by Dawn Atkins
“Sure we can,” he said stubbornly. “You didn’t mean anything about the job. You were trying to help me.” But that didn’t make him feel any better, she could see in his face.
“You got so angry with me. If we’d still been just friends, you would have shrugged it off.”
“If we were friends you wouldn’t have pushed.”
“Maybe this is a mistake,” she blurted.
“No, it’s not. We should give ourselves a chance,” he said, but his expression said yeah, BIG mistake.
“Maybe we just got carried away with the fantasy,” she said slowly, her throat so dry and tight she could hardly squeeze out the words. Please argue.
“Do you think so?” he asked carefully.
“What do you think?” Last chance, Ross. Tell me I’m wrong.
“We might have done that,” he said. “It happened fast. I saw you with that guy and knew I didn’t want to lose you.”
No. Had it just been jealousy that made him say he loved her? It couldn’t be just that, could it? She wanted to erase those words, take back today, try again fresh. “I’m sorry about Saul and about getting mad about your being late,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“I’m making you cry,” he said, leaning forward to wipe her face with a napkin. “That sucks.”
“It’s okay,” she said, sniffing. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Hey, now. You’re stealing my clichés.”
She tried to laugh, but the sound jammed in her throat. “Have we ruined things between us?”
“I don’t think so,” he said slowly.
Relief filled her. They’d just overreacted and assumed the worst. They had to give each other some slack, get used to this new thing between them.
“Ground rule number one, remember?” Ross said. “You’re my best friend, Kara. I don’t want to lose that. No matter what. The most important thing that’s happened these past weeks is that we’ve gotten closer as friends.”
She looked at him, stunned, while the world tilted on its axis. He was worried about ruining their friendship, not their relationship.
“The sex has been amazing,” he continued. “Beyond words—really—and I don’t want to give that up.” His eyes flared with heat for a moment. “But even that isn’t worth it if it ruins our friendship.”
“What about—” she gulped “—the love part?”
“I know.” He frowned. “I guess love brings out the worst in us. You’re acting neurotic and demanding and I’m—”
“Neurotic and demanding? Because I thought you might have been killed in the rain? Because I don’t like waiting for an hour?”
“Let me finish. Jeez. I was about to add that I’m acting flaky and belligerent. See what I mean? We’re so uptight about this we’re picking fights. We’re trying too hard.”
You can’t give up who you are for someone else. That was what he’d said when he was trying to convince her how wrong he was for her.
If not for the amazing sex, Ross was the last man she would choose for herself. But there was so much more she’d felt and wanted and believed possible. Her tears poured down in earnest.
“Hey, hey,” he said. “You’re turning your Kung-Pao chicken into Kung-Pao soup.”
She swiped her cheeks.
“We have to hang on to the best of what we have,” he said. “Our friendship. That’s always worked.”
She nodded.
He leaned forward and kissed her.
Despite her misery, she felt the sizzle, the race of electricity along her nerves, and she wanted to forget everything they’d said and just fall into bed with him.
Ross broke off the kiss. “I want to make love to you so bad.”
“Me, too,” she said, fighting tears and lust and heartbreak. He would do it, too. He would try to have friendship and sex. It was love that was the problem—love and the commitment and adjustments that went with it. “I can’t do that,” she said. “It hurts too much.”
“I figured,” he said sadly.
Relationships were hard enough with both people pulling in the same direction, hoping and loving and compromising away. But Ross was uncertain and she was scared. They were too different. Being opposites struck great sparks for sex but made for a destructive blaze everywhere else.
“You want to stay for the basketball game?” he asked.
She looked around the apartment. Everywhere were touches she’d put there—a bookcase for his video games, stripe marks on the carpet where she’d vacuumed. He had a dish drainer now and hot pads and kitchen scrubbers, even a toilet seat cover—a non-girlie one. She couldn’t stay. Not in this nest she’d been fixing up for the two of them.
“Too soon,” she choked out. She needed to go home and sob.
“Later then. When we’re feeling more normal.”
“Right.” Normal? She’d fallen in love with her best friend. How would she ever feel normal again?
14
“I TOLD YOU I’d meet you at your place when I got off,” Tom said crossly to Tina, leaning across the bar.
“I was bored,” Tina said. “I wanted to get out. Let’s go dancing at that after-hours place.”
“I have to study tomorrow,” he said.
“You always have to study. We never do anything fun.” She knew she sounded bitchy, but she felt that way. Ever since last week when Tom had convinced her to go to his parents’ house for dinner. She’d seen the nervous looks his parents had exchanged over Tom’s head. What trouble has our poor son gotten into? Tom insisted they were just protective of him, but she could tell they saw her as a slut who was taking their precious darling for a ride. That made her blood boil. To make a nice impression, she’d worn a modest dress and very little cosmetics. It hadn’t helped a bit. She was who she was and it showed.
Since the dinner, she’d taken a good hard look at what had been happening between Tom and her and hadn’t liked what she’d seen. She’d been changing herself to please Tom. She’d cut down on her makeup—he’d convinced her she looked better without it—started reading while he studied and keeping hours that were compatible with his class schedule. She’d even tried to learn to cook for him, though he hadn’t asked and seemed perfectly willing to prepare all the meals.
