by Sara Ney
“Are you even listening?” An elbow meets my ribcage, jarring me momentarily. Finally nodding at something Dex is saying beside me, I turn towards Cal and rejoin their conversation.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
My sister’s boyfriend tracks my movement, looking over at his sister and then at me. He briefly pauses before responding. “I asked Dex if he was coming with you to my match against Purdue in two weeks. He said no.”
Dex pulls at the preppy bowtie around his throat. “Can’t. My sisters have a thing.”
He has sixteen-year-old twin sisters.
“High school musical opening night,” he explains. “Shouldn’t be too bad. This year they’re doing…”
Nodding absentmindedly, I stop listening to watch Tabitha out of the corner of my eye. She leans against the far wall of my living room, balancing a monster plate of chips and veggies while smiling at something my aunt Cindy and cousin Stella are saying. At that moment, her tongue darts out between cherry-red lips to lick the corner of her mouth.
My eyes are riveted.
“Alright, let’s cut the crap,” Cal’s deep voice interrupts, along with another quick jab to my ribcage. “What’s going on between you and my sister?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t mince words. “Bullshit. I’ve been watching you watch her try to get away from you all night.”
Strangely enough, I understand every word he just said. And since he brought it up, I might as well ask. “Yeah, what is up with that?”
I cross my arms over my chest resentfully, still staring at Tabitha.
“Okay, I get it now.” Cal tips back his beer and swallows hard. “No wonder she didn’t want to come.”
My head whips around. “What the hell does that mean?”
The bastard laughs drolly. “Grey had to practically force her.”
“Why?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Because. I guess she’s still embarrassed about accusing Greyson of cheating on me with you or some shit. We had to pull out the big guns to get her here.”
For fuck’s sake. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we had to fucking bribe her to come. We knew at some point you’d have to see each other again, and figured she might as well get it over with. Grey swore she’d come home for a girls’ night out with Tab’s friends. Oh—we also promised her she didn’t have to talk to you tonight.” He tenderly traces two fingers over his left eye, which is blackened by a fresh bruise and stitched up with black thread. “Still, we literally had to shove her into my truck. I felt like a goddamn kidnapper, minus a disturbing lurker van.”
Lovely.
But can I point something out? Two weeks ago she called me ridiculously good looking—not to mention, she was totally checking me out at Target. Damn straight she was. Which means she’s attracted to me.
Like I’m going to forget that little factoid anytime soon. Not a chance.
Cal taunts, “I mean—just look at her trying to avoid you and shit.”
He’s right. Tabitha skulks from the snack table to the bookshelf on the far wall of my living room, balancing her loaded plate in one hand and running the other along the wooden shelves. She trails the tips of her fingers across a leather-bound volume of Walt Whitman, then all the way over to a copy of Divergent.
She pops a chip in her mouth, chewing slowly, and stands rigidly, studying the contents of my collection—which isn’t that extensive. I’m not a big reader or anything, but I have a few good ones, most of them gifts from my mom, who’s always tried to get me to read more. And play Sudoku. Improve my “brain function,” like I have all the time in the world for word puzzles and shit.
Also propped on the bookshelf, dead center on the middle shelf not far from where Tabitha is lingering, is her novel, faced out and eye level. All she has to do is take three dainty steps to her left. Three tiny steps or one hundred and sixty degrees to her left, and she’d see it.
Right there, in front of her beautiful face.
I raise the beer bottle in my hand to my lips, sipping with a wide smirk when Tabitha turns her back to the books. Yup, I’m confident she doesn’t know I have her paperback proof. Her naughty, naughty little novel, all marked up with edits and comments.
I can hardly wait to finish reading the damn thing.
Then tell her about it.
Man, she is going to be pissed.
A sick part of me is disappointed, wanting her to turn back around and notice the book; it would force her to confront me. And yeah, it’s kind of a dick move to keep it and display it out in the open where anyone could see it, put two and two together—but what are the odds of that happening? Slim to none.
It must be important. And yes, I realize I have to eventually return it, but seriously, what fun would it be to just hand it over?
No. I’m going to make her work for it.
Does that make me a sick bastard, or what?
Blare could hardly believe she was seeing him again. She actually wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Unfortunately for her, she was trapped in this condo with a group full of people, her ride home no closer to being ready to leave than she had been ten minutes earlier.
She turned, grasping for a fancy bookend she’d managed to knock loose. It fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and when she bent to pick it up, there he was, devouring her with his penetrating stare.
He was staring, watching her from across the room. How had he even ended up here, in this condo?
Wishing she had something to occupy her hands, Blare made a beeline for the food, his image filling her mind as she filled her plate. He was so painfully handsome she could barely stare at him for too long. Why couldn’t he have been a jerk at the store? She moved then, closer to the windows, looking down into the bustling city traffic, wishing she were anywhere but here… away from him.
