Anti-Romance

by Cassia Leo

  He snuggled up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist as we spooned. “Are you telling me a lady as smart as you doesn’t know how to cook?”

  “Let’s put it this way, the delivery guy at my favorite Chinese restaurant invited me to his kid’s birthday party.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, so you can’t cook. Have you ever thought of singing?”

  I probably laughed way harder at this than he expected me to.

  He poked my ribs and pulled me tighter against him when I tried to squirm away. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “You sounded really good up there last night.”

  “Enough making fun of my singing,” I said, changing the subject and trying to ignore how the heat of his skin against mine was making my heart race. “How about you? You never told me what it was you wanted to be when you were a kid. Did you always want to be a musician?”

  “How’s about I answer that question while I make us some bacon and eggs?”

  Watching Kade make breakfast in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs only served to reinforce my belief that I was living in some sort of alternate universe. First he made us a pot of coffee in his French press. Then he added a few slices of thick-cut bacon to a cast-iron griddle while we continued our conversation.

  “To answer your question, yes, I have always wanted to be a professional musician. And it didn’t take too long for that dream to come true,” he said, pulling a pair of metal tongs out of a drawer so he could flip the bacon. “I got my first record deal when I was eighteen, when I was still playing with my sister, Lizzy. Back then the band was known as Extinct. But I left the band a few months after we signed that deal.”

  “Were you ever signed again?”

  He jumped back as the bacon grease popped. “Yeah, I signed with another record company a few months later, but we got in a dispute over the rights to some songs I wrote. They were trying to credit the producer’s daughter because she and I were dating at the time I wrote the songs. Anyway, they ended up canceling some shows and my fans were getting fed up. Took a few years and a bunch of legal fees to get out of that contract. Just signed with Dialtone Records a few months ago. We’ve been working on a new album and trying to get the word out to all the fans.”

  I stared at the black granite breakfast bar, trying to keep my expression impassive. Kade was signed with Dialtone Records, which I assumed was the same Dialtone Records George worked for. Kade used his tongs to lift the slices of bacon off the griddle and onto a paper-lined plate, then he expertly cracked four eggs onto the hot surface using just one hand. Just the thought of George made me realize I hadn’t checked my phone since I arrived in Kade’s apartment last night.

  I found my purse where I’d dropped it on the wood floor in the bedroom, then I dug my phone out and gasped when I saw I had eight unread text messages. The first was from Breck.

  Breck: Wanna go to the farmers market tomorrow? I’m gonna try that cleanse Tanna did last month. Maybe you can do it with me?

  I really didn’t want to do a juice cleanse. The last time I tried the lemonade cleanse, I spent three days on the toilet with flames coming out of my ass. I sighed as I texted her back.

  Me: Will a cleanse work for purifying my soul? ;) I’ll pick you up at 9am tomorrow.

  The next text was from Ivan, which surprised me because he hardly ever texted me unless I was late for a get-together.

  Ivan: I need your opinion on something. Can’t ask anyone else. This is kind of…personal. Call me.

  I replied to let him know I’d call him later. The next six texts were all from George.

  George: I just went to your apartment. Your car is here. Where are you?

  An hour later…

  George: This isn’t funny. Are you dead?

  George: This is actually really important. If you’re okay, text me back before I call the FBI.

  Forty minutes later…

  George: If this is about the kiss, I already told you I was sorry.

  George: Okay, if you don’t text me or call me in the next couple of hours, I’m taking a search team to your apartment.

  I shook my head as I tried not to laugh.

  Me: Call off the search party!

  George: You’re mean.

  Me: I’m at a friend’s house. What’s so important you had to come by unannounced?

  George: What friend?

  George: Forget it. None of my business. When will you be home? I can come by later.

  My stomach clenched at the thought that George might be jealous if he knew I’d spent the night with my sexy neighbor. Then I smiled to myself as I imagined him worrying about me all this time.

  Me: I’ll text you when I get home.

  I slipped the phone into my purse and nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned around and found Kade standing in the bedroom doorway.

  He laughed. “You look like you just saw Satan eating a live puppy.”

  I laughed off his comment as I hid my purse behind my back. “Does that make you Satan and me the puppy?”

  He shook his head as he eyed me hungrily. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

  I swallowed hard as he took a step toward me. “Just my purse,” I said, tossing the leather bag onto his bed as if it were a hot potato. “Let’s go eat.”

  As Kade served me a plate of bacon and eggs, I poured us both some more coffee. He seemed to be holding something back as he cast furtive glances in my direction while munching on his bacon.

  “What?” I demanded.

  He smiled as he set down his coffee mug. “Come with me to Houston next weekend.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m meeting with a songwriter to see if we can collaborate on a couple songs on this new album. I think having you there could be good for me.”

