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Aunt Leanne, bless her soul, is a gossip queen. The unflattering trait has evolved over the years, but she still knows everyone’s business. After our conversations, she forms her own opinions on why Micah is an asshole. I choose to ignore those opinions.
“So…” She drags the two-letter word out to ten. “How’s nightlife going? Meet anyone interesting?” I also tend to believe Aunt Leanne lives vicariously through me. She states life wasn’t as interesting in her late twenties to early thirties. I beg to differ.
“Good. And yes, I meet interesting people every night I work.”
I play coy. Every time she asks, I dance circles around the answer. The way her eyes narrow as I tease her makes me laugh. She never lets me off the hook, though.
She tosses her best death glare across the table, but gets disrupted when our server delivers our food. She stabs at her salad with faux aggression, then points at me with her full fork.
“Why are you avoiding the answer? Did something happen? You better tell me.”
I bite into the sandwich and chew slowly to give myself more time before answering. The slower I chew, the thinner her eyes get. When the bite is soup in my mouth, I swallow and mentally prep for the onslaught of questions. Questions I don’t want to answer.
“Nothing new happened. Not really.” Shit. Why the hell did I add the last part? Might as well have handed her the gas canister while I held the match.
“Elaborate,” she commands, her fork pointed my way again.
“Put that thing down. You’ll take an eye out.”
“Quit avoiding.”
I sigh. Aunt Leanne knows bits and pieces about Micah. She remembers people bullied me in high school but doesn’t know Micah was among them. All she knows of him now are the tidbits I share from time at work. His asshole tendencies, but also the way I spot him checking me out.
She has her own hypotheses on all things Micah Reed. And after today, no doubt she will add even more.
I rehash the events from two nights ago. Reiterate his order barking. Bring up the blonde and how he acted around her with me nearby. Like his goal was to make me jealous. How we went tit for tat. I give the whole rundown. And when I finish, her shit-eating grin irks my nerves.
After a moment of pause, she asks, “You want honesty?”
Yes. No. We never lie to each other, but occasionally keep opinions to ourselves. I want honesty, but don’t want another person to say Micah is flirting. I have been on the receiving end of flirting many times. What Micah and I do is not flirting. Our back-and-forth exchanges are more about getting under each other’s skin. And it doesn’t take much effort.
I know my motivation. But what prompts Micah?
“Always.” Even if I don’t want to hear it.
“He likes you.” She sips her drink. “More than likes you.”
I shake my head. “How? This isn’t elementary school. Adults don’t pretend to hate someone because they have a crush on them.”
“Says who?”
“Society.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “So, because society says something, it makes it true. Really, Peyton?”
I hate when she gets semi-philosophical. I also hate when she makes a valid point when I thought otherwise. Ugh.
“Okay, fine. Say he acts like an asshole—”
“Peyton,” she scolds me like a juvenile.
“Say he acts like a jerk because he likes me. Should I really pursue a relationship with someone with such childish behavior? Why not just come out and ask me on a date?” I pause to sip my water. “Not that I’d say yes.”
“Oh, my dear sweet Peyton.” She reaches across the table and pats my hand similar to how Ms. Jenkins does. “Because men don’t always know how to use their voice. It’s easier for them to act the fool than express how they feel.”
I tip my head back, stare at the ceiling tiles, and let my vision blur. “Argh. This is so annoying.”
“Yet another reason why I stay single. I prefer friendships. Less drama and scrutinization.”
With this, she leaves the topic alone and we finish our lunch. Our conversation shifts to something that doesn’t spike my blood pressure. She tells me about a new candle shipment they received at work. Practically sells me each scent. But she loves the small, independently owned shop. They sell a variety of knickknacks and stay busy near the beach.
Finished with lunch, we pay the bill, slide out of the booth and head toward our cars. We stop at the back of mine, exchange hugs and promise to see each other the same time next week. I unlock the car and toss my purse onto the passenger seat.
“Peyton?”
I spin back to face her. “Yeah?”
“Not everything is black and white. Be sure to look for the hints of gray and occasional splashes of color.”
Skirting around her thoughts, Aunt Leanne just told me to consider the possibility that Micah may have feelings for me. Not the I-hate-everything-about-you feelings he so boldly displays. But perhaps the exact opposite.
Even if he does, I don’t see the point. Micah may not remember me from fourteen plus years ago, but I sure as hell remember him. Remember the hurt he put me through and the web of lies he spun. The harsh words on his lips and how he painted me the fool among our peers.
Micah Reed is an asshole and a manwhore. No point seeing him as anything except that. He treats me like trash whenever possible. And dips his dick in anyone with a hole. No thanks, I will pass.
But I appease my aunt for the time being. Toss out a smile and tell her what she wants to hear. “Will do. Love you.”
“Love you, too. See you next week.”
Next week… Hopefully, I won’t have anything new to share about Micah Reed. Not him ogling me behind the bar. Not him flaunting his promiscuity in my face. Not him barking at me to crawl under my skin. Nothing. Only him leaving me the hell alone.
