The Girl He Knows (9 page)

“Wanna do Orlando tomorrow instead of Sunday?” Josie sips her mojito.

I shrug. “I may have to be home before dinner. I’m supposed to have plans.”

“You’re a sly dog. You have plans with Hank, right?” She grins at me.

“I dunno, maybe. He asked if I was free last weekend, but I had Kenley’s blind date set up.” We both roll our eyes.

“I told him I was free this weekend.” I shrug. “I haven’t heard from him.”

“OK, let’s leave it for Sunday for now, if you find out you’re free, call me. We still running tomorrow?”

“Yes, please.” We clink glasses and finish them off.

I’m ordering our second round when I catch sight of a presence behind us and find Brinn standing there, whispering something I assume to be naughty in Josie’s ear since she is bright red. I cancel Josie’s drink.

“You don’t mind if I kidnap Josie, do you, Paisley?” Brinn asks, pulling my friend off the bar stool. “It’s been a hard day. My meeting ended sooner than I thought, and I’m ready to go home and snuggle with my girl.”

“Nah. Take her. She’s no fun anyway, always talking about you.” I wave my hand in a flippant manner.

Brinn laughs and throws enough money on the bar to cover our tab including a hefty tip. “Thanks, Paisley.”

I don’t give Brinn a hard time. He’s a genuinely nice guy, and Josie is lucky to have him. We have some weird alliance going on between us. One I’m grateful for. A few months after my divorce, a bunch of us were at dinner and Josie offered to set me up on a date. It was as if mayhem broke out and my friends were jockeying for the right to pair me off.

Brinn stepped in and told them to lay off. “When Paisley’s ready to date, she’ll let you know. Until then, you let her heal.”

It was enough to call off the coyotes and, to this day, only Kenley has persisted on setting me up.

Josie gives me a hug and promises she’ll be on time for our run. I’m not counting on it. I give them a brief wave before I return to my drink.

“So you’re alone?” Jake the bartender props himself on the bar and smiles at me.

“Yep.” I’m usually pretty self-conscious about these things, but since my divorce, I’ve made a point to do more things alone: go to movies, dinner, and even mini vacations. It’s taken some time, but I’m getting used to it.

“You’re in here a lot,” he tells me.

“Yikes, really? Guess I need to lay off, huh?” Not a good thing to be a regular at a bar, my mother always said.

“No, not like you think. With your group of friends, the ones who always order martinis, and with Josie.” One Wednesday a month Jayne, Kenley, Heather, Josie, and I meet here for girls’ night out.

“That’s a relief. I was beginning to think I was heading down a path of desperation and becoming a bar hog.”

“No, you’ve got a long way to go.” He indicates with his chin for me to look behind me.

I turn. A woman my age is dancing next to the jukebox. Her skirt and shirt are both too tight and too short. She moves to a beat no one else can hear, unless they are next to the jukebox, and makes eyes at the men watching her. If I were to give the dancing woman a quick glance, my first impression could easily be dismissive, labeling her a desperate woman, but I take a few more seconds. I recognize heartbreak when I see it and she’s clearly running from it.

I look at Jake and shrug. When I was growing up, my father always told me to either defend people or say nothing. Never say something negative. I take the silent approach. How do I explain to a man that his gender is the precise reason for her display?

“Sad, isn’t it?” He empties drinks into the sink and gives me a little smile.

I give a slight smile back.

“I know your name,” he says, using the world’s worst pickup line and stops to lean toward me. He points at me as if the action itself will conjure up my name.

“Patsy? No, wait—” His voice is uncertain.

“No. Don’t bother trying to guess. You’ll never get it. It’s Paisley.”

I push my empty glass toward him and feel around for my purse. I get the feeling our conversation has an agenda, and it’s making me nervous. Jake is a handsome guy. His brown eyes and sun-kissed brown hair give him a surfer look. He’s probably never without a date.

“Paisley? For real?”

Why would I lie about my name? “Yep. It’s the name of my father’s hometown in Scotland. I count my blessings every day. I’m lucky it wasn’t something horrible like Argyll.”

“Wow. That’s cool. It suits you. Scottish name for the Scottish lass.” His attempt at a Scottish accent is pathetic.

