The Truths about Dating and Mating

by Jaycee DeLorenzo

  I tried not to gape. Hey? Just like that? As if the whole mess that afternoon never happened?

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Following one of his nasty moods by pretending it never happened was his M.O., but I was still amazed. Is that all he thinks it’s going to take? A friendly greeting and all is better? Of course he does, because you always let him get away with it! It was true, but only because I was a firm believer in picking my battles. Most just weren’t worth the stress.

  I pressed my lips together and resumed my pace, strolling right past him with my chin lifted high. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know he followed me into the station.

  “Ivy, I said hi.”

  I stowed my bag under the console. “Hi.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I removed my denim jacket and hung it over the back of my chair. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  He groaned. “Do we have to play this game tonight?”

  “What game would that be?”

  “This you-being-mad-and-me-having-to-guess-why game?”

  I scoffed in disbelief. “Oh, that’s rich.” I reached for my headphones and wound them around my neck.

  “What?” He honestly sounded surprised. “Look, why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it?”

  I whirled on him. “That’s all my problems are to you, aren’t they? An inconvenience to be quick-fixed without addressing the real issue?”

  “Shit.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. He didn’t say anything for nearly half a minute, and each second added another fuel to my already blistering fire. “Is this about today?”

  “Yes!” I paused. “No! This is about you taking your perpetual moodiness out on me and expecting me to take it.” I stepped forward and jabbed my finger in the middle of his chest. “This is about you shutting me out instead of telling me what the problem is.”

  “Ivy, come on.” He raked his hand through his hair, messing it up just a little bit. It still looked great. “I told you, I just didn’t feel like talking. Plus, we were about to go on stage.”

  I sat down in my chair and waved my hands to the console before me. “And now we’re about to go on the air. So, unless it’s an apology that comes out of your mouth, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head with a disdainful laugh. “You’re just saying that to shut me up.”

  He sat down and rested his head back on the chair. “Come on, Ivy. You said you wanted an apology -- I gave you an apology.”

  I scowled at the board. “Maybe I’d believe it more if you actually meant it.”

  “I do mean it,” he insisted.

  I looked over; saw his green eyes imploring me to believe him. Which I didn’t. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t keep doing it. At least be honest about that.”

  He threw up his hands. “What do I keep doing?”

  I slammed my hand on the console. “Every time you get a bug up your ass about something, you shut down on me. If I do or say something you don’t like, you need to tell me. Don’t expect me to guess, and don’t be hurtful when I try to make things right. I mean, I accept that you’re a moody son of a bitch, and that you’re kind of hardwired that way, but after all this time, I think you owe me more than that…that bullshit you pulled on me today!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. He really did sound sorry, too. Even so, I was still too fired-up to give up the fury just yet. I looked down at the neckline of my fuchsia tunic and shook my head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “What do you want from me? Do I need to beg? Kiss your feet?”

  “That’d be a start,” I snapped.

  In one fluid motion, Ian dropped to his knees. He put his hand on my left knee and swung me in my chair so I faced him.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glanced up at me with a sheen of purpose in his green eyes. His hands went to the top of my black suede boot, and he hooked his thumbs inside the top, pulling the boot down from my calf.

  “Hey!” I tried to tug my leg away. He snickered and trapped my ankle in between his kneecaps. “I was kidding!” I struggled to wrest my foot free, but he wouldn’t let go. I braced my forearms against the armrests of my chair and pulled with all my might, but he wrapped his long fingers around the top of my calf and yanked my entire body forward, causing me to spill out of my chair and onto my floor. The chair rolled back and smacked against the wall.

  I growled in frustration and slapped my hands on the floor. “Ian!”

  He snickered and turned his back to me, straddling my legs and effectively pinning my lower body in place with his heft. I wriggled beneath him, lifting up on my elbows in an attempt to pull backwards, and even trying to jerk my body to the side.

  He didn’t budge an inch.

  I pounded my fists on his back. “Let me go, you immature jackass.”

  Ian ignored me, his hands returning to my boot. He slid it right down my leg in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. My sock went next. He then released my knee, sliding back until he was sitting above my hips.

  “Don’t you dare, Dorian Hollister,” I said, breaking out the big guns. Dorian was his legal name, and he hated it and the biological father who was his namesake; the one who left his mom upon discovering she was pregnant and keeping the baby.

  Ian stilled, and I thought I’d gotten through to him, but my baiting only seemed to make him more determined than ever. He hunched over, wrapping his fingers around my ankle with one hand and sliding his other hand under my arch.

  My body jerked as if hit by a live wire and I broke, howling with laughter. My feet were so ticklish. My foot flew up at the exact same moment he lowered his face and my toes collided with his nose.

  I froze as his head snapped backwards. He swayed and then fell back on top of me.

  My breath whooshed out of me under his weight. Ian rolled off me and onto his back. He blinked up at the ceiling.

  “Ow,” he said, his voice pained and breathless.

  “Are you okay?”

