She quickly snapped out of it and threw herself into my chest with her arms wound around my torso. It was almost convincing, if she hadn’t also pushed against me in a very obvious attempt at getting me out of the pantry.
“What are you hiding in there?”
She loosened her grip and peered over her shoulder, as if she had no idea what I was talking about. Then she dropped her arms and took a step back. Her lips twisted to one side while she squinted in thought, leveling her stare with mine. “I was, uh . . . just, you know, starting a load of laundry.”
“Here, let me help you.” I leaned into her, reaching over her shoulder toward the control panel. “I think you forgot to press the start button.”
“No . . . wait.” Her frantic tone confirmed my suspicions. “I haven’t added any soap.”
I glanced to my left and found the giant green bottle sitting on a shelf. Except when I went to get it for her, she grabbed my arm to stop me.
“You don’t need to do that.” She waved me off. “I got it, but thank you.”
“Really, I don’t mind.”
“Kelsey should be dressed any second now. You don’t want to be stuck in here measuring detergent and pressing buttons with me. It’ll just make her wait, which will make her cranky. She can be a beast when she gets like that, so seriously, I appreciate the offer, but you should probably wait for her on the couch. Or outside. Maybe in your car with the engine running.”
I caged her in with my arms on either side of her body, my hands pressed against the top of the washer, and leaned down to bring my face closer to hers. “You’re a horrible liar, Tatum,” I practically growled in my effort to stay quiet. “You’re even worse at hiding something.”
“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There’s something in here”—I tapped on the lid—“that you don’t want me to see.”
“Just clothes. Dirty, smelly, sweaty clothes.”
I didn’t bother to fight the smirk as I held her stare, silently calling her bluff.
“And socks, too.” Her voice was almost inaudible, felt more in the air that drifted from her lips to my face than heard in the words she’d spoken. “Lots of socks.”
I no longer believed she hid lingerie, though I was lost at what it could be. “Then it’s a good thing I walked in when I did, huh? You shouldn’t mix your clothes. You could ruin them if they’re not separated. But don’t worry, I’ll help you sort.”
I started to pull away so I could lift the lid and end the charade, but she stopped me by grabbing the front of my shirt. My breathing halted, as did hers, and before either of us knew what was happening, she tugged me down until our lips met. I paused for a moment, just in case it was unintentional, and when she didn’t put a stop to it, I parted my lips and participated in the kiss.
It lasted approximately three seconds—if that. Her balled hands flattened against my chest right before she shoved against me, forcing me away. She gasped softly, though I couldn’t figure out if it was caused by the good kind of surprise or bad. And while I stared into her dark, wide eyes, I licked my lips, tasting her on my tongue, and made sure she couldn’t question just how good I thought it was.
On the bright side, she was too stunned by her own action to have much foresight. When I leaned closer, she tilted her head back—more than likely assuming I was about to kiss her again—not paying any attention to my fingers on the lid. It wasn’t until I had it up, the contents of the drum exposed, that she realized what had happened.
Tatum twisted in my arms until she had her back to my chest. When I pulled out the bag of cheese puff balls, she snatched it from my hand, studied it with a concerned stare, and then turned her deeply creased brow to me. “How’d those get in there?”
I couldn’t stop the laughter from rushing past my lips. I grabbed on to the rim of the washer to hold myself up as I let it roll through me. Tatum didn’t seem thrilled, yet she didn’t break out of the cage I had her in between my arms.
“Kelsey must’ve thrown them in when you weren’t looking.”
She slowly nodded her agreement. “That’s got to be it.”
“Yeah . . . because this couldn’t possibly be your bag of cheese balls.” I tipped my chin down and eyed her. “I’m sure someone with your gourmet experience would never stuff their face with artificially flavored processed food.”
“I wasn’t stuffing my face. More like nibbling.” She rolled her eyes—likely at herself—and added, “You know . . . if they were mine. But they aren’t. You said so yourself.”
