Chapter 18: Genevieve
GENEVIEVE
I’m not sure how it happened. A couple months ago, I was certain coming back to the Bay was a temporary situation. Confident that things would eventually level off with Dad, the house, and the business—he’d find someone to replace me, and everyone would move on from Mom’s death. Now, it seems every day I stick around, I’m digging my toes in deeper. Despite my best efforts, my instincts keep me rooted home, and my life in Charleston is slowly becoming blurred with distance.
I wake up to the faint aroma of coffee and the muffled sounds of Billy and Craig arguing over something downstairs. There’s a shower running in the hall bathroom, and I hear Jay singing what sounds like a Katy Perry song.
I roll over in bed and strain to make out the words. Oh, that is definitely Katy Perry. I make a mental note to tease him mercilessly at breakfast. Jay crashed here last night after Kellan kicked him out of their apartment because he had a hot date. Who knows where Shane slept. That boy is a walking disaster.
I won’t lie. It’s good to be home.
On the nightstand, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Evan:
Morning, Fred.
I’d like to say Evan is irrelevant to the roots that are taking hold and tethering me to this town. But since agreeing a few days ago to give him another chance, I’ve felt nothing but pure relief. My shoulders suddenly feel lighter and unburdened from the effort of avoiding him. I hadn’t realized how much it’d hurt, staying away from him.
Me:
Morning.
Evan:
Good luck.
The phone rings before I can ponder the meaning of his text.
Wrinkling my forehead, I swipe the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Genevieve? Hey. It’s Mackenzie Cabot. Cooper’s girlfriend.”
My brain snaps to attention. “Oh. Hi. How’s it going?”
“Evan told me you were interested in working at the hotel. He gave me some details about your experience, but I figured we should meet in person and have an official interview. How’d you like to come by and talk about the manager position? See if it’s something you’d be up for.”
Excitement quickens my pulse. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Great. If you’re not busy, I’ve got time today.”
“Give me thirty minutes.”
Once we’re off the phone, I throw myself into the shower and forego blow-drying my hair to wrap it in a tight bun. Then I race around my room, digging out a nice outfit that isn’t still wrinkled from unpacking and hunting through boxes and under the bed for shoes. I don’t bother with much makeup other than some lipstick and mascara. I always do this to myself. Instead of asking for the reasonable time I need, I promise too much and then tie myself in knots to meet my own unreasonable deadline.
Somehow, I manage to get myself out of the house with enough time to make the short drive out to the
Hartley house. My mind races over the meager details Mackenzie had provided over the phone, constantly getting stuck on the word “manager.” Honestly, I hadn’t considered what position I’d aim for when Evan said he’d mention me to Mackenzie. Something supervisory, sure. Operations, maybe. But managing an entire hotel—events, restaurants, catering, a spa—is more than I’m accustomed to.
Then again, I’ve never been afraid of taking a big leap. Looking down is defeatist. If I want to turn my life around, I might as well aim high right out the gate.
With two minutes to spare, I ring the doorbell.
The front door swings open to reveal a tall, stunning girl with shiny dark hair and big green eyes. I remember catching glimpses of her the night of the bonfire, when Evan threw down with that college guy, but we’d never been properly introduced.
“It’s nice to officially meet you,” Mackenzie says as she lets me in. She’s wearing a striped T-shirt and khaki shorts. The overly casual outfit makes me feel overdressed in my navy linen pants and white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows.
“Nice to meet you too,” I tell her.
She brings me through the house to the back deck, where she has a table set with two glasses and a pitcher of water with lemon.
“The guys have done a lot of work on the place,” I remark as we sit down. The short walk inside had revealed new floors and old peeling wallpaper removed. Out here, I note that the siding’s been replaced and painted.
“They’ve been at it for months. Seems like every morning I wake up to a sander or a saw running, and then I go to work and it’s the same thing,” she says, with an exhausted smile. “I swear to God, when it’s all over, I’m going to spend two weeks in an isolation chamber.” She pours us a couple glasses of water before relaxing back in her chair. A warm breeze whips across the deck, blowing the wind chimes hanging
from the roof.
“I know the feeling,” I say wryly.
“Oh, right. The renovation at your dad’s house. It must be so hectic over there.”
“I’m working most of the day, so it isn’t so bad. And when I am home, noise-canceling headphones are my best friend.”
