She smiles broadly and holds out her hand. “Garrett, of course. It’s going to be a summer wedding after he finishes his first year of medical school here.”
My hands fist, but I play it cool, smiling. “Splendid. Now, I’m going to see Trenton.”
She calls out after me as I march down to his small office, but I ignore her, opening the door wide.
He stands behind his desk, his sandy blond hair rumpled as if he’s run his hands through it several times. Sitting on a chair next to his desk is his assistant Vivien, a stylish lady in her fifties who I met the first week he started. Papers and folders litter the room.
“Rose!” His face is lined with a frown as he spots me then Aria right behind me.
“I told her you were busy, but she ignored me,” Aria says.
He waves at her over my shoulder. “It’s fine. I can say hi to my girl.”
“Hey,” I say, coming into the room and getting a little thrill from shutting the door in Aria’s face.
He comes around the oak desk and meets me halfway, giving me a hug. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.” He kisses me soundly on the lips, and I reflexively kiss him back, feeling wrong—horribly, horribly wrong.
Vivien says hello, her gaze immediately back on her work.
“So, Aria? That’s new.”
He smirks. “Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you. I hope we can work things out with them . . . if you’re comfortable with Garrett.”
Comfortable? He’s a douchebag. I frown. “I’m not.”
He caresses his hand down my arm. “They’re engaged, so he’s going to be part of my family. Maybe we should cut him some slack.”
I start to say something but clamp my mouth shut when I realize that at this point, Garrett is a moot point.
There’s a reason I’m here, and it doesn’t have jack to do with Aria or Garrett.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call first, I just . . . needed to talk to you. Maybe you can take a break and we can hit the coffee shop across the street?”
He checks his watch, a look of regret on his face. “Can it wait? This client is coming in tomorrow for a conference, and we just got some last-minute additions to the investment portfolio so we aren’t prepared.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I promise you, once the next few days are over, I’ll be all over you, but you have to let me get this done.”
I fiddle with my backpack, not meeting his eyes. “We need to talk.”
He tilts my chin up, blue eyes studying me, a frown knitting his brow. “Is anyone dying? Is everyone okay in Dallas?”
“This is about us, Trenton.”
Impatience flits across his chiseled features. “I’m at work, Rose. This job is new, and Vivien and I have a deadline.”
Vivien clears her throat, and he takes a step back in her direction. “I’ll text you later. Dinner maybe?”
I nod. “I’ll pop by your place and we can order in.”
He nods at me absently, already striding back to his desk.
I send them a final look, although neither of them notices. Hitching my backpack up on my shoulder, I head through his door and out into the main office.
Spider
WHERE ARE YOU?
I hit send on the text to Rose as I sit inside a small, dimly lit bar-slash-bookstore next to our apartment building. I try to not let panic eat at me, but when she told me back at her place that she was going to talk to Trenton after class, worry took up all the space in my head.
She said she was going to break up with him, but there was doubt on her face. Was the doubt about Trenton or me?
Fuck. I don’t know. I’m worried. I just want her back and in my arms. That’s all.
She is a fucking flower, and I want to open every single petal, one by one.
Sebastian sits across from me and sips on a beer. Both of us are wearing ball caps and aviators and keeping our chins down. Maybe the sunglasses are too much at night, but there’s weirder shit in this town. Sebastian has already had a group of reporters somehow get a picture of him on his balcony at the Madison Hotel. Rocco and Max are hanging out at a friend’s place until the concert.
Mila, our PR girl, walks over from where she was looking for some kind of romance book.
I recall how I asked her to come over that day Rose showed up at my apartment in Dallas. I knew Mila had a soft spot for me and I exploited it, asking her to pretend we’d had sex and to turn her skirt backward. Of course, she agreed, and, well . . . the rest is history.
We messed around a little in LA, but it was half-hearted, and we never fucked. Once she realized I was using her to push Rose out of my head, she moved on, and she’s currently dating some country music star.
Dressed in her usual—a pink miniskirt and a white shirt—she slaps down a book of poems about love on the table. “If she loves Jane Eyre and you want to woo her, you better up your game. Maybe read her some poetry.” She chuckles, her eyes taking in the people around us, making sure no one is eavesdropping. She’s our little bulldog and goes the extra mile to protect us.
“I know how to woo.” I waggle my brows.
Yes, they know that I gave her the book, but I didn’t tell them about our night together. I didn’t even tell them she’s my neighbor. I don’t know why I can’t own up to the happiness I’m feeling. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid if I talk too much about it, she’ll disappear. Like Cate and Mum. The thought of losing her again . . . crushes me.
Mila gags. “Please don’t tell me about your sex life. I might vomit.”
I smirk.
Mila stares at me, as if she’s trying to figure me out. “You love her,” she says, a satisfied gloat on her face. “The mighty Spider has fallen.”
I blink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Just can’t say the L word can you?” Sebastian smirks as he tips back his beer.
I take a sip of my sparkling water. “We’re not all as in touch with our feelings as you are.” But, he is right. I don’t use the word love.
