Chasing the Sun (A Rebound Novella Book 2) (15 page)

“How is Trey handling your departure?”
 

“She’s okay with it, just a little sad, I guess.” Ian hid his surprise at the question.

“That girl has it bad for you.”

Ian shook his head. Denial had worked for him so far. So he decided to stick with that theme. It was his best option.

“You keep telling yourself that. I see how she looks at you…and how you look at her if we’re being honest. It’s like you two have this magnetic pull, a tractor beam.” She spread her arms out wide then brought them together until her fingertips were touching. “After the opening I realized there was no competition—I was out-womaned. But I wanted one more night with you, so I took it.”

“I’m glad you did.” He smiled, then it fell away. “Maybe you’re right…but I’m leaving, so it doesn’t matter anyway, right?” It should have felt weird—talking to Rory about Trey, but it wasn’t.
 

“I could care for her, I do care for her…it’s just…oh hell, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I think it’s just best to roll out.”

“Ian, maybe you should take the advice you gave me…barefoot, my friend. And sometimes you have to let the sun catch you. You chase it too long…you’ll be left behind only to watch it slip over the horizon.”

“I’m gonna miss the shit out of you, Rory.”

She laughed and took a long sip of her iced tea.
 

“Of course you will, man. I’m cool as hell.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ian found himself looking in the rearview mirror for the tenth time in so many minutes. It was pure habit. He could almost hear Ruby’s panting—see the tilt in her head when she knew she had his attention. The tongue draped out of the side of her mouth and soulful eyes.

He figured that was why he had an ache in his chest. He rubbed roughly up and down his sternum, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. It didn’t help, in fact it just made his skin feel like it had an Indian burn…sorry, Native American burn.
 

When he was a kid he and his buddies would twist the skin on each other’s arms, each hand going in the opposite direction. The kid who could last the longest without yelping would earn some serious bragging rights. It was hard to be stoic when what little hair you had on your arms felt like it was being ripped off. Especially if Patrick Timmons was doing the twisting. He had freakishly large hands for a ten year old boy.

 
Ian could only assume that was what getting waxed felt like. How women did it to their beavers was beyond him.

So here he was…heading back to Big D with no dog and an ache in his chest. Austin was a distant speck on the horizon. He had several things on his mind. One of which was the confusing goodbye he’d had with Trey just that morning…

He’d just boxed up the remnants of his pantry and his favorite coffee mug that read,
 
“
architects:keeping it erect
.” His sister could hardly contain her laughter when he opened that beauty one Christmas morning.
 

A sturdy knock reverberated through the quiet of his apartment as he placed the box by his suitcases. He’d already said goodbye to Lucas, Viv, and the kids. Rory the day before that. He was surprised at how his eyes had misted as he watched Rory’s golden-red mane walk away.

So that left one person, Trey.
 

He’d left her a voice mail asking her to come by one last time, but there’d been radio silence from her end. He assumed that she was still upset and would be skipping the goodbye scene. He should’ve known—known she would be bigger than that. She was not one to wallow or pout. And as she stood on his welcome mat, with a small smile and a bottle of wine, he was impressed at her ability to put her discomfiture aside.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show.” He backed away and gestured her inside.

“Oh, you know me. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to brag with my wine collection.” She handed him the bottle of Mourvèdre
and slid herself onto the tall stool by the kitchen.

“Thank you. I’ve never had this type before.”

“You’ll love it. That bottle is from the Bandol region. It’s not for the faint of heart, so decant it first and pair it with a spicy meat. It’d go great with short ribs.” She smiled, knowing that was one of his favorite dishes.

“Well, I don’t know where the fuck Bandol is, but I’m sure it’s great.”

She laughed. “It’s in the south of France.”

“You could’ve just said that in the first place,” he teased.

“I suppose so, but it made me sound a lot more refined, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did…Thanks again for this and for coming by. It didn’t seem right leaving without getting one last hug from you.” Ian leaned on the counter in front of her. “And how about I save this for when you come visit me?”
 

