The Girl He Needs (10 page)

“We should make it happen again sometime.”

“I’d like that,” he says, his thumb caressing my jawline. “I’m sorry about the beard burn.” He kisses it gently.

“I like this scruffy-faced you.” I trail small kisses over his five o’clock shadow.

There’s easiness between us and not the awkward moment that usually accompanies sex with a near stranger.

“What do we do now?”

“We pat ourselves on the back, get dressed, and go about our business.” I push away and we’re no longer joined. He eases me into a standing position and watches me dress. He tugs on his jeans that ride low on his hips and I consider having round two right here and now. I meet his gaze and he pauses, his hand on his fly.

A phone rings out in the office and we both jump.

“I’ll clean up in here,” he says.

“I’ll meet you in ten minutes in your office to go over the books.” I pull my hair out from beneath my shirt. “Oh, and maybe we should exchange numbers. You can text me if you want to do this again.” I swirl my index finger in the space between us and give him a salacious wink.

“So you’re serious about this...no-strings thing?” He looks like a child who might have his favorite toy taken away at any moment.

“Are you waffling? A little intimidated?” I step close and once again have the feeling of being sucked into space or an alternate universe. Everything around me blurs.

“No, not at all. I’m just making sure we’re on the same page.”

I cup the back of his head and bring it down for a kiss, nipping his top lip before breaking away. He makes a low, deep growl and on a giggle I quickly turn and walk out.

“Judas Priest,” he says behind me.

Mother of all things good and holy, I’m going to need divine intervention because my appetite for him has just been whetted.

Being in the storage closet with McRae was oddly enough like swimming in shark-infested water, exciting, breathtaking, and dangerous. Oh, so very dangerous. I thought one taste might do the trick, but that one sample left me wanting more. This must be what addicts feel like. I can see why they’re surprised to find themselves at the mercy of their drug of choice. McRae could easily become mine.

I cut out of work a few minutes early. It’s not until I’m a mile away from the hanger that I clasp my hands to my cheeks and laugh. A deep, effervescent laugh that originates from my core and is a mixture of teenage giddiness, sultry dominatrix, and plain and simple pleasure.

My word, McRae is something else.

If it weren’t for the reminder in my phone, I’d have forgotten to go by the Fox and Hound to get next week’s work schedule. When I pull into the lot, I spot Jayne’s fire red coupe and check my reflection, looking for any signs that might tip my hand as to what McRae and I have been up too. The beard burn has faded to a soft pink that I manage to conceal under powder.

Entering through the back, I wave to the staff that I’ve started to know, as we seem to share many of the same shifts. Jayne comes out from the back storage room carrying a large bag of flour. Her aquamarine Lily Pulitzer shift dress is dusted with a fine coat of white powder.

“Bloody mess I’ve made in the back room. Bag exploded when I accidentally dropped it.” She plops the large bag onto the steel counter, creating a plume of white, before brushing fine flour particles from her dress.

I pull the work schedule from the wall and take a picture with my phone. It’s charming how her folks still do things old school like paper schedules and time off request sheets. Nothing automated here. I picture Jayne sitting at the bar with her ledgers.

“Have you thought of automating your books? No more pencils and calculators.”

“Yes, but I’m terribly unlucky with electronics. They always malfunction. Usually of the smoke and popping variety.”

“I see.” Even though I really don’t. I itch to help her organize but I hold back, waiting for better timing. “Do you need help cleaning up?” I point to her once lavender but now grayish-colored shoes.

“Yes, please, and you can tell me all about what it is you’ve gone and done.” She gives me a knowing smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say before turning on my heel and escaping to the storage room.

Another large bag lies upside down on the floor with a flour field spreading out in at least a ten-foot radius.

“I’m talking about your smile,” Jayne says from behind me.

“Is there something wrong with it?” I toss my phone on the counter before I pull down a broom from where it hangs on the wall.

“No, it’s lovely. It’s blinding and seems to be stuck in that position.”

“It’s nothing.” I turn away, hoping to conceal the grin.

