Saving Landon Part 58

"Perfectly fine. You were just sticking up for your friend. I get it. Listen, I traded numbers with her, but unless you need anything, I think I'm going to head back home."

"Nah," Natalie shook her head, pretending to roll up her sleeves. "I've got this s.h.i.+t from here. You have a good night, and I'll be sure to let her know about her Good Samaritan. After all, I make a h.e.l.l of a wingwoman when I'm working with someone who's not an unrepentant p.r.i.c.k..."

"Glad to hear it. I'm in her phone under Dalton if she gets to be a bit much to handle."

"Cool beans. See ya."

With that, I paid out my tab with the bartender and started walking out of the bar. The placement of things put me walking straight past Clara's table, and I wound up strolling through her strike zone.

"You leaving?" She asked morosely.

"I'm afraid so. Long night. I'm in your phone though, and Natalie's coming straight over. You take care now. See you soon, maybe?"

She grabbed me by the tie and pulled me into a deep, pa.s.sionate kiss. I was temporarily stunned by the fervor she threw into it, and I couldn't help but return the intensity, steadying myself against her table.

"Goodbye, Dalton," she sultrily whispered as we separated lips.

"Bye, Clara," I huskily replied back.

After that, I walked outside, letting the brisk air clear my head from what just happened.

What DID just happen? I asked myself.

When no answer came, I sighed quietly, shook my head with an amused grin, and began to whistle my way back towards the parking garage. Whatever just happened, I wasn't even mad that I wasn't bringing that fine plate of p.u.s.s.y home with me.

Which meant that I probably liked the girl.

Well, I chuckled to myself. That's new.

41.

Arrogant Brit

Chapter 4.

The following morning, I woke up with only a mild hangover. As I pulled myself out towards the kitchen, I spotted Natalie on the couch. Sitting cross-legged with a bowl of cereal, she was lounging in pajamas that were probably more expensive than my entire bedroom.

Even after a few weeks here, I hadn't gotten over how nice Nat's apartment was. Even if she insisted that it was ours and not just hers, I couldn't pretend to own any of this opulence.

The far wall was a seamless sheet of gla.s.s, overlooking the river. I had a fantastic view of the distant suspension bridge, the city park below, and several nearby, aesthetically pleasing buildings.

The floor across the entire apartment was a rich, polished green tile, which worked well with our premium black kitchen appliances, stone white countertops, and concrete walls.

As for our living room itself, a large, black sectional couch with matching ottoman and chaise dominated the area, facing away from the back bedrooms. Front and center was a wall-mounted flat-screen smart TV, perfectly suited for her fixation on binge-watching her streamed shows.

Rounding out Natalie's other major vice was a corner bar area, close to her bedroom (naturally). It featured gla.s.ses that were tucked away neatly with a discreet wine cooler.

Finally, the kitchen ran alongside the living room, stretching out directly in front from my bedroom door. The left side became a long island between two pillars, whereas the other side boasted the appliances. All in all, the culinary amenities were modern, professional, and probably cost tens of thousands of dollars.

"Heya, Claire-bear," Natalie grinned chirpily, glancing at me over her shoulder. "You're up late. Feeling alright?"

"We've been over this a million times, Nat," I sluggishly groaned as I shuffled towards the island for support. G.o.d, I feel terrible. "That pet name of yours doesn't work when my name's not actually Claire."

"Yeah, well, suck it up," my best friend chuckled, turning her eyes back to the television. "Anyway, don't you, like, have a thing with your mom today?"

Recollection snapped me to alertness. I stumbled towards the clock on the oven and cursed myself for oversleeping.

"Oh s.h.i.+t, I'm gonna be late!"

"You're making a bad habit of that!" She rang out in a singsong voice, before chomping down on a spoonful of cereal. "And here I was, about to invite you to Netflix the s.h.i.+t out of some shows with me. When've you gotta be there?"

"Two hours," I moaned self-piteously.

"What? You can totally make that."

"It takes an hour and a half to get there, and I'm a total mess at the moment, if you couldn't tell..."

"So what? Skip the shower. Slap on some makeup. Brush your teeth. Put on pants. The problem practically solves itself!" She threw her hands up in mock exasperation. "Do I need to figure all this s.h.i.+t out for you, or can you be a functioning adult for, like, one G.o.dd.a.m.n day?"

I couldn't help but grin. Her friends.h.i.+p was a definite blessing to me.

"One day I'm gonna strangle you, you smart-a.s.s," I chuckled groggily. "But I'll need that shower to wake me up... so, you know, enjoy your Netflix boyfriend. Gonna make that Jared of yours jealous."

"It's true, Netflix is bae," Nat cheerfully announced. "Jared knows his place. He buys me s.h.i.+t. He gives me the d.i.c.k, but Netflix? Netflix is where my heart goes."

"I thought that was pizza," I retorted.

"Netflix and I have an open relations.h.i.+p with pizza. It's working out pretty well."

"You're hopeless."

"And you will be, too, if you don't get your a.s.s in gear. Shower if you're gonna, b.i.t.c.h!"

Shaking my head, I followed her advice. I really hated showering any less than half an hour, but time was of the essence. After a quick, begrudgingly utilitarian rinse, I stood under the faucet and let the steam cloud my senses for a few minutes.

One hair-drying session, a brisk bit of makeup, and a fresh set of presentable clothes later, I was traipsing towards the door.

"Hey, have you heard anything from your Good Samaritan yet?"

"My what?"

"Uh, Dalton, I think he said his name was," Natalie clarified, pausing the television. "Dude from the bar. It was weird you hated him one moment, and then you were practically hanging on his every word the next. But he turned out to be pretty chill, all things considered."

