Page 12 of Flirty Fall Fling

A week ago, when our knees touched under that little table, a jolt went straight through me. She didn’t pull back, and neither did I. Our gazes locked, and I felt like we’d met before, even though I’d never seen her in my life. The last time I had been this intrigued by a woman, I ended up on the front page of one of the trusted gossip blogs, LuxLeaks. The anonymous blogger writes about the rich and famous, and to this day, no one knows who’s behind it. But they clocked my intrigue with Kendall. Funny that my brother had ended up marrying her. That’s a hockey situation.

My phone vibrates on the counter, and I glance down. It’s one of my many exes who still reaches out to hook up even though I’ve not seen her in over a year.

What can I say? I’m addictive.

I send her a return text.

Jamie

Sorry, babe. I’m currently unavailable.

I’m hoping she reads between the lines. Either she’ll assume I’m not in the city or I’m in a relationship. I’ve used the same response for both. If I don’t confirm, she’ll spread it around her friend group that I’m seeing someone. Before the weekend, New York City will know. It is the official death of my social life until November.

Trena

It’s times like this I wish you were available.

Jamie

Sorry to disappoint.

Trena

Did you finally meet someone?

I think maybe that will be the end of the messages, but then her bubble returns.

Trena

What’s your recent record with a woman? Thirty days?

Jamie

Are you keeping track of my relationships?

This is why casual doesn’t work. This is why I haven’t hooked up with anyone in years, even if the paps present me as some fuckboy. They’re determined to paint a certain narrative, and I make it easy for them.

Trena

Everyone knows you fall fast and move on even faster.

I hate that she’s right. Usually, by the thirty-day mark, I’m over whoever my fling is for the month. No one has been able to keep my interest in five years.

By noon, I’m going stir-crazy in the glass house, and I need some fresh air and food. I grab my keys and leave. The road out of the private community winds down the mountain through forests of fluttering orange leaves. I roll the windows down and enjoy the sixty-degree weather. Once I’m at the bottom, I take a right and follow the scenic route that leads straight into the small town that has everything a person would ever need throughout the year.

Since Xander Ski Resort expanded, there are shops to rent bikes and skis in town, with shuttles that take tourists to the resorts at the top of the mountain.

Too bad I plan to be gone before the first snow falls. But the last thing I need is to be stranded in Pine Haven until January. That would be awful.

I park in front of the grocery store and count seven wooden crates full of big, bright orange pumpkins. It’s not officially autumn yet, but these people started decorating on September 1. I get out and walk toward the automatic door that slides open for me. Classical music plays overhead. The teenager standing behind the counter doesn’t look up from his phone, but he still greets me. I nod and grab a small plastic basket.

The store is small, and it takes me no time to grab a thick steak at the back. I move down the coffee and tea aisle, throwing a bag of dark roast from Cozy Coffee inside. It’s a small coffee shop across the mountain, where my friend Nick Banks lives.

I’m picking through the produce when I spot her dark hair and small waist. She’s wearing an orange-and-black plaid pleated skirt, boots, and a leather jacket. The buckles jingle when she walks. Her cart’s loaded with vegetables and what looks like half the herb aisle. I search around for my escape plan. Just as I figure it out, her head turns toward me, like I summoned her gaze. Instead of walking away, I go toward her.

“Jamie.” She says it like she expected to see me but was hoping she wouldn’t.

“Blaire.”