Tripping on a Halo: A Romantic Comedy Read online

  “No, the ball sucking was good. Unexpectedly good.” He settled into the couch as if he planned on staying there. “I was surprised too, because normally I’m not really into that—”

  “Please stop talking.” Declan hung his keys on the hook. “And go home.”

  His best friend had the audacity to look hurt. “What the fuck, dude?”

  “I’m pissed off and visions of your balls getting sucked—believe it or not—isn’t helping me.”

  “You know I only sent her that friend invite because I was drunk.” Nate offered the explanation like it solved everything, like that action hadn’t opened a possible line of communication with her, or ruined any advantage that Declan might have had, knowing her identity.

  Declan rubbed his forehead. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow. I just need to work out and burn off some steam.”

  “Exactly.” Nate didn’t move from his spot on the couch. “Tinder. I’m telling you, it’s magic.”

  “You act like you’ve never met me before. Do I seem like a fucking Tinder guy?”

  “Every guy is a Tinder guy. Trust me.” He set his cup on the coffee table and Declan automatically reached for a coaster, the replacement prompting a chuckle from Nate. “I should stay.” Nate leaned forward. “What if psycho bitch comes tonight? You’ll need backup.”

  “I won’t need backup.” Declan gestured to the door. “Get out of here.”

  “Fine.” He stood. “But if you’re not getting on Tinder, then call that woman from the other night. The one you went on a date with. You need some love in your life, man.”

  Talk about a hypocrite. Nate hadn’t fallen in love since high school. Declan pushed him toward the door. “See you Monday.”

  “Call me if you need me.”

  He watched Nate leave, and mused over the suggestion to call Margaret. Moving back into the living room, he cleaned up Nate’s mess and tossed his empty cup in the trash. He’d enjoyed her company and she’d handled the Nicola situation well. Plus, she was a beautiful woman. Successful. Had her shit together.

  Nate was right. He did need some love in his life. Could she be the one to provide it? Or, to attend to the other need in his life, should he call her for a hook-up? His stomach turned at the idea, remembering her insecurity at dinner, her tentative inquiry whether he’d be taking her out again. She wasn’t a woman just looking for sex, and it wouldn’t be fair to call her unless he was serious about continuing a relationship with her.

  Which… considering he could barely manage the effort to call her—wasn’t a good sign. Hell, he’d gone through more hoops to get the latest UFC fight. He pulled out his phone and scrolled to her name. Stared at the number and tried to convince himself to press the call button.

  One more date. A chance, away from Nicola, to see if he and Margaret had anything more than country songs in common.

  He should give her a chance. Make the call. Test the waters. See how it went. Maybe it would turn into love, and this would be a funny story he’d one day tell their grandchildren. Or maybe sparks would fly, and they’d be ripping off each other’s clothes with their teeth three hours from now.

  He stared at her number, then brought his thumb forward and pressed the button underneath her name.

  DELETE.

  14

  When I first saved Declan Moss’s life, he never even saw me. He was running without a shirt on, his headphones in, muscular legs pumping. I was leaning against a tree, resting in its shade, when he jogged by, all abs and glistening sweat, like a commercial for deodorant. I watched him pass and my vision dotted, pain stabbing at my brain.

  I didn’t know what was happening. I staggered out into the middle of the road, my eyes pinching shut, my hands clasping at my head, my face, trying to pinpoint the pain. It wasn’t the smartest place to be, especially not for a woman whose mother had just been hit by a car. But I wasn’t thinking, my mind drowning in the overwhelming fear that something was happening, something was wrong. I stumbled after the jogger, holding out my hand and trying to flag him down. “Hey!” He would be able to help, could see if my eyes were normal, could tell me if there was a railroad spike poking out of my skull, or at least call someone for help. “HEY!” I screamed. My head pounded, alarm radiating through me. Something was wrong and I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes off this guy long enough to figure it out.

