How to Deal

by Shey Stahl

  “You’re good,” he goes on to say. “Have you swam for a while?”

  “Yeah, since I was like two I think.” I smile, but it’s fake and he knows it because I’m about to give him some truth, a piece of my life he knows nothing about. “Had a scholarship for it to Arizona State, but my dad had cancer, and I needed to take care of him.”

  “I’m sorry. Did he. . .?” He’s not saying the last part, like it hurts to ask the question but he’s curious.

  I nod. “Yeah, two years ago.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Tathan’s eyes are distant, as though he’s remembering his own tragic loss which I’m sure, hurts as much today as it did then. If there is one thing I know about losing someone, it’s that it never gets easier. Sure, with time it’s not on your mind as much, but the pain is always there just below the surface, waiting for the next moment to remind you.

  Maybe he didn’t want to be sad. I’m not sure, and I blame myself for bringing it up, but Tathan groans and covers his hands with his face.

  “What?” I ask, looking around like something is suddenly wrong. “Are you okay?”

  His hands slowly drop from his face and drop back into the water as he peeks over at me. “I’m fucking dying sitting next to you in that bikini.”

  I roll my eyes, of course he’s not sad; he’s horny. I give his shoulder a shove. “Suck it up.”

  “I’d like to suck on something else.” Tipping his head to the side, his eyes drop to my chest.

  “Oh my God,” I stand, laughing, and he sighs, looking sad and excited because he now has a full view of my body. “You’re such a boy.”

  He grabs my hand, pulling me back down into the water next to him. “Don’t go. I’ll be good. Promise. Well, I know I can be good to you, if you’ll let me.” The grin returns.

  “You aren’t helping your case, ya know.”

  He’s lying, he’s not going to be good, but I stay because of the dimples he gives me when he smiles.

  Only I sit far away from him.

  I kept my distance and before long we’ve been out here over an hour, and I’m feeling lightheaded. “I need to get out.”

  He nods, reaching for his towel. “I’ll walk you up.”

  Somewhere during our time in the hot tub, his mood changed. He doesn’t say much as we part, just a “Night,” offered in passing and he’s behind his door again.

  Maybe he was thinking about our kiss, and maybe he wasn’t. Either way, I’m not exactly sure what to make of this situation.

  Had I upset him? And why do I care? I’m supposed to be avoiding him and now here I am worried I’ve offended him. See, this is why I needed to keep my distance from him. I’m getting emotionally attached to hot tubbing him.

  Wednesday morning, I’m rushing to get to work on time with the windows down in my car trying to dry my hair. I went for a swim this morning, spent a little longer than needed in the shower and it made me ten minutes late for work.

  Tathan isn’t at work again and well. . . it’s starting to get boring. I strangely miss our bantering.

  I tell Zane and Casey everything that happened last night in the hot tub, and before that when I kissed him. No surprise, but they meet at my desk every morning and wait for me to tell them what happened the night before.

  Casey tells me Tathan called her last night and arranged to take their prewedding photos on Friday afternoon before Bryan has to go to work, and then they discussed their wedding photos. They’re apparently meeting for dinner tonight to talk about what they’re looking for.

  Part of me wishes I was going.

  Stop that.

  On the way home, I can’t stop thinking about him, which frustrates me. Oliver starts whining as soon as I’m home, so I know I need to take him out before he pees on the floor.

  I do, and when I come back, Tathan is outside his apartment.

  Figures. I think he has spy equipment in there.

  “Hot tub tonight?” he asks, leaning again against my door.

  Fuck, he smells amazing.

  “Are you trying to make this a habit or something?” I’m also distracted because he’s leaning again.

  “I’ll take anything you’ll give me. You don’t realize what you do to me. . .,” he starts to say and leans into me instead of the wall, his body flush with mine pressed against my door. “I’m at the point where I don’t care. I’ll beg if I have to, just to see you in a bikini again.” The warmth of his body radiates against mine, and the erratic beating of his heart presses on my chest. His breathing is low and deep.

