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Sean Eastman
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“Is that a cell phone in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?” Michelle leans toward me, pressing her memory foam push-up bra into my bicep. She drops a hand onto my thigh, makes a duck face, and blows her beer breath my way.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and waggle it at her. “Cell phone.” Then I push away from the table. “Hey, Mom,” I say into the phone loud enough for everyone at the table to hear as I walk away.
“You gotta stop calling me that,” Martin Bale says. “No joke.”
“Then stop phoning me.” I head out the front entrance and sidestep my way around a knot of boisterous smokers crowded under the oval-shaped awning, in complete violation of the restaurant’s posted ten-feet-from-the-door policy.
“What’s that I hear? Are you at a party?” Bale asks suspiciously.
“Nope. Restaurant. What can I do for you?” I step out from under the protection of the awning into the freezing drizzle and keep walking to get some distance from the ears of the smokers.
“Are you saying you’re not at the site?”
“Why would I be there?”
“Why?” he repeats incredulously. “Maybe because there are search teams all over it.” My eye roll is silent, but Bale hears my frustrated sigh. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I bothering you? Interrupting your dinner party with our petty crisis?”
I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, and frankly I’m tempted to hang up on the rookie and let him figure things out for himself. But the last greenhorn I did that to made an “incident” out of it, citing my uncooperativeness as the stumbling block to performing his job.
The thing is, the EUC—Earth’s Unitary Council—recruits their personnel solely from military forces around the globe, handpicking trained men and women in uniform who have demonstrated a high level of skill. The downside to this is that highly skilled soldiers are ambitious by nature; hence the EUC has been stocked with a bunch of sycophants.
“So walk me through that scenario, Bale.”
He snorts. “Walk you through what?”
I lower my voice. “Me staying at the site. An isolated location in the woods, at least ten kilometers away from the nearest shelter, on a dark overcast night with freezing rain pelting down and two young women missing. Now if you were on the search team and came across me, what conclusion would you jump to?”
He pauses before he says, “I see what you mean, but according to standard operating procedures—”
I cut him off, fed up with EUC newbies preaching policies they’re still trying to memorize. “Save your breath, Bale. I don’t work for the EUC, so your SOPs don’t apply to me.”
“Who exactly do you work for, Eastman? Because I’m having a hard time figuring that out.”
“That information is above your pay grade. Now, do you have a legitimate reason for interrupting my evening?”
At least ten seconds of dead silence ticks by before he says with military brusqueness, “Commandant Hendersen tasked me with getting a sit report.”
“Situation remains the same. I expect Moulton will be found anytime now, without memory of the event. Keep your eye on the news, which is all I’m doing for the time being. The more we distance ourselves from this, the less likely it is that we’ll be implicated.”
“Roger that. I’ll let you get back to your, ah, dinner.”
Bale disconnects the call before I can reply. I’ve bruised his ego, that’s obvious, but I don’t know him well enough to predict if he’s the type who goes home, has a couple of beers, and gets over it or the type who’ll seek retribution by finding ways to give me a hard time. Admittedly, I should’ve handled him with more tact and diplomacy to keep the peace, but it has been my experience that humoring Commandant Hendersen’s lackeys only feeds their egos and blurs the line of authority.
I pocket my phone and turn back toward the restaurant. The smokers are gone, but a waft of nicotine follows me in through the door. Everyone at our table was on dessert when I left, and I’m hoping the meal has finally come to an end because I’m just as anxious to get back to the McKennas’ as I am to get away from Michelle’s groping. When Mrs. McKenna offered me the guest room, I jumped at it, and not just because it gave me witnesses who could vouch for my whereabouts. It felt like coming home.
Not to mention Geri is there.
Yeah, I’ve thought about her over the years. That kiss... that sweet, innocent, badly executed kiss she surprised me with behind the shed on my last day in Pembroke still baffles the crap out of me, because when her lips touched mine, every nerve in my body started vibrating to the point that our teeth clanked. It bugged me so much, I even asked my doctor, Mlindr, about it. She said it was either an allergic reaction or sexual chemistry, and if it were the latter, which was most likely, I would probably get it under control when I matured. I’m happy to report she was right, because I never had that reaction to a woman again.
Yet eight years later, that kiss still lingers in my memory, right alongside those rare glimpses I was treated to whenever Geri exchanged her standard hockey jersey and jeans for something that showed off her figure. And even though I knew she had a crush on me—let’s face it, the entire school knew—I was smart enough not to give in to my inner horny teenager and nail her. Taking advantage of my best friend’s little sister would’ve been a grievous disloyalty.