  I came to a stop, distracted by the jangle of the gate. Turning slowly, I saw the privacy fence behind me shake, a rough rattle of wood against wood, the dark metal latch clanging. I knew the yard. Paige was afraid of this house, made me lift her onto my shoulders whenever we walked by. She always thought the gate would break and the dog behind it—a giant Great Dane—would come out and eat her. I didn’t blame her for being scared. Each time he clawed his way up the other side of the fence, he was all frothy gums and big teeth, snarling and ready to rip someone’s head off. I joined her in the fear that he’d eventually make it over the side and tackle us, ripping Paige away from me and tearing at her delicate throat with his sharp incisors.

  All reasons why I shouldn’t have stepped closer to its gate. I shouldn’t have reached for the latch. I definitely shouldn’t have lifted it, freeing the catch. But I did. I shielded my body with the gate, and opened it, letting the horrible dog out.

  The beast didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause, didn’t notice or care about me. He charged through the opening, nails scraping against wood, paws kicking up leaves as he plowed forward, his body elongating, stretching, coiling and then unleashing. I watched his tail bob, his body move, and—for once—the demon was silent. Deadly. Bolting straight for the stranger, who jogged along, his back to the dog, his stride relaxed.

  I had a sudden thought about my mom. Was this what it had been like for her? Had she had any warning in the moment before she’d died?

  He was completely unprepared, unguarded and vulnerable when the dog’s haunches gathered beneath him and he lunged. Declan had fallen, his hands swinging out, body twisting through the air. In my nightmares, I still heard the way he yelled, the snarl of the dog, the bunching of furry back muscles as he hunched over Declan’s body. I should have run over and pulled off the dog, but instead I pinched my eyes shut and tried to block out the image of teeth biting into cheeks, ripping flesh, blood splattering. I spun away from the scene and tried to sort out what I had done.

  What had I been thinking?

  Why had I let loose a monster and endangered this stranger?

  Was it the grief?

  Had it twisted me into some awful, violent version of myself?

  My thoughts were cut off by the screams, and I whirled around, unable to stop myself.

  But the screams weren’t coming from Declan. They came from a girl on the sidewalk, her face red, finger pointed skyward. I followed it and froze, staring at the plane that streaked across the tops of the house. It was too low and moving fast. Its engine roared, and I covered my ears, stepping back, watching in horror as its tail clipped the top of a brick home like Ansley’s, its chimney crumbling, roof splitting. Smoke billowed and the girl ran toward me, looking back toward the plane, which slammed into the ground with the force of an earthquake, the impact jolting the ground beneath my feet. A Toyota SUV crumpled behind the nose of it, twin propellers on the wings scraping across the asphalt, and a wave of pebbles and debris peppered toward me.

  I backed up, lifting my arms, ducking at the terrible screech of metal against metal, then everything stopped. A long moment of silence, eerie in its stillness. I lowered my hands and watched as the dog sprinted past me, his tail pinned tight to his butt. I looked past him, smoke pluming from the closest propeller and filling the air. Through it, I saw the runner stand, his hands brushing across his shoulder, his head turning to the plane. Had he been twenty yards further down the street, the plane would have killed him. He stood there for a long moment, his hands lifting to the top of his head and then, with no warning at all, the plane burst into flames.

  I stumbled
backward, my ankle turning, limbs tangling, and when I fell, the impact turned everything to black.

  “You have a date?” Five days later, Ansley’s daughter stood in my bedroom, teetering on a pair of my lime green heels, and frowned at me as if struggling with an addition problem.

  I eyed her and wondered at the statistical probability of a broken neck on thick carpet and from a height of four feet. “I know. I am also shocked.” I buttoned the top clasp of my dress and stepped back, looking critically at my reflection.

  I should have gone shopping. I had assumed that the outfit I wore on my last date—a bright blue jumper—would work for this one. Only I couldn’t find the blue jumper anywhere, and I had the faint recollection of dropping it off for dry cleaning but no memory of ever picking it up. I called the dry cleaner who can’t seem to fuck her husband without having a ticket number, and gave up that hunt shortly before a string of filthy expletives got me blacklisted from Washy Klean for life.

  I groaned.

