The Sea of Tranquility (24 page)

His arm snakes around my waist and he backs me against a wall just in time for me to look over his shoulder and see Tierney Lowell walk in the door. Chris Jenkins has a cup in her hand and is talking in her ear before she makes it through the living room.

Drew slides his hand down my arm and laces his fingers through mine, pulling me towards the stairs in direct view of the rest of the room. I have two choices; I can stop him in front of everyone, which would consist of me standing still and refusing to budge while he tries to lead me up the stairs, or I can go with him. Option A is the one that will draw more attention. Drew and I disappearing upstairs to a bedroom at a party isn’t going to raise any eyebrows. Apparently we’ve been screwing for weeks. It doesn’t bother me. Drew has had every opportunity to try to take advantage of me and he never has. Other than the arm around my shoulders and occasionally holding my hand, he doesn’t touch me at all. No surreptitious feel-copping whatsoever. Drew keeps me around for some reason, but whatever it is, I’m fairly certain it isn’t sex.

“Why do you want everyone to think we’re together?” I whisper when he pulls me through the door of an empty bedroom and shuts it behind me. He reaches down and turns the lock. The only light is coming in under the door and from a streetlamp outside the window. It’s a guestroom with a bed that’s obviously already been occupied once tonight. The music is still so loud that I don’t have to worry about anyone hearing us but I keep my voice down anyway and Drew follows suit.

“Because we should be.” He leans back against the door and closes his eyes. He’s delivering a line but he doesn’t mean a word of it.

“You don’t do together. You do one-offs.”

“I could make an exception.” He looks me up and down but his heart isn’t in it and I don’t know why he’s bothering.

“You could, but if you did, it wouldn’t be for me.”

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

“I’d probably let you, just to see what all the fuss is about. Then I’d rip your lips off and feed them to you, which would be kind of hard because, you know, you’d have no lips.”

He nods, not looking at me. “You’re scary.”

“So you’re not going to kiss me?”

“No. But not because of the lip ripping thing, though that is compelling.”

“You must have a good reason to tank your reputation over it.”

“I don’t have to tank anything. What do you think we’re doing right now? Talking? You don’t even speak, so that limits the options. Everyone downstairs knows I’m screwing you right now.” He pulls out his shirt and rumples his clothing.

“Am I enjoying it?”

“I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he says hypnotically, like he’s using Jedi mind tricks on me.

“Undoubtedly. So why not just do what we’re doing anyway?”

“I could call your bluff, you know.” He opens one eye to look at me.

“But you won’t.” I might be a little disappointed if I wasn’t so relieved. “You should at least tell me why. I showed you mine.”

“If I showed you mine, you’d probably rip that off, too.” He won’t give me anything, even though there’s obviously something there to give.

“So what was the point of the past couple months if you never had any intention of following through?”

“People think I’m hooking up with you, they won’t expect me to be screwing everything else on two legs.”

“But isn’t that what you do?” I never really bought the whole of his image, at least not to assume that it was all of him. But he was the one selling it. I was led to believe that if you look up moral turpitude – or maybe just man-whore‌—‌the definition is Drew Leighton. This is shattering that image.

“I liked you so much better when you didn’t talk.”

“Yeah, I know. Can’t unring a bell. Don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone. Hindsight’s a bitch. Answer the question.”

He rolls his eyes and exhales, making sure I experience the full weight of his annoyance.

“It’s what I’m supposed to do. If I stop, everyone will want to know why. Then they’ll start speculating. Subterfuge is much easier.”

“Why me?”

“I figured you’d never tell anyone the truth.” He shrugs, and if Drew Leighton could do sheepish, I’d say he was trying, but it’s a little out of his depth. “Sorry. It didn’t start out that way. If it makes you feel better, I really did plan to pull the same shit with you as always. If you would have gone for it, we’d have hooked up the first possible opportunity and we would not be here right now. But you just seemed to take it all as a joke and it was a relief. I was relieved to not have to follow through on it and the more I chased you, the less you took me seriously. So the real question is why did
you
put up with it?”

“Same reason as you. People smell your piss all over me, they assume I’m off the table. Other than Ethan the Arrogant, I get left alone. Win-win.” I don’t really care what people say about me. I’m fine with lies and rumors. It’s the truth I don’t want being told.

