Trouble from the Start (20 page)

“I like you in red,” he said, and touched the shoulder of my red lacy top. “And blue and puple . . . pup . . .”

“Purple?”

He gave me a goofy grin and nodded. “Yep. Every color.”

“You are so drunk.”

His head wobbled, which I took to be a yes. “Every . . . thing moves funny.”

“It's spinning?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm going to help you up and get you inside. Come on now.”

I locked my arms around his chest. I pulled, he pushed. He grabbed the railing and pulled, too. Eventually he was standing, a lot of his weight on me. God, he was heavy.

“I like that you're tall,” he said.

“I'm a giant.”

“You're willowy.” He grinned. “I bet you didn't think I knew that word. I am not a novice at vocabulary.”

I almost laughed. I wasn't sure what he was trying to say exactly.

We shuffled inside. I thought about depositing him on the couch, but we'd worked up enough momentum that I was able to get him to the bed. He flopped down on it.

I tugged off his boots and his socks. He had such large feet. I didn't know why I was surprised or why it seemed like such a personal thing to know. Something hit me in the face. His T-shirt. Somehow he'd managed to get it off, which left me staring at a very fine chest. I'd seen it before when he was playing in the pool with Tyler. But like his feet, it just seemed more intimate to see it now, when he was sprawled across the bed.

He was struggling with his belt.

“I'll get the belt,” I told him. “The jeans stay on.”

“'Kay.”

I worked the belt through the loops and tossed it aside. I put a pillow beneath his head before flicking a sheet over him. I grabbed a glass, then went to the bathroom and
filled it. When I came back out, I set it on the bedside table.

“Come on, you need to sit up. You need to drink some water before I go.”

I got him sitting up with a pillow behind his back. I handed him the water. “Drink it. All of it.”

He drank half of it. I decided to give him a couple of minutes before I made him finish it. “Have you ever been drunk before?” I asked.

Slowly he shook his head. “Never had beer before tonight.” He leaned toward me. “It's not that good.”

“Yet you kept drinking it.”

He smiled, nodded. “Do you like him?”

My stomach tightened. “You mean Marc? I do like him.”

He nodded, shook his head, finished off the water. I got him some more. “He's just a friend,” I felt compelled to say. Besides, he probably wasn't going to remember any of this in the morning.

“You kissed him,” he said.

“You and I are friends. We kiss . . . kissed.”

“Yeah. I like kissing you.”

“I like kissing you, too.”

He grinned again.

“I think you're going to feel terrible in the morning,” I told him.

“Yeah.”

I helped him lie back down, tucked him in.

“Thanks,” he said.

“So what did you hit tonight?” I asked.

He looked at me blankly. “Huh?”

“You're drunk, like your father. So what did you hit?”

He shook his head, furrowed his brow. “Didn't hit anything.”

“So you're not like him.” Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered near his ear, “Think about that.”

I woke up. Wished I hadn't.

My head was so heavy that I didn't know if I'd be able to lift it off the pillow and it hurt. I was queasy. It would probably be a month before I could eat anything. And there was this persistent beeping in my ears, a tremor near my hip—

My alarm.

I dug my phone out of my jeans pocket and shut it off. I squinted at the time. Who was the idiot who thought it was a good idea to register for a class that started before most people had their coffee? Oh, yeah, me.

I hadn't wanted to be a loser. I sure felt like one now. Why had I started drinking last night? I squeezed my eyes shut. Because of Avery's date. I couldn't be mad about it. I'd had a date earlier in the week. But I had been . . .

I'd been mad. I'd thought about following them. Instead
I'd ridden to the next town over, where no one knew me, stopped at a convenience store, flashed my fake ID, and walked out with the beer. Having dark stubble helped make me look older. Then I'd returned here and started the guzzle-fest.

Marc looked exactly like the kind of guy Avery should date. So clean-cut, he probably squeaked when he walked. Her parents had been impressed with him, despite his stupid idiotic joke. After Avery left, they'd carried on about what a nice guy he was. I'd almost barfed.

With a groan, I dropped my legs off the bed and rolled to a sitting position. Class was definitely out today. Burying my face in my hands, I pressed my fingers to my temples. How did I even get to the bed?

