By Degrees (44 page)

“Are you serious?” he asks, looking up at me.

“What?” I say, looking over at him, suddenly realizing we’re having a conversation.
 
Kind of.

“You want me to wear a green suit?”

“No, I don’t want you to wear a green suit.
 
Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why’d you tell me to go with green?”

“Shut up, Jack, I’m trying to think.”
 
I rub my temples in circles, trying to make the headache and panic go away.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I drop my hands instantly and jump to my feet.
 
“What’s wrong with me?
 
What’s
wrong
with me?
 
Why are you even asking me that question?
 
You know what’s wrong with me.”
 
I throw both hands towards the television.
 
“You texted Tarin and now he’s coming out here!
 
And he’s all dressed up!”

Jack frowns.
 
“I doubt he’s going to wear that monkey suit out here.
 
He’ll need to get it dry cleaned first.”

“Shut
up
, Jack!
 
You know what I mean!”

“Not really.”
 
He looks at me like he’s worried.
 
“You’re kind of wigging out on me right now.
 
Should I go put my bike helmet on just in case?”

I flop down onto the couch.
 
“Don’t you get it?
 
You told him to come.
 
He thinks
I
told him to come.
 
He just winked at the camera and sent me a message!
 
He’s on his way!”

“Maybe he wasn’t talking to you.”

I jump-tackle Jack and pound him with a throw pillow.
 
“Of course he was talking to me, you asshole!”

“Okay!
 
Okay!”
 
Jack is laughing hysterically beneath my onslaught.
 
“Relax!
 
Jesus, woman.
 
I have a tour coming up.
 
Don’t put me in the hospital.
 
The tabloid’s ‘ll have a field day with that shit.
 
I can read the headlines now … Jack O’Leary beat nearly to death by crazed wannabe lover.”

I calm down in the face of his ridiculousness and go to my corner of the couch to shoot daggers at him with my eyes.
 
“You suck, you know that?”

“You totally love me
and
the fact that I texted Tarin for you.
 
You were too chicken shit to do it, but you wanted it done, so don’t play dumb with me.”
 
He affects a deep-south accent.
 
“Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat.”

“I’m going to bed,” I say, standing again.
 
“I’m nervous now, thanks to you.
 
I’m going to get a stomach ache too.”

“Good.
 
I hope you have lots of sexy dreams too.
 
After the stomach ache.”
 
As I get to the bedroom, he yells louder so I’ll hear him through the door.
 
“I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight!
 
I hear the secrets that you keep when you’re talking in your sleep!”

I lock the door to my bedroom, not convinced he isn’t sneaking in to listen to me babble about who knows what.
 
After getting in bed, I lay there listening to the sound of my own breathing and the faint glimmering of voices still coming from the television.
 
All I can think about is seeing Tarin again, and every time I get an image of his face or his hands or his arms in my mind, I think about that time we had sex on the couch and my heart doubles its pace.
 
I’m so not ready to see him again.
 
I don’t think I have the strength I know it’s going to take to make him go away.
 
Maybe that’s why I don’t text him back and explain it was all just a misunderstanding.

Chapter Forty-Four

THE NEXT MORNING I WAKE up and wander out of my room around ten.
 
I tried to sleep in as long as possible so I could usher the day past as quickly as possible, but this is as far as I got before my eyelids refused to close anymore.
 
I’m ridiculously nervous about Tarin coming, and I know I’m not going to be able to eat a thing until he’s come and gone.
 
Tea.
 
I need some tea.
 
And then some Valium.
 
I wonder where I could score some.

Shuffling out to the family room, I talk to the back of Jack’s head.
 
It’s slumped to the side a little and he’s wearing a baseball cap, something I’ve never seen him do, but I write it off as another one of his eccentricities.
 
Sleeping in a hat.
 
Typical.
 
I have no idea how he can sleep all night sitting up like that.
 
It’s like sleeping on a plane, something I’ve never been able to do.

I talk loudly to wake him up.
 
“You need to get up and take a shower, Jacky boy.
 
You smell.”
 
I smile at myself.
 
There’s something evil inside me that makes me want to harass this man from the moment he opens his eyes to a new day until the minute he closes them at night.
 
“You need a haircut too.
 
Go get one, would ya?
 
Hiding your rat’s nest under that stupid hat isn’t working.”

He picks his head up and leans forward.
 
Standing up, he turns to face me as I reach the counter in the kitchen.

I’m looking over my shoulder to laugh at the cranky expression I expect to see there, when I freeze.

Time stands still.

I’m suffocating all of a sudden because I can’t breathe correctly.

I feel dizzy.

“You’re not Jack,” I say.
 
I’m whispering because that’s all I’m capable of doing.
 
My lungs and voice won’t work.

“No.
 
I’m Tarin, actually.”
 
He walks over and holds out his hand.
 
“Nice to meet you.”

I stare stupidly at his outstretched arm.
 
I know those tattoos.
 
I know those muscles, although they look thicker than I remember them.
 
Looking up, I realize that there’s something new about him.
 
I don’t know that smile that’s lighting up his face.
 
I’ve never seen anything like it.
 
I feel like a Hershey’s Kiss left in a hot car.
 
Sweat breaks out on my upper lip and under my arms.
 
Attractive.

