Sweet Nothing

  Only a few men were sitting at the bar, none of them Josh. I sat on the middle stool, watching a new bartender washing a glass with a white cloth. He walked over to me, his pecs flexing under his tight black V-neck. His eyebrows were perfectly manicured, so when he leaned over, pretending to flirt, I didn't take him seriously.

  "You're new," I said.

  "Yes."

  "Avery."

  He smiled. "Oh, you're Avery. Happy birthday."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Thanks."

  "Jesse," he said.

  I placed a twenty-dollar bill flat on the counter. "Here's your tip. I just want a Diet Coke."

  "Keep 'em coming?" he said with a smirk.

  "Just the Coke, please. Oh, and ..." My words trailed off when I noticed my favorite soft hoodie hanging from a hook behind the bar. At first, I sat up taller and looked around with a ridiculous smile, but it disappeared when I saw Michaels stumble out of the men's bathroom, her lipstick smeared, her hair disheveled, tugging at her slutty skirt. She glanced around, wiping the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand.

  I focused on the hoodie and then Michaels as my stomach twisted. "He wouldn't," I mumbled under my breath. The door opened again, and I froze. "Oh, fuck." My mouth fell open. Relief and then disgust washed over me in waves.

  Dr. Rosenberg tried to seem nonchalant as he made his way across the bar, his cheeks flushed and his fly down.

  "Avery," he said, stumbling to a stop. He smelled like whiskey and bad choices. "I didn't think you came here anymore."

  "Looking for Josh." I leaned away from him a tiny bit, unable to hide my revulsion. I looked away, hoping Josh would walk in at any moment and save me. He had been right about Dr. Rosenberg all along. Just because the doctor had a family didn't automatically make him a good man. Josh didn't try to hide his conquests, and the whole of St. Ann's thought he was a player, an asshole. The real snake was the beautiful doctor with the wedding ring and the house in Alapocas.

  "Avery?"

  "What?" I snapped.

  Dr. Rosenberg had the gall to act surprised. "Is something wrong?"

  I looked down at his open fly, and then away. "No."

  "If you're looking for Josh, he's upstairs."

  "Upstairs?"

  "With Ginger. He's drunk." He eyed the lights hanging from the ceiling. "Drunk doesn't adequately describe his state, actually. I tried to warn you about him."

  "Why would he be upstairs with Ginger?" He was a liar, and liars lie. I had already made one mistake by believing him. I wasn't about to fall for it again.

  He shrugged. "She lives above the bar."

  "Ugh. You would know. Zip up your pants and go home to your wife."

  Dr. Rosenberg stiffened and then looked down, quickly pulling up his zipper and then making a beeline for the door.

  Jesse used his soda gun to fill my glass, pretending he hadn't overheard our conversation.

  "Where's Ginger?" I asked.

  "Upstairs," Jesse said.

  I nodded, wondering if I really wanted to ask my next question. "Is she alone?"

  "Tell her, Jessepoo," Michaels said, crawling onto the stool next to me.

  I recoiled and then groaned in frustration. "For fuck's sake, can this day get any worse?"

  "Josh is up there. I was trying to take him home, but he wasn't having it," she said with no shame, slurring her words.

  I snarled my lip, leaning back so she couldn't breathe in my face.

  "Ask him," Michaels said, her drunken eyes slowly looking to the bartender.

  Jesse shook his head. "Don't put me in the middle. I need this job."

  I placed both palms on the bar, pressing my lips together in a hard line. "Jesse. You would want to know if you were me, wouldn't you?"

  Jesse looked up at me from under his long lashes and then shrugged one shoulder in concession.

  "Is he up there with her?" I demanded.

  Jesse wiped the counter with a rag in a large circle, trying to keep the guilty look off his face. That was all the answer I needed to know. I nodded once and then stood, my knees feeling like they may buckle under the weight of his silent confession.

  "Don't take it personal, honey," Michaels said. "If it makes you feel better, he wasn't interested in anyone until he could barely walk."