I couldn’t have wiped off my smile if I’d been paid to. “You really think I’m that gullible?”
“No. But you can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Nah, I guess you can’t.” I straightened my spine and lifted my fingertips to her crimson cheek, where I stroked her heated skin so lightly I wasn’t sure she could feel it.
“They’re my weakness,” she whispered. “It’s shameful, I know. I’d feel a lot better if you went back to believing they were Kelsey’s.”
“Too late. I can’t unsee that.”
Her eyes narrowed when she asked, “Unsee what?”
I lowered my hand to the front of her shirt. Her breath hitched, yet she didn’t stop me. I carefully brushed the space in the center of her chest, just below her collarbone, with my fingertips. “The crumbs.”
“Oh,” she breathed out, not quite a whisper. With her chin tucked, she stood motionless and watched as I wiped away the faint orange-colored dust. Interesting enough, even when the last of it was gone, she didn’t stop me from clearing away invisible residue.
I kept waiting for her to snap out of it or step away. When she didn’t, I forced myself to stop before I discovered other areas on her body that needed attention. I dropped my arm to my side and studied her for some sort of reaction, something to let me know if I’d made her uncomfortable. Two seconds later, I got my answer . . . just not the way I had expected.
She lifted her head, yet she didn’t look at me. Her eyes landed on the center of my chest, and when she brought her hand to my shirt, she used her fingertips to trace imaginary lines in the space over my pounding heart. Soft at first, then with a little more force as she flattened her palm against my sternum. Soon, her unhurried strokes became confident touches, driven by palpable urgency. Each sweep of her warm hand across my pecs heightened my heart rate; every brush of her knuckles increased my already hasty breathing.
There was nothing on me, yet I wasn’t about to point that out. If she realized what she was doing, she’d stop. And much like with her outright lie about being a hugger, I figured I could let this play out, too.
When Tatum finished wiping lint off the front of my shirt, she moved to my shoulders, now using both hands. Every muscle in my body coiled tight as I fought against the desire to thread my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back, and finish what she’d started earlier.
As soon as she reached my forearms, she stilled. Visible panic stiffened her body for a couple of seconds, and then she seemed to pull herself together. Doing what Tatum did best, she played it off in the most beautifully awkward way possible. “You, um . . . you had stuff on you. Don’t worry—it’s gone now. All clean.”
“Cat hair?”
She nodded and glanced up to meet my stare. “Yup. That’s what it looked like.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how that happened. I don’t have a cat.”
Her eyes widened briefly, the color in her cheeks deepening ever so slightly. “Someone must’ve been shaving one, and the wind picked it up. Happens to me all the time.”
Well, two can play that game.
I brought my fingertip to her mouth and lightly traced the line of her lips. I was playing with fire, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up in flames. “You had cheese dust on your face.”
She furiously wiped her chin with the back of her hand, but before the shock could settle into her features, she stopped and glared at me. “That wa
s mean. I don’t have anything on my face,” she said with a laugh, slapping my chest playfully.
I gently grabbed her wrist and held her to me. The heat of her palm burned my skin through the fabric of my shirt, yet I didn’t dare let go. “You’re right, Tatum—you don’t . . . anymore. I got it all off when you kissed me.”
She dropped her head forward, hiding her ebony stare and fiery cheeks. It seemed she had a lot to learn if she thought that would be enough to make me give up. I tilted her head back with a curled finger beneath her chin, never letting go of her wrist in my other hand. “Please tell me you’re hiding frosted cupcakes in the dryer.”
The corners of her lips twitched, and when she exhaled, it was like her nerves had vanished. But before she could reward me with the sound of her confident voice, we were interrupted.
“What are you guys doing in there?” Kelsey called out from behind me.
I dropped my hands and turned around, finding my cousin eying us cautiously from the opening to the kitchen.
