by Brooks, Anna
She clears her throat and shifts on her feet. “Yeah. I feel better.”
“Good.”
I point at the Gatorade and ginger ale. “Saw you drank those yesterday. Not sure which one you wanted so I got both.”
When she stares at them and doesn’t say anything for a minute, I think I upset her.
“Cady?”
“You noticed that?” Her voice is a whisper, but in the quiet of the library, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it on the other side of the building.
Don’t know why she acts like it’s a big deal. “Yeah. Now sit. Eat.”
She hesitates, and I raise a brow at her. “You said you’re feeling better, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then eat, Cady.”
Her ass falls to the simple office chair, and she manages to finish her soup but doesn’t want the sandwich, so I eat them both. There’s not a lot of conversation, but there are a lot of stolen glances and shy smiles from her.
I don’t want that. As much as I like that she’s not slutty, I don’t want her to be uncomfortable around me either. Normally, I’d say it was because of who I am and what I do for a living, but she doesn’t know I’m a rock star, so that’s not it.
It’s just who she is. It’s simply her. So I’ll roll with it until she’s ready for more. And there will be more. A lot of it. So much more that it’ll be everything.
“I guess I was pretty hungry.” She points at the empty bowl of soup. “But I’ll save the cupcake for later, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We’re both a little on edge. She’s fidgeting, playing with a paper clip on her desk, and while I feel those same nerves for the first time in my life because of a woman, I don’t show them.
It’s like in the beginning when we were starting out as a band. As soon as we went on stage, I felt like I was gonna puke for the first half of the concert, but there was no way in hell I’d ever be able to show it.
And if I’m being honest, it still happens, but it’s almost worse at the smaller, more intimate venues. I feel as though I’m under too much scrutiny from the fans or something. Whereas, when we’re on a stage with tens of thousands of people, I just kind of get lost in it all.
My attention is drawn from her hands to her face when she sighs and stands. “I’d love to, um, talk or whatever, but I really need to get back to work.”
I look around the deserted library and then back at her. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head adamantly. “I have some restocking and ordering to do. I know it seems as if I shouldn’t be busy, but there’s actually quite a bit of work to this job and not a lot of people to do it.”
“Why do you?”
Her nose scrunches up. “Why do I what?”
“Why do you work here?”
“Because I like books?” The soft melody of her voice jumps an octave.
“Are you asking if you like books… ’cause you seem a little uncertain?”
“No. No, I do like books. Really, Gabriel.” She sits back down in the seat and fires up her computer. “I have stuff to do, so… again, thank you for lunch. It was really nice, and I wish I could repay you somehow, but—”
“Okay, I’ll let you.” I interrupt her, totally jumping on the opportunity to get more of her in whatever way I can.
“You’ll let me…?”
“Repay me.”
She tilts her head, and a mass of brown hair falls over her shoulder. “You want me to repay you?”
“Yup.”
She presses her lips together and slowly releases them before she asks, “What do you want me to do?”
Her breathing picks up, and her cheeks flush. Hell yeah, this chick is into me. Which is good because I’m way into her.
“Come have dinner with me tonight,” I tell her.
“Food is your payback for food?”
“Yup. Why? Were you wanting to pay me back in a different way?” I test the waters a little bit.
She looks speculative, then shocked, but she shakes her head. “No. Food is fine. What do you want me to bring?”
“Just you. When do you get home?”
“Six twelve.”
I chuckle quietly at her breathy voice and again think about how much I like that.
“You like Indian?”
Her face scrunches up, and she spits her tongue out like she’s just eaten a lemon.
I go from chuckling to full-on roaring, something that doesn’t happen a lot unless I’m with my boys. “Okay, Indian is a no. What do you like?”
“Whatever.”
“Mexican?”
When she nibbles on her lip, I drop my head as my shoulders shake because she’s so damn adorable it makes me feel lighter somehow. After a minute, I look back up to see her with eyes bright on me.
“Pizza?”
“Yeah, I like pizza.”
“Good.” I can’t help myself, so I bring my hand to her face and cup her jaw. I wait until the shock of me touching her goes away because she needs to get used to my hands on her, and when she slowly blinks and sighs, only then do I brush my thumb over her cheek before pulling away. “See you later, sugar.”
Her breath leaves her in a small swoosh. “’Kay.”
Cady
Gabriel saunters out, and I stare at the door long after he’s gone. “Did that just happen?” I ask the empty library.
At times like this, I wish I had a friend to call. Or a mom I could ask for advice from. Like, is he asking me out on a date, is he just being nice, or is he being too nice? I don’t know what to think. So I do what any self-respecting nerd would do; I go to the self-help section and grab a couple books about dating. Then one on the differences between men and women.
As I’m walking back to my desk in the center of the library, the chime above the door rattles, and I look up to see a man in a suit sauntering in. “Hello.” I greet him.
He nods and hurries past me.
Weird. Guys with suits never come to the library. And if they do, they’re usually looking for something specific and ask me where it is. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I go around my desk and grip the back of my chair, dropping my books into the seat.
