By Degrees (24 page)

“Tarin?
 
Are you in here?”

“Not yet.”
 
The responding voice comes from so close behind me, it makes me jump and squeak with fright.

“Holy
shit
, Tarin!” I spin around and back into the corner of the hallway.
 
“
Don’t
sneak up on me like that!”
 
My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I can feel it from inside.
 
My hands are gripping the wall and door, as if I’m going to do a Spiderman move and crawl up to the ceiling backwards using sticky-fingers.

He’s smiling, obviously very proud of himself.
 
“What’s up?
 
Come to join me in the shower?”

“Ew.
 
No.”
 
I grimace at the idea, stepping away from the wall and letting my hands drop to smooth my hair and shirt.
 
He’s covered in sweat, and all I can picture is him running deliberately slow so Posey and her goofy friends could catch up to him and fawn all over him.
 
He’s nothing but a tease and a mean-boy in my eyes right now.

His smile drops away to replaced by a hurt expression.
“Ew?
 
Seriously?
 
Man, talk about a shot to the ego.”
 
He leans in really close, his chest almost touching mine as he puts his hand on the door handle and turns it.
 
“Sure you don’t want to join me?”

The musky smell of his sweat mixed with cologne or deodorant or something woodsy filters up into my nose.
 
His smile is so close I can see his individual teeth and the way his eyes crinkle up in the corners a little.
 
I want to say something sharp and quick, cut him down to size, but the words won’t come.

“I need to talk to you,” is all I can manage.

The door pushes in and he walks past me, pulling his sweaty shirt off and letting it drop to the floor.
 
“So talk.”
 
He moves towards the bathroom that’s connected to his bedroom.

I stare at his tattooed, lean and muscled back as he moves away, trying to correlate the feelings of anger I have towards him because of what he did today with the feelings of desire his semi-naked body creates in me as I stare at him.
 
It makes no sense how I can hate him and want to see more of him at the same time.
 
It infuriates me, making me want to blame him for something I’m sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing.

Once he’s out of sight, I step into his room, remaining near the door.
 
If he decides to do something stupid, I can always run out easily.
 
Not that I expect him to do anything I should be worried about.
 
He flirts like this all the time with every girl he meets, I’m sure.
 
I’m no one special to Tarin Kilgour.

“I want to talk about Posey and her friends,” I say somewhat loudly so he can hear me in the next room.

His voice is tiny, like he’s far away or maybe in a closet.
 
“I don’t.”

“Too bad.”
 
It’s easy to be bold when I can’t see his half-naked body.

The shower goes on, so I move farther into the room.
 
“I think she’s a bigger problem that we anticipated.”

“She’s harmless,” he says.
 
“Let’s talk about you instead.
 
I’d rather talk about that than Posey.”

I sigh.
 
He’s being frustrating on purpose, trying to scare me away from pushing him, but I’m not falling for it.

“How often do you see her?”
 
I wander over to his dresser and pick up a framed photo.
 
It’s him and the other guys in the band a couple years ago.
 
They look so much younger.
 
My heart skips a beat when I realizes the scruffy guy in the back, standing just behind Stick is Austin.
 
I pull the photo closer, trying to pull in more detail.
 
Tarin is shirtless.
 
Everyone is sweaty, making me think they just finished a show.
 
Something about Tarin is different, other than the fact that he looks so much younger.
 
What is it?
 
My finger traces over the outline of his body.
 
When I get near the bottom of the skin he’s showing, I realize what it is.
 
That tattoo is missing. The one that declares him
Guilty.

“Oh, I don’t know.
 
Maybe I see her a couple times a week?
 
More if she’s on break from school.”

“Couple times a week?” I whisper mostly to myself.
Crazy bitch.
“That’s a lot,” I say louder.

“She’s definitely one of the more dedicated ones.”

I shake my head, putting the picture down again. For some reason I don’t like the idea of it being that close to me anymore.
 
All my pictures of Austin are put away.
 
Scott and I decided a couple months after his death that seeing him so alive like that was just too painful.

“That’s not dedication,” I say loudly.
 
“That’s stalking.
 
Is she stalking you on social media too?”

“I don’t know.
 
I don’t handle that stuff.
 
My publicist does.”

“Maybe you should be more in touch with what’s going on in your life,” I say, moving around the room some more, my gaze drawn to his bed.
 
I try not to look, but it’s impossible.
 
I stare at it, wondering how many poor girls looking for love and acceptance have had their hearts broken there.

“Why?
 
That’s what I pay other people to do.
 
It’s supposed to leave me time to create.”
 
He says it bitterly like it’s a joke.

“I guess if you were creating something, that would make sense.”
 
I can’t help delivering the barb.
 
I’m still pissed at him for what he did today, and that picture of him with Austin has me unnerved.

He sticks a wet and soapy head out of the doorway, thankfully keeping the rest of his naked body behind the wall.
 
“This would be a lot more interesting if you were in here with me, you know.”

I turn my back on him and his slippery charm.
 
“Tarin, the day I’m in a shower with you, naked, will be the day Hell freezes over, okay?
 
Just get it out of your head.”

“Most girls think I’m irresistible.”
 
He sounds confused.

“Most girls obviously don’t know the real you,” I say, moving towards the bedroom door.

“Damn, girl.
 
That was cold.”
 
He hesitates.
 
“Wait … where are you going?”

“Downstairs.
 
Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late or you’ll be eating cereal.”

Now he’s mad again.
 
“Jesus Christ, Scar … you’re harsh, you know that? Anyone ever tell you that you can catch more flies with honey?”

