Vidalia

⊱✿ ✿⊰

After sharing a room with two small children, I’ve learned to sleep on a dime. If I close my eyes for five minutes, I’m out.

Once I decide against spying on Gunnar and his sister, I rest my head on the pillow of the double bed in one of the guest rooms. As much as I want to know what they’re up to, I know they’ll catch me. The last thing I need is to piss off these scary biker people.

Despite my fear of their lifestyle, I’m crushing hard on Gunnar, and I can’t deal with him not crushing on me. If I overhear that he’s annoyed to have to watch over me, I won’t be able to hide my disappointment. Instead of creating more problems, I cuddle up in the comfortable bed and rest my eyes for a few minutes.

My mind lingers on an image of Gunnar’s face. His baby browns so often filled with melancholy. The bridge of his nose busted so many times a bump remains. The healed gash across his left eyebrow that once needed stitches. His full lips so perfectly sexy even when he’s frowning.

I wish I didn’t fear relationships and refuse to try one. In a different world, where I was a different woman who embraced wrong choices, I’d throw myself at Gunnar without a second thought. No shame or hesitation, I’d do whatever necessary to get him to want me.

But I’m not that girl who celebrates wrong choices. Every time Gunnar touches me tests my resolve. He tempts me with what I logically shouldn’t crave.

Rather than dream of Gunnar or what I’d like him to do to me, I’m chased through an alley by an army of small, adorable dogs along with an occasional cat. I wake up feeling groggy and a bit cranky.

“I’m frigging Sleeping Beauty over here,” I whisper, wiping the drool from my mouth as I sit up.

I dream of dogs and cats a lot. I always wanted one growing up, but Reg was allergic, and his kids are too.

In my ideal life, I have lots of pets and a gaggle of kids, and I cook and bake and garden and other things no one in my family ever enjoys doing. Champagne only knows how to cook spaghetti, and I’m not much better. I don’t remember my mom making anything fancier than chili in the crock-pot.

But in my dream life, I’m a great cook. Realistically, I probably suck, and I’ll probably end up with a single cat in an apartment one day where I can walk to my job. I’ll eat Ramen noodles for dinner and be lucky to have a single plant sitting by the window.

Suitably depressed now, I remember why I can only be friends with Gunnar despite his rugged looks and warm demeanor.

I walk out to an empty living room. Gunnar’s Harley is still parked in the driveway, so I search the house for him. My heart starts racing when he isn’t in any of the bedrooms. Before I panic, I hear the faint sound of music from out back where Gunnar sits on a bench.

“You’re up,” he says when I open the screen door.

Nodding, I stand on the covered deck and take in the sight of a wall of trees just behind the house.

“Are you okay?” he asks, quickly on his feet.

“Did everything work out with your sister?” I mumble, standing near the deck railing.

Gunnar senses my unease at how he crowds me with his size. Once he returns to the bench, he sighs. “Yeah. She wanted to let me know our problem will be fixed soon.”

“That’s good.”

Wearing a sad frown, Gunnar watches me for a long time before I acknowledge his gaze.

“That night at Belly Up,” I start, having worked up my courage to say the words, “I said or did something that makes you like me, right? That’s why you asked me out and why you’re now helping me.”

“Well, I didn’t know you before that night, so, yeah, you made an impression.”

“Did we, you know, screw? I mean is that why you look at me like you do?”

“You’d know if we did,” he says in a dark tone.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m a big guy, and you’re a virgin. You’d feel it afterward if we had sex.”

My cheeks redden up instantly. I feel them blazing but regain my confidence enough to say, “I prefer the word screw.”

“Screw sounds cheap. I prefer the term fucking.”

“You’re a classy man,” I mumble before adding, “How did you know I was a virgin?”

“You told me.”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“You were drunk and wanted me to…”

“Fuck me?”

When Gunnar doesn’t answer, I can’t help taking a step away from him. He notices my unease, and his face goes blank. No more sad eyes or teasing grin. Gunnar is now an unreadable stranger, and I suddenly fear what’ll happen when the sun goes down, and we’re alone in the house together.

“Don’t do that with your face,” I demand in a shaky voice.

“Do what?”

“That blank stare thing. I don’t like it.”