But when she walked into the backyard this evening, I actually went weak in the knees. I had that moment when the world suddenly stopped turning and everyone at the party faded away into a blurry background, leaving just the two of us. I could barely breathe.
Get her out of your head, Eastman. She’s still off-limits.
I can’t offer her a future, and she deserves nothing less.
I shouldn’t have come back here. I had found a measure of contentment with my life in Boston. My work at MIT keeps me busy enough, and the occasional fling with likewise career-oriented colleagues keeps me from being completely alone. So I’m only taunting myself by being here—a reminder of what life could have been if I weren’t what I am.
If only I could shake the image of Geri’s brilliant green eyes staring straight into mine when I caught her before she fell. I would’ve been completely lost in them if I hadn’t been so distracted by the way her plump red lips parted in surprise. It took a considerable amount of self-discipline to drag my eyes away from her mouth when we stood toe-to-toe, one of my hands wrapped around one of hers, the other resting on the small of back under the pretense of steadying her. I couldn’t help but notice she was a perfect fit.
Stop thinking about her, Eastman.
The restaurant’s hostess greets me when I walk through the door. “Good evening, sir.” She’s young, maybe nineteen. Her hair is swept up into a messy bun, and she’s wearing the restaurant’s signature black.
“Hey, good evening. I already have a table.” I point in the general direction behind her.
She beams a smile at me, her eyes sparkling. “I know. You’re with Mark McKenna’s group.” She slowly looks me up and down. “Are you a hockey player too?”
It had slipped my mind that Mark is an NHL player and Pembroke’s biggest celebrity. Everyone in the entire restaurant must be giddy with excitement.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just an old friend of his.”
“Oh, you’re definitely not a disappointment,” she says rather suggestively.
I respond with a stiff, polite smile. Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware of the effect I have on women—I was genetically designed to be attractive—but still, I’m a grown man, and she’s barely out of her teens.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, and she rushes to say, “I mean, how tall are you? Six foot four? You could totally be a hockey player.”
It’s a popular misconception that big guys make better hockey players. Heck, Geri used to skate circles around me. But I don’t get into that with the hostess. I just laugh. “Clearly you’ve never seen me skate.” I reach into my pocket for my wallet. “Do you know if everyone at the table is finished ordering? I’d like to settle the bill.”
“Of course,” she says. “Just give me a moment.”
She goes off to presumably track down our waitress, and I check my watch: 11:40 p.m. I wonder if Geri is still up?
Stop. Thinking. About. Her.
She is not a candidate for a romp in the bedroom, no matter how excited that thought gets me. She is Geri McKenna for crying out loud—my best friend’s little sister and an excellent stand-in for no-show players in a pick-up game of hockey. That’s it.
The hostess returns and holds out a vinyl bill presenter to me, chattering the whole time, asking me questions like why she’s never seen me here before, where I’m from, and if I have a wife or girlfriend. I politely respond while making the transaction.
I go back to the table and head straight for Mark and Shauna. “I had a great time tonight. Thanks for including me.”
“Hey, man.” Mark pushes his chair back and stands up. “Thanks for changing your plans and sticking around for the wedding. Like I said, I’ve been trying to track you down to ask you to be my best man. I wish we had bumped into each other sooner.”
“Ohmygod,” Lacey blurts out, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. “In five minutes, it will be tomorrow—your wedding day—and it’s bad luck to see the bride.”
Shauna jumps out of her seat. “Is it that late? We gotta go. We gotta go!”
“That’s just an old wives’ tale,” Mark says.
Shauna presses against him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “What if it’s not?”
Mark kisses her. “You probably want your beauty sleep, anyway. Not that you need it.”
“I’m getting a toothache just watching them,” Michelle whispers in my ear. I hadn’t even realized she was standing beside me. “Sooo, are you going to take me up on my offer?”
I raise my eyebrows in a silent question and watch confusion wash over her face as she stares back at me.
“If you wanted to use my sofa bed tonight,” she reminds me.
I’m surprised she didn’t use air quotes when she said sofa bed. “Sorry, I thought I explained that Mrs. McKenna invited me to use their guest room.”
“You did, but—”
Peter gives me a backslap, cutting her off. “Dude, it’s been too long. Great catching up with you, man. See you tomorrow at the funeral, eh?”
Lacey and Shauna boo him, while the rest of us share a chuckle.
