Twin Piques

by Tracie Banister

  I wave him into the house. When he brushes past me, I get a whiff of his citrusy scent, which makes me flash back to our coupling on the couch, and the dining room table, and the stairs, and the–

  “Well?” he says, after stopping in the middle of the hallway and turning back toward me.

  “Well, what?” I ask, pushing the door shut behind me.

  He heaves an exasperated sigh. “You said you wanted to talk.”

  “I did?”

  “Your text.” He removes his cell phone from his back pocket, slides his finger across its surface, taps the screen a few times, then shoves the device in my face.

  Pushing my glasses up my nose, I read the message that appears to have come from my phone at one thirty-eight this afternoon. “Willa,” I groan with irritation, instantly recognizing my sister’s handiwork. I should have known she was up to something when she knocked all those papers off my desk. That was some seriously odd behavior, even for her.

  “Are you kidding me? Willa sent this text, not you?” Gav does not look pleased. I’m not exactly thrilled either. I thought him coming over meant that he was done pouting and wanted things to go back to normal between us, but it seems he was lured here under false pretenses. Not cool, Willa.

  Interpreting my silence as affirmation, a scowling Gav proclaims, “I’m outta here!”

  “No, wait!” I grab his arm as he walks by. As much as I did not want to have this conversation with Gav, it looks like I don’t have a choice thanks to my sister forcing the issue. UGH She really needs to learn to mind her own business.

  “Why?” He narrows his eyes at me.

  “Um . . .” Suddenly becoming hyperaware of his warm skin and the feel of the short hairs on his forearm tickling my fingertips, I release my hold on him. “Because you came here to talk, and talking’s good, so I think that’s what we should do, except not here in the hallway. Let’s go to the living room.” I take off in that direction, hoping he’ll follow, which he does, albeit reluctantly judging by the sound of his shuffling footsteps.

  When we get to the living room, my eyes are automatically drawn to the couch where we hooked up the first time and I kick myself for not suggesting the kitchen. Oh, well, nothing I can do about the venue for this little tête-à-tête now. I’ll just have to brazen it out. I can do that, right? I deal with tough clients and tough situations at work all the time. Gav’s no different. He can be handled. I just need to follow the proper protocol.

  First step: Identify the problem.

  Gav feels wronged, because I haven’t acknowledged we had sex. I still can’t believe he’s being so sensitive about this, but whatever, I’ll roll with it.

  Second step: Address the problem and make amends, offering to do whatever’s necessary to restore amicable relations.

  Easy. Pivoting to face him, I launch straight into an apology, “Sorry I haven’t followed up on what happened at your birthday dinner. It was remiss of me not to give you some kind of feedback, so I can understand you being miffed.” I flash him a conciliatory smile, which elicits no reaction, so I soldier on. “For the record, I thought the sex was incredible. High marks to you on both technique and creativity. I can honestly say that the experience far exceeded my expectations, which were quite high, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, I wouldn’t be averse to us doing it again, when we’re both in the mood. Why not, right? It would certainly be convenient, with us living next door to each other.”

  Gav stares at me, slack-jawed with what I assume is surprise since I just offered him more mind-blowing sex any time he wants it, which would be a pretty sweet deal for him.

  “Are you seriously asking me to be your new Josh? Wow.” He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “I didn’t think it was possible to be any more insulted than I was when you snuck out of bed after we had sex, then ignored me for almost a week, but you’ve actually managed it. I can’t believe you think that making me your go-to booty call is somehow an elevation of my status in your life.”