“Aren’t you going to shake my hand?” he asks.
 
His grin could not possibly be cuter.
 
That hat should make him look like a fool, but all it makes me want to do is dare him to take his shirt off again.
 
Truth or dare, Tarin.
 
Truth or dare…

My brain is going haywire.
 
I frown and smile at the same time, and I’m sure I look like I’m having intestinal cramps.
 
They’re probably not that far away considering how my guts are churning right now.
 
“No, I’m not going to shake your hand.
 
No way.”
 
I scoot to a spot behind the counter so he won’t see anymore of my nightgown than he already has.
 
Ack!
 
How humiliating!
 
I’m wearing my granny gown!
 
Why?!
 
Why did I put this on last night?
 
It’s my comfort-wear.
 
My Wal-Mart Value-of-the-Day that has traveled with me for five years, survived with me through thick and thin.
 
It’s heinously ugly, but it helps me sleep.
 
I’m convinced it’s magic.
 
Possibly dark magic, but I don’t care.
 
At least, I never cared before.

“I hope you don’t mind that Jack let me in. He said he was going for donuts but that was like two hours ago.”

“When did you get here?”
 
I have nothing to do with my hands so I tap my fingers on the counter.
 
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

“In Chicago?
 
I left L.A. last night around ten.
 
I waited a few hours after arriving to show up here, though.
 
I didn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep.”
 
He gestures to my nightgown as he smiles and I want to die of shame.

“I didn’t tell you to come,” I blurt out.
 
I struggle to keep my hand on the counter and not up slapping my face like it wants to.
 
What a dope.
 
Why did I say that?

“I got a text…”
 
He’s frowning, confused.
 
Maybe a little embarrassed.

“That was Jack.
 
He took my phone from me and did it.”
 
I look at the counter, too humiliated to continue.
 
This feels like a really bad high school moment.
 
Awko taco.

“You could have changed it, though, huh?
 
… Texted me back and told me that it was Jack.
 
But you didn’t.”

I look up and he’s got that damn smile on again.
 
Its cuteness annoys me because I feel myself falling under its spell.
 
I hate not being in control of my own emotions.

“I guess.
 
But that doesn’t matter.
 
I mean, you have places to be and they’re not Chicago.”

He pauses to take a deep breath and then speaks.
 
“I was hoping I could convince you to come back with me to LA.
 
I chartered a jet just for us.”

I shake my head.
 
“I’m not going.
 
I don’t belong out there.”

“Out there in L.A.?
 
Or with me?”

“Either.
 
Both.”
 
My words feel too harsh for both of us, so I soften the next ones.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What if I do?
 
Doesn’t that matter to you?”
 
He tilts his head slightly.
 
I see a vulnerability in his expression that hurts my heart.
 
I despise myself for making him feel this way, for knowing I’m going to keep hurting him.

“Everything matters to me,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
 
“That’s the problem.
 
Everything matters too much and it hurts.
 
I’m tired of the hurting.”
 
I can’t look at him anymore so I stare at the phone book that has been offering Jack and me delivery people laden with boxes of food.

Tarin comes into the kitchen.

“Stay over there,” I warn, backing up and pointing towards the couch.

“Why?” he asks.
 
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.”

He takes another step.

“Please, Tarin?”
 
I’m too embarrassed to say any more.

“Just tell me why.
 
I need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know.”

“No, I really don’t.
 
What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me you regret ever being with me and I’ll go.
 
I just need to hear you say the words so I know the truth.
 
I’ve almost convinced myself you care and that the reason you left is because you couldn’t handle the emotions that were coming up between us, but if I’m wrong, I need to know so I can let you go.
 
Otherwise I know myself … I’m going to be stubborn and keep holding on as long as I think there’s a chance.”

“I’m not going to say that …”
 
I pause, realizing we’re thinking two completely different things.
 
“Tarin, I don’t want you coming any closer because I just woke up. I have morning breath like you wouldn’t believe, and I’m wearing an eighty-year-old’s nightgown.”

He pauses and then a sexy smile appears, slowly but surely erasing his worried expression.
 
“I’m kinda liking the old school thing you have going on there.”
 
He points at my clothes.

I grab a spatula off the counter, refusing to smile back at him.
 
“Stay back.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender.
 
“No need to get physical.
 
At least not with a spatula.”

“Get out of the kitchen and I’ll put it down.”

He turns to leave and then spins around, leaping to close the distance between us and grab me around the waist.
 
Before I have a chance to whack him away with my dangerous cooking weapon, he throws me up over his shoulder and leaves the kitchen, moving quickly through the apartment.

“Ahhh!
 
Tarin!
 
What are you doing?!” I struggle, hitting his butt over and over with the flat side of the spatula.
 
It’s having no effect, and my emotions are exploding inside me.
 
Fear, excitement, worry, embarrassment, anger, and confusion are warring for domination over my brain.
 
None of this makes any sense.
 
He flies across the country to play caveman with me?
 
No way is that happening.
 
“Austin!
 
Put me
down!”
I scream, not realizing what I’ve said until it’s too late.

Tarin stops in his tracks.

I freeze in the middle of hitting him with the spatula and my face starts burning red.
 
Flames of humiliation consume me as my body shifts, my feet moving towards the floor.