With Chris’s threats this morning, I’m not sure what to expect. He’s said things like that before, but nothing ever happened. At least that I know of. So my suspicions rise as I watch the man stroll around the library, not really looking at anything.
Between aisles, I lose him, but he’s so tall that I can see the top of his brown hair weaving in and out. He’s glancing around, not paying attention to me, but his behavior is suspicious. There’s barely any money in the cash drawer, only enough to make change for a twenty, but I’m pretty sure that cash has been here for at least four months without being touched.
His presence concerns me, and I contemplate calling the police, but what would I say? A guy is meandering around the library, and because he has on a suit, I’m scared. They’d probably laugh at me or give me a ticket for making a false complaint… if that even is a thing.
He disappears for a moment, as if he’s tying a shoe or looking at something on a bottom shelf. And then he comes directly to me, and I back up. My thighs hit the countertop, and he tilts his head. Brown eyes size me up. “Hello. I’m in town visiting my ailing mother and was told there may be a recipe book that contains her favorite soup recipe in it, but I am unable to locate it. Would you mind helping me, please?”
I’m so frustrated that this is what Chris has made me become; someone so afraid. My shoulders sag in relief at his question, and I reach for my mouse so I can shake it and wake up my computer. “I’d be happy to help.”
I listen to him describe the details of the book as he knows them, and after a few minutes, we come to the conclusion that the recipe was featured in one of the newspaper’s annual cookbooks. But we don’t know which one. After narrowing down the century, I lead him over to the correct
aisle, and we begin digging though books and searching for the recipes, and after the seventh collection, we finally find it.
And instead of him checking out the book, I just make him a copy of the recipe and wish his mother well. After he’s gone, I sit down and kick my feet up on my desk and go back to my book.
Ladies, if a man wants you, he’ll ask. They don’t talk in code. We are the ones who don’t say what we mean. It’s the women who wait for something they never ask for. So go ask. Ask him on that date. Ask him to please open your door for you. Ask him to sit on the same side of the booth as you if that’s what you want.
How will they ever know? How will they make you happy if you don’t tell them what you need in order for that to happen? They’re men, not mind readers.
Think about it. You’re with a guy who grew up in a home with a shit father or no father at all. He’s had no healthy role models to emulate, so how would he know that a man is supposed to be chivalrous if he’s never seen it done before?
If your man was raised by a father who doted on his mother and opened every door, always held her hand, and kissed her neck, he’d do those things. He’d know that was how you should treat a woman.
But what if you’re a woman who doesn’t like her neck touched? How would he know not to kiss your neck if you. Don’t. Tell. Him?
I slam the book closed and drop my head to the desk. I’ve read three books today, and I’m still as clueless as before. Everybody contradicts the next person, and I might not be smart about the opposite sex, but I am smart enough to know you can’t base a relationship on what a book says.
Not that what I have with Gabriel is a relationship.
“Gah!” I stomp my feet all the way across the library to put my unhelpful self-help books back. It’s almost six, and since I know nobody is going to come in, I close up and start to head out.
I get the call as I’m shutting the lamp on the desk off. “Cady.”
All I have to do is hear the tone of Sebastian’s voice to know something’s wrong. “What happened?”
“She fell. She’s okay, stable. Nothing broken, thank God, but she’s sore and crabby as all hell.”
I actually feel the breath leave my lungs. “Where are you?”
“St. Mary’s. Third floor, room 312.”
“I’ll be there in less than twenty.”
I quickly dial a cab and rush outside to wait. The yellow car pulls up a few minutes later, and as soon as I give him directions to the hospital, he swallows tightly and speeds away.
If I show up there crying, and she sees me, she’ll be mad, so I let the tears flow now but make sure to wipe them dry before I rush into the hospital and head straight to her room.
Sebastian is waiting for me, and I fall into his arms. “She’s okay. She’s okay.”
I nod against his chest, and he tilts my face up with his finger. “I fucked up.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t even know how it happened.”
“No, but I know you’re the best. Now move, I need to see her,” I urge, and he pushes the door open for me.
It takes my breath away to see her with an IV and a bandage on her wrist. It’s like my worst nightmare come true. I don’t know how I survived keeping myself together after my father died, but the thought of losing Rosie brings back all those emotions.
I don’t know how long I just stand here and watch her breathe when her hand jerks in mine, but she doesn’t wake up. Sebastian is reclining in a chair in her hospital room. He catches the movement and looks up from his phone. He wipes his nose with a tissue and clenches it in his hand. “You don’t need to stay,” he whispers.
“I know.”
He feels guilty, but it’s not his fault. I told him that numerous times but feel the need to again. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was.”
“She tried to go to the bathroom on her own. She knows she needs help, so that’s not on you.”
Setting his phone in his lap, he shakes his head, dreadlocks swaying with the movement. “I know it’s when she normally needed to use the restroom, but I lost track of time outside while putting her Christmas lights up.”
“And she could have pushed her button to call for you. She knows better.” But she’s stubborn. And proud. I know the transition from self-sufficient to incompetent is disheartening for her—it would be for anyone—but Sebastian makes it as smooth as can be and doesn’t ever make her feel badly about her inability to do something.
