Well Played, стр. 9
That thought brought me up short. Did I really? Or did I miss the whole “friends with benefits” situation? That couldn’t be it . . . we weren’t friends. We’d gone out on what could loosely be considered a date a few times over the past two summers, and we’d hooked up more times than that, but we weren’t friends. We’d hardly even talked this summer. Acquaintances with benefits? I should want a guy who wanted actual conversation with me. Who wanted to get to know me. Relationship material. Dex was relationship Teflon.
Besides, he had a girl at every Faire. For all I knew, he was with the next girl right this minute. I looked back at my laptop, at the photo I’d blown up to screen-size. Dex cradled his guitar, grinning at something just off camera, his dark eyes doing that crinkly thing at the edges that was somehow ridiculously sexy on guys. He’d smiled at me like that, and every time he did I was lost. Friends, acquaintances, whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it with benefits, he was the kind of guy who gave you his full attention when he was with you. I’d never asked for more . . . but what if I did? Would I stand out among the crowd? I’d stood out well enough for him here in Willow Creek, after all.
It was the photo that did it. That grin. Those crinkly eyes. What was he smiling at? I’d slept with the guy, but had no idea what made him laugh. And suddenly I really, really wanted to know.
Well, only one way to fix that.
The photo was tagged, so it was just a matter of a couple clicks to navigate to a private message screen. I put down my wine and started to type.
Yes. This was a great idea.
Three
The next morning I woke up with a head full of hammers and I pulled the covers over my head. I was usually an early riser, and while the skylights were great for letting in natural light, they were hell on hangovers. I lay back on my pillows—as well as I could since Benedick took up most of the room there—and willed my head to stop pounding. That had been far too much wine last night.
Eventually I hauled myself out of bed and got some coffee started. Everything was so bright. I squinted against the early morning sunlight streaming down from the skylight over my whitewashed kitchen table, and I almost went looking for my sunglasses. Benedick abandoned my pillows to wind around my legs, reminding me to feed him.
Cat fed and aspirin acquired, I brought my coffee over to the couch before putting away the mostly empty wine bottle I’d left on the coffee table. At least Past Stacey had had the presence of mind to cork the thing. Especially since I’d left my laptop open next to it, and Benedick liked to roam at night. A knocked-over bottle of wine next to an open laptop would be a disaster . . .
Laptop.
The end of the night suddenly snapped into much clearer focus. That third—fourth?—glass of wine. An open private message screen.
Oh, no.
I practically fell onto the couch and woke up my laptop as fast as I could. “No. Nononononono . . .” The word was a prayer under my breath as the screen came to life. Maybe in my drunken haze I’d forgotten to hit Send. Maybe my Wi-Fi had gone out and the message hadn’t gone through. Maybe he hadn’t seen it yet and I could delete it before he did.
No such luck. My screen blinked to life, and there it was. Wi-Fi fully connected, message sent. Even worse, it was marked as read. Crap. Who knew Dex was such an early riser? Certainly not me: our nights together had never evolved into sleepovers.
I pulled my mug over and took a long sip of my coffee. I barely felt the heat of it, as everything had gone numb. I didn’t move, I didn’t even want to blink. All I could do was read the message I’d sent my yearly hookup, well into last night’s wine-drunk.
Hey!
This is Stacey Lindholm. Well, obviously you can tell that since my name is right here. Do you even know my last name? Well, you do now. That’s kind of why I’m writing. Not about my name, who cares about that. But I realized that I don’t know you. I mean of course I know you, I’ve known you for a few years now, right? And I guess I know more about you than you do about me, since you just now learned my last name and I already know yours.
So let’s start with the basics.
What makes you laugh?
How do you take your coffee?
Do you like cats?
Do you miss me?
I should delete that last one. But I’m gonna let it stay up there. Because with merlot you tell the truth.
So here’s the truth. I miss you. I know I shouldn’t, I know I have no real reason to. But I’m already looking forward to seeing you again next year, and that’s eleven months away. I’m not expecting you to do anything with this information, other than just know it. Know that I miss you, and I wish we had more than those few weekends a year to spend together.
I hope you have a great run at the Maryland Ren Fest, and the rest of the season. You travel so much, don’t you? Do you like traveling that much? See, something else I’d like to know about you.
Take care,
Stacey
I groaned and leaned back against the cushions. This was pretty bad, but after all that wine it could have been so much worse. I thought about sending another message. Maybe I could apologize for Past Stacey. For Drunk Stacey. But no. That would just compound the awkwardness. Instead I closed my laptop and finished my coffee. Nothing I could do now but wait for him to respond.
Of course,