“Pity.”
“Sod off, wanker.”
“You sod off,” he says.
I laugh. “You don’t even know what sod off means.”
“It doesn’t mean grass?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
“No, arsehole.”
Mila takes the seat next to me. “I love all your bad words, but wanker is my favorite,” she says.
I chuckle and she gives me a fist bump.
She wraps an arm around me and gives me a side hug. “I’m happy you saw her. Have you decided what’s next? Are you going to invite her to your art opening?” She smiles.
I hug her back and kiss her on the cheek. “Yeah.”
I don’t see Rose come into the bar and watch us.
I don’t see her when she leaves.
Rose
I’M ALMOST BACK TO THE apartment when my gaze goes to the lights from the bar and bookstore across the street. A favorite hangout, I usually stop by after classes to check out their books and baked goods. Not your typical bookstore, it’s dark and cozy and serves awesome baked pretzels.
I decide to pop in and grab a pretzel . . . or two. Maybe Spider is home and I will share with him. I know his concert is tomorrow night, so it’s possible he’s practicing late, but you never know. My phone is dead or I’d text and ask him.
I go inside and make it to the bar as a familiar laugh catches my attention. Taking my pretzel to-go from the cashier, I turn, my eyes landing squarely on Spider’s back and shoulders. A ball cap mostly hides his hair, but I know that laugh. A pretty brunette in a super short skirt is leaned over in his space. Another guy sits a bit away from them, also in a ball cap.
The girl . . .
I know her.
My stomach drops and nausea swirls as I watch her hug Spider. He puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses her cheek.
My breath stops—hell, the whole world stops.
There’s something between them, an easiness that speaks to many years
together.
I lick my lips, feeling lightheaded, my heart open and bleeding.
I play back the memory I have of her . . . she comes out of his building with her skirt on backward . . . he tells me he just fucked her.
“Hey, you okay?” asks the cashier who handed over my pretzel.
I swallow and nod, tears pricking at my eyes, words sticking in my throat as I lean back against the wall. In a blur of motion, I dash out the door and into the night.
I come home in a daze. By nine, my phone is charging and has pinged with texts from Trenton asking if I’m coming over and several from Spider wanting to know where I am.
I ignore them all.
Anne tries to call me and I hit decline.
A few minutes later she sends me a text that they are coming to New York in a few days.
I don’t care. I just want to wallow and forget what I saw tonight.
I force the pretzel down and drink a glass of wine . . . and then another. Pretty soon I have the bottle sitting on the coffee table so I can drink straight from it.
By the time Oscar arrives home around ten, I’m piled up on the couch with a fur blanket over me, propped up on pillows, crying over a movie on Lifetime.
He sits down and puts his arm around me. I called him earlier on his break and told him everything. “I’m here, baby girl. It’s time for an Oscar Intervention.”
I wave at him to be quiet, although I really don’t want him to. I need someone to talk to, but I’m scared to face the truth: Spider was hanging out with the girl from Dallas. Who is she to him? Why did he kiss her? Why did they look like they’ve been together for a long time? He always told me he didn’t do long term with girls . . . but obviously she’s different.
Oscar considers me. “I think you need to stop hiding over here and get your big girl panties on.”
I sniff. “Can it wait? The hero’s about to find out that the girl had his secret baby ten years ago.”
“You’re watching shit TV to avoid your problems. I believe in your psychology classes they call it classic avoidance.”
I grab a tissue and huff. “You’ve been reading my textbooks again.”
He shrugs. “He’s right next door. You need to march over to that apartment and ask him what’s going on.”
“But shouldn’t I finish My Secret Billionaire Baby Daddy?”
He snatches the remote from the coffee table, clicks off the TV, and gives me a serious look.
“Now I’ll never know what happens!”
Oscar is having none of it. “Maybe what you saw isn’t the way it really is.”
“She was hugging all over him,” I say. “And he was looking at her like he cared about her.” My voice cracks.
God. I have to know. I need to get to the bottom of this.
With a deep exhale, I stand, straightening my yoga pants and wrinkled shirt. I’m not wearing much makeup and my hair is up in a loose topknot that has long since decided to slide off to the side.
I head to the door.
“Wait!” Oscar screeches. “You can’t go over there like that. At least put on some shoes and brush out your hair.”
“Why?”
“Because you smell like stale wine and look like a homeless person.” He flicks his eyes at the bottle of chardonnay in my hand. “At least leave the wine here.”
I take a swig. “I don’t want to lose my buzz.”
He fusses around me, tightening my hair and wiping at my eyes. “Just let me blot this mascara.”
I put on my Converse and stumble out the door, stabilizing myself against the hallway walls. I’m a bit drunk and I don’t care.
I knock on his door and it flies open.
It’s her.
At ten o’clock at night.
In his apartment.
If that isn’t more clear than before, then I don’t know what is.
She opens the door about two feet then slowly eases it shut as she eyes me warily.
I snort. Clearly she is leery of me.
