Page 7 of The Crimson Wolf
“Fuck!” I yell as I trip over my overflowing duffle bag on my floor. I’ve spent the last two hours going through everything I brought with me in an attempt to find something suitable to wear tonight. We’re going to our small-town’s country diner, for Christ’s sake. Most people don’t even change out of their sweatpants, but for some reason, I feel an unexplainable urge to impress Jack, which calls for a more appealing outfit.Of course, the urge isn’tthatunexplainable. He’s my childhood best friend and crush, and to make matters worse, he’s grown even more insatiably hot over the past five years. I’m thinking with my vagina that, if we’re being honest, hasn’t had much action in the last year. It’s hard to date when your job is all-consuming, and I’ve never felt the need for a long-term relationship.
And then there was last night’s dream. I didn’t think it was possible to be hornier than I was once I left Jack’s shop, but after waking from my unusually terrifying and arousing nightmare, I found it hard to fall back asleep. Being in my childhood home with the foreboding news of recent death and carnage must be taking a toll on my subconscious. Mix that in with my dire need to get laid—a recipe for fucked up nightmares.
Last night, the thought of caring for the pounding between my thighs in my childhood bed with my little old Granny down the hall was enough to keep my wandering fingers at bay. But now here I am, frazzled and horny, about to go on a date with the last person I ever wanted to see again when I left five years ago. Well, I shouldn’t say date. It’s not a date. This is for business only. That’s it.
I’m a terrible liar, though, even to myself. I saw the way Jack looked at me, the way he almost seemed to be bribing me to go to dinner with him. He behaved in a way that my teenage self could only dream of. For some reason, thismakes it hurt even worse. It’s a little too late for that. He has always had the worst timing.
As if fate hears my thoughts, Granny calls up the stairs. “Red, Jack is here!”
“Fuck,” I mutter again as I stare at my reflection in my floor-length mirror. My red hair is still in curlers, and all I’m wearing is my lacey black bra and denim high-waisted jeans.
“I’ll be down in five minutes!” I yell toward my door before scrambling to yank out the curlers in my hair and search my bedroom floor for a halfway decent shirt.
After more like fifteen minutes, I settle on a plain white tank top and descend the stairs.
Granny's full-belly laugh greets me before I’m even close enough to see her in the kitchen. She and Jack sit knee to knee at the dining room table. Jack hunches over, divulging a tale that has Granny wiping away tears and at the edge of her seat.
When I reach the last step, the old floorboards creak beneath me, and Jack’s focus whips to me. The smile slowly melts off his face, replaced by a longing gaze. His stare makes my stomach flip-flop, and I’m brought back to my old self, who never knew what to say.
“Don’t you look nice!” Granny exclaims like an angel from heaven, breaking Jack and me out of whatever trance we found ourselves in. I can’t help but notice a shift inGranny. Her eyes seemed glazed over and blood-shot, even if an all-teeth smile takes up most of her face.
Jack jumps up from his seat. “Yeah, you look wonderful.”
“Thanks,” I reply noncommittally. I’m wearing a tank top and jeans. It’s not like I came down the stairs to greet them in my prom dress. No, Jack never let me have that moment.
Granny wobbles over to me and kisses my cheek, lingering to whisper in my ear. “See, what did I tell ya? He’s a smoke show!”
“Granny!” I whisper in embarrassment. Surely, Jack can hear us.
He grins and turns his gaze to the floor, confirming my suspicion. He rubs at his muscular forearm, further accentuated by his tight-fitting black t-shirt.
I shake my head, catching myself staring. “Well, we should get going.” I walk toward the front door, not looking behind me to see if he’s following. This already feels too much like a date, and it hasn’t even officially started.
“You two have fun!” Granny calls after us as I walk out the front door, Jack at my heels.
***
After a short and uncomfortably awkward car ride, we make it to Joanne’s Diner. Jack was right. The old diner isexactlythe same as it was five years ago, down to theduct-taped women’s restroom sign. It’s nice to see something that reminds me of mostly fond childhood memories, but being put back in the headspace of my sixteen-year-old self is a bit unnerving.
“Seat yourself!” a waitress yells from behind the counter.
“To our usual seat?” Jack turns to me and motions to the booth closest to the door. Unsurprisingly, it’s empty. That’s why it was our booth growing up. No one wants to sit next to the door that’s always opening and closing, and growing up, we were too thrilled to have our own personal seat to care. Now I’m an adult, though—a New Yorker—many things bother me. One is the constant wind hitting the back of my neck as I eat.
“Sure.” I lead the way to the red booth. I need something from Jack. The more I can get on his good side, the better.
“Hiya, friend!” I turn to Carmen. Her short hair is pulled behind her ears, and she’s wearing a blue apron. She slides sticky plastic menus in front of us.
“Hi!” I smile. “This is Jack.”
“Ms. Badson.” He doesn’t meet her eyes, and his tone holds a sharp edge.
“Lumberton,” she replies with the same edge.
“You two know each other?” I ask.
“Barely,” Jack mutters.
She scoffs.