Because he scared the shit out of her.
Why was she avoiding him? Because in a crazy, bizarre twist of fate, the good-looking stranger with the gorgeous, seductive eyes is her best friend’s step-brother and completely off-limits. Cheeks flaming hot, Blare plucked a wine glass off a nearby table, and chugged it….
Collin: I have something here that belongs to Tabitha. Can you give me her cell?
Greyson: You haven’t texted me in days, and now it’s only because you want my friend’s number?! Rude.
Collin: Please? I’ll go buy that ugly-ass shower curtain you picked out.
Greyson: Fine. Deal. But I’m not giving you her cell—she won’t want you having that. You can have her email address instead.
Collin: What the hell, Grey? Why not?
Greyson: She’s still embarrassed about what happened at Target.
Collin: So?
Greyson: loud sigh You just don’t understand women at all, do you…
Collin: That’s never been up for debate.
Greyson: Do you want her info or not?
Collin: Fine. Yes.
Greyson: I know you’re pouting, you big baby.
Greyson: Ready? Here it is…
Greyson: Don’t abuse it. Tell her what you need to tell her, then leave her alone.
Collin: Me? Abuse it? It pains me that you would say that. Like I would abuse her privacy like that…
Greyson: You WOULD do that.
Collin: Yeah, I totally would, but only because I have no boundaries—but not in a weird way.
Greyson: I’m confused. What other way is there?
Collin: Oh gee, let me think—inventing a fake boyfriend and blasting it on Twitter like some “other people” I know. That’s the other way.
Greyson: Sometimes I wish I was an only child.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thank You
Tabitha, thanks for coming with Cal and Greyson to my housewarming party last night. I hope you enjoyed yourself. Thank you for the bottle of wine. Just a quick not
e: I have a book that I think belongs to you. Actually, I know it does because you left it at Blooming Grounds and I’m just now getting around to letting you know. Let me know how best to return it to you.
CK
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: ??
Collin. I’m confused. How did you end up with it? I knew I misplaced it, but it never would have occurred to me that you had it since I was just at your house. So now I’m wondering, why didn’t you give it back to me then??? I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that it’s important. Would it be an inconvenience for you to pop it in the mail as soon as possible?
Tabitha Thompson
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: No can do.
Tabitha, to answer your question, you dropped the book at Blooming Grounds. During your tizzy. And unfortunately, mailing the book won’t work for me. Want to meet somewhere? I don’t mind getting it to you in person.
CK
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I wouldn’t want to impose.
Collin. That’s a very generous offer, but to save you trouble, again, why not just pop it in the mail? I’ll gladly pay the shipping.
Tabitha Thompson
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: No big deal
Tabitha, I can assure you, it would be no imposition. How does 5:30 on Thursday night sound? After work? Does Finches Tap House sound good to you? It’s on the corner of Rayburn and Division. CK
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sounds good
Collin. Yes, I know where that is.
You’re going to force me to see you… aren’t you?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: It’s a date.
We’re on for 5:30. Can’t wait.
CK
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Fine.
It’s not a date.
Tabitha: Collin, it’s Tabitha Thompson. I hope it’s okay that I asked Greyson for your cell. I wanted to let you know that I’m no longer available to meet Thursday.
Collin: Not to be rude, but you are full of shit.
Tabitha: Why on earth would I lie?
Collin: I can think of a couple reasons. 1) because you’re embarrassed I witnessed your tantrum at the store, and 2) because you write dirty, dirty books…
Tabitha: They are NOT dirty books!
Collin: Not dirty? What about this part: “And when he stroked my inner thigh, my body quivered and started on fire, igniting my core.” What the hell is a core, by the way?
Tabitha: STOP! Just stop. I get the picture. Fine, they’re dirty books. Big deal. And anyway, I have a work thing on Thursday I forgot about.
Collin: “A work thing.” Has anyone told you you’re a terrible liar?
Tabitha: I honestly CANNOT meet with you on Thursday. Can you just send my book in the mail? Please.
Collin: That makes no sense. We live in the same city. Besides, how is that any fun?
Tabitha: Fun? I’m not looking for fun. I just want my book back! I’m sure you’ve noticed it contains notes. It’s valuable. The sooner you send it back the better.
Collin: Too bad. I’m not sending it in the mail. You have to meet me, or you’ll never hold it in your greedy hands again.
Tabitha: That’s blackmail!
Collin: No, it’s extortion.
Tabitha: Um no… it’s blackmail.
Collin: Semantics. Text me when you’re ready to negotiate.
Tabitha: That will NEVER happen. NEVER!!!!
Tabitha: Okay, fine. What’s it going to take?
