"Whatever. Don't worry. I have to go."
The line goes dead. I look at my phone for a beat, then slide it back into my pocket. He won't call back. There's no need to.
It'll be summer break soon. Maybe Travis can come here to Sierra Grande for a few weeks. I don't have room in the two-bedroom house I share with my best friend Shelby, but we can make something work. Maybe I can get a discounted room for him and me at the Sierra. Then again, they're not exactly loving me over at the hotel right now. They weren't happy when I quit to come here to manage The Orchard. I may or may not have told them where to stick their attitude. I wasn't about to turn down a better paying job. Every cent gets me closer to my dream.
My stomach is in knots for the rest of the afternoon, thinking of Travis. I don't waste any time finishing up the paperwork for my shift and cashing out the servers. I hustle from the restaurant, already a few minutes late to meet Shelby.
***
Shelby doesn't want to tell me. I can't blame her for that, considering we both know what my reaction might be.
When it comes to him, I get a little mopey. Or angry. Sometimes, I get sullen. I broke a plate once, after I came home from a birthday dinner where I'd first heard about him and Sara Schultz.
"I promise to behave," I bargain, hoping this will be enough to make Shelby tell me what happened with Wyatt last night.
She watches me from her place across the table. We've been coming to this restaurant on Monday nights for years, eating our weight in chips and guacamole. It's busy tonight, and when she starts to speak I have to lean forward to hear her. "I was on patrol, which in this town is about as fun as watching paint dry, when I decided to pull into the parking lot at the Chute. I was going to grab a water and maybe some curly fries, because who wants to live without those blessed little darlings, when I saw Wyatt walk out. He wasn't obliterated, not like"—guilt floods her eyes—"well, you know…”.
I wave my hand, trying to get her back on topic. Nobody needs to be reminded of that night in Phoenix eighteen months ago. Shelby is the only person who knows what happened. It's not lost on me how ironic it is that one of the participants of that night's sexual escapade doesn't remember, and therefore doesn't know. "Continue, please."
Shelby dunks her tortilla chip in the mashed avocado. "He was tipsy. And, to be fair, I only knew it based on circumstantial evidence."
I stir the ice in my drink and raise my eyebrows. "Circumstantial, meaning?"
"Meaning the circumstances are that it's a bar and it's Wyatt."
"Very nice, Shel."
She rolls her eyes but looks contrite. "I know. No benefit of the doubt given. Not that he didn't ask for it."
I laugh softly, picturing Wyatt Hayden. "He went for the friend card?"
Shelby nods. "Oh yeah." She clears her throat and adopts a deep tone of voice. "How long have we been friends? Seventh grade?" Her lower lip juts out in an attempt to imitate Wyatt's perpetual pout.
I compliment her on her accuracy. "You look just like him."
Shelby executes a small bow. "I took him in. He was carrying on about how he needed to get where he was going, and—"
"Where was he headed?" As soon as I ask the question, I wish I could take it back. It's the look on Shelby's face, the pity.
"He wouldn't tell me where he was going."
I nod once and look away. I could make a pretty safe bet about Wyatt's destination when he left the Chute last night.
And even if I can't see it, I hear it in her response. "Forget him, Jo. He has more problems than a pregnant nun."
Despite the uneasy feeling building in my stomach, I laugh. "Don't worry, Shelby. My feelings for Wyatt Hayden are long gone."
Shelby nods approvingly, even though it's obvious she doesn't believe me. "Right. And you have Jared now. Mr. Steady Eddy."
"Correct." Jared is Wyatt's polar opposite. An anti-Wyatt.
"I mean," Shelby continues, draining her tea. "Jared's probably more of an adult than me, and that's saying a lot. I bet he contributes to a 401(k) and does yard work on the weekends."
I can't speak for the financial part of what she said, but the weekend landscaping is spot on. Jared is a good guy. He opens doors, pays for dates, compliments me. The whole nine yards.
"Jared is a good person," I say, nodding as I picture his classic haircut andaw shucksgrin. "I'm lucky to have him."
"Yes, you are," she replies firmly. Shelby would probably support me dating a rum-running pirate if it stopped me from pining over that arrogant, elusive, sexy as sin cowboy. "I wish you looked a little happier when you think of him."
