The Heartbreaker

by Lili Valente

  “This is going to be harder than I thought,” I confess, suddenly nervous.

  “Why?” Zoey asks. “What are we practicing? Yelling at each other?”

  “Sort of,” I say with a laugh. “I was thinking today about what it’s like to be a couple. Like, what are the things that show two people are really and truly together for the long haul. And yes, kissing and holding hands and lingering looks are all a part of it, but so is the flip side of being in an intimate relationship.”

  “Fighting…” Zoey supplies with a frown, clearly unconvinced.

  “You don’t agree? You and Bear never argued?”

  She blinks, her brows lifting. “No, we did. I guess. Sometimes. He liked to watch reality TV, and I preferred Masterpiece Classic, so we’d clash over who got to control the remote every once in a while. And he thought it was weird that I eat pizza with a fork and knife, and he drove me crazy throwing his dirty clothes on the floor near the hamper instead of actually inside the hamper. But…nothing too intense. We never really had a big blow up. Even when we broke up.”

  I humph beneath my breath. “Really? Never?”

  She shakes her head, making her ponytail swish. “No. Never.”

  “But you would say you had a passionate connection in other ways?” I ask, pushing on when her gaze darts uncomfortably to the fire. “Not to pry, I’m just curious, I guess. Kim and I fought all the time, but I assumed that was just part of having an intense relationship. But I could be wrong. I honestly don’t have much dating experience aside from nearly a decade with a girl I hooked up with while we were both still in high school.” I shrug. “It could have been that our relationship was immature or something.”

  “You’re not immature,” Zoey says. “Not even a little bit. You’re one of the most grounded, responsible men I know.”

  “Thank you.” I hold her gaze, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss her. It’s her first night here as my houseguest, and I’m still not sure where we stand as far as being something more than friends.

  Could she want more than pretend, too? Yes, she seems attracted to me, but neither of us have put real-life dating on the table, and my gut says it’s better to play it safe than to push too soon and scare her away.

  “And you might have a point,” Zoey continues, skimming her fingers over the quilt where a patch of bright red fabric meets a faded flower print. “Bear and I were good together, and I loved him, but I wouldn’t say our relationship was all that intense or passionate. I was actually okay when he ended things. Sad, but okay.” She lets out a long breath. “But I’ve seen some of my friends go through breakups that truly devastated them. They were so miserable and down that I worried about their safety.” Zoey glances up at me through her long lashes. “Like you, right after Kim left. You were so sad it hurt to look at you.”

  My chest goes tight. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? You were sad. It’s okay to be sad.”

  “I know, but I’m still sorry. I hate that I worried people.” I shake my head slightly. “And I hate that I was so fucking pathetic for so long.”

  Zoey’s hand comes to rest lightly on my cheek, her soft touch making the ache in my chest even worse. “You weren’t pathetic. You were heartbroken, and there’s no shame in that. Though, it did make me want to break the face of the woman who’d hurt you. And that was before I knew you’d been dumped by Kim-gis Khan.”

  My lips curve. “Kim-gis Khan?”

  “Like Ghengis Khan.” Zoey’s fingers slide up, brushing my hair from my face, making the moment feel even more intimate. “She slaughtered her enemies with words, he slaughtered his with swords, but I always thought they had a lot in common aside from the last name.”

  “Slaughtered, huh?” I arch a brow. “If that’s what you call ‘kid stuff’ I’d hate to see what you consider a full-fledged, grown-up offense.”

  Zoey wrinkles her nose and her hand drops back to the quilt. “Yeah, that might be a strong word. But the point is, I get why you were sad. You had something intense and it ended. I just haven’t been there yet, myself. So, if we’re going to have a lover’s quarrel, you’re going to have to teach me how to pull it off.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Maybe this is a stupid idea.”

  “No, it’s not stupid. I get what you’re saying, and it sounds like seeing us fighting might convince Kim we’re living happily ever after more than making goo-goo eyes at each other ever will.” She shifts onto her knees, palms resting on her thighs. “So, let’s do this. Show me how to fight.”

