DITCHED Page 3

  Riding has become an escape for me. My love affair with the motorcycle began in college when I met a guy who owned one. All it took was one ride and I was a goner. Maneuvering the roads as the wind blew past, leaning into the turns, the rumble of the engine vibrating between your thighs…

  The summer air offers a soothing warmth as I navigate the streets of Jacksonville on my way to my condo. Once I arrive at the complex that overlooks the St. Johns River, I park my bike in my assigned spot.

  After riding up the elevator to my floor, I enter my condo and set my helmet and keys on the large entryway table. With a tug, I loosen the strap of my bag and place it on the dining room chair. My jacket joins it before I head down the hall to change out of these clothes and pull on a pair of drawstring linen pants and a tank top. Twisting my hair up, I secure it in a messy bun with a hair tie I grab from the top of my dresser.

  Heading to the doors leading from my bedroom to my patio, I unlock and slide them open. Humid air instantly bombards me, but I welcome it along with the gentle breeze coming off the water below.

  After every successful project, I give thanks. Not quite sure who I’m thanking since I’ve never stepped foot in a church or attended a service before, but I feel the need. Because I’ll never forget where I started. Where I came from. What little I had.

  I wrap my fingers around the top of my balcony railing and stare out at the river view. This place and my bike are the only “big” purchases I’ve splurged on since our company took off. I don’t really count my car since it’s a used Honda Accord I found cheap. It’s only driven on days when the weather deems it too risky to ride my motorcycle on the roads. A safe place to live and transportation have always been at the top of my list, up there with food. God knows, some of the foster families I was placed with didn’t allow for second helpings.

  Heck, some offered a poor excuse for first helpings.

  Even so, the times I went to bed hungry weren’t enough to make too much of a difference. I’d gleaned enough from other kids to know being hungry was a million times better than having one of the dads take a “liking” to you.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I instinctively know it’s Darcy. The message alight on my phone immediately brings a smile to my lips.

  Darcy: Forecast says it might rain later tonight. Just a heads-up.

  Such a mother hen, always looking out for me.

  I quickly shoot back a response. Thanks, Mom. I’ll make sure I dress accordingly.

  I slide the phone back in my pocket. A wistful sigh escapes my lips at the disappointing idea of being cooped up in my car on the drive to meet Darcy later.

  “I’m so ready for this. Like insanely ready.”

  Darcy practically vibrates with excitement as we approach the entrance to the frozen yogurt joint. How she manages to stay so thin while nearly eating everything in sight is an unfair mystery.

  This is our ritual. We get into our comfiest clothes and meet for this treat after each success. I think it really stems from our childhoods and never having the opportunity to indulge in anything like this.

  It’s busier than expected, considering the rain that’s been coming down since dinnertime. Darcy and I head over to grab the large cups and walk to the frozen yogurt dispensers located on the wall. We’re creatures of habit and never veer from our favorite yet simple flavor choices. She fills her cup with vanilla while mine contains a perfect amount of chocolate, and then we peruse the various toppings. I add a dusting of chocolate sprinkles to mine and wait in line to pay.

  We find a small booth and take our seats. Just as we’re lifting a loaded heap of frozen goodness to our mouths, the door opens, and I do a double take.

  The brunette is one of those women who makes pregnancy look beautiful. Her dark hair falls in loose waves, ending just past her shoulders. Fashionably covered by a sleek, black dress, her slim figure and slightly rounded belly practically proclaims, “I’m a strong, confident businesswoman.”

  She’s wearing simple wedge heels in the same color of her dress, and as soon as she steps over the threshold, the man behind her wraps his fingers around her upper arm.

  “Be careful. It’s wet from the rain.” In his other hand, he carries a collapsed umbrella dripping with water.

  The pretty woman rolls her eyes and laughs. She steps inside and wipes her shoes on the large mat, and the man does the same. “I’ve experienced rain and wet floors before, Knox. Pretty sure I’ve got this.” She peers up at him, and her affection for him is clearly written on her face. Her voice has a slight Southern lilt to it, as does her companion’s.

