Hammered Read online

  Forty minutes later, she’s bustling into my kitchen with three bags full of carryout Chinese, wearing a perplexed expression. “Did you grow a set of skills I don’t know about?” she asks, setting down the food and withdrawing cartons of rice and Styrofoam boxes of sweet and sour chicken and General Tso’s.

  I shake my head, handing her a glass of wine. “No. It’s somewhat more complicated than that.” I gesture at the bottle, which is… not as full as it should be. “I’m a glass ahead of you, so chug-a-lug, bug.”

  Audra takes me literally, and chugs her glass of wine before pouring more. “There, now we’re caught up.” She finds my paper plates and a serving spoon, gesturing at me with the spoon. “I’ll dish the food, you dish the news. Who’s the guy that’s got you so mixed up? And how the hell did you afford this many pimp-ass windows? And a new porch?”

  I laugh. “It’s all part of the story. His name is Jesse, and he’s a contractor.” I take my plate from Audra and we move to my couch, setting our glasses of wine on the floor at our feet. “Remember when I broke my kitchen window and had to have it repaired?”

  Audra nods as she takes a bite of food.

  “I saw this ad for a company that claimed to be willing to do any project small or large, and look good doing it, so I called them. Dad Bod Contracting. The owner sends his guy out, and he shows up at, like, nine at night.”

  Audra blinks in surprise. “That’s nuts. No contractor ever shows up before noon or after five.”

  I nod. “I know. But this guy did.” I make eye contact so she knows how serious I am with my next words. “He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met, Audra. I can’t even explain it. He’s big and muscular, but not a bodybuilder, or the vain gym rat type. Rugged, but still handsome. Funny, and nice…and way too generous for his own good.” I sigh.

  “The company he works for, which is owned by his best friend and brother-in-law, is building a house for my new boss, which is how I got my new job in the first place.” I pause for a sip of wine. “And the wife, my boss, Dr. Waverley, she decided after she’d bought and paid for a whole bunch of windows that she didn’t want them, and ordered something else entirely, so the windows were just…free. So Jesse came and boarded up my window, and then came by the next day with one of those extra windows and installed it. And then, a few days later, he calls me and asks if he can have access to my house, because he has a surprise. I tell him where my spare key is, and when I get home, he and his buddies have replaced literally all my windows, as well as adding a new one over my stairs. All for twelve hundred dollars. Fifteen hundred, including the original kitchen window replacement. And then—and then when I tell him I quit my job, he makes a call to Dr. Waverley, for whom he’s building a house, gets me an interview, I get the job, and then—”

  “There’s more?”

  I laugh, nodding. “That’s not even the half of it, Audra! He ghosted on me, but it was an accident and misunderstanding, so he came over to talk, and his foot went through the front step, and—”

  “Those stairs were a hazard, so I’m not surprised,” Audra puts in.

  “I know, now quit interrupting, dammit. So he just went out and bought a bunch of wood and nails, tore down my old porch and built this new one, all while waiting for me to get home from work. Just because.”

  “I feel like I’m missing a lot of details, here.” Audra takes both our plates and dishes up more food for us, and brings the bottle of wine to top off our glasses. “You need to go back and go over a few things.”

  “No, Audra, you don’t understand.” I lean close to her, eyes wide. “He kisses like a god. He kisses like…like kissing was invented just for him.”

  Audra’s eyes bug out. “You kissed him?” she asks, incredulous, around a mouthful of food.

  “It was…he kissed me, and then it was us kissing each other.” Even now, my lips tingle in memory.

  “But you didn’t fuck him yet, right?” She washes her food down with a huge swallow of red wine. “I mean, that would be so far out of character I don’t think I’d believe you even if you said yes.”

  “Do you have to be so crude about it?” I ask, crankily—this is an old argument between us. “And no, we haven’t slept together.

  “Yet.”

  I take time to eat a few bites before answering. “I…that’s the issue, Audra. I don’t know if I could. Or should.”

  She stares at me, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. “Um. You’re kidding, yes?”

