I yank the door open and step into the darkness before pulling it shut behind me. I’m trembling; whether it’s from the chilly breeze or the confrontation is debatable. I run down his stairs and back home.
His back porch light goes dark as I open my own door and lock myself safely inside. I set the cooler down, wrap my arms around my chest, and blow out a long breath. How’d I walk into that situation? Walk? I forced my way in on him.
It’s disappointing to find him to be as elusive and cold as I remember. Why’d I even want to spend time with him? I hate knowing I subjected myself to someone so hurtful just to avoid being alone.
Wait until Jill hears this tale. She’ll really think I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. I hear my mother’s voice echo the words I doubt you’ll find a man more suitable than Rob.
CHAPTER SIX
Levi
Jesus, Lindsey’s an emotional basket case, suggesting I did something wrong tonight. She’s the one playing games: pretending not to know me, forcing me to cook for her, prying into my private life without invitation, calling me paranoid—and then acting indignant when I called her on her own behavior. She chose to leave her friends and family, and she sure shouldn’t expect me, or anyone else, to fill in those gaps for her. I’m no babysitter.
She made her choice, now she needs to deal with it.
I practically attack the pots in the sink, all the while twisting and tilting my head and neck to loosen up. My shoulders are drawn tighter than suspension cables.
She’s still a princess, assuming people owe her something. Everyone at home must kiss her little neurotic ass. Well, I sure as hell won’t coddle her. It makes no difference to me what she does, where she goes, or if she figures out her shit or not. I’m not about to hold her hand while she cries.
Of course, tonight her velvety hand felt good beneath my own. My eyes squeeze shut in dismay at my finding one second’s pleasure in that exchange.
After cleaning the kitchen, I turn on the TV to find Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. Great movie, although I’d never stoically accept punishment for something I didn’t do, the way Andy Dufresne did. But I respect how he keeps his cool, structures a long play, and frees himself. He’s a real leader.
My temper’s too quick to lead. That, and I don’t trust anyone enough to rely on them. I’ve seen too many people burned, by my pop and others. My mama? Well, if you can’t rely on your own mama’s love, what’s it say about people—about love?
I bet Lindsey trusts everyone. She must, or she wouldn’t have come here after I humiliated her years ago. Maybe putting herself back in the line of fire with me makes her brave. Brave or stupid. Maybe brave people are stupid, because smart people don’t sign up for pain twice.
Made me feel the smallest I’ve ever been made to feel. My chest tightens. Christ, I can’t believe I hurt her so deeply in Florida she recognized me on the spot. The funny thing is, I’d wanted to kiss her and more that night on the beach. It’d been a struggle to follow through with my ploy to piss her off. Those eyes of hers . . .
Leaning my head back, I stare at the ceiling. Guilt leaks from my conscience and slowly drips into my gut. I didn’t set out to punish her tonight, either. Only meant to protect myself. After all, she did pretend not to remember me. Who knew she hadn’t been planning to sucker punch me?
So, maybe she’s a nice girl. It doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in complications. Unfortunately, I can’t shake the vision of her trembling lip and misty eyes when she ran off tonight.
Ah, hell. I snatch a sheet of paper from my desk and dash off a note. Grabbing an envelope and tape, I wander over the cold beach to her deck. All of the lights are off downstairs. I consider knocking on the glass but decide to tape the note to her back door instead.
When I return home, my house seems unusually cramped. I need to go out to blow off steam and take my mind off the evening—off Lindsey. Why not ride my bike up to Duke’s for last call.
It’s a Monday night, so the bar’s nearly empty when I arrive. I’m alone for about five minutes before I’ve got company. Two young girls send me a drink, so I oblige and join them. One is from Texas, the other from central California. Two more blonde Barbie dolls, like so many others. They’re a little too young—college seniors—and sexually aggressive flirts. Before I finish my beer, they suggest a three-way. That’s some kind of wet dream for many guys, but not my style. I’ve never had a steady girlfriend, but I’m also not a dog willing to bed anything, at any time, any place, and any way.