Yours Truly

by Jen Meyers

  I nodded, thanked him, and tried to keep my internal panic to a dull roar as I left my life in Darius’s hopefully magical hands. Before heading back to my apartment, I stopped off at the nearest computer store. I had a date tonight and a column due next week. I had to hope the guy tonight gave me enough good material or I was going to have to recreate what I’d written about the Trojan man. And with so much having happened in the few days since, I knew that was going to be a stretch.

  “Which one of these is the most waterproof?” I asked the salesman.

  He smiled condescendingly. “You spill your coffee on the last one?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Nah, just a whole building’s water supply.”

  His eyebrows shot up to his receding hairline. “Oh…sorry.”

  “You and me both.” I shrugged. If I acted like it was no big deal maybe it would eventually feel that way, too. Fake it till you make it, right? I waved my hand at the shelves covered with laptops. “Now…which one?”

  Forty minutes and a thousand dollars later, I was home, facing the rest of the mess. I let in the super, plumber, and carpenter who’d been talking in the hallway outside my apartment when I arrived. I couldn’t bear hearing about how long it was going to take, so I retreated to my bedroom to set up my new computer and find something to wear on tonight’s date.

  A couple of hours later as I was digging through my closet, the super called me out to the living room.

  He held up his hands as soon as I appeared at my door. “Now, don’t you worry, Ms. Truly,” he said. “They will have this fixed in a day or two.

  “Seriously?” God, I could have kissed him. I’d been sure it was going to take weeks to fix. This was the best news I’d had all day. The ONLY good news, actually. But, hey, I’d take what I could get.

  “Maybe even tomorrow.” He looked back over his shoulder. “But your furniture… Maybe you have insurance?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “But…who needs furniture, anyway?”

  Which was mostly true. The furniture didn’t bother me.

  Except for the desk. It had taken the brunt of the water damage, and I was pretty sure there was no saving it. The blond wood was already starting to warp and crack, the drawers moved in hard jerks—except for the one that had swollen shut and wouldn’t budge at all. I didn’t need Josh to tell me it was ruined.

  It was beyond repair, just like my heart. That desk was like having a piece of my dad always with me. A piece of home. My safe place where I created my own worlds in my novels and my own reality in my columns. Where I didn’t have to face Life as it was, but rather Life as I wanted it to be.

  Pressure was growing in my chest the more I thought about it, and I suddenly really needed to get out of there.

  “So…are you guys done for today?” I said, peering over his shoulder to see whether they were still working.

  “Yes. Back tomorrow at eight.”

  Shit. I had to be up and alert by then? And perhaps even back home from my date’s apartment. That is, if everything went well.

  Please, let everything go well.

  I was all kinds of wound up—in every way imaginable—and, boy, did I need a good romp.

  And if that was going to happen, I needed to pack a quick bag and head over to Josh’s to get ready. I bid the workers goodbye, then stuffed some things into a bag—including underwear and pajamas because I was not going to have a repeat of last night—and grabbed the essentials from my demolished bathroom.

  Glancing at my phone, I realized I was really going to have to hurry if I wanted to make it to the restaurant in time.

  I sent up a quick prayer that my date with Duke—seriously, that was his name…I know, I know, it didn’t bode well—would be a success, wishing, not for the first time, that there was a patron saint of dating.

  Because if anybody needed help from above, it was those of us in the dating trenches.

  twelve

  The most amazing smell wafted over me as I opened Josh’s door and called out for him.

  “Kitchen,” he said, then a clanging crash of pans rang out. “Shit.”

  Silence.

  “You okay?” I came to a halt in the doorway. There was food everywhere—steaming bowls and pans covered the countertops. It looked like he’d been working for hours. “Whoa,” I said, walking into the room and pausing to inhale the incredible smell. “Whoever she is, you must like her a lot to be going to this much trouble.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just saying you’re sure to get lucky tonight after this kind of feast. Just please don’t tell me it’s Stacie. She’s a vapid twit. You deserve better.”

  He laughed. “It’s not Stacie.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I have a date tonight,” I said just as he said, “Actually, this is for you.”

  I was just checking out the contents of one pot as his words caught up with me.

  “What?” I stopped, a lid dangling awkwardly from my hand. “Did you just say—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

  Don’t worry about it?

  “Oh, my god, Josh. I’m so sorry.” I gaped, looking around the kitchen again. “I wish I could cancel, but it’s for work and I may have lost everything on my computer so I really need material for next month’s column.” My eyes were starting to sting and a lump was forming in my throat. “I can’t believe you did this for me. No one has ever…”

  “Cooked for you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Really? It’s one of our best moves. A guy can hardly lose when he cooks. I can’t believe no one’s ever used that on you.”

  “No one’s ever had to work that hard to get me into bed.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Color rushed to my cheeks, but I tried to ignore it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Wait…you were using your best move on ME?”

  “Nah, I just figured you’d had a Day and could use it.”