  I frown. “Do I sound like I’m kidding? I drank almost an entire bottle of wine in less than an hour, waiting for you. When was the last time I drank that much that fast? College, I bet.”

  “No, there was the time when you first suspected Douche-Canoe was cheating on you. You called me on a Tuesday and told me to bring hard liquor.”

  I frown even harder. “True. I don’t really remember that night very well, though.”

  Audra cackles. “Well, no shit you don’t remember! You had like ten shots and four beers—and you don’t ever drink anything but wine or margaritas. You were hammered. Like, whoa hammered. As in, more wasted than I think we ever even got in college.”

  I wave a hand. “The point is, Audra, I don’t know what to do.”

  Audra shakes her head. “You make no sense, woman. What should you do? Ride that dick, girlfriend!”

  “Audra!” I scold.

  She cackles again. “Do you expect anything less from me? Do you know me? Have you met me? I’m the least appropriate person on the planet, and you know it.” She goes serious. “For real, though. You should totally sleep with him. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m scared?”

  “Of the size of his dick? Have you seen it?”

  I snort, and almost choke on the wine I was in the middle of swallowing. “God, no!” I glance at the ceiling and shrug. “Well, sort of. I kinda, sorta sent him a topless photo. I had pasties on, but still. Well, not pasties, exactly. Those big pink heart stickers I used for my wedding invitations. I sent him that, and he sent me a pic he took in the public bathroom of his favorite dive bar—of him in his underwear. So…I got a sort of glimpse at what he’s rocking. And yeah, I’m a little afraid.”

  “Show me! I wanna see!” Again, she says this while trying to chew a mouthful of food, making it muffled.

  “Um, no!”

  “I’ve shown you pics guys have sent me,” she whines.

  “Yeah, but you don’t really care about them. It’s all about riding the dick for you, slutty-buns.”

  For once, Audra seems to take real offense. “Hey now, that’s not fair. I do care about them. I just…don’t believe in love.”

  “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  She seems somewhat mollified, but not all the way. “You have to show me, now. Otherwise I’ll be offended for at least two weeks. And then who will you have wet burritos and margaritas with?”

  I sigh. “If he’d sent me an actual nude, I’d say no. But it’s just underwear, so…fine.”

  I pull out my phone, bring up the photo, and show it to her. She blinks at the photo in admiration for a moment, and then pulls the screen closer to her face. “Wait—is that…” She touches the screen with thumb and forefinger and spreads them apart to zoom in. “It is! He’s actually peeking out of those tighty blackies.”

  Her comment blasts a laugh out of me, spraying rice and chicken everywhere. “Tighty blackies? Really, Audra?”

  She’s still staring at the phone. “Jeee-sus, Imogen. You weren’t lying—the man is gorgeous, in a rugged, rough-hewn sort of way.” She glances up at me. “Does he have any hot friends?”

  I grin. “Actually, I did meet one of the guys he works with, and yeah, he’s…um…yeah. He’s hot, too.”

  “I demand an introduction, in that case,” she says, handing the phone back to me finally, but then immediately snatches it back. “Wait—I need to see the photo you sent him.”

  I reach for the phone, trying to take it from her. “NO! It’s emba
rrassing!”

  Audra tosses her plate onto the coffee table and hops over the back of the couch with enviable agility. “Just let me look! It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before, dummy. We used to go skinny-dipping together all the time in the lake at my parents’ cottage up north.”

  I sink back to the couch in defeat. “If you make fun of me, we’ll be fighting for real.”

  While I clean up the mess I made, Audra scrolls through my phone to find the photo, looks at it for a moment or two, and then lifts her eyes to me. “Why are you embarrassed by this, Imogen?” Her voice is uncharacteristically serious. “It’s a beautiful, tasteful, sensual photo. You’re beautiful. He’s a lucky man.”

  I shake my head and snort, but inside I’m fighting a lump in my throat. “Sending that was terrifying. And I felt awkward as hell taking it. I think I took like fifty before I got that one that felt right.”

