More Than Water (26 page)

“What?” I half-shout, unsure I heard Chandra correctly.
Did she say—

“Cal’s here,” my roommate repeats, her voice much lower than mine. “He’s waiting for you in the living room.”

“Why in the hell did you even let him in?”

“He said it was important, some legal matter, and he wasn’t going to leave until he saw you.”

My lip curls. “What the fuck?”

Foster clears his throat, reminding us of his presence.

“I need to get going,” he announces to both of us in the midst of our not-so-hushed conversation. “I’m going to be late.”

“Right. Of course,” I say almost in a daze, widening the door.

Chandra steps down the hall toward where Cal is waiting.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say to Foster.

This all feels so surreal.

Leading the way, I escort Foster to the main part of the apartment where Cal is casually sitting on the sofa with a motherfucking bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Roses.

Red ones.

The color of love.

I want to poke his eyes out.

What is he doing here?

I hope he pricks his finger—or his penis would suffice.

“EJ,” Cal says, rising from the couch to greet me. The collection of blazing crimson floral at the center of his chest is like a target of destruction.

I audibly grunt and give him an I’m-going-to-freaking-scratch-your-eyes-out look. He takes the hint and sits his ass back down, shifting his focus between Foster, who is close on my heels, and me.

Grabbing the knob to the front entrance, I face Foster, whose attention is clearly not on me but on Cal in all his rocker glory as he’s dressed in a leather jacket with bright blue hair. He’s wearing eyeliner, too.

Keeping it classy.

This is a disaster of epic proportions.

My ex is unexpectedly sitting on my couch with a romantic-looking bouquet of flowers and the guy…Foster…who I’m sleeping with, will likely—

What does it matter? We are just friends. That’s the deal.

“Thanks again for doing this,” I say to Foster, trying to focus him away from the train wreck on my couch. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he states, reaching for the door and opening it like he can’t leave fast enough. He gives another glance in Cal’s direction. “I hope it works out the way you want.”

“I think it will,” I reply, trying so hard to keep my shit together right now.

What in the ever-loving fuck is Cal doing here?

“I’ll see you at work,” he quickly adds as he walks out the door.

With little desire, I shut the door. Slowly, I spin around and cross my arms in preparation to battle the punk asshole who so boldly decided to show up at my apartment without an announcement or invitation.

Like a guard dog, Chandra busies herself in the kitchen area with Jeremy at her side, patiently waiting for the medieval shitstorm that’s about to go down in our living room. She and I exchange a look, and she acknowledges that she should stay right where she is. I turn my attention to a man who only possesses one brain cell because a smart person would have known better than to come near me after fucking around behind my back.

“Cal,” I sternly say, rounding the arm of the couch. I glare down at him. “What are you doing here?”

He rises from his seat, holding out the bouquet in my direction. “I brought you something.”

I raise my brows, giving him the are-you-serious look.

He pushes them further into my personal space, insistent.

“That’s so sweet of you.” I swipe the flowers from his hand and march my ass straight into the kitchen, slipping past Chandra and Jeremy. I open the cabinet below the sink and shove the bouquet into the trash. It might be a little dramatic, but fuck him.

Fake-dusting off my hands, I casually join Cal back in the living room.

“Sorry.” I smirk. “I wanted to put those in some water before they dried out. Now, would you mind telling me what in the hell you’re doing here?”

“Do you think we could speak in private?” Cal questions, gesturing toward our kitchen audience.

“Absolutely not. You don’t get to spend time alone with me ever again. Now, you have exactly sixty seconds to explain to me why you’re here.”

He presents me with a large envelope.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“A proposal.”

“Cut the shit. Our romantic days ended the moment you started poking the groupies,” I sneer.

“I wasn’t screwing the groupies. It’s not like we even had any.”

“So, what? She was just some random whore you picked up in a drive-through?”

He growls. “Are we really going to do this?”

“That’s up to you. You can spend the remaining thirty seconds however you like. I suggest you start by telling me you’re sorry for being an asshole.”

“Oh, c’mon!” he exclaims, tossing up his hands. “Like you really cared about me in the first place.”

“Who are you to judge how I felt about you, you…you penis muncher? I gave you almost a year of my life. I was planning my future with you, for you.”

“Sure you were,” he says full of sarcasm. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“You’re such a prick. And why would you even think that the way I felt about you was a lie? I never cheated on you. I supported you throughout our entire relationship—going to all your shows, loaning you money when you needed equipment, or that time your gig fell apart and I called in a favor to a friend to get you a new one. There’s more than enough proof in my actions. I gave you everything I was, everything, and you shit on it. You shit on us by sticking your dick in someone else when I went home for the summer.”

“Yeah, I heard all about your summer.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I was working at a museum. That was all.”

He shakes his head, holding the envelope in my direction once again. “Will you just take this?”

With aggression, I snatch the envelope from his hands, tear through the top flap, and withdraw the sheets of paper. I scan through the pages, gathering very quickly that it’s a copyright release request.

“Copyright of what?” I ask, confused.

“It should be on the first page.”

I shuffle back to the front sheet and examine the words more closely, discovering that a small record company wants the license to distribute the branding logo I did for Cal’s band when he and I first met.

“You guys were signed,” I utter unbelieving, still flipping through the pages.

“Yeah, a few months ago. They want to put us on tour soon, too.”