  I would like to think his heart is beating like this because he’s around me or maybe he has a heart defect, but I’m inclined to think the latter.

  His admission somewhat weakens me.

  “If this is because of that kiss. . . that was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment,” I tell him, pushing away, well, trying to, but he does have me pinned pretty well.

  If only I was pinned under him on his bed.

  “I’ll bring some wine.” He’s into bribery now. “That’s what you like, right?

  He’s convincing, isn’t he?

  “Don’t get greedy. You’ve had two nights in the hot tub with me. That could be classified as our date.”

  “No way.” He shakes his head, as if the idea is absurd to him. “I said a date like with clothes on and candles. All that shit.”

  “No more hot tubs then.” I push against his shoulder. “You’re going to turn me into a bucket girl.”

  His jaw clenches. “What the hell makes you think I have a bucket of women?”

  “I’ve seen you. I know your type.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  His brow raises as if he knows he might just have to shake me to get me to understand this. “I don’t have any girls, and kissing is good. I like kissing. . . you. . .,” he says, leaning into me, his lips inches from mine, scratch that, centimeters from mine. “I could use another kiss.”

  Ah crap, I really am screwed.

  I’m screwed because I press my lips to his once again. It takes a moment before I realize what I’ve done and push back.

  “You have to stop kissing me,” I tell him and move away, opening my door just as Oliver starts to growl.

  He laughs, backing away, his eyes on Oliver. “Uh. . . you kissed me.”

  “No, I didn’t. You kissed me.” I unlock my door, trying to keep Oliver from attacking Tathan.

  Tathan’s persuasive brown eyes lock on mine. “Let’s just go to the hot tub.”

  “Jesus.” I pick up Oliver and hold him tightly as he struggles to get loose. “What’s with you and this damn hot tub? You that sore?”

  “I like to soak.” He smiles so wide I see his dimples. It’s adorable.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So?”

  “No. . . .” I look down and use my puppy as an excuse. “I have to feed Oliver.”

  “I’ll wait,” he tells me, placing his foot in the doorframe, and then winks.

  “Fine. . . don’t expect kissing though. And you have to wait outside.”

  “No kissing.” He smirks and looks down at Oliver. “And I’ll wait out here, because you don’t trust me.”

  I step inside my apartment, and Tathan watches Oliver as he backs up. “What’s wrong with your dog?”

  “He doesn’t like you.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Yet, you don’t listen.” My words mean more than this dog, and he knows it.

  Here we are again. Third night in the hot tub, starry night, wine, and Elvis Presley playing on his phone through a pair of portable speakers he brought with him. It’s perfect, really, and I wouldn’t want to spend my night any other way. I’m certainly not telling Tathan, though.

  “I’m really curious. . .” He relaxes against the side of the hot tub, his arms spread out revealing the muscles in his defined arms. I want to scoot over close to him and have him wrap them around me. “What makes you think I date th
ose women at work?”

  “You’re constantly with them.”

  “Well.” He pauses, taking a drink of his beer, before he continues. “Then others must think I’m with you.”

  “How so?”

  “This is our third time in this hot tub in the last three days.”

  He moves closer to me so our legs touch under the water. “And it’s certainly not easy to sit here with you and keep my hands to myself.”

  “Why do you then, you know, keep your hands to yourself?”

  Really, Amalie? Shut up! Stop provoking him.

  He stares at me, I stare back—waiting, watching, daring each other to move.

  “You want me to touch you?”

  “Maybe.”

  What? You’re a fucking idiot. Shut up and stop drinking wine. Go back to your apartment.

  His touch beneath the water startles me, midthigh and strong, the other one moving to my face. “Like this?”

  No. Higher. Between my legs.

  Breathless, I think I say, “Maybe.” When what I meant to say was “YES!”