  Audra is not fooled. “Why does it feel like you’re about to cry?”

  I duck my head. “Feeling good about how I look is…difficult. Nicholas made sure of that.”

  Audra is back over the couch and sitting next to me in an instant. “That’s why you need this, Imogen. This guy makes you feel beautiful?”

  I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah, he really does.”

  “And he’s gorgeous, has a big package, he’s muscular, and you said he’s nice and funny, and he’s got skills, and he’s willing to go out of his way to do things for you.” She gives me a look that says, what are you, stupid? “I don’t see the downside, here. What’s holding you back?”

  “I’m scared, Audra.”

  “Again—of what?”

  “I really, really like him. And I really, really want him.”

  “But…?” she prompts.

  “It’s not a but, it’s a…it’s that I like him maybe too much. He’s a player.” I bob my head to one side. “Not a player—that’s not fair to him. He just doesn’t date.”

  “So he’s like me?”

  I nod. “And you know I love you. But if you slept with a guy, and he started falling for you, what would you do?”

  Audra sighs. “I’d ghost on him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But what if he ends up wanting something besides the same old same old with you?” She shrugs. “It’s not impossible. Maybe he’s just been waiting for the right one, and you’re it? How would he know if you’re it unless you try him out?”

  I snort. “Try him out? He’s not a car, Audra, he’s a person. God, you’re so tactless sometimes.”

  Audra props her feet up on the coffee table, crosses her arms under her breasts, and stares at the ceiling—I wait, knowing that this posture means she’s thinking through something she wants to phrase just right. Finally, she tucks her feet under her thighs and twists to face me.

  “Okay, so answer me this: how long has it been since you’ve had really truly amazing sex? Not just okay married couple boring sex, but world-rocking, earth-shaking, hard-core fucking that you know you won’t ever forget?”

  I have to give this some thought, and the answer that emerges is one I don’t like. “Lee, in college.” It comes out as a whisper.

  “Never once with Nicholas was it like that?”

  I shake my head. “No, not really. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t amazing. Not like that.”

  She frowns at me. “So then…what was the point of being with him?”

  I shrug. “It wasn’t that kind of relationship. It was comforting. Stable. Easy. The sex was good enough for the first few years, and while I knew it wouldn’t shake my world or anything, it was enough to keep me…not satisfied exactly, but not so dissatisfied I’d wander, I guess. Not that I ever would cheat—I’d have left him before I did that.”

  “I think I understand that, to a degree.” Audra dishes herself more food as she answers. “And I mean, I know sex isn’t everything in a relationship, but I’ve never been interested in a relationship, and you know why. But it is an important part of things.”

  “What does this have to do with Jesse?”

  “I’ll get to that,” she says. “But first, another question. The first time you suspected Douche-Canoe was cheating on you, who was there to get you drunk, clean you up, and help you pick up the pieces?”

  I blink hard. “You.”

  “And when you found out for sure, who was there?”

  “You,” I repeat.

  “And when your divorce was finalized, who took you out for a celebration?”

  “Audra—”

  “Who was there for you, Imogen?”

  “You, but—”

  She takes my hands in hers. “So if you get involved with this guy, and you get in too deep and he ends up hurting you—which, I grant, is a possibility—do you really think I won’t be there to help you through it?”

  “I know you will,” I whisper.

  “Okay, so yeah, you stand a chance of getting hurt. You wear your heart on your sleeve and you get attached fast, I know this. And if this guy is a commitment-phobe like me, yeah, he could vanish on you if things get to a place he’s scared of going.” She taps her chest. “But if that happens, I’ll be there to do what best friends do—love you, and get you back on your feet, and make sure you don’t gain a million pounds through heartbreak eating.”

  I laugh. “And you know I would.”

