Lingus

by Mariana Zapata

  After work, I met up with Zoey at the yoga studio we frequented. Since I had to go back to the real world and start working again, we'd gone to our fall and spring routine, which consisted of a nighttime hot yoga class and dinner afterward. As soon as she saw me walking into the studio, she screeched.

  "You slut! You did it!" she announced to a, thankfully, empty yoga studio.

  I looked down trying to see what in the hell could've given away the fact that I'd slept with Tristan the night before, but I didn't think my bloated stomach would have been a giveaway. Frowning, I put my index finger to my lips to get her to be quiet. "Tell the whole world, Zo," I hissed, rolling my eyes.

  She did this thing that looked like a bunny hop, bouncing forward off two feet twice. "Oh. Mah. Gawd," she squealed. Her small hands went up to cup my face and pinch my cheeks. "You're walking funny," she giggled.

  "I'm walking funny because I'm on my period, and I'm cramping, damn it," I muttered.

  "Or because an extra large sausage stuffed your bun last night," the little bitch cackled.

  I threw a hand over my face before dropping my bag and mat onto the floor. "Oh, Jesus Christ, keep it down. My dad is going to freaking hear you."

  Zoey laughed even louder, enjoying my embarrassment a little too much. I had to blame it on her hanging it out with Nicole more often without me. "How was it?" she asked.

  Pulling away from her, I set my yoga mat and bottles of water down alongside hers and huffed. "None of your business," I teased. She knew damn well I would end up telling her something. Only seconds later, from my spot bent over, I looked up at her excited almond shaped eyes and couldn't help but waggle my eyebrows suggestively. "Fucking awesome."

  "Oh mah gawd. Oh mah gawd," she panted, plopping onto her ass. Zoey rolled onto her back and kicked her feet in the air, reminding me of Yoda when he laid in the same position. "That is like, the sickest thing I've heard all month. "

  I flinched at her words. I think even my ass flinched. Then, I burst out laughing, did she just....? "Zo, please, please, please, I'm begging you, please don't ever use sickest again. Ever."

  "I thought it was making a comeback," she explained, frowning.

  I snorted and pinched my nose to keep from doing it again. "No, it's not. Maybe if you did wakeboarding or— never mind, please, just don't do it."

  She let out a frustrated sigh before pulling her legs close to her chest. "Fine," she consented like a small, chastised child would. Only she was my small, sweet Zoey.

  "He saw the video," I whispered into her ear, trying to distract her from her mopey face.

  She sat up faster than lightning, straightening her back. "No way," she hissed, eyeing the women who were filtering into the room.

  Zoey had always known how apprehensive I was about the video, before and especially after it was done. Although the people she sent it to had no legal right to post it without her consent, there had always been a worry in the back of my brain that someday some asshole would do it. Luckily, no one had up until then. Years later, we'd talked about whether or not I would ever tell someone I was in a relationship with about what we'd done, but I never planned on it. Until Tristan. Only Tristan, if anyone, would understand why I did it. Either way, that wasn't public knowledge I'd pass onto any man entering my life. I knew people were vengeful, and there was no way in hell I'd risk some pissed off boyfriend sending the video to my dad.

  "Yes, way," I told her, sitting down onto my own mat.

  "What did he say?" It made me laugh that Zoey tried to whisper but really just managed to lower the pitch of her voice.

  I shrugged and pulled my feet together to stretch. For a split second I debated whether or not to tell her the three best words I'd ever heard from his mouth, but I couldn't keep that from her. I had a feeling she'd been praying for me at night, or at least crossing her fingers frequently. "He told me he loved me," I said in the quietest voice I could manage.

  Zoey opened up her mouth wide, and then slapped her palm over it. Whether she was screaming or squealing, I don't know, but her face turned bright pink. She got up onto her knees and threw herself against me, tackling me onto the soft carpet floor. "Kat," she whispered into my ear. "That's amazing." Kissing my hair before scampering off, she added, "You deserve all the happiness in the world."

  "Thanks, Zo," I said with a smile. She really was the best girl in the world.

  The teacher came in a moment later setting up her mat as close as she could in front of the mirrors, talking in hushed tones. At some point, while we were in downward dog I heard Zoey making a low whistling noise from next to me. Turning my head slightly, I saw her bright eyes on mine.

  She whispered to me, "We need to do this more often."

  I mouthed back a "Why?" It was bad enough I came once or twice a week with her.

  Zoey winked at me before rolling her body into upward dog. "The camera adds ten pounds." I must have given her a quizzical look because she shook her head. "For Porn Wives."

  Oh lord.

  Chapter 55

  "What do you want for your birthday?" Tristan's warm breath washed over the cartilage of my ear.

  We were sitting on the couch next to each other with his arm looped over my shoulders, fingers tracing the valley of my collarbone. My eyes narrowed on their own while I tried to figure out if this was a trick or not. "You already got me a birthday present," I reminded him.

