Page 69 of Something Reckless

I point a glare at her. “Your smug little attitude won’t serve you well in the unemployment line, Nicky.”

Dad throws an arm around my sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get HR to check the box next to ‘hurt Cash’s feelings’. Then you can come work in my office, where you’ll be appreciated.”

“Aww, thanks, Dad!” The little brat beams and my own father high-fives her. “By the way, do I get a pay raise? ”

Dad thoughtfully considers it.

“Nepotism will be the downfall of this place,” I hiss under my breath.

Nicky ruefully shakes her head. “Y’see? There goes the pot calling the kettle black again.”

That’s where she’s wrong. My rise in the ranks of this company has not been a free ride.

My father may be the one who founded WWM but I’ve sure as hell paid my dues, working my ass off all the way up the ladder.

And I plan to keep climbing. I have big goals for the firm’s future.

I just need to get Dad to see the vision I see.

That’s a discussion for some other time, though. I snap out a gruff response instead of prolonging this pointless argument. “Stuff it. Both of you. Or I’m not coming back.”

Stopped in the middle of the lobby, my father feigns shock, slapping his palms to both sides of his whiskered face.

“Oh no! How ever will you find purpose and meaning in your life if you aren’t chained to your desk eighteen hours a day, six days a week?

Might you actually find a hobby or two to revolve your life around? ”

Dad and Nicky throw their heads back with laughter.

I have no time for their bullshit. So I keep walking. Straight for the door.

Richard, the security guy, offers me a grave salute as I stroll past the front desk. “Good luck with all that arranged marriage stuff tonight, Cash.”

Goddamn.

I don’t stop shaking my head as I’m fleeing the building, desperate to get out of the city before the traffic holds me captive for the night. After a quick stop at the bakery, I hit the highway.

The worst part of the six-hour road trip is being left alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that keep creeping in, trying to hijack my lifelong friendship, and take it to places that terrify me. Thoughts I find myself battling to push aside for every one of the next five-hundred plus miles.

The further I drive from the safety of Chicago, the more tied up I get in my imagination.

I’ve entertained the idea of marriage and kids, I guess.

But it’s always been something out there in the distant future.

Far down the line. Something I could delay just a little bit longer.

Something for some other day. But with each mile I drive, that landmark seems closer and closer on the horizon. Too close. It’s terrifying.

I snap out of my introspection as I swerve onto my exit. Through the drizzle hitting my windshield, I glance up at a large, familiar highway sign looming above the roadway.

Welcome to Honey Hill, Iowa.

A strong gust of wind rattles the crookedsign as I drive past it, entering my sleepy hometown.I flick my indicator and make a quick right turn. I pull into the local gas station to fill my tank. A sense of nostalgia wraps around me. So many memories in this place.

In a hurry, I hop out and start fueling up.No fancy electric car for me. I drive a sleek luxury vehicle that demands premium gasoline every few hundred miles. Totally worth it.

While I’m pumping my gas, my phone beeps. It’s a text message from my sister-in-law. Well, technically, my ex-sister-in-law but as far as I’m concerned, Alana is still family.

Alana: The weather’s looking pretty bad and it’s starting to get late. Are you sure you’re coming?

I glance up at the darkened sky, inhaling the rain-scented air. I’m hoping to make it to my destination before it starts coming down for real, but my chances are looking slim .

Me: For the millionth time—yes, I’m coming

Alana: Ok

Alana: I’m getting nervous. I just don’t want her to be disappointed

Me: I won’t disappoint her

Never. She’s my best friend in the world, dammit.

Me: Stop worrying

I hurry inside the gas station’s convenience store, using the restroom then browsing the sad-looking shelves and trying to decide whether I should grab anything else for Meghan.

I pause in the meager wine section and pick up a bottle of red that looks decent.

I grab some soda, too, in case she’s not in the mood to drink alcohol tonight.

I march dutifully past the dozen different brands of condoms, willing myself not to even take a peek.

But when I’m halfway down the aisle, something draws my eyes back to the condom display.

Heat throbs in my crotch. Damn. It’s been a while.

Stop it, asshole.

Meghan is my friend, and I don’t want to show up and make things weird with her tonight, especially on her thirtieth birthday.

I want to simply enjoy catching up. Hanging out together. Like always. Like friends.

It’s just everyone else messing with my head, and making me lose my cool.

