Accidentally Married, page 36
“Talked?” she asks like she hopes she misunderstood me.
“Talked,” I reply.
“No, naked, hot, crazy sex?”
I laugh. “No, nothing like that,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I don't think disappointment is a strong enough word.”
“He's actually a pretty good conversationalist,” I say. “He's a lot different than I expected him to be.”
Skyler looks at me for a long moment, as if trying to understand everything I'm saying – like I'm suddenly speaking Chinese or something.
“So, let me get this all straight,” she says. “We've already established that he's a hot guy, right?”
“He's – an attractive man, yes.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Attractive man is Paige-speak for super-hot stud of a man.”
I laugh. “Fine. He's hot.”
“So, hot guy, hot girl,” she says. “You got to his house, you're alone...”
“More or less,” I say. “His house manager was there.”
“But like, not in the room with you?”
“No, not in the room.”
Feeling fidgety beneath Skyler's cross-examination, I pick up the feather duster again and start dusting the shelves I dusted half an hour ago. I know she'll just keep pressing until she feels she's wrung every last bit of information out of me, so I figure it's better to just get it out of the way now, so we can move on to other topics.
“So, hot guy, hot girl, alone in a room…” she says. “And all you do is talk?”
“We also had coffee.”
Skyler let's out a sigh of frustration and shakes her head again. All I can do is laugh.
“Honey, are you medically incapable of having sex?” she asks. “Or is it a religious thing?”
“Just because a man and a woman are in a room together doesn't mean they need to have sex.”
“It should,” she says and laughs. “Especially when a hot woman is into said hot man.”
I gasp and stare at her wide-eyed. “I am not into him.”
“You are totally into him,” she says. “I can see that into him glow about you. Don't think you can fool me, Paige, I'm an expert on these things.”
I turn my back on her – mostly to hide the color in my cheeks – and keep dusting. I'm not into him, despite what she says. He's an attractive man, yes. He's not anything like I expected him to be. He's smart, funny, and way more sensitive than I would have ever thought possible.
I may be intrigued by him, but I'm not into him. At least, not in the way Skyler is suggesting.
“I enjoyed having a cup of coffee and conversation with the man,” I say. “That doesn't mean I'm going to strip down and bang him.”
“That's exactly what that should mean,” she says. “Coffee is the universal symbol for sex. If he asks if you want a cup of coffee, what he's really asking is, would you like to bang?”
Laughter bursts out of me, despite my best efforts at controlling it. “You are incorrigible.”
“Yes, I am,” she says. “And good thing for you. If it wasn’t for me, you'd probably be living in a convent somewhere.”
I putter around the shop, dusting and straightening shelves as best as I can. Anything to distract me from Skyler's line of questioning.
“Do you like him?” she finally asks.
I turn to her. “I don't even know him.”
She shrugs. “But, do you like him?” she asks again. “Is he somebody you might want to get to know better?”
“I – I really don't know,” I say. “I haven't given it any thought.”
That's a lie. I've given it a little bit of thought. But, I'm not going to tell Skyler that. It would only add fuel to the fire. She's always been concerned about my love life. Or, more specifically, my lack of a love life. Ever since we were younger, she's always tried fixing me up with this guy or that guy, never seeming to understand that I don't necessarily want, or need, a man in my life.
Not that she is one who needs a man to feel complete or anything. Skyler is a very strong, independent woman. She's also someone who owns their sexuality. She sees no reason women shouldn't be allowed to enjoy sex – and talk about it – like men do.
She lives her life with vigor and passion, I'll give her that. She enjoys everything that life has to offer. It's something I've always admired about her. Not something I try to emulate, but something I admire. When it comes to sex, I've always been a little more Victorian in nature. More restrained and reserved. I've tried, unsuccessfully, but I am not a random hook-up kind of girl. It's simply not in my nature.
Which, of course, has led to a hell of a lot of sexual frustration. I have vibrators and all, but it's not the same. They serve a purpose and help get me off when I need it. The sex toys scratch the itch, sure, but it’s still a far cry from being sexually satisfied.
Even still, I’ve never been able to force myself to go out, find some random guy to have sex with and never talk to him again. To Skyler, sex is a sport. When she needs to get off, she goes hunting, and bags herself a trophy. Although some of the women in town judge her for it, I don't. She's right in that there is nothing wrong with a woman owning her sexuality.
But, for me, sex is about connection. It's about intimacy. I honestly don't know where it came from because my parents were basically old hippies. They were libertines, very open about their sexuality and never really sheltered me from it. As I grew older, they encouraged me to explore myself and experiment, get in touch with my inner desires and fantasies. All the while, they told me it was perfectly natural.
For some reason though, the lessons never took, and I ended up going in the opposite direction. While I'm not necessarily a prude – an assertion I know Skyler would disagree with – I'm also not the “free love” kind of person either.
“He's filthy, stinking rich, and he's successful,” Skyler says. “He's got all kinds of fancy toys like that private helicopter.”