I stack the papers together, shove them into the envelope, and hand it back to Cal. “Congratulations, but I’m not signing this.”

He reaches into his rear pocket and offers me a small gray-shaded square. “Here. They sent me with this. It’s only half to show good faith because they can’t legally give you the rest until the contract is signed.”

I reluctantly take it into my hand and assess the check from the record company. It’s not a sizable amount even though it’s only a portion, but it’s likely fair.

“I don’t need this,” I say, waving the monetary offer through the air.

“Oh, I know you don’t.” He laughs. “Your family has you set for life. You don’t need anything from anyone.”

My hands drop to my sides. “What do you know about my family?”

“Not too much, in all honesty, which is kind of weird, seeing how we were together for so long.”

“It’s not like I ever met your parents,” I respond in defense. “So, what’s the big deal?”

“Well, when you come from a family like yours, I kind of get the feeling it is a big deal.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Obviously not. I have zero clue what you’re talking about.”

“Your mother pulled me aside when she came to visit you last spring.”

“She did?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yep.” He hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “Told me about how you couldn’t possibly be in love with me because…how did she put it? I’m not from the right breeding. That a guy like me and a young lady like her daughter would never have a future. That I would likely never be able to support you, let alone myself, and that I was low-class and not worthy of someone like you.”

“She said those things to you?”

“Yes.” He nods in affirmative for emphasis. “Of course, I might be paraphrasing a little, but you get the idea.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but in any case, she was sure to let me know that anything between you and me would never last, that I was likely just a fling before you settled down with some hotel heir.”

I shut my lids, shielding the world from my frustration due to my family’s oppressive ways. I’m just a cog in a master plan not of my making.

When will it stop?

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” I question, feeling blindsided.

“I don’t know.” He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Maybe because I believed her.”

“Why would you?” I question, shocked by his statement.

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly. Tell me.”

“Because the reality is, I never really felt that close to you. When we were together, it was like you were never able to truly open yourself up. And after meeting your mother that wonderful Sunday afternoon, I realized that there was a lot more to you than you’d ever let on. Way more.”

“Are you talking about my family’s money?”

“Yeah, that and”—Cal gestures a hand up and down the length of my body—“this is all a facade.”

“Then, I guess you really never did know me, did you?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Because what you see is what you get.”

“If you say so,” he replies sarcastically.

I open my mouth to say more in my defense, to try to convince him otherwise, but I close it quickly, no longer having the desire.

He’s not worth it.

I don’t care if he does know me.

He doesn’t need to.

It’s over between us.

Suddenly, the sight of Cal is no longer disgusting. It’s like I’ve gained some semblance of closure, fully understanding where we went wrong. Sure, he’s a complete dickwad, and his actions certainly do prove that, but we somehow lacked the connection needed for us to survive as a couple. As close as I might have thought we once were, it wasn’t meant to be.

Maybe I really didn’t give him my heart, like I once thought. If I had, he would never have doubted my affection, no matter my mother’s words.

Maybe I’m not capable of giving my heart to anyone.

Maybe it will never be available, stunted somewhere in time.

Is it because no one has ever fully given their heart to me?

Maybe some mysteries of the heart will never be solved, including mine.

Not wanting to dwell in some pathetic pity party, I focus on the check in my hand.

A decision is looming.

I fold the monetary promise in half and tuck it into my pocket. “I’m calling this Dickhead Severance Pay.”

He let’s out a sigh of relief. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

“It will. Now, give me the damn release forms.”

Cal hands over the envelope containing the formal papers.

“Do I need to sign it with blood?” I ask, trying to push his buttons a little.

He pulls out a ballpoint pen. “Use this.”

I sign the document, granting permission for his band to use the logo I created on any of their merchandise. I flip through the pages just to confirm that I agree to all the terms. When I come across the part about future royalties, I cross out and initial that section, indicating that I desire no further moneys from them, including the other half due from the initial purchase.

I don’t want to see Cal ever again.

I’m cutting all ties to this part of my life.

I’m letting go of any stored away anger, resentment, or regret.

I’m releasing.

After almost five days of Foster not answering my calls, not returning my voice mails, and only replying to my texts with nothing more than one-worded answers to my questions, I knew something was wrong between us. There’s been a noted disconnect in our communication since the moment the man of my past, Cal, showed up at my door, and Foster walked out of it.

This thing between Foster and me has changed into something more than we originally agreed upon that fateful day in his kitchen. They aren’t conscious thoughts—at least not on my part—but there are always unspoken assumptions in any relationship between a man and a woman when orgasms are involved. We had all the right intentions, but one can’t fight the chemistry of the human body. It has a tendency to oppress the mind with all those hormones running through it. I blame science.

However, Foster’s days of ignoring me are coming to an end. It’s Sunday afternoon, and he should be home. I’m not a stalker, but the past few weeks, he and I had routine sexfests and pizza on this day. So, I’m going to pop by and see if he wants to continue the weekend tradition, and while I’m at it, I’ll ask him what the hell is going on because nobody likes to be ignored, especially me.

In front of his apartment, I put on my game face and give his door a sturdy knock, so there’s no way it couldn’t be heard. Almost immediately, the sounds of footsteps carry through his place, getting louder until they’re just on the other side of the divide. When the wooden entrance swings open, a svelte blonde woman I’ve never seen before catches me off guard. She’s undeniably attractive.