“I should have waited for you to come over so you’d be with her when I was outside. If I did that, she wouldn’t have fallen.”
“She did, though. But she’s fine. The padding you have around the toilet prevented her from serious injury. She’s just got a sprained wrist and a bruised ego.”
We chat a little while longer, and once it nears midnight, I finally leave. There’s no need for anyone to be here while she sleeps, let alone two people. I’ll just come back in the morning.
I leave the hospital the same way I got there, and if I wasn’t so tired and it wasn’t so cold, I’d rather walk. My feet are dragging when I reach my building, I can barely lift them. It’s a wonder I make it up the stairs. As soon as I have my key in the lock, I hear his angry voice behind me. “Nobody’s ever stood me up before, Cady, and I gotta say, I do not fuckin’ like it.”
I drop my head to the door, and a wave of apprehension sweeps through me before I turn to face him. Shit. I forgot. I’m glad he’s pissed at me; it’ll be the perfect reason for him to leave me the hell alone. I don’t need his shit. I’m already dealing with enough stuff, and even though he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and the one and only person who I fantasized about my entire life, it’d never work. Friends or whatever he’s going for, probably just a hookup—I can’t do it.
I’ll never be the girl who he can just have sex with and leave after he’s done. And I can’t be friends with him and not die a little inside secretly wanting more, wanting it all, and knowing I’ll never have it as I watch him be with other girls from the sidelines. I’ll never have him the way I truly desire.
And I know that’s my fault. If I put myself out there more, things could potentially be different, but that’s not me. I am who I am, and as much as I want to change and be more easygoing, I’m not.
I have crippling anxiety, I’m afraid of the dark, I’m a virgin… I’m not for the likes of him. And I need to tell him that, so I turn around, but before I can open my mouth to do so, his handsome face clouds with uncertainty and concern.
And I melt a little. I pretend he’s looking at me like that because he actually cares about me. Just a moment. For just a few moments, I allow it, so I’ll have this feeling to fall back on when I’m eighty and alone.
His crossed arms drop to his sides, and he takes a step toward me, concern bringing him to me in one long stride, and my heart taking one long beat. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You were fine earlier. Are you sick again?”
God, why? Of all the times in my life, why did he have to come into it now? “No. I’m sorry I missed dinner, but I’m really tired, and I really just need to get some sleep.”
He inches closer, and if could back up, I would, but I have nowhere to go. The tension in the air from his frustration is thinning. His hand comes up slowly and rests on the side of my neck, his thumb running along the underside of my jaw. The touch gentle and soothing, much like earlier at the library. He leans in and puts the palm of his other hand on my hip, resting lightly. “You really need to talk to me.”
“I really need sleep, Gabriel.”
When I say his name, his fingers tighten on my hip, and I feel that touch everywhere, including places I’ve never actually been touched before. “Did you eat?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you eat?”
“You don’t have to worry about it.”
“Did you eat?”
/>
He’s stubborn, and I can see I’m not getting anywhere, so I shake my head. “I’m not hungry, though.”
His hands fall, and one goes to mine, intertwining our fingers. I allow another moment so I can soak his touch in deep to absorb and remember it later. His other hand goes to the doorknob of Gia’s place. He drags me behind him, but I have to admit it’s willingly because I’m done fighting for the day. I’ll let him do whatever he thinks he needs to do to fulfill whatever obligation Gia put him up to.
Once we’re inside, he locks the deadbolt.
“Go sit, I’ll make you something.” His head is in the fridge, and I decide it’s best just to eat and get on with it, so I plop my butt on one of the two wooden barstools at the island separating the living room from the kitchen. Peach rubs on my foot, and I reach down and give her head scratches. “If you’re still under the weather, pizza probably doesn’t sound good, huh?”
“You ordered it?”
He keeps his body bent at the waist but turns his neck so his eyes are directed at me. “Uh… yeah, babe. Told you I wanted to eat dinner with you.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yup.” His head disappears again. “There are leftovers if you want some. What sounds good to you? I went to the store today and got stuff for sandwiches and mac-n-cheese…” he trails off as he opens and shuts Gia’s cabinets. “Or she does have a couple of cans of soup.”
After I get over the fact that this man, the one I’ve dreamed about for so long, is making me dinner, I realize that I am kind of hungry, and I’m feeling way better. “A sandwich actually sounds good.”
He nods as an acknowledgment and grabs the stuff out of the fridge. I watch as he whips up a ham and cheese without asking if that is what I want, and I’m mesmerized by him the entire time.
The way he’s treating me and how sweet he’s being is what I always wished I’d find. Someone like my dad who looked out for me and actually cared. Maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he just wants to get laid, or maybe Gia asked him to look out for me since I was sick, but it still feels nice to have someone make me a damn sandwich after a long day.
I haven’t had that since I was sixteen years old. And ironically enough, it was right around the time I saw Gabriel for the first time. I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget how I felt and how listening to him play with my dad is embedded in me and ingrained in my soul.
