Page 88 of Existential
THIRTY-SIX
Dagne
I knew when we returned to Fort Worth, Hooch would have a stack of responsibilities as president to take care of. Just how many, I grossly underestimated.
Now I know why King’s partner gets grumpy when he doesn’t make it home in time for dinner. Hooch has barely stepped foot outside of the office the past four days.
I rinse and stack dishes in the kitchen while Beth loads the dishwasher. The southern clubhouse doesn’t see nearly as many people through it day-to-day as their Lincoln counterparts. At most, there are half a dozen regulars who eat and sleep here, and no more than a handful who pass through sporadically throughout the week.
“You seem happier since you were here last,” Beth states out of nowhere.
I smile over at her as she lines up the cutlery in their slots. “That so?”
“Yeah.” She dusts her hands off on her shorts and shuts the dishwasher. “I just hadn’t said anything until now because I wasn’t sure if it was a permanent thing or not.”
“My happiness?”
“You and Hooch.” She catches my shocked reaction. “I didn’t mean it like that; he seems real sweet on you. It was more I didn’t want to put my foot in it if it was just a … you know …”
“Fling?”
“Yeah.” She smiles, punching the buttons to start the machine.
I pull the stopper out of the sink and wipe down the sides with the dishcloth. “Has he had many women in the past? Like, is a fling his usual MO?”
“Ah, I see what you’re doing there.”
“What?”
“You’re comparing yourself to his past conquests.”
“Pfft. Whatever.” I totally am.
“Nope. Not going there,” Beth sing-songs as she snatches the cloth from me and wanders through to the dining area to wipe down the tables.
I follow her through, stopping in the doorway and resting my shoulder into it. “Does it ever bother you?”
“Past conquests?”
“Yeah.” I frown. “I mean, you’re not exclusive with anyone, right?”
Hurt flashes in her eyes before she schools her expression and wipes an already clean table. “No. I mean, if I had the opportunity with the right guy here, maybe. But no, they’re all no strings attached.” She laughs, but the hollow sound doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You wish it was with one in particular?”
Her smile tells me to stop being so silly—of course I know.
“Crackers.”
“Yeah.” She stops wiping, wringing the cloth in her hands. “He’s a real sweet guy under it all.”
“They all seem to be.”
Her eyes shoot wide, and she waves the cloth in my direction. “Oh, no way. No they aren’t. Trust me, sugar, some of these men around here?” She tutts, shaking her head side to side. “No good for anybody.”
“Well,” I appease, “Hooch seems to be like that: one guy on the outside, another behind closed doors.”
“It’s his job to be like that. He has to put up a strong front so the guys all respect him.” She moves to the next table, wiping as she looks at me from the corner of her eye. “I heard he had a bit of a meltdown while y’all were up north.”