It’s a strain not to wince. People don’t know how to react to my name and some attempt to use a Scottish brogue as a pick up. Is Jake the bartender hitting on me? He leans forward and brushes a curl off my shoulder, and I have the answer to my question.

“I know this might seem awkward, but I’d love to take you out. I see you in here with your friends and have been wanting to ask you for some time.” He flashes me a grin of gleaming, white teeth.

I look around the room and catch sight of the jukebox dancer. Yes, it’s time to put one foot forward and go on a real date, not a blind date, a pity date, or a drunk one-nighter. The real thing.

“OK, sure. Sounds good if you promise not to do your poor Scottish accent.”

I hang my purse from my shoulder and dig for my keys, too shy to look at him. Lord, I hate dating. Never liked it in high school or college and if it’s possible, I hate it even more post marriage.

He groans. “Bad huh? I promise never to do it again. Let me get your number.” He pulls out his cell, keys in my number, and sends me a text so I’ll have his. We make plans for him to call within the next few days to make further plans.

“Until then,” I say in my best imitation of my father and grandmother’s brogue.

He raises one brow and smiles. “That was great. And sexy.” He flirts with ease, a gift clearly bestowed upon the most beautiful people.

I leave Brinn’s money on the bar and say my farewell. I’m self-conscious, knowing he’s probably watching me walk out of the bar.

In hindsight, I suppose it might not be such a good idea to go out with a guy who I could see the first Wednesday of each month, especially if it goes south. But, what the heck? I have a vibrating, plastic, purple penis waiting for me in my car, what do I have to lose?

Josie bangs on my door earlier than I expect and I’m still lounging, or as others may call it, sleeping. She comes in carrying two large coffees, and I know I love her. If I ever remarry and have kids, I promise to name one after her.

“Wanna skip the run and go for breakfast? Brinn’s gone to Miami so I have all day.” Josie’s always the voice of temptation.

“How about we run to the café and stroll back?” I’m seriously concerned about my thighs.

She shrugs as she wanders around my apartment opening blinds, then picking dead leaves off my plants.

“Hey it’s BOB,” she exclaims when she sees the package on my table.

“Who?” I return my focus to the soothing goodness of my coffee.

“BOB. Your new battery-operated boyfriend.” She opens the package, pulls the purple eyesore from his place of rest, and waves it around. I almost drop my coffee and die on the spot. I’d been torn last night when I stood at the car. I was afraid to leave it for fear of someone seeing it and reasoned I could hide it in my trash can and take it to the larger Dumpster on trash day.

“Hey.” I jump up and snatch it out of her hands. “Keep it down, will ya? I have elderly neighbors.”

“As if.” Josie yanks it back and walks into my kitchen.

I follow her and watch as she rummages through my junk drawer. “Seriously, Jo, the lady across the street is the nosiest of nosy. I swear she sleeps by her window and has binoculars.”

Josie loads BOB with batteries and turns it on. It hums in her hands. I cover my ears.

“Look here, it has a variety of speeds. Who cares if she sees? Maybe she’ll get one of her own and find something better to do with her time. Now let’s see, where shall we put this?” She taps BOB against her palm and surveys my apartment.

How about the garbage? Because it’s been shed of its package, I’m terrified someone will find it there and word will somehow get back to my mother. Maybe I’ll throw it in the Halifax River. I wonder if it floats? I suggest nothing. It doesn’t matter where Josie puts BOB because he’s not staying.

She walks into my bathroom, throws back the shower curtain, and lays it across the rack where I store my hair products and bath soap.

“Here’s a great place for the two of you to get to know each other. Now what do you say we walk to the café so we can enjoy our coffees.”

“Deal.”

I change and we head out. We walk along the Halifax River toward the restored historic district of Daytona Beach and talk about last night. Josie confides in me how Brinn is attempting to put together a deal to open his own commercial airline. Risky business in the wake of September eleventh. He’s flying back and forth to D.C. and Miami, meetings with investors. The whole thing makes Josie nervous for reasons she doesn’t explain but, if anyone can turn mud into millions, it’s Brinn McRae, I tell her.

She gently grabs my forearm and smiles. “Listen, I need a favor.”

Uh-oh. “What kind of favor?” Josie isn’t one to butter up a person. If she needs something, she asks.

“Brinn’s business manager will be here for a few weeks, and I’d like you to join us for dinner one night.”

“Huh? Is this a blind date?”

