“For the record, I will never go soft. Ever. Too much testosterone in this blood.”
I lean against my truck and look up at the sky. The blue is so bright, the breeze so perfectly warm that it reminds me of being out on a boat with not a worry in the world—exactly what I had planned for my vacation.
I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air . . . and as soon as my mind relaxes, I see her face again.
Avery.
Shit.
“Ugh,” I say, pushing off the truck.
“What?”
I shouldn’t bring her up. There’s no reason to. She’s just another gorgeous, witty girl that I’ll get my fill of. I know this. But I want to talk about her. To say her name out loud.
“Matt, do you know a girl named Avery?” I say it quickly, probably too quickly, and cringe as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
“Um, not that I know of. Why? Should I?”
I kick a rock. There’s some satisfaction when it bangs into the lattice under Lorene’s porch. “No. Probably not.”
He laughs. “Is it finally catching up with you?”
“Is what catching up with me?”
“Are you finally confusing all the women in your life?”
“First of all,” I say, “I don’t have women in my life.”
He snorts. “Bullshit. You have more women in your life than anyone I’ve ever fucking met. Period.”
This is a point I could argue, although I typically don’t. My reputation is that of a man who gets women by the boatloads, and it’s not inaccurate. I generally don’t have a problem finding someone to spend time with, to put it nicely. But at this point, I think my exploits have become a little exaggerated.
There was definitely a time when I lost track of whom I was seeing here and there. Lately, that’s not been the case. There are a few numbers I can call if I want to fuck. But what single person in their late twenties doesn’t have that?
“The problem I have with that whole thing is the ‘in my life’ part,” I say. “That makes it sound like I’m spending time with them doing things other than getting off.”
Matt chuckles. “It never ceases to amaze me how crude you can be and women still like you.”
“I could explain that.”
“Please don’t.”
I lift my toolbox and toss it into the back of my truck. It hits with a loud thud as Matt goes into a spiel about how I need to settle down and date one woman at a time. I roll my eyes as I pretend to listen.
The Saint Christopher’s medal that’s hung around my neck since I was nine catches the sunlight. I take it in my palm and feel the warmth radiate into my hand.
My grandmother promised me on the day she gave me my grandfather’s pendant that as long as I wore it around my neck, I would be blessed with safe travels. I thought she was crazy. I still think she might be crazy. But I wear it, anyway.
“You listening to me?” Matt asks.
“Yup.”
“Liar.”
“I heard everything you said, and I still disagree,” I say, hoping I’m as much of an expert on Matt’s rambling as I think I am. “Here’s the thing—I can’t remember my own shit, let alone anniversaries and birthdays and favorite colors and . . . dog names. Ain’t for me, man. Ain’t for me.”
“It must really suck to be so messed up that you don’t want to have an in-depth conversation with a woman.”
A few weeds are growing through Lorene’s mulch. I walk over and rip them out. “I talk to plenty of women, thank you.”
“I mean more than, ‘Do you want it in your mouth first?’”
“Shut up.”
He laughs, which makes me laugh.
“You do realize there’s more to a relationship than dates and details, right?” he asks.
“Yup. That’s why I opt out.” I blow out a breath. “If you start talking to people, you end up knowing shit about them that they expect you to remember. I’m okay with that on some . . . trivial level. Like, I know you prefer diesel engines over gasoline. I know that. Why I know that, I don’t know, but I do. And here’s the thing: you don’t expect me to know that. You aren’t pissed if I don’t.”
“Because we aren’t dating.”
“Exactly.”
I wait for his response, but he’s silent. I think he thinks he proved his point. A part of me thinks I should explain how his “Because we aren’t dating” actually proves mine, but I let it go.
“I’m trying to decide if you have daddy issues or mommy issues,” he says cheekily.
“I have both. Clearly. You’ve met my parents.”
“I have, and I still like you. What’s that say about me?” he asks.
“That you’re dumb. We already knew that.”
“Possibly so. But at least I keep my dates straight.”
Just like that, Avery’s plump lips pop back into my mind. “So, you have nothing on an Avery?”
He sighs. “No. I don’t. Where’s this coming from, anyway?”
“I met a girl this morning at Harper’s when I went to get my hair cut. She’s Harper’s niece. She’s working there now, I guess, and . . . I feel like I know her.”
I think back to her eyes and how familiar they are. And how her smile put me at ease like only my closest friends can do. There’s also the zing to her touch and the way it feels so . . . right. Like a piece to a puzzle has been snapped into place, but I can’t figure out why. It’s so weird.
“Do you?” he asks. “Do you know her?”
I pause. “Do you think you know me?” The way she asked me that has stuck with me, but I don’t know what it means. I can’t place her for the life of me.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be wondering, genius,” I say.
The words are gruffer than I intend for them to be, and Matt picks up on it. It’s one of the nice things about being friends with someone for as long as you can remember—they know stuff, and unlike me, he wants to remember it.
“Maybe you do,” he offers. “Maybe you just need some time to think about it.”
I think back to her hands in my hair. I remember her smile and the way the sun made her dark hair look like it was glowing. The way her eyes were intelligent and assessing with a hint of playfulness that drew me in like a hook. It sends a burst of energy through my veins again. It’s exciting . . . probably because I don’t know her.
“No,” I admit. “It’s probably just because she’s new, you know? That, or she’s reminding me of someone else.”
Matt takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to give you a piece of advice, and then I’m going.”
“Fine. Shoot.”
“Don’t tell her you think you know her. She’ll think you’re really thinking about someone else, and that’s never, ever a good idea.”
I pop open my truck door and climb inside the cab. “For a dumbass, you’re pretty smart.”
“Thanks. I think.”
I grin. “Mucker’s at six?”
“Yup.”
“See ya there.”