“I hope I didn’t make you skip work for this,” she says, and I wonder if she’s thinking I blew off my current job to interview for this one.
“No,” I assure her. “My dad gave me the morning off, so I don’t start until noon.”
With the small talk over, I’m aware that I need to make a good impression here. Evan might have gotten me in the door, but a woman doesn’t go out of her way to restore a derelict old hotel just to hand the keys over to some random townie with no sense. She’s about to get an uncut dose of Professional Genevieve.
“So,” Mackenzie says, “tell me about yourself.”
I hand her my résumé, which is admittedly lacking in hotel experience. “I’ve been working since I was eleven years old. Started out cleaning up and stocking at my dad’s hardware store. Worked summer jobs as a hostess, waitress, bartender. Customer service at the stone yard. I even did a summer stint as a deckhand on a sailing yacht.”
I tell her about Charleston, where I fudge my title a little. Assistant slash secretary slash adult in the room is basically the same thing as an office manager, right? Wrangling a bunch of real estate agents with massive egos and attention deficit disorders should certainly qualify.
“Now I’m the office manager at the stone yard. I process invoices and payroll, scheduling, ordering. There isn’t anything that goes on in that place that I don’t keep my finger on. And I see that clients are well cared for, of course.”
“I understand you’ve taken on a lot of
responsibility since your mother’s passing,” Mackenzie tells me, putting my résumé aside after reading it carefully. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
It’s still awkward when someone brings up my mom. Mostly because I’ve moved on. I’ve been over it almost since the moment it happened. Yet I get pulled right back in every time someone else pauses to process or acknowledge it. Sucked out of time and transported to the funeral all over again, back to those first days scrambling everyone on the phone.
“It’s been a lot to learn, but I’ve gotten a good handle on things,” I say. “I’m a quick study. And I think now is the right time to leave the stone yard and hand the reins off to someone else.”
If given his way, my dad would keep me in the office forever. Despite our deal, I know the only way to force his hand is to give him a deadline. I can teach just about anyone else to run the yard for him; he just needs the proper motivation to pick someone.
“I can understand getting thrown into the deep end. Or in my case, jumping. I mean, what business do I have owning a hotel, right?” There’s something disarming about her self-awareness, her self-deprecating grin. Mackenzie doesn’t take herself too seriously, so it’s easy to talk to her like a real person, not just another clone throwing their money around. “I just saw the place and fell in love, you know? It spoke to me. And once my heart was set, there was no talking myself out of it.”
“I had the same reaction when I was a kid,” I admit. “I don’t know how to explain it …” I trail off pensively. I can still picture the old brass fixtures, and the palm trees casting shadows on the pool cabanas. “It’s a special place. Some buildings, they have character, personality. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures, but I wish you could have known The Beacon before it closed. It was like a time capsule—entirely unique. I have great memories there.”
“Yeah, that’s something the previous owner
said to me when I convinced her to let me buy the property. Her only request was that I maintain the original intent as much as possible. The personality, as you put it. Basically, I promised not to go mangling a piece of history.” Mackenzie grins. “Hopefully, I’ve kept that promise. I mean, we’ve certainly tried. Cooper’s exhausted himself tracking down experts to make sure every detail is as close to authentic as possible.”
“I’m honestly excited to get a look.”
“For me, part of that authenticity is about finding people who know and truly understand what we’re trying to recreate. People who care as much about that history as I do, you know? People make the hospitality, after all.”
She goes quiet, lingering on what feels like an open question as she sips her water.
Finally, she says, “I do have some other interviews this week, but just so you know, you’re comfortably among the top candidates.”
“Seriously?” I don’t mean to say that out loud and roll my eyes at myself. I offer a sheepish smile. “I mean, thank you. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
Somehow, I’m always surprised when anyone takes me seriously, especially as a matter of trust and responsibility. No matter how well I dress up or maintain good posture, it feels like they all see through me. Like they look at me and see only the screwup teenager running around drunk on the back of a motorcycle.
Nerves dampen my palms. If I get this job, there’s no room for mistakes. No spending the night naked on the beach and showing up to work late. If history is any indication, I’m a piece of twine over an open flame. Just a matter of time before I snap. So to get this job—and
keep
this job—the training wheels have to come off this newly self-proclaimed good girl.
As I’m about to make my way out, a
golden retriever comes galloping onto the deck. She’s got that gangly look that tells me she’s still very young and not in complete control of her limbs. She nudges me with her nose and plops her head in my lap.