  I smile at her prim prepared-for-battle stance, but nod. “Okay, so I figured it would be best to start with at least a kernel of something real. That will make faking a blow up easier and more believable. So, tell me, what drives you nuts about me?”

  Zoey blinks, shakes her head, and sighs. She puckers her lips, furrows her brow, and sighs again. She crosses her arms, taps a finger to the side of her mouth, and hums soft and low.

  “That many things, huh?” I tease, making her grin.

  “No, not that many things. Not anything at all, really. Except…” She trails off with a nervous laugh and a shrug.

  “Except what?”

  She waves a hand between us as if to dismiss the topic. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

  “No, tell me,” I press. “Seriously, I can take it, Zoey. I’m a big boy. What gets on your last nerve? Tell me.”

  She looks up, eyes going wide. “No. I can’t.”

  “Tell me,” I insist, letting heat creep into my voice as I see a perfect opening and go for it. “Why is getting you to open up such a battle?”

  Zoey’s brows shoot up. “Me? You’re the one who’s a locked book.”

  “A locked book?”

  “Like an open book, but the opposite,” she says, utterly serious. “A book that’s locked up and determined to keep all his secrets.”

  I’m tempted to laugh at the description, but I force myself to keep up the angry act. “Oh yeah? Like what? What have you ever wanted to know that I haven’t been willing to talk about?”

  “All kinds of things!” she says, volume building. “Like after your breakup, you refused to talk or let anyone in. You just trudged around looking stoic and losing weight so fast I couldn’t stop making sandwiches for you and leaving them in the staff fridge with your name on them. And after Smoky died, too. You didn’t talk or cry; you just ghosted for days.”

  “I was at work the next day,” I say, a pang of real irritation zipping through me. Smoky, our old office cat, who’d roamed between my desk and Zoey’s until he’d gotten too stiff to move from his bed near Luke’s, had been mine since I found him half-drowned in a ditch when I was sixteen. Losing him had been hard, but I certainly hadn’t “ghosted” afterward.

  “Your body was there, but your heart wasn’t,” Zoey said. “Anytime you feel vulnerable, you shut down. You retreat inside your shell and refuse to come out until you’re all better. And that sucks.”

  “Why does it suck?” I ask with a sharp exhalation. “What’s wrong with that? I’m trying to be respectful, Zoey. To handle my own shit so other people don’t have to.”

  “So other people don’t get to,” she says in a softer voice. “You do realize that’s something friends like to do for each other, right? Help the people they care about handle their shit? Not only does it feel good to be there for someone when they need you, but it lets you know it’s okay to reach out to your friend when you need help with your own shit.”

  I pause, brow furrowing. “You can reach out any time you need help. I’m always here, any time you need me. I hope you know that.”

  “I know you mean that, but it doesn’t feel true sometimes,” she says gently. “Being vulnerable isn’t a one-way street, Tristan. If both people aren’t willing to let down their guard, then the relationship eventually gets weird and uneven. One person becomes the taker, and the other the giver. Or, in our case, no one is the taker or the giver because you’re not willing
to open up and I’m not willing to ask for help unless I know I’m going to get the chance to be the helper somewhere down the line.”

  We sit still in the silence following her words, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the soft hiss of the slightly green wood as it burns.

  Finally, she leans forward and whispers, “How was that for a fight?”

  I pull in a breath as I rub a hand over my jaw. “Good. Less dramatic and screamy than what I’m used to, but intense. And…honest?”

  She hesitates, clearly debating for a moment before she nods. “Yeah. It was. I mean, I didn’t intend to go there, but it would be nice if you let people be there for you more. Not me, in particular, if that’s not something you’re comfortable with. But your brothers, maybe. Or your—”

  “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable with you? We’re friends, right? Good friends?”

  She nods. “Yes. We are. But we also work together.”