  While some people may not like to celebrate their birthdays, I was not one of those people. I liked my birthday. I like birthday cake and balloons, and doing whatever the fuck I want because it's my day. Only this year, like last, I had to work on it. It could've been worse though. I reminded myself that it was early enough in the school year to where my students still didn't know me well and therefore, won't give me much hell. Yet.

  His straight nose wrinkled as he made a face. "That wasn't your birthday present."

  "Uh, you told me taking me with you to California was my birthday present."

  "That was my grandma's birthday present to you," he clarified with a roll of green eyes. "I used her money. It doesn't count."

  There were two things wrong with what he was telling me. I had never met either of his grandmas, which would merit a present and I never would. I could remember him explaining to me that one of them left him some money in her will. By some money, I meant a lot of money. It was the same money he used to buy his house and car. The lucky asshole. The only thing I got from my grandma when she died was a collection of creepy dolls. "That does too count."

  "Kat," he muttered in a low tone. "Just tell me what you want."

  I couldn't help but sigh, thinking. I knew how stubborn he was, and I knew that he wouldn't let it go so I thought more. Then it hit me. Sliding my hand over my lap, and then slowly letting it glide to where I could grip the thick muscle in his thigh, I squeezed. "I know what I want."

  The perfect profile of his face was visible when he stiffened, staring forward. "What is it?"

  "You—," I said with a squeeze. "In—," another squeeze accompanied my words and I heard him suck in a breath, waiting for me to finish. For me to tell him what he wants to hear. "An apron. I want you to make me a cupcake."

  A loud whoosh expelled from his lungs followed by glaring in my direction. "You're cruel and that's not something I can buy you."

  I tried to give him the most innocent smile in the world, but it probably came out looking like I was constipated. "I don't know what you're talking about, and you never said that I needed to tell you what to buy me."

  He seemed to think about what I said for a minute too long, and I had to wonder what was going through his pretty head. "I'm not good with my hands—," he started to say before the noise that erupted out of my throat stopped him.

  "Liar," I choked out, remembering the night he woke me up in Los Angeles with those hands. "You are good with your hands."

  Tristan threw his head back and laughed, snorting at the end and it made my heart clench a little. "You'r
e right, I am good with my hands."

  "Asshole," I muttered, elbowing him in the rib. I pretty much asked for that answer but still. We both know how he was so good with his hands. "Prick."

  "Aww, Kat," he groaned, realizing that he'd aggravated me. "I just meant that I'm not good at building stuff. I'm not creative at all."

  I started to nod before he was even done with his sentence. As soon as he said he wasn't good at building things, I had to agree. We tried to put together an elevated feeder for Yoda and that didn't work out so well. The glare he gave me in response to my acknowledgement of his weakness only made me laugh. "What? It's true!"

  "I could build something if I wanted to," he said indignantly, tightening the hold around my shoulders.

  "You're right, you can," I agreed with him, trying my best to keep a straight face. "I'll buy you some Legos or Building Blocks for you to get started."

  His face was a mask of cool and collected as he eyed my face blankly. But I knew him, I could see that there's something building under his eyes, something close to amusement and teasing. It felt like minutes of silence passed between our words. "You need me to go get your emergency panties from your car again?"

  Chapter 56

  As my wonderful luck would also have it, my cycle lasted three days longer than it should have. I wanted to send Mother Nature a big two-finger salute in thanks for being a cockblocker.

  The week leading up to my birthday was spent doing lesson plans on the couch with Tristan while trying to forget that I'd seen the beast in his pants, and trying to avoid reminding myself that I was turning twenty-six. I could remember being twelve and thinking that eighteen was practically half a century away. Once I finally turned eighteen, I thought it would take forever to turn twenty-one. Somehow, right after I turned eighteen the next seven years went by in a blur. It was exciting but scary because I wondered how fast the next twenty-five years of my life would pass.

  There was also something about twenty-six getting closer and closer to thirty that made me think of my mom much more often than I was accustomed to. It didn't help that I was on my period because everything reminded me of her and practically screamed out that I was right around the corner in my own life from when she’d lost hers. Could I imagine dying just a few short years from now? No, I couldn't. I had to remind myself each time my thoughts would go in that stray vector that I could easily die today, or tomorrow, six months from now, eight years from now, or hell, seventy years from now. I know that my mom wouldn't want me to live my life counting down to my death. I know that I wouldn't want anyone I love to live life expecting to die.

  If anything, all the time I spend with Tristan made life feel a little more precious to me. Life is short, you know.

  With that in mind, I was in a great mood when Nicole called at four-thirty in the morning to wish me a happy birthday. Under normal circumstances, I probably would've called her a slut-ass-whore or something along those lines but I didn't. The rest of my early morning was spent answering calls like Josh's, his being a rendition of feliz cumpleaños in an atrocious Spanish accent. Tristan called me at some point between Josh and Zoey's calls to wish me a happy birthday and assure me that we'd see each other after work. I spent my day wishing that the school day would go by a little faster so I could get out of there to make it home and celebrate my one special day in the year. I'd made plans to go have dinner with Tristan and my dad, then bowling with my bitches.