Avery. She'd helped me. She'd also kissed computer whiz. I couldn't get upset about that either, but I was. Why did it matter so much? Because I liked her. I liked her a lot.

I had a vague memory of her helping me undress. I smiled. Had to keep the jeans on, though. I remembered the light brush of her lips on my cheek, the words she'd whispered.

I lifted my head, stared around the room. I'd gotten drunk but I hadn't broken anything, torn anything up, hurt anyone. I wasn't my dad.

My dad wouldn't have finished his algebra assignment before getting drunk. I shoved myself to my feet. I needed
to get that turned in. Hard-assed Turner did not accept late homework. Turn it in on time or get a zero.

I needed a hot shower first. I'd be late to class, but it was better than not showing up at all.

I wasn't my dad, I thought again. I didn't have to be a loser.

I'd been not only surprised but impressed Friday morning when I spotted Fletcher leaving for school at an ungodly hour. The last thing I'd expected was for him to make the effort when he had to be feeling rotten.

I didn't get a chance to see him before I left for work either Friday or Saturday. I was hoping I might see him Sunday, although maybe he'd be hooking up with someone else. At least I'd see him when I tutored him Monday.

At the Shrimp Hut, summer was in full swing and Saturday night work was crazy busy. It was always the night when we had the most customers. People came to the beach, stayed late, didn't have to get up and go to work the next morning. Or at least most of them didn't. Plus a lot of people rented houses or condos or stayed in the nearby hotels, so the population on Saturday exploded.

“You have a hot guy at table sixteen,” Jenny told me when she came into the kitchen to get her order.

Along my arm I was balancing plates for a family of four. “Thanks.”

“If you don't have time, I'll be happy to take care of him, although I hear he asked specifically to be seated in your section.”

Picking up the plate, I smiled at her. “First crush of summer, you think?” It wasn't unusual for guys to come in and flirt with us, and then request our section the next time they dropped by. Or girls for that matter. Marc had quite a following.

“First crush for me this summer,” she said. “Seriously, if you don't have time, I've got your back and will break the news to him gently. I'll even offer comfort after we close tonight.”

“Down, girl, down!” I teased. “I've got it.”

Intrigued, I pushed my way through the swinging doors and my gaze skipped over to table sixteen. It was the last table in the corner by the window. Sitting there was Fletcher. My heart gave a little thud, but I didn't have time to examine it. I focused my attention on my other customers first. I delivered the order of broiled flounder to the mom, fried shrimp to each of the kids, shrimp étouffée to the dad. Grabbed ketchup, extra tartar sauce, refilled glasses.

“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, ready to turn to table sixteen.

“Looks good,” the dad said, and I left them to enjoy their meal.

I wended my way between the tables, checking quickly on my customers as I went, making sure no one needed anything, making mental notes of glasses that would soon need to be refilled. I stopped beside Fletcher's table. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted a shoulder casually like it was no big deal. “You came to see me at work. Thought I should return the favor.”

“You working is way more interesting than me working.”

“I don't know. You have to juggle a lot of balls.”

“More like plates and glasses. It's Saturday night. Shouldn't you be out partying somewhere?” I thought I succeeded at not saying it cattily.

“Need to eat.” He obviously hadn't taken offense. He tapped the menu. “I'll take the large fried shrimp platter.”

I pulled out my order pad. “That's two dozen shrimp. It's a lot.”

“I can handle it.”

“Fries or baked potato?”

“Fries.”

“Salad or coleslaw?”

He shook his head. “You know I don't eat things that are green.”

I did know. It made me feel all warm and soft inside to realize that I did know things about him. Intimate things that others probably didn't know. Then I shoved those cozy feelings down because we were back to being friends. “How about some extra fries then?”

“That'll work. I'll have sweet tea.”

“Okay, I'll get some cheese biscuits out to you.”

“Don't suppose you get a break.”

“Not right now, not while we're this busy.”

He peered out at the surf in the waning light. “I'll be here for a while.”

