The Girl He Knows (22 page)

I shrug to no one as my thoughts run wild. OK, the sex with Hank isn’t boring, or the conversation, but if I was in the market for a relationship, Hank still wouldn’t be a candidate. He’d never be around, moves every few years, and he’s my friend. Because of Hank, I’m going to be more prepared and observant so next time I will choose wisely. He’s shown me a new standard for which to measure men and that it’s not overreaching.

I look at the other girls, spread out alongside me on the beach. Heather is the only one looking up at me.

“Was Trevor like your father?” she asks.

“Nope. Is Justin like yours?” It will be interesting to do a poll among our group.

Heather looks over at Kenley, who isn’t making eye contact with anyone. She’s squishing her toes in and out of the sand and staring at the pattern. Heather looks at me and nods her head.

“Justin is just like my dad. Of course, my dad mellowed more with age and became more of a family man after us kids moved out.” She turns to look at Kenley again and it prompts me to ask.

“How ’bout you, Kenley?” Since Heather’s dad is Kenley’s father-in-law and if women married men like their fathers, was the same true for men growing up to be like their fathers? I wouldn’t have guessed Heather’s dad was anything other than superb.

The gang is perking up and joining the conversation. We wait for Kenley to answer. Finally, still staring at her toes, she shakes her head and looks over at Heather. “No, but he wants to be like my father.”

“Ha. Please tell me you aren’t trying to change him,” Josie says. “We know that’s an effort in futility.”

Kenley shakes her head. “What I mean is Doug was raised by an absent father.” She reaches out and takes Heather’s hand. “He wants to be more like my father. He has the potential, something I’ve seen since the beginning.”

I know they’re still struggling with the fertility issues and it does seem as if Doug is coping better. He’s the reason Heather can be here this weekend. He’s keeping her son, with the occasional help from their mother.

“How about you, Josie; Brinn like your dad?” Heather asks.

“In some ways, I guess. I like to think Brinn has the positive traits of my father and none of the bad. More important, I hope I’m nothing like my mother.”

“Whoa. Stop there, you’re starting a whole separate conversation,” Samantha calls out.

“I think I’d need my shrink if we go there.” Kenley laughs.

“I’d consider myself lucky to find a man like my father. He’s lovely and treats my mum wonderfully.” Jayne sighs.

“Is Hank like your father, Paisley?” Heather asks. All eyes swivel to me.

As soon as it’s out, I feel rather than see Gigi sit up straight and I give Heather a large-eyed look of warning.

“My Hank?” Gigi asks.

My smile quivers, and I shrug my shoulder. “Maybe,” I squeak.

Everyone is watching us. Heather’s hands are clasped over her mouth.

“What’s going on with you and my brother?” Gigi leans in toward me. There is no telling which way her emotions are swinging.

“Nothing much.” I strain to smile wider.

Josie snorts. Gigi looks from Josie to me.

“Nothing but hot sex,” Jayne chimes in with her two cents.

I groan and close my eyes, as a wave of nausea hits me. I’ve been dreading this moment.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Josie says, sotto voce.

“You slept with my brother? Were you drunk or something?” Gigi’s voice starts to climb.

“Yep,” says Josie

“Just the first time,” I say to Josie with attitude.

“There was more than one time?” Gigi chokes.

“
He
was drunk the second time. Hmm, Paisley. Have you two ever had sex without drinking?” Josie is smug.

“For your information, we actually
have
had sex without any alcohol being involved whatsoever.” I lean back against my chair and cross my arms. Ha! Put that in your pipe and smoke it. I realize what I’ve said and glance at Gigi, who is staring at me openmouthed.

The others are snickering.

“You’ve slept with my brother repeatedly?” she asks. Her voice is low, quiet.

I gulp and nod. “I wouldn’t say repeatedly, I mean we...uh... Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad because you and Hank have been playing house. I’m mad because you haven’t told me. When did this start?”

I blow out a puff of air. “Right after you canceled going to the surf competition.”

She pauses three beats. Is she lining up the events, figuring out the timeline?

“Oh my God! You mean to tell me the day you came to my house and turned redder than a beet when I asked who you were sleeping with, it was my brother?”

I nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her brow is pulled in, her nose scrunched up, and the hurt I’ve caused is reflected in her eyes.

“I was afraid you would think I crossed some line. I never intended for it to happen—”

“Or continue to happen,” Kenley says.

“Shut up.” I point to Kenley but keep looking at Gigi. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We aren’t serious or anything. Please don’t be mad.” It’s like bailing water out of a sinking boat.

Everyone is quiet, and I bite my thumbnail, waiting for Gigi’s next move. She stares at me for what feels like an eternity, and I know she’s processing it.

“That’s too bad, Paisley, because I can’t think of a better person for you than my brother. You already fit into my family, and I’d love to have you for a sister.” Gigi reopens her book and leans back.

“Now wait a minute,” I say. “Let’s don’t take it too far. I don’t think Hank is looking for a girlfriend. I know I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and it wouldn’t work out between us because he’s kind of been my rebound guy.”

“Stupid, isn’t she?” Josie asks.

There’s a round of agreements before Jayne starts filling Gigi in on Jake, the parts I conveniently forgot, and she shoots me a look of disappointment.

“Have you not learned anything? You should snap up my brother and run.” She looks back at her book, irritated.

“What exactly do you mean? I’ve just begun dating again and yes, some have been epic fails. Would it be fair to start a relationship with Hank because we have a good time together and are comfortable with each other?” I shake my head. It’s a sound argument.

“That’s why people start relationships. Some even start them on less,” says Jayne.

“And Hank’s got even more going for him. He’s trustworthy and honest,” says Gigi.

“Not a shitbag. A good dancer, and sexy as hell,” finishes Josie.

“Hell, I’ll take him.” Heather raises her hand.

“Don’t hurt Hank, Paisley,” Gigi whispers. “That’s when this will have gone too far.”

“As if I could, honey. Trust me. Hank has no more interest in me than I do him.”

I reach out to hug her and am relieved when she returns it. It’s good to know she doesn’t hate me.

I wake up, mouth dry and feeling heavy as if I’m covered with a weighted blanket. It’s hard to lift my head from the pillow. My brain feels as if it’s pressing against my skull, desperate to be free. Any sudden movement and I may spontaneously explode. At the pace of a turtle, slower than a sloth, I roll onto my back and crack open one eye.

The annoying streams of sunlight invading my hotel room make me wince in pain and close my eye. Do Gigi and the others feel as bad as I do? I reach blindly for the night table and pat it, searching for my glasses. I ease them on and open my eyes one at a time to scan the room. The drapes to the balcony are open and Gigi’s sitting out on there, enjoying the sun. She’s drinking something, hopefully the magic elixir for this hangover. I would give up my nana for the pain to go away. I roll out of bed and ease my way to the sliding door.

“Is there anything medicinal in that drink for me?” My voice is husky, too much hollering the night before.

“Straight up coffee.” She smiles. “I ordered you some breakfast and a gallon of coffee.”

I move out onto the patio and recoil in horror at the bright light, hissing as it burns my eyes. I glare at Gigi, who is laughing.

“Why are you so perky?” I snarl.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much.” She hands me a mug of coffee and the vapors boost me up, a bit. With deliberate steps, I ease into a chair. Gigi’s sunglasses are lying on the table and I put them on over my glasses to help cut the glare.

“And has your tolerance gotten so high those drinks didn’t affect you?” This is my friend who laces her iced tea with whiskey.

“I had one drink.” She lathers cream cheese on a bagel.

The thought of a dairy product makes me gag. “What? You lie. You had just as many drinks as I did.” I tear a bagel into quarters and toss one piece in my mouth.

“Nope, only one drink and I switched to club soda. Our dancing made me thirsty.” She wrinkles her nose at me with her silent “so there.”

I try to wrap my mind around what she says, but I’m still a tad drunk, thereby making cohesive thought difficult.

“Huh?”

Gigi laughs again. “It’s not like I’m a lush.” She hands me an orange and I peel it, breaking off the skin bit by bit. Nothing is making sense anymore. Isn’t she a lush? Doesn’t she drink because of her horrible marriage?

“You pour Jack Daniels in your tea at home.”

Gigi burst out laughing and I wince at the noise.