“You know stuff like that doesn’t matter to me,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “But, wouldn't it be nice to have somebody in your life who could take care of you?”
I laugh. “I don’t think I would like to be a kept woman.”
“Not what I'm talking about,” she says. “All your life, you've taken care of other people. You take care of this shop. You took care of your parents. Your friends. Hell, you take care of me most of the time. Wouldn't it be a nice change of pace to not have to worry about anything? To have somebody take care of you for a change?”
“I don't take care of you,” I say.
“Yes. You do,” she says, looking at me earnestly. “In a million different ways, you do. I guess I don't do a good enough job of thanking you for it or making you feel appreciated, but you do, Paige. I wouldn't be half the woman I am today if it wasn’t for you.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks and my heart swells with happiness. Skyler isn't one who often gives into displays of emotion like that – especially with other people. Which makes what she said means that much more to me.
I have to admit, not having to worry and stress about how I'm going to keep the lights on or feed myself would be a nice change of pace. Not having to constantly fear that I am going to go bankrupt for holding on to my shop would be wonderful.
At the same time, I don’t think I’m willing to only be somebody's kept woman. I'm not the type to go out looking for a sugar daddy. I'm not willing to sell myself out for a little financial security. That's not the kind of person I am and not who my parents raised me to be.
“I just want to see you happy,” Skyler says. “I want that more than anything.”
“I am happy,” I say, her hand a gentle squeeze.
“No, you're not,” she says. “You don't think I see it, but I do. You're unsettled, hon. You're not happy. At least, not as happy as you could be.”
“Don't worry about me, Sky,” I say. “I'm just in a little rut. I'll figure it out and bounce back before you know it.”
She surprises me by pulling me into a tight embrace. We both stand there for a moment, looking at one another, tears shimmering in our eyes. And the stupid thing is, I don't even know why we're both so weepy all of a sudden.
We both awkwardly laugh and dab at our eyes. Skyler looks at me and a small grin touches the corners of her lips.
“So, do you like him?”
I laugh and shake my head. “This question again?”
“Yes, because you so deftly dodged it last time,” she says. “Don't think I didn't notice.”
I sigh. “I don't know him,” I say. “But, I'm – intrigued – by him.”
“Intrigued,” she says and nods. “That's something. I can work with that.”
“There's nothing to work with,” I say. “A man like that isn't going to be interested in a woman like me. We come from two totally different worlds.”
She shrugs. “They say opposites attract.”
“They say a lot of things.”
“That they do,” she replies. “But you're also making assumptions again.”
“I think this one is pretty well founded,” I say.
“I think you're wrong,” she replies. “And there's only one way to find out.”
“And how's that?”
“Go back to his place and see him.”
I open my mouth to shoot down her idea but then close it again. I'm not entirely opposed to the idea of seeing him again. But, that's presuming he'd want to see me again. For all I know, he offered me coffee just to be polite.
“I don't have anything left to apologize for,” I say and laugh. “I have no reason to go to his place.”
“You said he's a reader,” she says. “So, bring him a book.”
I look around at the cluttered bookshelves and smile. That might actually work. There might not be anything there. For all I know, Liam has a girlfriend. Or, he's simply not interested in me. Hell, for all I know, he's not interested in women at all. But there's only one way to find out.
I happen to glance out at the street and feel my eyes widen. Seeing my reaction, Skyler turns and looks as well. Walking across the street and toward the door of the shop is none other than Liam Anderson himself. I feel my pulse begin to race as a nervous energy fills my body.
“Is that him?” Skyler asks. “Is that Gatsby?”
I nod. “Yeah, that's him.”
“Oh, my,” she says. “I can see why you're all flustered over him.”
“Shut up,” I say and laugh. “Why is he here?”
“Obviously, he's coming to see you,” she says.
“But why?”
“Because he didn't get the hot, naked, crazy sex with that coffee the other day,” she says.
I slap her playfully on the shoulder. Liam steps up on the sidewalk. He's ten feet from the door and sees me through the front windows. He smiles and raises his hand. Feeling like an idiot, I wave in return. It's then that I notice the cuts and bruises on his face.
“Oh my God,” I say. “He looks like he's been in an accident.”
“Well, I should probably go then,” Skyler says. “Let you – tend to his wounds and all.”
“Incorrigible,” I mutter.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She heads for the door and the bell jingles as it opens. Liam steps inside as Skyler is heading out – and I can't help but notice her checking out his ass. Standing behind him, she gives me a thumbs-up – which is quickly followed by a more obscene, sexual gesture.
Laughing, she flounces out the door, leaving me alone with him. We stand there, both of us frozen, staring at each other for a few seconds. Neither of us seems to know what to say. Finally, I shake my head and break the paralysis.
“So how does the other guy look?” I ask, gesturing to his face.
Liam laughs and steps toward the counter. “Hi, Paige,” he says. “Nice to see you again.”
Chapter Fourteen
Liam
“Jesus, Liam,” she gasps. “What happened to you?”
“Would you believe me if I said I walked into a door?”
“No.”
“How about I fell down some stairs?”