  I tried not to grin from ear to ear. “Why is that?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Well, for one thing, Tia is known for trying to sleep with most of the musicians she collaborates with.” He smiled as he probably noticed my jaw tighten. “And also, I think you’d provide me with plenty of inspiration, Miss Laney.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  He chuckled at my noncommittal response. “You’re one tough egg to crack. You know that? You’re like a Kinder egg wrapped inside a mystery wrapped inside an enigma.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then with a minuscule nod of his head, he seemed to give up on his line of questioning. If he invited me to ask more questions about him, he probably would have resorted to stonewalling. I could have asked him how his parents died or why he lost contact with his sister, but I didn’t know if I wanted to know the answers to those questions. And even if the answers were fairly benign, I knew for certain I didn’t want to begin answering questions about my own parents or the fact that I hadn’t spoken with my two brothers in months.

  “Fair enough,” Kade proclaimed, and we both finished our breakfast without another word.

  After we did the breakfast dishes together—he washed, I dried—Kade went out to the parking lot to get his equipment out of the cab of his truck while I went to the restroom to freshen up. As I sat on the toilet checking my emails on my phone, I found a message from Wayne, an author whom I sometimes met with for writing advice.

  He wrote young-adult fiction under a female pen name, which I could not understand. But other than his odd choice in pseudonyms, Wayne had been a veritable font of writing resources. In return for his wisdom, I helped promote his books to my mostly female audience. But the email he sent me in the early hours of the morning had nothing to do with books or writing.

  Lane,

  Heard from one of my community insiders that Grossman’s campaign is dealing with a lot of internal conflict and they may have fired their digital strategist. Isn’t that Rick? What did you do?

  Either the rumor mill was already churning out bullshit accusations about Rick and Senator Grossman or this deb
acle between Rick and me hadn’t seen itself to fruition yet. I should have never gotten involved with a smarmy political aide in the midst of an election. No doubt our fling would make great meat for my blog subscribers to chew on, but it probably wouldn’t sit well with George or Kade or Rick’s wife.

  I set my phone down on the bathroom counter and finished my business, but when I tried to flush the toilet nothing happened. The chrome lever jiggled loosely as if it had come unattached from the chain inside the tank. I’d dealt with this many times in my own apartment. It was an easy fix.

  I lifted the lid on the toilet tank and my eyes widened when I saw a large plastic freezer bag taped to the underside of the lid. Through the clear plastic, it was clear the bag contained a stack of photos. I was almost certain the photo on the top of the stack was of a young Kade and his parents.

  I had a decision to make. Did I put the pictures back where I’d found them and never mention them to anyone, or did I quickly look through them to see if I could glean some insight into this mysterious man who seemed intent on pursuing me? I reasoned with myself that if Kade wanted me to go on a trip with him to Houston—a more than two-hour drive from Austin—I needed to know what I was getting myself into.

  I tried to be as quiet as possible as I unzipped the plastic bag and pulled out the stack of photos. The first picture seemed to be taken at a national park. Kade, who appeared to be approximately sixteen years old, stood between his parents. He looked very much like his mother, who was rather beautiful for a woman in her late forties or early fifties. She had the same golden-brown hair and dark-brown eyes as Kade, but she was quite petite. His father, on the other hand, was tall with robust shoulders and a bald head that shone in the afternoon sunlight.

  I smiled when I realized Kade was wearing a gray Boys Like Girls T-shirt. He would probably be mortified to find out I’d seen this picture.

  As I lifted the photo to get a better look at the one behind it, I lost my grip on the whole stack. Time stopped as I watched the pictures tumble out of my hands and into the toilet tank. A piercing scream exploded from my mouth as I snapped back to reality. I quickly reached inside, ignoring the way all the various metal and plastic parts felt slimy, as I frantically snatched every photo out of the water tank. Laying them out in a single layer on top of the bathroom counter, I clutched the hem of my camisole as my heart pounded aggressively inside my chest.

  “Oh, God,” I breathed, my mind racing as I tried to put my jumbled thoughts in order. A knock at the door caused me to jump up and flail my arms wildly. “Shit!” I shrieked as my hand slammed against the underside of the counter.

  “Are you okay?” Kade sounded sincerely worried.

  “Everything’s fine!” I shouted back as I rubbed the sharp pain in my hand. “Just a minute. I’m getting ready.”

  I tore off a ten-foot-long piece of toilet paper and dabbed the water off the pictures, but I began to panic even more when the paper began to stick to the moist ink on the photos. I tossed the toilet paper into the toilet bowl and my eyes widened when I remembered the handle wasn’t working.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” I whispered as I turned my attention to the toilet tank.

  It took a good fifteen minutes to get the chain to reattach to the handle. Then I flushed the toilet and watched in pure horror as the gigantic wad of toilet paper I put in the bowl clogged the thing. Luckily, Kade had a plunger behind the tank, which I feverishly worked up and down until I heard a merciless glug-glug sound and the contents swirled downward.

  I flushed the toilet a couple more times for good measure and turned my attention back to the layer of photographs on the counter. Tears stung my eyes as I realized I had ruined some of Kade’s memories, memories he obviously regarded as so painful he had to keep them hidden in a place where most people kept their shameful secrets hidden.

