Chapter 6 #2
My past life in Seattle suddenly feels like a parallel dimension to what I’ve built here.
A fucking pathetic one. I make a mental note to thank Gus for showing up for me like an actual friend.
We’d reconnected quickly when I moved home.
Even when he was going through that rough patch, splitting up with Shay, he always made time for me. He’s solid like that.
Do they make “thanks for not being a piece of shit” greeting cards? It’s a pretty underwhelming sentiment, I guess, but it would probably still make him laugh.
When I collect myself, I jog down the steps to join Jude in gathering the piles of leaves he’s raked up from around the fire pit in the center of the garden.
“Who was that?” he asks, probably picking up on my soured vibe.
“Just one of my old buddies from Seattle.”
He lets a beat or two pass, watching me—probably remembering how stuff from my drinking days might be triggering. “You alright?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Honesty, I remind myself.
“I mean, it was weird. Not in a good way.” I throw a bunch of leaves onto the tarp. “Let’s just say it made me appreciate being sober.”
Jude smiles. “Good.”
We work in silence, raking and collecting all the leaves until the tarp and wheelbarrow are both full. Slogging across the property, we haul everything back to his truck.
I cast my gaze sideways toward my brother, mulling over how shitty it felt when Benji didn’t give two shits about what I’d told him. I can do better—be present and ask questions and actually listen to the answers. “So, what plans do you have with Olena later?”
“Uh,” he hesitates as he parks the wheelbarrow behind his truck. “I think they call it afternoon delight.”
“Fuck, bro!” I groan.
He flings a twig at me, smirking at my reaction. “Hey, you asked.”
“Then forget I asked,”—I chuck a handful of leaves back at him, but he only laughs—“unless you want a load of my puke mixed in with these leaves.”
So much for my attempt at genuine curiosity and connection, because kumbaya just turned to kumbayarf.
“Wait, you plan that?” I ask. “No, nope, never mind.” I grimace and shake my head. “Don’t answer that.”
“Hey, listen,” Jude says when the disturbed look on my face has settled to something more like vague caution.
He tugs off his gloves and reaches for his back pocket.
“I know you wanted to help me out and, y’know, repair our relationship and shit, but, uh…
We’re good, man.” He slips some cash from his wallet and holds it out to me. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I take a step back, wary expression firmly in place.
He balks. “What does it look like? A fuckin’ Fabergé egg? Take it.”
I scowl down at the cash. “Fuck off. I’m not taking your money.”
He doesn’t back down. “Miles, don’t be proud. You busted your ass for hours here. I can pay you.”
“That’s not… Dude, that’s not how this works.” I push past him and heave the last tarpload into the truck, then turn back to face my brother. “Making amends in AA is about showing up for the people you’ve wronged. Behaving differently. Better. Y’know, actions speak louder than words, right?”
“I’m just trying to help you out.”
“So stop,” I say with a shrug. “You need to let me hold my own, alright? Stop trying to rescue me. I’m not needing that so much these days, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, Miles,” he says, dropping his gaze with a nod. “Okay.”
“And put your fucking money away. If anything, I should be paying you back. Not the other way around.” I push the wheelbarrow up the ramp to dump its contents onto the pile of yard waste, then busy myself securing it to the truck.
My brother’s covered a lot of my expenses over the years, including medical bills and paying for my move back to Lennox.
Never mind all the times he’s spotted me cash or bought me a meal because I’ve been broke or between construction jobs.
The least I could do is offer up some free labor when he needs a hand.
“Alright. You’re right.” He slips the cash back into his wallet. “Sorry, man.”
“Now let’s get this shit cleaned up, ’cause I have a date with a hot-as-fuck shower when I get home.”
“And what about your real date tonight? Your, uh… real fake date?”
“What about it?” I hop back down.
Murphy slowly pushes up and stretches, as if he can sense we’re almost done here.
“You got a game plan?” he asks, folding up the ramp. “Where is this fundraiser thing?”
“Some hotel ballroom in Seattle, I think.” I quirk a brow. “What do you mean, game plan?”
“There gonna be drinks there?” He slides the ramp into the truck bed. “You haven’t really been around other people drinking yet, right?”
I hold his gaze and shove the tailgate hard until it latches.
Right. That part.
“Maybe chat with Barry before you go?” Jude adds.
Calling my sponsor is a solid suggestion. I should probably fill him in on this Caroline thing, anyway.
“Will do,” I say with a nod, then smirk to myself as I peel off my gloves. “Bet he’ll have a laugh at the idea of my ass in a tux.”
Jude chuckles, pulling open the passenger door to his truck so Murphy can climb in. “Barry’s what, like, sixty-something?”