  The lump in my throat only got bigger, and I wanted nothing more than to stay there and spend the evening with Josh.

  But I was a working girl after all.

  “I could use it.” I nodded. “And I can’t tell you how much I wish I could stay…” I lifted my bag, glancing at the clock.

  “Go,” he said, waving me off. “It’s fine. Really.” He grinned. “Besides, as you can see, there will be plenty of leftovers.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Will, you don’t have to apologize. It’s really okay. I should have checked with you first.” He smiled, looking like it was no big deal. I needed it to be no big deal because I couldn’t stand it if I’d hurt him. “Go.”

  I smiled at him, my heart aching, every fiber of my being wanting to stay exactly where I was and never leave.

  Whoa. I did not just have that thought. Okay, I needed to go on this date, because clearly I was confusing things here with Josh, and feeling things that I shouldn’t be feeling. That I didn’t want to be feeling.

  About Josh or anyone else, for that matter.

  Giving myself a mental shake, I slipped into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready, trying to keep my focus on tonight’s guy and off Josh. He wasn’t for me, I knew that, and getting myself confused about him wasn’t going to do either of us any good. In reality, it would only do harm.

  Besides, the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to spend an evening with Duke. He was full of possibilities, many of them dirty, and I was more than ready and willing.

  Two hours later, I was sitting in the swanky restaurant with lines for my column cascading through my mind at an alarming rate. But not the RIGHT kind of lines at all.

  And you keep asking yourself why you’re out with Random Guy when Perfect Guy made you dinner tonight to cheer you up after the disaster that has been your life the past couple of days. Perfect Guy who went out of his way to make your life better. Simply because he wanted to.

  But all Random Guy wants is to get in your pants. And
even though you were pretty sure that’s all you wanted, too, now that you’re sitting here listening to him drone on and on AND ON about investments, you’re not so sure anymore.

  But the problem was, I didn’t write that kind of column. My readers didn’t want to read about Josh, they wanted to read about me tearing apart Duke.

  Which was fine because there was PLENTY to tear apart.

  And that made me equal parts happy and sad. I mean, I loved my column and thoroughly enjoyed snarking about the men I dated. But, honestly, it was starting to feel a little stale.

  Part of me kept wondering when I’d meet a guy like Josh. Odds were it had to happen eventually, right? Someone who I’d actually enjoy hanging out with more than once. Someone I could really talk to. Someone I could get to know and who’d know me.

  Because that’s what it was about.

  Dating.

  Life.

  Someone knowing you.

  I didn’t want marriage. I wasn’t looking for love everlasting. But I wanted someone to know me…down to the depths of my soul.

  And, from the looks of it, it wasn’t going to be Duke.

  “…then I sold all the stock and reinvested it. Made a fortune.” He leaned on his elbows and gave me a sexy smile. “So, tell me about you. Do you like to play the market, too?”

  “Actually, I prefer the field.” I ran my fingertips suggestively over the back of his hand, desperate to get him onto another topic, trying like hell to keep column lines out of my head. An impossible feat if ever there was one.

  “You mean like Wrigley? I’m from Chicago originally, did I tell you that?”

  Oh. Dear. God. “You sure did.”

  You know that thing when the guy completely misses all the signals because he’s too wrapped up in himself? Yeah. That.

  “BIG Cubs fan.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll take you to a game. We could make a weekend of it.”

  If, not even halfway through the first date, he’s suggesting you go away together for a weekend? Run, girls. Far, FAR away. Trust me on this. Too much, too fast. That’s NEVER a good sign. Especially if, like me, you’re having a hard time imagining yourself making it through dessert.

  “So, what do you do?” he said as he picked up his fork and speared some asparagus.

  “I’m a novelist, but you probably haven’t read any of my books.” I gave him a coy smile. “You’re not exactly my target audience.”

  He waved his loaded fork back and forth. “I’m no one’s target audience. I don’t read—never really liked it.” Then he chuckled. “I’m more of a do-er than a reader.” A light went off in his head and he spread his hands out like he was picturing his words on a huge banner. “Those who can, DO. Those who can’t, READ.”

  He laughed like a freaking hyena at his joke.

  I’m not trying to be this picky, I swear. Apparently, I just attract these guys. Clearly it’s me. Something about me says Please talk only about your work and yourself and don’t ask anything about me. Or Please tell me you hate books, because writers LOVE to hear that. It’s a real turn on.

  I could already see myself writing into the wee hours tonight, getting all this down while it was fresh.

  I could also see myself not getting lucky because there was no way I was getting into bed with this guy no matter how pretty he was.

  Or how horny I was.

  A girl had to have standards. And while I was jonesing for a little nookie, it was not going to be with someone like Duke.

  The apartment was quiet and dark when I let myself in. Josh’s door was closed and the sofa bed was already made up for me, with my bags sitting neatly on top.

  And I couldn’t deny my disappointment.

  As soon as I’d left Duke, I’d been anxious to get back to Josh. Now that I was standing alone in the middle of his living room, I was seriously regretting that I’d ever left in the first place.