“Yes... No. Kinda. It’s more like evening out the numbers so he doesn’t feel like a third wheel, while putting two remarkable people together who I think will hit it off.”

“Is he a pilot?” I’m not crazy about pilots.

“No, he’s a number cruncher. He’s moving here, and we want him to have a good time.”

I give her a pointed look.

“Not a good time like that. Jeez, I’m not a pimp. I mean the four of us having a nice time together. No pressure.”

I do an eye roll. No pressure. I’ve heard that before.

“You said he’s a number cruncher. You mean nerdy accountant?” I sip my coffee and picture a guy who’s paper-thin with a bad haircut he probably gave himself.

“Yeah, but hot nerdy accountant.” She arches her eyebrows and we laugh.

“OK, I’ll do it. What the heck. Oh, speaking of hot. Guess who asked me out?”

I’m nervous telling Josie because she briefly worked with Jake and she’s never given him much attention. Meaning, in Josie speak, she doesn’t think much of him. I tell her anyway.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She throws her drink into a nearby garbage can and stalks ahead.

Stunned, I look around for a camera or someone to yell “psych.” Nothing happens and Josie’s getting further away. I break into a slight jog to catch up with her. At least I get some running in, and all without spilling my drink.

“What’s the matter?” I ask when I catch up. She stops dead in her tracks and I have to stop midstride and turn around.

“You give me a hard time about setting you up, yet you go on a blind date Kenley found for you. You make a date with Jake, but you won’t give this Hank a chance. If you hook up with Jake, you’ll be a two-time loser.”

“That’s mean.” My feelings are hurt. Does she think I’m a one-time loser?

“You’re better than he is. All I’m saying is Jake the Snake isn’t good enough for you.”

“Jake the Snake?” I laugh.

“Yeah. Jake’s the player of players. Word is he plays dirty.” She plants her hands on her hips. Her expression is straightforward and challenges me to argue back.

Hmm. Jake doesn’t give me the player vibe, just that he’s comfortable in his skin. I purse my lips. Trevor was a player. I didn’t get the vibe from him either, so there’s that.

“What do you mean ‘plays dirty’? Never mind, it doesn’t matter, because the point here is that I got a date without anyone setting me up.”

“It’s not a date with potential. You can stop any man here on the street and ask him out and get a date. You’re very pretty, and you’ll have better odds at finding something with more potential than you’ll find with Jake.”

“You are missing the point.
He
asked
me
out.”

“Ahhh!
You’re
missing the point,” she takes a deep breath, “OK, fine go out with Jake. See for yourself. He’s a sly fox.”

“Duly noted.”

We are standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, getting odd looks. I’m ready to get this behind us. I indicate with my hand for her to continue.

“Jake only wants one thing.” With her chin lifted and squinty eyes, she’s gearing up for a debate.

“Ohhh. You think he wants to play hanky-panky with me. Don’t you?” I clasp my hands in glee, hoping for some levity.

“I’m positive he does. Jeez, Paisley. He’s not the guy for you.” She drops her hands from her waist and walks away.

“Who says he has to be and why not?” I ask.

“He’ll never give you what you need, and he’ll break your heart just for kicks. It’s like you want to keep repeating your mistakes.” She shakes her head.

“Assuming I’ll give him my heart. Maybe this nerdy accountant dude will win my heart.”

Josie’s look borderlines pity. “You couldn’t date him more than once without giving a part of you. At the very least you’ll feel obligated or something. It’s who you are, honey.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve had hot, meaningless sex with Hank and seem to be doing fine.” Ha. Stuff that, Josie.

She gives me another of her pointed looks.

My temper rises. “I don’t have feelings of love or any other sort of attachment for Hank any more than I do the devil himself.” I use my haughtiest tone, pull open the restaurant door, and walk in without her. I’m about make an even saucier statement when my cell phone rings.

It’s the devil calling.

I gulp and suck in a breath before I accept the call. It’s been two weeks since I’ve talked to him. We’ve only been in touch through e-mail and text messaging.

“Hello?” Why, with current technology, do I try to pretend I don’t know he’s calling? Am I able to convey my ambivalence across a fickle and subjective line? No, I haven’t been waiting for your call. I’m indifferent to you calling me. My heart is certainly
not
racing. Can he pick up those messages with my one word?