Stirred: A Love Story (5 page)

“Sage”—he touched her arm, surprised at the scratch of the fabric—“we’re standing in a women’s bathroom and I’d like to get out of here. You texted that you needed a ride. I was right at Kenna’s babysitting Paige, so it’s not a big deal. Let’s go.”

She appeared to pull herself together, but then Garrett took her hand and she paused, eyes closed and smiling. It was only a moment, but long enough for him to notice how small her hand felt in his, and then her eyes opened. He unlocked the door to two women waiting.

“Sorry about that, ladies,” he said quickly, and Sage laughed.

“What?” he asked as they made their way through the bar.

“Nothing. This is a little funny.”

“I suppose it is.” He glanced over his shoulder, still moving them toward the door but stopping at the end of the bar. “Before we leave,” he tapped Plaid Blazer on the shoulder and could feel Sage’s hand tense in his. “We’re leaving. Did you have something you wanted to say?” he asked the guy whose ego was now a little deflated. Garrett always liked it when slimeballs knew enough to be uncomfortable.

“My apologies for putting my hands on you, Sage. No hard feelings?” He looked at Garrett as if waiting to be prompted for his next line. “And. . . I’m a tool?”

Sage laughed, hand to her mouth, as Garrett patted him on the back and turned them toward the exit.

“Do you have a coat?” he asked as they pushed through the front door.

“What kind of coat did you want me to pair this with?” She ran her hands up the sides of her body, completely unaware he was a male and they were standing under the stars.

Hello, eyes up, asshole!

He shook his head, took off his coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“My God, that was classic. How did you get him to apologize
and
call himself a tool?” Sage asked, still laughing and reluctant to let go of Garrett’s hand as she slid into the warmth of his truck. “Oh, hi there, sweet baby Jack.” She kissed the dog sharing the bench seat with her and leaned against him, all soft and wonderful, kind of like his owner but far less dangerous. Jack was a Britney, brown and white with what Paige called “freckles,” and the most well-loved eyes Sage had ever seen. He was always with Garrett whether he was at the office or out in the fields. As if the man needed any help being her ultimate hot-and-damn, he had a great dog too.

“I asked him to say he was sorry,” he said, starting the truck.

“Uh huh.”

The corner of Garrett’s mouth turned up as they pulled into traffic. The truck, a 1957 Ford, smelled like rich oil and potted plants. It had been restored for as long as Sage had known the Rye family. The story, according to Makenna, was that Garrett had worked on the engine and the bodywork all during high school and then their father surprised him at graduation with all-new upholstery.

She’d only been in his truck one other time when he’d picked her and Kenna up from the movies because Kenna’s Jeep wouldn’t start. That had been over a year ago, and not much had changed. Running her hand along the leather of the seat, Sage told herself, through the haze of tequila, to sober up and not make an ass out of herself. Her cheeks were warm, and she wanted to switch places with Jack and climb right into Garrett’s lap.

“Let’s do it,” tequila, its voice a little fainter now, said.

Stop it.

Sage closed her eyes, petting Jack and knowing that the body of knowledge she’d gathered on Garrett Rye, through his family and eavesdropping from the bar, was a touch pathetic. Her interest in him was a little “consuming” according to pretty much all of her books, but Sage wasn’t sure how to stop. There was an energy she felt every time he was around that was hard to ignore. He wasn’t flashy and she knew she wasn’t his type, but that didn’t matter to her heart. She wanted him. And until she could move on and get a grip on herself, maybe learn to be nasty, no other date, or man for that matter, stood a chance. That was her problem. He was hers. He simply didn’t know it yet.

She let out a slow breath, listening to the low, rhythmic lilt of a country song she didn’t recognize. Jack made himself comfortable and rested his head on her lap. Sage peeked at Garrett, driving silently beside her, his face lit by the dash, and her heart settled into her chest, content to stay right where it was. Her eyes were heavy and as she drifted off to sleep, she heard tequila, in a voice that sounded a lot like her own, say, “I love you, Garrett Rye.”

Oh, me too, tequila, me too.

Chapter Four

S
age woke up the next morning with yuck mouth, but only a slight headache. At least she’d been aware enough not to mix alcohol during the party; there were some benefits to being a professional. Sticking with tequila but forgetting that she hardly ever drank anymore had landed her in the bathroom last night.
So
, she told herself as she pulled on her yoga pants and prepared to detox the final night of the old year right out of her system,
you’re allowed to have fun.
After wrestling into her sports bra, she lay back down on the bed. The headache throbbed a little more now that she was moving around. The evening had not gone as she’d expected. It turned out dressing naughty brought out all sorts of other problems, namely Brett’s hands. She’d followed Chapters One and Two to the letter and still ended up texting. . . who? Suddenly, Sage remembered her ride home.

Garrett. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and exhaled. “Focus on the breath, be in the now,” she told herself as she began to drift back to sleep. Maybe one more hour. Rolling over to her pillow, pieces of her brief drive home with Garrett floated to the surface. Holding his hand, being wrapped in his coat, Jack, even the weight of his body as he leaned over her to help find the seatbelt. How had she been that close to him and fallen asleep? He’d looked over at her when she’d said. . . when she’d said. . . Her eyes flew open.

“I think I told your brother that I love him,” she blurted out to Kenna minutes after scrambling to grab her phone off the nightstand.

“Hold on,” she mumbled. “What now?”

