CARTER
I go to work for a few hours but get next to nothing done. The office is deserted, I should be able to knock out everything on my desk quickly, but instead, I keep my cell phone on the edge of my desk and glance at it every few minutes, just to see if Shayna text me. When I scroll through the last texts we exchanged, they’re from weeks ago when she was still in Georgia and for a second, I wish we could go back to that. Where we didn’t have to own up to anything we didn’t want to because our talks were buffered by a glass screen and thousands of miles.
But if she never showed up, I wouldn’t have experienced what it felt like to see her first thing in the morning. When her eyes are barely open and her hair is a tangled mess. How she looks the most beautiful when there’s morning light streaming through the blinds.
I stare at numbers until they blur together. I can’t even manage the simple task of organizing the stack of P&L reports so I decide to call it a day.
I head to the beach because surfing always clears my head, but for the first time ever, even that can’t do the job. I fall more times than when I was just learning. The only thing left I can try was to go to a meeting. Two in one day? What the hell does that say about me?
I don’t want a drink. I want my—Shayna.
I’m sitting in my Jeep debating my next move when my cell phone rings. It’s Jane. Her timing is impeccable. I’m half tempted to look over my shoulder, wondering if she’s now following me.
“Hey Jane,” I say, answering on the third ring. It’s not often that I’ve broken down and called Jane in need of guidance, or near a breakdown, but it’s even rarer that she calls me—at least lately. When I was brand new in the program, she called me almost daily to make sure I didn’t need to be talked off of any proverbial ledges.
“Hey, handsome,” she says. “Listen, I know I already saw you today, but I wanted to check in and see if you’d like to hit an evening meeting with me tonight?”
I debate whether to take Jane up on the offer for a quick moment while I rub my eyes. It’s been a long ass day already and all I really want is a damn do-over. I want to go back to bed this morning with that gorgeous girl wrapped around me.
“I don’t know, Jane, I’m pretty beat,” I say. It’s not a lie. I’ve made love, fought, worked, surfed.
“Of course,” she says. “You seemed like you had a full mind this morning, Carter. Sometimes, when there’s that much noise you need a meeting to help calm some of it, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Okay then. Be well, Carter. And call anytime.”
“Thanks for checking in, Jane,” I say.
“Course, handsome,” she says. She’s old enough to be my mother and her pet name should creep me out, but instead, it’s endearing as hell.
When I get back to the apartment, there’s a note taped to my front door. It’s Quinn’s messy handwriting. I expect it to say that Shayna has taken off, and thanks for screwing things up with her friend before she even got the chance to spend any time with her. Instead, it’s an invite over to her apartment for dinner. I shower quickly, tug on a plain t-shirt, jeans and Chucks and grab a sweater on my way out the door without pausing to think twice about walking three doors down to Quinn’s place. Maybe I should. Maybe it should make me more nervous to have to see Shayna for the first time since our argument this morning—especially in front of other people. But it doesn’t. Because I’m too fixated on just seeing her at all.
When I was younger, I was better at staying angry. About keeping solid walls built around me that if you came bursting through, I’d take you down. I’ve only had one semi-serious relationship back when I was in college and that went to hell when she told me she loved me. I didn’t want that with anyone.
Now, I find myself wishing that there’s a chance that Shayna may like me enough to give me a second chance. At anything.
As I’m turning the knob I stop though. What if she isn’t there. I got ready so fast I didn’t even look to see if her bag was still in my apartment.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up with you and Carter before he gets here?” I hear my sister ask.
“Nothings up,” Shayna says, her voice a couple of nervous octaves higher than it normally is. “We’re just friends.”
I’ve said the word to her a dozen times and not meant it, but hearing it from her rips at me.
“Right,” Quinn says. “I know you Shayna. And I know Carter. There’s no way in the world that you two are strictly friends.” Quinn’s voice is closer now. “Not a chance.”
“That’s it,” Shayna says. “I’m telling you. I have too much of my own stuff to work out, Quinn. I’m here for a reason and it isn’t to be with your brother. I’m not ready for anything more than friend, and trust me, neither is Carter.”
“I’ll agree with you on that point. Carter has never done serious,” Quinn says.
Thanks, sis.
The door opens and my sister is standing there with a smirk that tells me she sensed I was already here.
“Hey, figured you’d be by soon. Come on in,” she says.
Shayna is curled up on the small sofa, with her feet tucked under her. She’s wearing a navy sundress that makes her eyes look like two vibrant mood rings even from across the room. I wonder what that particular shade says about her mood.
Angry?
Nervous?
I wish I had a decoder.
“Hi, Carter,” she says.
“Shayna,” I nod. “How was your day? What you guys do?”
Quinn wastes no time jumping in. “Okay, so first Ben and I planned to take her to the beach, but she told us that you had already brought her out to San Onofre, so that sort of killed our plan because there’s no way we could top that. So—”
Quinn’s voice fades into the background. All I see is Shayna. I keep my eyes on her while my sister rambles on about avoiding tourist traps and trying to show Shayna the “real” Southern California. Shayna tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries to look anywhere in the room but in my direction.
“So, we finally end up at the beach anyway, because by that time it was almost sunset and you know Ben. He’d rather chop of his own god damn arm than miss the ‘perfect’ sunset.’” Quinn says. “Hey, bro. Are you even paying attention to me at all?”
