Page 111 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
So we stand in silence for a few moments, the sound track of our lives in a buzz all around us. It’s comforting. In the same sense as the rustling of the trees on the island.
“So tell me about this girl,” he says unexpectedly.
“Getty?”
“Cool name. Yeah. Her.”
“There’s not much to say really. There was a mix-up about the place and she was staying there. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” It’s all he says, followed by a nod of his head, before he steps away and takes a seat in his chair, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.
“What?”
“She the one you talked to?”
“Your point is what?” And we’re right back to where we were before, him egging me on, fucking with me when I don’t know what those amused green eyes of his are saying.
“She okay being there? That prick going to come back?”
I do a double take until I realize that in my explanation and apology I gave him way more than I realized I had. I told him about Getty and her father and Ethan. Dumbfounded, I look back toward the track for a moment. When did I start thinking of my time on the island as pertaining to both of us? As ours?
“Zander?”
“Sorry. Yeah,” I stutter out an answer, try to clear my head. “I think he’s gone for good. Besides, I had words with her boss, the bar owner; he’s looking out for her while I’m gone.”
“You’re going back, then?” I can’t gauge the tone of his voice. Don’t know if it’s surprise, acceptance, or dislike, but the fact that I don’t even hesitate when I respond has him raising his eyebrows.
“Yes. I still have a few things to finish on the house.”
“Just the house?”
I meet his eyes—goading green—which ask me so much more than his question, but there’s no easy smile in response, because fuck if I don’t already miss Getty. Her long legs in those damn socks. Her soft hum as she paints. The scent of her perfume lingering in the hallway after she leaves for work. The feel of her body against mine at night. And that last little tidbit is something he definitely doesn’t need to know.
“Yep.” I nod, look back out toward the track. “Just the house.”
“Uh-huh.” He chuckles. “You just keep telling yourself that and I’ll pretend like the sky is in fact green.”
Chapter 35
GETTY
To avoid the emotional sting of Zander’s departure, to stifle the hurt, I’ve thrown myself into work and have found myself stepping out from behind the bar more than usual. Helped some of the servers carry drinks to the tables. Wiped down the tables on the patio out front. Anything to tell me I’m going to be okay when all is said and done. Luckily business has been bustling. Last-minute vacations taking place in the late-August heat before the unofficial end of summer with Labor Day fast approaching.
I lose myself in the noise of the next wave of customers off the ferry. I pour their drinks. Make small talk. Ask where they’re from. Anything to keep my mind off how lonely the bed felt last night. How empty the house seemed this morning.
Yes, we were able to speak for five minutes last night when I ran back into the storage room to take his call, completely disregarding the long line of orders to fill, but it still wasn’t enough. With the change in time zones, by the time I got off work, it was almost four in the morning his time. And as much as I still wanted to call him, to get the details of how it went talking to his dad other than “Things are good. I’ll tell you all about it later,” I also knew I couldn’t let him think I was a crazy stalker either.
And I’m not.
I just miss him. Ridiculously.
For that reason alone, even though I’ve picked up my cell and pulled up his phone number ten (or twenty) times this morning before my shift started, I never actually hit send. I wasted time trying to justify it all to myself: why he hadn’t called me this morning. Was it because of the time difference? Maybe he was being courteous by letting me sleep after having a closing shift so he didn’t want to call and wake me? Or maybe because it’s race day? And race day means he’s spending time with his family, helping his team somehow, and fulfilling numerous media requests? Regardless of which way I try to justify things, a large part of me recognizes that he’s back where he belongs. The newness of being with me will have faded. The benefits in our friends with benefits will be gone.
He’ll be moving on.
At the same time, I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s been less than forty-eight hours, which means I’m definitely bordering on stalkerish behavior. He’s coming back. He said he was. And I’ll get to tell him how I feel then. I can carpe the hell out of the diem when he returns.
Because I made a promise not to live life with regrets—and I already regret not telling him.