  “What?” Ansley wandered around the corner and pointed at her daughter, who was carefully attempting a forward step. “Paige, take those off before you kill yourself.”

  I caught Ansley’s eyes in the mirror. “I look like a potato.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Total potato.”

  “Who makes a dress like this?” The first issue was its color, a wishy-washy canvas brown. The design was worsened by the small black dots that scattered across it. When you added in the buttons—light tan bumps that looked like warts and ran from the knee-length hem to the bottom of my neck—and you had one giant potato, with my head sticking out of the top. The worse—or best—part of the design was the way the dress came in at the waist and suctioned-cupped itself to my ass. On the upside, my ass was my best feature. Unfortunately, it made the entire ensemble even more ridiculous.

  “I think the better question is, who buys a dress like this?” Ansley flipped over the tag, which hung from one sleeve. “Damn, you are cheap.”

  “It was on sale,” I defended. At the time, I had been pleased with the purchase. Somehow, the potato sack had looked cool and funky in the dressing room, its seventy percent off sticker too good to be true. I sighed. They should have paid ME to take this thing away. I bet, if I donated this to the Salvation Army, they’d frown at me and say oh. Thank you, but noooo thank you.

  Ansley looked at her watch. “What time is he picking you up?”

  “In about twenty minutes.” I sighed. “Maybe a belt would make this better. Something to break up the brown?”

  She shook her head. “Just go with your usual. Skinny jeans and a shirt.”

  “I literally have nothing clean.” I eyed her T-shirt, desperate enough to snatch it off her.

  The doorbell rang and Paige shrieked at the sound, her body pitching forward, arms windmilling. I dove to catch her and got a tiny elbow square in my left eye.

  “Ouch.” I heard the thunderous sounds of Mr. Oinks barreling down the hall. I rolled onto my back.

  Paige climbed atop me and patted my cheeks, concern filling her eyes. “Is that him?” she whispered.

  “Jeez, I hope not.” I turned my head, Ansley gone, and attempted to roll onto one side and to my feet. The hem of the potato dress pinned my knees together and kept me on my side, my floppy movement causing Paige to kick off my heels and dash out of the bedroom.

  “Aunt Auttie is PARALYZED!”

  “Oh my God,” I wheezed, rolling over further, until I was face down on the carpet. I should have gone with the steam cleaning special. I’d gotten the postcard last week, weighed the decision for less time than I spend at a fast food counter, then chucked it into the trash. Now, my cheek was digging into tan nape that smelled suspiciously like Mr. Oinks’ farts. I tried to work my knees up, my elbows digging into the carpet. “I’m not paralyzed!” I called out.

  I got my knees underneath me and pushed up on my forearms around the time that my bedroom door swung fully open, Ansley and Adam sharing the doorway. Between them, Paige squeezed through. Her face lit up, my sister started laughing, and Adam glanced away to save me the embarrassment of being a doggie style potato.

  “Adam’s early,” my sister said unnecessarily. “And it looks like you aren’t paralyzed. Medical crisis averted.” She patted Adam on the arm. “Maybe… give us a few minutes?”

  “Absolutely.” He paused, catching my eye. “Hey Autumn.”

  “Hi.” I waved.

  “You look really pretty.”

  Behind him, Ansley swooned and Paige made the gagging motion, both of which caused my awkward smile to widen into a real one. “Thanks.”

  He disappeared down the hall and I let out a sigh. Ansley straightened out of her swoon and laughed.

  I held out my hand and gestured for her to help me up. “Why did you let him back here?”

  “Umm… because Paige told me you were paralyzed? He’s a doctor. I thought he could help.”

  “He’s a vet. And that’s such bullshit.”

  “Okay, so I didn’t want to stand there and make small talk while you changed outfits nine times.” She hoisted me to my feet and brushed off the front of my outfit. “Now he’s seen your outfit, you’re stuck with it. Plus, he thinks you’re pretty.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Grab some shoes and go.”