“It’s my face. Can’t do anything about it.”

“You look cold, and I don’t want to believe that’s the real you.”

“Do you want to know me?”

Studying his face, I know I’m stuck. Whether I want to know him or not, I must say yes. He’s dangerous, and I’m nobody.

“Yes, so fix your face.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Digging his fingers into jeans, Gunnar shrugs. “You’re distracting from the virgin thing.”

“No, I’m really not,” I mutter, crossing my arms and shaking my head.

“I can’t promise I won’t look a certain way when I don’t know why I looked that way in the first place,” he says, standing up.

“Uh-huh.”

“I want you to know we didn’t fuck that night because I said no,” he says, stepping closer and leaning over me, “Not because your friends stopped us, but because I was never going to take advantage of you.”

“I know. You’re a mama’s boy with manners and rules and a genuine love for the fairer sex.”

His brown eyes study my face. “You’re angry.”

Despite my fear, I laugh at his silly statement. “You think this is me angry? Oh, boy, you have no idea what level of crazy I can hit when I’m pissed. This, my sweet boy, is me mildly annoyed.”

Sharing my smile, Gunnar grazes my cheek with his rough knuckles. I search his handsome face for reassurance that I don’t need to fuck him tonight to live through this situation.

“So, what did we do that night?” I ask.

“We kept it classy. Just French kissing.”

“The French are a sophisticated bunch,” I whisper, exhaling softly. “Was I any good?”

“I asked you out, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah. Came around twice to buy pasta salad too. I must be a solid kisser.”

“That you are,” he says, leaning down to prove his point.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to date anyone,” I say, inhaling his hot scent. “Not even you.”

Gunnar searches my face before pressing his lips against my forehead. “That might change.”

His proximity sends a shiver through me, and I can’t hide my awkwardness. Gunnar doesn’t smile at my desire. He only watches me with his chestnut brown eyes until I’m forced to look away.

Gunnar returns to the bench and remains outside long after I return to the house where I watch TV. We’re both sulking, and I don’t see a way to return to the easiness we shared at lunch.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

My nap alters the mood between Gunnar and me. I’m nervous about spending the evening with him. He’s tense about my being nervous or maybe about what his sister said. Perhaps, I’m getting on his nerves, and he wishes I hadn’t gotten in the middle of his biker problem this morning.

An hour after I wake up, Gunnar opens the front door for someone even though I never heard a knock. He takes a few bags and says something in a hushed voice. After closing the door, he walks to the kitchen and glances back at me.

“I ordered sandwiches, pizza, and drinks.”

“Drinks?”

“Beer for me. Wine coolers for you. Didn’t know what kind you might like.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask, joining him at the sink.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing you loosen up,” he says, smirking, “but I didn’t even order the drinks. I asked for soda.”

“You’re lying.”

“Possibly, but I do have other things you can drink. If you choose to get buzzed, that’s on you, pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin because of the red hair?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, baby cakes. I call everyone pumpkin. Besides you and my dad, no one’s had a problem with it.”

Fighting a smile, I ignore the pizza and focus on the sandwiches. “What’s in it?”

“Brisket and cheese.”

“Sounds good,” I say, taking the wrapped sandwich and a Bahama Mama wine cooler before walking to the living room. “Are your parents okay with us eating in here?”

“Dad hates sitting at the kitchen table.”

“Me too. The chair makes my ass hurt.”

I refuse to check to see if Gunnar enjoys my comment. His smiles ignite something deep inside me that I’d prefer to remain dormant.

Joining me on the couch, he allows two feet of distance between us. Gunnar hopes to fool me into trusting his intentions, but the darkening evening reminds me of where I am and how no one can help me if something goes wrong tonight.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“In the spare room.”

“Which spare room?”

Gunnar’s lips curl into a smile. “Is that why you’re walking around with a stick up your sweet ass?”

“I don’t want to share a bed.”

“I don’t either.”

“Really?” I push, not believing Gunnar when he’s wearing such a smug smile.

“Not tonight.”

“But eventually.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks and pops a pepperoni in his mouth.

“Even after I told you I had no interest in dating?”

“You said you didn’t date, not that you weren’t interested in dating me. You clearly find me quite appealing.”

