What If

“How do you know what I have planned?” I snipped back.

“You did your little stuttering thing that you do when you’re trying to lie. You suck at lying by the way. Always have. I always wanted to tell you that, but didn’t want you to know I knew your tell sign.” He grinned up towards the peep hole.

“It’s true, you do suck at lying,” Darcy said into my ear.

I nearly dropped my phone; I’d forgotten she was still on the line.

“Darcy, I’ve got to go.” I hit end and then swung the door open.

I stumbled backward, trying to gain distance as Arrow came barreling into my living room. I nearly tumbled backward, tripping on a shoe in the middle of the room. Arrow caught my arm and steadied me. When I got my balance I slapped his hand away.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“We have to talk,” he stated.

“You’ve said that approximately ten times in the last twenty seconds,” I quipped.

Arrow perused my get-up. I had on a pair of dark wash boot cut jeans and a white t-shirt with a v-cut in the front. It was simple, comfortable, very me. My make-up was light and not completely finished because I was interrupted by Darcy’s phone call.

“You look nice.” He stepped forward, too close.

I put my hand up and pushed his chest slightly. “We can talk from here,” I said.

“Enough,” he bellowed. “Stop acting like this.”

“I’m acting how I should have a few nights ago. You keep getting in my space. It’s making me uneasy,” I stuttered.

He grinned confidently. “You didn’t seem uncomfortable against my truck.”

Oh my. His lips curved up on one side, giving me the sideways smile that made my head loopy. Seeing him in broad daylight allowed me to view just how different he looked. He had worry lines sketched into his forehead, but somehow they added to the raw, masculine beauty of him. His familiar, whiskey eyes made me drunk when I looked into them. He had a small, puckered scar on the side of his left eye that pointed downwards, almost like a large tear.

“We’re not talking about the other night, unless you want to apologize,” I sneered.

He chuckled. “I’m definitely not apologizing. I’ve wanted to do that for a long ass time.”

I glowered at him. “You’re married! Why do I have to keep reminding everyone of this fact?” I said more to myself, putting a hand to my head.

“Yeah, we have to talk about that.” He scratched at the back of his head, looking guilty.

“No,” I stated simply and walked to my bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the toilet.

The doorknob jiggled. “Come on, Briar.”

“No,” I argued.

“I’ll sit out here and wait until you come out. You know I will,” he threatened. And damn it, if he were anything like the old Arrow, I knew he would.

I rolled my neck, stretching the tendons that had pulled tight.

“Let’s go out for a drink at O’Malley’s Tavern,” he suggested.

The door creaked as I cracked the bathroom door open slightly and looked out from the gap. At the sight of him, my knees weakened. He stood right at the crack, peeking through the same empty area, looking down at me, smiling.

“Fine, but only because you have a lot of explaining to do. And you’re buying my drink,” I relented. “I have to finish getting ready. There’s water in the fridge.”

I shut the door in his face and only felt a smidge guilty about it. I planned on having that drink with him and explaining to him, as slowly as need be, that a married man cannot go around kissing women who are not his wife. I’d make him apologize. Then, and only then, would we move forward with a possible friendship.





New Briar was tricky. Every conversation with Briar seemed like a constant battle. She fought me tooth and nail until eventually she surrendered. Her standoff behavior was beginning to piss me off, and the little, snide remarks were beginning to get old. Still, her brusque attitude was both annoying and unbelievably sexy at the same time. It reminded me of being a teenager when she’d get angry over some small thing and start her ranting. I lived for that because that frustration meant she felt strongly towards me.

She could act mad all she wanted, she could try and push me away, say that the kiss didn’t mean anything, but I knew it was a lie. She wanted that kiss as badly as I did. Her arms were pulling me into her. Her tongue was attacking mine exactly how mine attacked hers.

It didn’t take her long to exit the bathroom. There was no visible difference in what she did to “finish getting ready.” She wouldn’t smile at me as she walked, distractingly, past me to pick up a pair of brown boots and slide them over her sock covered feet.

“Grab a jacket; it’s cold,” I said while pointing to her coat rack.

“I’m twenty-five, Arrow. I think I know when I need a jacket.” She grabbed the brown one and slid it over her arms.

I rubbed my temples, blowing out a long sigh. “I don’t remember you being so sarcastic.”

“People change,” she mumbled and locked the door behind her.



Once at the bar, we both ordered beers. She sat across from me in a booth-style table, tore the napkin in front of her into a million little pieces, then grabbed another one and started doing the same thing.

I waited until half of her beer was gone until I opened the conversation. “Can we start talking now that beer calmed your tongue?” She glared up at me from her glass but didn’t have any comments. I raised an eyebrow. Good to know: Beer tames the wild woman in front of me.

“What happened the other night…” I began.

“We have to work up to that part, Arrow.”

“You got your way the other night when you said we couldn’t talk about the past. I want my way this time. So let’s make a deal,” I offered.

She gulped down some of the amber liquid. “Let’s hear it. What’s the deal?”

I pointed towards the small, empty dancing area. The jukebox sat against a wall, lit up in florescent colors.

“I don’t care if you want to play a song. Go right ahead,” she said not quite getting what I meant.

“You’re going to dance with me to my choice of song. After that we’ll start with the serious questions. It’s either that, or we get into it now.” I tapped my thumb on the worn table in front of me, waiting for her answer. It was a win-win situation for me. Either way, she was forced to speak with me.

“It better be a good song,” she finally said and scooted out of the bench.

“Oh, it’s a great song.” I smiled conspiringly then marched over to the jukebox and tapped in the numbers for my choice. Turning around, I faced Briar. Her flushed face gave her away, but I didn’t comment on the brightness of her cheekbones. Our song started when I took her hand in mine and put the other around her waist.

Her eyes widened, becoming brighter as well as glistening. “Dear God” by Avenged Sevenfold echoed through the room. Her hand in mine squeezed tightly, so I pulled her closer to me, holding her together, holding me together.

“You remember this song, right?” I asked, resting my cheek against the top of her head. The scruff on my chin brushed against the top of her forehead.

“Maybe,” she sniffled against my neck.

We moved in small circles. Her body completely pressed against me. The flowery smell of her hair invaded my senses. Having her against me, moving close so there was no space between where I ended and she began was euphoric. Near the middle of the song she let go of my hand and gripped the front of my t-shirt in a tight fist. I wrapped both arms around her and continued moving us. All the letters she sent me during boot camp were scribbled on the folds of my brain. Each of the letters I wrote to her, with parts of the lyrics to this song written at the top, were never forgotten. The night I left for boot camp, holding her in my arms all night, seeing her damn near naked in front of me, nearly kissing her, handing her the note that told her to listen to this song and know I was thinking about her, every bittersweet memory flashed over and over in my mind.