Knocking Boots - Willow Winters Page 0,35
was a bad idea. We’re looking for different things in life.
Are you still able to come to the wedding or do I have to tell my sister we broke up?
Shit that hurt to write. I ignore it all, knowing it’s best though. Better to break it off before she gets hurt. Because that’s all I’m going to do anyway.
She’s quick to answer: I’ll still go with you. And just so you know, I really do like you.
I know I should say something to put her at ease. I should tell her something to make her feel safe and comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to her and worse, I don’t want to lead her on. I’m not ready to get married and have kids or any of that shit. And that’s what she’s looking for. Especially knowing she may not be able to. I don’t need a baby-crazy woman trying to lock me down… but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. At least for as long as I can have her.
Soon as this wedding is over, she’ll probably stop coming here altogether.
Night, Charlie.
I swallow thickly as I look at the screen.
I type in a few responses, but delete them all. I’m not going to lead her on. I won’t do that to her; she deserves better. I finally settle on something simple.
See you later, sweetheart.
Grace
The second I finally pull my headphones off at work, Diane calls my name. My gaze flicks to the clock before turning to see that she’s ready to go for the day, her jacket already on and purse over her shoulder.
“Hey,” she says, striding into my cubicle and leaning against the desk. “I don’t want to ruin your productivity or anything, but it’s almost seven. Our meeting went long.”
She doesn’t need to but gestures to the salespeople who I can see filtering out of the conference room. Rubbing under my eyes I slowly stand up, stretching. I don’t know the last time I got up. I’ve buried myself in work all day. Another productive day.
“You’re not interrupting,” I answer her. “I just came to a stopping point, creatively. Perfect timing.”
“Well, we’re going to the Local. You should come, assuming you’re not too busy with Charlie,” she says, teasing.
At the end of the aisle I spot the gaggle of women gathering near Diane’s cubicle and then glance at my desk. If I start on another project, I’ll be here until midnight at least and I’m sure as heck not doing that.
“Okay,” I say with both a shrug and a smile. “Why not?”
“Cool,” her peppy tone is infectious. “We’ll see you there. It’s karaoke night!”
She shoots finger guns at me, and I can’t help but smile. “See you there.”
The traffic is heavy, and I end up with less time than I’d planned to refresh my makeup and take off my leggings, leaving me in a very short pale peach dress.
Rushing to get there before it’s too late and everyone else is several drinks ahead of me, I let my hair down on the way to the Local. By the time I pull into the parking lot I look — well, at least respectable. The car door shuts with a loud click and I spot Diane instantly, who’s waiting outside the bar.
Taking in the bar patio, I’m immediately unsure. There are six tables outside, every single one packed with twenty-somethings ready to party. They’re loud, and a few are smoking cigarettes. I rub my forearm as I walk toward Diane, feeling like this isn’t exactly my vibe.
“There you are!” Her arm wraps around my shoulder, pulling me in close and I nearly stumble but have to laugh. “I need my drinking buddy. Claire’s driving us home.”
It ends abruptly as the loud noise of the bar hits me the second the door is opened and I nearly stumble again from being pulled in by Diane. Inside it’s madness, lots of little booths packed with people. I have to immediately flatten myself against the wall to avoid a waitress with a tray of drinks. Diane grabs me and pulls me toward the back, where some of our coworkers have managed to secure a table. Thank God we have a table.
“Look who’s here!” she announces.
A rousing cheer goes up, but I assume it has more to do with alcohol than my arrival. I recognize all the girls at the table, but the only one I’m friends with is Ann, and she’s at the other end. I need to move seats.