It seemed an odd statement for a guy who earlier in the week had told me that he was seeing girls. Seemed like there would be plenty available on a Saturday night, but it was a riddle I'd have to consider later. I couldn't afford a distraction right then. I had customers who needed my attention and hot food waiting to be served. I returned to the kitchen.

Jenny wiggled her brows at me. “Told you.”

“Told her what?” Katie asked.

“Hot dude at table sixteen.”

“Oh, yeah, I noticed him,” Katie said, reaching for her latest order. “I'd give up my boyfriend in Colorado for him.”

“Thought he was your true love.” I hooked Fletcher's order on the pin and grabbed a basket of biscuits.

“A girl can change her mind.”

“Not when it comes to true love,” I said.

“So did you catch his name?” Jenny asked.

I winked at her. “Fletcher.” Then I headed out to deliver his biscuits.

I felt badly that he was eating alone, wished that I could have joined him. I always wondered about the stories that revolved around the diners who came alone: were they widows, still hurting from a recent breakup; loners, seeking solitude? Were they bothered to be sitting at a table with no one to talk with? Some brought books. Some punched away at their tablets. Some gazed out on the surf.

Fletcher just watched me. Every now and then I'd look over at him, and he'd meet my gaze, maybe give me a nod. I wasn't self-conscious about him observing me. I figured he'd get bored after a while and leave.

The crowd began to thin out around ten. We were open until midnight, but we would begin closing sections off so we could start all the prep needed to close up for the night. I grabbed a slice of key lime pie from the fridge, walked out into the dining area, and set it in front of Fletcher. “On the house.”

He arched a brow. “Really?”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, on me. It's one of the perks.
Unlimited pie so I can give you one, no problem. Want some coffee or something else?”

“This is great.”

“And your tab is on me, too. Well, not really on me. I'm not going to actually pay for it, but I get some free meals so I'm crediting one to you. Whenever you're ready to leave, you can just go.”

“I'll stay until you close.”

I shifted my stance. “It'll take us about an hour to clean up after we lock up.”

“I'll sit out on the deck and wait. Since I'm here, I might as well follow you home.”

“Did something happen?” I asked. “You know with your dad or work or—”

“Nope.”

Okay, so he was going to be his usual communicative self. With a smile, I told him I'd see him later. Then I went back to serving my few remaining tables and doing what I could to finish up early.

I was wiping down a table when Marc came over to help me. “Looks like the kiss got his attention,” he said with satisfaction in his voice.

I slammed my eyes closed. “I'm so sorry for using you like that.”

“As far as ways to get used, that ranks near the top of my favorites list.”

I laughed. I wished I could be crazy about him. He was a nice guy.

“I don't know about it getting his attention, though. I'm pretty sure he's here as a friend,” I said.

“On a Saturday night?” he asked. “That's more than being a friend.”

“He didn't have anything else to do.”

He gave me a pointed look. “That guy? He could have not only found something to do, but found some chick to do it with.”

I knew that well enough. “Really, Marc, it's not a big deal.” Maybe Fletcher just wanted to unload about being drunk the other night. I hadn't seen him since I'd put him to bed.

“Maybe not to you, but it is to him.”

When the last of the customers had left and the doors were locked, Jenny and Katie came up to me and spun me around. I felt the ties on my apron loosened, a tug on my hair as my hairclip was removed. One of them whipped away my apron.

“What are y'all doing?” I asked as they spun me back around. They were grinning like mad.

“Hot guy is waiting for you,” Jenny said.

“Get out of here,” Katie said. “We'll finish cleaning up.”

“But it's my job, too.”

“Not tonight it's not,” they both said as they shoved me toward the office where my things were stored in a locker.

“Go,” Jenny said. “We'll want deets tomorrow.”

I didn't want to disappoint them, but I didn't know if the details would be that salacious. I had no idea why he was here. And that made me a little nervous because I didn't know quite how to act. To anticipate being with him or to prepare for another brush-off. “Thanks, guys.”

I clocked out and grabbed my bag from the locker. I quickly ran a brush through my hair, reapplied mascara and lipstick—which I realized was a little silly since it was dark out—but still, it made me feel more put-together.

Dot was waiting for me at the door. “Have fun,” she said as she opened the door, let me out, and relocked it.