  I groaned, catching sight of myself in the mirror. The dress hadn’t gotten any cuter during my faceplant. I pulled a pair of flats out of the bottom of the closet and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Oh…no.” She shook her head. “Heels. Something tall and sexy enough to distract him from thoughts of mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  I mumbled something snarky and tossed the flats away, reemerging from the closet with a pair of nude stilettos high enough to make my soles cry. “There. Happy?”

  “I’ll be happy when you give Paige and Caleb cousins.”

  “Ha!” I hopped on one foot as I pulled the first pump on. She extended an arm and I held on to it, managing the second heel without falling over. Avoiding the mirror, I breezed out the bedroom door without allowing myself another moan over the outfit.

  Confidence, according to our mother, was all a woman needed. I rounded the corner and Adam looked up from his spot on the couch, one of my magazines open on his lap.

  “Ready?” He smiled, and I suddenly didn’t feel like I was wearing a potato.

  I felt beautiful.

  15

  Even though pigs have four toes on each foot, they only walk on their front two. That was a fun fact I learned while having a romantic date with Adam. It was interesting, and also explained why Mr. Oinks always looked as if he was tiptoeing places.

  Here was another interesting fact: Adam wasn’t over his ex-girlfriend. He started talking about her when the valet took his car (she worked one summer as a valet), and revisited her during the appetizer (funny story about shrimp…) and again in the wait for the entrée. When I gently questioned if he still had feelings for her, he apologized all over the creamed corn and then promptly confessed his undying love for her. We spent dessert discussing ways for him to win her back. I flipped over my napkin, pulled out a pen, and we had the workings of a game plan by the time he signed the check. The first step was for him to run, lickety-split, to her house and confess his love. Right away, without wasting valuable time taking Autumn back home. I stayed strong, all big smiles and encouraging hand motions, until the moment he got into his car and drove away.

  Then, the pity party began. The restaurant’s bar was dead, so I wandered a few doors down, to the sports bar on the corner, and found an empty stool at the bar. With a martini in hand, I bemoaned my steadfast dedication to singledom. I should have had some sort of serious relationship by now. I was twenty-eight. In the olden days, I’d have grandchildren by now. Instead, I’d wasted all of my youthful vigor on relationships that were shorter than my ovulation cycle. Lots of kissing. A few dry hump sessions. Some struggling attempts at oral pleasure and three really forgetful intercour
ses.

  I found a couple of aspirins in the pocket of my purse and washed them down with the remainder of my drink. I set down the glass and attempted to lick some sugar off my cheek.

  “Want another?” The bartender, a chick with piercing blue eyes and steroid-enhanced shoulders, grabbed my glass and raised her eyebrows at me. I nodded. Someone bumped into my stool and I scooted closer to the bar, the place filling up. I glanced down at my dress, feeling self-conscious, the vegetable couture out of place in this setting. A heavily tatted guy squeezed up to the bar next to me, resting his massive forearms on the bar, and flashed me a smile that probably had its own mugshot. “Hey.”

  I managed a smile and unlocked my phone. I should call Ansley and ask her to pick me up before it got too late. The bartender slid another bright yellow drink toward me and I picked it up, taking a big sip. I tried Ansley, didn’t get an answer, then texted her.

  I need a ride. I’m downtown. Call me.

  The tatted-up stranger moved closer and I avoided eye contact, gluing my eyes to the television above the bar. Sitting at the bar had been a bad idea. So had running Adam off. Rethinking it, he hadn’t needed to go to his ex-girlfriend’s right away. It was Friday night for pickles sake! I bet she was on her own hot date, clueless of the fact that she had a heartbreakingly lovely man abandoning other women and pining for her.

  “I’ve got a place around the corner.” The man’s voice was gruff, and he moved into my personal space, the proximity bringing an aroma of French fries and smoke. Unfortunately, French fries are a bit of a weakness for me, and I found myself leaning in for another sniff, almost as if I was interested.

  I forced myself to straighten on the stool and busied myself with another sip of my cocktail. “Thank you, but I’m not interested,” I said, in a rather prim fashion that would have made Miss Manners clap her hands with joy.

  “Aw, come on. A little thing like you, all alone in here?” His hand settled on my lower back. “You look like you need a man to protect you.”