“Where does Josh fit into this?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes.

“We’re not talking about Josh.”

“Aren’t we?” he probes.

“Josh is screwing someone else.” Add that to the fact that he doesn’t want to have to give a crap about anyone ever again and he’s kind of an impossible dream.

“So? Josh Bennett has a fuck buddy.” He shrugs like he’s just told me that Josh wears pants. It’s the same tone he used when he dropped it on me the first time and it sucks just the same to hear it. “How do you think he’s managed to keep his hands off of you this whole time? Doesn’t mean anything.” The look I give him says otherwise. “Don’t get all judgmental. He’s a good guy, not a saint.”

“What is she to him?” I try not to sound jealous or like I’m fishing for information, but I am on both counts.

“She,” he says, looking at my chest, because he is still Drew, before pulling his gaze up to my eyes, “is a poor man’s Sunshine.”

I have a seriously hard time believing that, because Josh never comes anywhere near me.

“He doesn’t even look at me sideways much less try to touch me.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t look at you sideways. He looks right at you and doesn’t even try to hide it. The only thing I’ve ever seen him drool over as much has four legs and is made of mahogany but I don’t think he’s planning to ask it out any time soon.”

“Don’t let him do that, Drew. Not with me. He’ll listen to you.”

“No. He won’t,” he pauses to look up at me from the floor. “I think that beam’s been cut, Nastya.”

“Beam’s been cut?”

“Yeah, like that time has passed, that ship has sailed, that cherry’s been popped. I was just trying to put it in building terms but my frame of reference is limited. Didn’t work, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t worry. Josh likes to keep his life free of unnecessary complications. I think you’re safe for a while.” He reaches up and tousles his hair purposefully.

“How long do we have to stay in here?” I’m done with the Josh conversation. Some things are better left alone and this is the definition of one of those things. I look at the tangled sheets on the bed and decide against it. I slide down the wall onto the floor next to Drew and cross my ankles. He pulls my head onto his shoulder, letting me lean against him.

“At least another twenty minutes. I have a reputation to uphold.”

CHAPTER 29

Josh

“Shit!” The saw blade slices through my hand and in seconds I’ve got blood soaking my pants where I’m pressing down on it with the palm of my other hand. I’m not good with blood. In fact, I am absolutely horrible when it comes to blood, so this situation pretty much sucks for me.

I sink down to the ground and lean against the cabinets. I need to stop the bleeding, but sitting is taking priority because I think I might pass out.

“What the hell, Josh?” Nastya is picking up my hand and I want to tell her to stop because there’s so much blood, but I just end up cursing again.

“Here.” She’s got pressure on the cut now and I’m trying to reach up with my right arm to grab the towel that’s on the counter. She shoves it away.

“That’s covered with grease and sawdust. Crap!” she says as my blood starts running down her arm while her hand stays clamped over the gash. “Hold this!” She grabs my right hand back and presses it over the blood-gushing split across my left palm.

I make the mistake of looking before she presses my hand down over it again, and I get seriously lightheaded. Blood is my kryptonite. Massive amounts of puke I can handle, but I can’t do blood. Especially my own.

“A lot of blood,” I breathe out.

“No, it’s not,” she says, pressing her hand down on top of mine.

“Yes, it is,” I manage, because I’m right on this one. If I’m sitting on the floor like a pussy because of some blood, then I’m going to insist that it’s an awful lot of blood.

“No,” she says emphatically, and there’s no room left for discussion when she looks right in my eyes, forcing me to focus on her. “It’s really not.”

She keeps glancing around for something to stop the bleeding.

“Can you get up?” she asks.

Fuck. I’m gonna pass out in front of her if she makes me stand right now. Before I can fully absorb the humiliation of that thought, she diverts my attention. By taking off her shirt. She has it off in one motion and is wrapping it around my hand before I can ask her what the hell she’s doing. It’s almost more impressive than the bra maneuver.

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking off my shirt?” I ask to lighten the moment. At least for me. She doesn’t seem at all affected.