I stepped away from Tatum—begrudgingly—and moved out of the closet. “Cheese balls, soap, pressing buttons. You know, the usual.” I winked before passing Kelsey’s motionless form. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”
“You better, because there’s a lot to do.”
I stopped near the front door and turned to face her. “Then maybe Tatum should come, too. An extra set of hands never hurt anyone.” I’d suggested it more or less to piss Kelsey off, yet now that the idea had entered my mind, nothing short of Tatum having to work would stop me from making it happen.
“Hell no.” Kelsey couldn’t have rejected me any faster if she’d tried. She craned her neck to the side to regard her friend—who stood in the pantry, out of my sight—and added, “No offense, Tater.”
“What exactly am I not supposed to be offended about?” Tatum walked out of the closet and crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her gaze on her best friend.
“I’m helping Jason decorate his new place. He just moved in today, and the moron didn’t bring anything with him from Vegas. So, to keep him from sitting on milk crates in front of the TV, I’m having some of the furniture from the warehouse brought over.”
“I’m not following. Why would that offend me? It’s your stuff.”
“Did you not hear the part about me decorating his place? And you . . .” Kelsey held out her arm and pointed at something near the kitchen table behind her. “Well, you suck at decorating, evident by the photos you hung.”
I turned my attention to the pictures of Tatum and Kelsey on the wall behind the small table. Although, my observation was cut short when Tatum asked, “What’s wrong with them?”
“The frames don’t match, for one. Two, there’s no order to any of them. And they’re all crooked, which might be okay if they all leaned the same way, but they don’t. It throws my OCD out of whack every time I walk by.” Kelsey’s humor had to be the driest I’d ever heard—I felt sorry for anyone who had to put up with it all the time.
“Then why haven’t you ever fixed them?”
Kelsey shrugged. “I didn’t want to offend you.”
Tatum’s mouth opened and closed a few times. When that stopped, she blinked in exaggerated astonishment. “And you thought telling me I suck and using my collage of photos as proof would be less offensive?”
“Eh.” She waved her off like it was no big deal. “You brought it up. It made it easier to be honest with you.”
“I didn’t bring it up. You voluntarily told me why you didn’t want my help. And if I may point something out for just a second . . . saying ‘no offense’ before insulting someone doesn’t suddenly make what you say a compliment.”
“Wait.” My cousin held up both hands, regret flashing in her hazel eyes. “You’re not actually taking me seriously . . . are you?”
Tatum glanced at me quickly, and humiliation colored her cheeks. When she turned back to my cousin, she stammered, “Well, I, um . . . and then you . . .” She pointed to the wall behind Kelsey and shrugged uncomfortably. “Frames.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if it had to do with me being here—if she would’ve reacted differently had it only been the two of them.
“Come on, you two. Let’s just hug it out and then go to my place.” If that didn’t work, I would have no choice but to call my mom and have her Dr. Phil them until they were best friends again.
“No.” Kelsey held up her hand in my direction, making it known her response was directed at me, even though she never took her eyes off her roommate. “We joke like this all the time; it’s our thing. And you always play along. Did you really think I was being serious?”
The remorse in her tone was palpable. It was obvious she didn’t want to hurt Tatum over a few frames—albeit they were incredibly mismatched and crooked.
Tatum swung her gaze in my direction, giving up before her dark eyes landed on me, and my earlier question was answered. This had to do with my presence more than the frames. It shouldn’t have, but that realization riddled me with guilt.
“What? No.” She dismissed Kelsey with a flick of the wrist and laughed, though it came out apprehensive and unnatural. “Of course not. I knew you were kidding. You’re such a jokester.”
I wasn’t the only one in the room who thought that reaction was odd. Kelsey stared at her with creases between her brows so deep they rivaled the Grand Canyon. “Jokester?” Then she set her attention on me. “Really, Jason . . . what did you two do in the laundry room? Drink the detergent or sniff the dryer sheets?”
“Nope. We only made out and felt each other up.”
