Bait (Wake, #1)(21)

Then my dad hugged me, which wasn't uncommon, but this hug was tight. He whispered into my ear, “Cheer up, you look like it's the last day of summer.” He gave me another squeeze and rocked me side to side. “Good luck tomorrow, baby girl.”

I said into his shoulder, “The interview will go fine, it isn't like I'm unemployed.”

“I'm not talking about that.” And he kissed my head. “Be happy.” I knew his simple words were meant two ways. My dad could see through my bullshit. He never told me what to do, but knew how to comfort me regardless.



Like I requested, Grant took me home and didn't even attempt at coming in. I'd been carrying this weight around with me the last few weeks and even though he didn't know what it was, he knew well enough to give me some space.

I couldn't put a name to my feelings. I'm not sure there even was one. All I knew was this other man had crept his way into my head and he didn't want to leave. I needed an exorcism. A Casey-cism. And that night was as good of a night as any to try my best at making that happen.

I looked through pictures of Grant and me.

I played Grant’s favorite music.

I even made myself a rum and Coke—his favorite drink—and I did everything to put my head back into Grant-mode. And it was working. I flipped through my phone at the pictures I'd taken of him and us and played our best hits, memory-flashback style, in my mind.

We'd met when I was home on Christmas break my senior year of culinary school. We were pumping gas at pumps that faced each other. He peeked around a few times and smiled. He was cute, a clean-cut, all-American boy. It was cold and he had a scarf wrapped around his neck. When I caught him smiling at me he slunk his neck down into the argyle to hide his grin.

Our gas pumps went off at the same time. We walked into the station to pay. He held the door open for me and let me go first in line at the register. I paid. He paid. We both walked out. As I was starting my car, I watched him do the same, he gave me another look and didn't hide his smile from me that time. Then he started to pull away. It was then that I noticed he'd left his gas cap and flippy-door open. I sprang from my car and ran after him, waving my arms, “Wait! Your gas thing is open.”

He slammed on the brakes and shifted into park. Jumping from the vehicle, he ran back at me.

“What? What's wrong?” he asked huffing.

“I'm fine. It's your gas cap. You left it open.”

Grant turned behind him to see what I was talking about and then embarrassment covered his face, he looked back at me. “God, I thought you wanted something else.” He ran his gloved hands over his short hair. Then out of the blue he said, “Let me buy you dinner.”

His statement shocked me, as I wasn't expecting a date out of the whole ordeal, but I simply said, “Okay.”

He pulled his phone from his coat pocket and asked, “Can I have your number?” I gave it to him and he promised to call. I knew that he would. I never doubted I'd get a call from him and I had looked forward to it.

“What's your name?”

“Grant Kelly. What's yours?”

“Blake Warren.”

“I like it. I've never known a female Blake before.”

“Well, you do now.”

“Yes. I guess I do.” He shuffled his feet like he didn't want to leave, but had somewhere to be. “I'll call you, Blake, the female, and we'll work out our date.” With that he beamed.

“Sounds good. Merry Christmas.”

“It is now.” He walked back to his truck and closed the gas thing. He looked at me, no short of three more times, before he shook his phone in the air and he stepped inside the cab of his truck.

I let those memories wash over my consciousness, I felt better than I had in the weeks since I'd returned. Grant was a great guy and come the next night he'd be my fiancé, for real.

I had needed that.

I needed to get my head clear of him and focus on what I had. A man that loved me. A man that would take care of me. When my phone buzzed, I assumed it was Grant telling me good night, as I lay in my bed ready for a peaceful night's sleep. But when I read the name on the screen, I knew it was a lost cause. My dreams would be hijacked. Again.

Casey: Good luck at the interview tomorrow.

What the hell?

My stomach knotted with a need. A need to reply. I didn't want to text him. I didn't want to think about him. Sometimes you don't get what you want or need, but sometimes you just can't tell the damn difference.

So much for pretending I didn't have his number.





Sunday, June 22, 2008


I COULDN'T KEEP PRETENDING I didn't have her number. It had been almost a month and she was all I thought about. If she didn't reply, or told me to f*ck off, I would have left her alone. Probably. But what I couldn't do was have her number in my phone and act like I didn't skate past it ten times a day anymore.

Honeybee: Thanks. How did you know about that?

Me: Micah. I overheard her talking to Cory about it. She said that she'd wanted it, but didn't want to travel. So she recommended you. Do you want to be away from home that much?

Honeybee: I like to travel.

ME: Me too. I've been doing a lot more of it for my job. I'm in Phoenix now.