  “Well…we’re not at work now,” I say, pressing my lips together as I consider everything she said. “And I can work on getting out of my shell after hours, as long as you promise to do the same. I want to be there for you, Zoey. That part was honest, too.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Her cheeks dimple as she fights a smile. “So I guess we’ve graduated to the making up part of the lovers’ quarrel?”

  “Unless you want to pout and give me the cold shoulder for a few days to prove that you’re right and I’m wrong.”

  Zoey rolls her eyes. “God, no. Pouting is lame. And I’m way too old and lazy for it. Besides, I can’t remember—”

  She’s interrupted by a long, mournful howl from downstairs, and I silently curse myself for not starting the tennis match over from the beginning instead of picking up from where Luke left off yesterday.

  “Sounds like somebody’s ready to come back upstairs,” Zoey says with a laugh as she hops to her feet. “I’ll go let him out.”

  “And I’ll grab his leash. He’s used to a walk after dinner. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here,” Zoey says, backing toward the stairs to the basement. “Shower and get settled in, start some laundry so I have something to wear to work tomorrow, give you guys some privacy…”

  The last thing I want is privacy, but clearly Zoey isn’t as up for constant togetherness as I am—something I should remember the next time I start thinking confessing my growing feelings for her is a good idea.

  I take Luke for his walk alone and return home to find Zoey’s door closed. I complete my nightly routine—starting the dishwasher, locking the doors, and kenneling Luke. Only, bedtime tonight involves catching the dog before he can ingest a small, white sweat sock he managed to drag out of the drier in the basement while my back was turned.

  I head back upstairs with Zoey’s clean laundry in a basket in my arms. Holding her clothes feels pleasantly intimate, and the excuse to knock on her door is way more exciting than it should be. And when she opens the door in a faded gray T-shirt and pink and gray-striped pajama pants, the sight of her all cozy and ready for bed makes it almost impossible to keep from pulling her into my arms.

  Instead, I hold out the laundry, “Luke got into the dryer.”

  “Oh no,” she says, brow furrowing as she takes the basket from me. “I’m so sorry. I was certain there was no way he could open the door on the machine or I would have waited down there until it was finished tumbling. He didn’t eat anything did he?”

  “No, I got to him in time,” I assure her. “And it’s not your fault. He’s clearly got issues. I’ll just be sure to kennel him before you do laundry next time.”

  “Well, maybe I won’t have to. If they get the door installed in a week, I should be fine to wait to do laundry again until I’m back home.” Her eyes lift to the ceiling. “I’m honestly embarrassed I didn’t have clean laundry ready to pack. Things have been so busy at work lately, I kept putting it off for a lazy day that never seemed to come.”

  “It’s fine. And if you need to use the machine again, that’s fine, too,” I say, not liking the reminder that her stay might be so short. Which means it’s past time for me to go to bed, get my head on straight, and stop thinking about how simultaneously snuggly and sexy Zoey looks in her pajamas. “See you in the morning. If you hear Luke whining, don’t worry about it. I’ll let him out in the backyard as soon as I get up.”

  “Or I can,” she says. “If I’m up first. I don’t mind. I want to help out while I’m here, be a good houseguest.”

  “You made the one vegetarian pot pie to rule them all. You’re already the best houseguest ever.”

  Zoey grins. “Wait until you taste my veggie shepherd’s pie. It’s even better.”

  “So you have a way with all pie, then?”

  “All savory pies,” she corrects. “And savory tarts. I make a mean Cuban meatless tart and a Greek feta pastry guaranteed to deliver a major M.O.”

  I arch a brow. “A modus operandi?”

  Her cheeks flush as she laughs. “Um, no, a mouth orgasm. Sorry. I forget not everyone is up to date on my weird personal lingo.”

  “It’s fine. I like the lingo, and the food sounds great,” I say, playing it cool even as the word “orgasm” goes straight to my misbehaving dick. I take a step back, forcing a friendly smile. “Let me know what ingredients you need, and I’ll grab them while I’m shopping for our picnic tomorrow.”

