Page 28 of As a Last Resort

AUSTIN

A zing shot through my chest when her text came in even though I stood ankle-deep in puke.

On the last ferry over, someone got sick and spewed on someone else’s suitcase.

It was a mess. It happened more frequently than one might think.

I was inclined to just head home and get ready for the early morning, but I wanted to see her again.

I warned her my typical Thursday night probably didn’t look like hers.

After the last run, Patrick and I usually head to Harpoon’s to celebrate the slew of tourists who would make the trek to the island to start their weekend.

“It’s just Harpoon’s,” I said to her as she hopped up in my truck in a tight gray dress. She said she felt like “celebrating freedom from the constraints of corporate America,” whatever that meant. My radar was up. I wished I had a random sweater in the car to throw over her.

I walked into the bar holding my breath.

Sam would stick out like a sore thumb in this town on any given day, but especially in two square feet of fabric.

And she had a confidence about her that was intimidating.

Not a lot of women walked around like that here.

I didn’t think she actually knew how objectively pretty she was.

I couldn’t stop looking over at her. It felt like I had a ticking time bomb sitting on the truck bench next to me and if I hit a pothole, she’d explode.

The bar was packed as usual. All the locals poured in right from the docks after a day on the water, and the smell of sea salt and sunscreen filled the air. And just like I thought, the entire bar swiveled their heads around like a two-headed dragon had just walked in.

A two-headed dragon in heels.

I stepped closer to her and put my arm around her waist to guide her to the bar.

I told myself I wouldn’t take my eyes off her all night, just in case.

But apparently neither would every other set of eyes in the room based on the low catcalls that came clawing across the floor.

I stepped closer to her. I didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea—she wasn’t some prize up for the highest bidder.

Not that I had the right to be upset about it. She wasn’t mine either.

She walked right up to the bar, ordered four shots of tequila from Becky, who gave me a side-eye look, and slid two over to me.

“To Florida.”

“I thought you didn’t like Florida.”

“I love Florida.” She threw back the two shots without even waiting for me.

So, it was going to be that kinda night.

There are little wooden triangle games that sit on the table of some restaurants and bars. Harpoon’s has them all over the place. By the end of the night, grown men are arguing over rules and threatening to throw punches over whether a plastic golf tee moved when it shouldn’t have.

“Bet you I can get it down to fewer than you can.” She handed me one and kept one for herself.

“Next round on the loser?” I asked.

“Deal.” A smile slowly crept across her face.

I let her take the bait. She hadn’t been coming here for the last seven years practicing like I had.

In a handful of moves, she had three tees left.

She smirked and took a long drag off her vodka tonic—two lemons, one lime.

In five moves I had two tees left. I didn’t want to completely obliterate her on the first try.

“I think that means next round’s on you,” I loudly slurped up the last of my Jack and Coke through the small straw.

“One question for every tee left.” She pulled a little white tee out of the triangle.

“That seems unfair.” I narrowed my eyes at her.

“So is the way of the world, my dear Austin,” she responded. I didn’t want to press her, but there was something different about her. And not in a good way.

She wiggled one of her three tees up in the air. “What’s your middle name?”

“That’s your question?” I asked. Of course, it would be. “Of all the questions in the world you could pick?”

“Absolutely.” She pursed her lips together. This was a setup.

“Francis.” I cracked a smile and she burst out laughing. “Don’t you dare! It’s a family name. Mary Kay would be highly offended.”

Her whole body shook. Her eyes twinkled when she laughed like that. That reckless feeling I had just the second before vanished and she was absolutely beautiful. It caught me off guard.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked with tears in her eyes. “You’re the one with Francis as your middle name.”

“Okay, Giggles, my turn. What’s the weirdest thing about you? Something people would be surprised to learn.”

She bit her lip as she thought. “I have an alarming addiction to sweets, but especially cotton candy. If I’m at a carnival or fair, I can’t pass it up.”

“That’s not weird,” I countered.

“But the fact that if I’m at a gas station in the middle of the country and I know the bag that’s hanging on the hook for three forty-nine has been sitting there for a year, I’ll still buy it, is.”

