“Nice to meet you again,” Peck whistles.
“Likewise.” Delaney tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sienna has told me a lot about you.”
“Have you?” he looks at me. “It better have been good.”
“Of course it was good. What could I possibly say bad about you?”
“This is why I like you,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. “So, what’s happening?”
“Not much. Why are you here?”
“End of the year baseball party. Fun times, y’all. Fun times.” He cranks his neck, strumming his fingers on the back of the booth. “How’d work go today?”
He’s clearly prodding for information, sensing something is off. Peck usually isn’t serious, nor does he care about how work went today. Him asking this makes me curious.
“Got a tractor in,” I say simply. “Walker spent the day on that.”
“Ah, shit. Those are a bitch. I wish he would’ve called. I could’ve skipped out on the end-of-the-year party for the little league if he had.”
Taking a deep breath, I lift my glass to my lips and try not to squeeze the glass until it snaps. “I went back tonight and helped him.”
“You helped him? Work on the tractor?”
“I’m going to use the ladies’ room,” Delaney cuts in. “Be back in a minute.”
I wait until she’s gone before I continue, my stomach sloshing with wine and anxiety, the acid almost starting to burn. “He’s a complete asshole, Peck.”
Peck leans away as if he needs the room to comprehend this announcement. “Okay. What the hell happened?”
I sigh, taking the drink I’ve been holding. The liquid rolls down my throat with ease, the two glasses before this one making it an easy trek. My fingertips are warm; a slight numbness I’ve been chasing all evening washes over me.
“You okay?” he asks, a look of concern settling over his features. “How many glasses have you had?”
“Not enough.”
“What the hell did he do?”
My laugh displays the fury I’m trying to keep in check, the load of embarrassment that’s turned to so much anger I can barely hold it in. “I’m over it.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yup.”
“Look, Sienna,” Peck stumbles, getting comfortable in his seat. “I don’t know exactly what just went down, but please stay cool.”
“Stay cool?” I ask. “He just fucked me and then dismissed me, Peck. My ability to stay cool is broken.”
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters, resting his forehead on the table.
“I’m mad, naturally, but I’m madder at myself,” I say, still working it out in my head. “I let myself get in that position. I let my guard down. My fault.”
Peck raises his head and looks at me. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no callousness or amusement. Just a sincerity that makes me want to hug him.
“I can only imagine what happened and if it’s as bad as I think it is, I’m not making excuses for him,” Peck says quietly. “He’s a grown man. But I will apologize on his behalf because you don’t deserve to have any of his issues put on you.”
“You’re darn right I don’t.” I pick at a slice of lemon I removed earlier from my plate. “I obviously won’t be back at Crank. I don’t want to see him again.”
“I can understand that.”
Taking in his handsome features and the sweetness in his eyes, I give in. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I give him a quick, simple hug. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”
“I’m really sorry about Walker,” he says. “If you need anything, just call. Okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know you will, you little badass,” he laughs. “But I mean it. I can move furniture, pick up food, listen to you cry but that’s not my favorite. Only call me for that as a last option.”
“Okay,” I laugh, watching Delaney come back across the room. “Thanks, Peck.”
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
He slides out of the seat. “I got a few things to do. Again, you need anything, call me.”
“Will do.”
I watch him walk out of the restaurant, stopping to say hello to a few people on the way out, and wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
THE MUSIC SWITCHES FROM a hip-hop beat to a country song. Patrons of Crave raise their glasses, inebriated cheers that only come at this point on a Friday night ringing out through the bar. I sit near the phallic ducks in the back and watch everyone celebrate the end of the workweek and what might be the end of my reason to get up in the morning.
Nora, Machlan’s steady Friday night helper, catches my eye through the dim lights. Casting a glance over her shoulder, ensuring there’s no one waiting for a drink, she sits backwards on the chair next to me.
“You look like hell,” she says.
Her short blonde hair is all tousled, sweat lining her forehead from buzzing back and forth across this place a million times over the past few hours. Eye makeup smeared, giving her a rock star look, I could tell her she looks like hell too, but I’d be lying. I could also be wrong because everything is kind of blurred.