  Sure, I had the beginnings to a fantastic article that my readers were going to love, and I felt good about that. But there was a part of me that felt sure I’d missed out. That I’d made the wrong decision.

  The feeling had nagged at me all evening, and now that I was back in his space it had grown to epic proportions. Even after three years of living by myself, I’d never felt more alone than I did at that moment.

  Quietly, I scooped up my computer and took it out to the kitchen where I placed it on the table. As I waited for it to boot up, I opened the refrigerator door and gawked at all the containers of leftovers.

  And the ache in my chest got a little bit bigger.

  He’d gone all out for me. Why had I left?

  Had I really needed to go on this date? Kind of. But I also could have rescheduled with a quick text. And I still would have had everything I needed for a great magazine piece.

  So why hadn’t I stayed?

  I stared at all of the containers.

  Maybe it was because this had felt like more. Like we were crossing some sort of line in the sand. The point of no return. Because no one had ever cooked for me, and it felt intimate and caring, and I wasn’t ready for that with Josh.

  With anyone.

  But especially with him because I liked him too much to screw things up. I was too attached to ever be okay with losing him.

  We were friends. Best friends, if I was being honest. And he’d been amazing this week with my parents and then opening up his place, his life for us.

  For me.

  Perhaps I was reading too much into this. He was a nice guy and he was doing something for a friend. Would I have done the same for him? Yes. But I also would have known that it didn’t mean anything more than that.

  But this? All this food sitting here staring back at me like a semi-hostile, though tasty, jury? I couldn’t tell what it meant.

  I reached in and grabbed the most accusatory looking container, as well as a few of its neighbors, and placed them on the table. Then I got out a plate and filled it.

  God, even cold it smelled amazing. Who knew that Josh could cook? He really was the Perfect Guy. When I fictionalized him, I wasn’t going to have to change much. My readers would be swooning over him as is.

  I lifted a filled fork to my mouth and had to hold back a moan as the flavors exploded on my tongue. Sweet Jesus, this was possibly the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted.

  “I am such a fucking idiot,” I murmured to myself, eyes closed as I savored that first bite.

  Why hadn’t I stayed?

  But before I could kick myself any harder, the floor creaked and my eyes flew open.

  Standing there leaning against the doorway was Josh.

  thirteen

  Soft green cotton pajama pants draped down over the tops of his bare feet and a wrinkled white t-shirt covered his torso. Hair rumpled like he’d been sleeping, he had this sweet smile on his face.

  “Sorry,” I said, covering my mouth and swallowing. “Did I wake you?”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t even sure you were back. Until I heard the fridge door open.”

  I pointed down at my plate with my fork. “This is amazing. Seriously, Josh. I’m having a total foodgasm here. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “One or two things I haven’t figured out yet,” he said with a grin. “But I’m working on it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You do that.” I took another bite and this time didn’t hold back my moan. “Oh my god, this is the best food I’ve ever had and I don’t even know what it is.”

  “Mapo Tofu.”

  I stared at him for a moment. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s my favorite, and it’s even better as leftovers.” He crossed the room, opened a drawer, and pulled out a fork. “Scoot,” he said as he sat down next to me and pulled the container over in front of him. “Can’t have you hogging it all.”

  He dipped his fork in and started eating.

  “I’m not the one eating it right out of the container.” I took another bite, and nodded.
“But this is so freaking good, I might.”

  “See what you missed?”

  “I’m not missing anything.” I reached over and scooped another spoonful out as he tried to slap my hand away.

  So I took two scoops.

  “So,” he said, ducking his head and focusing intently on the food in front of him, “how was your date?”

  “Oh, my god, Josh. This guy was so clueless. After I told him what I did for a living, he actually went on and on about hating books.”

  “No,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “Nobody’s that stupid. See, now you’re just making stuff up.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “I wish I were. It was unbelievable. I had to scrape my jaw off the floor far too many times.”

  He turned his entire body to face me, one knee leaning against my thigh. “Why do you keep going out with guys like this, Will?”

  I shrugged. “For work. I mean, yeah, would I like to go out with the perfect guy? Of course. But these guys aren’t like you, Josh. And I suppose that’s good because at the very least they continually give me great material for my column. And they inspire the rotten guys in my novels, making great foils for the leading men. So it’s not all bad.”

  “They’re not like me?”

  “Yeah. They’re not perfect.”

  “You think I’m perfect?” A shit-eating grin lit up his gorgeous face.

  “Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “As if you don’t already know that you’re the perfect guy.” I waved my hands at the leftovers we were devouring. “Exhibit A. Don’t make me get all Exhibit B, C, and D on you.”

  He laughed. “So then date me.”

  I stopped, frozen for a moment as I stared at him.

  “Josh. No,” I said, shaking my head, my heart speeding up because he actually looked serious even though he HAD to be kidding. Because, come on.

  “Why not?” Head tilted to one side, he looked at me like he really didn’t get it.