  Jesse reached across the bar. "He wasn't interested in anyone at all. He asked for you at least a dozen times the first twenty minutes of my shift. I think he's probably up there passed out. No man can get it up when he's that wasted. If he's not unconscious, he's vomiting. Either way, he's not doing what you think he's doing."

  My head fell. "So, what? I go home and hope he's not fucking her brains out?"

  "If I were you," Michaels said, swaying on her stool.

  "Careful," Jess said, pointing at her.

  She waved him away. "If I were you, I'd go up there. But it's the hair," she said, pointing at the orange frizz piled on her head. "We do crazy shit like that."

  "If I were you, I'd close my legs for five minutes and invest in a decent bra," I mumbled under my breath.

  I left poor Jesse with Michaels and then passed the bar, pulling on a wide brown door.

  "That's storage," Jesse said. He gestured to a gray door in the back next to the jukebox, painted to blend in with the wall. "That's hers. Knock, please, and don't cause a scene."

  "Thanks, Jesse."

  "Don't thank me yet," he said, pouring another drink for Michaels.

  My feet moved slowly. Every step grew more difficult the closer I came to Ginger's door. I opened it between songs, making the creaking of the hinges seem amplified. Before me were twenty or so dusty stairs, at the top another door. I climbed quietly, although I wasn't sure why. If he was mid-thrust, I certainly didn't want to catch them in the act. My stomach roiled at the thought of someone else beneath him.

  When I reached the door, I knocked--quietly at first--and then again. I used the side of my hand to knock the third time, and then I could hear rustling around.

  "Ginger," I heard Josh groan. "Ginger! There's someone at your fucking door!"

  I swallowed against the lump in my throat, already feeling tears well in my eyes. I knocked again, and then Josh's feet stomped across the room. The door swung open, and he blanched.

  "Avery," he said, his bloodshot eyes wide. He was in a T-shirt and boxer briefs, as if he'd made himself right at home.

  "I just, um ..." My words caught in my throat. "Wanted to see for myself."

  I turned, but before I took the first step, Josh grabbed the hood of my coat and tugged me backward. "Wait!"

  I flipped around, slapping his hand away. Before he could speak, I held up my hands. "Just! I don't want to cause a scene. I know. This," I said, gesturing to his underwear, "is your thing, and we just broke up. You running to fuck something to feel better isn't surprising."

  "Ouch," he said, struggling to focus. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face blotchy. "I guess I can see why you'd assume that, but you really think I'd do that on your birthday? C'mon, Avery, give me a little bit of credit."

  I nodded once. "Sorry," I said, and then began to turn for the stairs.

  "Avery?" he said. I stopped. "Did you see my car outside?"

  "Yeah."

  "Did you come in here looking for me?"

  I hesitated, but it was better when we didn't pretend. "Yes."

  His voice was low and controlled. He was being careful. "I didn't sleep with Ginger. She just brought me upstairs to sleep off the whiskey. I came here looking for you, too. That should tell us something, right?"

  "Who is it?" Ginger asked, poking her wet hair and bare shoulders out of the bathroom, a thin yellow towel wrapped around her.

  I looked at her, and then to Josh, devastation settling heavily in my chest.

  He held out his hands, shaking his head, desperation in his eyes. "Baby ..."

  A half-smile quivered on my face. I began to speak, but there was nothing left to say, so I simply turned around a
nd jogged down the stairs, running across the bar. My keys jingled as I readied them to unlock the car, and while I fumbled for the right key at my door, Josh yelped.

  "Ow! Fuck!" He hopped on one bare foot, holding the other, still in his T-shirt and boxer briefs.

  I finally found the key and twisted the lock, opening the door.

  "Avery!" Josh barked. "Fucking wait!"

  A handful of people in the parking lot turned toward the scene he was making. I cowered under their curious eyes.

  Josh pointed at me as he limped over the rocks. "Don't you open that fucking door, Jacobs!"

  I stood tall, exasperated. "Why not? We're obviously not good for each other, Josh. What the hell were we thinking?"

  He carefully navigated the gravel under his tender feet, breathing hard when he finally made it to the Dodge. He pushed on the hood to support some of his weight, his breaths puffing out in quick, transparent clouds.