“If I thought you could get it off before you lost another pint of blood, believe me, I would have gone that route.” She pulls the shirt tight around my hand and holds it down. “Besides, I have to focus, and looking at you shirtless might cause me to hyperventilate. Then we’d both be passed out.” Sarcastic smartass.

“I haven’t passed out.”
Yet.

“Yet,” she smiles, lifting my hand and checking out her work. “Now at least you won’t bleed all over the carpet. Inside,” she commands, but I’m too busy staring at her chest in a pink lace bra. I’m not sure if I’m more shocked by the fact that I’m staring at her tits or by the fact that it’s pink, not black, but at least it’s got my mind off of the blood. And then, before I can even move to stand, my traitorous dick jerks. I’m bleeding out in the middle of my garage. Ten seconds ago, my worst fear was that I would pass out in front of her. That’s not my worst fear anymore. It does it again and I’m in the midst of an undeniable hard-on. Now I
try
to think about the blood, but she’s right in front of me, offering to help me up and it’s far too late for that. She glances down.
Of course
she glances down.

“You’re kidding me, right?” She looks back to my face, and if I had any blood to spare, it would probably turn red. Fortunately, between my dick and my hand, all of my blood is spoken for right now. “Seriously? Right now? At this moment?
Seriously?
” She shakes her head and laughs and it’s almost worth all of the embarrassment. “It must so suck to be a guy.”

“Your fault. You’re the one who took off your shirt.”

“If you get your ass into the house, I can put on another one.” She’s gently pulling on my upper arm.

I push myself up as slowly as possible. Thankfully the shirt is knotted tight enough around my hand that the bleeding is under control and I’m able to make it inside without sacrificing what’s left of my Y chromosome.

A few minutes later, she comes out of my bedroom wearing one of my t-shirts, and it might almost be worse than seeing her in no shirt at all. She sets the first aid kit on the table in front of us.

“Is this the only thing you have? I think I’m going to need more.”

“Guest bathroom. Under the sink.”

Now we have a huge bottle of peroxide and extra gauze and she looks at me nervously before unwrapping the shirt.

“Don’t watch. Okay?”

“I thought it wasn’t that bad.”

“It’s not. But I think a paper cut might do you in, so just close your eyes or look over there or something.”

I pick
or something
. I reach out with my good hand and lift up the hem of the t-shirt she’s wearing and trace my thumb up one of the scars on her abdomen that I was too busy staring at her chest earlier to really study. Her breath hitches almost imperceptibly at the contact, before she swats my hand away and I drop the shirt.

“You haven’t lost so much blood that I’m above hitting you. And if I hit you, it will hurt.”

I don’t doubt that for a second. “What’s it from? The scar?”

“Surgery.”

“No shit, Sunshine. What about the one by your hair?” I’ve wanted to ask about this one for ages. The other one, I just discovered tonight, along with a pink lace bra and a set of abs that is just insane.

“Catfight.”

“That I can believe.”

“Good. Quit talking. I’m afraid you’re going to pass out as it is.”

“Then you talk to me.” I lean my head back and close my eyes while she starts on my hand.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Anything other than blood. Tell me a story.”

“What kind of story would you like?” she cajoles me like a five-year old which is exactly what I’m acting like right now. I blame blood loss.

“The real one.”

“You said you didn’t want to hear about blood.”

I don’t know what that means, but I know it means something. It’s just another piece of the puzzle she is. But the more she gives me, the more abstract she gets. It’s like pieces to three different puzzles. You try to put them together but they never fit, and when you force them, the picture comes out all wrong.

She’s got my hand unwrapped at this point, and I watch her face while she’s cleaning it. She doesn’t look bothered at all. Once some of the blood is gone, I can’t help checking it out. The gash runs from the base of my thumb diagonally across my palm towards my wrist. It hurts like a bitch. She covers it with some antibiotic crap and wraps it with gauze because there aren’t any bandages big enough to cover it.

She disappears into the kitchen and I hear her open the fridge and dig through the cabinets. When she comes back, she hands me a can of soda and a chocolate bar. In addition to the ice cream, she has taken to stashing candy here, too. I wonder how long it’ll be before she has a shelf in the medicine cabinet and a drawer in my dresser. And once that happens, I wonder how long it’ll be before she’s gone.