Co-WRECKER

  Interrupting my thoughts, Smilly says, “I don’t think he sees it that way. I think he still believes you two are meant for each other.”

  “I know. Believe me, he’s made his thoughts on the subject clear. I just can’t go there with him again.”

  “Instead you decide to fool around with some guy you work with?”

  I sip my coffee and say without looking at Smilly, “Funny, I don’t recall asking you to judge my personal life.”

  “I’m not judging you, Sadie.” Smilly sighs and leans back on the car, her hands propping her up. “I’m just looking out for you. It was only a few short months ago when everything happened. You haven’t been the same person lately, and it’s scary. You barely laugh, you’ve given up on school and your goals. I understand being lost, believe me, I’ve been there, and I see that in you right now. I just don’t want you to jump into something when you’re not ready.”

  “I’m not jumping into anything. It was just . . .” Hell, I don’t even know what it was. This morning was so out of character for me but for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted him from the moment he started accidentally fondling me in his sleep. Call it my hormones or what have you, but my head was telling me no, whereas my body was screaming yes. Clearly my body won out. And honestly, I’m pretty sure my body will win out again tonight.

  Yeah, I’ll be going on a date with him tonight. I just hope he comes by after I slammed the door on his face.

  “It was what?”

  I shrug and dust a crumb off my leg. “It was fun. He’s . . . fun. Not intense like Tucker. More easygoing, happy. It’s infectious, Smilly. It’s good, and I think it’s the kind of company I need right now.” Life has been far too tense for months now, and he is like a bright light in a very dark and void-of-hope existence. He has irritated me, but he has also rejuvenated me. Somehow.

  “I thought you couldn’t stand the guy. Where did the change come from?”

  Hell if I know. “I have no clue, honestly. Sometime last night I’m guessing. He’s different, Smilly. I’ve been stuck in my past, in my hometown, in everything familiar. I need to break out of the mold, away from my history. It’s eating me alive.”

  “I get that.” Reaching into the box, she grabs us both a Boston Kreme, which means she’s getting down to business. Blueberry cake donuts are warm-ups. “What about school?”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you ever going to go back?”

  “You know I can’t. The minute I dropped out I lost everything. I couldn’t afford to go back to Cornell even if I wanted to.”

  “So you’re done? You’re just giving up? You’re going to drop your goals, drop Tucker, drop school, and have fun instead? Where’s the Sadie I went to school with? The Sadie who was going to marry Tucker when she graduated. The Sadie who was going to become a psychologist so she could help children who went through similar instances like her. Where is the Sadie who was valedictorian at our high school, the smart-as-a-whip Sadie?”

  “Gone,” I whisper. “She’s gone, Smilly.”

  Silence falls between us. The faint sound of traffic behind us mingles with the almost silent trickling of the water rolling over rocks. It’s a peaceful, serene moment, and yet I feel nothing but anguish and anxiety. I’m so sick of feeling listless, aimless . . . alone with the lies and hopelessness.

  Leaning forward again, Smilly asks, “Will she be coming back? Because I miss her.”

  “I sure as hell hope so.” I miss her too.

  Pulling me into her side, Smilly cradles my shoulder with her arm and rests her head on mine. This girl is tough as nails, honest, and doesn’t bullshit with you; it’s one of the reasons why she’s my best friend. We hold each other accountable, even if we don’t necessarily agree with what we’re doing.

  Hopefully she’ll comprehend that there is no longer a Tucker and Sadie, because if there is one thing I’m one hundred percent sure about, it’s that the dreams of Tucker and me getting married are dead and buried.

  ***

  “Oh yeah, don’t worry about me. I just plan on ordering some Chinese and binging on Netflix. The Crown has really caught my eye.”

  “Are you sure? Saddlemire said you are more than welcome to come play poker.”

  “I’m sure he did. I’m good with not losing my money tonight. Go on, I’ll be good. It will be nice to have a quiet night.”

  Smilly studies me and I try not to show panic. I have no idea when Andrew is showing up and I still have to get ready. I need Smilly to get the hell out of here.

  “Okay, text me if you need anything.”

  “Yup.” I give her a little wave as I cuddle up in a recliner. “Have fun.”

  With a click of the door shutting, I hop out of the recliner and sprint to our shared bedroom and start rummaging through my dresser. What to wear, what to wear. Nothing too slutty, that gives the wrong impression, especially after this morning and my enthusiastic pelvis. But I also don’t want to look like a nun with a turtleneck as that would also give off the wrong impression. Turtleneck equals back the fuck off, buddy, an image I don’t want to portray.

  I don’t even know what he has planned. Are we going to be outside? Inside? Movie? Dinner? A punch to the face? No, not a punch to the face. God, I’m nervous. Can you tell?

  Going with a safe option, I put on my dark wash skinny jeans, my black T-strap sandals, and my black floral halter-neck silk tank. It shapes me nicely and shows off my shoulders, an attribute I’m quite proud of. I’m no Kiera the CrossFit devotee, but I don’t mind going to the gym.