  The man she referred to as Knox tangles his fingers with hers and lifts their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “I know, but I have to keep my loves safe and sound.”

  A hand waves in front of my face, and I whip my head around to find Darcy watching me, face alight with amusement. She leans toward the table and hisses, “Stop being a creeper.”

  “But they’re adorable.” I return my attention to the couple.

  “Says the person who doesn’t believe in relationships.”

  I can practically hear Darcy’s eye roll with that remark.

  “In rare cases, they can work.” At her pointed expression, I hurriedly tack on, “For other people.”

  She shakes her head and concentrates on her yogurt. I shift in my seat to have a better view of the couple and continue eating my dessert.

  He leads her over to get their cups, and I examine the couple. Knox’s piercing green eyes are certainly striking, his body is evidently fit beneath his well-tailored suit, and that slight bump on the bridge of his nose serves as an endearing imperfection. But that’s not what grabbed my attention. It’s how the two interact with one another. They have the ease of a couple who have spent decades together, yet they’re far too young for that.

  She eyes him as they fill their cups with frozen yogurt. “Why are you getting mint chocolate?”

  “Because you like it and always end up eating more of mine than yours.” His response comes readily but devoid of any admonishment.

  She grumbles good-naturedly and heads over to choose her toppings with him trailing after. At one point, with the looped strap of the umbrella dangling from one arm, he slides his other hand to her back and allows it to rest there briefly.

  A split second later, it descends, and he cops a feel of her ass.

  “Knox!”

  He widens his eyes with mock innocence. “Oops.”

  Darcy releases a long sigh. “Man, I want that in my life.”

  I glance at her. “What’s that?”

  “That.” She points with her spoon in the couple’s direction. “I want that kind of love, that kind of relationship.” She looks forlorn. “That kind of cute ass-grabbing.”

  “I thought you were fine with what’s-his-name?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “That’s exactly why it isn’t fine. If he’s not memorable enough for my own sister to remember his name, then it’s a sign.” She grabs her napkin, stuffs it in her nearly empty cup, and rises from her seat. I follow suit, ready to toss our trash in the bin.

  “Oh my gosh, I love your shirt!”

  I’m startled by the pregnant woman’s gleeful declaration and glance down to remind myself what top I’d thrown on.

  I want a man with a massive, throbbing vocabulary, who can provide me with numerous wordgasms.

  I grin, and when I meet the woman’s smiling eyes, she laughs.

  “Sorry to startle you. My best friend would absolutely love that shirt.” Then she tilts her head to the side, her gaze traveling over me. “You wouldn’t happen to be single, would you?” She scoops up some frozen yogurt and eats while waiting for my response.

  “EJ, no.” This comes from Knox, and the man flashes me an apologetic look.

  “Uh…” I falter because I’m not sure how to politely say it. With a nervous laugh, I add, “I’m not…into women.” I finish with an awkward wince and hear Darcy
emit a choked sound.

  The woman tips her head back on an easy laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, no. My best friend is a guy.”

  Her husband blows out a breath. “EJ…” They exchange a look as though they’re having a mental conversation.

  “But she’s perfect!” she protests.

  “Um…” My eyes volley back and forth between the couple as curiosity rolls through me. “I promise I’m not the least bit perfect.”

  Apparently, this woman cannot be deterred. She laughs sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Emma Jane, and this is my husband, Knox.” Then with a millisecond pause, she adds, “Okay, so I have this friend, and he’s seriously the best and cutest—”

  “The best and cutest?” Knox interrupts, pointedly arching one eyebrow.

  “Second best and cutest,” Emma Jane supplies quickly without missing a beat. “Anyway, he’s amazing, and I’ve been trying to find him a nice girl—”

  “Woman.”

  She nods at Knox’s correction. “Woman.” She smiles prettily. “Would you mind if I gave you his number? Maybe you two can chat and see if it works out?”

