Just One Day Part 4

I swallowed hard and reminded myself of my age and my wisdom and the fact that an equally hot man awaited me back home. One that didn't have a history of leaving me behind.

"It will be if the car floats away," I said.

He blew out a breath and flipped the locks, pus.h.i.+ng at the door. "Your death wish."

The door pushed back, and it took both of us leaning against it, with sideways rain blowing in our faces, to get me out the door.

"Oh, holy s.h.i.+t," I yelled, as the wind took my words like they were nothing. He was right. I was stupid. But if my phone floated away with the car, and the phone lines came down, I'd be trapped with Cro-Magnon Man indefinitely.

I held on to the stairway railing to get down the steps, pulled off my flip-flops like that was going to matter, and then jumped into the water. I couldn't see a thing, as the rain swallowed me, and I headed blindly toward where I knew Brad's car was.

"s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t," I yelled, wondering how I was going to get in the car in that wind, how I was going to keep it dry inside, and thankful I'd had the forethought to put the top up. He would have skinned me if anything happened to his car, and used the ring to do it.

My eyes burned from the stinging rain, but the wind pushed me along, and I saw the car ahead and hit the b.u.t.ton in my hand. The door was just as stubborn as the diner one had been, but I leveraged my body against it and dove into the front seat, s.n.a.t.c.hing my phone and closing myself inside.

I needed to breathe.

"s.h.i.+t, I'm old," I huffed. "Oh my G.o.d." I rested against the seat, feeling the wind buffet me around. "Oh, please don't let this car float away," I whispered.

I knew I needed to get back out there, but right at that moment I considered staying there. What would it hurt? My bag and clothes were inside, but my phone was with me. I could ride it out- Thunder clapped so loud and so close, I screamed.

"To h.e.l.l with that. Good luck, car."

Shoving the phone into my pants pocket, I pushed the door open with my feet, squeezed out, and started the trek back. Problem was, I was moving against the wind. I leaned into it, reaching ahead of me, but as soon as I reached the railing, my fingers slipped and I lost my balance, tumbling backward into the water.

"Oh, son of a b.i.t.c.h!" I screamed. I scrambled to my hands and knees, figuring the low profile would give me better odds, and I crawled to the steps, just as feet came down them.

Jesse sloshed next to me, picking me up around the waist and essentially hauling me up to the porch. "That phone better be lined in gold!" he yelled against the din.

If I could have given him a go-to-h.e.l.l look, I would have.

"Hold on!" he yelled, wrapping both of my hands around a nearby flagpole as he wrestled with the door. Straining to pull it open just enough, he yelled, "Go!" and nodded for me to squeeze through. I did, and then leveraged myself against it for him to do the same, letting it slam behind us once we were inside.

We stood there, breathing ragged, sagging with exhaustion and soaked to the bone. I looked up and met his eyes.

"Well, this is familiar," he said.

Chapter Five.

Not cute.

The fact that the last-only-time we were together was predominantly spent in, under, or just out of the water wasn't lost on me. We made love the last time a foot from the sh.o.r.e, covered in water and sand.

I blinked the memory away and let out an irritated sigh instead. I didn't need to go there. Ever again. I had Brad for that, and he was no slouch. That was definitely a plus. As long as I showered before and after, and brought a towel to wherever we were for the cleanup. But that was okay. Nothing wrong with good hygiene. I just could never see him doing it in a lake. With sand, and-fish.

I collapsed back into my booth, slicking my hair back from my face. On the bright side, the heavy downpour had washed the hairspray and funk residue out of it, so after I pulled the hair band out it at least hung softly. I had no idea what that same theory meant for what was left of the previous night's makeup. I put my head down on my arms and decided I didn't care.

I marveled at how much worse things seemed to be getting. My grand idea to be spontaneous had turned into a textbook case for planning. People like me never get away with fly-by-night crazy ideas. People like me are the ones that stay home and think and deal with issues while they watch movies and eat greasy pizza. Or, once again, I could have just skipped the meltdown, accepted the proposal, and I'd be eating brunch on a yacht, nursing a hangover and holding Brad's hand. So what if the ring was enough to make me walk lopsided. Or if he never said the words. I knew he loved me.

