by Candi Heart
Chapter 29
“...AND THEN HE GAVE ME a five-minute head start, and the two of us went home.”
There was dead silence, and Dick didn’t even dare to wag his tail. Then, with what looked like the utmost effort, my best friend in the world gathered his thoughts enough to speak. He closed his eyes, held up a suspended finger, and said, “So let me just get this straight. Matt Porter got under your skin... or should I say your skirt?”
A tangled ball of ribbons flew through the air, hitting him right in the face.
“Could you be more insensitive?” I exclaimed. “I just told you that a cop with a flashlight caught us kissing in a park, and the best you can come up with is some stupid remark about him getting under my skirt?”
Nate blinked, bracing automatically for another attack. “Wait. Are you just trying to deflect, or did he actually, honestly get under your—”
“Nate!”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” He leaned over to pat me consolingly on the knee, then slid the bottle of vodka across the table, followed immediately by a can of Sprite.
Dieting aside, our drinking habits hadn’t changed much since high school. We still purchased only the cheapest liquor we could find and paired it with things like waffles and carbonated chasers. I’d worked hard to give up my soda habit, but when we drank bargain booze that tasted like turpentine and lighter fluid, we had to have something to help it go down more smoothly.
“I mean... Well, I guess it just doesn’t make sense to me.” He took a huge bite of his blueberry waffle and tossed the rest back onto his plate. “Why did it happen in the first place?”
I lifted the bottle to my lips and slugged back a giant shot before popping the tab on the can to wash it down with refreshing lemon-lime. “I don’t know,” I said. “I think the tension’s been building for a while, like they always do on those crime dramas on TV with the main characters. I think it really started the day of the dog wash.” Another shot of vodka became my liquid courage, enticing me to confess. “Actually, no. It was sooner than that. I think it probably goes all the way back to the day we rescued his dog.”
Nate looked at me curiously for a moment, tilting his head drunkenly to the side before shaking it clear with sudden clarity. “No, no, no. I’m not talking about why you guys hooked up. That part is pretty obvious. I’m talking about why you stopped.”
I set the bottle down, wearing a look of righteous indignation. “Well of course we stopped. The man has a girlfriend, one who actually lives with him.” I shoved the Sprite away from me in disgust. “It’s not like we can just... Wait. What? What do you mean, that part is pretty obvious?”
Nate stared at me blankly for a moment before erupting in a sudden burst of laughter. His throaty chuckles went on for so long that eventually, I had to confiscate his waffle just to make him stop.
“Yeah, yeah,” I snarked, then growled. “I’m sure you find this funny, whatever it is. Now, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing your brilliant insights with the rest of the—”
“Aly...” He leaned across the table and took both my hands in his, staring down at me with an affectionate smile. “It’s obvious that the two of you are crazy about each other. I saw it the very first day I met him. No one could miss the secret smiles, the lingering stares, that little present he gave you.”
“The pearl necklace? That was just a birthday present.”
“A pearl necklace, huh? Hmm. I had no idea you two had gone that far.”
“We didn’t! Get your mind out of the gutter, Nate. I’m talking jewelry here, an actual pearl necklace... and it was nothing more than a token of his friendship.”
“Sure it was. You guys can’t hide this, even if you try. I’m sure the whole neighborhood knows by now.”
The whole neighborhood? Does that just so happen to include the girl next door?
My face paled, and I lifted the bottle quickly to my lips for another shot. “That feels like... a bit of an exaggeration. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Nate shook his head. “Trust me,” he said, as blunt as ever. “And now that news of your midnight rendezvous is undoubtedly the talk of the police scanner, it’s only gonna get worse. It wouldn’t surprise me to see a snippet on the front page of the Chronicle.”
I sank an inch or two lower in my chair as he flashed me a bright smile.
Chapter 30
WHEN NATE LEFT THAT night, singing Christmas carols as he stumbled down the street, I was drunk, alone, and feeling more confused than ever. The grass stains on my shoes were a souvenir from my activities the night before, and no matter where I happened to be sitting in the house, it seemed I always landed my eyes on them, a constant reminder.
Eventually, I gave up trying to fight it and walked to the front door. The door was flanked by huge stacks of paper on both sides, my colorful fliers for the open house scheduled for two days later. Nate and I had spent the better part of the evening making them, the only productive thing we accomplished all night, and we were planning on plastering the neighborhood with them the next afternoon.
Or maybe his plastered butt should do all the plastering, I thought, letting out a belch that reminded me that I had no right to judge my friend’s intoxication level. Maybe I oughta avoid the neighborhood for a little while, at least ‘til the heat from my near arrest dies down.
With a little sigh, I knelt to the floor and picked up the shoes, the evidence. My finger stroked the green stains on the sides, as my mind wondered for the millionth time what could have been.
That morning, for the briefest of seconds, I actually considering going over to Matt’s house. I almost considered laying all my cards on the table, so the two of us could hash it out. Every time I considered it, though, I ended up stopping myself.