  “But it would be–”

  “No, Sloane!” He silences me indignantly. “Friends-with-benefits is not an option for us. You should know that. If you don’t, let me spell it out for you. Your body isn’t enough for me; I want your heart, too. It’s what I’ve wanted as far back as I can remember. I loved you when I was too young to even understand what love was. I just knew that you were the most clever, beautiful, fascinating girl I’d ever met and whenever I was near you, I felt more alive. I still feel that way, twenty-five years later. God, I can’t believe I’ve been waiting around for you that long.” He pauses to rake his fingers through his tousled hair. “It seems ridiculous, but I had myself convinced that if I was patient and didn’t pressure you, the day would finally come when you’d trust me enough to loosen that tight grip you have on your–”

  “Stop, please,” I hear myself begging. I know most women in this situation would be elated, because Gav’s confession of love was like something out of a Blythe Summers’ novel – poignant, heartfelt, and so beautifully and passionately expressed that the only appropriate responses are joyful tears or a dramatic swoon. But I don’t want to cry or faint; I want to run. As far away as I possibly can, because I feel like I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack. My heart’s racing, I can’t remember how to breathe, and I’m perspiring so much that my silk blouse is starting to stick to my skin. Willa may eat this romantic stuff up with a spoon, but I’m highly allergic and I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want to love someone and be dependent on them for my happiness. The only one I can depend on in this life is me. I’ll never disappoint myself. I’ll never make myself feel unworthy or unloved and I don’t want to give that power to anyone else. Not even Gav. Why is he doing this to me? If he really cared, he wouldn’t be putting me in this position. He wouldn’t be asking for something I’m not capable of giving him.

  “I’ve freaked you out,” Gav realizes. Duh, what was your first clue? The deer-in-the-headlights expression on my face, the intermittent gasps for air, the beads of sweat trickling down my neck into my cleavage? Okay, I don’t really have cleavage, but there is a hollow between my breasts where all the perspiration seems to be pooling.

  He takes my hands, which are trembling, and holds them up against his chest, where I can feel the strong, steady thump of his heartbeat. Nice to know he’s so calm about this! “I’m sorry. That was a lot to dump on you all at once, but I think it needed to be said.”

  “No, it didn’t.” I wrench my hands away, suddenly feeling irrationally angry with him, which is good because I’m much more comfortable with anger than I am anxiety. “Why can’t you just be happy with the way things are between us, the way things have always been?”

  “Because living in limbo sucks, and I can’t go on like this.”

  “Poor, long-suffering Gav,” I say, with mock sympathy. “I’m sorry that being in love with me has been so torturous for you. Just out of curiosity, when did you find the time to do all this pining for me? Seems like your nights have been pretty full with that rotating roster of empty-headed Barbies you like to screw, and your days have been tied up with drawing bustier-clad comic book versions of me that have plumped up your bank account nicely.”

  “I’ve been channeling my angst into my art!” he claims, his face turning an unhealthy shade of puce. “And so what if I’ve been successful and made some money doing it? God knows that’s the only return I’ve gotten out of loving you all these years. You’re right; it has been torturous, being close to something I wanted so badly, but couldn’t have, trying to show you what a loyal and supportive partner I could be, watching you get involved in these superficial relationships with douchebags like Josh who didn’t know or appreciate you half as much as I do. Of course, I got frustrated and turned to other women! It was a desperate attempt to escape my feelings for you, but you couldn’t let that happen, could you? Any time I found a little bit of happiness with someone else, you’d swoop right in to foul things up for me. And I let you
, because I viewed your interference as proof of your love for me. You wouldn’t be so jealous and possessive if you didn’t care, right?”

  Now he’s just talking crazy. I’ve never acted jealous and possessive in my life! “I was just looking out for you, like a good friend sho–”

  “That’s bullshit, Sloane, a lie you’ve told yourself repeatedly over the years so that you wouldn’t have to face the truth about us. You’ll do anything to avoid that, won’t you? Make excuses, make jokes, start a fight . . . hell, you even resorted to sex when things got too real for you last week.”

  “I can barely remember what happened leading up to that,” I say, looking away from him. “We both had so much wine . . .”

  “Another excuse. You know damn well that neither of us was impaired by that wine. I’m sure the details of that night are etched just as deeply in your memory as they are in mine. I bared my soul, finally telling you the truth about how I feel, and you jumped me so that you wouldn’t have to verbalize your feelings in return.”