“Oh my goodness. Look at this cutie! What’s her name?”
“Daisy.”
I rub behind Daisy’s ears and she makes a happy sound, her brown eyes glazing over. “She’s very sweet.”
“You want to hang out for a bit? It’s about time for her walk. We can take her down to the beach.”
I hesitate. Not because Mackenzie isn’t perfectly nice, but because I think the interview was pretty great, and the longer I stick around, the more chance I have to screw that up. I’m better in small doses around people who don’t know me well. If I’m going to get the job, I’d rather sign the paperwork before my boss figures out I’m a potential disaster.
“Don’t worry,” she says, apparently discerning my anxiety. “We’re both off the clock. Consider this family time.”
She winks, and I catch her meaning. A job isn’t the only thing we have in common.
“Sure,” I agree, and a few minutes later we’ve got our sunglasses on and are following Daisy as she runs up and down the beach digging for crabs and chasing the waves.
It isn’t long before the subject of Evan rises to the surface.
“You two go way back, huh?” Mackenzie says. “It sounds like kind of a complicated history.”
“No,” I answer, laughing, “not that complicated. A couple teenagers running amok while the town burned in the background. Pretty simple, actually.”
Smiling, she picks up a stick and tosses it for Daisy. “That doesn’t sound awful, if I’m honest.”
“Oh, it wasn’t. Especially not when we were drunk, high, naked, or some combination of the three most of the time. It was
incredible, even. Until the buzz wore off. Then I looked back at the destruction in my wake and decided I couldn’t live with the consequences.”
“And that’s why you moved?”
“Essentially.”
“Evan talked about you a lot while you were gone.”
I know she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it seems there’s no end in sight to being reminded that Evan was one of those consequences. That to fix myself, I had to hurt him. Maybe my decision to leave town was rash—cowardly, in some respect—but looking back, I still think I made the right decision.
“I hit a nerve,” Mackenzie says, pausing as we stroll the beach. “I’m sorry. I only meant to say he missed you.”
“It’s fine. I’ve made this bed.”
“He said you’re trying to work things out, though, right?”
Daisy brings her stick to me, pushing her nose into my hand until I accept the stick and fling it down the beach. Her tail furiously slashes through the air as she chases it down.
“He’s wooing me,” I say with a sigh.
Mackenzie breaks out in a grin. “Oh my God. Please tell me those were his words.”
“They were. He’s wooing. I’m being wooed.” I can’t help but laugh. “We never dated in the traditional way, so I guess he’s trying to change that. And I figured, what the hell, let’s give it a shot.”
Ever since he asked me out on the boardwalk, I’d been waiting for the tug of regret, the jolt of dread over this impending date, but it hasn’t come. When I moved back home, I convinced myself that I needed to stay away from Evan out of sheer self-preservation, but the more I think on it, the less it makes sense to rest my problems at Evan’s feet. He didn’t make me drink. He didn’t make me blow off school or sneak into abandoned buildings. I did those things because I wanted to, and doing them with him let me pretend I wasn’t
responsible for myself.
Truth is, we’re both different people now. And in all the ways we’ve changed and grown up, we’ve also grown closer somehow. He’s made the effort. Only seems fair to give it a chance.
“So when’s the big date?” Mackenzie asks. “Tonight?”
“Next weekend. And before you ask, I have no idea what he’s planning.” I groan. “I’m worried there might be a corsage and limo involved.”
She hoots in delight. “Please,
please
take a picture for me if that’s the case.”
“Tonight I’m meeting Alana at the Rip Tide. If you want to come,” I hedge. “Our friend Jordy’s reggae band is performing.”
“Ahh, I can’t.” She appears genuinely disappointed. “Coop and I are having dinner at his uncle’s place.”
“Next time, then. Say hi to Levi and Tim for me.” I hesitate for a beat. “And thank you again for considering me for this position, Mackenzie.”
“Mac,” she corrects. “We’re dating twins, Genevieve. I feel like that moves us into nickname territory.”
“Deal. Mac.” I smile. “And you can call me Gen.”
“Hey, sorry, I’m late.” Alana slides across from me at the table near the small stage of the Rip Tide. Her dark-red hair cascades over one shoulder, appearing a bit tousled.
“Swear to God, if you’re late because you were hooking up with Tate—”
“I wasn’t,” she assures me. Then she rolls her eyes. “And even if I was, you’re the last person who should judge. Your love life is a series of bad decisions.”
