Text Appeal
: Chapter 7

“How long do you think we should stay?” asks Connor.

“I don’t know. An hour?”

“Can’t wait to put all of this behind me. Then I can stop wasting your time with this bullshit,” he says in a bitter tone. “Guess I better introduce you to some people.”

I down some cider. My suddenly dry throat needs it. “Aren’t most of the people here either on her side or overly invested in the gossip?”

“Yeah.”

“Forty-five minutes to go, homie. We can do this.” I give him a nice bright fake smile. Yay for toxic positivity. “We’ve got your brother convinced, at least.”

He nods.

“Some of the people here have to be starting to rethink things. Like how you and the prom queen maybe don’t belong together forever and ever.”

“I fucking hope so.”

We stand in silence for a while. His grumpy face is my least favorite. The way he stands with hunched shoulders, viewing the world with guarded and hostile eyes. It is understandable that this situation sucks the happiness out of him. But life is short and I want to coax him out of his crappy mood. “What do you think Martha said when Ava tried to talk her into coming?”

“She would’ve pretended it was a bad connection and then hung up. It’s what she does anytime you try to tell her stuff she doesn’t want to hear.”

“I can imagine her doing that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. So close.

What we need is a reset. Something to shake up the dour mood. “What did the French girl say to her best friend?”

“I don’t know, Riley.” He tips his chin. “What did the French girl say to her best friend?”

“Not a clue. I don’t speak French.”

He looks at me with wonder. But like not the good kind. “That’s awful. Is that your idea of a joke?”

“Being awful is what makes it so good.” I smile. “Your turn. Tell me one.”

“I can’t think of any right now,” he says after a moment.

“Let’s give replaceing common interests another go. We’ll try a more benign topic this time, like what’s a film or series you enjoyed recently?”

“Lu and I did a rewatch of The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent with Pedro Pascal and Nicholas Cage. It’s one of her favorites. The scene where they’re high is fucking hilarious. Have you seen it?”

“No. I’ve been comfort watching Crash Landing on You.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

“It’s a K drama.”

He nods contemplatively. “Humor, film, and television may not be our thing. What does that leave?”

“I don’t know. But having things in common is important for a relationship. We have to replace something if we want to sell this.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s the truth,” I say.

“This is kind of a clinical way of looking at it,” he answers. “What if, and hear me out here, we just saw each other and wanted to fuck each other’s brains out? Some relationships are all about the physical, right?”

“A passing need to get into each other’s pants isn’t going to get the job done. It isn’t going to convince people that you’re better off with me than your ex.”

“Do you honestly think instant lust is less likely or believable than your idea of us falling in instant love?”

I sigh. “Let’s agree to disagree. I know, what do you do to relax?”

“Go for a drive or hang out at home. There’s an old Torino in the garage that I’ve been working on in my spare time.”

“You like fixing things.”

“I like engines. They make sense to me. The ones without computers, at least.”

“And what’s your taste in music?”

“Rock. Indie. Blues. Heavy Metal. Some Country.” He shrugs. “I’ll pretty much listen to anything.”

“Maybe music’s too easy,” I say. “What about books? Who’s your favorite author?”

“I don’t think I’ve read a book since leaving school.”

My jaw falls open. “I feel sad for you.”

“We’re not doing so great, are we?” he asks unhappily.

“No. Not really.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Ava is once again watching. She too is having a seemingly bad time. Her lips are a thin, unimpressed line and there’s more than a hint of annoyance on her face. But it’s pushed aside when her attention turns to me. Now she’s pure confidence with her head held high. Like she’s taken my measure and is reassured she’ll soon have what she wants. Which is not happening. Not on my watch.

I lean in and give him a smile. “The existential horror on your handsome face has been noted by several onlookers.”

“Shit.” He smooths the frown. “You said I’m handsome.”

“You know you’re handsome.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Not to play into the himbo stereotype, but I hope you’re not going to make me read books so we have more in common.”

“Don’t worry, we don’t have time for that. We’re just going to have to go with opposites attract. The fewer lies the better. Less chance of us saying the wrong thing. Didn’t you say she used to put her hand in the pocket of your pants?”

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and put yours in mine,” I say. “She’s going to hate seeing it, but sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. The sooner we establish our coupledom, the sooner we can all move on.”

“Okay.” His free hand, the one not holding a beer, slides carefully into the left front pocket of my jeans. A bit intimate but fine. All the fidgeting from his fingers, however, is unexpected. “There’s not much room. What have you got in here?”

“Um. Yeah. A few things.”

“Just a few?”

“I didn’t want to carry a purse,” I say in the same low voice. We don’t want anyone overhearing us. “My stuff has to go somewhere.”

“What’s this? Lipstick?”

“Tinted lip balm. But close enough. Maybe we should—”

“What else is in here?” he asks with amusement.

“Just the necessities.”

