Love to Love Her YAC (4 page)

I open my mouth to reply but Ruthie breaks in
with a hoarse chuckle. “If he had his way they’d have already tied
the knot,” she says.

“Oh?” Spencer regards me with his devilish
grin as the heat rises rapidly to my cheeks. “Do tell,” he purrs,
and he props himself against the counter like he’s digging in for a
lengthy tale.

“Well, we went for karaoke night at Gelo and
Rhiannon got up on stage to sing – wait a sec, let me back up. Did
you know your cousin could be a professional singer? Corinne and I
surprised her by singing ‘Rhiannon’ to her, but we would’ve saved
ourselves the embarrassment had we known we’ve got fucking Whitney
Houston over here!”

I cut her off with a severe look, and she
grins sheepishly at me. Spencer just laughs and winks at me
knowingly.

“Well anyway, I digress,” Ruthie continues.
“So Rhiannon is up there on stage singing like the freak show she
is, and I swear to God this totally
gorgeous
guy
could
not take his eyes off her
! And then after she finished he and
his friend came over to our table to hang out, and I thought I was
going to have to turn the hose on him because he was totally eye
fucking her the rest of the night.”

By the time she’s reached the end of her
monologue I can feel my heart beating erratically in my chest, and
the dizziness comes flooding back. I bite my lip to keep from
saying anything – there’s no way I’m going to kiss and tell, at
least not with Spencer here.

Thankfully we’re interrupted by Corinne’s
return to the kitchen. She has pulled her long red hair back into a
loose bun, and her cheeks have been scrubbed of makeup, but she’s
still scowling as she reaches for Ruthie’s mug.

“Where’s
my
coffee, huh, Spencer?” she
asks.

He taps his temple and says, “You’re
forgetting, I’m not one of your dumbass boyfriends. I know better
than to bring
you
coffee – you’ll just end up expecting
things I can’t give you.”

A momentary look of confusion clouds
Corinne’s face, but she shakes her head to clear it. “The fact that
no one understands you doesn’t mean you’re a genius,” she
snipes.

Spencer clucks his tongue. “My my, the claws
are out this morning.” He smirks at her before shoving off the
counter. “And with that little bit of wisdom, I bid thee farewell.
Rhiannon, Frisbee on Wednesday?” Spence and I have a weekly
tradition of playing one-on-one ultimate Frisbee. I get my ass
handed to me every time, but it’s a good workout so I don’t
complain.

“I’ll be there,” I tell him as he’s already
halfway out the door.

“Good! I’m going to leave you flat like a
pancake,” he says before letting the door swing shut behind him.
“And I like my pancakes very flat!” he sings out from the steps
outside.

I roll my eyes before turning back to Ruthie
and Corinne. “Breakfast?” I ask.

“Yes please,” says Ruthie while Corinne
continues to glower.

I head back to my room to change clothes and
glimpse my cell phone lying on top of my desk, blinking red from
low battery. I scoop it up to plug it in and notice the little
white envelope icon indicating a new text message. It’s time
stamped 3:08 AM.

I can’t stop thinking about you. Why is that?

I’m not proud to admit it, but I squeal. I
squeal like a ditzy, boy-obsessed schoolgirl and drop my phone in
excitement while the words
He likes me! He likes me! He really
REALLY likes me!
Echo through my head. Reason, thankfully, soon
catches up. He sent the message at 3:08—wasn’t that less than a
half hour after he left me for the night? And wasn’t he the one to
break off our amazing lip lock without a reason why?

I look at my phone and try to think of
something incredibly clever to say.

I often have that effect on men.

Shit. That sounds super narcissistic. I stab
the delete key until the words disappear completely.

I’m not sure, but ditto to you.

I blink at the screen. Did I really just use
the word “ditto” in a text message? I need help. From
professionals.

“Hey Ruthie!” I bellow.

“What?!” she screams back from the living
room.

“If you’re trying to write something really
funny and sexy in a text message to a gu—to someone you just met,
what would you say?”

I hear Corinne’s bark of laughter echo
through the house. “Do you mean sexting?!” she yells. “Send him a
picture of your tits!”