“Ouch.” I grin. “But true.”
As we laugh, Alana flags down a server and orders a beer. Friday nights are half-price pitchers at the Rip Tide, a
deal I would’ve taken full advantage of not so long ago. But I’m drinking a virgin mai tai, which is damn good if I’m being honest. Who knew the taste of virgin cocktails would start growing on me.
“What’s the holdup?” she asks, nodding toward the empty stage. “Weren’t they supposed to go on at nine?”
“Technical difficulties.” About ten minutes ago, one of Jordy’s bandmates came up to the mic to make a vague announcement. Naturally, I’d texted Jordy for more details, and he admitted their steel drum player showed up with a hangover and has been puking backstage since his arrival.
“Technical difficulties?” Alana says knowingly.
“Yeah, as in, Juan is technically having difficulties not projectile-vomiting all the Jägerbombs he inhaled last night.”
She gives a loud snicker, before smoothing out her rumpled hair. “Sorry I look like a scrub. I came straight from the club. I was caddying today and it was so windy. I didn’t have an elastic, so my hair was blowing all over the place.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “I didn’t know you were working at the country club again. What happened to the receptionist gig at the
Avalon Bee
?”
“I’m doing both.” She rubs her temples, visibly tired. “I’m saving up for a new car because old Betsy’s engine is finally threatening to give out for good. So I called my old boss at The Manor and she gave me a few shifts a week over there. I might be landing a better gig, though—some lady at the club approached me about possibly working as her au pair for the rest of the summer. I guess their current one just up and quit.”
“An au pair? You realize that’s just a fancy word for nanny, right? Also, you hate kids,” I remind her, then snicker at the thought of Alana wrangling a bunch of screaming kids into a minivan. She’d kill
them in two days, tops.
“Nah, I can tolerate kids. What I
can’t
tolerate is caddying for one more pompous jackass. I swear, the group today had four of them and they all took turns offering to buy me expensive shit in exchange for sex.” She snorts. “One said he’d settle for a handy in the bathroom, which was sweet of him.”
“Gross.” I take a sip of my drink. “Speaking of career changes, I had a job interview today with Mackenzie.”
“Yeah? How’d that go?”
“Good, I think. She said she’ll be in touch once she’s done interviewing all the candidates.”
After our server drops off Alana’s beer, she clinks her bottle against my glass. “Cheers, babe. Glad you’re home.”
“Glad to be home.”
“Did you end up reaching Heidi? Her phone kept going to voicemail when I called.”
A sigh slips out. “She’s hanging out with my brother tonight. I think they’re watching a movie at his place with Kellan serving as third wheel.”
“Kinky.”
“Please don’t ever say the word
kinky
when we’re discussing two of my brothers. Thank you.”
Alana snorts. “I can’t believe she’s still dating Jay. No offense, but Heidi eats guys like him for breakfast.”
“I know, right? But hey, it seems to be working. I guess opposites really do attract.”
We both wince when the screech of microphone feedback pierces through the low murmur of voices in the dive bar. Goodbye, eardrums. Turning to the stage, I see the keyboardist adjusting his mic, while Jordy settles on a stool with his guitar. The other band members take the stage, including a very pale Juan, who staggers
toward his drum.
Alana cackles. “Ten bucks says he turns green and runs off the stage after three songs.”
“I say he only lasts two.”
“Deal.”
We’re both wrong. Halfway through the first song—a pretty good Bob Marley cover—poor Juan gags, slaps a hand over his mouth, and practically dives backstage. Laughter breaks out in the bar, along with several loud whistles and some applause.
“Looks like we got a bird down,” Mase, the smooth-voiced lead singer, drawls into the mic. “But don’t you worry, my little pelicans, we’re gonna keep chirping without him.”
Did I mention Jordy’s band is called Three Little Birds? Without fail, every one of their sets involves an obscene amount of bird references and incredibly unfunny fowl puns.
“Hey, girlies,” says a familiar voice, and then our friend Lauren sidles up to us. She leans down to smack a kiss on my cheek. “We still on for lunch next week?” she asks me.
“Absolutely. It’s been ages since we had a proper catch-up.” We’ve known Ren since grade school, but she’s been joined at the hip with Wyatt these past few years. She’s one of those chicks who disappears when she has a boyfriend and then comes slinking back whenever they’re on a break. Or over for good, which seems to be the case this time.