“You need me to give you a wake-up call in the morning?” Mark yells after him. More laughter follows because back in the day, Peter held the school record for most tardies.
“See you tomorrow, lover,” Shauna says to Mark with one last kiss.
“Save it for the honeymoon,” Lacey says, tugging at Shauna with one hand and motioning with her other for Michelle to hurry up.
Michelle looks at me with big eyes. “I live alone and thought my place would be quieter for you with all the wedding excitement going on at the McKennas’.”
I’m conscious that she has a point. There’s bound to be a lot of excitement at the McKenna household, not to mention the additional awkwardness of being the old family friend who just disappeared out of their lives without so much as sending a Christmas card in the past eight years to say thanks for the memories.
On the other side of the equation, Michelle is quite pretty in a manicured kind of way, and casual sex is my idea of the perfect relationship, so it should be a win-win for me to stay at her place. But here’s the problem: The McKennas were the closest I ever came to having a normal family life, and the opportunity to spend another night in the only place I’ve ever considered a real home is an offer I don’t have the strength to refuse, even though I know it’s going to be bittersweet.
“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” I say loud enough for Mark to hear. “But it’ll be the last time Mark and I can have a sleepover before he’s a certified adult.”
Mark punches me in the arm. “Damn straight. And I got a twenty-one-year-old bottle of Scotch we can toast with.”
Michelle’s right cheek twitches, a nostalgically familiar sign that she’s angry she’s not getting her own way. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she says curtly before stomping off after Lacey and Shauna.
“Have fun tonight,” I call after her.
Mark gives a low whistle. “She looks pissed.”
I shrug, not really wanting to get into a discussion about Michelle.
“Right.” He catches my drift. “Let me just settle the bill, and we’ll go.”
“Already taken care of, my friend,” I say. “And I’m driving.”
Mark barely lasted through one glass of Scotch before he yawned and announced he needed to get some sleep. But I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to miss one single minute of being back in the best place on Earth. So I sneaked out the patio door, and now I’m sitting here in the dark, hunkered down in an Adirondack chair facing the lake, reliving the memories.
Behind me is the fire pit that was always lit with a roaring blaze, no matter if it was a hot summer night spent roasting marshmallows while Peter played a guitar or a cold Sunday afternoon to warm our hands during hockey intermissions. To my right is the stand of trees where I made out with Michelle for the first time, the beginning of our eleven-month high school romance. And to my left is the shed where Geri literally rocked me with a kiss. When I think of my regimented, austere existence before I moved to Pembroke, I know that my life really began right here in this backyard.
I never would’ve met Mark if our guidance counselor, Mrs. Collins, hadn’t approached me about tutoring him in math. He was the school’s star hockey player, and no one wanted him kicked off the team just because he couldn’t solve a quadratic equation—or anything else as it turned out—while I was a brand-new student with zero friends. So began a partnership that changed both our lives. For Mark, it put him on the path to the NHL. For me, well, I wouldn’t be the man I am today if the McKennas hadn’t opened their door and their hearts to me. I mean, who knew coming home after school to fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies on a cold winter day could make a person feel all warm and loved? Not me. It was totally different from the nutritional breaks I grew up on.
The swish of the patio door jerks me out of my reverie, and I turn my head to see someone coming outside. I’m about to sit up straight and make my presence known, when I realize its Geri. The predawn sky is just bright enough for me to make out that she’s scantily clad in a cami, shorts, and boots. She’s clearly not expecting company, and now I don’t how to get out of here without her seeing me.
Her stride is clunky and, as she gets closer, I see it’s because she’s wearing her dad’s rubber boots, the pair he keeps by the back door. My lips curve up in an irrepressible smile because that’s the devil-may-care girl I remember. How the hell did she grow up to be a fashion guru? That’s more Michelle’s thing.
I really should let her know I’m here before I descend to the level of shameless voyeur.
I open my mouth to say good morning as she walks past me on her way to the water’s edge, but then I’m struck dumb again when I catch sight of her curvy silhouette against the twilight sky. What would it feel like to come up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and press my face against her neck ...
Clearing my throat, I make my presence known before I work myself into a world of hurt. “Hey, Geri. You’re rockin’ those boots.”
She spins around, hair flying out on either side of her head, eyes wide and her mouth is open in surprise. It only takes her a second to realize it’s me. Then she expels a loud breath and slaps a hand over her heart. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Is that even possible?” I ask, remembering what a spitfire she was as a kid. I stand up, shoving my hands into my pockets to hide the effect she’s having on me.
