by Aven Ellis
My heart flutters wildly as Deke smiles in response to my last sentence.
“Well, since you like me, do you want to have dinner tomorrow night? Maybe we could get some sushi and take it back to my place in Wrigleyville. And we could watch a movie or something.”
My spine tingles in delight. I can’t wait to see what Deke’s place is like. What kind of furniture he has, if he has pictures of his friends and family—
“Avery?”
I blink. We’ve come to a stop at a red light, and he’s waiting for my answer.
“Sorry. I was just wondering what kind of furniture you had in your apartment. But yes, sushi at your place tomorrow night sounds fabulous.”
Deke grins broadly at me. “Your brain never stops asking questions, does it?”
I giggle. “Nope.”
We finally make it back to my block, but there’s no parking space to be had in the middle of this downpour. Apparently no one wants to go out in the horrible weather.
“Shit,” he says, stopping in front of my place.
“You can just let me out here,” I say, turning to him. “You don’t need to bring my luggage upstairs for me.”
“Avery—” Deke begins to protest.
“Just put on your hazards for a second,” I say. “Honestly, I can get everything upstairs just fine.”
“I’m at least taking your bag to the front door,” Deke insists. “You just run to the building, and I’ll bring your bag to you.”
Then he jumps out of the Grand Cherokee and goes to the back.
I get out of my seat and grab my purse and coat, sprinting toward the building as the heavy rain soaks my skin. Another crack of thunder roars overhead, making me jump as I reach the front steps and take shelter underneath the entryway.
I turn to see Deke slamming the hatch shut. He carries my bag as he runs up the sidewalk, his white dress shirt clinging to him by the time he reaches me on the steps.
“Really, it will only take me a second to take this upstairs for you,” Deke says, raking a hand through his wet hair.
Mmmm. I’m lost for a moment as I take in how hot Deke is with his wet hair and rain-soaked clothes. I can smell rain and his cologne and the combination on his skin is quite intoxicating.
I quickly clear my throat, as I can’t let my newfound sexual desires take over every thought I have.
“Deacon, please. You don’t want to leave your car in the street with bad visibility. I’m fine, I promise.” Then I lean up on my tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss on the lips. “See you tomorrow?”
Deke gently runs his fingers through my wet hair. Mmmm. I really love the fact he’s a hands-on, affectionate kind of guy.
“I can’t wait,” Deke murmurs, holding me close.
“Me neither,” I say. “Be careful driving home. Text me when you get there.”
“I will,” Deke says, kissing me one more time. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I say.
I step inside the building, and Deke runs back to his car. I sigh dreamily as I lug my bag up the steps, thinking of Deke’s lips on mine the entire time.
On the way up to the second floor, I see a soaked James and Tate come out of my apartment.
“Hey, Avery, how was San Francisco?” James asks when he sees me.
“Hi, guys. It was fantastic,” I say dreamily.
“Good to hear,” James says. “Hey, we’re moving some furniture up for Sasha, so would you mind leaving the door open?”
“Sure, no problem,” I say, moving past him and Tate.
I find Sasha and Bree and Stupid Sullivan in the apartment, all gathered around the kitchen bar counter with Starbucks cups.
“Hello,” I say happily as I practically float into the apartment. “I’m back from San Francisco. Sorry I’m late, Bree.”
Everyone is staring at me. I had texted Bree and Sasha to let them know I was staying a few extra days but didn’t elaborate anything more than that. And that’s why I had invited Bree to meet me over here tonight—so I could tell her all about Deke in person.
“Great day for a coffee run,” I say, smiling. “But today is just a great day, period,” I declare, my exuberance for life overflowing within me.
“Avery? What’s going on?” Bree asks, studying me carefully. “You seem different. You’re glowing,” she says slowly, as if putting together a puzzle. Then her eyes sparkle at me. “Yes, you’re definitely glowing. Did something else besides the presentation happen in San Francisco?”
“I’m in love,” I say happily.
“With who?” Sasha asks, wrinkling her brow. “Some guy you met in San Francisco?”
“No, with Deacon,” I say excitedly, barely able to contain my joy. “I’m in love with Deacon Ryan.”
“Deacon?” Sasha asks. “Who the hell is Deacon?”
“Sasha! You know, the videographer who shoots in our apartment every week. We’re in love.”
“Ewh! You’ve had sex with the creepy camera guy?” Sasha cries, a horrified expression passing over her face.
“He’s not creepy,” I say, anger flickering through me.
“You slept with Deke?” Bree asks, sounding shocked and uncertain of this.
“Damn. Little Avery, if you were that hard up you should have stopped by my place,” Sullivan says, leering at me. “But to have to resort to banging your cameraman? Wow.”
I bite back my temper as Sullivan’s voice trails off in disgust.
“I realize this is a shock,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, “but I’ve spent a lot of time with Deacon shooting this show and I’ve discovered he’s an amazing person. And I love him.”
