Page 12 of Under the Influence

Edith looks soft and sad, turning my common sense into a mere inconvenience. Kissing this woman right now would make us both happier. Only for a short time, but sometimes, that’s all a person needs.

“You shouldn’t consider leaving for Arcadia until Ike’s kid is born. Just to make sure he’s doing well before you start over somewhere.”

Perking up in reaction to my words, Edith hints at a smile yet says, “I can come back for the birth.”

“But you might have a busy life by then. Could be difficult to get back.”

Edith’s smile widens as she considers my very rational reason for her to stick around. Her gaze flashes behind me before she reaches for her ballcap. She slides it on and shoves her hand in her purse.

“Problem?” I ask, ready to punch anyone hassling her.

“No, I just shouldn’t be seen.”

“With me?”

Edith slaps a twenty on the bar top as her gaze locks on mine. “I appreciate you joining me. I often go out alone. In fact, tomorrow, I’ll be at Barkley’s Steakhouse in Uptown. I like their parmesan-crusted steak and espresso martini.”

As much as I don’t want her to leave, I appreciate how she’s setting up an opportunity to see her again. I pay my tab and walk her out. Edith doesn’t focus on anyone as we go, but I feel her on edge.

Standing next to her car, I fight the urge to kiss her goodnight. Edith lingers like she’s wondering what my lips taste like. We share an awkward moment before I step back and look around.

“An expresso martini sounds too foofy for my tastes, but that steak is right up my alley.”

Edith offers a great smile, and I realize I’ve agreed to a date.

As Edith drives back to Tumbling Rock, I suffer from a terrible urge to ensure she gets there safely. I have to stand in the parking lot for a good ten minutes to keep myself from tailing her. Once I’m sure I can control myself, I climb on my motorcycle and ride home to Basin Rock.

Nothing good can come out of our dinner date, yet I’m already dying to plant my ass across from her at the restaurant.

EDITH, AKA THE GUILTY LIAR

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If I were Tuesday, I would prance into my house and announce with the greatest of exuberance how I’d found the man of my dreams. I might then shake my ass stripper-style, fake-faint onto the couch, and then expect applause for my good fortune.

Instead, I slip inside my house where my parents snuggle on the couch watching one of the “Taken” movies.

Pa-Donovan glances back at me and asks, “Meet anyone on your hunt?”

His words feel mocking, but his tone is too full of affection for me to take them personally.

“No,” I lie despite my usually honest relationship with my parents. “I can’t seem to lower my standards enough.”

“I bet there’s a man somewhere in the world feeling like he’s missing something in his life. He just needs to find you.”

I share my father’s smile. A part of me wants to ask what he thinks about Duke.Am I chasing a pipedream?The answer is clear, though, and I’m unprepared for the dream to end.

That’s why I keep my mouth shut. I wish I could get Tuesday’s advice. So far, she hasn’t blabbed to anyone about my interest in Duke.

I still don’t speak up. I’m afraid in a way I rarely am. Duke feels like a special thing for me to enjoy, but only if I keep him a secret. As soon as he becomes the same Duke the rest of the world sees, he won’t be mine anymore.

I’m up all night, replaying my time with Duke. I’d nearly run away when I realized he was next to me at the bar top. I don’t know where my fear comes from. I usually face my problems because that’s the smartest way to handle them. Yet, the sight of Duke made me feel small and stupid.

He was softer tonight, less agitated than at the engagement party. I didn’t see a club president or Lola’s dad. I saw a sexy man making a move on a woman. Duke exuded an addictive warmth, leaving me as clueless as a moth dancing around a flame bound to burn it.

I hate such ridiculous thoughts. I’m not as clueless as a moth or a lovestruck kid. I’m a grown woman capable of viewing a man clearly, and Duke is too much of a hassle. I should skip out on our dinner.

Of course, I don’t. In fact, I plan to wear my favorite outfit—a black-and-pink flowery skirt and a pink top with short black boots. It’s my “date outfit.” To avoid drawing my family’s attention that next evening, I leave the house in jeans and a T-shirt before changing in my SUV on a back road.

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