The way I figured it, we’d both already shown our hands. We already knew what was in the cards for us. It was a bust, no matter how we looked at it. Just because I didn’t like the way my gamble had played out, though, didn’t mean I could pretend the game was over. We’d already made a decision, and we had to stick to it. Wow. And I thought dieting was hard to stick to, I thought, daring a glance out my window toward his place. Matt was one craving I was really going to have a hard time conquering.
As if the universe wanted to let me off the hook, I received a text message around lunchtime, just as Dick and I were settling down at the table. It was brief, but clear: “Off to LA to see family and go to a book signing. Also meeting with sister company big shots to discuss... my career. I’ll be back in time for the open house. Sorry again, Aly.”
That was it. There was no big declaration that he’d changed his mind, no proclamation that he couldn’t possibly live without me. He offered me no excuses, no denials. In classic Matt fashion, it was honest and forthright, just the plain and simple truth. Clearly, the two of us were not together, and we could not be together again the way we had been up to that point. We would be neighbors and nothing more, and I definitely couldn’t ask him to borrow a cup of sugar. Even though I’d happily give him all the sugar he wants.
To be honest, I was surprised he was even making the effort with the open house.
Of course he is, because he’s a good guy—a good guy who isn’t going to date another girl when he has a girlfriend, a good guy who won’t miss my big event over petty jealousies and almost-crossed lines.
I set the shoes down and straightened my back, exhaling another sigh. The waffles and vodka did nothing to help my depression, and every time I tilted my head, the room began to gently spin like I was on some sort of crazy carousel. “This sure isn’t as fun as any carnival ride though,” I muttered, punctuating my complaint with another very unladylike belch.
Finally, I decided to give up on the rest of the night altogether. I crawled into bed and tried to shut my eyes, but before I could do that, something caught my eye, a slip of paper haphazardly stuffed under my door. Somehow, in my drunken stupor, I had missed in the flurry of all the rest.
With a l
ittle frown on my face, I knelt and extracted it from the pile. It was thick manila envelope, the kind the offices in one of those fancy downtown skyscrapers passed around. It wasn’t until I turned it over that I realized it wasn’t for me.
“Matt?” I said, looking at the return address from Random House and realizing it must have been delivered to my house by mistake. I stared at it for a second before the connection finally clicked. “Oh no! These are probably the editor’s notes he’s been waiting for.” Somehow, even with my brain fogged up by cheap liquor and rambling thoughts, I recalled that he had mentioned those notes with visible anxiety, when we were at that outdoor restaurant in Manhattan. The notes he undoubtedly needs for that big meeting, I surmised in a panic.
I tried to call. No answer. I tried again and again. His voice mail box was full.
Shoot!
I didn’t want a run-in with the girlfriend. But she’d know how to reach him.
Just like that, I froze in the doorway, suddenly torn completely in two. I knew he needed those notes, but I had no idea where to send them. I didn’t have a clue what hotel he was staying at, so I couldn’t just fax them, and the last thing he needed when he was supposed to be gearing up to meet with his publisher was some kind of confusing phone call from some drunk girl back in New York.
But if I can’t fax and can’t call, that means...
“THIS IS A BAD IDEA,” I muttered to myself, stuffing my hands fiercely into my pockets as I walked up the sidewalk to the house next door, “a really bad idea.”
I had spent a good ten minutes trying to talk myself out of it, then another ten minutes convincing myself that it was the right thing to do, even if it was dumb. The next ten minutes were invested in drunkenly applying enough hair product and lipstick that I didn’t show up looking like a person who had spent the better part of her day with her face in a plate of waffles.
By the time I got to the front door, I had worked myself into a full-on panic, but I did my best to stifle it. A panic attack isn’t an option right now. He needs these notes, and you can’t reach him. Just put the envelope in her claws, tell her it was a post office mistake, and walk away. It happens all the time. She can’t fault you for this.
Right on cue, an echo of a recent nightmare flashed through my head, horrifying images of Steph trying to run me over with Matt’s car, followed by grotesque visions of her trying to stab me, chasing me down even in her ridiculously high and spiky stilettos. All I could do was my best to purposely push those terrifying imaginations to the back of my mind as I stepped up to their door.
The lights were on, the envelope was in my hand, and all that was left to do was knock. It was a simple enough task, despite the awkward circumstances. I was just about to grit my teeth and do it when I heard two voices talking inside.
On instinct, my hand automatically retracted, and I took a step away. From the sound of things, the people inside were just as drunk as I was, if not worse, slurring every other syllable and making little sense. A whole chorus of noises followed: a sudden crash, a high-pitched giggle, and a baritone chuckle.
I froze and stared at the door. That’s not... Matt doesn’t laugh like that. Besides, he’s in LA, so...
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and every drunken muscle in my body begged me to run, but I’d never been very good at taking orders, even from my own instincts. Besides, I’d always been a bit of a snoop.
Breathless and walking on my tiptoes, I took a step closer and peered through the silk curtains. The first person I saw was Steph, uncharacteristically giddy, actually laughing. She was obviously drunk. She was waving an empty tequila bottle in the air as she kissed some muscular man. Most shockingly of all—and perhaps the most relieving, based on how I had reacted before, when I only saw them kissing—that man was most definitely not Matthew Porter.