  “I didn’t jump you; I kissed you.”

  “Ah, so it’s all coming back to you now? How you unbuttoned my shirt and climbed into my lap and rubbed–”

  “You weren’t exactly fighting me off,” I remind him tartly. “And I resent being portrayed as some sort of master manipulator who seduced you for nefarious purposes. Did I instigate sex that night? Yes! Did I do it to distract you, or toy with your emotions? No! At least not consciously. Not that I’ll ever convince you of that. You seem determined to think the absolute worst of me, which begs the question – How can you love someone you perceive to be so difficult, selfish, and unfeeling?”

  He sighs. “Because that’s not all you are, and the good stuff outweighs the bad. Plus, I understand why you can be difficult, selfish, and unfeeling sometimes. It all goes back to your father. You don’t trust men and are afraid of being abandoned because of that jerk. I get it, but you can’t keep letting this man you’ve never even met rule your life. You’re going to miss out on so much if you do.”

  I frown and cross my arms over my chest. “What am I missing out on exactly? In almost all the relationships I’ve been privy to in my personal, as well as my professional, life, the woman has been hurt, deceived, taken advantage of, or forced to compromise in some way that was detrimental to her happiness. My own sister has experienced all of the above.”

  “Not all guys are assholes. Willa may have kissed a lot of frogs in her search for love, but she’s found her prince now in Brody.”

  “That romance is still in the honeymoon phase. Give it a month or two. Something will go wrong; it always does,” I say flippantly.

  “God!,” he moans with feeling, reminding me once again of our sexual encounter. Gav has a tendency to invoke the Almighty’s name right before he . . . How can I put this delicately? . . . completes the act. “It must be exhausting to be so cynical! Not all relationships are doomed, you know. Look at my parents. They were happily married for almost thirty years. My dad loves my mom to this day; he hasn’t been on so much as one date since she passed away and he still wears his wedding band and has her picture on his nightstand. The Shaw men are devoted like that.” Gav moves in close and tenderly touches the side of my face. “We’re one-woman men. Say the word . . . No, say three words, and you can be my one woman.”

  “I can’t,” is my knee-jerk response. Friendship is doable for me, so is sex, but a relationship that would require me to make a serious emotional investment? Just the thought makes me queasy.

  “You mean, you won’t.”

  “Either way, same result,” I say in a business-like tone.

  “You’re being a coward,” he spits the accusation, then drops his hand from my cheek and storms out of the room.

  I can’t let Gav have the last word, especially when it cast aspersions on my character, so I chase after him down the front hallway, yelling, “I am not a coward! I’m brave, because I know my own mind and I stick to my–”

  Gav stops a few feet shy of the front door, and I crash into him, staggering back on my heels. He reacts instinctively, reaching out to grab my arms and pull me up against his body so that I stay upright.

  “. . . guns,” I finish my self-defense breathlessly, my lips only a fraction of an inch from his.

  “You shot me in the heart with one of those guns tonight, and I think you shot yourself, too,” he murmurs, his eyes on my mouth. Does he want to kiss me? I really wish he would, although kissing is what got us into this mess in the first place, so that’s probably not the best idea.

  I glance down at my chest, where the organ that’s symbolic of the deepest human emotions resides. “I don’t feel anything.” I’m trying to convince myself more than him at this point.

  “More lies,” he grinds the words out through clenched teeth before shoving me away.

  “You are the most impossible woman! Why did I have to fall in love with you when I was a kid? Why couldn’t it have been Willa? She would have made me happy. She’s the sweetest, most open person I’ve ever known and she has this great capacity for love – unlike you.”

  Right for the jugular. Bastard. He knows how much I hate being compared to my angelic sister. That’s a battle I can never win. My hands ball into fists at my side. “You have Willa’s phone number,” I seethe. “You should give her a call so the two of you can get started on your perfect, wonderful life together. Get out!” I jab a finger angrily at the front door.