  "That I love you," he panted. "I love you, and I wouldn't do that." He pointed up toward Ginger's upstairs apartment. "It never crossed my mind. All I think about is you. Do you hear me, Avery? There is no one else. There will never be anyone else. You can shove that necklace down my throat and laugh while I choke on it, and I still wouldn't run out to fuck someone else. The only thing that will make me feel better ..." He panted, his face tinged with a pale shade of green. "... is you."

  He shook his head, grabbing his knees as he tried to catch his breath, and then he heaved, expelling everything in his stomach.

  "Jesus," I said, watching the liquor and whatever else splatter on the ground.

  He heaved again, and I awkwardly patted his back.

  A creaky, dirty yellow cab pulled into the parking lot, the tires crunching against the gravel. The window rolled down and I smiled, surprised.

  "Mel!"

  "I thought you might need another ride."

  "I'm sober. I'm giving him the ride."

  Josh glanced up to see the wrinkled veteran staring down at him with a frown and then heaved again. "You're taking me home?" Josh asked.

  I reached into my pocket, giving Mel the money I owed him.

  Mel narrowed his eyes. "What's that?" he rasped.

  "The money I owe you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long."

  He waved me away, unimpressed.

  "Please," I said, holding out the bill.

  He snatched it out of my hand. "You sure you don't need a ride? You might need a chaperone with this one."

  Ginger ran out in a robe and fuzzy boots, carrying his pants, hoodie, and wallet. "We didn't do anything!" she yelled across the parking lot. "Don't leave!" When she reached us, she noticed the puddle of vomit on the ground and made a face, holding the backs of her fingers to her nose. "Oh, gross. I'm so sorry. I knew better than to let him drink that much."

  Josh made another hurling sound and more liquid came up.

  "How much did he drink?" I asked, helping to steady him.

  "I'd have to look at his tab. Pretty sure he spent his whole paycheck."

  "Pussy," Mel grumbled, lifting up his hat and then pulling it back down. He pulled his shifter down. "You still got my card, sweetheart?"

  "Still got it," I said with a smile.

  Mel pulled away and Josh vomited again, this time leaning so far over he almost fell face-first into the puddle below.

  "Damn it, Josh," I scolded him, rubbing my palm against the tensed muscles of his back.

  His arm shot out and he held my leg, spitting and groaning.

  "Avery," Ginger said. I looked up at her. "We didn't. I couldn't let him drive. I did pull off his jeans because he'd spilled a shot on them and they stunk and I didn't want it on my sheets. But if you go upstairs and look, you'll see that I'd made me a pallet on the couch."

  I looked at Josh, unconvinced.

  "I know how he feels about you," Ginger said. "I wouldn't do that to him."

  "And," Josh said, still bent over.

  Ginger smiled and rolled her eyes, handing me his things. "And Michaels tried to persuade him several times that she was ready if he was willing, and he made it clear he was only going home with you."

  "You're a good boy after all," I said, running my hand over his back in a small circle.

  He swallowed. "Yes, but if you keep doing that, I'm going to puke again."

  "Sorry," I said, grabbing his arm and reaching around his back to guide him.

  "Where are we going?" Josh asked.

  "I'm taking you home," I said, walking him to the passenger side of my car.

  Ginger winked at me before walking back to the bar.

  "Ginger," I called after her. She stopped, her hand on the door as she turned around. "Thanks for taking care of him."

  Her smile grew, and she nodded before disappearing inside the bar. I slid into the driver side, looking to my right. Josh had already leaned his seat back, his arm thrown over his eyes.

  I leaned over, covering him with his hoodie.

  He peeked at me with one eye. "I wish I didn't feel like shit. I so want to hold you right now."

  "Shower and toothpaste first, then I'll think about it," I said, pulling the gear into drive.

  Josh reached over, feeling blindly until he found my hand and then squeezed. "Thank God," he whispered, pure relief in his voice. "Thank God."

  It had been seven weeks and four days since I thought I was going to lose the one person in the world who saw me--the real me.

  That moment was enough to make me realize I should definitely never take eight shots of hard liquor on an empty stomach, but more importantly, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this girl.