  Tathan’s wet hand on my face wraps around my neck and pulls me forward. I kiss him. I don’t even wait for him to do it. Our lips part and he slides the hand on my thigh around my waist, pressing me flush against his chest.

  The kiss starts out slowly, building, and then I’m straddling him in the hot tub, my hands fisting his wet hair, and his hands are pushing my hips down on him, and his erection. So fucking nice. Like perfect. Warmth spreads through my body when his mouth begins assaulting my neck with frantic kisses.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” a woman’s voice says behind us. We were so caught up we didn’t even notice someone had come in.

  I’ve never met this girl, but I’ve seen her around. I’m certain she’s friends with Jade and lives on the first floor. I don’t like her. Don’t know her, but the way she’s eyeing Tathan validates that I don’t like her at all.

  “Oh, hey, Elliott,” she says, acknowledging him and ignoring me like I’m not even there. Apparently, I’m invisible.

  Elliott? She knows him as Elliott?

  I move from his lap to sit beside him. In a motion I appreciate right then, his arm wraps around me and then he acknowledges the woman. “Hey, Becca.”

  Oh, look. That’s not a “pleased” tone. That’s a, “bitch, be gone,” tone.

  I watch her body as she dips down in the water like she’s trying to be exotic about it. Though she has a decent body, when I look over at Tathan, he’s not even looking at her.

  Hmmm. Interesting.

  “So. . .” she gives him a smile, “about those pictures. . . .”

  I don’t know why those words bother me, but they do. The jealousy starts to rise, leaving me confused.

  “I told you, Becca, I’m very busy.” Tathan’s voice is sharp, like he’s tired of telling her this. “I don’t have time, and I’m booked out for a year.”

  Becca considers this. “But you’re here now. We could just go back to my apartment and do them there—”

  “I’m busy.” Tathan stands and grabs my hand and my wine bottle. “We’re busy.”

  When we get to my door, he hands me the bottle of wine he carried up, and I still haven’t said a word about what I just witnessed. “I see you.”

  I have no idea what that means, so I ask, “What does that mean?”

  He turns to walk away, intending to leave me with those words. My eyes are focused on him. There’s something sexy about the way he walks over to his door and then turns to look over his shoulder at me. “I think you know.”

  Ugh! He’s so frustrating!

  Remember when I said just when you think someone’s life is perfect, you see the flaws. Tathan knows everyone has them. He knows me without even trying.

  And the way he left that girl hanging, for me, shows me he’s a good guy and knows I’m breaking down.

  Thursday morning, I notice Tathan’s car is not in the parking lot.

  I’m both comforted and conflicted by this. Last night after the hot tub, and that Becca chick, and after he said, “I see you,” I couldn’t sleep wondering what it meant.

  When I set my purse on my desk, I notice Paul is in his office, which is rare these days. Most of the time I only see him once a week.

  “Good Morning, Amalie. What’s your afternoon look like today?” Paul asks as I pass his office. This is bizarre because he never asks me this. He’s a laid-back boss and usually, as long as I’m busy, he’s never in my business.

  “Nothing really.” I step toward his door, pausing just before I enter. “What’s up?”

  Besides the fact that your son is probably the hottest male figure on the planet and I want to grind with him like Pretty Ricky says. And we sit in a hot tub every night drinking wine so I can stare at his half-naked body without shame.

  Don’t tell Paul any of that.

  “Do you need me to do something?”

  “No. Just checking what your day looks like,” he says, and picks up his phone, motioning for me to close the door.

  Well, that was weird.

  I disregard his strange behavior and continue walking to my cubicle, irritated I overslept and couldn’t get coffee this morning. Not only did I not make it to do some laps, but you do not want to know me when I haven’t had coffee. It’s like a cocaine addiction for me, but cheaper and legal. If I hadn’t stayed up until nearly two stalking Tathan’s Facebook page, I wouldn’t have overslept.