“Someone is feeling arrogant,” I mumble with a mouthful of sandwich.

“I see the benefit in our current situation.”

“So, are you planning to take advantage of the situation?”

Gunnar reaches over and pokes my shoulder. “Are you afraid of me or just giving me grief?”

“Why wouldn’t I fear you?”

“Because I could have hurt you that night at the bar, but I didn’t for the same reason I won’t hurt you tonight. I’m not that guy. Some men have no problem hurting women. I know a few, but I’m not one of them.”

“And I should just take your word for it?”

“Now I know you’re giving me grief.”

Chewing the sandwich, I shake my head at his accusation. “How do you figure?”

“Your eyes. When you’re scared or nervous, they darken. When you’re feeling feisty, they brighten. Girl, they’re fucking shining now.”

A smile brightens my face before I can regain control of my expression. Then again, if my eyes are giving away my mood, what’s the point of putting on a con?

“I’ve never been alone with a man who wasn’t my brother or a threat.”

“What kind of threat?” Gunnar asks, losing his smile and all warmth.

“I’m not sharing my life story with you.”

“Since you don’t want to date, we could be friends. Friends share their life stories, and I’ve told you plenty about me.”

“I don’t even know where you live. What if you steal my purse and run away? I won’t know how to find you.”

Gunnar snickers. “I have to admit I’ve grabbed a few purses in my time. I ought to warn you that none of those women got their wallets back.”

“Why won’t you tell me where you live?”

“This is the first time you’ve asked. I live on Baltimore Avenue in one of those tiny apartments. I’m never there, but it’s where I keep my clothes,” he says and then adds, “Along with the purses I steal.”

“I once stole an ice cream sandwich from Archie’s Convenience Stop.”

“Wild woman.”

Grinning, I sip the wine cooler before thinking better of getting drunk around this tempting man.

“I’ll drink water.”

“We have other stuff in the fridge. Sprite and apple juice.”

Opening the refrigerator, I decide on apple juice since I miss the crappy choices from home. Most nights, I ate Champagne’s bad cooking and drank juice or milk with dinner. I never complain because I learned long ago how my sister-in-law doesn’t handle criticism well.

“Interesting choice,” Gunnar says when I return. “When I was a teenager, I’d slip booze into my juice. My parents had no clue until Heidi ratted me out. Who’d think she’d be a snitch?”

“You ought to thank her for stopping you from becoming a drunk.”

“No, I’m not doing that. She’s my younger sister. Compliments and words of appreciation only encourage her, and that’s not my job.”

“What did your parents do when they found out you were a teenage lush?”

“Mom gave me a seriously disappointed look that made me feel like crap. Dad waterboarded me with booze. I think her technique stuck with me longer.”

“Waterboarded you?” I balk.

“His club brothers held me down, and he spilled booze on my face. Not real waterboarding, but it sounds cooler than ‘my dad poured beer on my face.’”

“Did it work or are you still a lush?” I ask, eyeing the beer in his hand.

“I’m a casual drinker.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Big talk considering how we met.”

Grinning, I shrug. “If I drank more often, I’d probably hold my liquor better.”

“That’s what they all say,” he teases, and I can’t help laughing.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t embarrassed about my behavior that night, but I’m glad it happened with someone like you.”

“I didn’t even cop a feel,” he says, causing me nearly to spit up my drink.

“Good to know.”

Gunnar leans his head back and laughs, but I’m not sure if he’s amused by my reaction or the idea of him missing out on boob action. I only know his laughter makes me laugh again. For a second, I forget about my promise not to settle in the way everyone settles. I only remember how smoking hot Gunnar is and how I wouldn’t mind knowing how he kisses.

Everything is rosy until the sun disappears. The new darkness steals my confidence and happy thoughts. Every angst I’ve ever suffered about sex and men rises to the surface until I feel threatened even in a quiet house, watching silly sitcoms.

The reality is I’m alone with a man I barely know in a part of Pema I’m unfamiliar with. My safety is completely dependent on what Gunnar decides to do. Also, on whether the man with the gun finds us and finishes what he started earlier.

With so many ugly possibilities looming, I begin a mental countdown to when the sun will return my easy smiles.