When the monsoon was over, I'd drive the hours back home, take a shower and look human again, and go find Brad. Explain my moment of insanity, and accept his proposal with open arms. Andie Marcus didn't sound so bad.

The sound of things sliding around and banging together, as well as the unmistakable sound of pouring ice, made me finally lift my heavy head, and I saw Jesse heft a small cooler over the counter.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Supplies," he said, his voice strained with the effort. "Just in case."

"In case of what?"

On cue, everything went dusky dark, and the whir of refrigerators and ceiling fans came to a whining halt. He hung his head.

"That."

Without the artificial hum of electricity, the sound of wind slamming water against the windows was much more p.r.o.nounced. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dried it off with a napkin, checking the messages just in case. Multiple texts from Alicia, asking how I was. One from Martin, pleading Brad's case. And nothing from Brad. He was true to his promise.

Jesse methodically went about unplugging things to avoid a surge, as I sat there like a wet sponge. I blamed it on sleep deprivation, because normally I'd be jumping in to help wherever needed. Pus.h.i.+ng through it, I slid out of my seat.

"What can I do?" I asked.

"Nothing, I've got it," he said, ducking under the counter.

I held up a finger. "Okay," I whispered, feeling useless. I peered out the window at the swirling parking lot. "Good thing you aren't at ground level, Montgomery."

"That's why the original owner built it this way," he said. "It's a low area."

That caught my attention. "Really? When did you buy it?"

"Eleven-twelve years ago. Owners were getting up there in years, no kids, and didn't want to shut it down, so-"

"So you thought you'd jump into the diner business," I finished.

He looked back my way for a second, then around him for anything he might have missed. "Something like that."

"Pretty smart of them to build it up high like that. Not like there was engineering and stuff back then."

He chuckled. "Oh, there was engineering. It was just called having good instincts. He built a storage building in the back even higher. With a ramp. That's my boathouse now." His eyes scanned me, and then looked down at himself. "Come on." He headed around a corner behind the bar.

"What?"

"Follow me."

Follow him. I grabbed my bag and dragged reluctant feet to do what he said, thinking that only the hurricane-force winds out there kept me from doing the exact opposite. That's all it was.

When I rounded the corner, there was a back door and another set of windows looking toward the back, next to a stairway I hadn't noticed before, and he was nearly at the top of it as I looked up.

"Where am I going?" I asked.

"To my place," he said, turning around.

"Come again?"

He rubbed at his eyes, looking weary. "We're both drenched, Fremont, I'm changing my clothes." He gestured at me from the top of the stairs. "You can stay like that if you want, or I can give you something to wear while your clothes dry."

"I have some clothes," I said, holding up the bag.

"Even better," he said.

"Okay," I said, hearing my steps on the wooden stairs. Each one sounded like fate being tempted.

At the top, there were two doors. On the left was a plain door with a metal plate saying Office, on the right was a door painted red, left ajar for me.

I pushed it open as I walked in. I don't know what I'd expected, but the homey feel took me by surprise. Soft brown leather couches sat adorned with colored pillows. Watercolors and carved wooden art hung on the walls, abstractly matching the odds and ends around the room. Framed photographs personalized random tables. It was a strange hodgepodge of a s.p.a.ce that weirdly matched in its randomness. A woman had done this. An artsy woman.

I thought about him having a wife and wondered if she'd decorated this apartment. Would they have lived here in such a small area?

"Nice place," I said, picking up a framed picture that rooted me to the floor. It was of him and a pretty, blue-eyed blonde woman, and-a preteen boy. A boy that looked so much like him. s.h.i.+ny dark hair falling over one eye. He had a son?

"Thanks," he said, distracted. He went through the same motions as he had downstairs, unplugging a computer and a window air-conditioning unit. "My sister decorated it. She decided that I needed culture."

