“I have nothing against them,” I tell her. “But this . . . I don’t know. It just felt like there was a connection. He kissed me, you know? A lot. Touched me. Caressed me, even. It wasn’t just fireworks and explosions. There were moments that felt like . . . moments.” I look at my wine glass and wish it were full already.
“I don’t see the need for all the wine,” she points out.
“Because we haven’t gotten to ‘after sex’ yet.” My fork hits my plate with a clatter. “You know what he said to me? He said, ‘Now you leave.’”
The words sound as harsh coming from me as they did from him but hearing them the second time just makes me angrier.
“He did what?” she exclaims.
“You heard me right,” I laugh. “He told me it was time for me to go. Fucking asshole.”
“Who’s an asshole?” Chester sets two glasses of wine on the table. With his white-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and thin frame, he’s the polar opposite of Walker. Still, he’s charismatic and handsome in a metrosexual kind of way and someone I’ve found minorly attractive. Until now. Now, nothing is even presentable if he’s not wearing a black t-shirt and a scowl.
“So, asshole?” he repeats.
Delaney gives me a sideways glance. “Do you know Walker Gibson?”
“Lives over in Linton, right?” Chester asks. “Runs a car shop or something?”
“That’s him,” she confirms.
“I don’t know Walker personally, but his brother, Machlan, the one who owns the bar over there—he and I were in school at the same time. He’s mean as hell,” he laughs. “A good guy, I think. I’ve never had an issue with him. But I’ve seen him in a few situations that I was really, really glad I wasn’t on the other end of his fury, you know?”
“But what kind of guy is Walker?” Delaney presses. “Would you want your little sister dating him?”
“I don’t know much about him like that,” he says. “Why? Is he the asshole?”
“No,” I say, injecting myself into the conversation. God knows what Delaney might say. “We just saw him the other night and were wondering about him. That’s all.”
“Well, I’m not an asshole. Just for the record,” Chester winks.
As he scampers off, I look across the room. The kids are thinning out from the pizza party, just a few adults and colorful balloons left behind. I’m turning away when my eyes lock on Peck’s. He’s leaning over the bannister, a hat matching the kids’ on his head, his hands locked in front of him. An inquisitive look is painted on his face before he turns his attention to a kid jumping up and down, tugging on his shirt.
My stomach drops, not wanting to deal with any more Gibson boys tonight.
Giving him a little wave, I face Delaney and down half of the fresh glass of wine.
“Whoa,” she says, eyes wide. “What’s that about?”
“Peck is over there,” I mumble, hoping he’s not still watching and can’t read lips. “I can’t deal with any more of them tonight.”
“Heya, Slugger.” Peck’s at my side before I know what’s happening, scooting himself into the booth beside me like we’re old friends. “What’s happening?”
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”
He laughs in his easy way, running a hand through his floppy hair. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Having dinner with Delaney,” I say, nodding across the table. “Delaney, this is Peck. I know y’all met the other night, but, you know, we’re all here, sober, so . . .”
“Nice to meet you again,” Peck whistles.
“Likewise.” Delaney tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sienna has told me a lot about you.”
“Have you?” he looks at me. “It better have been good.”
“Of course it was good. What could I possibly say bad about you?”
“This is why I like you,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. “So, what’s happening?”
“Not much. Why are you here?”
“End of the year baseball party. Fun times, y’all. Fun times.” He cranks his neck, strumming his fingers on the back of the booth. “How’d work go today?”
He’s clearly prodding for information, sensing something is off. Peck usually isn’t serious, nor does he care about how work went today. Him asking this makes me curious.
“Got a tractor in,” I say simply. “Walker spent the day on that.”
“Ah, shit. Those are a bitch. I wish he would’ve called. I could’ve skipped out on the end-of-the-year party for the little league if he had.”
Taking a deep breath, I lift my glass to my lips and try not to squeeze the glass until it snaps. “I went back tonight and helped him.”
“You helped him? Work on the tractor?”
