“Well, I already fixed one bleeding body part.” She taps my nose, and it stings a bit from all the bangs it’s been through tonight. “I can try to fix the other one.”
6 MONTHS, 7 DAYS AGO: 8:49 P.M.
The clock on my dash reads 8:49, and I wince at the early getaway I just successfully pulled off. Jace—in a completely out-of-character maneuver—set me up on a blind date with one of the extras in the movie he’s shooting. I don’t know what possessed him to think of me when he’d normally just take the girl out himself (she’s more his type anyway), but I went with it since he did me a favor a few weeks ago.
I made no promises to make the date last longer than necessary, however. After an hourlong conversation on her political viewpoints, she dove into how she dresses her cats. When I realized the cat wardrobe was the most interesting subject we’d broached for the evening, I paid the bill and dropped her off without a nightcap. I reserve those for my best friend on occasions such as this.
I park in Theresa’s stall at her place since her main form of transportation is her own two feet, and then take the stairs two at a time to get to her. I’m too pumped to wait for an elevator. The last month or so has been pure adrenaline in her company. I don’t know if it’s her or if it’s me, but things are better than they ever have been. Yeah, I’m still in love with her, but it’s not so painful anymore. Maybe because she’s stopped looking at me like some wounded puppy.
I tap one knuckle against the door before pushing it open a crack. “You naked?”
Something clinks in the kitchen, and I hear Theresa’s laugh float through the air. “Maybe I should be. Might make cleaning more fun.”
After the all-clear I step inside and slide off my jacket. She’s elbow-deep in sink suds, cringing at something she can’t quite scrub off. The woman rarely cleans, so when she does it’s adorable and amusing to watch her attempt it.
I join her in the kitchen and roll my sleeves to my elbows. She looks at the clock on the oven behind her.
“Ooh, that bad, huh?” she asks.
“Bright side,” I say, pointing my finger at her, “I now have a better understanding of the Democratic Party.”
“Ew, she talked politics on a first date?”
“And cats. I also know too much about her cats.”
She raises an eyebrow. “How many does she have?”
“Five.”
“Their names are…?”
“Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and the twins are Mary-Kate and Ashley.”
“You lie.”
“I wish.”
She laughs and makes a whomp whomp sound effect.
“Still better than the worst date you’ve had,” I say, nudging her as I grab a hand towel.
“Getting puked on is hard to beat.”
I’d totally forgotten about that one. Tiny chuckles shake my shoulders, and she playfully nudges me back, splashing some water out of the sink and onto the counter.
“I was actually talking about the guy who robbed you,” I say.
“That one wasn’t so bad.” She hands me a wet plate to dry. “I did get a phenomenal kiss that night.”
My stomach jumps up into my throat, and I have to shove it back down where it belongs in order to speak properly.
“Phenomenal. This is true.”
She wrinkles her nose in a playful Eskimo-kiss way, and before I have a chance to ruin the repartee we have going with another declaration of love, a wave of soapy dishwater floods the countertop and the waistband of my pants. I shake my head at her and take a step back so I don’t get any wetter.
She starts singing under her breath, and instead of joining in this time I listen and think, wondering why she’d bring up the subject we are so used to sweeping under the very crowded rug. (Not that I don’t like hearing that the kiss we shared the night she was robbed was “phenomenal.” I’ve often described it that way in my head.) It was just brought up so casually. Guess time has done its healing thing. Either that or she’s moved on and hasn’t said anything. Maybe I’m feeling this closeness and pull toward her simply because she’s a pleasure to be around. No drama, no mess. Like another friend in our circle right now.
“Can I ask you a question without you laughing at me?” I ask, rotating the towel around the plate I’ve been drying for a solid three minutes. Any more and I’ll dry off the patterned hearts around the edges.
“I make no promises,” she teases. I take a deep breath and just blurt it out.
“Did you sleep with Jace?”
Uncontrollable rumbles of laughter roll out of her, one after the other, so much so that she has to clutch the kitchen sink to keep herself upright. Unbridled relief starts filling me up from toe to neck, grateful to get this reaction from her. Though it’s a bit ridiculous now that I say it out loud.
I feel my nose wrinkling up and I nod at the dish I’m drying. “Yes, thank you for answering that with so much sensitivity. I don’t feel like an idiot at all.”
“I’m sorry.” She gets hold of her laughter. “It’s just…what the hell made you think that?”
“Have you seen him lately?” The guy is practically shitting rainbows.
“Oh, yes, he’s definitely getting some from somewhere.” She flicks some suds on my shirt. Even cleaning up she makes a mess. “But why would you think of me? I told you I’m not ready for that.”
“But you…”
“But I what?”
I shake my head and get back to drying another dish. “Never mind.”
“No.” She spins around, crossing her sudsy arms and soaking the sides of her shirt. “Spit it out.”
“You said that to me so long ago. Seems like you could be ready since, you know…” God, how do I put it without sounding like a dick?
“Since I’ve slept with other guys?” she finishes for me.
“Well, yeah.” I shrug. Sex seems like “ready.” Then again, sex isn’t something casual for me. “Guess I don’t get it,” I admit.