I chuckled and fit the photo back into its spot left in a light coating of dust. So it wasn't the wife. He must have made a place for himself there afterward. I pushed my wet hair behind my ears and did a double take as I caught sight of him yanking off the b.u.t.ton-down and pulling his T-s.h.i.+rt over his head. I forced my gaze back to more pictures, as he opened a door and tossed the soggy s.h.i.+rt somewhere inside. I couldn't keep staring like a s.e.x-starved twenty-year-old. But holy c.r.a.p. He was still the hot guy I remembered. Standing there in his wet jeans and no s.h.i.+rt, and an unmade bed peeking around the corner.

He paused for a second. "Bathroom's right there. Towels are under the sink. Just hang everything up on the shower rod, it'll dry soon."

His bathroom was unusually clean for a single man, no p.i.s.s on the toilet or on the floor. No random squirts of toothpaste in the sink. I had a moment of horror as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Even with just some dim light coming in through a high window, I could see the running eyeliner, and worse yet-the outline of my nipples through the s.e.xy sheer bra I still had on from the night before. I peeled off the cold wet clothing and laid them over the shower rod, wondering if he'd thought out my underwear being a part of the plan. They were just as drenched, and as I draped the fancy bra and panties over the rod with my clothes, I just hoped he wouldn't need to pee. I washed my face free of the offending makeup and put the dry clothes on, commando. Sweatpants and a T-s.h.i.+rt. It was only meant to drive home in. Hope he wasn't as offended by it as Brad would be.

It was going to be a weird day. I would have to walk around with my arms crossed to cover the free wiggle, but it would be okay. I tugged my phone from the pocket of my jeans and hoped I could say the same for it after the parking lot b.u.t.t dive. I caught a glimpse of my watch and wanted to cry. Somehow it had gotten to be after one in the afternoon when I wasn't paying attention.

Back in the darkened living area, Jesse was on one of the couches with a newspaper, wearing a T-s.h.i.+rt and sweatpants. My whole body went warm at the sight of that.

An extra-hard gust of wind brought my attention back to the windows. It felt like the whole building shook.

"My G.o.d, this storm is crazy," I said. "I wonder if they are getting any of it back home."

He looked up as I spoke, and I crossed my arms as his eyes slowly panned me. Couldn't have been worse than the horrific nipple display. When his eyes finally met mine, there was something different there. Something softer, a memory, maybe. I licked my lips as I felt my heart speed up a little.

You have no business going down this path, Andie. None at all.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Much."

"So, where's home?" he asked, leaning back.

He slung one arm along the back of the couch and looped one bare foot across his knee. I wondered if he had any idea how s.e.xy he looked. Probably not. The vibes I got from him were all instinctive, like nothing he did was on purpose. I envied him that. Everything I did was on purpose. And it was exhausting sometimes.

"Still Baytown," I said.

"Your family still there?" he asked.

I sank into the opposite end of the couch, sitting sideways to face him and drawing my knees up. "No," I said softly. "My parents died a few years back."

"Sorry."

I hugged my knees. "It's hard sometimes. I feel it more now that Lanie-my daughter-left for school. Like I have no roots anymore."

"So what keeps you there?"

I sighed, struck with the weirdest feeling that I could talk to him. Like another day when I'd spilled my whole life.

"A relations.h.i.+p."

I saw his eyebrows raise slightly. "A relations.h.i.+p," he repeated. I heard the mocking tone. "What does that mean?"

I rolled my eyes, and then felt sixteen doing it. "It means what it always means, Montgomery."

He held a palm out and let it drop. "A boyfriend?"

"Kinda."

"Kinda?" he mocked again.

"Quit doing that," I said, kicking a foot at his thigh.

"Well, there's no such thing as a kinda boyfriend, Fremont," he said. "Unless you're thirteen, and you don't circle yes or no in the note."

I laughed at that. "I know." I covered my face with my hands for a second. "It's just complicated."

"How so?" He crossed his arms, and the look almost made me laugh again. It was a weird kind of bizarre. But in a good way.

"Must we?"

"Most definitely."

I ran fingers through my damp hair. "I live with someone. Sort of."

He laughed, and it was warm and reminiscent of another time. "There it is again, Fremont. You do or you don't."

I blew out a breath. "Okay, I do, but it wasn't planned-"

"Usually isn't," he said. "Whose place was it?"