  “Umm…” Holy crap. This is definitely unexpected. I shake my head. “I don’t think—”

  “Oh!” She suddenly palms her belly.

  With panic, I reach for her instinctively. “Are you okay?”

  Knox places an arm at her back. “EJ?” The way he’s peering down at her is odd.

  She exhales slowly. “Sorry about that. Now remind me of your name again?”

  Again? “Ivy,” I say slowly.

  “Ivy,” she repeats. Her lips curve into a happy grin, and she continues. “Well, Ivy, why don’t I give you his number?” She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

  “Oh, I’m not—”

  “Oh, sweet sugar!” EJ clutches her stomach again, her face contorting in pain.

  Oh my God. I cannot bear witness to a pregnant woman going into premature labor in a frozen yogurt joint.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I eye her skeptically.

  This time, she exhales a few times, as if trying to breathe through the pain. “I’m fine. Phew!” She pastes on a smile. “Why don’t you hand me your phone really quick?”

  Before I can attempt to decline again, Darcy snags my cell phone from my pocket, types the passcode—damn sister knows me far too well—and hands it over.

  Traitor.

  Emma Jane hurriedly enters a number, and with horror, I watch as she presses send and puts the phone to her ear.

  This cannot be happening.

  Clearly, Knox can’t believe it either. “Our frozen yogurt’s melting, Emma Jane.”

  He offers an apologetic look and mouths, “Sorry,” to me.

  “Hey, it’s me. I’m calling from a different number because I met a wonderful woman named Ivy. I think you two would hit it off. She’s awesome and has the best shirt. Love you!” She hesitates before adding, “Oh, and no, I’m still not naming my child after you.”

  With that odd voicemail message, EJ ends the call with a satisfied smile. She taps a few buttons. “I’ll just save B—”

  “Ahem.”

  Everyone’s attention shoots over to Knox who’s giving his wife an odd look.

  “Oh, yes!” Emma Jane’s eyes grow wide, and her laugh sounds a tinge nervous as she rapidly types. “Sorry! He just goes by so many nicknames, and we sometimes call him B.” She fixes a questioning look at her husband. He gives a barely imperceptible nod, and she turns back to offer me my phone. “I saved his number in your phone along with mine.”

  Knox gently tugs her wrist. “Maybe we can leave the ladies alone now that you got your way?”

  “It was…nice to meet you.” That’s all I can manage to offer after one of the strangest exchanges of my life.

  “Bye!” EJ chirps happily as she’s led off by Knox, and I faintly hear him mutter, laughter lining his voice.

  “You’ve sunk to an all-new low, Emma Jane. Faking…”

  “Well.” Darcy laughs, and we exit through the doors and into the light mist of rain. “That was interesting.”

  We head to our vehicles in the parking lot, and she stops at her car door. “Are you planning to text him?”

  “Hell no.” I shake my head, immediately dismissing the idea. “He’s a stranger. And he probably lives in a basement apartment with twenty cats or something.”

  She laughs. “You think people like them”—she tosses a thumb in the direction of where we just exited—“are friends with a guy like that?”

  “Okay, maybe not,” I relent. “But still. Why would she be willing to give a complete stranger her best friend’s number?”

  Darcy shrugs. “Why not give it a chance? Not like he has your address or anything.” Her expression brightens, eyes going wide. “Ooh! You could get Leif to check the number out. Make sure he’s not a weirdo.”

  Hmm, that idea does have merit.

  “I might do that.”

  “Well, I’m beat. Tomorrow we have a few applications to check out.” She blows me a kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.”

  On the entire drive home, I wonder about this mysterious best friend and what he’s really like.

  When the text message arrives, I’m ridiculously surprised.

  5

  Becket Jones

  “Hey, it’s me. I’m calling from a different number because I met a wonderful woman named Ivy. I think you two would hit it off. She’s awesome and has the best shirt. Love you! Oh, and no, I’m still not naming my child after you.”

