Just like he did with Tarryn.
And the worst part is I care enough to be hurt right now.
“Ass,” I mutter, walking up to my apartment, keys in hand.
“Excuse me?”
I jump back, my keys falling to the ground. “Mrs. Lang!” I clutch my chest as my Asian neighbor covers her young daughter’s ears like I just performed a Satanic ritual instead of muttering—very softly, I might add—ass. A word also used to describe an animal. I gulp. “You scared me.”
“And you have a foul mouth.” She pouts and leads her daughter into their apartment across the hall from mine and Kendall’s.
I roll my eyes, pushing my own door open. The apartment is empty since Kendall’s shift at the shoe store ends in an hour. Which means by the time she locks up and makes it back over here, I have two hours to myself.
Even though the quiet would probably do me good after this afternoon, I don’t want to be alone. My heart sinks as the silence consumes me.
I turn the TV on for background noise and make a cup of tea, hoping the chamomile smell might soothe me. I sink onto my couch when my phone vibrates.
Ty: Thanks for helping me with my form earlier.
Before I can think better of it, I angrily type back.
Me: You’re welcome. And you’re welcome for hooking you up with a date too. Man, you owe me big-time.
Ty: Is someone jealous? Because if I remember correctly, I asked you out first.
Me: And then wasted no time finding a backup.
The bubbles pop up signaling he’s typing. I hold my breath, wondering what he’ll say. After a few seconds of silence, I set my mug down and pace the living room. I haven’t been this worked up since Brant decided to move to the West Coast without telling me.
I invited myself along because I thought he wanted me to but was afraid to ask. I thought we were forever, so I never stopped to have a conversation with him. I just packed up my life and moved to be with him, but he had other plans.
When I sit back down on the couch, I have a new message from Ty. I take a few sips of my tea, wishing it was wine. Staring at his name on my phone, I remember when we exchanged numbers. He said we needed each other’s contact information for Kendall and Sebastian, to coordinate their reunion after their big breakup.
And Ty needed my number for yoga questions.
I’d been indifferent at the time, mostly because I felt like he did that sort of thing with many women. Made an excuse to charm a girl’s number into his phone, then bed.
The more I got to know him? I was right.
But it won’t work on me.
“I’m different. Smarter. More careful,” I mutter, telling myself I did the right thing by declining his offer for drinks.
With a nod, I open his message, my resolve slowly crumbling.
Ty: Is it true yoga makes men sweat more than women?
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the quiet laugh that escapes me. The man drives me insane. Like the construction crews who used to wake me up every morning at four, with their cranes and trucks moving in reverse. Nothing worse than waking up to loud beeping sounds before the sunrise.
The thought only reminds me there are no sounds now.
I move to my bed when I receive a text from Kendall that she’s staying at Sebastian’s. As I lie down surrounded by darkness, I blink at my white and black bedroom. My Chanel canvas art on one wall is surrounded by Prada and Yves Saint Laurent framed images. I stare at my blush pink wingback chair in the corner, a white plush blanket draped over the back.
Quiet.
Everything is so quiet, except for my thoughts of Ty. Of Ty and Tarryn out on their date. I torture myself with thoughts of what they must be doing right now while I sit here alone.
Alone as I am most nights.
And it’s getting really fucking old.
CHAPTER 9
Ty
Knock, knock.
The knock on the door echoed throughout the house, a sense of dread settling in my stomach before I even knew what or who stood on the other side of it.
On his way through the living room to answer the door, my dad wondered aloud, “Who could it be at this hour?”
My mother was finishing the dishes in the kitchen after a late dinner, and I stopped halfway up the staircase.
The whole world stopped once the door was opened, and two officers stood there.
Still.
Everything stood still around us.
Inhaling deeply, I set my paintbrush down and take a bite out of my peanut butter, raisin, and cheese sandwich, then wash it down with Merlot. All the while, I study the painting on my easel.
She doesn’t look real.
Since I began painting people, Mrs. Hannigan said I needed to make them appear more three-dimensional, a problem I still have even though I’m not painting my sister anymore.
At first, the urge to draw people was so I could make her come alive on the page in front of me. But I couldn’t do it.
She always looked two-dimensional, unrealistic. Which would only remind me she’s not real, not anymore.
So I moved on to paint others, random people, for the practice. Every now and then, I’d draw some of my hookups, if they were special to me in some way. The flight attendant from a couple months back—she was a bucket list item I could check off, as fucked up as that seems now.
But when you’re a former lanky nerd like me, things like that matter. Like the cheerleader I made out with when we first met Kendall at her sister’s bachelorette party. A cheerleader? I would’ve never gotten such a girl as a teen, and never did.
I’d just push my glasses farther onto my nose and carry on, hoping my life would take a turn. And it usually did when my sister picked me up, and we’d get dessert before heading home for dinner. “Our little secret,” she always said, knowing our mom hated when we spoiled our appetites.
I scratch my chin, then pick up my palette to try a few different colors and techniques.
Unable to sleep, the apartment too quiet and the nightmares all too real, I couldn’t fight the urge to break out the paints. Especially since I can’t get Emma out of my head.