The way he continues to feel his way around the close confines as he tries to guess at the contents is distracting to say the least. It’s been a while since anyone but me has had their hand in that area. Then there’s the part about us being in public.

Instinct tells me to step back. To shut down the sudden ache he’s awoken. However, he is standing right behind me, and common sense suggests bumping him with my butt is not the answer. No. It’ll be fine. Him wiggling his fingers in the vicinity of my vagina caught me by surprise. But hey, at least he’s distracted and happy now.

Nicole finishes her second song to much applause. Next up is an acoustic version of Irreplaceable by Beyoncé. Another interesting choice. Still no comment on the music from Connor. Though I catch a brief frown on his face out of the corner of my eye. Curiouser and curiouser.

Connor whispers in my ear, “Don’t forget to smile.”

“Right. Smiling. I am very happy and not anxious at all.”

“No one’s judging you.”

“A good ninety-nine percent of the room is judging me.”

He does a quick survey of the bar. “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”

“It was sweet if misguided.”

“Thanks. This feels like some sort of pill,” he says, getting back to his pocket game.

“It’s Advil for when you give me a headache.”

“Me giving you a headache is a definite? You wound me, Riley.”

“Just speaking my truth. Do you want me to lie?”

Holy shit. The man actually grins. While standing in the same room as his ex-girlfriend and the greater sum of town gossips. Amazing.

“What?” he asks when he catches sight of my smile.

“Nothing. Just nice to see you relax and enjoy yourself for a second.”

His smile eases. But it doesn’t disappear and that’s what matters. He sets his empty beer bottle on the edge of the bar and gets back to business. One hand returns to my pocket while the other rests on my other hip. Holding me in place for all intents and purposes.

This really isn’t good. There’s the whole issue with the way my body lights up at his touch. But my panties are also a problem. Moisture levels are on the rise. I can’t relocate his limb to my other front pocket since it’s stuffed full of tissues in case of allergies. This, however, cannot continue.

“Connor, why don’t we hold hands instead?”

“Hair tie,” he says, ignoring my sensible suggestion.

“You’re just a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?”

He pauses. “Between you and me, the contents of your pocket makes for a great diversion.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Are you ticklish?”

“Not particularly.”

He grunts. Whatever that means. Then he asks, “Any snacks in here?”

Oh, I have something he could eat alright. But there’s no way I am telling him that. “Of course. Who doesn’t carry a cupcake in case of emergencies?”

“You’re a sensible woman.”

“Thanks. No. No snacks. That’s why we need to get to the cheese.”

“She’s still standing near the food table. I don’t mind going over. Though we’d probably wind up getting into it again with her.” He continues the treasure hunt unabated. “Door key.”

“Mm.”

“This would be easier if you stopped squirming. Now what do we have here?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Money.”

“You sound like you disapprove.”

“How could you think I wouldn’t cover everything?” he asks. “You’re doing this for me. Seems the least I can do.”

“Having cash on me has nothing to do with you. My mom raised me to always have a backup plan.”

He considers it for a moment. “Your mom sounds smart.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick. It’s still strange being this close to him. Having his face right next to mine and feeling the warmth of his breath on my skin. There are times I’ve almost gotten to third base without getting this close to someone. But if I can fake having feelings, then I can also fake not having them. Such is the power of live theater. “The, ah, twenty belongs in my back pocket. With my bank card and ID.”

“Allow me. Left butt cheek or right?”

“Left, please. What a gentleman you are.”

“Thanks. I replace it interesting that there’s a system to the content of the pockets. How committed to it are you exactly?”

I shrug. “I just like things the way I like them.”

“Of course you do.” He carefully withdraws both his hand and the money. Then he just as carefully tucks it into my back pocket. “I’m not groping you. Just don’t want it to slip out or something.”

“Okay. Is your inventory over? Are we done?”

“Not quite. There’s still something down the bottom,” he mutters as he tucks his fingers once more into my front pocket. “It’s little and smooth. The tips of my fingers brushed up against it a couple of times.”

“Oh. I know what you’re after.”

“Don’t tell me.” His fingers rub against my lower body and upper thigh. It’s a sensitive region and there’s only the thin cotton of my jean’s pocket between him and actual skin. He’s thoroughly committed to continuing his probe. His long body is all but hunched over and wrapped around me to keep me in place. “I have to guess, Riley.”

“Dexterous thing, aren’t you?”

“I work with my hands.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Sweet Baby Jesus. This is intense. It’s possible I am experiencing a second sexual awakening. My first came care of Marlin in Finding Nemo. I am not proud. But I highly doubt I am the first weird child with a daddy fetish. And better than that, a fish fetish.

But I digress.

No amount of distracting thoughts and deep breathing can help me. I am this close to panting. My breasts are heavy and my nipples hard. Something the silk of my halter-neck top does nothing to disguise. Turns out my fit is a fashion disaster when it comes to keeping these things on the down low. Then there’s the rush of heat in my neck and face. Due either to embarrassment or horniness. It’s a wonder I haven’t spilled my drink. And still, the man keeps pawing at me like a maniac.