That got Tatum’s attention. But before she could deny anything, Kelsey grabbed her stomach and howled in laughter. “Now I know you’re lying—and more than likely high. She would never touch you.”
I offered a casual shrug and smirked. “Believe what you want, but she totally initiated it.”
“Whatever. Keep dreaming.” With a dismissive eye roll, she returned to her roommate. “Listen, Tater . . . I’m sorry if I offended you. I hope you know I’d never do that intentionally. I was just giving you a hard time. Those pictures are my favorite thing in this apartment—there’s more character on that one wall than in the rest of the place combined.”
“It’s fine.” Her smile was forced, and the head nodding was a bit excessive, though her words sounded genuine. “I knew you were just giving me a hard time—even if you were telling the truth.”
I glanced at the frames again. Even though I stood too far away to see their faces, I could tell by the poses in each photo that these were two people who cared a lot about each other. It made me think of my cousin’s warning about staying away from Tatum. If I’d had any interest in dating her, this would’ve made me question it.
It was a good thing I had no desire to date anyone.
“Tatum, you’re great at a lot of things—well, a few things. Actually, you’re fantastic at one thing and okay at the rest.” There was a good chance my cousin was just as awkward as her best friend—apparently, sappy moments were too much for her to handle without a sarcastic retort.
Tatum returned Kelsey’s smile, leaving no doubt that she recognized the jest. “Just as long as that one thing is cooking, I’m good.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t cleaning.” Laughter filled Kelsey’s retort.
I glanced around, wondering what she meant by that. From what I could see, their place was neat and tidy. With that said, I hadn’t seen much more than the living room and kitchen, though as small as the apartment was, I doubted there would be too many places to hide a mess.
I clapped my hands together, ready to get the show on the road. “We good here? Because we have a house to fill with furniture, and the clock’s ticking.” I tapped on my watch while leveling a pointed stare at Kelsey.
“Yeah, yeah. Hold your britches.” She grabbed her purse and keys off the table. But rather than invite her friend along, like I had prior to their discussion over lopsided frame
s, she called out, “Later, Tater.”
I could’ve imagined it—wishful thinking was a real thing—but Tatum seemed disappointed that Kelsey was about to leave without her. That theory was based solely on her slumped shoulders and blank expression. She might’ve simply been relaxed and lost in thought, yet I chose to believe she wanted to come along and felt left out that Kelsey hadn’t invited her.
If my cousin wouldn’t ask, then I would. “You coming, Tatum?”
“Thanks, but clearly you don’t want my help decorating.”
“There are plenty of other things to do. I have nothing in my kitchen, and since you’re the queen of that area, I would be indebted to you if you’d help with that.”
“You’d know better than I would where you want your cups and plates.”
I shook my head and grinned, refusing to let her get out of this. “No, Tatum. I don’t have anything . . . including food. The few pans I have won’t do me any good without something to cook in them.”
“So you need me to go grocery shopping?”
The purpose was to get her to my house, not send her to a store, but if it meant she’d have to put it all away, then who was I to be picky about how she got there, just as long as she came? “Yeah, if you don’t mind taking my credit card and grabbing me enough to fill a pantry and spice cabinet.”
She closed her eyes and huffed, acting as though this was such an inconvenience, yet her coy smirk gave her away. “Fine. Kels, ride with your cousin so I can go to the store on my way, and then we can drive back together.”
Moving into a new place was equal parts torture and karma.
Kelsey saved my ass by selling me some of her old staging furniture for dirt cheap, and Tatum helped by setting up the kitchen. Well, for the most part. She said she’d make a list of everything I needed—cookware and whatnot—but by the time she had my fridge filled and pantry organized, Kelsey and I had finished with the furniture. Needless to say, she’d left without making me a list. At least she’d gotten me food . . . even if I couldn’t eat it because she’d chosen all the fancy shit that required a culinary background to make.
The (Half) Truth Page 7