My eyes roll of their own accord. I should
have known better than to get them involved. I lie down on my bed,
one leg dangling off the end, and stare at the glowing screen in
front of me.

“Who are we talking to?” asks a voice very
close to my ear—I nearly roll off the bed in shock. Ruthie and
Corinne are both staring over my shoulder, trying to read Blake’s
text.

“Oh my God,” I say as I shove them away.
“It’s no one. Just give me a minute of privacy.”

“Too late,” Ruthie says as she sits
cross-legged on the floor and Corinne nestles beside her. “You’ve
dragged us into this. Give me the phone.”

My hesitance is palpable. There are some
things in the world I excel at. Croquet, Scrabble and drunken
karaoke nights—these are my great accomplishments. But I have no
idea
whatsoever
how to talk to men, especially over the
phone. Ruthie does. So I silently hand her the phone.

“But remember,” I say quickly, “I want him to
thank I’m normal. And cute. And smart. And funny—“

“Oh my God, we get it,” says Corinne as she
leans over Ruthie’s elbow to see what she’s typing. “But I think
he’ll like you better if you just send him pics of your bod.”

“Guys!” I practically shriek as I jump to the
floor and try to nudge between them. “Seriously! Nothing
inappropriate—“ My voice cuts off as I read what Ruthie’s
written.

Hey love muffin ur super fine com spank me big
boiiiiiiii (*)(*)

I’m confused. “What are the parentheses
supposed to be?”

Ruthie starts laughing and waves the phone
just out of my reach before I can reclaim it. “They’re
boobs
! God, Rhiannon—it’s like you don’t even know the real
purpose for emoticons.”

Hilarious. I try snatching the phone from
her, and this leads to a quick, dirty fight rolling around on the
carpet. A minute later I’m sitting on her chest prying the phone
from her fingers. Victorious, I look down at my prize and all the
blood drains from my face.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

“You sent it!” I wail hysterically. “You sent
him my emoticon boobs!”

Corinne and Ruthie exchange a guilty glance.
Ruthie looks up at me, her face red from our scuffle. “Oh, honey.
I’m so sor—” She’s interrupted by the sound of my phone
buzzing.

Not only do you have the voice of an angel, you have
the soul of a poet

My breath lets out in a shaky laugh.
Thank
God, he doesn’t think I’m crazy. He just thinks I can’t spell.
Quickly I respond.

Ha! I’m so sorry, my friends think they’re far more
hilarious than they really are.

I hold my breath as I wait.

So they’ll be the ones doing the spanking?

I snigger and shake my head as I reply. The
other girls stare incredulously, their eyebrows raised in
question.

I guess so. Must be your lucky day.

That depends. Do you think I’ll get to see you again
today?

I can’t help it, I squeal again. Ruthie and
Corinne grab at the phone to read his message; their eyes light up
as they look at the last entry. “He’s
adorable
,” Corinne
says.

“Tell him he can see all of you today, if
he’s good,” adds Ruthie.

I shove her away before she gets any more
ideas.

Blake – 11:45 AM

Maybe that could be arranged...

My heart gathers speed as I read Rhiannon’s
text, and I can’t help smiling. I wasn’t sure she would respond – I
sent that first text over eight hours ago.

“What’s got you grinning like an idiot?” asks
Adam as he scrapes peanut butter over a slice of toast.

“Nothing. Text message.” I go back to rinsing
my cereal bowl out in the sink.

“From whom?” asks Adam. Maybe it’s my
imagination, but I could swear I detect a note of accusation in his
voice.

No use lying
. “Rhiannon,” I say as I
turn to face him and cross my arms, daring him to say anything more
about it.

He eyes me warily for a moment, then glances
back down at his toast and lets out a breath. “Okay, dude. Just,
you know…be careful.”

I decide not to dignify his warning with a
response. Instead I begin to collect my books and papers off the
bar and shove them into my book bag. “I’ll be at the library if you
need me for anything,” I say as I head out the door.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind me I
retrieve my phone from the pocket of my jeans. Against my better
judgment, I tap out another text message to Rhiannon.

