Chapter 14

14

Ellie

"Oh my god, what happened?" A human-size tropical bird—I mean, Monica rushes to join me outside The Muted Parrot, Shipwreck's bright, cheerful coffee shop, four hours after Davis made his unexpected appearance Wednesday morning.

"One of Beck's friends showed up in the middle of the night," I tell her. "I didn't get much sleep."

"Because he gave you two black eyes?"

" Oh ! Oh. That. No, that was me walking into a cabinet door."

" You had sex with Wyatt !" Monica whisper-shrieks like I didn't just give her a perfectly reasonable explanation that had nothing to do with having sex with Wyatt . She claps her hands, and her fake red, yellow, and blue feathers all flap up and down with her as she bounces. "I knew it. I knew you weren't fake-dating him just to make Patrick quit acting all superior."

Oh, shit , I'm totally transparent.

"Of course I'm not," I whisper back. "I sneezed right as I hit the big O and we knocked heads and I can never have sex with him again."

She looks around.

I do the same.

Because I really, really shouldn't have said that.

However…it will be a great reason to break up with Wyatt at the end of the week. No blame. Just the simple truth that it's dangerous for us to be together.

There's no sign of Patrick anywhere—yes, I continue to worry he'll realize I'm a loser who's still not dating—which probably means he's on a work call. I wonder if Sloane's bored out of her mind, or if she's taken to mindlessly playing Treasure Hunter on her phone like I used to when I was waiting on Patrick to end one of his important work calls so we could go somewhere.

Some days I get really pissed at myself for not seeing the signs sooner that he didn't check the box for good husband material , even if his resume did. I like to think he changed while we were dating, that he wasn't always a workaholic tool, but what does that say about my influence and our relationship?

You drive men to work too hard so they can avoid you .

Lovely.

Monica pulls me into the coffee shop. She lifts two fingers for the barista, who doesn't bat an eye at getting a sign language order from a parrot, and she points at the back table, then drags me around the seashell-themed room until we're in the sun room at the rear of the restaurant.

Cautiously, it should be noted, but she's still dragging me over.

We have to look crazy, even in Shipwreck. Me in a knee-length denim skirt and a different Jolly Roger T-shirt from yesterday, as requested, and her dressed like a five-and-a-half-foot-tall parrot. I'm pretty sure the costume is just to annoy Jason's parents, but not completely sure.

I'm also impressed that she went through with it. I thought she was kidding when she showed me the costume online.

"Do we all get parrot costumes?" I ask as she pulls out a seat and points a wing, gesturing me to sit.

"No, I got you a monkey costume. Explain to me exactly why you think you can't have sex with Wyatt."

"We'll both end up dead."

She makes a go on gesture, like being dead isn't reason enough to not have sex. It also makes her beak flop around her head, and her brightly-colored feathers all dance with the motion.

I lean in close and lower my voice. "The first time we had sex, I had my car accident. We…messed around a little two nights ago"—yes, yes, it was just a kiss, but I'm warming up to this story—"and Beck's Frogger game died mere hours later. We were in the middle of you know last night, and I sneezed and gave us both black eyes. We are not supposed to have sex . I can take a hint from the universe."

"Wait. You said this happened mid-orgasm? Like, you got off, so the sex couldn't have been bad ."

Bad? It was so far the opposite of bad that I don't have a word for it.

And that was just his fingers.

I might burst into flames if we ever went farther.

"Ellie! You're seeing someone? That's fantastic." Libby Rock, the middle-aged proprietress of The Muted Parrot, tucks her pirate wench skirts under her and pulls up a chair after setting a plate of scones on our table. "Who is it? Is it that handsome single dad from your lunch yesterday?"

"I heard Pop's going to play matchmaker for all your kids," I tell her in a desperate bid to distract her.

It doesn't work. "Meh. He says that every couple months like clockwork. Tell me it's the single dad. He's a handsome one. And those muscles—mm-mmm. And so very polite and apologetic after the pizza mishap."

