Page 245 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

MELLY

What I did with Daniel in the bar. Oh my God.

I learned a few things:

I had gone from zero to ready to have sex at the bar. In a storage closet.

This was not me. A storage closet?

Instead, I threw up on him and then passed out. That was why I wasn’t surprised when he’d gotten my clothes from his dryer and pushed them at me to get dressed instead of dropping his towel, stalking over to me, ripping open his flannel shirt I wore and ravaging me.

That didn’t happen.

Unfortunately, my green sweater had been a casualty of the evening.

It was my own fault, and I couldn’t blame Daniel’s lack of knowledge about washing wool.

Or separating colors, it seemed. He’d tossed everything covered in vomit in the wash together.

With, I assumed, hot water. Then he’d dried it all, again, on hot since my soft cashmere sweater now fit a toddler.

He’d driven me home and helped me from his truck. It was probably being a gentleman on his part, but I had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that the drop to my street was too far for me to make without a parachute.

His big hands spanned my waist as he let me down.

There had been no kiss, no goodbye other than a quick nod and a reminder for me to take some headache pills and take a nap. Nothing else.

Of course, two Pearson Tree and Landscape Service trucks were parked out front and a guy in a bobcat with a drill thing on the front was already breaking up my driveway.

I forgot about the project Nana had organized before she left on her trip.

But it had been open ended, when they would start since the weather was so iffy.

Clearly, it was this morning.

Was it vomit or his–former–employees watching that kept him from anything else, chaste or not? I still did the walk of shame, or what felt like one.

Any dreams that Mallory and Bridget had of me sleeping with Daniel were dashed and in spectacular fashion. I bet they never did the one-two combo: orgasm and vomit.

Fine. Fine!

I hadn’t wanted to get involved with him anyway. He was everything I didn’t want. Older. Leaving town. Absolutely, positively not interested in anything serious. Just the words “storage room finger banging” indicated casual.

“I was the one who came. Spectacularly. Why am I so irked?” I asked Fred as I poured some kibble in her bowl, eyeing me in a way that told me I was late serving her breakfast. I couldn’t remember the last night I’d spent away from home.

Maybe a slumber party right after I moved in with Nana.

Thankfully Fred had a doggie door–a cat door really since she was so tiny–to the back yard.

With a cup of black coffee, I took three headache pills–one extra because of all the racket outside–and got in the shower. And berated myself again, this time under almost-scalding water, for being an idiot, which was ironic since I called Daniel one last night.

“The one time at sex stuff and I messed up. No guy finds vomit arousing, Melly. No wonder he dropped me off and ran. He should have told me to tuck and roll and just slowed the truck down.”

I squeezed an overly generous amount of shower gel on my lime-colored loofah and started scrubbing.

“I don’t fuck unconscious women, he said. Well, he doesn’t fuck me conscious either. GAH!”

I moodily shaved my legs while the deep conditioner did its job on my hair.

“I don’t want to be noticed by men and now I’m mad that a guy is repulsed by me. What is wrong with me?” I shouted, the words echoing off the tile. “Right. Vomit.”

That was what I was thinking an hour later when I walked into Kincaids and tracked down Arlo. Fred slept in the car. I’d called in sick as Daniel suggested and while I should technically be in bed to keep up the ruse, I owed Arlo money.

He was behind the bar attaching a keg to some tubing, which I assumed fed one of the taps.

Standing, he wiped his hands on his jeans and gave me his usual carefree smile. “Hey, Melly. How you feelin’?”

I could feel my cheeks heat, but I reached into my purse for my wallet to redirect my thoughts.

“I came by to pay you for our tab last night.” I set my credit card on the glossy bar surface. “I kind of missed the opportunity.”

He waved his hand. “Pearson took care of that.”

“Daniel?”

He nodded.

“He did?”

“Came in earlier.”

I tucked my card back. “Oh, okay. That was nice of him.”

It was. And thoughtful.

“Want a coffee?”

Did I look that rough? A little extra face powder took care of the dark bags under my eyes. Or so I thought.

“Sure.” I pulled out a stool and settled on it. The place just opened so there weren’t any customers yet for lunch. Servers were putting condiments on the tables and setting out rolled silverware in preparation for the rush I knew was to come.

He set a mug in front of me, just like the one that Daniel had the night before.

“How’s your grandmother?”

He knew I lived with her, that we were close, if having a video call with her once a week was close. While she was seventy-five, she was the adventurous one. “Leading a class across Europe studying the clerestory window usage in late medieval cathedrals.”

He laughed. “I don’t even know what that means.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Neither did I. I had to look it up.”

“You okay after last night? I was near the front door and saw Pearson carrying you. He said you got sick.”

I had no idea why men called each other by their last names.

“Yeah, I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess,” I said somewhat sheepishly. “I don’t usually drink that–”

He held up a hand. “No worries. I think you got yourself and Pearson. Didn’t even get any on the floor by your table.” His dark eyes held humor as he continued. “You’re tidy even when you hurl.”

Inwardly, I cringed. He thought I got sick and passed out sitting at the high top. He didn’t know we’d fooled around in his storage room. God, I hope I hadn’t made a mess in there.

“Well, I’m still sorry.”

“You doing okay?” he asked, setting his hands on the bar and leaning forward. His smile slipped away, and he looked at me now with seriousness.

“I didn’t know you and Pearson had a thing.”

My eyes flared. Thing? Me and Daniel? “There’s no thing,” I assured him. Other than him fingering me to my first guy-given orgasm.

He cocked his head. “You sure? You two looked pretty cozy last night. He’s not taking advantage, is he?”