Have I ever imagined sex with Meghan? Sure. Yes. A time or two. Or twenty…thousand. I mean, Meghan’s hot .

But I’m no fool. I’d never compromise our friendship just for a chance to get in her pants.

Finding a woman to have meaningless sex with is relatively easy.

If I really want to get laid, I don’t have to try that hard.

But a friendship like the one I have with Meghan?

That’s one in a billion. I could never put a price tag on it.

And there’s no way I’m doing anything to put it in jeopardy.

Giggles and shrieks from the front of the store grab my attention. As I approach the checkout, I see three girls in gas station uniforms eyeballing my Audi out the window.

Shit—the rain is already coming down heavier than when I walked in.

The girl with the short red ponytail winks at me as I set down my goods on the counter. “Nice ride, mister.”

I scan the chocolate selection in front of the register, too distracted by my plans for tonight to pay this girl the attention she’s so clearly seeking. “Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing a bag of gas station brand peanut butter cups. Meghan’s favorite.

A girl with mischievous eyes and straight black hair leans across the counter, exposing her cleavage. “Need some company tonight?” She smiles at me.

I don’t bother to smile back.

The tallest of the girls walks up, slinging an arm over each of her friends. She attempts to sweeten the deal. “If they say three’s a crowd, then four must be the magic number.” She counts each of us in turn with subtle flicks of her chin.

Wow. Classy.

Thankfully, the suggestive comments come to a halt when their manager pops out of the back room holding a clip board. She rolls her eyes at her workers. “He has a girlfriend, you thirsty vultures.” The woman turns a tired smile at me. “Hey, Cash.”

“Hey.” I recognize her as someone I went to high school with. For the life of me, I can never remember her name.

“You have a girlfriend?” The redhead pouts in my direction .

The manager answers for me. “Yes. Meghan. The cute vet technician who always comes in here. Everybody in town knows that.”

Um…everybody in town knows that? Looks like the rumors about my love life extend well beyond the Chicago city limits.

Three pairs of eager eyes stare at me, waiting for my corroboration.

“Yeah,” I confirm. Just to get these thirsty girls off my back. Meanwhile, inside my head I’m repeating my decade-old mantra. Best friend, not girlfriend. Best friend.

“Aww. That’s too bad,” the black-haired girl chirps with a fake pout. “Your girlfriend is so lucky.” She looks ready to throw in the towel.Thank god.

“Well, don’t keep her waiting.” The redhead grins, shooing me toward the door. “Go! Go!”

I grumble a ‘good night’ and, on that, I rush out of the gas station into what is now a freaking downpour. The sky is black and the town has already gone quiet for the night. It’s late as fuck.

My cheap plastic bags crinkle obnoxiously when I drop my haul onto my passenger seat. I yank open my glovebox and shove my receipt inside. Sure as hell I’m expensing this trip, whether the assholes in accounting like it or not.

As I’m shutting the glove compartment, an older, faded slip of paper flutters to the floor. I swallow and my throat knots hard as I pick it up. I let my eyes skim over the words jotted across the nine and a half year old scrap of paper, the signatures scribbled in sloppy, familiar handwriting.

On this twenty-fifth day of May, Cassius Westbrook and Meghan Hutchins hereby agree that if neither of them are married by the time they turn age thirty, they shall marry one another.

Putting the old receipt back where I found it, I forcibly shove those memories aside. I slam the box shut and pull out of the gas station with my wipers swishing rain left and right.

Just my friend. Meghan Hutchins is just my friend.

Although the whole world seems to be convinced otherwise.

Meghan

“Y’know, today isn’t that bad,” I tighten my towel around my boobs and lift open the top of the washing machine. “Yes, it’s my thirtieth birthday. And yes, I’m spending it doing my laundry—alone—but who am I to expect the world to stop spinning and throw me a pity party, y’know?”

I peer down into the hollow barrel of my washing machine. A full load of pink-tinted blouses stare back at me.

Those blouses used to be white.

Twenty-three minutes ago.

Shit—did I accidentally drop a red sock in there or something?

Rising onto my tiptoes, I lean down and dig through the damp laundry in search of the errant article of clothing responsible for ruining half my wardrobe.

“What I’m saying is, life is all about choices.

And I choose to be grateful,” I declare as I pick the strawberry-patterned granny panties I wore to work this morning out of the load of discolored blouses.

“I’m grateful for this house I bought all on my own. And for a job I love. And for you… ”