  Ian blinked several more times, his glassy eyes smarting with tears. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “No.” He clenched and unclenched his eyes. “That hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, but you should have known better than to touch my feet.”

  He stared at me for a long moment without speaking. “Look, you’ve yelled at me and you’ve kicked me in the face. Now will you accept my apology?”

  My eyes rolled and I dropped my head back in exasperation. I’d never been able to stay mad at him for very long. This had never bothered me before, but now, in light of my realization that afternoon, it had me questioning all sorts of things. “Fine. Yes, I accept your apology.”

  Ian flung his hands out. “Thank you.”

  I pushed a laugh through my nose and shook my head as I climbed back into my seat. “God, what am I going to do with you?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

  I stilled at the distinct change in Ian’s voice. It had lowered, become deeper, even…suggestive?

  My heart pounded against my ribcage as I looked over to see him climbing into his chair. His mouth had turned up in one corner, and his watery eyes were watching me closely, as if he was speculating.

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked in the evenest voice I could manage.

  “Well…” He leaned forward and dropped his palms on my bare thighs. His natural scent filled my nose. It was a cool, crisp fragrance that reminded me of rain, or to be more specific, the smell of wet concrete at the beginning of a rainstorm. It was such a familiar scent, one I’d alternated between finding comforting and annoying throughout the tenure of our friendship, depending on the day and my mood. Now, I just found it arousing.

  Ian watched his hands as they moved over my skin. “I’ve been thinking about something you said today.”

  I’d said quite a few things that day, but was having a hard time remembering wha
t they were as his hands slid over the fabric. They burned my skin, clouded my thoughts. “What did I say?”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “Today. You asked...you said…”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Ian was stammering. Ian never stammered.

  “Hey, guys!” Amery’s chipper voice suddenly called from the producer booth.

  My mouth dropped as Ian rolled his chair away from me in one smooth motion. “Hey, Amery,” he said in an even voice.

  Mouth ajar, I stared at Ian. My head shook rapidly. No! No! No! I wanted to yell at Amery to go back out. I wanted to yell at Ian for leaving me hanging...

  Ian looked at me with a sideways glance and shrugged.

  Amery looked at me with a crinkled brow and mouthed, “What?”

  Dropping my elbows on the console, I buried my head in my palms and let out a silent scream. When I was done, my hands parted like a curtain and I gave Amery a small head shake.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  And that’s exactly what happened during the show: Absolutely nothing.

  It wasn’t until after the show, when Ian was walking me to my car at the back of the lot that he spoke to me. “So,” he said, “did you hear that Casey got a date for tomorrow night?”

  “Sure did,” I said with a faint smile.

  “Well, now that his plans have changed, so have mine. So what I was going to say earlier is that you and I should do something. Maybe go see a movie or grab a bite to eat before we meet up with everyone else at the bar?”

  I pursed my lips together, trying to draw a connection between what he was saying and anything I said earlier that day. I couldn’t. And what exactly was he asking me, anyways? Was it to just hang out? Or were his thoughts more along the line of a date? Because those sure sounded like date-like activities.

  I sighed, longing for the simple days when every word we exchanged was forthright and didn’t need decoding.

  I guess it didn’t even matter, in the end. “You know, that sounds like a lot of fun, but I have plans.”

  We reached my car and Ian leaned against the driver’s door, blocking my entry. “What plans?”

  “Shit,” I whispered, knowing how well my answer was going to go over. “I told Chelsea I would go out on that blind date.”

  Ian’s head reared back. “You did what?” I flinched at his volume. “Why would you do that?”

  I lifted my shoulders and waved my hands about. “I was upset! Jayden never called and you were being a dick, and I was feeling worthless and pathetic and--”

  “And so you conveniently forget that Parker’s a prick, and there’s a high probability that his friend is, too?”

  “No, I know that.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  I gaped at him. “Why are you freaking out about this? I told you, I was upset. I thought it would make me feel better!”

  He scowled. “Did it work?”

  “No, I actually feel more pathetic, if you must know.”

  “Break it off, then.”

  “No, I’m not going to do that. It’s all arranged. I can’t go back on that now.”

  “What? Did you sign a contract in blood?”

  “Ian.” I sighed and looked away, biting my lip. “Just stop.”

  His mouth snapped shut. With wounded eyes and a dejected sigh, he turned to leave. “Fine. Have fun on your date.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I belted out the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, completely drowning out the vocals with my own warbling voice. It was Friday night and I had the apartment to myself as I prepared for my blind date. I had been unenthusiastic about going all day, but finally decided after showering that a little optimism couldn’t hurt.

  Swirling my hips to the driving beat, I opened my eyes again and leaned towards the mirror, applying a layer of my favorite Very-Very-Berry lip gloss. I smacked my lips together, tossed the tube into my purse, and rocked my hips from side to side.

  Tossing my head back, I danced my way to the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, turning around in a slow circle to make sure I was presentable. I’d chosen a red Cheongsam dress for the occasion. It wasn’t my usual style, since it tended to accentuate my rounded hips, but the rich red color brought out the gold highlights in my hair, and the calf-length skirt made me look wicked tall.

