Chapter 13 #3
“S-sure,” she stammers.
Shit. Does she think I’m asking her out? Am I asking her out? No, Fall Fest is not a date. This is merely a professional invitation from one member of the Hometown Team to another.
“Only if you want to,” I add. I clear my throat and change the subject. “What about you? If you could do anything in the world—other than work for Hometown, of course—what would it be?”
She bites her bottom lip. “Oh, you know. Travel, see the world,” she says flippantly and dips her last tortilla chip into the queso. “Go to concerts and write about them for major publications. I’d love to work for Rolling Stone or Ms. magazine.”
“That sounds like the perfect job for you, Rhodes.”
She glows for a second and then her smile falters. “In the meantime, though, I’m… happy selling CDs.”
Part of me believes her and part of me doesn’t, especially when I think about that pathetic raise. I want her to stay, but I wonder if that’s holding her back.
Who am I kidding? Of course it’s holding her back. But that doesn’t change my selfish need for her to stay.
“What does the A stand for?” she asks.
“The A?”
“Yes. Your middle name. Jefferson Airplane Wilshire the fourth?”
I laugh. Outside of my family, only Sam knows my middle name. “No, it’s not airplane. It’s an old family name. Alphonse.”
Her eyes grow big. “That’s a mouthful, Jefferson Alphonse Wilshire the fourth. I think I like airplane better.”
“Me, too.” I push back my plate and order another beer. We talk about our favorite bands, first concerts, who we’ve seen, who’s on our concert bucket lists. We have a lot in common musically. She’s seen HollowPoint at least a dozen times. We talk about the Minnesota Twins, too.
“I admit, I’m only a baseball fan during the playoffs,” she says. “That Puckett home run in game six of the World Series in ninety-one? Epic.”
“Howie was at that game. Greatest moment of his life.”
On the TV behind the bar, the Cardinals are pummeling the Braves in the second game of the National League Championship Series. I glance at my watch. “Huh. It’s almost nine.”
“Nine?” she echoes. “We’ve been here four hours? That would explain why my bladder feels like it might burst. I need to use the restroom.”
After she walks away, I ask Lisa for the check—both of them.
By the time Abbey returns from the women’s room, I’m standing with my coat on, holding hers out to her like I’m Richard Gere and she’s Julia Roberts or some shit.
Like it’s got a mind of its own, my hand grazes the side of her neck as she steps back, and I swear she shudders at the touch.
“I need to pay,” she says.
“I took care of it,” I say, my voice a rumble. I gesture toward the door. “You can pay me back.”
“Wil!” she cries. “Separate checks, remember?”
“You can pay me back,” I repeat, “or get it next time.”
“Next time?” she murmurs.
“Next time.”
I push open the heavy front door and hold it open as she steps out. I follow her into the cold, dark autumn night. At some point, a shower passed through. The cool air smells metallic and dirty, and the puddles shimmer with rainbows of oil.
“You okay to drive?” I ask once we’re at our vehicles, both parked under a streetlamp in the back row of the Hometown parking lot.
“Totally fine,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
She places a hand on my arm, warm and electric even through my coat. Then she steps closer. I clench my jaw.
“I promise, I’m fine,” she murmurs.
I look at her for a long moment. “Good,” I say quietly. “Thanks again for the—the hard work you put in for the eval.”
I should leave. I should get in my car and drive away.
But I don’t move. In fact, I must have taken a step, too, because now we’re only a whisper apart.
Time freezes. My eyes travel across Abbey’s beautiful face, from the rich brown wisps that have come loose from her ponytail and frame her flushed cheeks to her thick, full, rosy lips.
God, those lips. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her, to taste her, to catch her bottom lip in a gentle nip.
She takes another step closer, close enough that I can feel heat radiating off her.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and it comes out as a deep growl, and before I give it a second thought, I place one hand on her hip.
Mine, I think.
What am I doing?
She slides her arms around my neck and stretches toward me, leaning up on her tiptoes, and then I squeeze her hip, a light press, and—
The clatter of carts slamming together startles us, and she stumbles backward, out of my arms. I glance up. Eric’s retrieving carts from the corrals in the parking lot.
“Christ,” I mutter and take two steps backward, away from Abbey, toward my car. “Shit.”
“Wil, I—” she stammers but I hold up a hand.
I need to be smart about this. She’s my employee. I need to remember what’s at stake. The AGM rotation and getting my own store. Proving to my father that I can be successful at this. That I can make a positive difference for the company.
I can’t afford an… entanglement… like this. Even though it’s my own damn fault for inviting her out for a drink tonight.
“Good night,” I say quietly. “Drive carefully.” I get into my car and wait for her to do the same, to back out of her parking spot and drive away.
I think about that almost-kiss the whole drive home, the heat of her, the feel of her hip under my fingers.
Tonight, I’ll let myself think about Abbey Rhodes and what might have been. Tomorrow, I’ll remember who I am to her, and how what might have been can never be.