A few minutes of vulnerability is all it would take to spare myself the misery of escorting my ex-girlfriend to a month of high-profile fundraisers.
“So what do you think?” Jamison asks, studying the soda bottles he’s arranging in a long, even line at the edge of the snack table. “Want me to talk to Mitzy? She’s got a soft spot for me. I bet I can sweet talk her into telling Naomi you’re off the market.”
“Nah.” I crunch another chunk of ice. “It’s no big deal. She just surprised me. I’ll be fine.”
Screw vulnerability.
I’d rather suffer a year of Fridays in Naomi’s company than let her in my head again for a split second. I’ll just have to grin and bear it, and hope she gets tired of playing small-town pastry chef and splits before the Fireman’s Ball.
Dating Naomi I can suffer through, but dancing with her would be torture. Just the thought of her in my arms, her body warm and soft against mine and her head on my shoulder, is enough to make me ache.
I might hate Naomi, but I also want to touch her—always have, and probably always will.
“All right, man, whatever you want.” Jamison heaves a heavy sigh, his gaze still fixed on the soda bottles.
“What I want right now is a beer.” I set my empty cup down on the table. Soda definitely isn’t going to cut it tonight. “Want to head to The Horse and Rider after this?”
Jamison shakes his head. “Sorry, man. I’ve got to head into work tomorrow, catch up on the hours I missed tonight.”
“So do I,” I say. “Never stopped us before.”
Jamison’s smile flickers but doesn’t stick around for long. “I can’t, bro. I’m beat. The schedule change for this month of dates thing has me all messed up. I need to make it an early night, especially if we’re going to be up late at the holiday fair tomorrow.”
The fair tomorrow.
Come tomorrow night at six o’clock, I will be in full-on hell, forced to make civil conversation with a person I wish would vanish from the face of the earth and take all of my memories of her along for the ride.
The thought makes me want a beer more than ever, but I don’t drink alone, not since Jenny died and I realized my “one or two beers” after work had turned into nine or ten. It was too easy to lose control and give in to the urge to get numb when I was by myself, so I stopped keeping alcohol in the house.
I’d rather do without my five o’clock beer than risk losing control.
“Nine hundred dollars!” Faith bounds back through the curtain, out of breath and laughing as she holds up a hand for me to high-five.
“Good job.” I slap her palm with mine and force a smile. “Want to cut out of here early and let me buy you a beer to celebrate?”
“Sure.” Faith turns to Jamison, punching him none-too-gently on the arm. “What about you, loser? Want to come with? I’ll buy you a beer to make you feel better for selling for less than a girl with chip belly.”
Jamison rolls his eyes. “At least I sold to a hot blonde. Who’d you go to, Mrs. Watson’s grandson with the pimples?”
Faith crosses her arms. “No, as a matter of fact I sold to Theresa Simpson’s son, the one who works at the bank and has biceps the size of your head.”
Jamison snorts. “Well, good for you. Maybe you’ll finally find a guy you can’t beat at arm wrestling.”
“Doubt it.” Faith grins and punches Jamison again. “Come on, come drink with us. We haven’t been for a beer in forever and I’m too hyped to go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” Jamison says, surprising me.
For all their teasing, Jamison and Faith are tight. Jamison is the one Faith calls when her mom breaks up with her latest deadbeat “stepdad” and Faith needs help convincing the guy to move out of her mom’s place. Jamison says it’s because he’s scarier looking than I am, but I know that isn’t the reason.
Even when it comes to friends, I have a hard time letting people in. Faith feels closer to Jamison because he’s let our surrogate little sister get closer to him than I have.
Another thing to thank Naomi for…
“I’m headed for home as soon as this is over,” Jamison continues, grabbing a handful of chips. “But you and Jake take off. I’ll say your good-byes for you.”
“All right.” Faith shrugs and turns to me. “You ready to hit it?”
“Past ready.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Let’s get while the getting’s good.”
We grab our coats and sneak out through the fellowship hall’s kitchen, out the back door into the alley between the Methodist church and the massive bank building behind it.