  “Gladly!” he shouts back, then stomps out, slamming the door shut so hard that the old house shakes.

  I’m shaking, too. With rage and exasperation and a host of other emotions I don’t really want to name. I can’t believe how badly that went. Gav and I have had fights before, plenty of them, but nothing on this grand of a scale. We can’t come back from this. He can’t unsay that he loves me, and I can’t unbreak his heart. Dammit! This is all Willa’s fault. If she hadn’t interfered and gotten Gav’s hopes up with that text, everything would have been okay . . . eventually. But no, she had to push her stupid romantic agenda. “You should talk to Gav. Make sure you’re on the same page.” UGH No good comes from talking . . . ever. Tonight has proven that.

  I march into the dining room and scoop up my cell phone, which is lying on the table. Since my sister’s such a big fan of text messages, I’m going to send her one, in a language she’ll understand.

  Chapter 34

  (Willa)

  “Cherry pie?” I can’t help but smile when Brody returns from his kitchen carrying two plates that have gorgeous pieces of red fruit-filled, lattice-crusted pie on them.

  He grins and hands me a plate. “Cherries are kind of our thing now, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I guess they are.” I love that we have a “thing!”

  “And I know how much you like whipped cream, so I gave you an extra helping.”

  “Yummy.” I hope he still has some of that whipped cream left, because I can imagine us making good use of it in his bedroom later. Not that either of us has voiced our intention of ending our evening there, but I have a strong feeling that’s the direction we’re headed in. Brody and I have been spending almost all our free time together this past week and that time has included several marathon kissing sessions, which were amazing. Because we agreed not to rush things, these sessions stopped just short of anyone getting naked, but I think we’re both ready (More than ready!) to take our relationship to the next level. Brody did treat me to a wonderful, candlelit dinner at a French restaurant earlier and now we’re back at his place, about to share some sweet, delicious pastry, while John Legend plays on his iPod. So, the stage is set for romance, and I’m all aflutter with anticipation!

  “Want some coffee to go with your pie? I just brewed a pot of decaf.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll take a little cream, no sugar.”

  “You got it. Don’t wait for me to get started on the pie. It tastes best when it’s warm.”

  Brody leaves the room, but Roxie rema
ins with me since I’m now the one with food.

  She cocks her head to the side and stares at me, conveying a very clear message: “Are you gonna gimme some of that pie, or what?”

  I break off a piece of crust and slip it to her as inconspicuously as possible. “Don’t tell your daddy,” I whisper. Brody’s not keen on feeding dogs people food, and I try to respect his wishes in that regard most of the time, but come on, how am I supposed to resist that adorable face?

  With my fork, I scoop up a bite of the pie for myself, making sure to get a good dollop of whipped cream on top. Ohmigod, so good! The flaky, buttery crust that practically melts in my mouth, the sweet filling with the tart pop of the cherries – this is heaven on a plate! Forget the whipped cream, now I’m fantasizing about spreading this cherry pie filling all over certain, lickable parts of Brody’s body and–

  My phone chimes, signaling that I’ve got an incoming text. I set down my plate and pick up the cell. I’ve had it on all night, because I didn’t want to miss any breaking news in the Sloane/Gav story. I see that the message is from my sister. When I read it, I cringe.

  “Bad news?” Brody wonders, coming back with the coffee.

  “Um, yeah. I think my plan to get Sloane and Gav together backfired big time.” I hold up the phone to show him Sloane’s text.

  “Two lightning bolts, three black hearts, four angry faces, and one-two-three-four-five-six steaming piles of poop. Wow, in emoji-speak, that’s like an apocalypse. What do you think happened?” He takes a seat on the couch next to me.

  “I think Sloane was Sloane, and she blew off Gav because she’s too scared of getting hurt to give a relationship with him a chance. And now she’s all ticked off and blaming me.”

  “Do you want to call her? I don’t mind. I’ve got this pie to keep me busy for a while.” He shovels in a heaping forkful of cherry goodness and smirks with red-stained lips.