Who would ever dream of cheating on Matt? He was the most beautiful man on the planet! Was she blind...or just plain crazy?
It's not nice to peek in on someone’s private moment...let alone snap a few pics. But... Yep, that’s exactly what I did. Because it would be my word against hers. So I needed proof.
I bit my lip in disgust as the flash lit up the dark night.
Chapter 31
OH, MY GOSH!
I ran straight back to my house as fast as my feet could carry me, with Matt’s envelope still in my hand. I didn’t even dare to glance behind me until I was safe inside.
“What the heck?!” I gasped aloud, panting as if I’d just run the world’s most emotional marathon. “What am I supposed to do now?!”
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. It wasn’t until I got back to my own living room that I realized poor Sadie was shamelessly neglected, locked outside.
That cold and mean woman!
My chest tightened, and my blood boiled over in a rage. The lights in the room seemed to throb like strobes, brighter and darker with every infuriated pulse, making everything all the more nightmarish, like the chilling build before the proverbial storm.
There was another image in my head as well, battling it out with the first, and the two couldn’t be more different. It was frantic, yes, the quick, disjointed movements of two people overwhelmed by passion. But that’s just it. It was passion, not lust. Who would have thought that uppity bitch is even capable of passion in the first place?
With Steph’s wild giggling still echoing in my head, I remembered what it felt like when Matt laid me gently back on the ground. I revisited the look in his eyes as he stroked a delicate finger across my lower lip, his mischievous but tender smile as he leaned in for a kiss but then stopped. He freaking stopped!
The whole thing was so unjust that it made me want to rip my hair out. There I was, trying to take the high road and walking away from a man I was pretty sure I had fallen in love with, a man I was pretty sure had fallen in love with me, just because he had a girlfriend—a girlfriend who was kissing a stranger on Matt’s couch.
Without stopping to think, I reached into my pocket and dug out my phone. My eyes lit up with a vengeful gleam as I dialed Matt’s number, prepared to end the sordid affair once and for all.
Much to my surprise, something stopped me. My finger hovered over the button, frozen in midair, as if it had suddenly turned to stone. I just can’t. I mean, he’s away on business. He doesn’t need this right now... right?
His text said he had a big meeting and a book signing to deal with in LA, that he was busy discussing his future career, something crucially important to him. And now you wanna interrupt him with news about his cheating girlfriend?
I slowly lowered my hand, then slipped the phone back into my pocket. My eyes closed as I released a sigh of defeat and leaned back against the front door. I just couldn’t do it. As much as I wanted to, as much as it almost killed me not to, I couldn’t bring myself to make the call. I simply cared about Matt too much, and I couldn’t put his career at risk, especially not over someone as unworthy as Steph.
As if to emphasize my dilemma, the manila envelope dropped to the floor. I stared down at it, and a whole new wave of anxiety swept over me. How am I supposed to get these notes to him, especially since I don’t know where he is and Steph is... otherwise engaged?
I thought about it for a second, turning the envelope over and over in my hand before glancing suddenly at the clock. It was getting late in New York, but I knew California was three hours behind me. That meant the time zones might still be on my side, and that was a good thing. If my silly plan had any chance whatsoever of succeeding, I was going to need all the time I could get.
“HELLO. IS THIS, UH... Louisa Brooks?” I asked nervously, tapping the back of the phone. My voice was scratchy and hoarse from overuse, and an empty coffee pot sat overturned on the kitchen table beside me.
There was a long pause, followed by a crackling burst of static and finally a question: “Who’s calling?”
Really? Could this night of hell finally be coming to a
n end?
Deciding to assume she was Louisa Brooks, I went out on a limb. “Uh, Louisa, you don’t know me, but my name’s Alana Catson. I live in New York, next door to Matthew Porter.”
A ringing silence followed that explanation.
Cautiously, I went on, “Listen, I’m sorry to call so late, but I read online that you represent Matt. I’ve called about a hundred hotels in Los Angeles. I’m glad I finally tracked you down,” I said, trying not to sound too exasperated.
It really was not an exaggeration. It was really a shot in the dark, after many other shots before it, but I really didn’t feel I had any other options. No hotel in an entertainment industry city like LA was willing to give up the name of a critically acclaimed author like Matt, as they had to do their best to shield all celebrities from stalkers, crazies, and paparazzi, so I had to track down his literary agent instead. It really was a bit of a wild goose chase, waiting as countless receptionists in countless luxury LA lobbies went through their entire guest lists. About halfway through the hotel listings, I was smacked with the chilling idea that they might be staying in a private residence instead.
Still, there was no reply.
I exchanged a quick look with Dick, who was sitting faithfully by my side, and literally crossed my fingers on my free hand, hoping I’d finally found the person I was looking for. “I’m calling because... Well, see, this package was delivered to my house today by mistake. It was sent by Random House, so I’m assuming it’s probably the—”
“The editor’s notes!”
Just like that, the woman on the other end of the phone came alive. A burst of explosive chatter erupted somewhere in California, and I laid my head on my arms in exhausted relief. I tuned back in just as the agent stopped directing her chatter at her horde of nameless subordinates and returned to her conversation with me.