“Right. Nothing. Nope. Pull the other one. Come on, Josie, tell. This is what girlfriends do, they share. I promise to squeal the proper amount.”

With what I hope is a serious expression, I face her, but her sanctimonious smile makes my efforts fruitless, as I really can’t contain my own. Oh, what the hell. I drop the broom to the floor and clasp my hands together excitedly. “OK, guess what I did?”

Jayne gives me a bored look and says in a flat tone, “You got more henna.” She points to my stomach.

“I did. You like it?” I raise my shirt to show her the entire piece. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Right. OK. You shaved it all off. You have a bald bird.” She leans against the wall.

“What? No! Why would you—? No.” I shake my head. “I slept with McRae.”

“I figured you slept with someone.” Jayne stands up. “McRae? Isn’t he your boss?” Her eyes go wide.

I wince. “Well, no. Technically, the owner, Mark, is my boss.”

“Right. So he’s just another employee?”

“Um, he’s second in charge.” I put my hand on my hip and dare her to say more.

“Don’t just stand there, give over.” She gestures for me to continue.

I step closer to her so the conversation is between us. “It’s just sex, no strings. I established that up front and he agreed.”

“Of course he did.”

We both laugh. I once dated a guy who told me women could rule the world, if only they knew how much power they wield. After today’s experience, I totally get what he was saying.

“Yup. I’m in. I’m out. I’m gone.”

Jayne picks up the broom and hands it to me before reaching for a second one. “What if in order to reestablish your relationship with your brother you have to stay?”

I shake my head. “Being here has nothing to do with my brother. I can live anywhere and have that.” I’d spilled my guts about my brother a few nights ago when the bar traffic had been slow.

Jayne clasps her hands over mine. “I hope you’re right. Are you going to tell me what it was like?”

I stare at her, blinking, as I try to find the words to describe what I experienced with McRae. The grin still carves my face.

“I see,” she says and smiles. “At least tell me
something
.”

“He’s got an incredible body. All tone. If I were to take a piece of paper, lay it on top of him, and rub chalk against the paper, the outline alone would make you drool. The real thing is....”

“Extraordinary,” Jayne answers for me.

I nod and wag my brows.

My phone buzzes on the counter and Jayne reaches for it. After a quick glance at the screen, she says, “That comment about location not being key to knowing your brother, are you sure about that?”

“Positive. Why?” I take my phone from her outstretched hand. A glance at the screen shows a text from Will. The first text I’ve ever received from him.

“Because in two years of searching, you’ve had only emails. Three weeks here and you’re getting a text message. Coincidence? Perhaps.”

Air leaves my lungs as I swipe the screen to read the message. What I see makes tears spring to my eyes.

“Is it awful?” Jayne asks.

I shake my head and try to steady my shaking hand, but the quiver in my voice tells everything. “He wants to meet.”

I look around the room and try not to lose it. This moment. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I close my eyes and my mind takes a crazy tangent. Why now? There’s been no more increase in communication than before. Nothing’s really changed other than me being in the same state.

“Go, I’ll take care of this.” Jayne dismisses me with a wave of her hand. She knows it’s been seven years since I last saw my brother. She knows how much I’ve missed him. That I hate myself for waiting so long. I didn’t have to tell her that. She figured it out.

I give her a quick hug. Our friendship may not have logged in hundreds of hours, yet, but there is an honesty and sincerity to Jayne that I appreciate. A kinship that I’m certain time would only strengthen.

“Let’s talk tomorrow,” I say, walking backward out of the storage room, my phone pressed to my chest.

“Yes and I want to hear all the details.”

I laugh and hurry out of the building, high on the afterglow of sex and friendship and the feelings of fitting in. Once outside I text Will that I most definitely want to meet and wait for a response.

OK
is all he texts back.

OK?

And just like that I deflate. I reread his message and realize he never said when he wanted to meet. I just assumed he meant now. I rest my head on the steering wheel and rein in my disappointment. I can wait. I’m good at it.

“I
can
wait,” I whisper with determination. I’ve waited this long.

