Page 11 of Tell Me Again

He clears his throat, and I tear my gaze from his lips so I can look at him again. His eyes seem clouded with some deep emotion. I don’t even wanna know. I don’t wanna fucking know. Because it doesn’t fucking matter. Why is he even still here?

“I, uh, I just, um... Brenna’s got something planned with her mom tomorrow afternoon. Any chance you’re, uh, free to, you know, hang out? Or—or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure that sounds great.” No, it doesn’t. What the fuck, mouth? Why do you keep saying the exact opposite of what I mean? Fuck it.

Josh looks about as surprised as I feel, but his uncertainty quickly morphs into a smile, and my knees almost give out on me.

Fucking. Gorgeous.

I shake my head a bit, trying to regain control. “Brenna?” I ask. I mean, I have assumptions, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been trying to get a glance at his left hand to see if there was a ring there.

“Uh, yeah, Brenna’s my, uh, fiancée. Her parents live out at that really big farm near Dove Lake.”

“Oh, the Richards,” I say, nodding.

Everyone knows Bill and Tina Richards. They’re nice people, I think. I remember when they’d moved to town last year; Bill was brought in to take over as head medical director at the hospital when Dr. Pigelli retired, and Tina sometimes fills in to teach at the elementary school.

“Yeah. That’s why we’re here. Um, visiting them and so Bren and her mom can sorta finish up with the wedding planning and stuff...” Josh trails off, and he reaches up to rub his neck again.

My eyes follow his hand, and I have a terrible fleeting thought about how I’d like to touch him right there. I bet his skin is warm and smooth and...

I cough roughly and drag my eyes away. “Uh, yeah, makes sense.”

There’s a silence for a moment, and then he clears his throat again. “So, um, tomorrow afternoon?”

Right. Fuck.

“My shift ends at two.” More words are coming, and I’m not even sure how. “There’s, uh, a bar just down the street from the diner. Sarge’s. They’ve got pool and darts and stuff. Wanna meet there at three?”

He nods. “Sounds great.”

His eyes linger on mine a moment, and I’m trying, but I can’t really look away. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I not even in control of myself anymore? Somehow, I manage to break the gaze, and I back up a step and reach behind me toward the truck.

“Alright, well, see you tomorrow then.” And I spin around, open the door, and shove my bag of food over to the other seat. I’m pretty fucking sure I’m not going to have the stomach to eat my sandwich now, roast beef or not. Dammit. Thanks, Josh. I fake a smile at him—still standing there, his hands now shoved deep in his pockets—and he gives me a half-smile back as I start up my truck. It decides to start on the first try again—the wonderful little devil it is—and I secretly thank it for not completely embarrassing me as I pull out of the parking lot, resisting the urge to watch him in the rearview mirror as I drive away.

Chapter Six

Josh

This was a bad idea. As soon as I see him, leaning on the counter and chatting with the bartender, I absolutely know. A very bad idea. One of the worst.

He’s wearing a dark-gray T-shirt that’s just tight in all the right places and dark-wash jeans and that same old baseball cap he’d had on at the diner. I think I’ve decided it’s the sexiest baseball cap ever. Because holy shit, he’s just... hot. And god, he’s smiling at something the bartender says, and that’s even hotter.

I think I’m staring, but it’s only been a second, right? Totally not gawking. Because that would be weird. The door shuts loudly behind me, and both Coop and the bartender look in my direction.

There’s a second, maybe—I’m probably imagining it—where I see a flash of something in his eyes. It’s like what I saw yesterday when I told him I’d be in town for a couple of weeks. Maybe. Probably not. No, it can’t be. It’s gone too fast, and his guarded smile is back—that forced, tight one that makes me nauseous to see.

Yeah, this was a bad, bad idea.

“Hey, you made it,” he says, waving me over. All casual-like. Except for that tension I can see in his jaw.

Somehow, I convince my feet to unstick from the ground, and I make my way through the small, dimly lit bar, the smell of cigarettes and beer thick in the air. Maybe that’s why I’m nauseous. That’s reasonable, right—that I’d be uncomfortable in a bar like this?

Yeah. And that’s just another reason why this was a terrible idea. I’m not sure why I’d agreed to it, really. Actually, that’s not true. I know exactly why. I need this chance. Just like Brenna said. I need the chance to apologize, to explain.

I glance around as I walk toward him. It feels likesomething straight out of a TV show or movie—this “small-town bar” vibe that seems almost too cliché. Neon beer signs hang in random places, there’s a row of barstools along the counter and a few high tables pushed up against the wall, and a single pool table sits under a brightly lit set of billiard lights sporting a Budweiser logo toward the back of the room. There’s also a dartboard along the back wall, and a jukebox plays some classic rock song.

“What’ll you have? Sarge, put whatever he wants on my tab, will ya?” Coop picks up his beer bottle, which looks to be half-empty already, and motions to the barstool next to him. “Wanna have a seat? Or we can play a game of pool or whatever you want.”

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