  Shit. She’s at it again. My best friend is dying for me to meet “someone nice.” Never expected her to give my cell phone number to some stranger, though. Pregnancy is having a wild effect on her.

  I hit the call button for Blue, and Knox immediately picks up, his voice hushed.

  “Hey, man. She’s asleep on the couch, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up to move her to the bed.”

  “Sorry. Just got her voicemail message.”

  He chuckles. “Hold on. Let me head to my office.”

  A short moment later, there’s a brief click, and I imagine he’s closed the door to the room. “She found this woman at the frozen yogurt place.” He exhales slowly, the end morphing into a laugh. “You should’ve seen it. She faked premature labor pains to get this woman—Ivy—to hand over her phone.”

  I drop down on my couch. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Knox fills me in on how things went down, and I throw my arm over my eyes.

  “So this is a taste of what it would be like to have a sister.”

  Knox laughs. “Sorry, man.” There’s a pause. “If it’s any consolation, she was pretty. Seemed low-key. Not high-maintenance.”

  “What was the deal with her shirt?”

  “It said, I want a man with a massive, throbbing vocabulary, who can provide numerous wordgasms.”

  Laughter bursts free. “That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah, so…” Knox hesitates. “You planning to contact her?”

  I blow out a long breath, warring with indecisiveness. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, keep us posted.”

  “Will do. Give Blue my best.”

  After we say our goodbyes, I stare down at my phone for a moment before scrolling through the missed call from Ivy’s phone. It’s doubtful she’d want to hear from me—a guy she’d been strong-armed to give her number to—so I feel like the best choice is to be respectful. I decide to send her a simple text message.

  Me: Hi. I just wanted to apologize for my friend. Blue means well, but I’m sorry if she forced you into giving up your number.

  I don’t expect a response, so I toss my phone onto the cushion beside me. To my surprise, the screen lights up and vibrates with an incoming message moments later.

  904-624-3178: Ah, yes. That was honestly the oddest experience I’ve ever had. I went to get froyo and had to witness a woman practical
ly going into early labor while trying to give me your number.

  904-624-3178: And Blue? You mean EJ/Emma Jane? How many nicknames does this woman actually have? LOL

  I drag a hand over my jaw, chuckling softly.

  Me: I can only imagine. And Blue is my nickname for her. When we met, she had a blue streak in her hair, and the name stuck.

  904-624-3178: Gotcha. So can I be brutally honest with you?

  I stare at my phone for a beat, wondering what’s coming next.

  Me: Of course.

  904-624-3178: Okay, well, I’m not looking for anything like a relationship. I just want to be up front about that.

  Interesting. A woman who’s forthcoming about her lack of interest in relationships.

  904-624-3178: Do you live with a bunch of cats? In an underground bunker?

  A laugh escapes me.

  Me: Not even close. I live alone with my dog in a house on Neptune Beach.

  904-624-3178: Beach bum? Surfer?

  Me: Sometimes. And I wish. I’m not that coordinated.

  904-624-3178: Hmm, interesting. Hunchback?

  Me: Are you asking me if I’m a hunchback?

  904-624-3178: Yes.

  Me: Definitely not.

  904-624-3178: Serial killer?

  Me: Hell no.

  Me: Why do you get to ask all the questions? ;)

  904-624-3178: LOL. Ask away.

  Me: Do you have a job?

  904-624-3178: Yes. And I love my job.

  Me: Same here.

  There’s a pause as I anticipate her asking me what kind of job I have, while I’m internally cringing at the moment she finds out what I do and realizes how much money I make.

  But she surprises me.

  904-624-3178: My job is secretive in order to protect my clients’ privacy, so I can’t talk much about it.

  Me: Understandable.

  My thumb hovers over the screen, and I hate the uncertainty that rolls through me. Finally, I mutter, “Fuck it,” and type out my message.

  Me: Any chance you’d like to offer a reprieve to my big, awkward thumbs and let me call you?

  Eight seconds pass with agonizing slowness and just when I think she’s gone ahead and blocked my number, my phone lights up with an incoming call.