  I wanted to prove I was serious and committed to her, but I knew it would take more than a penny, even though since the second she'd put it back on, she'd cherished that necklace as if it were one of the queen's jewels.

  "I can't believe you're going to propose, man." Quinn glanced over at me from the driver seat of the ambulance with a grin on his face.

  "Like you haven't thought about it," I shot back. The wagon rocked back and forth after Quinn hit a pothole too fast, and I reached for the overhead handle.

  "What Deb and I have is different."

  "Judging by that weird fucking swing she had you put in your bedroom, I'd have to agree with you."

  We laughed, but it did little to settle my nerves as the diamond ring I'd picked out for Avery burned a hole in my pocket.

  I'd never pictured myself settling down with anyone, but now it felt like the world would crash and burn around me if she didn't say yes. Why was I so scared?

  Quinn's expression turned serious. "Can I ask you something? Something you may not like?"

  I frowned. "Sure."

  "What's your hurry, brother? It's been what ... six months?"

  "I don't know. It's like an itch in a place I can't quite reach. It's this vague worry in the back of my head. It's always there."

  "Like what?" Quinn asked, his nose wrinkling.

  "That if I don't nail this down, she's going to disappear. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed with her, I feel like she's there, but she's not. Like it's literally too good to be true."

  "That's just your insecurities talking, man. Avery is in love with you. She sees how much you've changed. She knows you think this is something special."

  I shook my head. "That's not it, Quinn. I know she loves me. I'm not worried about her."

  "Then what?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. Like something's just on the edge, waiting to fuck things up. Something out of my control."

  "You can quit worrying, Josh. We control nothing."

  I grimaced. "You're not making me feel any better."

  Quinn took one hand off the wheel and slapped my shoulder. "You'll be fine. She's going to say yes and you'll live happily ever after."

  "Hey," I said, pulling his hand off me. "Keep your hand on the wheel."

  He sighed and shook his head. "It's already started."

  "What do you mean?"


  "I'm your first partner, so I get why you don't see it. See, the guys start out here, and they inevitably find a serious girlfriend, because--" he popped his collar "--the uniform gets 'em wet."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Then the worry starts. They quit running toward the burning cars, they start wearing their seat belt, they start saying pussy things like 'Keep your eyes on the road, Quinn,'" he said, lowering his voice. "Like before you got engaged or had a kid you didn't have anything to live for."

  "I didn't."

  "Psh. Pussy."

  I smiled, never so grateful for an insult.

  My shift ended, and I hurried over to Benched for a workout. Lifting always helped clear my head, but even after an hour and sweat pouring from my body, my head was still consumed by thoughts of Avery. It had been that way for weeks, which was why I bought the ring. Nerve-racked or not, I had to make it official, had to make her mine. I just needed it to be perfect.

  With my thoughts overrun by planning for our future, I hurried back to my apartment to prepare dinner, knowing Avery would be too tired to cook when she finished her shift.

  I'd picked up a few groceries the day before. Now that Avery had been spending more nights at my place, I tried to keep more in the fridge. Unfortunately, I lacked any real cooking skills, so I was attempting to make spaghetti, which didn't look like it could be that hard.

  I was just dishing the noodles onto plates when Avery walked in the door with a groan. Her ponytail had slid down to the nape of her neck, and dark circles shadowed the underneath of her eyes, but she still looked beautiful in her peach scrubs.

  "That shift was never-ending," she huffed as she kicked off her sneakers. She padded her way to the kitchen, rising up on her toes to kiss my cheek.

  "I hope you worked up an appetite."

  "Mmm ... what's that smell?"

  "That's not very nice. Dax can't help his ... aroma."

  Avery laughed, shaking her head. "I thought you couldn't cook?"

  "I figured it was time I learned." I grabbed both of our paper plates and carried them into the living room, placing them on the coffee table. "We need to get a real table."

  Avery looked at me sideways with an amused smirk before she picked up her fork and began to spin the noodles. "A table? You don't even have real plates."

  "Neither do you." I elbowed her lightly, taking a bite of my food. Damn, I'm not a bad cook after all. "Maybe we can buy a set at The Kitchen Store this weekend."