  Zoey nods, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes me ache to feel her mouth soft and hot against mine. “Sounds great. Good night, Tristan.”

  “Good night, Zoey. Sleep tight.” I turn, willing my feet to keep moving toward my room, away from the increasingly irresistible woman down the hall, toward a bed that feels lonely for the first time in months.

  I’ve been alone for over a year, but I haven’t felt lonely in a long time. I’ve been okay flying solo, focusing on friends and family while my heart healed enough to make dating sound palatable again.

  Now, I’m suddenly ready—absolutely, completely, desperately ready—to start something with the one woman who should remain off-limits. If I don’t want to risk losing Zoey as a friend or a coworker, I should keep my dick in my pants and my crush on her under wraps.

  But as I slide into bed and flick off the light, there’s only one thought whispering through my head—some things, like sexy sweet girls with freckles dancing across their noses, are worth the risk.

  Chapter 10

  Zoey

  By the time I wake up the next morning—after way too many hours spent wide-eyed and sleepless, so hyperaware of the beautiful and oh-so-tempting man down the hall that I ended up sewing until the wee hours in hopes that the repetitive work would eventually lull me to sleep—Luke is already whining pitifully in his kennel. Hustling down the stairs, I let him out of his crate and take him outside to the backyard, enjoying the cool air and the faint smell of roses drifting from the neighbor’s garden until whistling from the other side of the fence alerts me to the fact that I’m not alone.

  Squinting in the dim morning light, I hone in on the orange tree in time to see Bear’s brown curls appear over the top of the fence.

  Moving fast, I duck back inside the sunroom and whisper to Luke, “Here, boy. Come here, Luke. I’ve got a new toy for you.”

  Thankfully, Luke gallops eagerly across the lawn, sparing me an early morning chat with my ex. Shutting the door behind him, I pull the stuffed creature I made from all my already damaged socks from my robe pocket and hold it out to the happily squirming dog. “It’s a sock doll, just for you, buddy. Made from my thickest, sturdiest socks, so hopefully you won’t be able to tear it apart and eat it.”

  “You’re brilliant,” a sleep-rough voice pipes up from the hall as Luke enthusiastically snaps the doll from my hands and trots away to add it to his toy collection in the living room.

  I look up to see Tristan in dark blue pajama pants and a tight white T-shirt, sporting an adorably rumpled case of bedhead
and holding two cups of coffee, and my heart skips a beat. I tell myself it’s because I’m really excited about coffee, but of course, I know better.

  “Thanks,” I say, accepting the mug. “But don’t talk too soon. He might still find a way to tear it apart before lunchtime.”

  “Nah, it looked solid. Should last at least until dinner.” He winks, and I find myself grinning up at him like a fool for a good half minute before I remember that I’m hideous and need curl-taming and teeth-brushing—STAT.

  Hiding my mouth behind the steaming mug for protection against possible morning breath, I edge around him. “Guess I should get dressed. Did you want to carpool?”

  “I can’t today—I’ve got to leave early to hit the store—but tomorrow for sure.” He turns, watching me scurry down the hall with an amused look. “Thanks again for the sock toy. I’m sure you’ve just made Luke’s year.”

  “My pleasure,” I say, beaming like an idiot until I’m safely back in my room and get a good look at myself in the mirror above the bureau. “Jesus, Childers.” I wince as I shake my head, causing the rat’s nest on the right side of my head to drift into my face. “Way to kill the feminine mystique the first morning.”

  But Tristan hadn’t looked at me like I was a hideous morning beast. He’d looked at me like I was an adorable morning beast.

  The knowledge makes me flutter all the way to work and throughout the rest of the day—earning me teasing glances from Violet. She catches me mooning at the water fountain and then again near the new outdoor rabbit pen, where I’ve somehow managed to get stuck in a daydream while filling a bucket full of pellets bound for the compost heap.