The Pumpkin Man

CHAPTER

TWELVE

“Let’s go to San Francisco tonight,” Kirstin suggested. She looked as if she expected an argument, but Jenn didn’t offer one.

“Okay.”

“You’re serious?”

“Why not? We’re in California, we’re not that far from the city, and we need to take the rental car back.”

“I should have known you’d find a practical reason.”

“Are you complaining?”

She wasn’t, and three hours later they were in the city. Jenn drove Meredith’s old Toyota, following Kirstin. After returning the rental, they walked through the crazy color of Chinatown, marveling at the stores and window fronts filled with intricately carved ivory dragons, racks upon racks of colorful silk kimonos, and whole chickens hung from spits. They ate dim sum and then drove down to the Bottom of the Hill club. Kirstin had spotted a band playing there in the San Francisco Chronicle: The Colorful Mission.

The club really was at the bottom of a hill.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jenn asked as they got out of the Toyota. It was quiet all around but for the giant neon sign above the building, which buzzed in the darkness.

“It’ll be fine,” Kirstin said. “We’ll find us some nice boys. Just not too nice!”

Inside, they’d just gotten two Sprite and raspberry vodkas when Kirstin caught Jenn’s eye and winked. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. Jenn looked, and she saw a guy at a table staring in their direction.

“He’s kinda cute,” Kirstin murmured. “And he’s looking at you.”

Jennica felt heat rise in her cheeks. He was kinda cute. His hair was brown and cropped, and his eyes looked warm and kind even from across the room. She liked the strong set of his chin, and she had to look away before he caught her staring.

“Okay, so now what?” she asked.

“Give him a smile and look away. Then give him another one in a minute or two. He’ll come over. ’Course, that leaves me up a creek. Or . . . Never mind. Looks like he’s got a friend!”

A dark-haired guy had appeared with a pitcher of beer, and he sat next to the man watching Jenn. Kirstin shifted on her seat enough so that her cleavage jutted forward. Then she made a show of sipping her drink and looking in their direction.

Jenn snorted. “Why don’t you just take off your top and be done with it?”

Kirstin laughed and shook her head. “So gauche. I’ve just given them the universal sign: breasts and a nearly empty drink. My bet’s on a refill shortly.”

“You can’t be serious.” But Jenn knew she was. And before she’d shaken her head in disbelief—or disgust—a shadow fell across them.

“Hi,” said the dark-haired guy. “I’m Brian.” He out held his hand. Kirstin took it. She held it a moment too long, Jenn thought.

“My friend Nick and I are just hanging out tonight on our own, and we wondered if we could buy you girls a drink.”

Kirstin blinked innocently. “I’m almost empty. How about you, Jenn? I’m Kirstin, by the way,” she said.

“Do you want to join us?” Brian asked. He pointed. “We have a table.”

It was an easy decision. Moments later they were all squeezed around the table and Jenn and Kirstin had full drinks. Nick and Brian poured from the pitcher.

“You here for The Colorful Mission?” Nick asked. His voice was quiet, but still he could be heard above the noise. He pointed to the band playing on the small stage just past the bar.

Jenn pointed to Kirstin, who was giving Brian wide eyes and every trick in the world to make it clear she was interested. Jenn wanted to barf. “She saw the listing in the Chronicle.”

“Yeah.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I read the article, too, but they picked a dog this time.”

She agreed. With its angular rhythms and mix of horns, synths and guitars, the band wanted to be Oingo Boingo but seemed to be having a hard time staying in key. She was happy to tune them out.

Somehow, two vodkas bled into four, and then the band finally stopped caterwauling and tore down. A DJ took their place, spinning a nostalgic This is the ’80s set. He ran through Nick Heyward, Duran Duran, The Cure and then Romeo Void. “Never Say Never” had Kirstin leaning on Brian as she slurred, “I might like you better if we slept together . . .” Then the entire bar began a sing-along to the Violent Femmes anthem “Blister in the Sun.” There was definitely a feeling of love spreading through the small space; brotherly, sisterly and otherly.

When last call came, Jenn was seeing trails whenever she ran her gaze past the Christmas light strands wreathing the bar. “I don’t think I can drive,” she told Kirstin.

Her roommate giggled. “Yeah, me neither!” She promptly batted her eyes at Brian.

He grinned. “You can stay with us. We’re not far from here. We’ll get your car in the morning.”

“Are you sure about this?” Jenn whispered as the two guys stood up. She struggled to keep her words from slurring. “We don’t really know them.”

“They’re good,” Kirstin promised. “And . . . there’s no way we’re driving an hour and a half home like this.”

They piled into Brian’s car and traveled a few blocks to an old apartment building just off the expressway. Flipping the lights on, Brian announced, “Well, we have two beds and a couch. So I guess one of us could take the bathtub, or . . .”

Kirstin laughed and took him by the hand. “Come on and show me your room, silly boy.”

They disappeared behind a closed door. Jenn found herself uncomfortably alone with Nick.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said, slumping into it almost before she finished talking.

He smiled. “Hang on.” A minute later, he came back with a pillow and blanket.

“Thanks,” she said, lying back and making herself comfortable. But when he turned out the light and said good night, Jenn suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say, “Wait.”

He sat down near her feet on the couch. His voice was low, almost nervous. “What’s up?”

“Would you mind . . . just staying here with me a little bit?” she asked. “I’m a little weirded out, being here in a strange place.”

“No problem,” he replied.

Jenn wasn’t sure what would happen next, but she felt the weight of him along her back. The couch was deep, so he slid in easily behind her. Sharing her pillow, he slipped his arm across her waist, and with his warmth, an ease fell over her, an ease she hadn’t felt in a long time. Between the alcohol and the feeling of being protected, she drifted quickly to sleep.

“I would have thought your bed might be more comfortable,” Brian said.

Jenn groggily opened one eye. The room was bright with morning light, and her back was hot from the sun.

“Yeah, well, we just kinda crashed here,” said a voice behind her ear. Nick.

Jenn’s internal eyebrows raised. WTF? She’d spent the night on the couch with a guy she’d only met hours before?

Kirstin appeared, clad only in a San Francisco Giants T-shirt. Jenn had never seen it before. Her friend stretched, nipples clearly evident through the fabric. Brian rested his arm on her shoulder, and she smiled at him.

Oh gawd, Jenn thought.

“Brian said we could go to the beach today,” Kirstin announced.

“I’m not sure I can get off this couch,” Jenn said, lifting her head and feeling the hangover.

Nick lifted his arm, and suddenly Jenn felt cold. Exposed. She wanted him back.

“Beach?” he said, struggling to push himself upright.

“Baker Beach,” Kirstin enthused. “It’s by the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Nick said.

“Just one problem,” Jenn pointed out, at the same time pressing a palm to her forehead. It felt hot, too. “We don’t have our swimsuits.”

“Not a problem,” Brian said. “Baker Beach is partially nude. You don’t need suits.”

“Um, I don’t know—” Jenn started to say, but Kirstin cut her off.

“There’s nothing better for a hangover than sun and sand.”

Jenn laid her head back. To be honest, at the moment she didn’t care if the whole world saw her naked. She just didn’t care. Jenn closed her eyes.