“Let me think about that,” she says. “Yeah, no.”
Her laugh rings in the air like crystal chimes in the air and even though I can tell she's trying hard not to smile. I can tell she doesn't want to laugh. I can almost see the concern in her eyes.
I, of course, would rather not make a big deal about it. It happened. It's over. It's time to move on. Like my father always said, when life knocks you down, you get back up. But, Paige is looking at the cuts and bruises on my face – I know I probably look like I went a few rounds with Floyd Mayweather – but I somehow don't want her to worry.
And humor seems to be the best way to deflect her worry. It's how I usually try to deal with tense situations.
“Bar fight,” I say, shrugging. “A debate about who the better president was – Taft or Cleveland – got a little heated.”
“That must have been some debate,” she laughs. “You look like shit.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I reply. “Who knew that Taft has such enthusiastic and devoted fans.”
“I never would have pegged you for a Cleveland guy.”
“No? Who would you have pegged me for then?” I ask.
“You seem more like a Teddy Roosevelt guy to me.”
“Thank you for not saying Reagan,” I reply. “I would have walked out the door and never come back.”
She laughs and leans against the counter, still scrutinizing my face. And while she's amused by my attempt light-hearted banter, I can tell she's also concerned. Genuinely concerned.
“But seriously,” she said. “What really happened?”
I peruse the bookshelves a bit, running my fingertips over the bindings of a few of the titles as if I'm looking for something. I came all this way to see her, but now that I'm here, I don't really know what to say.
I honestly don't even know why I'm standing in Paige's store. There's no logical reason for me to be here. For some reason though, I just feel compelled to be here. To see Paige.
Once I got home from Seattle, Janice took one look at me and freaked out. After I refused to go to the hospital, she cleaned my wounds and bandaged them – all the while, grumpily insisting that she was no field surgeon and that I need to see an actual doctor. I don't think my wounds were serious enough for that though. Her patch job works just fine for me.
After a shower and a change of clothes, though, I felt restless. Agitated. My mind was all over the place. Despite being up all night, I couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus. Couldn't get my head straight. Hemingway grew irritated with me skulking through the house and took over one of the guest room, sprawling out on the bed, just to get away from me.
As I stood on the deck, drinking a cup of coffee, I'd became overcome with the urge to see Paige. I don't really know why – it makes no sense to me – but something in me needed to see her. So, I hopped in the car and drove down the hill.
And now, here I am.
Although she wants to know what happened and probably has a million questions, now that I'm standing in the shop with her, all I know is that I don’t want to talk what happened in the alley. And I don't want her to question me about Seattle. Personally, I don't want to think about any of that.
What I do want, however, is to know more about her.
But, as I glance back over at her, I can tell Paige is determined to get the story out of me. She's worried and I know the only real way to quell her concern is to give her what she wants. I'm not the kind of person who normally feels compelled to have touchy-feely emotional rap sessions. I prefer to keep things closer to the vest.
On the other hand, I feel like I can talk to her. It's crazy, given how little I actually know about her, but there's just something about Paige Samuels that tells me I can open up without fear. That I can confide in her. So, I explain what happened. I'm reluctant, but I tell her who Brittany is, what she did, and why I'm actually in Port Safira. At least, I give her the CliffsNotes version, anyway.
Having explained that, I tell her about seeing Brittany and that whole scene, to the attack in the alley. It's strange, but as I talk, the longer I go on, it gets easier. There's just something about Paige that inspires me to be open with her. I don't feel like I have to choose my words carefully or guard my secrets as closely. I don't get it, but that's how she makes me feel.
And I have to say, the more I speak, the more cathartic it feels. It feels good to actually open up and share some of what is going on in my head. Aside from my brothers, I don't have anybody in my life that I can truly open up to. I don't have anyone that I want to open up to. I was never this open with Brittany. But, with Paige, I feel like I can be.
She listens to every word, never interrupting, and never appearing to be bored by my story. If anything, she seems riveted by what I'm saying, hanging on my every word. And when I'm finished, she steps from behind the counter and walks toward me, her eyes soft and wide.
“Jesus,” she says softly. “Do you know who did it?”
“No,” I say. “Didn't really get a good look at the guy. Everything just happened too fast and he was wearing that damn hoodie.”
Paige nods. “I don't want to kick a hornet's nest here,” she says. “Or speak out of turn...”
She lets her voice trail off as if she's afraid to finish her thought and is looking to me for permission to continue.
“It's okay,” I say. “You don't ever need to censor yourself around me. Speak your mind.”
“Well, the timing of it all seems really coincidental,” she says softly. “Do you think it's possible that your ex had something to do with it?”
Taken aback, I look at Paige as if she's suddenly sprouted a second head. “I really doubt that,” I say. “No, it was just a stupid mugging.”
“But the guy didn't actually take anything from you?”
“Well, no,” I say, shrugging. “Because I fought back.”
“Uh huh,” she says, her voice growing a little stronger, a little more confident. “And it's just a coincidence that Brittany was there at the bar, then?”