“Eww, really?”

“Definitely. My turn. I’m stealing your question. And your cherry.” She reached across me and plucked the cherry out of my glass.

“I love romances. I’d rather stay home on a Saturday night and watch Allie admit she loves Noah just as much as she used to over practically anything.”

“I already know this about you,” she drew out.

I leaned closer to her and whispered. “But what you don’t know is that I currently own thirty-four VHS tapes of romances from the eighties I refuse to throw out.”

Her eyes grew wide. Her smile, wider. “No.”

“Yes. I’m a total sucker for them.”

“You’re lying.” She squinted her eyes at me. “What’s your favorite of all time?”

I leaned in closer. “I think it’s my turn.”

She laughed again and threw her head back.

It was the kind of laugh you felt curl deep in your stomach and snuggle down.

She was stunning. And I was feeling very warm.

There were fifty people in the bar but all I saw was her.

Starting something with my sister’s childhood friend who was leaving in less than two weeks was a very bad idea.

I did not have time for it. My life was simple and drama free.

Sam was not.

“Why do you hate coming home so much?” I asked.

Her smile fell a fraction. She plastered a fake one over it but I could see the light dim a bit in her eyes and it knocked the air from my chest.

“You know about my mom, obviously.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded my head.

“When she calls I never know what I’m going to have to deal with.

And there’s so much time to fill with worrying about her when I’m here.

In the city I have my job. I work all the time.

I can remove myself from her issues more than if I’m physically here.

Her emergencies don’t seem as catastrophic when I’m three thousand miles away. ”

“I get that.”

“And there are the mean girls from high school that I randomly run into at the gas station. That’s always fun.”

“I remember a few of those.”

“Lexi and I used to make it a game. We’d find other ways to get to class just to avoid them. God, it was awful.” She sipped the rest of her vodka tonic and signaled another round to Becky.

“They were just jealous of your boobs.”

Bingo. A fountain of liquid sprayed from her mouth across the bar. I got an alarming amount of satisfaction from wiping the sad eyes off her face.

“What?” I laughed, wiping the residual off my face. “They were probably jealous of everything about you. It’s not really fair to be this beautiful and smart simultaneously.”

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you just said that!”

It felt good to make her laugh. I wanted to do it again.

A wave of red crept up her neck. “Moving on, last question.”

I looked over her shoulder as the front door swung open behind her.

I froze.

“Why does your face look like that?” she asked, but her voice sounded far away. Everything sounded muffled and moved in slow motion.

“And that’s not my question by the way!” I barely registered her talking as Tom McCormick walked through the wooden door.

Former state championship senior quarterback.

Former town golden boy.

Former best friend.

Current husband to her . Vanessa, my ex-fiancée, who happened to walk in right on his heels.

Lucky for me, when the crap hit the fan years ago and all hell broke loose, they moved away almost immediately.

Tom got a job in Boston. Vanessa’s family moved shortly after to follow, so it’s only the rare occasion he decides to come home to visit his side that I have the potential of running into him.

But he’s never brought her home with him.

“Did you hear me?” Sam asked again.

“No, sorry. What?” They were greeting someone by the door, slapping backs and shaking hands, with where have you been s floating through the air.

“I said, do you want another?”

“No, I’m good, actually. I’m ready to leave if you’re cool.” The last thing I wanted was to confront them after I’d had more than a few shots. And Sam was quite liquored up at the moment as well. It wasn’t a good combination.

“Leave?” she asked. “Where are you going?”

“I mean, we can still hang out if you want to. Maybe we could head to Charley’s for a nightcap?”

“Oh yes! I love those little mini forks they give you.” She grabbed my arm and hopped off the barstool. “But I have to go to the ladies’ room first.”

“I’ll come with you.” The bathrooms were next to the back exit so we could sneak out easily.

I slipped off the barstool just as Becky gave me the look . I hadn’t had one of those in a while, and that’s what I hated most—the stares full of pity where everyone in the room looked at me as the guy who was hoodwinked.

On my way to the restrooms I noticed a few more eyes turning my direction.