“You’re giving me that look,” Trey said with a sigh.

“And what look would that be, Ms. Swartz?”

“You know the look. The showing me the dimple, swaggery smile look. The one you give me when you want to get your way.”
 

He stood straight and tried his best to look taken aback. He hadn’t meant to give her a look. He was just putting the charm on…he guessed that could be construed as intentional.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you with my dimple. I don’t even notice I have one. But I guess I’m not sitting in front of the mirror smiling at myself, either.”

“That’s good to know…that would be weird. As to coming to visit, sure, that would be nice.”
 

“Good, that’s settled.” He slapped his hands down onto the counter.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it. I just wanted to come by, give you the wine and one last hug.” She hopped down and pulled on her white shorts. “I’ll miss you, my friend.” She hugged him around the waist, her cheek resting on his chest.
 

“I’ll miss you, too,” Ian said, kissing her head.

Trey pulled away and sniffed. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“Sure.” His voice was a bit on the froggy side. He was fighting the lump in his throat with everything he had. He didn’t want to cry, not that Trey would have judged him for it. He
was
surprised that Trey’s eyes were dry. He hadn’t expected her to fall to her knees, begging him to stay with tear-filled eyes. But maybe a couple of drops…
 

Trey looked up into his eyes and brushed her hand along his jaw. “See you around, handsome.” She kissed his cheek and walked out the door.
 

He’d raised his hand towards her retreating back, warring emotions slamming his chest. He wanted to run after her…hold her, kiss her one last time. Smell the citrus in her soft curls. To bottle her laugh, the one that made her head fall back and her shoulders shake.

He wanted to feel complacent that he wouldn’t be seeing her tomorrow or the next day…or the next. He wanted his stool at the Royal to remain unoccupied until he graced the entrance once again.

He wanted…

Chapter Thirty

The open road does nothing to ease a troubled mind. The wind in his face, the broken lines that blur into one. These should have been calming. Instead it just brought the quiet insecurities in his heart to a resounding crescendo.
 

Ian let out a deep breath and readjusted his cap…Hit the gas and go forward, that was all he could do. That and roll over every detail of his life—what he had in abundance, friendship, fulfilling career, happiness and contentment. What was missing?
 

There was only one thing he felt was missing from his life. He was doing okay in its absence, but the glimmer, the glimmer of what his life would be with its presence—that was something he’d only recently touched. It had been a brush of his fingertips, but it was long enough to make a lasting impression.

Ian believed that when you fell in love, you just knew it. A hammer over the head and a sock in the gut…he didn’t believe that anymore. Sometimes that happens, and sometimes you take the scenic route, but all roads lead back to the same place…the same person. That person
is
your place, the place that feels like home.

All his life he’d been waiting for the love that hit him like a bolt of lightning and stop his heart. He was astounded to realize that he’d been going about it all wrong. That type of love never ran the distance, fizzling out along with hormones and better options. He wanted a life with someone he could call a best friend. A best friend that he was attracted to. Because after all, friendship and love is all about chemistry. And isn’t love wanting to spend every day, all your days, with that one person? The person that makes you laugh, challenges you, intrigues you, surprises you, makes you happy. Ian realized that love, the kind that lasts, wasn’t made in sunburst and sweaty sheets, it was forged in the soul. When you feel you are irreversibly connected to another person…that was the love he wanted.

That’s what he felt for Trey.
 

And fuck him if he hadn’t left her behind for some other guy.

He pulled into his driveway… only to pull right back out.
 

Chapter Thirty-One

Trey wiped her forehead with what she hoped was a clean towel. The crowd was rowdier than usual, which was saying something considering it was dollar draft night. This meant six dollar tab dildos with glassy eyes and tight wallets.
 

You’ve poured me six beers and waited on me for three hours, but since my tab is only six bucks…here’s a dollar, beer wench…

Worst night of the week.