“Ha ha,” she responds with a mocking smile, which is quickly replaced with a look of alarm as she crosses her arms over her chest to hide the beauty nature gave her. “I just didn’t expect anyone out here this early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” At her questioning stare, I add, “Oh, your mom invited me to use the guest room. Both of Pembroke’s hotels are booked up this weekend.”
“Oh, I thought...” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
But I’m curious. “What did you think?”
She tilts her head from side to side as if she’s embarrassed to say. “I thought you were in town because of Michelle. That maybe you two hooked up again.”
“No,” I say with an uncomfortable laugh. “My work brought me back. It was just luck that I bumped into Mark. A real shocker that he’s settling down, though.”
“Nah. Mark’s been on a mission to find Mrs. Right for a couple of years now.” She arcs an eyebrow. “Which you’d know if you kept in touch.”
The question I’ve been dreading is finally being asked, and yet I can’t seem to voice my prepared lie. Chuckling self-consciously, I break eye contact and look at my feet. “Life has kept me busy.” I give my shoes a hard stare as if that lame response was their fault and then rush to apologize. “Honestly, I just suck at keeping in touch with people. I need to get better at it.” I motion to the chair beside mine. “You want to sit and catch up?”
Hands still crossed over her chest, she rubs her arms. “I was just ducking out for minute, and it’s a lot colder than I thought it was. I should get back inside.”
It’s for the best, really, to say good night and let her go because I shouldn’t be having lustful thoughts about my best friend’s little sister. So why the hell am I peeling off my sweatshirt?
I hold it out to her. “Problem solved.”
Her eyes snap back to mine, and I realize I’ve just caught her staring at my abs where my shirt has ridden up. I should probably straighten my clothes and cover myself, but I like the way she’s looking at me.
“But then you’ll be cold,” she says.
“Trust me, I was too hot anyway.”
She cocks a questioning eyebrow, but after a moment of hesitation she accepts it. “Thanks.”
She reaches both arms up to pull it over her head, and I’m treated to a glimpse of her well-toned abs and smooth skin, a pleasurable sight that disappears all too soon when my sweatshirt shrouds her, hanging almost to her knees. Then a different kind of pleasure wells up inside me at seeing her in my oversized clothes, with her hair messed up from putting on the shirt, wildly framing her big green eyes. She looks sexy as hell.
She bows her head to look at the writing on the front. “MIT,” she reads aloud then jerks her head up to look at me, her raised eyebrows making delicate little furrows on her forehead. “The school for brainiacs in Massachusetts?”
“You look surprised.”
A rueful grin transforms her face from astonished to playful. “Right. It’s not MIT that I should be surprised about.” Her eyes trail down to my abs again, and I finally straighten my shirt.
“Then what are you surprised about?” I try to sound cool, but it comes out in a gosh-darn kind of way, like a kid seeking approval, and I suddenly feel ridiculous.
She squeezes my bicep as she steps past me to take a seat on the Adirondack. “I didn’t think MIT was known for its gym. You’ve grown some guns since high school, Eastman.”
And just like that, I’m feeling like a man again.
I should leave. Get out of here while I still have some brain cells.
“MIT has a great gym.” I sit next to her. “It’s engineered for the human body to get the optimal workout so nerds like me have a shot at a social life.”
“And how’s it working out for you? The social life, I mean.”
“Not so great,” I say honestly. “Work keeps me busy.”
“I don’t know...” She turns her head to look out across the lake. “It looked like you and Michelle Asston were pretty cozy tonight.”
That brings an ear-to-ear smile on my face. I had forgotten all about her nickname for Michelle. “You still don’t like her very much, do you?”
“What’s to like?” She shrugs. “I mean, for a heterosexual woman like me.”
I nod, liking the way her mouth formed the word sexual. “Yeah, I can see your point.” But I don’t want to spend all night talking about Michelle when I’ve already spent most of the evening dodging her hands. “Hey, guess who else I ran into? Henry Miller.”
“Snot-nose?” She repeats incredulously, laughing. “You saw Snot-nose Miller?”
“Hey, a little respect. If that guy hadn’t been so full of mucus, our team wouldn’t have needed a defenseman as often as we did. You would’ve spent way more time in your room instead of playing hockey with us big boys.”
She’s cracking up, and now I am too, and between guffaws she manages to get out, “Remember everyone would cheer ‘Its Miller Time!’ whenever someone had a runny nose or coughed a loogie?”