  As I sit down at my desk, I see a sticky note on my computer with handwriting I’ve never seen before, but I have an idea as to who’s it might be. I examine the handwriting for a moment before Zane comes bouncing in with a box of paperwork we need to go through from the Bank of America project.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he says, throwing himself into my chair beside my desk. “Oh, who’s that from?” He rips the note from my hand, giving me a paper cut.

  “How should I know, asshole?” I suck on my bleeding finger and then gag because the taste of blood is repulsive to me. “I just got here, and I’m no handwriting specialist.”

  I know I’m being rude, but hello, no coffee yet. Zane knows he can’t expect so much from me.

  “Wow, chillax, muff.” He pats my hair. Zane takes the note and reads it aloud. “Meet me for lunch?” He laughs and gives me a smile. “I know who that is.”

  “Who?”

  I don’t know why I ask this because I’m 93 percent sure who it’s from.

  “Elliott Warren. . . or do you call him Tathan?” His smile is so wide it’s scary. “Which does he prefer?”

  “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you? Give me that.” I rip the note from his hands. “We have work to do.” I push him off my desk because he is practically lying on it as if he owns the goddamn thing. “Get up, you whore. This isn’t your bed.”

  “Fine.” He huffs and sits down with the box of paperwork on his lap. “Let’s get this over with.”

  We’re almost finished when my desk phone rings. Both Zane and I look over at it like it’s a bomb or something, because honestly, no one has my number so why would anyone call me. I don’t even know the number myself. The only phone I ever answer is for Paul.

  Zane lunges for the phone, and before I can stop the little shit, he’s answering it for me. “Amalie Davis’s desk, how can I help you?” He’s cheerful, and I’m sure he’s hoping it’s some construction worker he can ask out. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  He makes me sick that he can be this nice at eight in the morning. I need at least until ten and several coffees before I can resemble the living, and even then you’re asking a lot of me.

  I throw myself into my enormous swivel chair and stare out at the city through the large glass windows behind my cubicle.

  Zane giggles, which always sounds weird coming from a twenty-five-year-old man, but he does it. “Oh, yes, she’s right here.” Before I can run away, he pushes the phone to my ear and whispers, “Be nice to him.”

  H
im? Him who?

  “This is Amalie.” I attempt to be professional, but I’m annoyed because I know who it is. Who else would Zane tell me to be nice to?

  “Did you get my note?” I’m not sure whether I should smile or growl at him.

  “How did you get this number?” I demand.

  “I work there.” Tathan laughs. “It’s pretty easy to find it.”

  “What do you want?” Even I’m surprised by my tone, and I feel the need to apologize. “I’m sorry, was that harsh?”

  “I’m sorta terrified.”

  “I haven’t had my coffee yet,” I apologize, and then wonder why I do.

  “Look up,” he orders, amusement evident in his tone now.

  I look up to see Zane standing there just a foot from me with an iced mocha in his hand, chocolate croissant in the other, with a big fucking grin. I didn’t even notice he left, let alone he reappeared with coffee and food. Two coffees.

  I hold my hand over the phone. “Where did that come from?” I ask Zane.

  I can hear Tathan chuckling in the background.

  “I wouldn’t want you to terrify any more people this morning,” Tathan adds with a laugh. “I’m only looking out for their safety.”

  “What do you want?”

  He takes a deep breath, and then he hits me with it. “I want you to meet me for lunch.”

  “I don’t have time,” I lie. I do have time, but I’m afraid if I do go to lunch with him, it will end in my attacking his beautiful face again and succumbing myself to a life in the bucket. “And I told you, no date until after the wedding. Stop pushing your luck.”

  “I think you have time. Paul told me you have nothing planned this afternoon.”

  Why, that backstabbing asshole.

  “I’m going to file a restraining order against you.”

  “That sounds like fun.” His raspy tone makes me weak, and I giggle before I can stop myself.

  Breathing heavy, I cover my mouth. “Will you stop it?”

  “It’s technically not a date,” he defends. “It’s lunch.”