Page 4 of Beau & Autumn

It’s not like I have the guts anyway. Even if I did, she’s not interested. Not like that. I’m twenty-five and she’s thirty-three. I play video games and still live with my parents. Well, sort of. I have my own pad but it’s technically still attached to the main house. There is nothing about me that Autumn Davenport could possibly want in that way.

I just curse the lucky bastard who’ll be the one to share her bed and make her laugh. He has no idea he’s the luckiest man on the planet.

And I’m Beau Bassett. A hopeless romantic who needs to get out more.

Maybe then I’d stop this ridiculous notion about me and my best friend.

No good can come of that.

2

Autumn

I frown as I open the trash can, tossing inside another dead plant. I don't know what it is about indoor plants that render me a murderer to their poor, lifeless little corpses, but no matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep them alive.

Too much water. Not enough water. Plant food. The right plant food. Light, but not too much light. Dappled light? Darkened spaces… I give up.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the cactus that lands in after the Devil’s Ivy; aptly named, it seems. I don’t know how a person can kill a cactus. They’re supposed to be hardy and barely need any tending to. Maybe I have needy plants? “I really didn’t mean to send you to plant heaven.”

I shut the trash can lid to face Bruiser, my cat, looking up at me with judgy eyes.

“Don’t you start,” I warn. “I don’t need a lecture.”

He meows and I bend down to pick him up. He’s not usually clingy but now and again he likes to let me know he’s not always spicy. He just has a strong personality. He likes things how he likes them. Sometimes I wish humans could be more transparent.

Then I think of Beau and laugh out loud. Bruiser gives me a disapproving look; when he’s in my arms, it’s his time. That doesn’t include free thought, especially when I’ve been thinking about Beau all afternoon.

I admit we’ve grown even closer these last six months. After I saved his bacon at the charity auction a few months ago by making sure he wasn’t eaten alive by the single ladies of Stoney Creek, he kinda owes me one.

He’s as sweet as pie, adorable actually, and until this morning I hadn’t ever really thought about him like that. Don’t get me wrong, Beau’s hot. He has this whole geeky vibe going on that reminds me of Clark Kent. He’s unassumingly handsome with his glasses on as he pours over his computer at work, but I’ve seen him out on the town at Moose’s — the local bar in town — and when he’s dressed up with his hair styled and kick-ass jeans on, he turns every head in the place.

The thing I love about Beau the most is he doesn’t realize he’s all that. I’d go as far to say he’s clueless in that department. In fact, I don’t know if he’d know what to do if a woman approached him. I giggle at the thought and that does it, Bruiser squawks and jumps out of my arms.

“I’ll remember that when you run out of those expensive kibble biscuits you like,” I call after him.

He runs across the room to hop on the couch and catch the last of the sun's rays.

Yes. I’m a lonely cat lady who talks to herself. Depressing really. But since my ex, I’ve kinda sworn off men for a while. I only seem to attract jerks.

Added to that, my family's recent bombshell about my inheritance has knocked me for six. I really thought as Grandma got older she’d loosen her stupid rules, but it seems she’s playing hard ball to the bitter end. We’ve always gotten along, I love her to bits, but she and my parents are too controlling. I can’t and won’t be dictated to for any amount of money. I know they mean well, but this far in life my whole thinking has been not to get married or have kids. Maybe I’m defective? Women are supposed to want children and such. I just don’t want the same things other people do, and according to those closest to me, that’s not okay.

I'm not saying I don’t want to settle down some day. I do. I’d love nothing more than to find the perfect man and build a life together, but I’m also fiercely independent and I want to work on my business before I even think about heavy stuff.

Thirty-three is apparently eighty when you’re single, unmarried with no kids. No amount of telling my parents and Grandma that people are settling down later in life and starting families in their mid-thirties won’t convince them. They’re set in their ways, but so am I.

I love my life and I’ve never been a woman that needed a man to be happy; another thing I shouldn’t be admitting to, apparently. We’re not allowed to just be happy within ourselves, enjoy our careers without being told we’re dried up and bitter and we’ll end up alone with that biological clock ticking. There must be something wrong with us if we can’t find a man. But what if some of us just can’t find a decent one? Dating is hard. It’s even harder in a small town. The pickings are slim and choices aren’t exactly overflowing.

After fuckface Michael, I’m done. I should’ve known long-distance would never work. He lived in Memphis, where my parents reside. His parents are friends with my parents, and honestly, when things were good with Michael, I even thought about moving back home. I’m glad I didn’t do that now.

Clearly he had too much freedom, and if he wanted to play the field, I don’t get why he didn’t just do that and not string me along. The sex wasn’t even that good.

I was so sad for one of my best friends, Eden — before she got back with Brooklyn — when she found her boyfriend screwing some other chick. It was awful for her, but I’m reminded it all worked out for her in the end. She’s never been happier. Turns out her Mr. Perfect was right there all along, she just had to kiss a few toads to be reunited with her prince. I wish it were the same for me. I’ve kissed plenty of toads, and I’m just so sick of getting it wrong. If the right guy comes along and I overlook him, they can blame my string of ex-mistakes for my current state of continual resting bitch face. It’s hardly my fault that I set the bar too high; loyalty and trust being my top two deal breakers. I can’t imagine Beau ever doing anything like that. He hasn’t had a girlfriend in a couple of years, but I overheard in the bar one time at Moose’s that he’s scrum-diddly-umptious in the bedroom. It was some chick who hooked up with him after his ex. Beau and I are close, but it’s not like he shares his conquests with me. I also know he isn’t a man-whore, far from it. Not that I want to think about my friend in the bedroom, but now that’s all I’m doing.

Get a grip!

The only action I get these days is between me and my battery boyfriend. Thank God for discreet packaging, that’s all I can say.

Today I have an important meeting with the bank. I have to have all my financials — which makes me worried — and prove that I can service the loan I’m trying to get.

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