I nod, remembering, my laughter trailing off. “Teenagers really are the worst people.”
“So how is Snot-nose?” she asks.
I snort. “He had a cold.”
“Poor guy.” She sobers and gives me a sidelong glance. “So what have you been doing that’s kept you too busy to stay in touch?”
I smirk at the jab. “Well, after I graduated MIT with a master in structural engineering, I set myself up as a consultant and have been working on a major government contract ever since.”
She turns in her chair to look at me full on, a proud gleam in her eyes. “Wow.”
I have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from beaming like a little kid who just got a gold star. “It sounds more glamorous than it is,” I say with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Oh, I doubt that. So, do you work around here now? Have you moved back?”
“No, I’m still in Boston. I work out of the lab at MIT.”
“That’s very cool, Eastman. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Not as cool as working for Global,” I say, turning the tables.
Her proud smile fades. “Yeah, I doubt that.” Then she gets a weird look on her face, as if someone just gave her an unwanted poke. She puts her hands in the front pouch of my sweatshirt and pulls out my phone. “Thought I felt something vibrating.”
“Forgot it was there.” I take it from her and see Private Caller. Most likely, Martin Bale looking for another sit-report. I click off the phone, irritated that he’s interrupting the best morning I’ve had in a very long time.
“I don’t mind if you need to answer it,” Geri says.
“It’s nothing that can’t wait.” I place the phone facedown on the arm of the chair and rest my hand over it. “I’d rather hear more about your life in the Big Apple.”
She shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You already know I’m a fashion authority.” She lifts her feet straight out in front of her and clicks her dad’s rubber boots together. “What else is there to say?”
“I’ll admit that you surprised me with the fashion columnist gig.”
She deadpans a look at me. “Thanks.”
“But only because I was expecting a globe-trotting reporter in search of the oppressed and underprivileged, coming to their rescue through the written word,” I say all in one breath.
Her eyes grow impossibly big. “You remember all that?”
I nod, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “How could I forget? Every Sunday at dinner, you lectured us about whatever social injustice you learned in school that week. And”—I start laughing again—“remember that time you didn’t want to eat so your mom gave you the speech about all the starving kids in Africa? You got up and emptied your plate into a plastic container and searched the Internet for an address you could send it to.”
As I’m talking, she starts laughing again, and I realize it’s been eight long years since I’ve felt this carefree.
“Okay, okay.” She waves me off, trying to get herself under control. “I admit I was a little righteous back then. I guess losing my childhood innocence hit me harder than it does most.”
“Losing your innocence?” I blurt out, shocked. “Jesus, Geri, you were only fifteen.”
“Not like that.” She smacks my arm. “I meant, you know, finding out that the world isn’t actually made up of unicorns shitting rainbows.”
I actually exhale a sigh of relief.
My phone vibrates again. Sod off, Bale, I think to myself as I click it off.
“Sounds like someone really wants to get ahold of you.”
I shrug a shoulder. “It’s work related. It can wait until after the sun is up.”
“Is there a building falling down somewhere?”
I’m confused for a moment before it hits me that she thinks I build buildings. “I’m not that kind of structural engineer. I specialize in the structural integrity of alloys. And no,” I say before she can ask, “there’s no alloy emergency, either.”
She’s about to say something when the sound of the patio door sliding open draws our attention to the house.
Mr. McKenna sticks his head out. “Geri?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“You got my boots?”
“I’ll bring them right up,” she says.
A pang of disappointment hits me in the chest.
“Gotta take the compost out,” Mr. McKenna says. “Mom’s got a pot of coffee brewing if you’re interested.”
“I love your mom’s coffee,” I say, even though I would prefer to stay out here with Geri.
“Let’s go get some,” she says.
We both stand at the same time and walk toward the house, side by side, my heart already grieving that our time alone is over. We probably won’t get another chance now that everyone is up and the wedding excitement is about to begin.
“Soooooo,” she says, drawing the word out. “Are you and Michelle going to the wedding together?”
Her question comes at me from left field because Michelle is the furthest person from my mind. “No,” I say, a little confused. But then I remember her earlier dig about Michelle and me getting cozy tonight. “You don’t actually think there’s something going on between Michelle and me, do you?”
She waves it off, staring straight ahead, not looking at me. “It’s none of my business. I was just making conversation.” She walks faster, getting to the stairs first, leaving me to follow.
Is she jealous?
I give my head a shake, reminding myself that it doesn’t matter if she is or not.