“Nope,” I say as I walk out the door.
 
“And don’t call me Scar.”

“Well I’m telling you …!”

I shut the door before his last word makes it out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE DOORBELL RINGS AS I’M walking towards the kitchen. I hesitate in the hallway and listen as Ricky greets the arrival.
 
The second her bubbly, fake-happy voice reaches my ears I cringe.
 
Jelly
.
 
I’m not sure how I’m going to get through dinner tonight without choking someone.
 
I take a deep breath and continue on my mission.

Walking into the kitchen, I see Josh plating-up the food.
 
The display on the dish nearest me looks like a work of art with its bright colors and interesting, varied textures. The smell coming from the stove is mouth-watering good.

I know which is Tarin’s plate by the portion sizes. He’s supposed to be bulking up, so he’ll eat about twice as much as the rest of us will.
 
The mound of meat and the sweet potato puree next to it makes my stomach growl in anticipation.
 
Josh is so good at mixing savory, salty, and sweet flavors.
 
It’s almost like a symphony of food.
 
I feel cheated whenever one of our jobs is done and I have to go back to eating my own boring meals.
 
He calls me a closet gourmande.

“All set?” I ask, walking over to stand by him.
 
He smells like the food he’s been preparing for the past couple of hours.
 
It’s comforting, with Jelly so close in the other room.
 
I need comforting in order to deal with her; I have a feeling she’s going to make a scene.
 
Josh is all about creating meals, and Jelly is all about creating drama.

“Yep, almost done.
 
Just have to garnish these last few plates and we’ll be ready.”
 
He picks up a frilly little piece of purple and green kale and puts an artfully carved radish and carrot sculpture inside its curved interior.
 
I want to take a picture of it, it’s so dainty, colorful, and pretty.

“Can I carry some of them out now for you?”

“Sure.” Josh picks up a white kitchen towel and wipes off some brown sauce that dripped onto the edge of the white china plate.
 
I tell him all the time that little drips won’t change the way things taste, but he insists on perfection for his employers and their friends and family.
 
“Start on your end there,” he instructs, pointing at the plate nearest me.
 
“By the time you’re back I’ll be done and you can take the rest.”

I carry dishes covered in delicious healthy food in several colors out to the back patio where a table is set with crystal and candlesticks.
 
Someone made sure Tarin has pretty things that he hasn’t yet managed to destroy, and I silently thank whoever it was, glad to not be drinking out of plastic cups. That had been the case for the first few nights at Jack’s place, almost year ago, before Scott had managed to get new glassware delivered.

Jack was notorious for his glass-shattering temper tantrums before I met him.
 
I smile with the memory.
 
Seeing him now being so relaxed and in control makes me feel like a million bucks.
 
I’m so happy that I’ll be seeing him tonight.
 
I need a reminder of the good I can do; it will help smooth over the feelings of failure and frustration I’m suffering right now with Tarin.

“Looks delicious,” says Zach, appearing on my left as I put down the first two plates.

“I know, right?
 
Josh is a wizard in the kitchen.”

Zach helps me bring the rest of the plates out, and by the time we’re done, the remaining members of our dinner party arrive.
 
The only one missing is Tarin.

Jelly has been escorted through the house by Ricky and is standing across the table from me, the space beside her at the table empty.
 
Randy, Dave, Leonard, and Scott sitting on my right, take up the remaining places.
 
They’re all exchanging small talk, oblivious to the tension between Jelly and me.

I do my best to smile and be polite.
 
“I like your dress, Jelly.”
 
It’s black and short, but at least it’s not as tight as she normally wears them.
 
Her clunky platform stilettos make her almost six feet tall, so I have a good view of her thighs above the table.
 
Her makeup is overdone, as usual.
 
It makes me wish we had the kind of relationship where I could tell her that she’d be prettier with less of it.
 
She really is a beautiful girl.
 
Why she works so hard to look plastic is a mystery to me.
 
Tarin might be all Hollywood now, but I have to believe that he appreciates a fresh-faced girl, being from the mid-west himself.

“Thank you,” she says, a fake smile plastered on her face, making it look a little twisted. “I didn’t realize this was such a casual dinner.” She looks me up and down with disdain.

I glance down at my t-shirt and jeans before shrugging.
 
“I’m still on the clock.
 
I’ll get dressed up later.”
 
I pull out my chair and maneuver to get in front of it.

She follows my lead and sits down in her seat.
 
“Later?
 
Are you going somewhere?
 
Like out?”

I want to smack myself in the forehead for being so stupid.
 
“Maybe.
 
Not sure yet.”

She keeps her hands in her lap and tilts her head a little, acting like she gives a flying hoot about my life.
 
“Where are you going?
 
Anywhere fun?”

“Nowhere special.”
 
I shrug again, trying to put her off.
 
No way do I want Jelly showing up to rain on my parade. Pulling my linen napkin out from under my silverware, I feign great interest in the food on my plate.
 
I nudge Scott at my right.
 
“Delish, right?”

Scott nods enthusiastically.
 
“Oh, yeah.
 
I love duck.
 
It’s one of my faves.”

Jelly frowns at her plate, a look of disgust replacing her fake smile.
 
“This is
duck?
 
Who eats
duck?
 
That’s like … cannibalism.”

“We do,” says Scott. “And since I’m not Daffy or Donald, it’s definitely not cannibalism.” He quacks a couple times for good measure, maybe to confuse her, I’m not sure.
 
Whatever the reason, it’s bound to piss her off, and I’m pretty sure that’s the whole point.
 
I elbow him in the ribs.