I’d normally go for a beer in my fridge or a shot of tequila, but painting her gives me a different kind of peace.
Like her soothing voice when she teaches yoga.
I trace the curve of her jaw with my brush, then highlight her cheekbone on the side of her face that’s showing. She’s turned to the side, her eyes closed, distanced from the world.
Like she’s hiding.
That’s what I see when I look at Emma, but after seeing her in yoga class a few times, I realize she’s just hiding from me. I offered her a truce three days ago, but she didn’t take it.
And it fucking stung.
My ego is still bruised, but it’s more than that. She gets under my skin like no woman ever has. She’s not afraid to give me shit, and I like that.
I set the paints down and wipe my hands on my tattered jeans, stepping back to study my work.
There are hints it’s Emma, but I could really use a model.
Picking up my phone, I know she’s probably not awake at this hour, but I text her, anyway.
Me: Do you ever model?
I don’t get a response immediately, as expected, although I was holding out hope that perhaps she couldn’t sleep, either.
The lame guy within even thought she might be up wondering about me since we haven’t spoken much. Not since she rejected me.
An hour later, at five o’clock in the morning, I scroll through my messages and see the one from Naomi. I lied and told her I’d be out of town, so she changed her mind about visiting. I’ve felt guilty ever since, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
My phone buzzes just as I’m getting into bed.
Emma: Where’s the rest of that line? I assume that’s a terrible pickup line?
I chuckle to myself and type out a response, deciding to deal with Naomi later if need be. Then agai
n, we have a unique understanding, so it’ll probably play itself out.
Me: …because you could be Giselle’s twin.
Me: … because you’re too beautiful not to be.
Me: … because the world is missing out on those cheekbones.
Emma: Are you done yet? Those are all equally terrible.
I smile, wishing she was here… for more reasons other than I’m in bed and would like her to join me. Preferably without a shirt.
Or maybe she could just wear one of mine.
Me: That was my good stuff, though.
Emma: Clearly, we’re not meant to be, then.
Emma: At least Tarryn is charmed by that shit.
I sit up in bed; I knew she was jealous. Exhaling, I can picture Emma’s face turning red from jealousy, which makes me smile devilishly like she can see me. And I know just the thing to rile her up even more.
Ty: I pictured your face the whole time, if it makes you feel better. ;)
Emma: PIG.
Ty: I said if.
I like that Emma’s jealous. Feeling rejected and hurt by her, I said yes to Tarryn before I could think better of it.
All we did was talk. It’s been a hard year for Tarryn from what she told me.
But Emma doesn’t have to know any of that, not yet.
She doesn’t text back in the next thirty minutes, and when I check her Instagram stories, I see she just got to the gym to do shoulders. This girl’s more dedicated to fitness than most of the guys in our group. I wonder if she could give them a little motivation and smack them into shape.
I click through her profile, passing over a few selfies. Her face is never fully facing the camera, but not in a practiced, purposeful way.
Natural.
I close my eyes, hearing her calming voice from the yoga studio. A voice that’s made for cooing a young child to sleep.
And that’s what I do. My mind drifts into a peaceful night’s sleep.
One where the nightmares don’t get to me.
CHAPTER 10
Emma
Before I get in my car, I pull out a lint roller from my purse and attempt to clean the dog hair off my shirt after another day of volunteering. “Jeez, it’s like I’m wearing a fur vest in this heat,” I mutter to myself.
“Emma, wait up.”
I look up and find Mason jogging over.
He scratches the back of his neck, then kicks at the ground between us. I continue rolling the hair off of me, brightening my red shirt with every roll. When he doesn’t say anything, I stop and squint at his hesitant expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Are you okay?”
I chuckle at his obvious discomfort. “Yeah. Are you?”
He exhales with a laugh. “Yes. I’m just… do you maybe want to get some dinner this weekend? Maybe tomorrow?”
“Like a date?”
“No.” He shrugs. “Maybe… yeah a date.”
I put the lint roller back in my purse, then fidget with my keys. “A date for tomorrow?”
He swipes at his mouth, nodding. “There’s no pressure. I just want to take you out and show you a good time. Go eat some tasty sushi or tacos, or anything of your choosing, and then we can even do a movie if you decide you’re having fun.” He rubs his neck again. “I just want to hang out with you outside of a sweaty studio and away from hairy dogs that lick your whole face every five seconds. Seems like you could use a night of fun, huh?”
“Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically at his jab at my lacking social life.
He steps forward, his wavy hair falling out of his low bun and into his eyes. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. I just, uh… sorry for insulting you as I’m trying to ask you out.” He holds his hands out like he’s praying. “Let me try again. You’ve been working really hard lately, and you deserve a night out. And I like you. Haven’t been secretive about that.” He chuckles, then turns serious. “Let me take you out.”
“I thought you said no pressure.”
His eyes plead with me to say yes and give him a chance. To give myself a chance to enjoy a nice dinner for once without drama. Without complication. Without worrying about our future.
He’s offering me fun.
Unfiltered fun.
