Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 16- Jeremy

S ilence was the enemy. Keeping a constant stream of noise directed at my ear holes was key. It didn’t matter what it was. Metal, grunge, country, sports radio, podcasts, fucking show tunes. Because anytime there was silence, my mind wandered. Sometimes it took the scenic route through images of how fucking amazing that night was. It didn’t feel real because she was a goddess. Mostly, though, it preferred an off-trail path of all the ways I’d screwed up—how awkward this was going to make things when she inevitably realized I was a mistake, how I would likely lose my best friend in the whole ordeal as well when Jesse rightly took her side, and on and on and on.

I had emailed her the stupid updated spreadsheet and added enough emojis to hopefully seem normal. She sent back a simple thanks, and that was that. I had typed out too many messages yesterday without sending any of them because I couldn’t decide how to play it.

I hadn’t been lying. I wasn’t fine. Leaving her standing in her living room had been the hardest thing I’d done in a long time. I wanted to stay and hold her and, honestly, go another round. But if I’d stayed, the idea of leaving would have become impossible. And the whole god damned crux of the issue in the first place was that I wasn’t that guy. She deserved that guy. This delightful spiral was what I had to look forward to any time the noise stopped.

The holiday weekend was over, and I was happy I had to be at work. The more distractions, the better. I went in early . I didn’t take out my earbuds, knowing that if I stopped to talk to Rachel, she’d immediately call me on my ridiculous attitude. Thankfully, she was helping a customer, and I didn’t have to deal with it. I didn’t want to talk to her about Lauren. That made it feel like I was bragging or like I’d done something worth acknowledging when all I’d done was fuck myself over so royally I might never recover.

Bravo .

I did need to go out, though. Jesse and Sam were both out of the question. I needed a full three business days before I could have a good enough poker face to talk to either of them, maybe more for Sam and her fucking psychic abilities. I shot off a text to Danny, a mutual friend of Jesse’s and mine, to see if he wanted to grab a drink after work. We hadn’t ever hung out, just the two of us, so it felt a little like I was asking him out or trying to arrange a playdate, but I was desperate.

JEREMY : Hey man- are you around after work to grab a beer or something?

DANNY: Yeah, I’m around.

JEREMY: Anywhere but The Bar. I’ll buy the first round.

DANNY: Reds game is on at 6, and there’s a new sports bar in Cloverdale.

JEREMY: Sweet. Send me the info, and I’ll meet you there.

Okay. That would help. Sitting at home alone after work was no longer on the agenda.

I managed to avoid Rachel and her increasingly invasive questions until I could clock out, a headache forming behind my eyes, likely from having my earbuds in all day long. I knew I looked like shit, but I also didn’t think Danny was going to be expecting me pretty and ready to put out, so I drove straight to Cloverdale to whatever new wing spot had opened.

He wasn’t there yet, so I took it upon myself to order a shot. Then another. Then another. Then a beer.

“Hey, man. Qué pasa?”

“Hey. Not a lot. Just needed to get out. I’ll get you a drink.”

I came back with a Dos Equis in hand.

He eyed the beer suspiciously.

“It’s because I’m Mexican, isn’t it? Like I can only drink beer that’s in Spanish?”

I almost choked on my own breath.

“Wha? No, no. Last time we were all out, you ordered a Dos Equis, so I figured—”

“Yeah, I’m fucking with you. Thanks for reacting perfectly.”

A shit-eating grin spread across his face, and I could have punched him.

“You’re a dick.”

“Eh, your reputation precedes you. Takes one to know one. Cheers.”

He clinked his beer with mine, and I slid onto the barstool, deciding Danny and I could be actual friends if he’d already called me a dick within five minutes of the first time we’d really hung out.

“Ah, for the record, what does Dos Equis mean? I mean, I know two ...”

“I can’t tell you that. It’s a cultural secret. Reds are down already in the second?”

I shook my head, sinking into my chair and focusing on the game. I played everything in high school. One, because I was a big guy with a modicum of athletic ability, so they’d put me on whatever team, but two, because it kept me out of my house and, therefore, away from my dad. I never had the raw talent for any sport, though, that Jesse did for baseball. Scholarship offers did not come in for me, especially as a barely-C-student. I didn’t have a particular emotional attachment to any one sport, and I was able to enjoy just being a fan. I absolutely got my Jesse’s struggle with watching pro-baseball after his injury, but it was kind of nice to drink a beer and watch a game.

The three shots and two beers had hit my bloodstream hard, being that I rarely had more than a single drink when I went out anymore, and it was becoming clear they were a bad idea. Rather than drowning out my thoughts about Lauren, it only amplified how fucking badly I wanted her. I tried to focus on Danny talking shit about the ump and something about him working to get his contractor’s license.

“You should do it. Get the license, you know? I bake now. I mean, I got, like, a pastry certification. To make cakes. They’re good.”

Danny was shaking with laughter.

“You are lit up , man.”

“Fuck. I am. Don’t let me text her.”

I had enough of my brainpower left that I knew I should not drunk text Lauren. Or anyone.

“Well, everything makes more sense now. Who am I not letting you text?”

“Lauren,” I grumbled.

“Garrett? Like, my boss’s daughter? Jesse’s sister?”

“That’s the one.”

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“I’m not going to be responsible for you doing some dumb white-boy shit, like drunk dialing her for a booty call or throwing rocks at her window or something. I have benefits at that job, bro.”

I slid my phone across the table at him, and he pocketed it, still chuckling about my baked goods.

We watched the rest of the game, and I got myself a lot of water, sobering up a bit. Danny swore when he checked his phone a bit later and asked to settle his tab.

“I gotta go. I’ll drive your ass home, but you’re going to have to bribe someone else to bring you back in the morning because I’m off tomorrow, and we’re not ride or dies yet, you know? But hold out hope because you don’t annoy me. Much.”

“I’ll stare at the phone waiting for your call, Danny.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Everything okay? With whatever that text was?”

“Ah, my sister. My niece’s father—and I use that term loosely—bounced without a word again a couple weeks ago. Mari doesn’t wanna tell our parents, meaning I’m call number one when shit goes wrong. Daniela spiked a fever and needs meds.”

“Oh, shit. I can get another ride if you need to—”

“All good. There’s that 24-hour pharmacy by your place, anyway.”

He shrugged like this was not the first time he’d needed that information. We listened to what I was pretty sure was mariachi music on the drive, and I was eighty-five percent certain he was fucking with me. He did get me home at a reasonable hour and gave me back my phone, so all in all, he was a gentleman.

“Good luck with your best friend’s sister. I’m sure that won’t be messy at all. Vaya con Dios!”

He sped off, and I stumbled into my apartment. Since there was no danger of me arriving at Lauren’s townhouse and throwing rocks at her window, I figured a single text couldn’t hurt. Or it might hurt a lot, but I felt like I deserved it.

JEREMY: Can I come bake at your house on Thursday?

JEREMY: Also. I’m still not fine.

LAUR: Sure, I’m done at 2 on Thursday.

LAUR: I don’t think I’m fine either. Night, Jer.

JEREMY: Night, Laur.