  Audra isn’t done yet. “Next thing I want to say—You’re divorced, now. No kids—I know, I know, touchy subject, and I’m sorry—but it also means you have no commitments besides your job. Nothing holding you back from doing whatever you want. This is your chance to reinvent yourself, Imogen! It’s hard to not fall into the Real Housewives clichés about turning a new page and fresh starts and all that, because that’s really what you have now that you’re free from Douche-Canoe. You can do whatever you want! Be whoever you want. This isn’t a time in your life to let fear hold you back, this is the time to try new things, do things you would never do—” and here she taps my phone, sitting on my thigh, “—like sending topless photos to a hot guy you’re interested in. Be bold, be bad.”

  “Look—after Nicholas, I’m afraid if Jesse hurts me, I’ll never recover, and I’ll die a lonely old maid because I’m too afraid to let myself find anyone.”

  “That logic cuts both ways, babe,” she says. “Anyone you meet has the potential to hurt you. The only way to know if a relationship—whether it’s sexual or romantic or friendship—is safe and that you won’t get hurt is to give it a chance.”

  “Which is why you’re the way you are?” I ask, the question pointed.

  She winces. “Yeah, well…I’m great at giving advice, not so great at following it myself.” She sighs. “We’re talking about you, not me. And I’m telling you, as your best friend, as the person who knows you better than literally anyone on the planet, I’m telling you to go for it with Jesse. If it’s nothing but a one-night stand, great. You’ll have a night I doubt you’ll forget. If it ends up being more, even better. If it’s something in between, like just a temporary thing to scratch an itch you both have, that’s great too. There’s no wrong answer here. You have to move on, Imogen. Your marriage to Douche-Canoe was over a long time ago—the divorce was just the final nail in the coffin. This is your time. You’re not getting any younger, babe, so, you know…seize the day, and all that.”

  “You just may be right,” I admit.

  Audra laughs. “Of course I’m right!”

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll try?” She echoes, faintly.

  I nod. “I’ll try.”

  She shakes her head. “Wrong—this isn’t something you try. You just let whatever happens happen, and you go into it without any expectations. Just enjoy yourself. That’s it. Super simple.”

  “Whatever happens, happens,” I repeat, “and no expectations.”

  “And tell Audra every last dirty, sordid detail, the moment he leaves.”

  I laugh. “And tell Audra e
very last dirty, sordid detail the moment he leaves,” I repeat.

  We drink more wine, and eat too much Chinese food, and then too much ice cream, and watch half of the latest season of The Bachelor on my laptop. Audra falls asleep on my couch—a regular occurrence on our nights in.

  I’m half-asleep myself as I head upstairs, but when I get into bed, I can’t sleep from the excitement I feel. There’s trepidation, too—the fear of getting hurt hasn’t gone away or lessened, but I know Audra will help me through it if that happens. And Audra is right—I have to get back out there, or I never will.

  And besides—everything I’ve experienced with Jesse so far tells me that regardless of how things end up with him, it’ll be worth it.

  Earth-shaking, world-rocking, hard-core fucking? Yes, please.

  I fall asleep trying to picture what that might feel like.

  Chapter 10

  I’m nowhere near bold enough to simply ask Jesse to come over so we can sleep together, so I’m oddly relieved when my kitchen sink starts leaking the next day.

  I text him immediately, but have to edit my text several times before I’m comfortable with the wording: Hey, so my kitchen sink is leaking, both from where the faucet attaches to the sink and around the edges where it’s supposed to be sealed to the countertop. Any chance you have a pretty porcelain farmhouse sink just laying around?

  The bubbles pop up immediately, and a text bloops in a second later: You just want me for my skill with power tools.

  I let my fingers do the talking, and don’t edit or filter my reply. Yep. No ulterior motives here. Just pure opportunism.

  Jesse: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.

  Me: that’s the tricky thing about text messages, it’s hard to infer stuff like that.

  Jesse: Ryder is doing the electric for a remodel an old farmhouse remodel, and I think they’re actually doing a total gut job and going super modern on the inside, so there’s a possibility I may be able to score one.

  Me: I was totally kidding about that. I’ll gladly pay for a new sink. I mean, you may even be able to fix the one I have, but I’ve always wanted a farmhouse sink. You don’t have to go scavenging for me.