Collin: Wow, you held out an entire twenty minutes. I expected more resistance from you, quite honestly. This must be driving you crazy, huh?
Tabitha: You have no idea.
Collin: Oh, I have an idea.
Tabitha: Could you please just mail it? Please. I’m asking nicely.
Collin: Actually, that sounds more like begging.
Tabitha: You’re bordering on obnoxious.
Collin: Calling me names isn’t going to convince me.
Tabitha: …and by ‘obnoxious’ I meant adorable?
Collin: Fine, I’ll think about it.
Tabitha: Really?!
Collin: No.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Clearing the air.
Collin. So, I’ve been wanting to clear the air since we last met, but have been too nervous. And embarrassed. I never did apologize for what happened when I saw you and Greyson at the store and jumped to conclusions. And for being weird at the coffee shop. And avoiding you at your housewarming party. Wow. Putting it into words really looks… terrible. Yikes! It was all very childish. I’m sorry. Tabitha
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Possession is 9/10th of the Law
If you’re trying to get me to change my mind by apologizing, it won’t work. Nice try though. Seriously, your mild effort only mildly warms my heart. This reminds me of the time I nailed my sister in the face with a football and the force knocked her flat on the ass. I apologized, but only because my parents made me. And Greyson knew I only said sorry to get myself out of trouble. It worked on my parents, but it won’t work on me. You can sweet-talk me all you want, but this book is now in a hostage situation. I shall enjoy reading it again and again and again, while thinking of you the entire time.
CK
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thinking of me the entire time?
Collin, dear God, please don’t—I don’t want you thinking of me AT ALL, let alone the entire time you’re reading my book. Alright. You’ve worn me down. Since the book is valuable to me, I agree to meet you Thursday. But just so you know, it’s under EXTREME duress. Tabitha
Collin: TE Thomas, I will see you Thursday.
If a glower could kill, I would be a dead man.
We’re sitting across from each other at a booth at Finches Tap, a slightly grimy sports bar in a rougher part of town, but what Finches lacks in cleanliness it makes up for in atmosphere.
Dimly lit leather booths line the walls, loud music masks chatter from surrounding patrons, and beer is served ice cold. The wait staff is experienced and knows when to disappear.
Like now.
Left alone to our own devices in the seclusion of our giant corner booth, Tabitha and I each have our arms crossed defensively, regarding each other across the marred tabletop like the worthiest adversaries, spoiling for a showdown. Under the hazy overhead light and flickering candle in front of us, Tabitha’s glossy lips gleam as her eyes do their best to spear me into silence.
Unsuccessfully, I might add.
I refuse to let her spoil my good mood.
“You know what my favorite part of your whole book was—besides the part where Rachel finally loses her virginity? This part here.” I poke the open page with my forefinger and slide the book nearer to Tabitha across the table. “This part here, where she asks Devon to be her love coach.” I lower my voice to a whisper, conspiratorially. “Did you know by love, Rachel actually means…” I look to my left, then to my right, acting covertly like I don’t want anyone to overhear me. “Sex?”
I do my best to sound appalled.
“I am well aware.” Tabitha glares at me from across the booth, holding her hand out, palm up. She’s not smiling, but her gorgeous eyes dance with mischief. “Are you done having fun at my expense?” She wiggles her fi
ngers. “Please hand it over.”
“Whoa there, grabby hands.” I tsk and wriggle my index finger at her, hesitating to hand her book over. “Just hold your horses a minute. I’d like to read out loud from it first, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually, I do mind.”
“Yeah, but the part where he takes her to his family picnic, and they almost kiss behind the shed? Brilliant sexual tension. Now, drawing your attention to chapter ten—”
“I know what chapter ten says, you ass.” Her hand flies across the booth to deftly snatch her novel out of my evil clutches, and defensively she cradles the book to her chest like a newborn baby.
I watch as she relaxes and begins fanning out the pages, thoroughly examining them for damage. Her lithe fingers run over the cover, stroking it like the paperback is actually precious cargo.
What a weirdo.
“What the hell are you inspecting it for?”
“You dog-eared the pages!” She accuses me with another pissed-off scowl, her blue eyes squinting at me. Opening a black messenger bag, she carefully digs through it, clears a spot, and strategically places the book inside. “Why would you do that?”
“You wrote in it!” I pick up a menu that’s lying in the center of the table and give her a carefree shrug. “Besides, I didn’t have a bookmark.”
“You read it?” She gasps, horrified. “You read my romance novel?”
“Well, yeah. I like to read, so…” I shrug my broad shoulders again, defensively. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it’s my proof copy! I mean, the author’s copy. For editing,” she screeches. The woman in the next booth shushes us. Frustrated, Tabitha lowers her voice. “You don’t just read a proof copy.”