“You can’t love him. You’re repulsed by him,” Sasha spits. “You said he smelled bad.”
“What?” I say. “I never said that!”
“Okay, so you said he didn’t wear cologne. Same difference,” Sasha declares. “You also said he had horrible clothes, was rude, and impossible to talk to. With a big zero in the personality department.”
“That was a long time ago!” I snap angrily.
“Why would you want to date a guy who does manual labor for a living?” Sullivan asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Let Avery talk,” Bree says firmly, trying to help me. “Because if she loves him, I know she has a thousand good reasons why.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice shaking in anger. I take a deep breath to try and calm down before speaking, but Sasha starts talking first.
“You don’t love him. You don’t even like him. And you even said Deke was not the type of guy you’d ever be attracted to,” Sasha says. “And if you are repulsed by him, his scent, his crappy clothes and his hideous personality, you never in your right mind would have had sex with him.”
Then she puts down her coffee cup and grabs me by the shoulders. “Avery, we all know how you haven’t had sex in years. Nobody has to know about this desperate slip you made while on vacation. It’s one indiscretion with hired help, that’s all. We’ll all keep your secret. There’s no need for our sorority sisters to know you went dumpster diving for a sexual partner.”
I’m about to let Sasha have it when there’s a loud, angry rap against the doorframe.
I turn around, and my stomach drops out when I see Deke standing there, holding my Burberry scarf in his hand.
Chapter 22
Oh God. Oh God. Please, God, please don’t let him have heard any of that, I pray frantically as my stomach ties into a frozen knot. Please.
But one look at the hurt, angry expression on Deke’s face and I know he has.
I can’t breathe. My heart pounds furiously inside my chest, and panic rises within me. I know what Deke’s thinking. He’s thinking I’m Christine. He’s thinking this is t
he same situation, when nothing could be further from the truth.
“Deacon,” I cry, breaking the awful silence that has now filled the apartment. I rush toward him, not giving a damn that we have an audience. I have to fix this. I have to let him know this is all a misunderstanding. “I—”
“You left this in the car,” he interrupts, holding my pale blue Burberry scarf in his hand. “I drove a block before I realized it. But I know how much it matters to you, so I wanted to bring it back. Your neighbor was coming out of your building when I was going in, so I didn’t need to buzz you to let me inside.”
I gulp as he hands the scarf to me, but I refuse to take it back. Not until he hears me out.
“Deacon, you don’t understand,” I plead, shaking my head. “I—”
“Just take it,” Deke snaps angrily, his blue-green eyes flashing at me. “There’s nothing more to say. Luckily for me, I’ve heard everything I need to know.”
Then he thrusts the scarf into my hand and turns to walk away.
I let the scarf fall to the floor as I run out after him.
“Deacon! Deacon, wait,” I yell, running down the steps after him.
He whirls around on the landing to face me. And his eyes are so full of pain and fury that I stop dead on the stairs, unable to take another step.
“Don’t call me that,” he says angrily, sticking out his hand. “Don’t you ever call me Deacon again.”
Then he turns and continues down the stairs.
“No,” I say, running after him. “You don’t understand. You don’t.”
Deke doesn’t stop. He storms down the stairs, and I’m running after him as fast as I can, trying to catch up. He races outside and I find myself chasing after him in the pouring rain.
“I’m not Christine,” I scream at him. “I’m not.”
Deke stops dead in his tracks on the sidewalk. I run up behind him, gasping for breath. Except I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything until I make things right with him.
He turns around and stares hard at me. “No, you’re not Christine,” he says slowly. “Because you hurt me worse.”
Tears fill my eyes and splash down my cheeks, mingling with the rain that is pouring down on top of us. I want to speak, but I can’t. The words won’t come out over the lump that has swelled in my throat.
Deke’s eyes burn into mine, and he finally breaks the silence between us.
“So tell me, Avery. Is that the first thing you did? You couldn’t wait to rush upstairs and absolve your sins to your friends? To beg their forgiveness for fucking the lowly videographer?” Deke shouts angrily.
“No! You didn’t hear everything I said!”
“I heard enough.”
“But you misunderstood.”
“Did you say those things about me?” Deke asks point blank.
Oh shit. I know that he understands me better than anyone in my whole life ever has. And if I lie to him, Deke will know it the second it comes out of my mouth. I have to tell him the truth.
“I . . . I did,” I admit, my face burning in shame. The second my admission comes out, Deke looks as though I’ve slapped him. “But that was before I knew you. You know I don’t feel that way about you now. You know that.”
“You know what I know? This—us—was never supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to get involved. You were supposed to be a subject and nothing more. I never, ever, should have gotten involved with you,” Deke shouts over the sound of the rain. “This is my fault for mixing work and my personal life. But that’s over now.”
“What . . . what do you mean?” I stammer.
“I’m going to do what I should have done weeks ago,” Deke say, his voice shaking. “I’m getting off this assignment. You don’t have to worry about me ruining your social status with your friends. I’m done. You’ll never see me again.”