Still, Ren’s good people. She’s hilarious and always has your back.
Which is why I’m slightly confused by Alana’s reaction to our friend. After a lackluster hello, Alana busies herself by studying the label on her bottle, as if she’s never actually read the ingredients in a Corona before and
must
know what they are. Right now.
It doesn’t take long to figure out what’s what, though.
“I hear you’ve been spending a lot
of time with Wyatt,” Ren says to Alana. Her tone has gone frosty, but she’s still got a smile pasted on.
“Well, yeah, we’re friends,” Alana answers. Her tone has dropped several degrees too.
Ren pauses thoughtfully. “Friends, huh.”
“Yes, Ren. We’re friends.” Alana gives her a pointed look. “So, please, just chill, alright? It’s not like we suddenly developed some random friendship after you guys broke up. I’ve known him since kindergarten.”
The brunette nods a few times, briskly. “Uh-huh. I know you guys are friends. But the thing is, you were never the kind of friends who crashed at each other’s places or lay on the beach stargazing at two in the fucking morning.”
Uh-oh. What on earth has Alana gotten herself into?
I’m the one who’s now fascinated with her beverage. My gaze drops to my glass as I pretend I’m seeing ice cubes for the very first time.
Alana quirks up a brow. “You spying on us now, Lauren?”
Ren’s jaw tightens. “No. But I was with Danny yesterday, and he said he took a date to the boardwalk the other night and saw you and Wyatt on the beach. And then last week, Shari was driving past your house at like five in the morning and saw Wyatt’s truck parked outside. So …” Ren trails off deliberately, waiting for Alana to fill in the blanks.
But Ren ought to know better. Alana is not and has never been one to explain herself. She simply stares at Ren as if to say,
are you done?
On the stage, Mase is singing an original song about a young couple having sex on the beach at dawn while seagulls squawk overhead.
Despite my better sense, I get involved. “
Come on, Ren, you know it’s not like that with them.” Or is it? Truthfully, I have no idea what Alana’s up to. She insists she’s not hooking up with Wyatt, but who knows with that one.
“
Do
I know that?” Ren bites out, voicing my own doubts. “Alana sure as shit isn’t denying it.”
“Because she doesn’t feel she needs to defend herself over an accusation so ridiculous,” I respond with confidence I’m not sure I should have. “She and Wyatt aren’t hooking up. They’re friends. Friends go to the beach together. Sometimes they get drunk and crash at each other’s houses. Big deal.”
“Are you kidding me, Gen? You of all people should be backing me up right now.” Ren gapes at me. “You used to cut a bitch for even looking at Evan. There was one time you didn’t speak to Steph for days after she kissed him in a game of spin the bottle.”
“Well, I was young and stupid back then,” I say lightly.
“Oh, really?” she challenges. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t care if one of your friends was taking moonlit strolls on the beach with Evan?”
“Wouldn’t bat an eyelash,” I say, shrugging. “He might be my ex, but I don’t own him. He’s allowed to have friends, and it’s perfectly cool if he’s friends with my friends.”
A smug gleam lights Ren’s eyes. “Yeah? Then I guess you won’t mind if I ask him to dance.”
Ask him to what? But she’s already gone, sauntering off toward—
Evan.
He’d just entered the dimly lit bar with Tate and their buddy Chase in tow.
As always, he senses my presence before our gazes even meet. His shoulders tense, chin shifting to the side before his head follows suit. And then those magnetic dark eyes lock onto mine and I can feel the change in the
air. The electricity.
I’m helpless to stop the rush of heat that fills my body and tingles between my legs. Evan looks good enough to eat. Dark-green cargo pants encase his long legs. A white band shirt stretches across his broad chest. I squint in the darkness and realize it’s one of Jordy’s shirts, with the Three Little Birds name and trademark logo scrawled on the front. His hair’s swept back from his chiseled face, emphasizing those gorgeous, masculine features. It’s infuriating. Why does he have to be so hot?
Ren wasn’t making idle threats. Her curvy frame sashays toward my ex-boyfriend, and she takes his hand and gives it a teasing tug. I can’t hear what she’s saying to him, but it earns her a lopsided smile and a nod of surrender, as Evan allows her to drag him to the dance floor.
“Bitch,” I growl under my breath.
Alana barks out a laugh.