  I was a monster.

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks and took a deep breath as I exited the bathroom. Kade sat on the sofa with his guitar in his lap and his feet propped up on the white lacquered coffee table. The sun shone through his living-room window, painting a buttery glow over his modern furnishings, once again giving him the appearance of a halo over his golden-brown hair.

  I swallowed my fear and looked him in the eye. “I did something bad.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  I looked down at my hands. “I found the pictures in your bathroom, and I…I dropped them in the water. I’m so sorry.”

  “You what?” he mumbled as he rose from the sofa.

  I looked up, opening my mouth to further explain, but he moved past me without another glance as he charged toward the bathroom. I followed behind him, stopping just outside the door. He stood in front of the bathroom counter, dumbstruck.

  “Please say something,” I pleaded.

  He was silent for another excruciating moment before he finally spoke. “Get out.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, to reiterate my apology, but he turned on his heel and cast a fiery glare in my direction.

  “Get out…now.”

  I bit back tears as I gathered my sweater, boots, and purse from the bedroom and slunk out of his apartment barefoot and heartbroken. The cold concrete in the courtyard had a paradoxically numbing and abrasive effect, which I welcomed. Actually, I probably would have preferred—or at least deserved—to walk back to my apartment across a bed of hot coals.

  It took way too long to find my keys inside my purse, as usual. Upon entering the apartment, the smell of mandarin-scented oil comforted me as tears slid down my cold cheeks. I tossed my stuff onto my bed, taking my phone with me into the bathroom, where I turned on the shower. As the room began to steam up, I undressed and texted George to let him know I was home and my front door was open. By the time I finished my shower and came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body, George was sitting on my sofa, flipping through the documentaries category on Netflix.

  “Why are your eyes all puffy? Were you crying?” he asked as I took a seat next to him.

  I curled my feet under me as I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I had a bad morning. What did you want to see me about?”

  He shifted his body so he could wrap his arm around my shoulders and kiss my forehead. “What happened? Why did you have a bad morning? Did someone hurt you? Just tell me who did it and I’ll murder them.”

  George’s neck was warm against my cheek, and it smelled like fresh rain mixed with soap. I snuggled in closer to him and closed my eyes as I inhaled his scent.

  “I’m fine,” I muttered groggily. “What did you want to tell me?”

  As he rubbed my shoulder, I found myself feeling sleepy. It probably had something to do with the fact that I’d spent most of the night playing sexual gymnastics with Kade. I should have stayed home and slept.

  “I want you to come to London with me,” George said.

  My eyelids fluttered open. “Huh?”

  He gently lifted my chin until he was looking me in the eye. “I got an invitation to a wedding in London. I want you to come with me.”

  “Whose wedding?”

  He was silent for a moment, which told me everything I needed to know before he even opened his mouth. “Don’t shake your head,” he said as I pushed off him to sit up. “I know you hate her, but this means a lot to me. It’s a chance for me to put this all behind me, and I need you there.”

  I held my towel in place as I leaned forward so I was sitting on the edge of the sofa cushion. “This is a bad idea. She broke your heart and you want to watch her get married?”

  “Please, Laney,” he said, scooting forward so we were shoulder to shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you for this if I didn’t think I really needed it. Believe me, I gave this a lot of thought. I got the invitation weeks ago. I talked to my therapist about it. We went over all the pros and cons and, ultimately, decided this is exactly what I need…But I can’t do it without you.”

  I held my face in my
hands as I considered George’s proposal. He was asking me—no, begging me—to go to London with him, a place I’d wanted to go to since I fell in love with Prince William when I was twelve. But I didn’t want to go to London just to see George have his heart clobbered. Then again, if I didn’t go with him, who would he turn to when he inevitably got his heart clobbered?

  And what about my heart? If I went to London with George at a time when our friendship was already on shaky ground, was I risking losing my best friend? Or was I just being overly cautious again, protecting my heart from the one person I was certain would never hurt me?

  George would never hurt me, unlike Kade.

  I ran my hands down my face as I let out a deep sigh. “I’ll go.”

  “You will?” His voice jumped a couple of octaves from utter shock.

  Chuckling as I turned to face him, my breath hitched in my chest at the sight of the hope in his blue eyes. “Of course I will. You’re my best friend…but only if you promise we’re not staying in the same hotel as her.”

  He reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb over the curve of my jaw, sending a chill through me. “We’ll stay in a different hotel… I promise.”

  The Uber ride to the airport was awkwardly silent. We made it through security pretty quickly, so we had more than an hour to kill before the plane was set to begin boarding. George and I decided to feed our nervous energy with a good dousing of sugar at the Cinnabon. We took our pastries and bottles of water and set off to locate an empty table in the food court.

  “What were you and Ivan talking about in the car?” George asked as we both eyed a table near the trash can where someone had left behind a half-finished bottle of iced tea and a crumpled napkin.