“It was sweet tea. Pete’s pre-K teacher thinks he has ADHD, and, before we hop him up on drugs, we’re changing his diet to see if it makes any difference. One of the things we’ve cut is sugar drinks, including tea. As his role models, we’ve cut sugar out of our diet too. Though sometimes I sweeten mine when he’s not around. I hide it in the Jack bottle.” She shrugs.

My mind cycles back through the other things I’ve witnessed and possibly misinterpreted. I’m about to ask more questions when she sobers me up in instant.

“I called Hank and I thought we could swing by before heading back to Daytona.”

I drop the orange on the table, where it bounces and lands on the floor. I grab at it, the sudden movement causes my stomach to turn. I pause midposition and rest my head on my knee.

“Does he know I’m coming?” I mumbled from below the table. Last time I saw Hank was at the Swan Ball, where I purposefully stepped on his feet when we were dancing and denied him an apology for my jealous snit.

“He knows we’re together. Is there some problem?”

I grab the orange from the patio floor, dust it off on my shorts, sit up, and finish peeling it.

“Nope. No problem.” I shove orange pieces into my mouth, avoiding her stare.

We take our time with breakfast, and I take a long shower before we check out of the hotel and head to Hank’s. The others are still sleeping in or have already left for home. Gigi drives since I’m still loopy.

Turns out Hank lives close to our weekend party haven, in a nice neighborhood with large trees covered in Spanish moss. The houses are older but updated, and many are on the water. Old-fashioned streetlamps line landscaped sidewalks, and a park sits in the middle of the neighborhood.

Gigi pulls up to a small ranch on the water. Hank’s truck is parked in the driveway. I’m assuming his motorcycle is tucked in the one-car garage.

We get out, and I let Gigi lead the way. I’m nervous and jittery. I wish I could blame it on last night’s booze but it’s because something has changed between us. What does he think about my jealously toward Melinda? Will it be awkward with the three of us being in the same room and Gigi knowing about our sexcapades?

Gigi rings the doorbell several times in succession as she smiles at me. I smile back and, if possible, feel more self-conscious because she won’t stop smiling or ringing the bell.

Hank jerks open the door. “Knock it off, Gigi. One time will suffice. Leave your shoes at the door.” He points to a mat just inside the door and walks away, the door left open.

We kick off our flip-flops and pad our way into the cozy living room.

I admit to having preconceived ideas about men and their bachelor pads. I guess Trevor set the standard since I conjure up visions of his college place and prepare to compare it with Hank’s.

Hank’s place is a complete surprise. Instead of concrete blocks or bricks and boards holding up his television, Hank’s is encased in distressed armoire. An overstuffed couch and chair are centered around a fireplace and the armoire.

Signs of his travels are scattered throughout. I stare at two identically framed cartouches, hand painted on old yellowing papyrus paper, as Gigi flops onto the couch and begins to pester her brother for a drink.

“What’s this say?” I stare at the beautiful hand drawn symbols.

He stops midway to the kitchen. “The one on the right is my last name, and the other is my first name.”

I step further into his living room to see other pieces of art on his walls. The collection is breathtaking. In addition to the Arabian art are oil paintings of Italian villages and watercolors of French bistros. An Egyptian camel saddle sits next to a Japanese apothecary cabinet, standing close to four feet high.

Seeing the proof of his travels sends a thrill of excitement and fear through me. There are so many places I’ve never seen, my travel experience being limited to the United Kingdom and back. Real croissants in Paris? The Coliseum in Rome? Exciting until I think of leaving my family behind. Not watching the twins grow up would make me sick to my stomach.

“Have you been to all these places?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he hands me a glass of iced tea before shuffling away.

“He has more Japanese stuff in his bedroom. You should go see it,” Gigi says.

For a man, Hank has extraordinary taste. Yeah, he has stacks of DVDs along a wall and serves my tea in a beer mug, but overall, I admit I’m impressed, right down to the Persian rug gracing his living room floor.

I want to sit but Gigi’s sprawled on the couch, leaving the love seat to Hank and me. I go to the couch anyway. She tries to put up a fight but I sit, forcing her to scoot down before I plant my butt on her head.

“Your place looks great, Hank. I would love to see the places you’ve seen.” I smile and take a drink.