“Shut it,” I order, pointing a finger at her. “You’re the reason she’s out there proving a point.”
And Ren’s definitely making a statement. As the sultry reggae beat thuds in the bar, she loops her arms around Evan’s neck and starts moving to the beat.
I breathe through my nose and pretend I don’t care that Evan’s hands are resting on another woman’s hips. In his defense, he seems to be trying to keep at least a foot of distance between their bodies. And he doesn’t look very comfortable. But still. He could’ve said no.
Wearing identical looks of amusement, Tate and Chase wander over to our table. I notice Alana stiffen at Tate’s approach. They greet each other with nods, as if they’re complete strangers—when we all know they’ve been sleeping together for months now.
“What’s going on there?” Tate nods his blond head toward the dance floor.
“Ren’s pissed at me so she’s retaliating by
pissing off Gen,” Alana explains, then takes a long swig of beer, draining the rest of the bottle.
“How does that make any sense?” Chase looks confused.
“It doesn’t,” I grind out through clenched teeth. My fists are clenched too, because Ren’s hands are veering dangerously close to Evan’s ass. Would I be breaking my good girl vows if I marched over there and dragged her away from him by the hair? Probably.
Evan seeks out my eyes over Ren’s shoulder, frowning slightly when he discerns my expression. Yeah, he knows my feelings on this matter. I’ve never been good at hiding my jealousy.
“Gonna grab drinks,” Tate says. He nudges Alana’s arm, then gestures to her empty bottle. “Want a refill?”
“Nah. Thanks, though.” To my surprise, Alana slides out of her chair. “Gen and I were about to take off. We’re meeting Steph.”
I don’t call her out on the lies. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind getting out of here too. Before I do something I’m going to regret. It’s taking all my willpower not to rip Ren away from Evan and fuck him right there in front of everyone to stake my claim. And that’s terrifying to me. He’s not mine anymore. I have no claims on him, and these raw, visceral emotions he evokes in me are too overwhelming.
“Yeah.” I stand up and touch Chase’s arm. “Would you tell Jordy we had to duck out early, but that he totally crushed it tonight?”
“Sure thing,” Chase says easily.
“Alana—” Tate starts, then stops abruptly. His blue eyes cloud over for a second before taking on a careless veil. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You too.”
Alana and I practically sprint out of the bar. I feel Evan’s gaze boring a hole into my back as we flee.
“Are you going to explain what that was all about?” I grumble as we step into
the warm night breeze.
Alana just sighs. “I don’t want him to think we’re together, so every now and then I remind him by being a bitch.”
I nod slowly. “Fine. And Wyatt? You going to tell me what the hell is happening there?”
Her expression darkens. “I told you before, there’s nothing happening except that he thinks he has a crush on me.”
“Maybe he does.”
“He doesn’t,” she says flatly. “We’ve been friends forever, and he doesn’t know what he’s fucking talking about.”
In other words,
back off
. So I do. I don’t press her, and in return she doesn’t press me about what’s happening between me and Evan. Not that I would have been able to answer that question. My feelings for Evan Hartley have always been far too complicated to articulate.
Alana and I part ways. Ten minutes later, I’m pulling into my driveway at home when my phone buzzes. I fish it out of the cup holder and check the screen.
Evan:
Why’d you run off?
Sighing, I tap out a quick response.
Me:
Alana wasn’t in the mood for Tate.
The urge to type a follow-up makes my fingers itch. I try to resist it and fail.
Me:
And I wasn’t in the mood to watch you rubbing up all over Ren.
Evan:
Ha! She was rubbing up all over me. I was an innocent bystander.
Me:
I’m sure it was
torture for you.
Evan:
It was. Whenever there’s a chick grinding up on me, my poor dick yells at me and demands to know why that chick isn’t you.
My cheeks feel warm all of a sudden. He’s not the most poetic man out there, but he does have a way with words. And those words never fail to turn me on.
Me:
I thought you were reformed. “We’re not having sex, yada yada.”
Evan:
I didn’t say we were going to have sex. Just that my dick misses you.
Me:
You still with Ren?
Evan:
No, she wandered off the moment she realized she didn’t have an audience anymore. Just chilling with the boys now.
There’s a short delay. Then:
Evan:
We still on for next weekend?
This is my chance to back out. To say, “You know what, I changed my mind about the whole wooing thing. Let’s just try to be friends.”
What I say instead is:
Me:
Yes.