Small Town Scandal: A Wingmen Novel, page 9
“Sure.” I agree with her, but I’m not sure I’m that organized.
Her eyes sweep across my face and I study the ever-changing color of her irises. In the sunlight they look more deep bottle green than brown.
When she speaks, she sounds excited. “I can coach you on business organization. If you’d like and it wouldn’t be too weird.”
“Why would it be weird?” Curious, I shift to fully face her, moving into her space.
“You know. Our history.” Her excitement fades when she brings up our past. Her lashes beat against each other as she blinks nervously.
“I’m okay with it if you are.”
“What about your dad?”
“He’s more of a silent partner. The money invested is all mine, so I get the final say.”
“He’s okay with that?”
“It’s for the best for all of us if he’s not connected financially.”
“Worried about history repeating itself?” She meets my eyes.
“With you?” Yes, please.
Ashley gives a slight nod.
“Never. I’m not some dumb eighteen-year-old kid with his head up his ass. I’m not my father. You’re not your parents. We’re adults now.”
She gazes out over the water for a moment. “I don’t see any, do you?”
“Any what?” I scan the sky.
“Flying pigs.” Her smile is shy and more vulnerable than I’ve seen in years.
I bump her shoulder again with mine. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Says you.” She returns the pressure with her arm against mine with a brief nudge.
“You mentioned dinner? Were you serious?” I circle back to her comment before my random business idea.
“We both gotta eat. Plus, the baristas can close up for me. It’s good responsibility for them to have.”
“You trust them?”
“I do. If they mess up, then it’s a learning lesson for all of us.”
“When did you get to be so wise?” I almost say smart, but she’s always been smart. Definitely has the brains along with the body and the looks. She’s the trifecta. With a cherry on top.
I pick up the stem and then toss it over to the other bench.
“Hey! I thought that was my present,” she protests.
“You want a cherry stem that I’ve tongued into a knot?”
“Your tongue’s been in my mouth, so it’s kind of the same thing.”
We both stare at the stem laying on the concrete in who knows what combination of fluids and dirt.
“I’ll make you another one.”
“I have a better use for your tongue.” She surprises me with a small hop to peck my lips.
We’re going to need some rules of engagement. A SWOT of our own.
First, we need to stick to well lit, public places.
Second, we shouldn’t be alone.
Ten minutes of sitting on a bench together and certain parts of my body are coiled and ready to spring into action, not caring it’s daylight and a few hundred bored people are sitting in their cars with nothing better to do than watch us.
Nah, they’re all on their phones. She could probably straddle me on this bench and no one would pay any attention.
Damn, if I’m not tempted to test this theory.
“Are you coming?” She’s halfway back to the coffee hut.
“I wish,” I mumble, dipping my head and mentally cursing myself for setting limits.
Ashley’s smile says she probably heard me and agrees.
SHE SUGGESTS SUSHI for dinner. Typically, I prefer my fish cooked, but I make an exception.
The hostess leads us into a small, dimly lit, private room closed off from the main restaurant by paper screen walls. A low table surrounded by floor cushions is the only furniture in the space.
“We could sit at the bar. I don’t mind. It’s fun to watch the chefs prepare the food.” I stand outside the doorway, hoping to avoid the oncoming train wreck of my fading resistance.
“This is much better.” Ashley sits down on one of the pillows scattered around the table.
If I make her get up and move, I’ll look like a weirdo. The pseudo stalking hasn’t helped my reputation.
“Look, there’s a hole under the table for your legs so it’s more comfortable.”
“What’s down there?” I balk.
“I don’t know. Want me to crawl under there and look?” Teasing, she tilts her whole body to the side and raises her eyebrow.
My mind imagines under table blow jobs and I wonder if this is the kind of place men bring hookers.
“When you were younger, did you ever pretend the floor was covered in lava? Or there was something living under your bed?” Hesitant, I remain standing in the doorway.
She sits upright and then nods.
“I’m having a flashback right now.”
“You think there’s some sort of monster living under the zashiki table at Oishi Sushi?” She’s doubting my logic.
I need to convince her this is a bad idea. “What if an octopus escaped from the kitchen and is hiding out down there?”
Smirking, she shakes her head and dismisses my fears. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not. I saw a video of one escaping an aquarium. The thing slid into a vent and was never seen again.”
Her face remains blank, but she shifts her legs out from under the table and rests them next to her on the pillow. “You sound like Erik and his horror movie scenarios.”
“Many of those movies are based on real life events.”
“Stop talking.” Reaching into her purse, she pulls out her phone and flips on the flashlight feature.
I don’t stop her from looking under the table into the dark well where her legs just were.
“All right then.” She stands up and turns off the light. “Let’s sit at the bar.”
I follow as she brushes by me into the hall.
“Octopus?” I ask.
“No, but I don’t think they’ve vacuumed in there for a while, and there was something sticky-looking in the corner.”
“Are you sure you want to eat here?” I’m voting for no.
