Chapter Five
“I told you. Women are different now.”
Matt eyed his brother doubtfully. “You act like it’s been fifty years since I’ve even talked to a female member of our species. If you count all the time I spent dating and married to Laura, we’re talking five years, tops. There’s no way they changed that much. Some flowers don’t even bloom that often.”
Lincoln pointed his fork and waved it, a cherry tomato dropping seeds all over the table. “If you’re going to start comparing female anatomy to flowers, you’re only proving my point.”
Matt scowled at his dinner. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
The brothers sat at Pizzaro’s, a local Italian bistro—a cozy, romantic restaurant filled with red checkered tablecloths and private label wine. Almost all the tables seated two and the lights were so dim the menus had to be read with a flashlight. He and Lincoln had a standing weekly date here.
Yes, sharing a candlelit dinner with his brother every Tuesday night might not be the height of his romantic fantasies, but single people deserved to eat at their favorite restaurants too. Yet another hard truth no one bothered mentioning in the So Your Wife Cheated on You handbook.
“You boys want me to uncork that wine?” their server asked, materializing from out of the darkness. The fact that the waitstaff dressed all in black made it that much harder to see them coming. “And how’s that salad with the nonfat dressing on the side treating you, Lincoln?”
Now it was Matt’s turn to laugh. The haughtiness of the tall, slender brunette filling the breadbasket could only mean one thing—Lincoln had slept with her enough times that she’d become aware of the strict diet that kept him lean and in shape. Protein and vegetables. Workouts twice a day. And, when he thought no one was watching, baby oil to the abs so they glistened in the sun.
“It’s delicious, thanks.” Lincoln speared a mushroom. “And no wine for me. I’m on duty at eight.”
Matt snorted. “I don’t think the Rotary Club bake sale qualifies as official police duty.”
“People look to me for leadership. You have no idea how hard it is being a public servant.”
The waitress—Melinda, her nametag pronounced—let out a laugh. “I’ll be back around with some water. I am so slipping the hostess a twenty tonight. You’re going in someone else’s section next week.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Lincoln announced, shaking his head at Melinda as she folded back into the shadows. “A few years ago, she would have been begging for a chance to serve the great Officer Fuller his dinner. But ever since the borough’s been taken over by commuters, it’s like the girls here won’t look at anyone without a six-figure income and Venetian plaster walls.”
“Don’t you think that might have more to do with the fact that you’ve slept with and discarded at least half of the Pleasant Park female population?” Matt asked.
Separated as they were by just eleven slightly scandalous months, he and Lincoln had always been closer than most of the other siblings they knew. They’d shared a grade, clothes—most of the time—Christmas presents too. But ever since his brother had hit a robust thirteen and Matt straggled into an awkward twelve, Matt had a hard time finding much sympathy for him in the dating arena. The way he treated women, like disposable playthings, wasn’t exactly progressive.
“That shows what you know.” Lincoln pushed his salad plate away and grabbed the parmesan and red pepper flake shakers, setting them up in the newly cleared space. He gestured at them. “Take Kendra, for example.”
“Is she the cheese or the pepper flakes?”
“She’s the pepper flakes. Hot.” Lincoln didn’t miss a beat. “We had fun. We danced, we talked, we fu—”
Matt held up a hand. “I really don’t need to hear the details.”
Lincoln rolled his eyes and brought the two shakers together in a crude approximation of condiment sex. “We f*cked, Matt. It’s okay to say that word now that you’re free of Laura. Anyway, the point is that I’m not a complete jerk. I got her phone number, texted her the next day and all that.”
“Wait—are you supposed to be the parmesan cheese?”
“You’re damn right I am. We complemented each other, Kendra and I. But the next morning, when I told her I had to get to the station for work, it was like a wall came crashing down.” Lincoln put his napkin between the shakers and nudged the pepper flakes closer to the bottle of wine. “She used me. It was all fun and games until she found out what I did for a living. She doesn’t want the cheese, no matter how delicious I might be. She wants to take up with the wine. Wine is who she’ll marry and have babies with.”
“I thought you hated babies. And marriage.”
“I do.” Lincoln dropped the napkin, letting it blanket his strange scene. “But she doesn’t know that. She never texted back. I could be at home, sobbing into my Hot Pocket and wanking into a dirty sock, and she’d never have any idea.”
Matt dropped his own fork. That was an image that didn’t set well with his pasta carbonara. “You picked her up in a bar and slept with her on two hours’ acquaintance. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Irony dripped from Lincoln’s voice. “You picked Whitney up in a bar and slept with her on two days’ acquaintance—and now you’re asking me for advice about what to do next. Well, this is my advice. It was a one-night stand, and about damn time too. Don’t call. Don’t write. Don’t ask her dad for her hand in marriage or some dumb shit like that. If she’s looking for a long-term relationship—and I seriously doubt she is—it’s not with some pathetic backwoods teacher like you. Accept the situation as divine intervention and move on.”
Damn. It wasn’t often that Lincoln made sense—let alone the kind of sense that rang with actual truth.
“I think I’m going to call her anyway.”
Lincoln dropped his head to the table, the hollow thump of skull on wood loud enough to halt the background chatter and scraping of forks on plates. “What were her exact words when you left?”
Matt refused to say them out loud—especially for Lincoln’s edification. Next time I’m determined to feel that beautiful cock of yours inside me, she’d said. She’d been smiling at the time, but the door had been closing slowly but firmly in his face before he’d barely had time to swallow his toast.
