CHAPTER THREE
Luke
I hit the floor, going straight into my push-ups. Two... Four... Six...
The run that morning had been a mile longer than usual. I’d taken the standard trail along the river, but then also crossed the bridge and gone up to do a loop around the mountain. My calves ached, and my feet were sore. But it still wasn’t enough.
I’d done all right for the last four months, emotionally speaking. So why was Lacey suddenly on my mind? We hadn’t spoken since the day we broke up. Thanks to living in different towns, there were close to zero chances of us running into each other.
I’d been good about staying off social media. After trolling her Facebook page just once, I learned my lesson. The pictures of her at a party with an assortment of dudes clustered around her had not been good for my ego. Yeah, I know. They were probably all friends.
Or maybe that party was actually an orgy.
I chuckled to myself as I switched to one handed push-ups. Just the thought of Lacey in anything other than a typical, conservative relationship was laughable. The girl was as American as apple pie. She taught at an elementary school and had dimples that would have made her a candidate for Little Debbie’s next mascot.
In some ways, she’d been too conservative for me. Ten months of dating and she wanted to know when we were going to get married. I’d been waiting for her to ask for a joint banking account.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved Lacey. I really did. I think. But marriage?
With a huff, I hopped to my feet and grabbed the jump rope hanging from the wall of my home gym. Marriage wasn’t something to play around with. Yeah, I wanted it. Someday. But it had to be with the right girl.
My assertion that I wanted to wait had been enough for that girl. She let me go with a simple flick of her wrist.
Her presence in my mind the last few days likely had to do with the dry spell I was going through. I knew I needed to get out and meet more people, but I couldn’t help it. I was tired of the games. Tired of the chases. Tired of the shallowness so many people seemed to possess. All of those things I thought I’d left behind in New York. In actuality, it turned out people could be lame no matter what the local population count was.
Only one year away from thirty and I was already officially jaded.
From the bench where I’d left it, my phone buzzed. I stopped jumping and wiped some sweat from my brow. My hands were already too slick from exertion to touch the phone, but I glanced at the screen where a text message was scrolling.
Drinks? Today sucks.
I smiled. A cold beer and a half hour unloading with one of my best buds was exactly what I needed.
Mark sat in front of Pit Stop, on one of the long wooden benches behind the tables. Too busy typing feverishly away on his phone, he didn’t even notice my arrival.
“Hey, big boy.” I reached down and ruffled his bright red hair.
He jerked back and scowled. “Hey, watch it. I don’t wake up looking like this.”
“Oh, really?” I grinned.
He set his phone down on the table. “Yeah, not everyone is Mr. Perfect.”
I acted like the insult didn’t get to me and looked through the pub window to see if I could catch a waitress’ attention.
“I already ordered for you,” Mark explained, removing his feet from the bench across from him so I could take a seat.
“Thanks.” I settled down with my forearms on the table. “So why does today suck?”
He shook his head. “Lunch was crazy, and we were short staffed. Two people called in sick. Actually, they were likely hung over.”
I chuckled. “No shit.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it was a whole lot of fun,” he continued, sarcasm flowing. “You should try it some time.”
“Cooking on a line? No way. I can’t even make toast.”
Mark smirked. “You rich boys...”
I shrugged, not able to argue with him.
“You sure you don’t need an assistant or something?”
I rolled my eyes. “To do what? Check my mail and feed my fish?”
“You make your life sound so boring.”
“It is boring.” I leaned back against the bench’s backboard, relishing the breeze wafting down the sidewalk. Half of the shops downtown were closed, making it a quiet late Sunday afternoon. Only a couple other people sat in front of the pub, and no more than half a dozen more could be spotted on the sidewalks in both directions.
“Then why are you still here?” he pointedly asked.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair that was still damp from the shower I’d taken right before walking over. “Sometimes boring is good.”
“Hm,” he said in a tone that told me he wasn’t convinced.
The pub’s door swung open and out walked Sasha, the raven haired bartender. She set the frothy pints of amber beer on the table and smiled at me. “How’s it going, Luke?”
“Great. How are you, Sasha?”
She set her palm against a cocked hip. “Can’t complain. You boys knock on the window if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” Mark said, his tongue practically hanging out of the side of his mouth as he stared at her. Sasha turned away from us, and Mark craned his neck to watch her hips sway in the cut-off jeans.
When the door slammed shut behind her, he finally turned back to me. “Dude,” he said simply, the one word saying everything.
“Your ogling is pretty hardcore,” I butted in before he could go on. “Watch it. She might kick you out.”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh, man. It’s not me she wants. It’s you.”
“What, Sasha?” I scratched my head and gave it some thought. She was pretty, sure, as well as nice. I’d just never felt any sort of chemistry between us.
Mark took a gulp of his beer. “You could take her home in a heartbeat if you wanted.”
I lifted my beer, then set it back down. “I’m glad you have confidence in me.”
“So why don’t you?”
Gazing down at a thick crack in the table’s wood, I wondered how much I felt like sharing?
“Is this because of What’s-Her-Name?”
“Sure, but that’s not her name.”
“I’m trying to make talking about her easier by not even saying her name.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, meaning it. “And I don’t know, really.”
“You never rebounded.”
I laughed so loud the couple sitting at the other table glanced over at us. “I don’t need to rebound,” I argued.
“Right.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, his nonchalance completely unreadable. Did he really believe me?
“Good luck finding anything permanent and real in this town.”
“Don’t say that,” I groaned.
“It’s true. This pond is about as small as they get.”
“Maybe you haven’t fished hard enough.” I grinned at him before picking up my glass again.
“Seriously, though. You’ve been lots of places. South America. Europe.”
“Don’t forget West Virginia.”
“Exactly.” He ignored my joke. “You know what the women of the world are like.”
“You make me sound like a Casanova. For most of the years I was traveling, I had the same girlfriend, you know.”
“But you met plenty of women.” He pointed his finger at me. “So tell me... are they really any better in Crystal Brook?”
I chugged half my beer and then took a deep breath. “Don’t knock this town just because it’s small, Mark. Gems can be hidden anywhere.”
“All right. Whatever,” he flatly replied. Turning in his seat, he knocked on the window pane. “You want another one?”
“No. I’ve got work to do.”
He shook his head. “You’re a saint, Luke Anderson. A living saint.”
I took a long swallow. “Too bad I don’t take prayer requests.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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