Her regulars still tipped well and she needed all the tips she could get. It was her last push before classes started. When that happened she only worked two to three shifts a week. She saved a lot, that combined with student loans and help from her parents, she’d get by. She always did. She was grateful her parents were able to help out, not as much as they would like, but she refused to take more from them. Her father called it stubborn, she preferred self-reliant.

Crowded was good, busy was good. That way she didn’t have time to feel the fissure—the one slowly making its way across her aorta. Not to mention the bile that was playing peekaboo with her throat.

“Prince Charming leave today?” her friend and fellow bartender asked.
 

Trey looked up to Megan, literally. She was five-eight compared to Trey’s five-four. She was not only tall, she had the body of a swimsuit model and long flaxen hair. Trey felt like a coal dust Quasimodo around her.
 

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Trey was more than comfortable with her looks. Now at least…but when she was little she always envied the towheaded, blue-eyed girls in her small town. The kind that the guys chased and asked to dances. The kind whose fathers didn’t go around town with a white doctor’s coat and a “scalp condom,” the kids delightful nickname for his yarmulke.

So different from her…Eyes too green against the backdrop of dark freckles, more almond shaped than round. Hair too thick and too curly…just too…different.
 

She’d been vindicated on the balmy night of her tenth reunion. Heads turned and tongues wagged. Ninety-eight percent of the girls she’d envied looked swollen and beaten down. But the coup de gras was when she discovered that Thad Jefferson (object of an obsessive crush, captain of the football team, and particularly harsh with the anti-Semitic remarks) had a very hairy back and was hung like a chicken nugget.
 

She’d laughed as she left him half naked in his car, which would have been a bitch move if he hadn’t been so mean to her in high school or had he not just left his wife for getting too fat.

So she walked away…with both middle fingers in the air and her head held high.
 

“Go to hell, you redneck motherfuckers.”

Of course not everyone was mean. She had friends growing up, mostly guys. She’d earned their respect by the dirt on her knees—stealing third and busting noses.
 

But when her “mosquito bites” became small C’s and she wanted to go by Trevia, it was too late. She was forever Trey—always the friend, the one the guys came to to talk about the girls they had crushes on. Not that no one noticed, but only by ones who she’d preferred to remain androgynous.

Trey laughed bitterly to herself…some things never change.

“Well, did he leave?” Megan asked again.

“Sorry. Yes, he left this morning…and yes, I’m fine.” Trey pulled the tap with one hand, filling three mugs she held in the other.

“Trey, you’re
 
a lot of things. A good liar is not one of them.”

“Not ly-ing,” Trey answered in a sing song voice.

“What-ever,” Megan sang back.

She was fine, really she was. Sure she was sad, and sure she missed him like a fledgling vegetarian misses a burger, but she was going to be okay. She didn’t need a man.
 

Well, maybe a few times a month just to take the edge off…

But orgasms aside, she was an independent woman and was doing just fine before Ian Radcliffe walked into the Royal. She tried to wish that’d never happened, but that wouldn’t have been acceptable. She loved his clueless ass, even if he didn’t love her back…at least in the way she wanted him to.
 

Bottom line, if he didn’t appreciate her greatness, then his fucking loss…

She wouldn’t mention that no man should have a tongue with such unparalleled dexterity and a member with such cock-tastic majesty.
 

She shook her head.

 
If I don’t pass the bar at least I have a future in pornographic poetry.

Cursing herself for the millionth time she pulled the towel tucked in her back pocket and roughly wiped the puddles from the bar’s worn surface. But seeing her hand make rapid circles just reminded her of his tongue making similar circles on her…

She had two questions—was it getting hot in here and would anyone notice if she straddled the beer fridge under the counter?

She hummed to the song playing, cutting limes to the beat. Her night was almost over. Megan was closing, so Trey was going to finish her sides, close up her drawer, and get the hell home. She needed a shower and a Big Gulp sized vino.