The Girl He Knows (23 page)

He doesn’t acknowledge my words with anything but a nod and a yawn. He looks tired. He’s dressed in navy shorts and a yellow T-shirt emblazoned with the US Navy logo. His hair is tousled, and it’s longer than normal. He has dark circles under his eyes and at least two days’ worth of beard on his face. Gigi kicks him, and they give each other a brief look.

“Sorry, Paisley, I’m just tired and jet-lagged.”

“That’s OK. Where’d you go?” A basket sits next to the couch, stacked with magazines. I sort through several
National Geographics
,
Smithsonians
, and a variety of foreign ones with their native script scrawled on their covers.

“We went to the Middle East.”

His words catch my attention and I swing my gaze to him. Middle East? Where there’s currently a war? It makes sense with him being in the Navy, but I never put the two together.

“Is it safe?” I look between the siblings. It’s a stupid question but it comes out anyway. Hank shrugs. Knowing I’m not going to get a further response, I flip back to the magazines and pull out one written in what I assume is Arabic.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d be worried about your reading material.” I hold up the magazine. “Can you read this?”

“Sure.” He offers nothing more, and instead stares at me as he takes a drink.

“What’s going on here?” asks Gigi.

She’s referring to the silent dance we’ve been doing, me avoiding anything with substance and Hank refusing to engage in conversation until I ante up.

“Paisley owes me something,” he tells her without breaking eye contact with me. His lips twitch and he gives me a bawdy wink. I try to suppress a laugh but holding it in makes me it come out in an unflattering way and Hank’s smile gets larger.

“Come on, you can do it,” he says.

An apology? Over Melinda Bane. Not going to happen.

Never, never, never will I apologize to Hank Lancaster.

We continue to stare at each other, our version of a Mexican standoff. I don’t even think he’s blinked.

“All right. I’m sorry.” I fling a magazine at him and we laugh.

“Was that so hard?” He catches the slippery volume with one hand and quickly drops it. He reaches across his sister and pulls me off the couch and into a one-armed half hug. He tucks me into the crook of his arm, trapping me in a headlock, and proceeds to briskly rub his knuckles across my scalp giving me the first noogie I’ve had in several years.

“Stop it.” I push against him trying to break free. “Gigi, help.”

“Oh, no. You’re on your own.” She’s still lying on the couch.

Hank lets me go and walks away laughing, leaving me half on the love seat.

“You’re a jackass.” I yell as he walks into the kitchen. I pat down my hair then reach for another magazine. This time I pick up
Am Bràighe
, a magazine for Scots with pages of Gaelic words. I look at Hank, puzzled. He’s leaning against the wall drinking a beer.

“Can you read this?” I ask snottily. Even raised in a house where it was frequently spoken, I’d stumble over some of the passages.

He shrugs and looks smug.

“How many languages do you speak?” I narrow my gaze. In high school he took Spanish and Latin.

“Lots,” Gigi says. “Hank minored in foreign language.”

Her smile is proud, his shrug casual.

I fling
Am Bràighe
at him when he starts to laugh. I hate them both.

“When did this happen? All you ever talked about was the Academy. Besides I thought you were an intelligence officer?” Not a linguist, and I’m pretty confident there is a difference between the two.

He takes a slow drink of his beer before he answers, “Once you learn one romantic language, it’s easy to learn the others. At the Academy, I found I had a natural aptitude for languages so I studied others there. It’s not a job requirement, but it’s come in handy on the rare occasion. It makes me marketable after I’m done with the Navy.”

I roll my eyes, Hank and his ten-year plans. He’s always thinking ahead. There is no doubt, I’m impressed. To learn more than one language is amazing. I grew up in a home where Gaelic was spoken frequently, yet I only speak broken phrases and read it slightly better. I could never take on a third language, much less several.

“Hmm,” is my lame response and I excuse myself to the restroom. When I come out, Gigi’s left for a walk along the water. Alone with Hank, I’m instantly nervous.

“Gigi knows,” I tell him.

Hank is lying across the love seat, flipping through the TV channels. I thumb through the magazines again and bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. This awkwardness is a new experience for me.

