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RORY
The mid-morning sun shines warmly through the window of the local breakfast joint in town. It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen Lyndsey. I’ve felt bad dodging her numerous phone calls and texts, so I invited her to hang out with me today while Jackson is at work. Plus, I figure she will undoubtedly have questions—specific questions—that are not safe for work. Taking a sip of my coffee, I hear the bells over the door chime and look up to see her walking in. I give her a small wave and worry a little because of the expressionless look on her face. She takes a seat and picks up the menu that’s laying in front of her. Without a word, she studies it as if it’s her first time here.
Plucking the menu out of her hands, I motion for the waitress, who comes over to our table. “I will have your breakfast biscuit with bacon, and she’ll have the banana nut waffle with no powdered sugar. And more coffee when you have a minute, please.”
The waitress smiles as she heads to the back to give the cook our order. Lyndsey crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in the chair.
“You know, I thought I only hated it when guys ordered for me. But, no. I didn’t like it when you did it right now, either.”
“You were trying to make me suffer with your silence.” Lyndsey shrugs. “Every time you come here you get the same thing, and have, since high school.”
“You ignored me for almost an entire week.”
“I know.”
“You were a runaway bride.”
“I know.” I exhale.
“And then you didn’t even call me afterward to let me know if you were ok. I’m your best friend.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just—” How do I even begin to explain these past six days? “Everything happened really fast, and I needed time to process.”
“So.” The waitress comes to the table and places a coffee mug in front of Lyndsey and pours each of us a cup. “Have you had enough time to process that dick of his?”
The waitress jumps—shocked at Lyndsey’s choice of words—and spills a bit of coffee onto the table. I quickly grab some napkins and clean up the mess while apologizing to her. The older woman walks away with a huff and I roll my eyes.
“Can you not?” I glare at Lyndsey. “It’s bad enough when I walked in here, everyone stopped and stared at me. You could hear a pin drop in the kitchen while all eyes were on me for a good thirty seconds.”
“Good. Let the old-timers gossip. It’s about time there was some drama in this little town.” Lyndsey stirs the creamer into her coffee and places the spoon back on the table. “So, you’re really with Jackson now, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Why does it still feel so awkward to say that out loud?
“God, Rory, that’s so weird. I mean, it has to be right?” Lyndsey puts her elbow on the table, then places her chin in her hand. “Have you guys had sex yet?”
A smile I can’t stop spreads across my face. “Yeah.”
“And there was no awkwardness?” I shake my head. “Not even a little?”
“Lynds, it’s so hard to explain.” I sigh and chew on my bottom lip for a moment. “Have you ever been with someone where everything just clicks? Emotionally, mentally, and physically? Like everything is just perfect?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not making this very easy for me.” I tap my finger on the table, trying to think of a better way to explain. “It’d be like if you and I had sex—”
“Whoa, now. Don’t be getting greedy. You can’t have all of us,” she teases.
“Shut up, you know what I mean. Jackson and I are friends—best friends—and we have fun together, enjoy most of the same things. And we have all of these amazing memories. It’s like skipping the most awkward parts of a relationship. Like…dodging all the bullshit of dating and getting to know someone only to find out in a few months or years later that they weren’t who you really thought they were.” I smile and take another sip of coffee. “Jackson and I get to skip all that. We get to pass go, collect two-hundred, and be happy.”
“Damn, he’s got you dickmatized. Those Nash brothers have a way about them, don’t they? So, I got to know.” Lyndsey takes a quick glance around us, making sure the sweet little old waitress isn’t in earshot. “Is he?” Lyndsey holds out both of her index fingers, about an inch apart from each other. “Or?” Dramatically she moves them a good foot apart.
With a smirk, I take a sip of my coffee. “Definitely closer to the latter.”
“Damn, those two hit the genetic lottery. I bet their dad—”
“Stop, I can’t go there.”
“Sorry, I’ve been on a romance reading binge where the main character breaks up with her boyfriend, only to rebound with his dad.” I give her a blank stare. “What? It’s hot. Don’t be judgy.”