Will you go somewhere with me this evening?

I stare down at the phone, willing it to
chime a response. I wonder if I’m being too forward. Just as I
begin to think I may have scared her off, the text alert goes off –
I haven’t heard a more welcome sound since my mom would ring jingle
bells out in the hall to signify the arrival of Santa Claus on
Christmas Eve.

I will

The floor of my stomach drops out as if I’m
no longer subject to the laws of gravity.

You like Chinese?

Love it. Pick me up at 6?

See you then

The jumping of my heart turns to full-on tap
dancing as I press “Send.”

Blake – 6:00 PM

I
pull into
Rhiannon’s complex at eight minutes to six. I back into the parking
spot nearest the staircase I watched her climb to her second floor
apartment last night and take a few deep, calming breaths.
What
am I doing here?
I rake my hand through my hair and push the
thought to the back of my mind.
Mind over matter
.

I fiddle with my phone, dismissing a few text
messages and ignoring a pop-up reminder to return a library book. I
glance back up just in time to see her scampering down the stairs
in cowboy boots and a white sundress that’s tight fitting in the
bodice and flows out at the waist to float several inches above the
knee.
Ah hell
...Yeah, I’m in way too deep – already.

A shy smile touches her mouth (g
oddamn,
that mouth
) when she sees me. I snap out of my trance almost
too late and slide out of the front seat to jog around and meet her
at the passenger’s side door.

“What happened to your car?” she asks.

It takes me a minute to figure out what she
could be referring to. “Oh, that was Adam’s car. I drive the
truck,” I say as I pop the door open for her.

“Oh. Thank you sir,” she says as she hoists
herself up into the seat. The hem of her dress rides up, affording
me a priceless view of her mile long legs. My fingers ache to reach
out and touch her, but I quell the temptation and walk back around
the front of the truck. Lord help me, I can already tell I’m not
going to be able to make it through the evening without kissing her
again. In all honesty, I’ll be shocked if I can even leave it at
that. Self-control isn’t always my forte.

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’” I say as I shift into
first and pull smoothly out of the parking spot. “Believe me, the
last thing I want is for you to think of me as a father
figure.”

“Well why not? You’re old enough to be,
aren’t you? What are you, like thirty-five? Forty?”

Does she think I’m too old? She sounds like
she’s teasing, but I can’t be sure.

“I don’t know if I’m quite ready to divulge
that information,” I tell her playfully. I clutch the steering
wheel hard to keep from smoothing my fingers over the expanse of
milky white skin she has on display. Her sweet, musical laughter
nearly drives me to distraction.

“Seriously though, how old?”

“How old do you think I am?” I ask, not at
all sure I want to play this game. I don’t think my ego could take
it if she guesses wrong.

She squints at me, measuring me up. She
nibbles on her lower lip and cocks an eyebrow, and I can almost
guarantee she has no idea how sexy she looks right now. I’m
starting to get nervous when at last she says, “Twenty-three?”

I let out an exhale and reward her with a
relieved smile. “Not quite.”

“Did I guess high or low?”

“Low. Just a little bit.” I peer over at her
gazing at me with her head tilted on its axis, a questioning look
in her toffee-colored eyes, and I opt to let her off the hook on
our little guessing game. “I’m twenty-four,” I say, hoping she
won’t mind.

She grins. “I was close!” she says
triumphantly.

I chuckle. “You were close. I’ll have to
think of a prize for you.”

Rhiannon – 6:15 PM

C
onsidering I almost
stopped breathing on at least two occasions during the five minute
drive here, my confidence in my ability to make it through dinner
without losing consciousness is not exactly high. I’m racking my
brain trying to remember if I’ve ever seen a man quite as
heartrendingly beautiful as Blake, and I’m coming up empty. He
looks even sexier this evening than he did last night in a gray
V-neck t-shirt that forms to his broad chest and shoulders. His
shorter sleeves allow me a titillating view of his muscled arms,
and his tattoo. His left forearm is covered in black ink depicting
a swirl of ribbons that trail into a coffer of flames and then
morph into the tail feathers of a majestic looking bird.