Something I could really use, indeed. Especially since my apartment just depresses me now that Kendall stays with Sebastian so often.
I search his eyes, his boy-next-door smile, and sandy blond hair. He has a nice personality to boot. There’s no reason I shouldn’t say yes.
But Ty enters my brain, clouding my vision. His flirtatious texts cause stupid flutters in my stomach.
He went out with Tarryn, the smart part of my brain reminds me.
I’m nothing to him but just another girl.
So, I square my shoulders and nod at Mason. “Dinner sounds great.” He smiles, but I stop him with my pointer finger. “But say my studio is sweaty again, and it’ll be our last date.” I smile at him before getting in my car and driving off, my face flushed.
By the time I reach our apartment and throw my keys onto the entryway table, my smile is gone.
I have a date for the first time in… two years. Is that right? Two years? Shit.
It’s been almost two years since my last relationship.
I’ve moved on, but running into Brant a few months ago reminded me of everything I was trying to forget.
Including the rhythmic banging of a headboard against a wall that makes my skin crawl.
I twiddle my thumbs as I walk into my bedroom to change. Pulling my phone out, I find a text from an hour ago.
Ty: Hope you’re having a good day, beautiful. See you in class tomorrow. Ted Blowing a Kiss GIF
My body erupts in goose bumps as I read the message, imagining his fingers typing it out. Thinking about those fingers running along my skin and into my hair.
Tossing my phone on the bed like it’s a hot potato, I pace my room with anger bubbling inside me. What the fuck kind of game is he playing? Because this most certainly is a game to him.
He was just out with Tarryn last week, and now he’s texting me every other day with cheesy pickup lines and sweet texts to let me know he’s thinking of me?
And now I have a date with Mason.
God, I was better off feeling lonely instead of having two very different guys after me with very different motives.
The old me would’ve wanted a guy like Mason. Someone to be comfortable with. Someone I can trust. Someone I’d have a future with.
It’s what I thought I had with Brant before everything changed.
But acknowledging all this doesn’t stop me from texting the one who’s very bad for me—Ty.
What’s wrong with me?
CHAPTER 11
Ty
“Great class, everyone.” Emma swipes at her forehead, then grabs a towel and dabs at her damp chest.
Leo’s been on my case about coming to LA so often, but I’ve always been able to fend him off since Sebastian now lives here, thank fuck. But I think Leo’s starting to get suspicious. He wanted to come with me today, but something came up with one of the rookie dancers that he had to tend to. Didn’t say anything other than “Jordan’s in rookie trouble,” which tends to mean he’s buried under a pile of women or drunk off his ass.
Or both.
Sebastian’s also getting suspicious, calling me more often than usual. Last weekend, he even wanted to go out after the show, which he never wants to do. I think it’s partly because his last show is coming up, but also because he thinks something’s up with me.
When he asked what I was doing the other night, I casually told him I was hanging around Vegas and probably going to Pete’s bar with the guys. Then he called the next day to “confirm” like I was a flight-risk out on bail.
And now I’m at Emma’s class, unable to help myself. Every text is like she’s dangling her pussy in my face, but I can’t have it. She snatches it away anytime I come close.
The
room is emptying, so I make my way to the front to talk to her and smell her coconut aroma that has me by the balls.
But Mason steps in for a hug. I pause a few feet away and clench my jaw when he pulls back but stays in her personal space. She doesn’t back away, either. She stays there breathing the same air as him, his hand on her lower back, and if that wasn’t bad enough, what he says next is the twist of a knife in my gut.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Friends.
She said they were just friends. Before all the air is sucked out of me, worse than the time some punk kids kicked me in the gut in elementary school, I remind myself they volunteer together. They’re friends and volunteers and probably have a charity thing tonight.
No big deal.
“What’s tonight?” I ask, inwardly rolling my eyes that I couldn’t control myself. I have to know.
Emma snaps her head toward me, like she hadn’t seen me this whole time, even though I know she has. I met her gaze on several occasions and noticed her nostrils flaring.
“That’s intrusive, don’t you think?” Her voice is hesitant, and her cheeks redden the longer I stand next to her.
Mason chuckles beside her, then turns to face me with a smug expression. More smug than fucking Jason Bourne after besting the CIA. “We’re going to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes. You know, dinner, where people sit and have a meal?” Emma’s voice is laced with a hint of Southern charm and a lot of sarcasm.
Mason nudges her, laughing with her, and it pisses me off even more, like they’re in their own world and I’m on the outside looking in, longing to be in Emma’s inner circle. For us to have inside jokes. I’ve known her for months, and I can’t get one damn smile out of her. Now she’s flirting and dating another guy? A douchebag surfer at that?
What in the actual fuck?
“I thought you don’t date,” I say to Emma, as Mason gathers his things.
“I curse Kendall for telling you that.” She stands back, her eyes narrowed.
“That’s not the point. I mean, why him?”
“All ready.” Mason walks toward us with his backpack on like he’s off to class. Which makes me wonder if he is. How could she be into such a… boy?
Let Loose for Me Page 5