" The pizza mishap !" I say triumphantly. "He kissed me on the sidewalk, and then the pizza mishap happened too. This is not a coincidence ."

"Ellie thinks she and Wyatt are cursed and should break up," Monica tells Libby.

"Ah. Fear of commitment. Natural, after what happened with the last one she dated."

"Monica's marrying that last one I dated 's brother tomorrow," I remind Libby.

"But she's not marrying that barnacle you escaped from, thank goodness. They're brothers, not clones. Now, you explain to me what's bothering you about committing to this nice young man."

"His name's Wyatt," Monica supplies. "The hot single dad. He's in the military and flies experimental planes. Total badass with a big heart."

"Not helping," I tell her.

"You're welcome," she replies, lifting a scone. "Oh, white chocolate raspberry. Libby, you are a goddess."

"Come, come, tell us the problem," Libby says. "Physical, emotional, or vaporal?

"Vaporal?"

"Pits, feet, or ass stinks?"

Monica chokes on her scone.

"He smells very nice," I concede, because despite actually having a good excuse to fake break up with him—since we're only fake dating—I am willing to be his friend.

For Beck's sake.

One day, my brother's going to crack the wrong joke and need the rest of us to fall in line to get him out of trouble, and Wyatt and I sniping at each other won't help.

"Does he have performance issues?" Libby asks.

"No matter how I answer that question, it won't be three hours before everyone in town thinks they know everything there is to know about my sex life."

"Two lattes and an ice pack," the barista says, setting coffees and a bag of ice with a dish towel on the table. "And this is why I recommend padded headboards."

"Your face does kinda speak for itself," Libby tells me with a grave nod of her short graying curls.

"I walked into an open cabinet door."

"I threw out my hip trying a new position once. Took me four days to walk again, but the memories last a lifetime. Ah, to be young and nimble again."

"Wyatt's stationed in Georgia, and my job is in Copper Valley, okay?" I need something, or I'll be hearing everyone's opinions on my love life before we make it the two blocks to the town square to try our hand at digging up old Thorny Rock's treasure. "Yes, we have attraction, but we have other things working against us."

"But only until his commitment with the military's up," Monica points out. "Less than two years, right?"

"And he's divorced." I feel like a heel tossing out that tidbit, but anything to get them to think he's not perfect. "You know the odds of divorce go up once you've done it the first time." Isn't that what they say?

Libby and Monica share a look. "Cold feet," Libby declares.

"And some history," Monica agrees. "Ellie. I don't hang out with your brother's crowd ever , and even I know Wyatt only got married because she was pregnant and he thought it was the right thing to do."

Libby frowns. "Boy didn't know to use a condom?"

"He hooked up with an old girlfriend after his mom's funeral," I whisper, because I feel like I'm cheating on Wyatt by telling other people his business, but I don't want them thinking he goes around having unprotected sex with any woman who'll have him. He used a condom with me at Christmas, and we didn't get far enough to need one last night. "I haven't asked, but you know those things break sometimes. Cut him some slack. And Tucker's an awesome kid."

Monica smiles at me over her latte. She's a smiling parrot bride, but she looks like a cat with a canary.

Libby smiles too. "Well then. Clearly you're right, and you two aren't meant for each other."

I'm being reverse psychologied. It won't work. "Exactly." I'm oddly deflated, like I do actually care that we could have a real chance. Or maybe I'm getting that good at subconsciously acting.

Monica and Libby share another smile, and Libby pushes back from the table. "You two enjoy your coffee. Monica, hon, you let me know if there's anything we can do to help with the wedding. Love your costume, by the way."

"Thanks, Libby."

"You bet."

"Where's Jason?" I ask her when we're alone again at the table.

"Picking out our shovels," she answers cheerfully. "Eat up, Ellie. We're about to dig up gold."