  Dad. Tristan. Dinner. Together. Shoot me now.

  It wasn't that I thought my dad was going to threaten Tristan or anything, but because I knew my dad was going to tease the hell out of me. I'd only brought one of my boyfriends around him in my life and that was The Virgin, or as my dad started calling him in the months after we broke up— the Virgin Mary. Needless to say, my dad knew the moment I opened up my mouth that I was his daughter without a doubt. He'd told me once, after I had backed into his work truck for the second time within a month, that the “dumbass gene” ran rampant in the Berger family. Nicole claimed that his statement explained a lot.

  I was dressed and ready for Mag when he called to tell me he was pulling into my apartment complex. Jogging down the stairs as quickly as I could in heels, I found the long, lean frame of a man stepping out of his car by the time I hit the landing.

  Jesus Christ. He was wearing a suit for once, a dark gray ensemble that looked tailored to fit his wide shoulders, full arms, slim hips, and muscular thighs. How the hell did he go through the day without getting ruffied by every woman he came in contact with?

  He was looking down, with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his charcoal slacks while he walked toward me. At the sounds of my heels clicking against the pavement, his eyes came up and widened. He stopped. Tristan turned to look behind him, back at me, behind him again, and then back at me. He brought the heels of his hands up to cover both of his eyes, groaning. "Am I dreaming?"

  "What?" I asked him, stopping just a few feet away from where he stood.

  "Is this a dream?"

  I couldn't help but snort, tucking my clutch between my arm and ribs. He looked so cute standing there, lips pursed, hands over his eyes like a little kid. "No. Why?"

  His fingers moved, twisting in the air while he ground his palms into his eye sockets. "You're wearing that goddamn dress. This has to be a nightmare," he muttered more to himself. "A fucking nightmare."

  Instinctively, my hands went to tug at the hem of what I was wearing. It was the same blue dress I'd tried on in front of him a month before for Ryan's wedding, the same one he'd told me was too short. "I thought I looked nice..." I trailed off, trying to keep my voice steady. I swear if he told me I looked bad, I'd nut-punch him.

  He chuckled, a deep, throaty, cynical sounding thing while dropping his hands from his face. His eyes opened slowly. "Kat, Kat, Kat," my name was hissed from lips like a snake's prayer. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked with a shake of his head. Large hands reached out to grab my waist, bringing me close to his warm body. He leaned down before brushing his bottom lip against the cartilage of my ear. "You're my control's worst goddamn nightmare. How do you expect me to survive the night seeing you in this?"

  Oh. My. Shit.

  I felt his hands drift down my sides, over my hips, and to the bottom of my dress. Cool fingertips danced underneath the dress fabric, stroking my thighs, and I was really fucking glad I'd shaved before dressing. "I thought I was going to burn in hell when you tried this on for the wedding," he admitted. His fingers grazed the backs of my thighs before pressing into my flesh. I couldn't help but remember the way he'd looked at me when I'd put it on, the way his hands hovered over me and his heavy lidded eyes.

  "Does that mean you like it?" I asked stupidly, absorbing the heat from his body.

  "Do I like this?" he snickered quietly to himself. Green eyes looked up at mine, mischievously. Tristan chuckled again, raking his fingernails gently over the top of my thighs. "I like it enough not to care whether you're still on your period or not."

  Chapter 57

  It all started with Facebook.

  There were plenty of things I could blame Facebook for. One would be the spreading of "planking." The second would be that it gave me a reason to dislike pretty much every person on my friends list. The third would be the outing of Josh's sexual preferences; he decided to post it in his profile instead of calling his family to let them know he was — literally —pitching for the other team. For a second, I thought that I would also be able to blame it for a possible heart attack.

  What started off as a good first dinner with my dad and Tristan spiraled into a mess of nerves in a matter of seconds. The first minutes of dinner were tense, as Frank Berger spared no expense in sizing up my companion, my friend, my Tristan. His dark eyes had been dancing back and forth between the arm Tristan had thrown over me and the long fingers that were caressing my upper arm. I felt more like a teenager than an independent adult with the way my dad was looking. I sipped my glass of wat
er, waiting for him to say something. Anything. It wasn't until Tristan got up to go to the bathroom that he finally leaned forward.

  "So, Kitty, when did you and the movie star start dating?" my dad asked casually.

  My nose became a fucking fountain. The water that had been going down the back of my throat made a detour to shoot out of my nostrils, leaving a burning pain at the bridge.

  What. The. Fuck!

  I coughed and gasped, passing the water from my system while he chuckled. "You hiding a squirt gun in your nose?" he teased me with a grin.