Her eyes sweep over me, widening on the bottle clutched in my hand. “You delivering the Chinese food?”
“Do I look like I have Chinese food?” I slur, the word food coming out as lood.
Her brow furrows, but it doesn’t take away from her prettiness. “Do I know you?”
I flip her off. She should know me from Dallas, but it’s likely I look different with my copper hair up in a knot and my frumpy hanging out clothes. Also, she probably didn’t pay as much attention to me as I did her.
She cranes her neck out into the hall and checks it out carefully. “How did you get up to this floor?”
I ignore that and wipe at my mouth, squinting in dismay at the bit of crumbs that come off on my hand. Oscar was right—I look like a hobo.
But I don’t give a shit, my head screams.
I point my finger at her, using the hand holding the bottle. “I want to see Spider. Now.”
She scrunches her forehead up as if she’s confused and scoots farther over to block my vision into the apartment. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Liar. I know he’s staying here.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I suggest you leave before I call the police.”
I laugh. “The last thing he wants is a police report about a chick fight inside his building.”
She cocks her head. “You look very familiar—”
I don’t let her finish, instead shoving the door. She pushes back and we tussle back and forth.
I briefly think I’ll probably regret this in the morning, but right now, I don’t care.
I have alcohol and Converse on my side while she is tiny with a pair of pink clogs that look like they belong on a ten-year-old. I shove her aside and march into the foyer of the apartment while she tugs on my arm. I shake her off. It’s easy, especially because I’m running on adrenaline and pure rage.
A quick glance around his apartment shows an empty den and kitchen. Clothes are everywhere, some hanging in dry-cleaning bags. Music sheets litter the floor along with blank art canvases. I pause on them briefly, wondering about them, but get hung up on a soft pink cardigan draped over the chair in the living room. I cringe, knowing it’s hers.
I twirl around. “Where is he?”
She sends me a livid look as she pulls out her phone. “You’re trespassing, and I’m calling the doorman. I’ll let him deal with you.”
I knock the phone out of her hand. She really isn’t a match for me, not with the self-defense classes I still take and the anger burning in my gut.
“Where is he?” I push the words out. “Just tell me.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath and for a moment I see fear flitting across her face, but then she seems to rally, her resolve strengthening as she circles around me, blocking me from moving farther into the apartment.
My eyes go to the bedroom, and my heart drops.
She stiffens her shoulders. “He’s in the shower. Happy?”
My eyes bounce back to the bedroom, and the deafening silence allows me to hear the water running. A beat later, it clicks off.
“You need to go now,” she says, shooing at me with her hands as if I’m an errant fly she wants out of the apartment.
Spider’s voice yells from the bedroom. “Hey, I left my stuff in the laundry. Be a love and bring me some boxers, will you? Please?” He chuckles, the sound drifting into where we are.
I feel odd as if I’m not really in the room, but in a movie watching as the girl realizes the hero really is a douchebag. I can’t avoid the truth anymore.
I still love him so much.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but this time it hurts more. It hammers at my heart a little harder, a little deeper. I rub at my chest, feeling sick. Like I might throw up.
We made love.
He said I was his.
No—that was just fucking to him.
Leopards don’t change their spots. Past behavior is the best predictor for future behavior.
Pink Cardigan glares at me. She’s been on her phone talking to someone. “I called the doorman downstairs. He’s on his way up.”
Without another word, I stumble out of the door she’s widened for me then she slams it behind me.
Wearily, I walk the few feet back to my own place, my bravado gone, my spirit broken. I open the door and go inside.
Spider
THE NEXT DAY AROUND ELEVEN, I knock on Rose’s door, but no one answers. The concert is tonight and I have a ton of things to do, but I’m itching to see her face. I’m wondering if she can come watch us run through our set. I want to tell her about my upcoming art show and maybe introduce her to the rest of the band.
I’m worried as I stand there and knock.
Last night, I’d knocked on her door after Mila dropped off my dry cleaning, but Oscar answered and said Rose was sick and didn’t want to see me. I wanted to push my way inside and check on her, especially since she hadn’t replied to any of my earlier texts, but Oscar’s tight face made me pause. Something felt off but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It made me worry about Trenton and what happened between them. I decided to give her some space, so I eased off and went back to my place.
It wasn’t until this morning in the shower when I was playing back the evening, especially the part about the random girl who showed up drunk at my flat, that everything clicked. Mila mentioned the girl looked familiar but she couldn’t place her. She assumed she was one of the hardcore groupies who follow us from city to city, trying to find ways into our hotel rooms and homes. One time in LA, a girl even hid in my car and slept there, surprising the shit out of me when I crawled inside to head to the studio the next day.
But . . .
What if this random girl had been Rose?
I mean, I didn’t tell Mila that she lived next door, and if Mila had opened the door to Rose before I had a chance to explain to her about Dallas . . .
With a knot in my stomach, I knock on her door again, this time harder. I get nothing but silence.
Pulling out my phone, I type a quick text to her. Are you home? Are you feeling better?
Spider Page 17
