Page 5 of Average Joe

Trash in the bin outside, dishwasher loaded, floor mopped, and countertops sparkling, everything looked as it should.

Except things weren’t as they should’ve been. My friend wasn’t sitting in her favorite chair or making me tea while offering passive-aggressive dating advice. Alice was gone. Dead and buried. I never told her how much I loved her or that our friendship had kept me grounded while my world fell apart around me. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Alice was gone. Like Dylan. Like Warren.All the most important people left me.

In the quiet of the empty kitchen, my heart broke. I shattered, crumpling into a heap of sobs and weary bones on the lemon-scented linoleum.

With a grunt, Joe lifted me off the floor and settled me onto a kitchen chair.

Warm, spicy breath hit my face. The tissues were soft but rough under the press of his strong fingers while he wiped my tears.Never had a man touched my face with such clumsy tenderness, and the intimate gesture ignited a deeper ache in my chest.

A bottle of gin landed on the lace tablecloth in front of me.

“You broke into her Hendrick’s?” I searched the room, expecting Alice to shuffle around the corner and scold us.

Joe settled in the seat across from me. “Way I see it, she’d want us to finish this bottle in her honor.”

He pushed a glass filled with ice and clear liquid my way.

I studied the small scratch in the tumbler. “Alice never filled my glass this full.”

Joe laughed. “She always gave me too much.”

I swiped a knuckle under my eyes before lifting the crystal. “To Alice.”

Glasses clinked. I opened my mouth, relaxed my throat, and let the liquor soothe me from tongue to gut, numbing every sensitive spot along the way.

Joe hadn’t cried at all since the funeral started. I envied his strength. He’d removed his suit jacket and tie, and the silver-blue dress shirt made the blue of his irises sparkle.

“Who is Larry?” I nodded to the corner where the man had last sat. “I’ve never met him before today.”

Joe refilled my glass, then topped off his own, his expression giving nothing away. “Nobody.” He looked down at the table, his eyes narrowing, jaw clenched. “Thanks for cleaning up.” Crossing one black-socked foot over his knee, he leaned back and looked as if he planned on staying awhile. He tapped a rhythm on his glass, staring right through me, and the silence, the weight of his glare, heightened my sorrow.

Instead of offering words of comfort or begging for a hug, which I desperately craved, I finished my drink in one long draw. “I’m sure you want me out of your hair.”

He looked over my shoulder and blinked, then sighing, brought his gaze back to me. “Have another drink.”

One more wouldn’t hurt. The hooch was good. Besides, I couldn’t bear the thought of saying my final goodbye to Alice. Not sober, anyway. I nudged my glass closer to Joe, and he poured me another shot.

“She was my best friend,” I said, raising the gin in salute.

Joe nodded, his eyes welling with emotion. “She was my favorite human.”

I sipped slowly, savoring the flavor, welcoming the numbing buzz. “I feel like when I leave, that’s it. She’s gone for real. I won’t see her, smell her, feel her arms around me.”

When he smiled, his whole face got involved—forehead wrinkles, eye crinkles, dimples. “She gave the best hugs, didn’t she?”

“The absolute best.” I curled my arms around myself, remembering Alice’s last embrace. “And she always knew when I needed one. I never had to ask. She just knew.”

Joe shifted in his seat, coughing. “Thanks for being here.”

His eyes sizzled, raking the length of me, lingering on my mouth for an uncomfortable spell.

I licked my lips, a knee-jerk reaction and a bad, bad, terribly bad move because Joe moaned a low, hungry moan.

He shifted again, tossed back his drink, and refilled both of our glasses. “Last call. Then you should probably go.”

The big man with killer muscles and adon’t fuck with meaura slumped in his chair. Jaw set hard, he rasped, “Or you could stay.”

Those words, that thick voice, rumbled through me like a thunderstorm. “Why?”

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