The capper had been letting him talk her into the family visit. She’d actually been nervous about what they would think of her, hence the conservative dress. On top of it, Tom had taken her for granted while they were there, leaving her to help his mother clean up the dishes, while he worked on his dad’s engine with him.
Things had changed between them without her noticing. The night they’d first had sex, when Tom had been in agony over her, he’d agreed to do it her way—sex only. But he’d gradually pressured her into becoming the kind of woman he wanted.
He hadn’t forced her really, just seduced her with his adoration. But it wasn’t adoration, she knew. It was sexual fascination. She’d seen it before, but this was the first time she’d succumbed to it. In his heart of hearts, Tom disapproved of her as much as his parents did. Once he stopped being obsessed with her body and the remarkable sex they had, that disapproval would bloom big time. So, she’d started forcing the issue, even while a secret, weak part of her prayed she was wrong.
“We do plenty of fun things,” Tom said patiently. “We went sailing on Saturday and to a movie after the dinner at my parents. What are you doing, Tina?” He said the last words low.
“I’m being me. That’s not acceptable?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop being me? Sorry, no can do. I’d like a drink, please. Martini. Shaken, not stirred.” She lifted her chin at a hell-raising angle.
Tom blew out a breath and went to mix her drink, but he looked puzzled, frustrated and worried. For a second, she felt awful to be hurting him, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She seemed to want to show him her worst self, to get her cards on the table and see if he could take it.
Tom brought her the martini. “Don
’t overdo it,” he said wearily.
“I can handle my liquor,” she said, deciding to dump this martini into her water glass when he wasn’t looking and order another one.
“If you say so.”
“You poor, poor dear,” she said. “I make you suffer so.”
To his credit, Tom resisted her gibe and went back to work.
Tina turned to the three men standing nearby. “So, what business are you guys in?”
It turned out to be insurance—some tedious kind—so she drank a second martini and disposed of two more in her water glass when Tom wasn’t looking, all the while pretending to be fascinated by the Three Bland Men who lived and breathed the nuances of premiums and underwriting.
Tom was stewing behind the bar, shooting her glares. Good. He was mad. Now she’d force him to say what he really thought of her.
She had just asked one guy about collision deductibles when a hand gripped her elbow. “I’m taking you home,” Tom growled in her ear.
“I’m not going home,” she said, pulling her arm away. “Your shift’s not even over.”
“Jane’s covering for me.” He tugged at her.
She let him walk her out the door and across the parking lot, striding so fast she could hardly keep up on her short legs. She’d never seen him angry before. They would fight now and probably end it tonight. Part of her felt sick with sadness at the thought.
To fix that, when they reached the car she yanked her arm away. “Quit dragging me around like property. You don’t own me.”
“I’m trying to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself. I’m getting sick of this he-man act. And just because you’re a stick-in-the-mud doesn’t mean I have to turn into one.”
He stared at her for an angry minute, then shut her door and went to his side and got in. “Why are you making this into an issue?”
“Because it is an issue.”
He rolled his eyes and started the car.
“You always do that. Dismiss my concerns like you’re above them. Like you’re above me.”
“We have a nice relationship. Why are you trying to wreck it?”
“I was just having a drink with some friends. Do you have a problem with me talking to other men?”
He glared at her. “I don’t give a damn who you talk to unless you’re doing it to hurt me.”
“You knew I was a flirt when you met me.”
“You put on that act because you’re insecure.”
“Oh, ho. Aren’t you the shrink? Listening to a bunch of drunks’ woes does not make you a psychologist, Tom Sands.”
“I’m just being honest, which is something you can’t seem to be—even with yourself.”
Tears stung her eyes. Why was she letting him get to her? “I can’t argue when I’m drunk,” she said, though she wasn’t even tipsy. She leaned her head on the back of the seat and felt tears slide into her ears. Now she was crying? She’d really lost her edge these past weeks. Her self-control had gotten downright flabby.
Tom didn’t speak the rest of the way to her house. She didn’t either, contenting herself with dark thoughts and an occasional glance at his profile to be sure the muscle still danced angrily in his cheek.
When they got to her apartment, Tom came to open her door, but she was already out. He took her by the arm, as if to steady her. She could have shaken him off, but since she was pretending to be drunk, she decided to let it be. This might be the last time he held on to her, and it was so nice, leaning on him like this.
He walked her into her apartment and straight to her bedroom, where he pulled back the covers for her. She lay down and allowed him to take off her shoes and dress, revealing his favorite bra and panty set. He looked longingly at her, wanting her, but he covered her with the sheet, keeping his face neutral, just like the days before they’d slept together.
He disappeared and she could hear him in the kitchen pouring water. He brought back a glass and two aspirin. “Take these,” he said grumpily.
She did.
He turned to go and panic shot through her. She didn’t want him to leave. She’d accomplished her goal—gotten him mad—but it felt like someone had turned off the sun, and left her in the deep, cold darkness, all alone. “Don’t go,” she said humbly. “Let’s talk.”
