Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) (3 page)

When I see her come out the door, my face lights up; hers grimaces. I decide to strike first, “Hi honey, how was work?”

Kathryn shakes her head, and says, “Where are the jumper cables, big guy?” Big guy? She has no idea—yet.

“Didn’t get any,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, pretending not to care.

“Then, why’re you on my car?” she inquires.

“Seemed like a great spot to rest … cozy and all,” I say, sliding to one side of the hood of her VW Bug. “Care to join me?”

“Listen, I need to get home. I’m not sure what game you’re playing at, but I’m not interested.”

As she starts scrolling through her phone, a truck pulls up next to hers, and an older man rolls down his window. “Do you think I’m close enough?”

Kathryn looks relieved. “Nah, you need to pull in front of my car … I’ll go ahead and pop the hood.” She unlocks her car, and turns to me, “Could you at least move, so we can get my car jumped?”

I nod and hop down off her car. As she leans inside the car to pop the hood, I turn to the man, and say, “Thank you sir for your help, but the car’s fine. She doesn’t need it jumped.” He eyes me, and waits for her confirmation or explanation.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, looking at me. “Warren, don’t leave. It won’t start.”

“Why don’t you give it try, before you spend all that time moving his car and hooking up the cables,” I suggest. Kathryn glares at me, squinting her eyes suspiciously.

“Alright Casanova, what’d you do?” Kathryn asks, as she slides into the driver’s seat. She puts the key into the ignition, turning it as the car hums and comes to life. Still glaring at me, she leans out of the car, and says, “I’m sorry to hold you up, Warren. Thanks for offering to help.” Warren looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and waves to Kathryn before pulling out of the space.

Kathryn kills the engine, gets out, closes the door, and walks over to where I’m standing. “First of all, thank you. I’m not sure what you did, but you obviously did something.”

I start to cut her off, when she raises her finger to hush me. “Secondly, I’m not sleeping with you.” Kathryn quickly shakes her head, lowers her shoulders, and says, “Third, I’d like to buy you dinner to thank you for your help.”

Kathryn walks around to the passenger side of the door, and opens it, motioning for me to get in. I have to be honest; I’ve never had a girl open a door for me. I’m not too sure I like it. I can almost feel my balls shrink up and hide.

“Fourth,” she says, after I’m in, “I have pepper spray in my purse, and I will blind your ass if you try to kill or rape me.” Kathryn taps her purse as if to emphasize what’s inside. Then she walks around to the other side of the car, gets in, and says, “And finally, I’m not sleeping with you.”

“That was number two,” I remind her, smirking.

“And it’s
also
number five … repetition for emphasis,” she says, and pulls out of the parking spot. “Where to, Car Fairy?”

“Seafood. I’m hungry for some seafood,” I reply, turning toward her. “You pick the place,” I say, smiling at her.

“Perfect,” she says, “I’ve got a coupon for Sam’s Seafood Bucket.”

Damn, she’s cute. “By the way, I do have a name.”

“I’m sure you do,” she says and turns up the radio.

The hostess leads us to a table on the patio, overlooking the marina. It’s as hot as balls, but I’m not about to complain. Every single one of my senses is in overdrive. I can’t stop looking at Kathryn, especially the fullness of her ass, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Have I ever liked a nice, round ass before? Damn. This chick’s got me all mixed up.

All I can think about is getting her in bed, which makes walking behind her difficult and discomforting. When the air conditioning was cranked in the car, I was getting wafts of her scent, making my mouth water. I’m not sure if cinnamon sugar and vanilla is an actual scent, but that is exactly what she smelled like. My thoughts kept wandering to my tongue on her skin, behind her ears, down the back of her neck. I was more than thankful that the air conditioning was blasting me in the face; I needed a cool down.

Honestly, I could’ve done without the sense of sound though. A Taylor Swift song came on the radio, and Kathryn belted it out like she was auditioning for
American
Idol
. The only time anyone would ever see or hear her on
Idol
is during the outtakes—when those poor people get axed in line before the real auditions even begin. Sight and scent were becoming my new favorite senses, but I’m not an idiot, I know that once taste and touch get in the game, they’ll take the ball right past the goal line. Score!

After ordering drinks and all-you-can-eat crab legs, Kathryn leans across the table and says, “So Car Fairy, what’d you do to make it start?”

Deciding that I was done with this topic and ready to move on to different questions and answers, I simply say, “Got ya a new battery.”

“How’d you get under my hood without my keys?” Kathryn asks, truly confused.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” I say, winking at her, as I take a drink.

“Holy smokes, seriously, how many women have you slept with?” Kathryn asks, not batting an eye at the intrusiveness of her question.

“Excuse me,” I choke on my drink, buying time to make sure I heard her correctly. “What’d you say?”

“How many women have just full out fallen for this whole mysterious, sexy stranger thing?” she asks again.

“You think I’m sexy?” I inquire, raising my brows.

Kathryn leans over, grabs her purse, and takes out a small mirror. Opening the case, she holds it in front of me, and says, “I had no idea you didn’t own one of these. This is a mirror. Mirror. Take a look.” She shakes the mirror in front of me. “People pay big bucks to look like you, Casanova.”

Kathryn retracts the mirror, closes the case, and stirs more sweetener into her unsweetened tea. The whole time, I am staring dumbfounded at her. This is not the type of girl I’m used to. Kathryn is straightforward, honest, and as intriguing as Hell.

