Kept (13 page)

She swallowed the awful taste rising in her throat. “I need to go home.” She gave him her address and sat silently while the cab drove down brightly lit streets. The motion made her queasy, and she closed her eyes, letting Eric’s face blend with Dillan’s. Eric might have resembled him, but he’d been nothing like him.

All she wanted was one good man. Just one.

Pete, the evening doorman, held open the glass doors to the elevators.

She tripped through them but managed to stay upright. Why couldn’t Dillan have been at that club? Where’d he been today?

An elevator opened. She stepped inside and pressed eighteen. Well, she’d had enough. She needed to see him.

The eighteenth floor lobby was deserted. She trailed a hand down the hallway as she walked home, tipping when the wall dipped inward for a door.

Dillan wouldn’t reject her. She nodded emphatically as she knocked on his door. What should she say? Or should she just kiss him?

The door opened, and Garrett looked her up and down, eyebrows raised. “Uh, Miska?”

“You again.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb, head spinning.

“Yeah, I live here.” His forehead crinkled. “You okay?”

“No, I need to see Dillan.”

“He’s still not in.”

She slipped past him.

“Hey—”

He reached for her, but she scurried down the hall.

The living room was empty, the TV playing a Cubs and Mets’ game. The kitchen was as spotless as her own. There was nothing anywhere that said Dillan was nearby.

She turned to Garrett, her shoulders slumping. “Where is he?”

“Out.”

The closed door to the master bedroom caught her attention. “Is he in there?”

“I told you. He’s not home.”

She pursed her lips and cocked her head, looking at Garrett from beneath her eyelashes. “Why don’t we see what happens in there?”

“Oh-kay.” Garrett took her by the shoulders and spun her toward the exit. “I don’t think you want him seeing you like this.”

“You don’t like my dress?” Her stomach kept swirling. “Slow down. I don’t feel right.”

He propelled her even faster toward the door. “I bet you don’t.”

“Garrett—”

“I’ve already cleaned blood. Don’t need to be cleaning barf.” He reached around her to open his door, grunting when she got in the way. “I’m sure your lovely toilets will keep you company tonight.”

She let him push her into the hallway and smiled up at him.

He held out his hand. “Keys?”

“Don’t have any. Guess I’ll have to spend the night with you.”

He took her beaded clutch and opened it. Held up her keys. Jangled them. “Magic.”

She leaned against the wall as he tried one key before switching to another. He pushed the door open and spread a hand before her. “Ta-da.”

Wasn’t he sweet? She took her purse back and grabbed his hand, but he slipped out of her grasp. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked as she stepped inside.

His smile was tight-lipped, his laugh forced. “Night, Miska.” He pulled the door shut between them.

She stared at the door. He’d said no?

The bathroom called, and she raced for it, making it with just enough time to lift the seat of her lovely toilet before her stomach heaved.

Morning sun invaded Miska’s bedroom with blistering shame, taunting her awful headache. She tugged down the blackout shade and fell back in bed, her insides sick, her conscience sicker.

She’d thrown herself at Garrett.

It had been so long since she’d gone after a man, since she’d been single and in need of fun. She curled in a ball beneath the silvery blue comforter. She’d been desperate, foolish.

And now she was paying for it—although paying less than at other times. Eric didn’t know where to find her. He was forever gone, and he’d taken nothing of her with him.

But Garrett… She rubbed her fingertips against her forehead. What would Tracy say?

She dozed through the morning, trying to forget that she’d just thrown away a budding friendship with the soon-to-be girl next door—the one who wouldn’t sleep with her fiancé until she’d married him, the same man who’d turned her down even when no one had been there to know.

Some girls had all the luck.

By eleven, her headache began to fade. By noon, her stomach felt normal enough to keep food down.

She shuffled to the kitchen and slumped over the counter. The thought of all the men she’d run through in less than twenty-four hours sickened her. Mom would be appalled. Wade and Zane—impressed.

How disturbing that she was like her brothers.

Garrett was clearly a mistake. She was drunk. Wasn’t in her right mind because Garrett was someone she’d never go after.

Even though you did.