With his back to her, he sighed and dropped his head. Without turning, he said, “I thought you didn’t want to talk when you were drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk,” she said.
He turned to her with a brief smile. “Yeah, I got a whiff of your water glass.” He returned to her bed and sat beside her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been mean,” she said, embarrassed that fat tears were sliding down her cheeks. “I just feel really bad. Your parents don’t like me and I—”
“They don’t know you. And you didn’t help, saying things just to shock them. Why did you tell my mother you consider Madonna a role model?”
The truth was his mother had complimented her dress, adding that it was nice when women didn’t have to show everything they had all the time. That pissed her off. She liked showing what she had. “Because Madonna’s message is be who you are, and too bad if people can’t take it. Your mother can’t take who I am.”
Tom was silent for a moment. “My parents might be old-fashioned, but they’d like you fine if you’d be yourself instead of trying to be outrageous every second.”
“Outrageous? You think I’m outrageous? You’re just like your parents. You despise me, too.”
“I love you, Tina.”
His words closed down her throat. “But I’ll make you miserable,” she blurted, forcing out sound. New tears surged out. That was what was really bothering her. She sat up and took his arms, her lips trembling. “Don’t you see? You’re pretending I’m someone I’m not. You don’t know me.”
“I do know you. The real you—the one you hide from everyone.”
Not true. Couldn’t be true. Tom was telling himself some hero myth. Since she’d met him he’d been happiest when he thought he was rescuing her, whether from melon martinis or overbearing barflies or her own boo-boos.
Tom leaned in to kiss her and she wanted to melt into his embrace, pull him into bed and forget all this relationship insanity. But something in her wouldn’t give up. She’d realized she’d been pretending to be the woman Tom wanted, just as her mother had molded herself to please her temperamental father all those miserable years. And now that she knew the truth, she couldn’t go back to before.
She would not turn out like her mother. Not even to have Tom’s big hand to lead her up the walk, his broad shoulders to lean on, his big bear body to make love with. Not even for that.
“I’m not who you want me to be and I never will be.” She stiffened her arms to hold him away.
“You’re more than you think you are, Tina.”
He wanted her to be more. He wanted too much. And she knew as sure as she was sitting here in her underwear that she couldn’t be more. She had to break things off. Now. Say what she had to say to end it. “The real problem is that I’m getting bored.” She swallowed hard because her next words, a terrible lie, would do the trick—get him to leave her alone, to stop looking at her with all that longing and trust and love in his eyes. “I don’t love you, Tom. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I’ve been so awful to you lately. It’s over.”
“You’re serious about this? You don’t…love me?” He looked slapped and pale as a ghost.
She nodded, shaking a tear to her cheek.
He was silent for a long time, his breathing ragged, his face filled with anguish. “Okay, then. I won’t beat my head against the wall. I don’t want that pain. I did that once. I quit school over a woman. Set my life back too far.”
“So it’s good you know now before it gets worse.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “What makes you think it can get any worse?�
�� His blue eyes sparkled with hurt, then he pushed to his feet and headed to the door.
Everything inside her wanted to leap out of bed and fling herself at him. Don’t go. Don’t give up. I’m bluffing. But Tom was a decent, sensible guy, and he knew when enough was enough. That was part of him she craved—that rock-solid stability—and it was what allowed him to do the right thing. Walk out of her life forever.
Tom turned at the door. “Take care of yourself, Tina. I’d like to say I’ll be here if you change your mind, but I don’t think I’m strong enough.”
And then he was gone.
Pain coursed through her in waves. The joke was on her. Somehow, Tom Sands, with his study sessions and sailing lessons and golden-brown cheese sandwiches had burned through the Teflon coating of her heart and made it ache. It would take a long, long time to heal, and she was scared to death she’d never be the same again.
“WHO DIED?” Saul Siegel said, looking from person to person around the conference table. He tossed a Nerf ball at Tina. “You look like something the cat couldn’t bring itself to drag in, and what we have here—” he indicated Kara “—is the empty-eyed husk of our Kara. Where’s the marketing plan? The projections? The timeline?”
“The CEO didn’t get back to me yet,” Kara mumbled.
“Since when does Kara the Dogged meekly accept delays? Go out there, wrestle him to the ground if you have to.”
Tina didn’t even jump to Kara’s defense with a smart remark. Something bad had happened with Tom the night before and they hadn’t been able to talk about it—or about her breakup with Ross. They would talk tonight over drinks. Many drinks.
“Ross, you’re handling the art department so well, why don’t you see what you can do with these two?” Saul finally said.
“I’ll give ’em all she’s got, Cap’n,” Ross said in a halfhearted Scotty-from-Star-Trek voice. He shot Kara a sheepish smile.
They’d managed to stay genial, but she could hardly bear to be around him. The sound of his voice made her shake; brushing past him in the hall made her pulse pound; eye contact was like a match in kindling. She ached for what they’d lost, relived every moment of that glorious weekend of love, when she thought they had it all. If she’d known how quickly it would end, she’d have focused more on the details, taken notes, maybe videotaped it like Tina had once jokingly suggested when it was just a game.
