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Lori pulls up to my house at eleven on the dot, making me smile. Even though we met months ago, I still barely know her. Yet, I find myself easily predicting her movements. I knew she’d agree to come with me today, regardless of how much she might not want to, because she’d do anything for Cat. Like I knew she’d be here at eleven o’clock exactly—a minute before might make her seem too eager, a minute late would be too careless.
Maybe it’s the glowing way Cat talks about her best friend that makes me feel as if I know Lori so well. Sometimes it seems as if Cat is trying to convince me Lori is a good person. Probably because none of the guys Cat dated before me got along well with her. Lori doesn’t make it easy to like her, I know that as well as anyone, but I’ve seen her softer side too. Like how she was with Elvis and the way she’s genuinely concerned for Cat’s happiness.
But, in truth, I’ve felt a connection with Lori from the beginning. And I think that has a lot to do with the odd familiarity I feel with her now. Which is comical given how hard she’s always tried to hide from me.
Lori knocks on my door with a quick, sharp rap, and I’m still wearing a big smile on my face as I open it. Her eyebrows bunch as her glare lands on me, her eyes uncertain as they avoid mine.
She takes a step back. “What the hell are you so happy about?”
I’d been anticipating her to say something to that effect, but it still causes me to bark out a laugh. Shaking my head, I step onto the porch and lock up the house.
“I was thinking how ironic all of this is,” I say.
She huffs as I walk past her and head down the old wooden steps, following me as I continue over to the truck.
“All right,” she says to my back as I unlock the passenger side door, “I’ll bite. What’s so ironic?”
I hold the door open for her, meeting her gaze. “You practically ran from here that morning because you hated the idea of spending more time with me. Yet, here we are, spending time together.”
She stands there, mouth agape, eyes unblinking, regarding me like I have two heads. The right side of my mouth twitches into a crooked grin, and I try to hold back my laughter, gesturing for her to get in. She presses her lips together and rolls her eyes before finally hopping in, keeping her gaze in front of her as I close the door.
She continues to ignore me as I climb in, the cab remaining quiet as I start the truck and head up the road. Five minutes in, the silence starts to get to me, and I turn the radio up. “Shooting Star” by Bad Company comes on, and I can’t help singing along. It was one of my dad’s favorite songs, and every time I hear it, I feel closer to him.
My love for music is one thing my father passed on to me. He was so passionate about it, and even as a young boy, that stuck with me. I’ve often wondered if he’d lived longer, whether I would’ve followed in his footsteps and became a musician.
For a moment, I almost forgot I wasn’t alone, making me a little embarrassed when I look over and find Lori watching me.
I give her a sheepish grin and she reaches for the radio to turn it down. “You were wrong before,” she says. “It wasn’t spending more time with you I had an issue with. Your company isn’t that terrible.”
“Thanks…I think.” My eyes slide over to her, and I raise an eyebrow at her half-assed compliment. “So, what was it then?”
“You’re looking for a great love story, and I’m a tragedy.” Her hushed voice is filled with so much self-loathing and despair, it makes my chest feel as if it’s been cracked open. Words fail me as my eyes dart over to her again, and she shrugs, giving me a sad smile. “You were meant for someone like Cat, not me. That’s why I ran.”
She turns the radio back up, ending the conversation before I have a chance to respond, and I mentally kick myself. I insisted she go on a date with me, only wanting her to know I thought she deserved better. Instead, I made her feel unworthy.
8
Lori
Spencer holds up a hideous plaid scarf, his eyebrows lifting in question, and I scrunch my face in disgust. Groaning with frustration, he puts the item back, leaving it exactly as he found it. Such a fucking boy scout. The department store is a madhouse, picked over items scattered everywhere, but he still took the time to put it neatly in place.
“What was wrong with it?”
“It’s ugly.”
He throws up his hands in question. “She likes plaid. She wears it all the time.”
“That doesn’t mean she should,” I say over my shoulder, stepping up to the floral print bag that’s caught my eye.
“All right, so what should I be looking for?” Shrugging, I reach out to feel the material of the bag. “What about that?” His voice is much closer than it had been a minute ago, causing me to jump as I turn my attention to him. He smirks at me, confirming my suspicion that he’d done it on purpose.
I narrow my eyes at him. “She hates floral prints.”
Cat and I have very different taste. I’m pinks and floral prints where she tends to reject anything too girly. Until recently, I thought we even had different taste in men.
His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. I look away again to keep from admiring his muscular arms and step back into the walkway.
“You’re supposed to be helping me here,” he says as he comes up next to me.
