Giving her my best smile, I wink. “I’d love to go home with you for Thanksgiving.” Her smile brightens up the room.
She starts drawing again and I go back to strumming my guitar. “I’ll warn you. My mom gets pretty overexcited at anything that happens to me and Dad… well, he’s pretty protective of me. Of course, we’re friends so maybe you won’t have anything to worry about.” She keeps on like she’s trying to convince herself that it will all be good.
I stop strumming and reach over, covering her hand with mine. She looks up and I can see worry in her eyes so I smile. “It’ll be good. You’ll see.” She lets out a breath, moving some of her long hair out and around her.
We spent the rest of our time working on our own things, talking and planning for our trip. It will be good… I keep telling myself. I’m excited to spend all the time with her but on the other hand, I’m nervous about being alone with her for that long. A man can only take so much before he breaks. I just hope I don’t break and make her hate me or worst yet, lose the friendship we have built.
It’s Tuesday night, and the bar is not as crowded due to Thanksgiving in a few days. I’m glad because we leave for Piper’s moms house tomorrow morning. It’s almost time to go home when I notice Piper and Cian over by the bathrooms, slightly around the wall, half way hiding them. Piper’s back is against the wall, and Cian doesn’t look happy. Grabbing my customary beer from the bar, I raise it to my lips when Cian wraps his hand around her throat, anger radiating from him. “What the fuck,” I whisper. Lowering my beer to the counter, I turn to walk over there to push him the hell away from her when his hand releases its grip and cups her face. I stop cold. Watch them talk. Looks like she’s doing most of the talking though. He grabs her arm, pulling her into him and they hug. I look away when he steps back and leans down and they start to kiss. I’ve never liked him much but now I hate him. I really need to talk to Piper about him. I have to tell her he’s no good. I’ve heard it and feel it. As they turn, walking with their arms around each other, I’m relieved to see Piper smiling. Time to get outta here. I don’t think I can pretend to be nice if they walk over to me.
I got home with the urge to turn around and walk over to Pipers, to tell her what I think of Cian. Instead, I took a long shower, packed my duffle bag for the trip, and sat in my living room strumming my guitar. It helped calm me the hell down. It’s her business, I know. But we’ve become such good friends and even though I want more, I fear losing our friendship if I tell her how I feel. About Cian as well as how much I’m falling for her. I may have hung back, for now, but I swear, if he ever lays a hand on her again, I’ll kick his ass out of this town.
I had a restless sleep. I guess out of excitement and most likely nervousness. This will be the first time going back to my hometown since I moved out. Even though I’m not going home, it still gives me that anxious feeling. Piper saved my life by stopping at the coffee shop on the way out of town and got us coffees and pastries for our trip. Then the two hours flew by as she talked up a storm, warning me about her parents, how much they love to talk and might possibly try to put us together. I’ve never heard her talk this much before. I kinda loved it. Yet it made me a little sad. I don’t think she’s really had friends to talk to before. I just sat there and listened, chuckled at the appropriate times, frowned at others. She really did have a great childhood, mostly. Loving parents. The part where she told me she didn’t have any true friends is what made me sad for her. I had plenty of friends, yet what we had in common is the fact that they only liked me because I was popular. True friends, yeah, I had a couple who could have cared less if I was the star quarterback or not. That’s where we differed. And even though Mom tried to be on my side, about everything, Dad totally was not.
“You haven’t said more than two words.” I look over at her smiling. As I look out my window the anxiousness of seeing all the familiar sights leaving me feeling nauseous. “We’re almost there. Now, remember, Mom will be way overboard gushing about me bringing home a guy and Dad will probably punch your arm…a lot, telling you, ‘You the man.’
I smile back. “First time bringing a guy home?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not hardly.” Then I follow her throat as she swallows hard. “Okay. I brought home a boy once – in the third grade. He was just a friend. You know, at that age.”