Eric was just a substitute for Dillan. A sorry substitute. That left Mark and Dillan. Not so bad. And if Mark would make up his mind, she wouldn’t be interested in Dillan. Which meant it was all Mark’s fault.

“Now I feel better,” she whispered.

She poured the last of the milk and popped whole grain bread into the toaster, then searched for her phone. It lay on the floor beside the toilet. She checked her messages. One text from Adrienne asking how last night had gone.

Nothing from Mark.

In the kitchen the toaster dinged. Food and a shower, a little makeup and Advil—that would make her feel better. Then she could put yesterday behind her.

The afternoon sped by as she edited. Her stomach rumbled around five, and she made a salad, scarfing it down while she worked. This book had everything going right for the heroine. The stranger she’d hit on—he’d turned out to be good in every way.

Too bad real life hadn’t cooperated.

She took another break to clean up the kitchen, then returned to edits.

A knock sounded at her door.

Miska looked out her window. What time was it? Six thirty? Seven?

At her door, she looked through the peephole. Tracy stood outside.

Miska stepped back, stomach churning. Of course. She swept her hair over her shoulder and drew in a slow breath. Tracy had every right to bawl her out, every right to call her whatever name she wanted. Miska would let her, then apologize and hope nothing worse happened—that in the months to come they could be good neighbors even if they weren’t friends. She forced a plastic smile and opened the door.

Tracy looked up from the DVD case in her hand. “Miska! How are you?”

“I’m—fine.” She swallowed the tangle in her throat. “I’m fine. You?”

“Good. Ready for the NBA playoffs to be over. ’Course then it’ll be baseball.” Tracy heaved a sigh. “Men and sports, although I don’t think I’d understand a man who didn’t like sports. Oh, well. I thought I’d see if you were busy or if you wanted more of the Crawleys.”

The picture on the front of the DVD registered. Tracy wanted to watch more
Downton Abbey
? After she’d hit on Garrett?

“You can say no, Miska. I won’t be offended.”

“Oh! No, I was just… thinking. I’m actually—” Miska gestured behind her. Maybe Garrett hadn’t told her yet. Could that be? She laughed in relief. “I was working. My brain’s a little fried. Come on in.”

“Don’t stop on my account.”

“I’m not.” Really, they were both too polite sometimes. The thought made her laugh again. “I didn’t realize how stiff I was until I got up. I’ve been at my desk awhile.”

Tracy followed her into the kitchen. “What are you working on?”

“A romance. Very unrealistic. Girl chases sexy man for a night of fun and discovers he’s the man of her dreams. So not real.”

Tracy nodded. “No joke.”

Miska opened the fridge. “Root beer?”

“Can I bug you for water? My dress was a little snug.”

“Sure. No popcorn tonight?”

“If you want some, go ahead. But none for me.” Tracy leaned against the counter, one lip pooching out. “Just veggies and fish in my future.”

“You look fine to me.”

“Please come to my next fitting. The lady got on me like I was living off fudge.”

“Tell her it’s that time of the month.”

“It is, actually. Maybe that’s the problem. I better be careful, though, just in case. Tell me what you had for dinner. I’ll live vicariously.”

Miska remembered Garrett’s hands on her shoulders, propelling her down his hallway. “Just a salad with a hard-boiled egg.”

“Seriously? Do you eat like that every day?”

Miska handed Tracy her glass. “I missed my run this morning. I haven’t missed in… months.”

“You run every single day?”

Every day she was home alone.

“What made you miss?”

Tracy really didn’t know. Why hadn’t Garrett told her? “I was stupid last night and woke up with a hangover.”

“Oh, honey.”

The word endeared Tracy to her, and after a moment she realized how much Tracy sounded like her mother.
Oh, sweetness.
Mom’s voice rang fresh in her ear, clearer than it had been in months.

Tracy’s face swam.

“Miska.” Tracy clutched her hand. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.” Tracy
would
find out. Why not tell her herself? Control the damage? “I need to tell you something.”

Tracy eased onto a stool. “Okay.”

“I—” She clamped her lips together. If only she could do it over. The last thing she wanted was to ruin this delicate friendship. “I went out last night.”

Tracy nodded.