"Did he?"

The memories slowly drifted back. I faintly remembered the conversation we had. Dalton told me about his chemical engineer father, about being in the Marines for two terms, and some other things that were slipping my mind.

"Yeah. He could have dragged you to his place, or at least tried. I was keeping an eye on you and making sure nothing funny happened. But then he walked right up to me and put you in my care instead of trying to f.u.c.k you."

"We wouldn't have f.u.c.ked."

"Oh Clara, you would have definitely f.u.c.ked him. You should have seen the look in your eyes. After you warmed up to him, you would have rode that d.i.c.k all night long."

"Ugh," I grunted. "Was I that bad?"

"You weren't bad, per se, but it was a bit of a fight to get you back here. You kept trying to call the poor guy in the middle of the night."

"Wow," I shook my head. "Wonder what got into me."

"Well, to be fair, he was definitely into you, too. And he was handsome as f.u.c.k. You two would have had extraordinary s.e.x, and I'd have been cheering you guys on from the other side of the wall."

"Vote of confidence, that quickly? What if he turned out to be an axe murderer?"

"I'd have taken that chance. Let's tally it up, shall we?" Natalie grinned, hopping over the arm of the couch and leaning on the other side of the island.

I shook my head in amus.e.m.e.nt as she leaned forward, counting off of her fingers.

"(1) Dude's a Marine. Or was. Either way, it's awesome, and he's still a total hottie. (2) That English accent. It's to die for, really. He sounds so dignified! (3) He didn't try to take advantage of you. I can't really stress that one enough. How often does that happen these days? Borderline never."

"You're trying to hook us up, aren't you?" I asked coyly. "Natalie, I just met the guy."

"Hey, all I'm saying is you need someone to help you get over that total jerk-stain of an ex. Why not some big s.e.xy arrogant marine?"

"Lets not talk about Jeremy."

"Of course I'm going to talk about Jeremy," she said. "This guy's, like, the total opposite of him. Total dreamboat, with the whole consent thing down. You should go after him."

"Jeremy didn't do anything without consent."

"No, but I think psychological coercion is sort of a gray area when it comes to the whole 'consent' thing... and this guy? He seemed to be pretty legit when the opportunity to take advantage rolled his way."

"Well... it's true that I can't remember the last time you've ever really approved of anyone I've been with," I thought aloud.

"Clara, this might come as a surprise, but you have really s.h.i.+tty taste in guys. When the good ones come around, you're never interested! I just think you should give that guy a shot. You never know what'll come of it, right?"

"I'm going to remind you, potential axe murderer." It was supposed to be halfway serious, but my widening grin totally ruined it.

"Look, you can't keep a straight face. But anyway. You're already late. Think about it! Text that guy when you're back, alright? If he's a total tool, then no love lost, but he already plugged his number into your phone and everything."

Oh yeah. I forgot about that.

"Alright, alright, fine. I'll text him when I come back and thank him for his gentlemanly ways."

"There you go, girl!" Natalie cheered. "Now get out there and get this stupid family thing over with so that you can move on with your life!"

The huge, stupid smile stayed smack across my face as I walked down the hall, took the elevator to the lobby, crossed over to the parking garage elevator, and wandered towards my car.

As I left the city, I put Tove Lo's alb.u.m on and headed down the interstate. Ever mindful of the time, I went roughly ten over the limit most of the way keeping my eyes peeled for any parked squad cars and speed traps along the side.

Luckily, fortune favored me today. My haphazard driving made me barely able to arrive in time for lunch. As I arrived, my eyes fell upon two unfamiliar vehicles outside Mom's house an expensive gas-guzzler of a truck, and a worn but highly serviceable motorcycle.

I reasoned that the younger one probably had the motorcycle. Oh good. Not only is the kid old enough to drive... he's old enough to be comfortable on a motorcycle.

Mom stepped outside to greet me as I parked beside the other vehicles. She met me at the front patio, drawing me into another one of her warm, loving, but mildly suffocating embraces.

"h.e.l.lo, dear! It's been so long! I'm so happy to see you again," she cooed, holding me at arm's length after the hug to scrutinize my appearance. "Are you eating properly? You look like you've lost weight!"

"I've been eating a little better, yeah. The banquet serving job keeps me running ragged too, so there's that..."

"Well, we need to put some more meat on those bones!" Mom chortled happily.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'd been coming back from an eating disorder I'd developed while at home. Mom, who was naturally a wider woman, had always been obsessed with my appearance. She looked down on "skinny b.i.t.c.hes" and liked to keep me "fattened up".

Oh yeah.

It took a few therapy sessions to fix that.

"So, where are they?" I politely redirected the topic as I followed her inside. "Have you killed them already?"

"Oh, heavens no!" Mom chuckled haughtily. "They're both in the kitchen, putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on lunch."

"They both cook?" I grinned slyly. "Sounds like a dream come true for you. Two grown men, taking care of all your meals..."

"For a Brit, William knows his way around a spice rack, that's for sure."

I was about to comment on that coincidence when we turned the corner into the kitchen... and my heart practically stopped on the spot.

Oh no. This CAN'T be happening.

The two gentlemen had their backs to me, but turned when we came into the room. I recognized the younger one instantly, and a faint look of surprise flickered across his face as he took me in.

His father was the first to say something.

"Clara! I'm William. It's great to finally meet you!" The older man exclaimed cheerily. He was the spitting image of his son, but with light gray fringing his hair and a pair of horn-rimmed gla.s.ses over his eyes.