  Glancing at the clock, I saw it was nearing seven o’clock. Garrett would be there to pick me up soon, and I still had yet to pick out shoes or earrings.

  Dropping to my hands and knees, I crawled slowly in time to the beat of the music, stopping to peer under my bed for my red ballet-style flats. Pulling them out, I reclined on my butt and laced them up to the middle of my calves. Once they were fastened, I spread my legs and arched forward, using the hand positioned on the ground to roll my body into a standing position. Swiveling my hips, I marched over to the opened closet door and wrapped my hands around the open frame, arching backwards and swinging my head as the tune segued into a harder beat.

  “Imagining life as a stripper?”

  I squealed and opened my eyes to find Ian watching me from the doorway with a smirk.

  Relaxing, I chuckled and strode up to him, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him farther into the room. I thrashed my head from side to side, then swayed my hips up against his. I giggled when one of his brows hiked his forehead. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I just felt like dancing.” I turned to look into my mirror again, but drew up short. “Wait a minute. What exactly are you doing here?”

  Ian leaned to reach for something just outside the door, coming up with a black hamper stuffed to the brim with dirty clothes. “I need another load done. I’m running out of socks.” He gave me a beaming smile, then crossed to my bed, dropped the hamper on the floor and flopped down on my bed.

  Who did he think he was kidding? “God forbid you didn’t bring them to me right now,” I said, drumming my fingertips on my inner hipbone.

  “Like I said, I’m running low.”

  “We both know you’re not here because of the laundry.”

  Ian rolled onto his back and crossed his arms under his head. “Why am I here, then?”

  “Oh, it couldn’t be the fact that my blind date will be arriving in about ten minutes, now, could it?”

  His shit-eating grin said it all. “Oh, was that tonight?”

  I stepped to the bed and grabbed one of my pillows, smacking him square in the face with it.

  Ian wrenched the pillow from my grasp and slid it under his head with his eyebrows waggling. “Hey, thanks.”

  Huffing, I threw up my hands and stalked to my dresser. Opening the wooden jewelry box on top, I rifled inside for some earrings.

  “Hey, I know,” Ian said, as if the idea had just occurred to him, “you should blow that guy off and come out with me.”

  Boy, did I want to, but I made my bed by pushing Chelsea to set the date up; now it was time to lie in it. “Sorry, but I’m not doing that.”

  Ian thrust out his lower lip in a pout. “I see. You’d rather spend the night with a complete stranger than come out and play with me.”

  I sighed. “You know that’s not true. But who I’d rather spend time with is irrelevant. It’s all set.”

  From my peripheral vision, I saw him flail his arms and legs on the bed like he was three seconds away from throwing a tantrum. “Come on. Do you really think there’s a chance in hell that this is going to be a love match?”

  “Never say never.” I looked up from my jewelry box to see him gazing at my legs with a deep frown. “What?”

  “You forgot a couple of buttons.” His finger pointed to the slit at the front of my dress, which opened all the way up to my thighs.

  “No, I didn’t. This is the way it’s supposed to be worn. Otherwise, I won’t be able to walk.”

  “Oh.” With a disgruntled look, he reached over for my iPod from the
nightstand and began scrolling through it.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” I warned. From the jewelry box, I pulled out two different earrings: a dangling gold earring with red beads and a gold cartouche with my name engraved in hieroglyphics. I held one up to each ear and studied myself in the mirror. I turned so Ian could see them. “What do you think?”

  “They look great.”

  “You didn’t even look. Come on, which ones?”

  Sighing, Ian tore his eyes from my music player and looked at both earrings. He pointed to the cartouche. “That one.”

  I put the dangly one back into the box and pulled out the matching cartouche, sliding one into each ear. Shaking out my loosely curled hair, I spritzed on some perfume, and then checked my gloss for smudges. “Okay, I’m ready, which means it’s time for you to go.”

  Ian continued to study my song-list as if I hadn’t even spoken.

  “Ian, don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. It’s time to go bye-bye,” I said. “Scram. Adiós. Ciao!” I went to the bed and lifted my foot to the mattress, kicking it several times and making it impossible for him to read the iPod screen. “Vamoose!”

  “Okay, okay.” He released an exaggerated sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed, forcing himself into a standing position. “You’re still meeting us at O’Sheas, right?”

  “That’s the plan.” I picked up my purse from my dresser and hung the strap over my shoulder. “Now, come on.” Placing my hands on the small of his back, I pushed him toward the door. “Scoot.”

  Ian leaned back against my palms, putting up a resistance. “What time will you be there?”

  “I’ll get there when I get there,” I cried in exasperation. I finally managed to get him out of my room. “Now quit stalling. He’s going to be here any minute, and you won’t be.”

  “Why are you so eager to get rid of me?”

  “Because,” I panted as we neared the front door, “this date is going to be hard enough as it is. I’m not going to subject him to your overprotective brother routine.”

  “First of all, I don’t have a routine.” Ian slid to the side, propelling me into the door.