Miska jumped on her understanding. What people did when they were drunk, that didn’t count, right? “There was this guy. We had a lot to drink, and he tried to get me to go home with him.”

Tracy’s voice was tender. “Did you?”

“No. The cab driver kicked him out and brought me home. But I was really drunk, Tracy. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I just wanted someone to talk to.” She swallowed. “I knocked on Garrett’s door.”

Tracy stiffened.

Miska grabbed her hand. “Nothing happened. I promise. Garrett was more than the perfect gentleman.” Far more than she’d deserved. “But I was feeling sorry for myself and so drunk that I kind of… I kind of hit on him.” She grimaced at the words. “I just couldn’t stand having that between us. And obviously you didn’t know.”

Tracy’s mouth tipped into a sad smile. “No, I didn’t.”

“It was my fault. I was drunk, I was lonely, and Garrett was just there. But he totally turned me down and unlocked my door for me and left. He never stepped inside. I want you to know that. He’s—you’ve got a real gem on your hands, and I’m completely jealous.”

Tracy studied her.

“I couldn’t keep that between us. You’re my friend, and I’m really sorry.”

“I’m your friend, huh?”

“I hope you are. If you want to leave, I get it.”

“No, Miska. I forgive you. It’s not okay, but I forgive you.” She sighed.

Miska held her breath, not feeling safe yet.

“He turned you down? Just like that?”

“He did. He said something about having had enough of barf and blood and me spending the night in my bathroom.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tracy rested her chin on her hand and traced patterns in the granite.

What was she thinking? “Are we okay?”

“I think so.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Thanks for telling me.”

Miska fiddled with her glass. Tracy might not completely trust her, but at least she hadn’t thrown her away. For the moment, she’d be thankful for that.

“Why is it…” Tracy moistened her lips. “Why go looking for a man when you’re with Mark? Do you have some sort of understanding?”

“The only understanding I have is that I don’t know where we stand. He tells me he’s leaving his wife, but then…” She fiddled with a dish towel. “I’m tired of being jerked around. I want him to make up his mind.”

“Why would you trust a man who’d have an affair?”

“Because she had the affair first. He’s tried to put it behind them, but that’s a hard thing to get over.”

“So his having an affair doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’s getting revenge.”

“If it were revenge, don’t you think I’d pick up on that? After a year?”

“A year, huh? I hate to say it, Miska, but I wouldn’t trust any man willing to have an affair with me, no matter what his wife did.”

“No offense, Tracy, but I think it’s pretty crazy to wait for your wedding night for sex.”

Tracy laughed. “That’s fair. You know why we’re waiting?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be able to trust him. I want him to know that I’m faithful to him and I want to know that he’s faithful to me. No doubts, no wondering. I want our marriage to last, and if we jumped the gun, I’d never trust him. What kind of a relationship is that?”

There was truth in her words. If she and Mark married, it wouldn’t be all roses, but real life wasn’t like that anyway. Only the romance genre pretended otherwise. Besides, it wasn’t like Tracy or Garrett hadn’t been with other people.

“Wait. Neither of you are virgins. So how does that figure into waiting and trusting each other?”

“All of that was before we met. We were different people then.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s not that interesting.”

“Then I won’t put it in a book.”

Tracy laughed. “You write too?”

She could never tell Tracy about her blog. “When I’ve got a few brain cells left after editing.”

“Well, I’m not too worried about ending up in a story.” She blew out a sigh and spread her palms across the counter. “Okay. My junior year in high school I dated this guy. Ethan.”

“
Ethan
. I dislike him already.”

“Good girl. He was a senior, had this surfer-dude look in the middle of the ’burbs. We sat next to each other in two classes because our names were in alphabetical order.”

Miska straightened. “I don’t know your last name.”

“Coleman. And he was Cone. So he was always right behind me. He was gorgeous—”

“If you’re into surfer dudes.” She pretended to stick a finger down her throat.

“I know. Who likes that?” Tracy grinned and shuddered. “Anyway, at the time my sixteen-year-old brain thought he was gorgeous and funny. We dated a couple months before he tried to take things farther. When I didn’t want to, he pressured me. Told me if I loved him—”