I walked around the side of the building, intending to meet up with Fletcher on the deck, but he must have been watching for me through the window, because he met me halfway.

“Want to walk along the beach before heading home?” he asked.

Maybe he wanted to talk about something. I almost laughed. He didn't share things. Still, I said, “Sure.”

I pulled off my shoes, dropped them in my bag, retrieved my flip-flops. The lights from the restaurant provided enough faint light that we could see where we were
going as we wandered over the dunes to the beach area. Sandpipers scurried along on spindly legs. The tide was low, leaving a lot of beach area.

“You seem to have recovered from your drinking spree,” I said lightly.

He groaned. “I don't know why people get drunk.”

“I heard you leave early Friday morning. Did you actually go to class?”

“Had to turn in my homework.”

“I'm impressed.”

“You'd be even more impressed if you'd met the guys with sledgehammers inside my head.”

“I met them the morning after Scooter's party.”

He chuckled low. “I bet you did.”

We continued on in silence until we reached the water's edge.

“So I never asked: how was your date?” I asked.

“It wasn't a date.”

“The booty call then.”

His smile flashed in the darkness. “It wasn't a booty call either. It was just . . . her name is Raven. We went out a couple of times last year. When she called and wanted to hook up, it sounded like a good idea.”

I slipped my foot out of my flip-flop, squiggled my toes in the wet sand. “Do you like her?”

“She's nice.”

“That's good.”

“I'm not going to see her again, though.”

“Thought you liked her.”

“I said she was nice.”

“What's not to like about nice?”

“She wasn't you.”

My heart went into a hard gallop.

“How was your date with Marc?” he asked.

“He wasn't you,” I said quietly.

Fletcher moved in, cradled my face. “I've missed you. That's crazy. I've never missed anyone before. You'll be leaving soon and this is going nowhere, but I can't seem to stop thinking about you.”

“Why weren't you waiting for me when I got home last night?”

“Thought if I went a little bit longer without seeing you then I'd stop missing you.”

I couldn't stop myself from smiling. “Didn't work, huh?”

“Don't look so happy.”

“I'm sorry. It's just nice to be missed. I missed you, too.”

“So maybe we can be friends,” he said.

“Gee, you made that sound really enticing. Where do I sign up?”

“Right here.” Then he kissed me.

The kiss was slow and hot, had the potential to go on into tomorrow. But I had the nagging thought that a few days earlier he'd kissed someone else. So had I—not so much to make him jealous but to make him realize other guys would kiss me. But Fletcher kissed girls because he liked to. I deserved loyalty. I was worth being considered special.

Breaking off from his lips, I backed away. While there wasn't a lot of light, I could tell that he was confused.

“You can't tell me a few days ago that you're going to be seeing other girls, then kiss me tonight and think everything is going to be okay. If you want to be friends, we'll be friends, but I don't kiss my friends.”

“I kiss my friends,” he said impatiently.

“Not if you're kissing me,” I said. “I like you, Fletcher. I like you a lot. I want to explore these feelings, see where they take us, but you want easy, and I'm not. I want a boyfriend. I want a guy who isn't trying to get together with other girls.”

“You're talking about a commitment.”

“It doesn't have to be forever. But yes, if you want to be more than friends then I need to know I'm the only one you're spending time with. Otherwise, we can just be friends. Late-night walks and talks. No kissing, no snuggling, no skinny-dipping.”

“Like you'd go skinny-dipping.”

“You're right. I probably wouldn't. But I'm not just someone to kiss when you're in the mood for a kiss.”

He looked disgruntled and frustrated, which made two of us. I wanted more with him, but I needed for him to want more with me, too. More than he'd ever had with any other girl.

“I don't know how to be a boyfriend,” he finally stated flatly.

“I've never been a girlfriend, so it would be new to me, too. Maybe we could figure out how to be a couple together. But I can't pretend our kisses don't mean something. Every time we kiss, I fall just a little bit more.”

“You're so open about it.”

“I'm not afraid of falling. I am afraid of being a fool, of getting hurt. You said you didn't want to hurt me. Then don't kiss me anymore unless you're willing not to kiss anyone else.”