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Her shoulders lift on an inhale, then droop back down. She still makes no move to turn around, so I stalk toward her and grip her shoulders, spinning her to face me. “Talk to me.”
Her gaze drops to the floor, forcing me to tip her chin up so she has to meet my eyes. “What could you possibly have done wrong?”
“I… You… At my house…” she stutters and stops.
“Wait.” A crazy idea pops into my head as I replay that evening in my mind. “Is this about the blow job?”
“Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?” She winces and looks away, bringing my frustration to the surface.
Clearly she’s embarrassed, thinking she crossed some sort of boundary. But the boundary is there because I’m the town fuckboy and she’s the good girl. Remove those obstacles and I’d have taken her up on her offer. Even knowing I couldn’t, I was damn tempted. And impressed. So many people don’t talk openly about sex much less ask for help with it, and the fact that she came right out and said what she was thinking was a huge turn on.
I can’t tell her any of that though, which means pretending it didn’t happen is for the best.
Forcing the irritation from my voice, I tell her what she wants to hear. “If you want me to forget about it I can, sure. On one condition.”
“What?” she asks warily.
“If it didn’t happen then there’s no reason you can’t look at me.”
Her body goes rigid save for the rise and fall of her chest as she takes several deep breaths. Finally, she brings her gaze to mine. It’s hesitant. Wary almost. Yet she doesn’t look away.There’s that bravery I saw the other night.If only I weren’t so drawn to it.
“That’s better.” I should do something to reassure her, like smile or give her a fist bump. Things a friend would do. Only those dark brown eyes locked on mine, a mixture of innocence and intrigue mirroring her expression from the other morning, make it damn near impossible to think of her as a friend.
I should’ve let her keep ignoring me.
There haven’t been many times in my life where time stood still. A freak car accident when I was little–luckily no one was hurt. A near miss on the slope where I regained control of my bike right before it would’ve hurtled over the edge of a massive drop. And now, with Tiff’s face less than a foot away from mine. Close enough that our lips would meet if I lean any closer.What’s the worst that could happen?
“Tiff.” Lennon’s voice echoes from the hallway, severing the weird trance I’d fallen into. “Do you have those inventory reports for me?”
Stepping away like she’s been shocked, Tiff ducks her head and rushes past me. It’s only after she’s gone that I take a full breath, telling myself I dodged a bullet. So, why do the words feel empty?
Chapter 6
Tiff
Hourslatermyfacestill feels like it’s on fire, even in the safety of my own living room.Will it ever end?
I didn’t ask to fall in lust with Deacon. I’ve tried to tamp down those feelings for years, even going so far as to ask the girls to help me find someone to date. I thought that would help take my mind off him, but all it’s done is make him more appealing.
Now that I know he's only interested in being my friend, the thought of staying in this town makes me think of a hamster wheel; running in place rather than going anywhere. And I can’t help but wonder… Can I ever get off it?
Despite my mom’s fears and the town’s tendency to treat me like the child I was instead of the adult I am, I never had a desire to leave. I like seeing familiar faces when I walk down the street. I like knowing them well enough to have a full conversation instead of just saying the obligatory ‘hi’ when we pass each other. And I like the idea that my own kids could one day live in a place as magical as this. Of course, there won’t be any kids of my own without a man to help make them, and with Deacon consuming my mind that future won’t come to fruition.
More and more it seems like the only way I’ll have a future is if I make a fresh start somewhere else. But where?
Thanks to my naïve belief I’d stay in this town forever, I didn’t pursue college. My work experience is limited to serving, bartending and teaching dance. In theory I could do those jobs anywhere, but in practice… Could I support myself with those jobs? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Reaching for my laptop, I open a job search site. I figure serving jobs are easy enough to find once I’ve got a location in mind, so I look for dance jobs throughout the state. Predictably, there aren’t an abundance of postings, and most are in bigger cities, which I’m not sure I’m cut out for. But there is one in Jefferson, a small town about three hours away.
I don’t know much about Jefferson. I’ve driven through it over the years when we took the occasional vacation, though we never really spent time there. In my memories it's cute, though it has less character than Katah Vista. And I’m pretty sure it’s got more people, yet it’s nowhere near the size of Denver or even Colorado Springs. That doesn’t sound all bad.
On a whim I fill out the application, slamming the laptop shut as soon as I hit submit as if that will somehow hide the evidence of my little rebellion. It’s silly, I know. There isn’t even anyone here to witness what I’ve done, but I’m fairly sure no one would approve. Still, just the act of doingsomethinghas me feeling lighter than I have in months.
My friends like to say they’re badass bitches—running their own businesses and dictating the course of their lives—and I always secretly wanted that for myself. Maybe I can have that, too.
***
Whiskey Meyers plays in the background as I sift through boxes in the storeroom, the only company I have since the restaurant is closed until summer. The mountain location anyway.
