This lake is a place we used to come to when we were young to make out. It was our version of Lover’s Lane and I’m here alone, which makes me the creepy old guy. I have to get out of here, too.
When I drive through town, I cruise past the high school. See the football field. The new gym. The parking lot and the spot where I used to park my very first Harley. It was a rebuild I spent an entire summer putting together with Pop. God, that was a long time ago.
Come to think of it, it’s the last time I had a real relationship, too. If it can be called that. Her name was Robin Colter and we’d both been in twelfth grade. She was a cheerleader. I was the bad boy with the motorcycle and cigarettes.
I haven’t seen Robin since then, when she dumped me for Billy Sims. But I was convinced in my immature teenager mind that she loved me. And thenshetold me she needed some space. Space to see Billy, apparently. If not the reason, certainly it was the result. And that is when I lost my first love.
I pull into the shop parking lot because I’ve already driven every street in this town to avoid going back to my place and smelling her perfume on my pillow, remembering the way she stood at the counter, moonlight shining in the window on her face when she got a glass of water from the tap.
If this is going to work between me and Belle, I have to get my head screwed on straight. Be more of the kind of man I know I can be. Honestly though, I can’t change into the man she wants anymore than I’d expect her to change to be the woman I want her to be. For this to work, we have to accept each other as we are. We have to decide whether the faults and the mistakes are more than we can deal with. I already know the answer. Belle apparently needs space to figure it out.
Plain and simple, Belle is exactly the woman I want. Her fire. Her passion. Her desire. She’s intelligent and driven. So fucking beautiful I can’t even believe she’s real. I probably don’t deserve her. But I have to try to show her I can be what she wants, the man she needs. I want to be the guy she relies on. The one who comes through when she needs me.
And right now, she needs me to give her some space. And I will because I want her to come back to me on her own. But if she doesn’t, I’ll go to her. I’ll tell her how I feel and then walk away if that’s what she wants.
I don’t necessarily want to wait to reach out to her. Ireallydon’t want to, but I will. If she needs a minute, I can give her that. But just the one.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
BELLE
This Saturday isn’t a Pitstop kind of night. This is adrinks with friends at a dance clubkind of Saturday. If things with Walker were good, it would be a sex with Walker kind of night, but since we’re still figuring things out–and by we, I mean me–I’m at Club Indulgence ready to get forget everything and have fun with the girls.
I want music with synthesized melodies and big bass that vibrates through my body. I don’t want to think about the fact that Walker hasn’t called me in three days. Hasn’t so much as sent a text. I don’t want to wonder if he’s moved on and decided I’m too much work. There’s been enough time for doubt these last couple days. And I don’t want to look at my phone every five minutes. I do it, but Idon’t want to.
Instead, I sip my iced tea at the table while Maisie and Molly, Jen from the bachelorette party, Dina, one of my work friends, and Kristen, a friend of Molly’s, all have fruity alcoholic drinks in front of them. I don’t mind being the designated driver. I’m happy for the company. But tonight we all Ubered in, so there isn’t a car to drive.
I haven’t told any of the girls that I haven’t heard from Walker since that night at the Pitstop. I don’t need the pity. Don’t want it either. And I don’t want them to slam him for it out of loyalty to me. I’m the one who asked for time and space. I can’t really fault him for it, and I sure as heck don’t want the girls to do it, either. I just want him to… No. That’s it. I just want him.
Between the dreams I’ve had the last couple nights and the memories that keep coming at me during all my waking hours, I can’t escape Walker Winslow. My mind won’t let me.
I check my phone again. I know it’s working. I have messages from work. I’ve taken calls from the girls organizing tonight. It isn’t faulty cell service. And at some point, I’m going to have to face it. I told him to give me space. I can’t very well be pissy about how much space he’s giving me.
Maybe part of me hoped he would ignore myI need timeedict. I hope I’m not so manipulative, but maybe I want him toproveit. God, I hope not. What kind of woman does it make me that I don’t know? Am I a bad person? I don’t know. I can’t tell.
When the waitress comes back, I glance at my tea. It’s been a few days since I’ve taken the anxiety meds. My therapist said I’d know when I didn’t need them anymore. Truth is, I haven’t felt like I need them in a while. “Can I get a rum and tea?”
The waitress nods. And then the drinks are sliding like water on glass. Two, three, four drinks, and I’m on the dance floor with the girls, dropping it like it’s hot, cupid shuffling. I do the Dougie with Maisie, the moonwalk with Molly. We all do the floss then slip right into the single lady dance. It’s like my childhood has come to life in this place and the party has just started.
I go back to the table with Molly and because I’m only tipsy and not hammered, I check my phone. “Put that thing away, Belle. It’s girls night!” She drags outgirlslike she’s one of the guys in the old beer commercials. It takes three entire seconds to finish the word. But she reaches for my phone.
“You can call Wonder Boy Walker later. But there will no phone sex in the club.” She thinks she’s hilarious, but she’s right. I’ve been drinking and it probably isn’t a great time to make relationship altering phone calls. Sexual or not.
I push Walker Winslow and all his sexiness to the back of my mind, toss the phone into my purse and link arms with Molly as we head back to the dancefloor.
And midnight comes and goes, then one, then two and we close the bar down which I haven’t done since I was young. Not that I’m old, but I have real-life responsibilities, bills to pay, houses to sell, so I can’t be out all night drinking anymore. Hangovers don’t go away like they used to, but neither do broken hearts.
It’s while I’m home, lying in bed, wishing Walker would walk through the door, strip me naked and pull me against him that I pick up the phone, check it again for a text that means he wants to be with me the way I want to be with him. No text. No sentiment. No word from Walker. And it breaks my heart. Makes me sad.
ME: I miss you.
I stare at the words for a few minutes, or what feels like minutes anyway, with my finger hovering over the send arrow.
Sending it doesn’t make me weak. It doesn’t mean anything other than what it says. A truth I feel in my soul. I do miss him. So much. These have been three long days. Terrible lonely. And I miss him more and more every day.
I know what he did was immature. But I like this guy. I like who he is, the way he treats me. I’ve been on dates before with guys from around here. They don’t hold doors, or chairs, or stand when I leave the table. They don’t listen when I talk or care about what I say. With every other guy I’ve dated it’s been about the end game, about getting me into bed.
While I did go to bed with Walker–and it was divine every single time–it didn’t feel like sex was all he was after. And he stuck around when the sun came up. That means something. It has to. I’ve thought this over a hundred different ways the last couple of days. And every single time, the man he is makes those couple minutes and the one stupid thing he said in the bar not matter.