“And yet you are still alive.” He pauses on a sports channel.

“OK, you’re right. Gigi did not find it to be such a big deal,” I say.

“I’m sorry. What did you say? I didn’t quite hear you.” He smirks.

I stick out my tongue and blow a raspberry.

“Admit it. You were jealous,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

“Me dancing with Melinda.” He stretches and looks over at me.

“This again? Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Yup, jealous.” He’s so smug.

“Oh, brother. Could I
please
get some more tea?” I hold up my empty glass and give it a slight shake for emphasis. I’m not going down this road. He frowns at me and points to the kitchen.

“Help yourself. It’s in the pitcher.”

I make my way to the kitchen and jerk open the fridge. A giant bottle of hot sauce comes flying out and shatters on the kitchen floor.

Instantly, Hank is at the kitchen entryway, “Don’t move, babe. There’s glass everywhere.” He points to my bare feet.

He leaves and comes back wearing flip-flops. He steps his way into the kitchen and scoops me up in his arms.

“Did you step on any glass?” He carries me away from the shards.

“Nope.”

It’s hard to think, being this snug against him. Up close, his facial stubble looks longer and his dark circles even darker. He doesn’t smell like cologne, and I realize his natural scent, a combination of soap and deodorant, is very intoxicating and much more pleasing than some cologne. I gulp, overwhelmed by a wave of such strong sexual desire, it makes me dizzy.

“I can help clean up.” My voice is hoarse.

Hank stops at the sofa and leans in.

Please let him kiss me, I pray. All I need is to kiss him. I know it’s the surefire answer to curing my hangover, bad mood, and sudden wave of need. We seem suspended in time as I wait for him to make up his mind.

Guess it isn’t my lucky day because one moment I’m flying through the air and the next I’m bouncing on the sofa. Hank’s back is facing me as he heads to the mess.

I lie there to catch my breath and gather my bearings. Why am I such a sucker for him? I push off his couch, retrieve my flip-flops, and head back to the kitchen to help clean up. Hank is scooping up the glass, and I reach under the sink to pull out a kitchen cleaner and sponge and begin cleaning up the splatter.

“Sorry about the mess,” I say.

“It’s all right. When I put it in there, I knew I was asking for trouble, but was too tired to care.” He watches me bend down to wipe up the floor and waits for me to hand him the sponge to rinse out.

“Good. I don’t feel so bad then.” I smile at him.

It’s up to Hank to break the tension between us. The proverbial ball is in his court. “What are you doing next weekend?” He hands me the sponge.

“Josie’s getting married up at Amelia Island. You remember her?”

“Yeah, she’s real mouthy and chatty.”

“That’s our Josie. What do you mean by chatty?”

“Nothing. Just said some interesting things when we were dancing. She seems real nice.”

I give the cabinets one last wipe and hand the sponge back to be rinsed. My mind races at the possibilities of what Josie could have said to him. We finish cleaning the mess and Hank steps around me, heading toward his bedroom.

“Like what?” I follow him.

He turns and is about to say something, struggling with either the words or his thoughts. His face reflects a mélange of emotions and settles on one that looks a lot like exasperation.

“Nothing important.”

I search his face. “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to her wedding.”

“What about the guy at your apartment? You aren’t taking him?”

“No.” I shake my head and sit on the edge of the bed. I’m pretty sure trashing a guy’s car wipes out any chance of reconciliation. Not that I’m interested.

“I think she would be disappointed if you didn’t come.” I tell him. “I’m not trying to pressure you, but you’re welcome to come.”

Taking Hank has its perks. He’s a great dancer and fun to boot. I know I’ll enjoy his company. I don’t want to go alone, especially since Jayne is going with Stacy, but if Hank’s going to be this moody, I’m not sure I want to spend the whole weekend with him either.

“Are you asking me because your friend wants me to come, because you want me to, or you don’t want to go alone?”

“Oh for Pete’s sake. Don’t come, jeez.” I throw up my hands in frustration. “I asked because I thought you might like to come. I know we’d have a good time and you look worn-out. I thought a weekend at the beach relaxing might be the thing you need.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m trying to make sure I understand what page we’re on. I’d love to go to the wedding, but I want to know what the expectations will be.”