  Heading to the bathroom, I check out my outfit in the mirror and mentally give myself a thumbs up. Cute with a hint of sexy . . . just a hint. Since my hair is already blown dry, I French-braid the right front side and then bobby pin it down, creating a fresh look. Not needing too much on the makeup front, I reapply my eyeliner, lipstick, and add a bit of bronzer. Mascara is already intact, so I’m ready to go.

  Looking at my phone, I check the time. Seven thirty. Hmm, I really wish I had his number because sitting here waiting, wondering if he’s going to show up will be torture.

  Oh God, what if he doesn’t show up? What if he decides I was too much of a bitch to him this morning and stands me up? Does it qualify as being stood up when there was only a promise for a date, no real specifics?

  Sweat starts to happen. I need to air out my pits. Heading to the bathroom, I grab the blow dryer and I’m about to turn it on when I hear a knock at the door. Shit, he’s here. Chucking the blow dryer idea, I snag a few tissues from the box on the bathroom counter and stick them under my arms, blotting them as if trying to perfect my lipstick, but instead remove sweat from my underarms. Classy.

  Attractive. Oh so very attractive, yet . . . effective.

  Flapping my arms like wings, trying to soak up as much as possible, I look in the mirror and immediately start to hate myself. I’ve completely lost it. Quickly, I remove the tissues, check them for any leftover remnants and then apply some more deodorant followed by a squirt of my perfume.

  With one last glance in the mirror, I head to the living room, push my hair back over my shoulders, and answer the door. Standing in front of me is Andrew, wearing hip-hugging jeans, black Vans, and a plain white T-shirt. His hair is perfectly styled to the side, and those glasses frame his kind eyes. Yup, I’m very glad I agreed to this date.

  “You came,” I say, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  That killer smile greets me as he steps forward. “Did you think a little slamming of the door on my erect penis was going to keep me away? You have to do better than that, Sugar Britches.” He cups the back of my neck and smoothly pulls me close, no hitch in his swagger at all. Lowering his head, he brings my lips to his where he gently kisses me, nibbling on my mouth a few times before pulling away.

  When he puts a breath of distance between us, my eyes still hazy from his kiss, I say, “Don’t call me sugar britches.”

  “Doubtfu
l I’ll be able to stop that but you’re cute for asking.” Linking our hands together, he says, “Ready?”

  “Yup.” I snag my purse off the hook by the door, lock up, and follow him out to his truck, which is parked right out front. “What do you have planned?”

  “Do you really want to know? Or are you going to let me be dream-worthy and surprise you?”

  “Dream-worthy? This better be good, you’re setting the expectations pretty high.”

  “Hmm.” He pulls out of the apartment complex and heads toward downtown. “I guess I am. But I have confidence in my idea.”

  “Yeah, been thinking about this for a bit?”

  He squeezes my hand right before he shifts the truck to the next gear and keeps his eyes on the road. “I wish I could be smooth and say I’ve been thinking about our first date ever since I laid eyes on you, but we both know that would be a big, fat lie.”

  “Why? Because you were scared of me?”

  “No. You were just a nasty she-devil. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with you.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at the name. “A nasty she-devil?”

  “Yeah, you still have a little of her inside you. She pops out on occasion.”

  “Like when you spray bleach all over my black pants?”

  “That was an accident.” He laughs. “I think when you have too much of that cough syrup of yours the she-devil comes out.”

  “That’s not true,” I counter, really enjoying this idiotic conversation. “My cough syrup eases the tension in my shoulders. It’s when uppity people like you, who ask question after endless question about a job I hate, encourage the she-devil to appear.”

  We stop at a red light and he turns toward me. “It was my first week. What did you want me to do?” His face is full of humor.

  “Request a different trainer.”

  His head falls back as he laughs. “Yeah, and then get my dick chopped off in the back. No, thank you.” He playfully nudges my leg. “Come on, admit it, you liked training me.”

  “I really didn’t.”

  “But the company was nice?”

  “You talked too much,” I answer with mirth.

  “But the package, come on, the package is a pretty one to look at.”

  Okay, he’s got me there. From day one I noticed how hot Andrew is, how intensely buff his forearms are. You can’t mistake that.

  “Ahh.” He laughs. “I take that silence as a yes. Ha, you wanted to jump my bones from day one.”

  I roll my eyes and look out the window. “You are ridiculous.”

  “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I must have stared at your ass at least a dozen times when we first met. Every time you bent over to scoop ice cream, Little Andy got excited.”

  “Oh my God.” I laugh. “Did you just call your dick, Little Andy?”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Just with the fact that it’s creepy.”

  He nods his head and turns onto Chenango Street. “Hey, I never said you have to call him that. Just sharing.”

  “That’s too much sharing.”

  He scoffs. “As if you’re not dying to tell me what you name your tits.”

  “I’m really not.” I chuckle.

  He parks under a bridge, one I’m not familiar with, and turns toward me. “You know that laugh of yours, the one you so annoyingly keep hidden? You should really use it more often because it can brighten some of the darkest of days.” Winking, he gets out of the truck, leaving me momentarily speechless. Then he opens my door. “Ready?”