“I love this place, and as long as we never speak of this again, I can continue to love their shrimp tempura rolls and spicy tuna.”
The hostess gives us a funny look as we pass her on our way to the bar.
My appetite is questionable and I didn’t even see anything. The sushi better be amazing.
We take seats at the corner of the sushi bar so we can talk without craning our necks. The two chefs greet us with smiles and bows of their heads. Our hostess brings over green tea and the menus.
“Okay, this is better.” I eye the menu.
In front of us, the heavier of the two chefs lifts a sharp knife and chops the arm off of an octopus.
Ashley’s eyes go wide and I’m sure my face mirrors her shocked expression.
We both burst out laughing.
“I’m thinking I could go for a burger. And I might need a beer.” I push away from the counter.
“Buzz’s at Paine Field work for you?” She picks up her purse.
“Let’s go.”
Sitting on the deck at Buzz’s—watching the landing strip of Boeing Field, sunshine on our faces, beers on the table, and no tentacles in sight—life is good.
“You ever have a moment where everything feels right. Like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be?” A sense of contentment settles over me.
“Sitting in a bar, eating a greasy burger I’m going to regret in about two hours, and drinking beer with you?”
“Pretty much all of that except the regret part. Although if you’re going to regret something, I’m glad it’s the burger and not me.”
She jabs at her napkin, making half-moon indents with her fingernails. “I’ve never regretted you. Waste of time and energy. I try to own my actions. Learn from them. Move on.”
I’m going to focus on the first part of what she said and forget about the last sentence.
I fail. “You certainly moved on.”
The summer I left for college, she dated Clint. After him she went out with Aaron, and I think Randy. Never staying with any guy for long. Or so I heard. Back then I mostly tried to ignore everything having anything to do with Ashley.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sounds defensive. When she understands my meaning, her lips form an O. “I wasn’t talking about you specifically, but yeah, I guess it’s true. All that stuff from high school feels like a million years ago. Aren’t you glad we’re not who we used to be? I’d never go back to being a teenager again. Nope, nope, nope. You couldn’t pay me enough.”
Rolling my lips into a hard line, I nod along as she speaks to keep from arguing it was the best part of my life. Because I know how pitiful it sounds to say I peaked in high school. Not that I’d go back either.
“It’s a good thing time travel hasn’t been invented yet.”
“Would you go back and change anything?” she asks.
“Not much. You?” I’m curious what she’d change.
“Hmm. I’d try to stop my father from being an asshole. Probably impossible. And we’re better off without him. What if I changed something and he stayed, but kept being the worst dad on the planet? Only in the alternate universe, he becomes worse? No thanks.”
Ashley and Jonah’s dad is a ghost. No one brings him up or mentions him by name. Not since he walked out on them and never looked back. He’s been smart enough to never show his face on the island again. There’d be a long line of people with grievances who’d want a shot at him, including my family . . . and especially my dad. Some of those hurt by him own guns and openly talk about what they’d do with his body. Makes me wonder if they’re speaking about something already done and buried.
“I agree. I wouldn’t go back and change anything. Everything builds on what came before it, like a giant Jenga tower. Remove the wrong piece and everything could come crumbling down.”
“You’ve always had it easy.” She waves the waitress over for another round of beers.
I choke on my own spit. “Right.”
“I’m not talking about your family. Everyone’s family is messed up. Some just do it more publicly than others. Some keep their messes locked behind closed doors with the window shades drawn. The Kelsos prefer to let it all hang out.”
“I’m not my brother. Or his infamous ass.”
“Didn’t say you were.” She drinks from her fresh pint. “Although it’s worked out well for him. Business is booming, he started a charity, and he survived being famous for his fifteen minutes.”
“You forgot the part about falling in love with his soul mate.”
“Pfft.” Looking out the window at the airstrip, she takes a long chug of beer. “If you believe in true love and happily ever afters. They have a fifty percent chance of not growing to hate each other. Probably less if you take into account all the miserable people who stayed married. Let’s say twenty percent are happy. One in five. Of all the couples we know, most of them are unhappy.”
“Guess you’re having your burger with a side of bitter.” I keep the timbre of my voice lighthearted and teasing.
“I’m not bitter. I’m realistic. This is why I prefer to focus on business instead of relationships. More rewarding.”
I wonder how much of her focus on business is the aftermath of the Tom Donnely implosion. I’ve avoided the details of what went on between them for years, but living on the island means even I couldn’t completely stay in the dark. People talk, especially when a Donnely is involved. Tom could do no wrong and Ashley became known as a slut because she openly didn’t care if what went on between them was only sexual. The gossiping ladies of Whidbey had themselves all twisted up over the scandal of a nice girl from a good family brazenly fooling around like the men around here have done for years.
“More rewarding than a true connection with someone?” I drink my beer. “Money doesn’t make a good partner.”
“True, but it lets me buy everything I want.”
“Everything?” I dip my head and stare at her with meaning.
