The Pact(28)

“Hey,” I say, and clear my throat. “What are you doing right now?”

“I was going to go into the store and do some merchandising for tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Wow. Even on Sundays with the store closed, she’s still working. I’m both proud of her and disappointed that she’s busy.

There is a pause. “Do you want to come with?”

I swallow. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“You wouldn’t have called me if everything was fine. I know who you were with this morning,” she says. “Come on. I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”

Even though I don’t want to impose on her day, I find myself saying yes and it isn’t long before I’m standing on the street, waiting for her and anxiously drumming my fingers against my thigh. Her red Mazda 6 pulls up – something she bought the day she got the loan for the business – and she honks the horn despite seeing me there. I think she just likes the sound.

I open the passenger door to climb in, hit by her familiar smell, and see a bottle of Wild Turkey buckled-in the seat.

“Uh,” I say, nodding at it as I lean on the door frame. “I wasn’t aware someone had shotgun already.”

“It’s for you, cowboy,” she says. “I know you probably need it.”

I grin at her. “You’re the best friend ever.”

“Don’t I know it.”

I get in and she watches and waits for me to unscrew the cap and take a shot straight from the bottle before she pulls the car out. The fluffy skull she has hanging from her rear-view mirror swings back and forth as she expertly navigates San Francisco’s one-way streets. There’s nothing sexier than watching a woman drive a stick well. Wearing a short, pleated skirt that shows off glowing thighs helps too. My balls tighten as I imagine what it would be like to run my hands up that smooth inner skin.

I feel her eyes on me and look up just as she looks back to the road. A small smile tugs on her lips. She totally just caught me checking her out.

And she seems to like it.

It takes me a second to remind myself that this is inappropriate. You know, her being with Aaron, me with Nadine. And the fact that we’re friends.

But I’ve never been anything if not inappropriate.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks me and for a moment I think she’s asking about me checking her out and for a moment I almost do want to talk about it. Then I realize she means my parents.

I stare at the bottle in my hands. “Maybe in a bit.”

“Did you at least have fun last night?”

“I did while I was there.”

She opens her mouth to say something else but then closes it. Her lips have a soft pink sheen to it that makes me want to bite them. Actually she looks beautiful and radiant despite the fact that she was out late drinking last night too.

“You look good,” I find myself saying to her.

I could swear she blushes and that alone makes me want to say more nice things about her. I’m afraid if I start, though, I’ll never stop.

“You know, despite the hard drinking and approaching middle age,” I quickly clarify.

“Ha ha. So how does it feel to be older?”

I shrug. “It sucks.”

“Back pain? Broken hip?”

“Something like that.”

“Guess I have a lot to look forward to.”

I sink back in my seat and stare out the window as the narrow houses and storefronts whip past. “October will be here before we know it. You know you have, let’s see, six or seven months to change your mind about Aaron.”

That gets her attention. She whips her head to stare at me incredulously. “What?”

“The pact. You remember.”

She rubs her lips together, blinking a few times, looking so fucking adorable. “Of course I remember…I just…”

I shrug as casually as I can. “The offer is still on the table, baby blue. You’re almost thirty, then we both will be. If you end up kicking pretty boy to the curb by then, you know where I am.”

She searches my face for as long as she can before she nearly rear-ends the van in front of us. When she recovers, she asks, “What about Nadine?”

“I’d give her up for you,” I tell her, staring at her relentlessly until she’s forced to meet my eyes again, if just for a second. “I’d give up everything for you.” Though I think I’m being completely serious about this, I’m not sure how much good it will do me if she knows that. So I smile at her, a big shit-eating grin, until she eventually returns the smile.

Now she thinks I’m joking. I wish I was. But at least I’m safe.

We’re safe.

“How about you keep drinking your whisky there, cowboy,” she says and just like that I can feel the door shutting on our conversation. It’s for the best. It has to be.