,” he says without hesitation as he sets the guitar back on a stand to put both arms around me.
Oh, sugar-honey-freaking-iced-tea.
He definitely showered when he got home. That hint of spicy-sweet cologne is more present than earlier. Can he feel me sniffing his hair? I can’t help it. My prefrontal cortex is out of service, and my lizard brain is at the wheel.