  I don’t think I am—ready to jump in with this man—but with his hand stretched toward mine, offering me protection for this new adventure, I realize something unusual. I’ve started to trust him, and trust is not something I hand out very easily. Am I ready? Should I give him my hand and my trust?

  “Yeah, I am.”

  Hand in hand, we walk along the gravel under the bridge until we turn the corner, past a cement pillar. Bright lights illuminate the dark, starry sky.

  “You’re taking me to a baseball game?” I ask, barely hiding my excitement.

  “Where else would I take you on our first date?”

  Binghamton, New York is known for a few things: carousels, spiedies, Nirchi’s Pizza, and the Binghamton Rumble Ponies. Yes, you read that right, the Rumble Ponies. They are the New York Mets Double A minor league team. Formally known as the B-Mets, they changed their name to the Rumble Ponies a little while back. Fans had the opportunity to vote online and decide their new team name. I voted for Stud Muffins, for obvious reasons, and of course on my scale, the Timber Jockies came in a close second. But the Rumble Ponies won out, probably because of the whole carousel thing.

  Side note: Binghamton declares itself to be the carousel capital of the world. Big statement right there.

  Walking toward the gate, my hand in Andrew’s, my heart beating wildly, I joke, “Are you going to buy me peanuts and Cracker Jacks?”

  “Hell, no. We’re getting spiedies.” Just a heads-up, spiedies are sandwiches filled with marinated cubes of chicken. It sounds gross, but they are really good.

  “You’re a spiedie guy?”

  “Spiedies and half-moon cookies, baby. It’s what I lived on every time I came to visit Jimmy, my brother.”

  “You’re not from the area?”

  “Nah, grew up in Southern California. Moved out here with my parents when I graduated from high school and then went to school in Maine up until last year when I transferred here.”

  Pulling out his wallet, he hands the elderly person at the gate two tickets. His preparation for this date is cute. When we are let into the small ballpark, he grips my hand again and takes us straight to the spiedie kiosk where a line is already formed.

  “You grew up around here, right?” Andrew asks.

  “Yeah, a small town called Whitney Point. There were only ninety-five students in my graduating class, so to say we were all in each other’s business is an understatement.”

  “Ninety-five people?” he asks in disbelief. “Damn, you must have known everyone’s underwear size.”

  Glancing up at him incredulously, I shake my head. “Yes, teachers included.”

  He wraps his arm around my shoulder, brings me flush against his body, and kisses the side of my head, lingering a few seconds before he gently lifts away. The natural and small show of affection sends chills up and down my body, lighting up my body in a way I haven’t felt in quite a long time, even with Tucker. What is it about this man that changes every thought I’ve ever possessed about relationships?

  “Tell me, Sadie, what makes you laugh?”

  Caught a little off guard, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  Removing his hand from my shoulder, he links our hands back together, his fingers entangling with mine. His thumb rubs the back of my hand, the gentle touch doing all different kinds of things to my rapidly beating heart. “I want to know what makes you laugh, Sadie. I want to know how to easily elicit that amazingly beautiful and happy sound of yours. It’s addictive, and I know you reserve it for truly special occasions, but help a guy out and tell me what makes you laugh.”

  Can I tell him what makes me swoon instead? Because this right here does. The simple act of holding my hand, taking me to a baseball game under the summer night sky, and telling me he wants to make me laugh. This is swoon-worthy. This is not what I ever expected from Andrew when I first met him, when I first shook his hand. His go-get-’em attitude initially annoyed the crap out of me. Now his assertiveness is attractive, especially when it’s him asking me out, or taking charge in planning the evening, or holding my hand.

  “Come on, just give me a little hint.” He winks. How the hell are his winks even sexy?

  Looking down at our clasped hands, I shrug. “I don’t know, just depends. I like joking around and sarcastic humor. Oh, and I’m a sucker for slapstick humor.”

  “Slapstick, huh?” I really like that silly smirk on his face. “So i
f I walked up to the spiedie station, tripped, and fell through the wood, collapsing the entire thing, would you laugh or come to my aid?”

  “That would never happen, but if it did in your little imaginary world, I would probably giggle and come to your aid at the same time.”

  Laughing himself, he nods his head. “I’ll take it.” Straightening up, he asks, “Since you like slapstick humor, did you enjoy the whole sturdy tits debacle or are you still mad about that?”

  How could I forget about sturdy tits? I don’t think that will ever happen.

  “You want to know the truth?”

  “Always.” We step closer in line, only one person in front of us now, the smell of the grilled chicken is really starting to make my stomach growl with hunger.

  “I laughed about it in the stockroom.”

  A pained look crosses his face. “I made you laugh and you hid it from me? That’s fucked up, Sadie.” He tacks on a smile that hits me right in the heart. God, he is so . . . cute? Adorable? Sexy? Can someone be all of those things put together?

  I squeeze his hand in mine and say, “I think you’ll get over it.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “There is no recovering from such a devastation. Pretty sure this is the end for me.”

  “Dramatic much?” I ask, holding back the laugh that wants to pop out.

  He sniffs the air and then looks down at me. “Yes, I can smell death in my near future. I never thought I would go in such a way. And without ever really knowing what your boobs look like, only motorboating and fondling them.”