Sage closed her eyes, not quite sure she could say it again. “I told Garrett I loved him, at least, I think I did. I was in his truck and he gave me his coat and Jack was there. It was so warm and the tequila and I sort of fell asleep, but before, I think I told him. Oh crap, I can’t remember if I was thinking it or if the words actually came out of my mouth. Oh, oh my God. Say something, Kenna. Why did you leave me alone with him?”

“Okay, we need to back way up here. When did you even see Garrett?”

“Last night. I was in the bathroom and then I texted you, but it wasn’t you. Oh holy shit, I need to sit down.” Sage sank to her couch, folded her legs into her chest, and told Kenna about the mix-up, Garrett showing up, and even Plaid Blazer. Kenna listened and laughed at some points. Despite being pretty sure she needed to leave town, she had to admit parts of the story were funny.

“So you told him you loved him and then fell asleep. That’s not a big deal. For all he knows, you were saying that as a way of thanking him for picking you up. You know, like, ‘Hey, thanks for getting me. I love you for this.’ It’s not like you went into detail. You fell asleep.”

Sage was silent. Hand rubbing her temple, she tried to remember what was real and what was imagined. She’d had so many fantasies about Garrett without the help of alcohol that it was hard to pinpoint reality.

“Right?” Kenna asked. “You fell asleep on the way home?”

“I think so.”

“Well, did he walk you to your door? I’m sure he did. Do you remember him walking you in?”

“Yes, I remember getting my keys and thanking him. I remember shutting off my alarm and turning and then. . . oh, oh, shit, Kenna. I think I said other things. I’m pretty sure I said stuff about his eyes, and I touched him.”

Even through the phone, she could tell Kenna was holding back a laugh.

“This is not even close to funny. Are you laughing at me?”

“No, no, sorry. Well, was he in your bed when you woke up this morning?”

“No! My God. Like I’d be calling you if he was in my bed.”

This time, Kenna did laugh. “Okay, so whatever you said, it’s not a big deal. Honey, you had too much to drink. Most of us are stupid when we drink. I’m sure whatever you said has been forgotten. Garrett probably shrugged it off and went home.”

“Could you call him?” Sage knew it sounded high school, but she didn’t care.

“Me?”

“Yeah, get a feel for what happened. I mean pieces are coming back to me, but if you call him, he’ll tell you how bad it was.”

Kenna let out a sigh. “Okay. I’m sure it’s nothing, but let me get Paige to her friend’s house. Her mom’s taking them to a movie, so we can’t be late. I’ll call him on my way to work.”

“Great, okay. Yeah, let me know.”

Sage hung up and sat on the couch trying to find the missing pieces of her memory. There had been something about summer camp. She remembered mentioning the name of her camp. Something about making a fire, maybe? Right, yes, because she had a faint memory of describing Tim Strough, her first crush. They must have been talking about crushes. . . and maybe the one she had on him? Oh no, this was not good. How had this happened? She dealt with silly drunk women all the time and after three measly shots of tequila, she’d become one.

This wasn’t even a good story for her bottom drawer. It was a sad little unable-to-hold-her-liquor story. Now, if she’d been dancing on the bar or had some gorgeous guy take her up against the wall in the bathroom, that would have been a story, something to feel a little naughty about before she tucked it into her life experiences. This was more like a cautionary tale of a lightweight naughty girl wannabe who probably blabbered herself silly to a guy she’d been in love with for far too long.

Sage felt like she was going to be sick from the stupidity of it all. Why couldn’t she be comfortable in her own skin? Why had she dressed that way and found herself drunk in a bathroom? She put her face in her hands.
Shit, shit, shit.

Finishing up her pity party and what was left in her water bottle, she grabbed her phone and read her positive affirmation of the day: “You are not your yesterdays,” the words of her app informed her above a picture of a road.

“Wanna bet?” she said out loud to her empty house, snorting a laugh.

Her horoscope wasn’t much better: “Brace yourself for a period of uneasy, but know you’ll get through it.” Damn it. Only a few days ago it said she was going to have the best month of the year. Had the stars moved around that quickly?

Finding her yoga playlist, Sage plugged her iPod into the cool speaker thing she’d bought off an infomercial late one night while she was trying to unwind after a shift. Soft flutes and steel drums filled her living room. No words, Sage thought thankfully as she stepped out onto her patio and took in a breath of cool morning air. Things would be fine, she told herself as she rolled out her thick black yoga mat. Feet mushing into the foam, she took a seat, closed her eyes, and tried to quiet her mind, which was easier said than done. Her brain still desperately wanted to know exactly how stupid her heart had been.

Breathe in, breathe out. Sage stretched out on her mat and remembered why she practiced yoga.

A little over an hour later, sweaty and much closer to normal, Sage grabbed her ringing phone. Pulling on a sweatshirt, she hoped as Kenna began with, “Okay, I have good news and bad news,” that her chi wasn’t about to start screaming again.

“Which do you want first?” her friend asked as Sage grabbed another bottle of water.

“Bad.”

“All right. It’s not exactly bad, but you did quite a bit of talking.”

Sage moaned, collapsing back onto the couch, the hand not holding the phone now covering her face.

“You mentioned that you loved him in general terms, which he did dismiss as you being tipsy and grateful for the drive home.”

“Okay.”

“But then you sort of. . . described in detail the things you loved about him. His eyes, the way his forehead wrinkles and makes that crease, his hands, the way he loves his family.”