“I’ve never paid for sex, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“Why does it always come back to sex with you? It’s your go-to baseline.”
“Because it’s what people expect me to be about. Easier to go along with their perceptions than try to change them.” She picks at the paper coaster on the scratched and dented wood table. “Once a slut, always a slut.”
“That’s not true.” I almost say, look at Tom, but mentioning him would only pour salt and lemon juice into the recently healed cuts.
“We slept together in high school. You got labeled a stud and I became a whore.” Her voice is quiet, but strong.
“No one called you a whore.”
“No, but they treated me like one. Me and every other girl who they thought had sex. Once I was no longer a virgin, I became a sure thing. Good girl gone bad. If I’d slept with you, other guys thought I might sleep with them, too.”
“Who? I’ll find them and kick their ass.” Anger heats my skin. “Was it Brad? Brent? I never liked the twins.”
“I’m not giving you a list of names for you to seek some decades old revenge. Let’s leave it that sexually active high school girls have reputations. Teenage boys having sex acquire conquests and experience.”
“Don’t tell me anyone expected you to save yourself until your wedding night.” I’m flabbergasted at the thought.
“Have you met my mother and grandmother? They believe sex is for procreation. If you’re not making a baby, you keep your chastity belt locked.”
“Serious?”
“As a chastity belt,” she says dryly.
“Wait, you didn’t really have one of those, did you?” I can’t tell if she’s serious. I wouldn’t put it past her grandmother to craft something like a chastity belt out of yarn and fabric.
“No, obviously. I wasn’t allowed to use tampons because then I wouldn’t be a virgin for my husband.”
“Shut up.” My low tolerance for period talk aside, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“It’s true.” She manages to laugh. “Virginity is a precious gift that shouldn’t go to a wad of cotton.”
“I don’t even know what to say about that.”
“Welcome to life as a woman.”
“I’ve never thought of your side of things.” My honesty sounds lame to my own ears.
“Why would you?” I hate the cynicism in her voice. “Not your reputation.”
“Trust me. My own reputation sucks. I know about being on the shit end of the plunger.”
“Gross.” She wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way for a woman disgusted. “It’s different for a guy.”
“I never bragged in the locker room about you. Hell, I never told Erik a single detail. As far as I know, he knew nothing about us until the rumors started spreading, and even then, he was too caught up in his own shit to pay attention to anyone else.”
“Really? Boys, and men, are worse than women when it comes to talking about their sex lives.”
“I didn’t want to share you with anyone else. I certainly wasn’t going to give the trolls and cretins in the locker room any details.”
“That’s sweet of you.” Her tone echoes her words.
“Underneath my general asshole dude persona, I’m a nice guy. Don’t you dare tell anyone. I have a reputation to protect.”
She grins at me. “Me too.”
Her genuine smile tells me everything I need to know. She’s not the hardened, callous woman who’s only about casual sex. Maybe she’s a little bitter about men and gossip, but nothing I can’t work with. What I do know is there’s a connection between us that’s lasted through the years even when we buried it and tried to forget.
After dinner, I drive us back to the lot to pick up her car. The ferry line has all but disappeared, leaving the wait lot half full. I can definitely make the next boat.
“I’d invite you over, but I have a feeling you’re going to decline and I don’t want to be rejected.” She rests against her car in the parking lot.
I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my truck with the engine idling. Better to keep some distance between us.
“Good thing you didn’t. I don’t want to tell you no.” I run my index finger over the corner of my bottom lip.
“Not even a good night kiss?” She takes a few steps closer to the cab.
“This wasn’t a date.”
A few steps more and she’ll be right in front of me.
“Drinks. Dinner. Conversation. Laughter. Sounds like a date. A good one.”
“All bonus points. I came over here to get your number. And I did.”
“I don’t think I like this game.”
“You might if you give it a chance.”
“You’re the only one who knows the rules. You have an unfair advantage while I’m left in the dark about what the hell is even going on.”
I decide to give her a few crumbs. “This wasn’t a date, but I am going to be asking you out. I’ll probably wait two or three days to call. Then I’ll make plans and invite you to join me. Maybe even pick you up at your house with flowers in hand. We’ll go out. I’ll insist on driving and opening your doors. I won’t let you split the bill. There might even been an activity after a meal. Or before. The entire time we’re together, I’ll be a perfectly well behaved, upstanding gentleman. If things go well, I’ll drive you home, walk you to your door, and then, and only then, give you a good night kiss.”
“Sounds like a lot of extra steps, along with pointless work and a long wait to get to the good stuff.”
“Remember when we kissed at Erik’s party?”
She nods.
“I do. I think about that kiss every day, multiple times.”
“We could repeat it now.” Staring up at me, she runs her fingertips along the strip of fuzzy material along the truck’s window sill.
I calm her fingers with my touch. “I’m not rejecting you, Ashley. Nor am I using you for sex.”
“It’s not using me if I want it.”