“Yeah, think so.”
He gives me a look. “Better make sure he’s sitting down first.”
The tux I borrowed from Gus fits surprisingly well and, to its credit, doesn’t itch or pull on my skin in a way that’ll make me seem twitchy all night.
I’ve lost count of the number of work T-shirts I’ve got with a hole in the back of the neck from where I’ve torn out an irritating tag, but this tux is pretty fucking swanky.
When Gus told me he had one I could borrow, I was so grateful not to have to hunt around for a crappy rental that I’d forgotten to ask what the fuck he’s doing owning a tux.
Dude must be living a second life as James Bond or some shit.
Some kind of secret underground firefighter society, probably.
Do secret underground firefighter societies exist? Do they host black-tie parties?
Taking one last glance in the mirror, I shake myself out of that mental rabbit hole and straighten the bow tie I spent the last hour learning to tie.
I try to stop fidgeting with everything I’m wearing, telling myself the clothes on my back are the least of my worries.
Navigating this fundraiser will be enough stress on its own, no matter how much I’m looking forward to spending the evening with Caroline.
I wipe my hands on my jacket, willing them to stop sweating.
Fuck, I could use a vodka. Or any drink, really.
The thought crops up, as it often does, straight outta left field—no doubt brought on by the anticipation I’m already feeling about this fundraiser.
I pull out my phone and text Barry. Sometimes just telling someone else that I’m having a craving is all it takes for the feeling to subside.
It also helps me stay accountable since he’ll make a point of checking in later.
Knowing I may face temptation tonight is looming large in the back of my mind, though.
My door buzzer sounds, and I press the button on the intercom. “Hey. Be right down.”
I’m too on edge to wait for the ancient elevator to chug its way to the fourth floor, so I push through the heavy fire door leading to the stairwell.
And, if the jog down three flights of stairs doesn’t leave me a bit out of breath, the sight waiting outside the front door just about does it.
Caroline faces away from the glass front doors of the lobby, her eyes trained somewhere down the dark street. Her back is nearly bare, her glittering gold dress plunging in a deep V that ends right above her ass.
Holy hell.
It’s realizing she must be freezing cold that has me pushing out the door.
“Hey.” The word comes out slightly strangled, and I clear my throat, playing it off with a grin.
She turns, her soft lips slightly parted. “Miles.” Relief rushes through me when she gives me—or Gus’ tux, maybe—a small nod of approval, but my concern about the cold quickly swings back into frame when she rubs her arms and I notice the goose bumps dotting her skin.
“Jesus, you’re gonna turn into an ice cube out here.
C’mon.” Without thinking, I slip my palm over her bare lower back, guiding her into the idling town car in front of us, but pull my hand away when the warmth of her skin spreads under my fingertips.
I hadn’t meant to touch her like that; I’m not thinking straight here.
This fucking dress.
I can already tell it’ll be impossible to stop staring at her for the rest of the night—and I’ve only been with her for thirty seconds.
Shit.
I make a conscious effort to shove down the inkling that it’s not just the dress flustering me.
The car is comfortably warm inside as we settle into the backseat and Caroline’s driver pulls out into the sporadic traffic in front of my building.
“You look… uh…” I trail off and swallow, then shake my head, trying to stop from blurting out every description that comes to mind.
Stunning? Incredible? Sexy? Like that thigh-high slit could kill a man?
“Sorry,” I say, tearing my gaze away only to have it land right back on her dress. On her. Willpower’s never really been my thing. “I’m not sure how to…” I make a vague gesture between us.
“I’m not sure how to do this, either.” She sounds almost sheepish. “It’s weird, right?”
“Uh, weird isn’t…” My eyes trace a path over her bare collarbone, her neck, her jawline.
Don’t look at her tits.
Too late.
Fuck, they’re perfect.
“Weird isn’t what came to mind, honestly.”
In the dim back seat, her light eyes are shadowed and unreadable, and I can only hope the darkness masked the path mine just took. Because it sure as shit isn’t hiding the fact that I sound like I just crawled out of a swamp.
“I mean, you look…” I clear my throat, willing myself to string together a full sentence. “You look beautiful.”
I hear more than see the smile on her face. “Thank you. And you did, in fact, clean up nice.”
My ego practically purrs in response. “Told ya.”
“And you shaved.”
I instinctively rub my chin. “Yeah.”
“Uh, sorry, I—” she cuts herself off, breaking eye contact like she’s trying to shake off distraction.
I know the feeling.
“Alright,” she says as she shifts in her seat, brushing my knee with hers, “we only have an hour to get you up to speed, so I should probably launch right in.”
“I’m a fast learner. Hit me.”