Anger suddenly surges within me. “Maybe we weren’t supposed to happen, but we did,” I yell, frustrated that he’s not hearing what I’m telling him. “We belong together. And you’re going to throw all of this away because of things I said a month ago? Are you forgetting that you said some awful things about me too, in the beginning? You judged me just as harshly as I did you, but I forgave you for it.”
“But I said that before,” Deke says suddenly.
“Before what?”
“Before I fell in lo—” Deke abruptly stops.
I freeze in place. Oh my God. He was going to say he loved me. He needs to know that I love him, too. I need to say it, even if every romantic advice column has told me it’s too soon to do so. I’m about to tell him I love him when he starts speaking.
“None of that matters,” Deke says, shaking his head. “You’re wrong, Avery. We don’t belong together. We never did.”
A sob escapes my throat. A clap of thunder roars overhead, but neither one of us move.
We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. Then Deke turns and begins to storm back to his car, and I realize he’s pulled back into himself. Anger swirls within me again, as he’s treating me just like his mother and Christine even though I’m willing to stand here and fight to make things right. I’m the one who loves him and wants to be with him. I refuse to leave him, yet he’s shoving me away.
I have to say something to make him think. I have to get under his skin before it’s too late. I instantly think of how Deke told me he’s disappointed every woman in his life and realize that’s the one thing I can say to get through to him.
“Deacon,” I shout over the sound of the rain.
He turns around, his face full of the same anger and pain that I know is etched on my own right now.
“I didn’t think I’d ever say this to you, but you’re really disappointing me,” I say, choking on the words.
Deke stares at me for a long moment, and I stand still, my heart frozen inside my chest. Please, Deacon, think about what I’m saying, I will him. You have to know we belong together. You have to know that.
But then he turns and walks back toward his car, leaving me alone in the pouring rain.
I stay rooted to the sidewalk, watching Deke as he drives off. I swallow hard, staring at his Grand Cherokee until it disappears out of my sight.
Oh God. Oh God. I want to throw up. I turn and head back toward my apartment building, wiping tears from my eyes. I don’t have my key to get back inside, but I don’t care. I’m not ready to go upstairs and face everyone, not when my heart has shattered into a million pieces.
I sit down on the front step, in the shelter of the awning, and draw my knees to my chest. Tears roll down my face, plopping onto the denim like raindrops. I sniffle and go to put my head down on my knees when I notice a copy of the Lincoln Park Vibe sitting out on the step next to me.
So, Emily, how would you fix this? I wonder painfully, thinking of the advice column that I read to Deke on a weekly basis. How do you bring back together two people who were never supposed to be together in the first place?
Suddenly the word “supposed” whirls through my brain. I sit straight up, thinking of all the “supposed” things that were to happen in my life, but didn’t.
I wasn’t supposed to want a career, but I found one I love. I was supposed to have the perfect roommate in Sasha, but she drives me insane. I was supposed to fall for a guy like Sullivan, but I fell in love with Deke instead.
And just like that, I have an Oprah “AHA!” moment.
Life isn’t about supposed, I think, my mind racing. Life is about following your heart. About following your dreams and desires and not what you are “supposed” to do, but rather what you want to do. It’s doing what you need to do. It’s about doing what is going to make you a better person on the inside.
I scramble to my feet as adrenaline rushes through me. I’m not giving up.
Not when I’ve finally figured out what I really want with my life.
I’m going to get Deke back.
And with a little inspiration from “Dear Emily,” I think I know just how I’m going to do it.
Chapter 23
I take a determined breath of air as I head toward my cubicle on Monday morning. I haven’t spoken to Deke since our awful fight on Friday night. I’ve texted him and called him, but he hasn’t returned any of my messages. But I knew he wouldn’t. Deke has thrown up a wall between us, one I can’t get through with modern technology.
But it’s a wall I’m hell bent on breaking when we are together face-to-face this morning.
I pray he hasn’t been able to replace himself on this assignment over the weekend. So he’ll have to work with me. And I’m here early so I can take him aside, tell him everything that is in my heart, and work this out so we can be together. Not because we are supposed to be, but because we want to be.
I turn the corner and hold my breath, praying that Deke is already here. But as soon as I see my cubicle, I stop dead in my tracks. There’s a camera case and equipment next to my desk, but Deke isn’t the videographer bending over the equipment.
Zach Ryan is.
My heart drops into my stomach. My throat swells shut. I can’t breathe as I stare at Zach, stunned to see him here. I never thought of Zach taking Deke’s place today, never.
“Where . . . Where’s Deacon?” I finally manage to ask, clutching the strap on my messenger bag tightly.
Zach instantly turns around. He stands up, his eyes staring intently at mine.
“Deke switched assignments with me. He went to New York this morning.”
“New York?” I gasp, taking a step back. I shake my head, as I don’t want to process this information. “No. He can’t be in New York. He can’t.”