My mind circles from Will to McRae while I make the short drive home. Once I pull into the driveway, all thoughts are forgotten.

A large black Harley Davidson motorcycle is parked in front of the garage. It’s built for long trips with large saddlebags hanging over each side. It’s totally badass.

When I step from the car, a tall, bald guy rises from the stairs. His jeans sit low on his hips and fall over heavy motorcycle boots. His T-shirt is plain orange and sleeves of tattoos cover each arm. A large thick scar runs across the top right side of his scalp, over his ear, and comes to rest above his right brow. I’m about to inquire if this stranger needs help when I meet crystal blue eyes identical to mine. I burst into tears, covering my mouth to keep in the sobs.

“Aw, come on Jo-Jo. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He picks up his helmet.

Shaking my head madly, I say, “Please don’t go.”

He puts his helmet down on the stairs and waits.

I try to wipe my eyes with my stupid shirt but it’s a crochet piece and the holey rag is useless. I glance back at Will to ensure that he’s not leaving and wipe my tears with the palms of my hands.

“I’m only crying because...” I stop to suck in a ragged breath. “Because I really, really missed you and I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see you again.” I know I promised myself that if or when this moment happened I would play it cool, but that was a pipe dream of epic proportions.

Will gives a barely perceptible nod. I only see it because I’m staring at him so hard, trying to commit everything to memory.

“It’s been too long,” he says in a raspy voice. He looks away, blinks several times, and does this weird sliding of his jaw from side to side, before he looks back at me. “You’re all grown up.” His smile is soft, tentative, as he opens his arms and takes a step toward me.

I search for the boy I spent the first sixteen years of my life with. The brother who made me feel normal when everyone and everything else made me feel like an oddball. I search for the Will who walked me to every class my first year at junior high, knowing I was out of my league because I skipped a grade.

This man in front of me—whose recent years have shaped him into a person I don’t recognize—was my first friend, sometimes my only friend, but most of all he was the big brother who always had my back.

And then one blustery early fall night changed everything. Will left the house to meet friends and a police officer showed up three hours later to tell us his car had hydroplaned off a bridge into the river below. Will spent eight weeks in the hospital and walked out of our lives the day he was discharged.

I rush into his arms, desperate to know that person again. Burying my face in his chest, I wrap my arms around him.

I dreamed about seeing Will again. Talking to him, maybe even hanging out. But I never imagined what it would be like the first moment I saw him. All my fantasies were after that moment, and I don’t know where to go from here. My gut tells me he’s skittish.

Unmistakably, he’s no longer the boisterous boy I grew up with. There’s hesitancy in everything he does, his movements, his words, and even his actions.

We step apart and our eyes meet, which makes us both laugh. The awkward tension that held us apart a moment ago is broken and evaporates, replaced by curiosity.

I take the metaphorical first step. “Want to get something to eat?”

He scrubs his hand over his face before smiling down at me. “I wish I could. I got this thing.” He looks off toward town. “Trust me. I’d much rather catch up with you than do this dog and pony show.”

I try to hide my disappointment by fixing my smile to my face. “OK—”

“But I have a few minutes.” He motions to the step he was sitting on earlier. “Do you?”

“Of course.” I move to sit on the step, leaving space for him. “Mom would totally flip if she knew you’d cut off all those beautiful curls.” I nod to his head where large dark curls once resided, making girls swoon and desperate to run their hands through them.

He swings his jaw from side to side before answering. “It was useless to try and grow hair to cover this scar.” He rubs his hand over the parting gift from his accident; a movement that appears so natural I’m certain he does it with little awareness. “She would also flip if she knew this thing I was going to was a book signing.”

“A book signing?” Our mother was all about supporting the arts, especially the literary tomes that pontificated her beliefs. I gasp, covering my mouth with my fingertips. “You’re a writer.”

He ducks his head and grins.

“You’re a writer of genre fiction. That’s why mother wouldn’t approve.”

His laugh is quiet but deep. “Yeah. I am.” He swings his jaw again and when he sees me notice he clamps his teeth together, popping the muscle in his cheek.