“It never means anything,” she says, bringing her gaze up to meet mine. “It never has.”
“Sucks.”
“Yeah, well…” She shrugs. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
“I forgot it.”
“Why do you think I’m the one sleeping with Jace?”
I roll my head back and laugh at myself for even thinking it. “Because you’re happier too. Can’t help but notice it.”
“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully, then turns back around to unplug the sink. Guess she’s washed all she wants to tonight, since there’s still a pile left.
“Can I tell you something without you laughing at me?” she asks, flicking her gaze over her shoulder.
“I make no promises,” I tease.
“I haven’t slept with anyone since the robbery.”
My shock almost causes me to break her favorite coffee mug in the middle of drying it. “Why not?”
“You asked me to do background checks. I’m too lazy for that.”
A small chuckle rises in my throat, but it’s caught somewhere before it truly comes out. I did ask her that, but I was only half serious. I was more or less just trying to get her to stop sleeping with men she barely knew, not only for selfish reasons, but also to protect her heart and her safety.
“But really…?” I press, knowing she has a real answer for me.
“But really,” she says, smile softening, “one-night stands weren’t healing my broken heart. So I had to find other ways to do it.” She slowly whips the towel in my direction. “My method is working. Hence the ‘happy.’ ” Her lips turn up for two seconds before her brow wrinkles and the corners of her mouth drop. “I do miss sex, though.”
I pop out a laugh. “Makes two of us.”
“I’d suggest we help each other out, but you know…”
“I know what?”
“With you, it would mean something.”
“Mean something to you?” I ask, pushing down the ray of hope that’s rising in my chest
. “Or to me?”
She pushes back the red-brown hair dangling from her ponytail. “How would I know if it meant something to you?”
What a ludicrous question, so I answer with a somewhat arrogant smile.
“You’d know.”
And I swear I see her pulse jump in her neck, drying up my mouth and making me feel like there’s hope where it shouldn’t be. On second glance, I’m most likely imagining things, and like all other conversation that has the potential to lead this friendship into uncharted territory, it’s chased away by a joke and a shared laugh, and never spoken of again.
Chapter 10
PRESENT DAY
Rian convinces me to go to Central Park, filling our quota of long, silent walks. She gazes at her feet, looking like she has much on her mind, and when I try to ask about it, she gives whatever I say a sexual connotation, and I’m suddenly tongue-tied and sweating even though it’s mid-February.
I want to say what a bust Valentine’s Day has been, but my determination to make this night better still hasn’t waned. We’ve still got time to—
“It’s midnight,” Rian says, brushing a stray piece of purple hair from her forehead. She stops in front of me, letting her eyes fall slowly to my lips. Her long lashes sweep the tops of her high cheekbones. Her teeth gently bite the inside of her bottom lip, and I notice a hole where a piercing must’ve been, but she went without the metal tonight.
“I take it you want to cash in?” I ask, moving my gaze from her mouth to slightly behind her for some dumb reason. I’ve been trying to get that kiss all night, hoping that it’ll magically wipe the slate clean (or, as Rian put it, seal up the wound). And though I told her I’m not really a superstitious guy, I’m starting to believe that fate, God, the universe, or whatever you want to call it has intervened in every way it could.
She nods, smiling at me, and then rises on her toes like she has at least ten times tonight. Her breath is warm and her lips look soft and plump and she’s holding her breath. I cup her cheeks, cradle her in my palms, and check the moisture of my lips. Everything seems ready and good, and it’s romantic and starry. Her wrist taps my elbow slightly as she feathers her hands up my ribs.
It’s perfect. It should crack through my cement heart.
So I’m not sure why, but an undeniable hope builds inside of me, and not the hope to move on—it’s the hope that fate will decide to send another basketball into our faces.
THREE WEEKS, TWO DAYS AGO: 4:53 A.M.
Theresa’s bare back rises and falls in deep, satisfied slumber. The wind blows in from the open window, wafting the strands of her long hair over her face.
She smiles in her sleep. It’s been so long since I’ve watched her sleep that I’d completely forgotten what it looked like.
It doesn’t have to mean anything.
The words were said right before it happened, but they were all lies. Every single one of them. My heart thuds hard, crashes against my rib cage, slides down into the pit of my stomach, and stops beating altogether as I slowly rise from the sheets. I stuff my legs into a pair of jeans sitting on top of my dresser, throw a shirt over my head, and take one last glance at the woman who just blew my mind.
I imagined our first “morning after” would be a lot different than this one. If I ever had the chance to make love to Theresa, I thought, I wanted her to fall asleep while I drew patterns across the skin of her back, and I wanted her to wake up next to me and make fun of my breath but kiss me anyway. I wanted to offer her breakfast, suggest another go-round in the sheets, or ask her to date me or kiss me or marry me. I wanted all those things, and I feel like calling a redo. Not a redo of our night together with her naked in my arms, but of the conversation before all of the significant events.
Suddenly my body collapses in on itself from the inside out. Burning heat pricks at the back of my eyes, and I force it to stay inside, where I keep all the feelings I have for her locked away.