Should there be any expectations? Wasn’t that part of the no-strings deal? “Why don’t we agree to have no expectations so no one can misconstrue anything.”

“And if we have sex?”

I sigh with exasperation. “Why is this so difficult? Isn’t this exactly what you had in mind when you came up with your grand idea?”

A beat passes before he responds, “You’re right. Sounds fine with me. No expectations.”

Gigi calls to us from the living room, “I’m back.”

“We’re in the bedroom,” I say.

“Can I come in? Is everyone decent?” She stands outside the doorway with her hands over her eyes.

“Yes.” I sigh.

“Gee, too bad.” She joins me on the bed. “Who’s hungry for lunch?”

“I might be.” I hold up my hand as my stomach loops over, though I’m not sure if it’s because I’m hungry or still nauseated from last night.

“If you’re treating, I’m hungry,” Hank tells Gigi.

We agree on a restaurant and head out. Hank takes his motorcycle. I want to ask if I can ride with him but I hesitate, something I normally wouldn’t do. It feels strange, everyone knowing we’ve slept together. As if they’ll be watching our every move, speculating.

The lunch together isn’t too awkward, when I don’t think about Hank’s hands on my body, which happens about two seconds out of every minute. Or try to make small talk with Gigi while refraining from leaping across the table and throwing myself at Hank. Instead, I’m trying to chew my nails but each time I bring my hand up, one of them looks at me as if they can read my mind.

It’s a huge relief to head back to Daytona. Of course, once I send Gigi on her way home, with a large cup of iced tea and trail mix to snack on during the ride, I flop onto my couch and stare at my cell phone, my finger hovering over the message icon. I don’t feel like things are settled between us. Plus, I want to see him.

Oh, what the hell.

I text him and use an emoticon, because who can resist?
Hi:-)

Hi

Apparently Hank can. Such a buzz kill. I hesitate, second-guessing my next move.
It was nice seeing u. What r u doing?

Nothing. U?

Ack. This is painful. What was I thinking?
Same. Gigi’s gone

I told you she’d be cool

She wasn’t 100% cool

She didn’t kick your ass either

I want to point out that I was right, sorta, about his sister’s reaction. She wasn’t as pleased as he said she would be.
She threatened to

LOL

That’s all he can say. Laugh out loud? This requires an exclamation point, or two.
Seriously!!

She’s posturing

OK, deep breath. Now for the real reason. Here goes nothing.
What r u doing for dinner?

Dunno. Have no food here. Guess takeout

I have tons here. Plus great take out places

Good for you

If I could reach through this phone and shove him I would.
Don’t be obtuse

Was that an invitation? BC if it was it sucked

Ahh! This man is making me crazy. OK, another deep breath.
Oh all right. Wanna come here for dinner?

I have to close my eyes and wait for the phone to vibrate, finding it unbearable to watch the screen and wait for his reply. When the phone finally hums in my hand, I swallow the lump in my throat and open my eyes.

It sounds like fun—long drive tho—Meet halfway?

I type quickly so as to not chicken out.
Or you could just bring an overnight bag

I’m leaving here in 10

The moment is perfect. It’s been years since I’ve felt this at ease or right with the world. When he arrives, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, having come on his motorcycle, I jump into his arms. We start at the front door, leaving a trail of clothes to the bedroom. Whatever awkwardness was between us is gone. Hopefully forgotten.

“I’m famished. Want to order delivery? We should get something now before it gets too late.” He rolls toward me smiling, picks up a curl, and brushes it against my shoulder.

“Why do you do that?” I ask. Unfortunately, the move reminds me of Jake and I’m not interested in any reminders.

“What? Play with your hair?” He continues when I nod. “Your hair’s been long since I can remember. Though it’s either whipping me in the face or stuck to your face. I guess I like to touch it.”

I raise up and press a light kiss to his lips. History. We have history. It warms me from within.

“Delivery sounds great. How about Thai food?” I roll toward the night table where I keep my iPad and reach to open the drawer. Hank grabs my arm before I realize what I’ve done.

“What’s this on your arm?” His voice is quiet.