I nod. “Course. Where is Ben?”
“He’s out on the patio talking to his boss or something. Hey, did you bring wine or anything?”
Shit.
Who shows up for dinner, even if it’s just at your sister’s place down the hall without something?
I glance at Shayna and her eyes are finally on me. Wide and anxious. She gives a small nod that lets me know she didn’t breathe a word to Quinn.
“I… spaced. I forgot,” I say. “Sorry. I can run out really quick though. What’d you cook so I know what to grab?”
“Cool, thanks. It’s braised short ribs, by the way. Get something good. No pressure,” Quinn jokes.
“I’ll come with you,” Shayna says, standing up. Her voice is like a choir of angels singing because at least I know she’s speaking to me—even if I know she’s only doing it to save my ass. It has nothing to do with wanting to spend time with me and more to do with the fact that less than twelve hours ago I confessed to her that I’m a card carrying alchi.
“Sure. Okay.”
“Friends my ass,” Quinn mumbles. “Hey, wait, are you two actually going to come back for dinner this time? Or did I cook all of this for Ben and I?”
“Very funny,” I say. “We’ll be back in ten.”
“There’s a liquor store right down the street. We can walk it,” I say.
“Sounds good,” Shayna says. Her legs are shorter than mine, but she’s trying to keep up and match my steps. I glance over and she’s hugging her bare arms.
“You cold, doll?” I ask. I probably should have left the term of endearment off, but it’s habit.
She shakes her head. “No, I’m okay.”
Her arms are covered in goose bumps. That’s one thing about California: it can be hot as hell during the day, but once the sun goes down, it’s a different story if you aren’t expecting it.
I pull my cardigan off and wrap it around her shoulders. “You don’t have to—thank you,” she says.
“So, what do you think? Pinot Noir? Something along those lines?”
“Carter,” she stops mid-step and I feel like she may be about to break the ice. Like maybe there’s a little hope we can salvage things after this morning. But as quickly as I think it, I know that it’s better if she doesn’t. Or at least I tell myself that so that I don’t feel so let down when she says, “I honestly don’t know much about wine. I stick to the hard stuff, if you remember.”
A blast of warm air hits us as we walk into the small shop.
“Do you want something?” I ask, picking up a bottle of Makers Mark.
“No, are you trying to be funny?”
“Actually no,” I say, biting my tongue to cut the annoyance. “I’m trying to be courteous.”
“Courteous?” she repeats, like she’s trying the word out to see how it feels. “Courteous is something you do as a formality. Courteous is what you do to strangers. Is that what we are again?”
I stare at the bottles of wine on the shelves and all of their labels blur together. I want to break every one of them open and suck every last drop out of them until my lips are stained red to match the angry, blazing fury inside of me that I can’t be the guy this girl deserves. That I waited almost a year for her to come waltzing back into my life and now that she’s here, I’ve fucked it all up.
“I don’t know what the hell we are, Shayna. I was pissed this morning.”
“You had every right to be. And I apologized.”
“You did. I appreciate that. But maybe I should have gone with my gut from the beginning,” I say, remembering what she told Quinn. That she wasn’t looking for anything more than friends. That she needed to sort her own stuff out first. Maybe that’s the truth. Or maybe I need to let it be, no matter what it is.
“Which was what? Staying friends? We were never just friends, Carter. Not since that first night in my car. There was always something more between us.”
And she’s right.
“That’s not what you told Quinn,” I say.
“Ah, so you were spying on me this time.” Shayna juts her chin out and shakes her head.
There are a few more people in the store now so I lean in and talk through gritted teeth until they pass us.
“Look, I don’t know what to do here. I’ve never been in this place before.”
“What place?”
I lean against the cooler holding the countless bottles of beer that I so desperately want right now.
“This place where I care more about someone than it makes sense to,” I say. But it doesn’t come out right, it’s not what I mean.
“What?” she asks, jerking her head back and looking a little shocked.
“I mean, I shouldn’t want you as much as I do, Shay.”
“Why? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough?”
“That’s not it at all. It’s me.”
“Right, I get it.” She laughs. “It’s the it’s not you-it’s me bit. For as smart as you are, that’s not very original, Carter.”
She takes a step closer to me. Smelling her—the sweet smell of her skin mixed with the citrus of her shampoo this close—seeing her—the sliver of skin between her tits that I know from experience is one of the softest places on her body. Being this close and not touching her, or tasting her is even more torture than this room full of alcohol that is off limits.
“Listen to me,” she says, poking me in the chest. Her eyes sexy slits of indignation. “Neither one of us are perfect. You know my big secret and now I know yours. We’re even.”
“It’s not about getting even. It’s not that simple. I wasn’t supposed to—you weren’t part of the plan, Shayna.”
“Yeah, well, neither were you, Carter. Sometimes shit happens and it’s out of your control. It’s not part of a big plan, but you either roll with them or you—”
“Run away?” I cut her off. It’s a dick move, I know it when I say it but that doesn’t mean I’m smart enough to stop the words from slipping out of my mouth.
“Nice,” she says. “Get the Old Vine Zin.”
She points to a bottle and then storms away.
Fuck my life.