“I’m going to use the ladies’ room,” Delaney cuts in. “Be back in a minute.”
I wait until she’s gone before I continue, my stomach sloshing with wine and anxiety, the acid almost starting to burn. “He’s a complete asshole, Peck.”
Peck leans away as if he needs the room to comprehend this announcement. “Okay. What the hell happened?”
I sigh, taking the drink I’ve been holding. The liquid rolls down my throat with ease, the two glasses before this one making it an easy trek. My fingertips are warm; a slight numbness I’ve been chasing all evening washes over me.
“You okay?” he asks, a look of concern settling over his features. “How many glasses have you had?”
“Not enough.”
“What the hell did he do?”
My laugh displays the fury I’m trying to keep in check, the load of embarrassment that’s turned to so much anger I can barely hold it in. “I’m over it.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yup.”
“Look, Sienna,” Peck stumbles, getting comfortable in his seat. “I don’t know exactly what just went down, but please stay cool.”
“Stay cool?” I ask. “He just fucked me and then dismissed me, Peck. My ability to stay cool is broken.”
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters, resting his forehead on the table.
“I’m mad, naturally, but I’m madder at myself,” I say, still working it out in my head. “I let myself get in that position. I let my guard down. My fault.”
Peck raises his head and looks at me. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no callousness or amusement. Just a sincerity that makes me want to hug him.
“I can only imagine what happened and if it’s as bad as I think it is, I’m not making excuses for him,” Peck says quietly. “He’s a grown man. But I will apologize on his behalf because you don’t deserve to have any of his issues put on you.”
“You’re darn right I don’t.” I pick at a slice of lemon I removed earlier from my plate. “I obviously won’t be back at Crank. I don’t want to see him again.”
“I can understand that.”
Taking in his handsome features and the sweetness in his eyes, I give in. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I give him a quick, simple hug. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”
“I’m really sorry about Walker,” he says. “If you need anything, just call. Okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know you will, you little badass,” he laughs. “But I mean it. I can move furniture, pick up food, listen to you cry but that’s not my favorite. Only call me for that as a last option.”
“Okay,” I laugh, watching Delaney come back across the room. “Thanks, Peck.”
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
He slides out of the seat. “I got a few things to do. Again, you need anything, call me.”
“Will do.”
I watch him walk out of the restaurant, stopping to say hello to a few people on the way out, and wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
THE MUSIC SWITCHES FROM a hip-hop beat to a country song. Patrons of Crave raise their glasses, inebriated cheers that only come at this point on a Friday night ringing out through the bar. I sit near the phallic ducks in the back and watch everyone celebrate the end of the workweek and what might be the end of my reason to get up in the morning.
Nora, Machlan’s steady Friday night helper, catches my eye through the dim lights. Casting a glance over her shoulder, ensuring there’s no one waiting for a drink, she sits backwards on the chair next to me.
“You look like hell,” she says.
Her short blonde hair is all tousled, sweat lining her forehead from buzzing back and forth across this place a million times over the past few hours. Eye makeup smeared, giving her a rock star look, I could tell her she looks like hell too, but I’d be lying. I could also be wrong because everything is kind of blurred.
“What’s it to you?” I ask instead, taking the last slug of whiskey from the glass in front of me. The burn of the liquor is gone, dulled by the whiskey before it. And the whiskey before that.
“It’s not shit to me. I was just pointing it out.”
“Well, thank ya for that.”
She rolls her eyes, resting her arms over the back of the chair. “What’s happening with you, anyway?”
“What does it look like is happening with you? I mean, me?”
Grimacing, I close one eye in an attempt to steady myself and also to see if it helps me see her clearly. It doesn’t. My hand slaps against the table as I catch myself from falling onto the floor.
Nora laughs, her red lips spread wide at my state of undoing. “I’ve never seen you this toasted.”
“Ah, I’m not toasted,” I say, struggling to regain my composure. “I’m just enjoying the Friday night. Isn’t this what people are supposed to do?”