Ten

 

Conner

2017

Thanks to Ryan, every time my phone lets outso much as a buzz, I jump like someone is zapping me in the balls with a cattle prod.

I gave her your number. Hope you don’t mind.

Her.

Henley.

His sister.

I don’t mind. Or at least I didn’t when he called me twelve hours ago to tell me she was finally going to follow through with her threat to come back to Boston.

Twelve hours is a long fucking time to think and feel about shit, especially when your life is specifically designed to avoid things like feeling and thinking. I don’t like it. Right now, I don’t like her very much either.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I look up from the stack of pancakes I’m mutilating to find Tess staring at me over her plate. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and we’re at Benny’s. It’s packed as usual, but we were able to slide right in after running the gauntlet of Nora, the hostess. As usual, I let her smack me around a little and tell her she’s pretty. Just because our booth is always open, doesn’t mean we don’t have to work for it.

“What?” I say, dropping my gaze to my plate, so I don’t have to look at her.

“Don’t what me,” she says, stuffing a neatly cut wedge of pancake into her mouth. Everything else she eats, it’s a complete massacre. Not pancakes. Those she eats with a surgical precision that would be off-putting if she weren’t so damn adorably clueless about it. “You’ve been weird all damn day.”

“I’m not weird,” I say, strangely wounded by her observation. “Your face is weird.” I jab my fork into my food like I’m trying to kill it.

Tess leans back in her seat, laughing so hard I’m afraid she’s going to choke on her pancakes. “Oh, Jesus,” she gasps between loud, braying gaffs. “You’re especially ridiculous today.”

“I’m glad you’re amused.” Finally giving up on my food, I drop my fork and push my plate toward her.

“Amusement is what you bring to this relationship, Gilroy,” she says, nudging my plate back onto my side of the table. “Amusement and pancakes. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Lifting my coffee, I slam the rest of it before standing. “If you must know, I’m expecting a call,” I say, reaching into my back pocket to pull out my wallet. I don’t tell her from who. I can’t. Not unless I want to launch into a re-hash of why waiting for a phone call from Henley O’Connell has me all fucked up.

“From your doctor?” Tess’s eyes go wide and sympathetic. “Is it herpes?”

“You’re an asshole,” I say, jerking a couple twenties free before tossing them on the table. “A tiny, tiny asshole.”

“And yet, you love me,” she says, totally unremorseful. She glances down at the money I threw on the table before bouncing a frown back up at me. “Are we leaving?”

“I’m leaving,” I tell her. “You can stay and eat as much as forty-dollars will buy you.”

Before I make my escape, she reaches out and snags my hand, forcing me to look down at her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

This isn’t cocky asshole Tess. This is concerned friend Tess. The Tess not many people get to see.

“Yeah. Just tired,” I tell her, offering her the first real smile I’ve cracked all day. “I had to cover Cap’n’s shift at the bar last night and then...” I don’t finish my sentence. The rest is a given. No explanation needed.

“You don’t have to fuck everything on two legs that bats its eyelashes at you.” Tess lets me go and sits back in her seat. “You know that, right?”

“Well, if you’d just admit how much you want to jump on my cock, I wouldn’t have to,” I say, flashing her my dimples and she groans. The old lady sitting in the booth behind her looks at me like she just swallowed her dentures. Because I’m an asshole, I wink at her, and she nearly faints into her early bird special.

“I’d rather jump on a live grenade.” Tess laughs. Looks relieved. This is us. What we do. How we function. I’m a cocky, perverted asshole and she cuts me to shreds. Keeps me in line.

And I love her for it.

“See you back at the garage,” I tell her, wanting to leave before things get weird again. Turning my back on her, I weave my way between tables, skirting my way around the lunch counter.

I don’t even see my brother until I’m halfway out the door and he’s flagging me down.

“What are you doing here?” I say, my gaze automatically drawn back the way I’d come, silently willing Tess to stay where she is. Dealing with Declan is not something she needs to do right now.

“Jess is doing some sort of bridesmaids thing, so I’m grabbing a quick bite before I head to the bar.” Declan tips his head to the side and rubs his temple with his index finger. “You just get finished?”

If he believes his fiancé is doing some sort of bridesmaids thing on a Wednesday afternoon, he’s either dumb or delusional. “Yup,” I say, hand pressed flat against the door to shove it open.

“So, the booth is open?”

He knows I’m here with Tess—I’m pretty much always with Tess—and this is his not-so-subtle way of asking me where she is. “No, it’s not,” I say, my tone heavy. “So, just sit your ass down and wait your turn like everyone else.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Somehow, I manage to act normal and not like someone is administering electroshock therapy to my balls.

“Later.” Without waiting for Dec to respond, I push my way through the door, leaving him behind. I’m not three steps from the door before I’m digging my phone from my pocket and swiping my thumb across the screen.

Unknown: Hi, Conner.

It’s Henley.

I have an overwhelming urge to throw my phone in the trash and run like a little bitch.

Unknown: Conner?

I need sleep. A good, hard fuck. A gallon of whiskey. Maybe all three. That’s what I need. That’s all. That’s all this is.

Unknown: Do I have the

right number?

Fuck.

Me: Yeah. Busy.

What’s up?

Unknown: Oh. Okay.

I’m sorry to bother you.

Ryan gave me your

number. I hope that’s

okay.

It was okay at 3AM. Now, I don’t know what it is.

Me: It’s fine.

Jesus Christ. Why the fuck am I freaking out?

Me: Did you need

something?

Yeah, for you to stop being a bitchy little asshole. You told Ryan you’d take care of her so nut the fuck up and do your goddamn job.

Unknown: Ryan said he spoke

with you… did he tell you I’m

coming to Boston to see my

dad?

Me: Yup. You know when?

Unknown: I’m taking the train.

I’ll be there Friday morning.

Friday. Tomorrow. Enough time to get my shit together. Figure out how to be around her again without bitching out.

Me: Need a ride from the

station?

If my dad found out I knew she was coming and I didn’t offer to pick her up, he’d break my neck. That’s why I make to offer. Because, despite my daily display to the contrary, I was raised right. That’s it. The only reason I offer.

Unknown: No thank you,

I have a ride.

A ride? From who? My gut clenches and I suddenly want to know where she’s staying. With who. How long she’ll be here.

Stop. You don’t know this girl. Not anymore. So, just fucking stop.

Instead of going all Neanderthal, I lock it down. Why? Because I don’t give a shit. That’s why.

I don’t.

I really don’t.

Me: Alright. Meet me for

Lunch?

Unknown: That sounds good.

Me: Great. Gilroy’s @ noon.

Unknown: Okay. See you then.

Before I can force my brain to come up with a reply, another message comes through.

Unknown: It’ll be nice to see

you again, Conner.

I don’t respond. I just jam my phone back into my pocket and go home.