Even though it’s my room, I duck out, tapping the doorframe slightly before leaving her there alone. It’s the coward’s way, but I don’t want to wake up and see the regret on her face, watch her walk away like I was just another one-night stand to help ease the loneliness.
I don’t want to tell her I love her again, only to have her say that she can’t…she won’t ever love me back. And I have a feeling the next time I open my mouth, those will be the words that will roll off my tongue.
Chapter 11
PRESENT DAY
“I can’t.”
Rian releases her held breath, warming my parted lips. Her eyes open, wide and surprised, and I drop my hands from her face, slam my eyes shut, pull at my hair, and step away to pace and pace like a damn fool.
I’m a red-blooded, available male. The world’s telling me that I’m supposed to be able to do this. To take what’s offered. To be able to kiss and touch and screw anytime an opportunity comes my way. That this is somehow moving on. That this is cathartic and helpful and numbs the ache of rejection from the one woman I desire. The world believes that I should be capable of having sex without feelings, that I can use it to satiate the craving in my nature. It’s what I hear in my head, what I see around me in movies, in books, in characters in scripts. I see it in real life, with people I know, people I don’t know, people I’ve worked with, and people I’ve loved. But that’s not who I am.
I’m a red-blooded available male who is so absolutely crazy in one-sided love that I can’t work up any willpower to enjoy an intimate touch with another woman, no matter how attractive or willing she may be. And the world may be right—this near-stranger, or a whole string of near-strangers, may be able to patch up the scratches on my wounded ego. But I need something to patch up the deep cuts on my heart, and I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s capable of that is time.
“I’m so sorry. There’s something wrong in here,” I say, pressing a hand against my chest. “It needs to be fixed and it needs more time and I’m still in love with her and I can’t…She’s the first person I think of when I wake up and the last fleeting thought before I go to bed, and even tonight while I was trying to forget her, I couldn’t forget and I couldn’t make her disappear and I can’t do this with you, not while I’m still wishing you were her. And it’s not fair of me to ask you to help me move on when I’m just not ready to. I’m not ready.”
And as though a sudden light drops from the sky, my whole body warms and gravity feels different and I’m in another space, another time. A time when I held Theresa in my arms and she told me these same words. Her heart wasn’t ready…but it could be with time. I get it all now. I mean I fully comprehend why Theresa kept pulling away. She was still in love with someone else and she needed time and space and patience and understanding. And she may find someone else when she’s ready. Just like I will. I’ll find someone else when I’m ready.
But I am not ready now.
“I’m…I’m not ready either,” Rian whispers from the darkness outside my epiphany’s light. I blink a few times to try to get back to the space and time I’m supposed to be in.
“C-come again?”
She shakes her head, her earrings dangling back and forth against her cheeks. Her nails clack against the underside of the bench as soon as she drops onto it.
“I haven’t been totally honest about my intentions tonight. I kind of used you as a cover.”
I fall onto the bench next to her, the confident woman I’ve been with all night melting before my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I could try to get him out of my head.” She lets out a humorless laugh at our feet. “Win his complete opposite at the auction tonight and prove it somehow. Prove that he’s not right for me. That a guy like you who’s sweet and talented and understated would balance me out, but…well…it never…I mean, no offense, but it was all so…”
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing full well she doesn’t need to finish her sentence. “It was all so…”
She playfully curses and puts he
r face into her palms. “It was a disaster, wasn’t it?”
“Not a disaster.” When she gives me a pointed look, I concede, “Maybe a little forced. On both our ends.”
She turns to look at me, resting her head on top of her knuckles. “I thought if I threw in some dirty talk, a few touches, maybe kissed you a few times, that we’d just be…”
“We’d just be…,” I echo, and we let another joined thought fly off into the night air. She starts laughing, and I push my knee into hers. “Don’t have to laugh so hard at my lack of debonairness.”
“It’s not that. I’m just so relieved.” She rolls her eyes to the sky. “I really thought you were feeling it.”
I shake my head a little too enthusiastically, and we both laugh at ourselves.
“Sorry you wasted your bid.”
“I didn’t waste it. It was for charity. Wasn’t completely about you.” She winks and nudges me in the shoulder. “And besides, I don’t think I would’ve realized what I really wanted if I’d bid on anyone else.”
I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere. “Well, then, I’m glad I helped you out.”
She grins, then pushes up from the bench. “Come on,” she says, sticking her hand out to me. “I’ll call Jackson and we’ll drop you off wherever you need to go.”
“Actually, I think I’m gonna walk.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Want to think.”
“Wallow?”
“Maybe.”
She tilts her head to the side, her teeth playing with the inside of her lip yet again. Without the added pressure of who I wanted her to be tonight, the air feels much more breathable—I think for both of us.
“Well,” she says, holding out a friendly hand, “I paid for a kiss. I still want it.”
I slap my palm against hers and we stand up. She taps her cheek, making it hard not to smile. I lean in quick, press my lips to her cold skin. It’s nice—completely void of raging amounts of guilt. There’s no pressure to take this kiss and try to make something out of it. She drops back down on her heels and smiles at me.