That was the second time someone asked me that. I laughed because I’d taken advantage. I’d had an orgasm and Daniel hadn’t. “I threw up on him. No advantage taking was being had.”

He nodded once, then studied me some more. “Look, I’m a bartender. People tell bartenders stuff they don’t tell anyone else. You can talk to me if you want. About him. You. Whether you want him to take advantage. I mean, we don’t know each other that well, but–”

He didn’t finish and ran a hand over the back of his neck as if he felt uncomfortable, as if he overstepped.

Mallory hadn’t called me yet this morning, but I knew she would. She’d want to know everything that happened after she and Bridget left. She was a great friend and she would give me a pep talk. Tell me something about how protective and caring Daniel had been. Something to make me feel better.

No matter what she or anyone else said, vomit on a guy couldn’t be sugar coated.

I needed advice. Man tips. From a man.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing while we talk,” I said. “Give me some silverware to roll.”

His eyes widened as if he thought I was joking, but only shook his head and hefted a plastic tray with divided silverware. He sat a pile of white paper napkins beside it. “Have at it.”

I grabbed a fork, knife, and spoon from the bucket and then set them in the center of a napkin, then rolled it like an open ended burrito. A crepe, perhaps? Then I did another.

While I got to work, he pulled out a jar of maraschino cherries from beneath the counter and twisted the lid open. Snagging a spoon, he started scooping them out and dropping them into a section of a condiment caddy.

“How do you know a guy likes you?” I blurted.

He froze, mid-tip and stared at me. “Um, we going all the way back to fifth grade with this boy talk? Didn’t your mom cover back then?”

I frowned. My mother. She had told me about self-love when I was thirteen, that it was natural. Healthy. Yes, when other mothers were sharing how to use a tampon, she gave me a vibrator. Perhaps it was better than giving me a box of condoms. She held off until I was sixteen for that.

To say that she was casual about sex was an understatement. I had a completely dysfunctional view of men and women.

Arlo saw my look and remembered. “Sorry, okay, yeah, your mom was a little different.”

Even he knew about my mom. She was infamous. She popped back in town every year or every few months or so, wanting money or a place to stay when she didn’t have a man to support her. She’d latch onto one and be gone again, without more than a wave goodbye. The last time I got a text.

“Right.” I smiled, a fork in my hand. “Okay, um. How can I know if Daniel likes me? I threw up on him so I think that ended things. Not that there was anything to end,” I clarified.

“Did he specifically say he was into you?” he asked, lifting his eyes from his work to meet mine. I’d skipped my contacts since they’d been in all night and wore my glasses. I pushed them up my nose.

“There were very specific words about what he wanted to do with me,” I elaborated carefully.

If I was going to talk with Arlo, I might as well just do it.

Band Aid ripping off and all that. Yet I wasn’t going to tell him Daniel was confident his dick would fit in me.

Or any of the other hot and really filthy things he said.

“He said he wants to… with me. You know.”

I flushed. He nodded as he fished out more cherries from the big jar.

“You okay with that? With him talking to you like that? I mean, if the wrong guy says that stuff, you should throat punch him. If the right guy says it and you like the idea, then… maybe you let him.”

“Yes. I mean, no.” I rolled the silverware in a napkin then set it in the pile. “I didn’t want to throat punch him.” I wanted to climb him like a tree.

He gave a curt nod. “Good. A guy ever says shit to you you don’t like, let me know.” He pointed the spoon at me and a drop of pink syrup landed on the counter.

“Thanks. I will.” I made another roll of silverware.

“I understand all that. A guy’s into me, I’m into him, we have some fun.

I’m not that clueless,” I said, although I was.

Totally clueless. I stopped my progress on a roll and stared at him.

“I threw up on him, Arlo. He had to do my laundry. And his. I have no idea where to go from here. Who wants to do dirty things with Throw Up Girl? I mean, there’s dirty and then there’s dirty. ”

The cherry section was full so he screwed the lid back on the jar and turned to put it in the fridge.

“Remember last night I said guys are idiots?” he asked when he faced me again, wiping his hands on a white dishcloth.

I nodded.

“They’re also very focused. If Daniel Pearson says he wants to do dirty things with you, he still does. Throw up is not going to change that.”

“I should just go up to him and” –I snapped my fingers– “say let’s go?”

“You know he’s leaving town? Going to Scotland for a few months and then… well, I don’t think he even knows.”

I nodded. Was this why I shouldn’t call him again and tell him to fuck me or because I should?

This was casual. Just as casual as what my mother had planned for me back when I was eighteen.

Just sleep with a guy and have some fun.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just sex and pleasure for a little while.

Then move on. Another guy after Daniel was gone would come along.

I could do it all over again with him too. Then the next, then the next.

I wasn’t interested in anyone else. I was hung up, completely and totally, on Daniel. And his magical fingers.

Was that how my mother got started? A talented man in the back room of a bar?

Oh my God, maybe it was.

He rubbed his chin, considering. “Daniel or another guy, I have a feeling that if you went up to any and said ‘let’s go’ you’d have a one hundred percent success rate.”

And that was the problem. Was it because it was me, my free-spirited mother’s daughter? This was the exact reason why I tried to hide myself.

I pulled my lips to the side. “This is Daniel Pearson though. Big lumberjack? Beard? Growly?”

One vet visit and he saw me. Saw. Me. He’d gotten me off. I hadn’t even seen his dick. He was an unselfish lover. If he was like Creepy Carl, then I’d be unsatisfied and used. With Daniel, it was the other way around.

Arlo looked me over, then grinned. “The way he was looking at you? Doesn’t stand a chance. The biggest trees fall the hardest.”