“Almost got it.”

“It’s a pebble,” I blurt out. “From the beach. I picked it up the other day. Just a normal little pebble, nothing special at all. I forgot it was even in there.”

Connor stops and says nothing. But the knowledge is suddenly there in his eyes. In the way his gaze takes in my flushed cheeks and the state of my nipples. I imagine someone stepping on a land mine would have a similar expression. Because the oh fuck on his face is obvious. Let me just die of embarrassment. Right here and now is fine. I’ve had a good run.

Sad to say, Connor is the only man in the family who knows how to keep his mouth shut. Because his brother doesn’t hesitate at all. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great to see you enjoying yourself. But should you two really be doing that in public?”

Shit.

He has a point. We have an audience. A woman hastily covers the eyes of a child. Shanti is grinning. Harold’s mouth hangs open. And Ava’s eyes are as wide as twin moons. We’ve managed to shock her.

“We should go,” I say, oh so carefully disengaging from my date.

Connor’s gaze darts around the room. “Yeah.”

“Such a great party,” I say to the room at large. “Thank you for inviting us.”

Ava blinks.

“We had a really good time.”

“That much is obvious,” mutters someone nearby. Damn comedian.

Connor reaches for my hand and, yes please, support would be great. The crowd parts to create a path to the door. Guess they think we’re in a rush to hit the nearest mattress. Or they just want us out of here.

Over on the stage, Nicole starts singing a new song. I think it’s Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye. But we’re moving and out on the street in the cooler evening air, a light misty rain coming down, before I can be sure. Got to hand it to her, she really does have music for every occasion.

My date leads me across the street during a break in traffic. We don’t stop until we reach the portico over the front door of my apartment building.

Talk about awkward. It would be best if I said something first. Just dealt with the issue like an adult. “So…that was another thing that happened. I am honestly not sure if its better or worse than the chili fiasco from the other night.”

Nothing from him. He stares at the ground like it holds the mysteries of the universe.

“I’m so sorry, Connor.”

Now he shakes his head and presses the side of his hand to his mouth. Like he’s trying to hold things inside. What sort of things, is the question. Though it doesn’t remain a mystery for long. In no time at all, he loses it completely. We’re talking bent over double, dry heaving with delight, while he laughs his ass off.

Welp, what a night. He has a great laugh. It’s deep and heartfelt, like he’s feeling the mirth where it matters. A drop of water traces a path over the sharp cut of his cheekbone. More soon follow.

“Are you laughing so hard you’re crying or is that from the rain?” I ask. “I honestly can’t tell.”

He shoves a hand through his damp hair and smooths it back. “Riley. Shit. That was funny as fuck.”

“We put on a sex show in the local bar.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Eh.” I blow out a breath. “Hope no one caught it on camera.”

He cocks his head. “I didn’t notice anyone with a cell in hand. Are you really worried about that?”

I think it over. Then I think it over some more. “At least no one will doubt we’re together now.”

“No,” he agrees. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I don’t know. It was just…you were happy and…I thought I had it under control, you know?”

He stares down at me with some unnamed emotion in his eyes. Something warm and appreciative. Something that makes me feel seen. Then he reaches out and tucks a soggy strand of blue hair behind my ear. It’s like it’s all happening in slow motion. The gentle touch of his hand and the feel of his skin on mine. Shivers slide down my spine. With no sign of any lurking church officials, it would seem the sweet, tender gesture is just for me.

Unless…is he faking?

There’s been plenty of performative PDA tonight, yet this seems different. Special. We are still on the street and therefore in public. People could be watching. But not much is happening on the sidewalk. With the heavy gray clouds still overhead, everyone’s seeking shelter inside the bars and restaurants. He didn’t do it for anyone who happened to be passing. But he definitely could have done it for the line of familiar faces filling the windows of the Lighthouse Bar and Grill.

Ugh. Fuck him and his handsome face. The same one I would dearly love to sit on. His square jaw and sharp cheekbones are the rocks upon which my hopes are dashed. Which is code for: I got carried away and we’re just friends. Any romantic gestures on his part are bogus and part of our agreement and should not be read into as anything more. The end.

“Do you still want to do the sleepover?” he asks, a smile lingering on his lips. “Or would you like some space?”

I groan and crack my neck. Those muscles must be where I store all my sarcasm, stress, and sexual tension. “It would undo all of our good work if we didn’t.”

“Fuck ’em,” he says, repeating my words from earlier. “What do you want?”

“A dry towel and a bottle of wine with a drinking straw in it.”

“You have one that long?”

“I do actually,” I say. “Guess I wouldn’t be opposed to some company.”

God his smile is dazzling. Just beautiful. “You got it.”