Before I can answer, she says, “So, why’re you pulling out the big guns on me?” She takes a sip of her tea, frowns, and adds in straight sugar this time. After tasting it again and grimacing, she calls the server over and orders a large sweet tea. Now that’s some funny shit. There are no false pretenses with this woman.

The server glances at her briefly, looks at me, and says, “We have the sweetest tea here; it just melts on your tongue. It really whets your appetite.” Then she licks her lips and leans over, smiling at me, giving my line of vision a direct assault on her cleavage.

Kathryn begins laughing, loudly with a snort, and says, “Sweetie, it’s liquid. It doesn’t have to melt. And it’s wet, so it’s going to wet anything it touches.”

Kathryn shakes her head, takes a deep breath, exhales, and says, “Write your number on the check when we leave, and make sure to put a big heart over whatever “i” is in your name, but for the love of God, please keep your panties on until I leave.”

The waitress leaves quickly and a few moments later a different server returns, dropping off her sweet tea quickly and quietly. I’m not sure what is happening, but I can feel myself being captivated by this woman. I’m tempted to ask her if she even knows the definitions of demure, dainty, or coy, because she is none of those things. But yet, she is the most “womanly” woman I’ve ever encountered.

“Aright, back to my question, the one before Allie with an “i” drenched us in her drool,” she says, cracking open a crab leg and pulling out a huge hunk of meat. Meanwhile, my crab legs are coming out in aggravating little strips. I’m enthralled by her talent, envious of her expertise. Not to mention, fucking starving.

After dipping the meat in butter and putting it in her mouth, she questions, “Why am I getting the ‘full court press’ treatment?”

“Ahhhh basketball fan?” I ask, nodding appreciatively.

“Not at all. I just know my clichés and analogies. Stop avoiding the question,” she commands.

“Can’t a man see a beautiful woman and want to help her out, spend a little time with her, get to know her?” I ask, reaching for her hand. She quickly puts her hand on her lap. “Why does there have to be some hidden agenda?”

“There doesn’t have to be. But in this case, the agenda is so hidden, people are going to find Jimmy Hoffa, before they figure out what you’re up to,” she says. “I don’t play games. I don’t act all giggly and giddy for some hot guy on the street. So, I’d like to request the same honesty in return.”

“Why do you keep talking about how hot or sexy I am?” I ask, truthfully curious.

“Are you kidding? Guys like you don’t talk to girls like me … unless you’re asking who my friend at the bar is that looks like Blake Lively,” Kathryn replies honestly, a slight frown forming on her face.

“Do you have a friend who looks like Blake Lively?” I ask, joking.

“Yeah … actually … Syd’s prettier … if you can believe that,” she admits, rolling her eyes.

I love her honesty. She almost makes me want to be honest and upfront with her … almost. But this isn’t horseshoes, so almost doesn’t count.

However, I do decide a little truth here might actually pay off. “I’ve been stalking you.” She rolls her eyes again and sighs, revealing her annoyance. “No truthfully,” I continue, “last month, I heard you tell someone on your phone that you wouldn’t be an accomplice in his extra marital activities.”

Kathryn’s eyes widen, recalling the incident. “I come from a long line of lying and cunning women. I loved your abrasiveness, your honesty. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“Did you purposely disconnect my battery?” Kathryn asks, eyeing me with caution.

“No, my big plan was to ask you for directions to Battery Park. I got lucky with your dead battery,” I confess.

“Directions? Really? That was the best you had?” she says, shaking her head. “I’d have thought you had better game than that, Dre,” she scolds.

I laugh, throwing my head back. Kathryn’s funny. I like that. “Yeah well, it’s been a long month. Plus the heat fucks with my mind—wait—did you just call me ‘Dre?’ How’d—”

“My secretary has the biggest mouth on the planet. I knew the plan the second you got my keys,” she admits, matter-of-factly. “We have a ton of connections at Seaside, Dre Donley, handyman.”

“I thought you didn’t play games?” I ask, smirking.

“I don’t play, Dre. I win,” Kathryn states, flawlessly cracking open another crab leg.

Dre Donley is known around the city as “the gift from unknown.” Everyone knows his name. Every guy wants to be him; every woman wants to bed him. However, nobody really knows him, other than his name and occupation: spur-of-the-moment handyman. Dre shows up when someone’s in trouble, helps out, doesn’t take any money, and then leaves. He’s said to be pretty polite, gentle, and grateful. I’d known all of this, prior to letting him into my car. I’m not some dumb bimbo who lets crazy pervs jump into her vehicle for a quickie rape or trial appendectomy.

I’ve known what little there is of Dre’s story since I moved to Charleston less than six months ago. It was impossible not to ask around about the sexy guy who’s always seen loitering around area businesses and parks, sharing stories and laughing with the locals. I’ve even seen him give a few impromptu tours to visitors, pointing out Rainbow Row, Battery Park, and the College of Charleston.

I like to pretend to have him all figured out. I’m not too sure what people’s viewing interests are, but I’m fairly certainly that he’s an angel pretending to be a handyman. I saw it on a TV show once, and now I’m convinced that’s what’s going on. He’s angelic and good—serving our world, bettering us as a whole. Definitely making the scenery more visually pleasing. Not too far-fetched, eh? It’s the only I explanation I can muster up. Why else would someone be as sweet as sugar on a succulent strawberry if he weren’t a gift from God? (Ever since I moved here, I’ve been trying out my southern similes and alliteration. It’s just not working for me.)

But yesterday doesn’t fit into his whole “super hero” persona. Sure, Dre got me a new battery and all that chivalrous jazz. But something important doesn’t add up. Nobody has ever described him as “cocky” or “flirtatious.”