Next time? Next time? Did that mean they were firmly on the path to an actual relationship? Or would she just show up at his work again, smiling at him with that mouth—gorgeous, bright and firmly implanted in his memory as the best orifice on the face of the planet—over the heads of innocent children? Jesus. He still wasn’t sure what her parting words had been calculated to do, other than to have him hard and straining before he even got to his car.
Which was exactly what had happened.
“She said she wants to see me again,” he managed.
“But she clearly stated it wasn’t a date? Like before you even went out?”
“Well...yes.”
“F*ck buddy,” Lincoln said firmly. “She intends to ride you until there’s nothing left for her to ride. Lucky bastard. I practically gave her to you the other night.”
Across the room, the dark outline of a guy in a suit dropped to one knee in the unmistakable plunge of a man in love. All eyes turned in the direction of the couple, unashamed to witness a spectacle meant to be public in the best possible way. In fact, the entire restaurant seemed to suspend itself, all eating and talking and kitchen activity stalled for the brief minute it took for the man to stammer the most important question he’d ever ask in his life.
It was too far away to make out any of the details, but the woman’s cry and the way she leaped out of her seat to launch herself at the man was all the confirmation Matt needed. Applause broke out all around them, and even Lincoln got caught up in the moment, holding up his glass of ice water in a mock toast.
“Another one bites the dust,” Lincoln quoted solemnly, clearly not intending a joke. With a sidelong look at Matt—the same sidelong look he’d been getting for eight months now—Lincoln shook his head. “That’s one situation I’m really glad you got out of. I know you don’t like to hear it, but Laura was a stone cold bitch.”
“She wasn’t,” he insisted, but he didn’t put much elbow grease into the protest. No amount of explaining could get his family to realize that he didn’t hate his ex-wife, that he didn’t hate the institution of marriage, that he didn’t spend his nights secretly punching holes in his walls in anger.
“Are you going to call her?”
“Who? Laura?”
Lincoln let out an irritated huff. “No, dumbshit. The one who’s actually willing to suck your dick more than once a year on your birthday.”
I’ve got to stop telling Lincoln things.
“Why don’t you get to your bake sale already, Officer Fuller,” Matt said, emphasizing his brother’s title and ignoring the question of Whitney and what, exactly, the next move was supposed to be. He’d figure this out on his own. And who knew? He might actually enjoy himself in the process. “I’ll get the check this time. Go mingle with the townspeople and eat lots of cupcakes and donuts.”
“You know how I feel about that donut crap.” Lincoln rose from his seat, his finger pointed in a warning as he gathered his things. “Stereotypes hurt, Matt. And I never joke about carbs.”
* * *
Matt was worried—and not just because Laura’s sink was clogged with yet another wad of debris that looked like an entire roll of paper towels.
He sprang to his feet and tried the water, happy to find that it ran straight through.
No. The real cause for his worry was that Lincoln had been right. It had been a week since Whitney had popped his post-divorce cherry, as his brother had so charmingly put it, and against his better judgment, Matt had called once and texted twice—not being pushy, of course, just letting her know that he was thinking of her and would like to meet up again for coffee or dinner.
Radio silence. He’d gotten nary a word in reply, and the natural conclusion—that he’d taken part in a one-night stand—was the only logical one. Which was fine. A little insulting, maybe, but in the grand scheme of crimes against him, not seeing Whitney again wasn’t the worst rejection he’d ever suffered. Not by a long shot.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Matt whirled to find Laura leaning against the counter, looking calm and relaxed in slacks and a button-up shirt, her hair a soft cascade around her shoulders. She’d never looked like that when they were together—she’d always been in a rush, bearing the harried look of a woman with hundreds of things to do, even though he had no real idea how she filled her days.
To be fair, he’d never really asked.
“You know you can only put food scraps in the garbage disposal, right?”
She chuckled softly. “That’s really what you were thinking right now? With that frown?”
He shrugged. He hadn’t realized he was being so transparent. “I can leave you the number of a couple of good plumbers if it acts up again. And put paper products in the garbage next time.”
“Sure.” She hesitated, poised as if to speak. Matt could tell she wanted him to press her to find out what was going on, but he refused to ask questions, to engage her in any way.
“You’re good to me,” she continued. “Too good.”
“It’s just a sink, Laura.”
“I know it is.” Then, the words a tumbled rush, “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are.” Friend was a bit too strong of a word for the giant chasm of nothing he felt whenever Laura walked into the room, but he had to say something. And the truth seemed unnecessarily cruel. “Anything else you need before I go?”
She shook her head, and Matt knew what was coming next. It was always the same three words, an I’m so sorry that seemed to slough right off wherever it landed.
“I’ve got to run,” he said quickly, not allowing her to get the words in this time. The apology would lead, as it always did, to a cup of coffee, a friendly chat about work, the same banalities that had become commonplace for the pair of them in this post-divorce life they’d created. But he was tired of trying to make her feel better about her sins, of trying to make himself feel better about his lack of interest in them.
He wanted something more.
He wanted to see Whitney again.
Tucking the toolbox carefully under the sink, Matt nodded and ducked his head and pretty much avoided making any eye contact with Laura. Cheap tricks, all of them, but they worked.
It wasn’t until he was in his car and several miles away that he realized he wasn’t headed in the direction of home—rather, he was pulling near the old dental office just off Main Street, where a pile of wood and a few work trucks indicated a transformation was taking place.
Huh. Apparently, he wanted to see Whitney a lot more than he realized.
And apparently, he intended to do something about it this time.