by Jamie Beck
A few minutes later, I hear the water running. I’m researching a tractor supply company, but visualizing Lindsey in the shower. Jesus, Levi, stop it. Thankfully, she’s not one to indulge in long showers, so I’m able to concentrate on my work again in a short time. When she returns, she smells like grapefruit.
Each day, the urge to touch her grows stronger, which is another reason I need to move out.
“What shall we do today?” she asks. “Hit a park? You must be growing bored of the view in here.”
I’m not particularly bored of the view, considering she’s often part of it, but I don’t argue with her. “Sure, but not too far. I don’t want back spasms later.”
“Then maybe we’ll only go to the grocery store or something?”
I wrinkle my nose. Normally I enjoy the grocery store, but I’d rather be outdoors. “Maybe I can manage a quick lunch outside at Duke’s?” It occurs to me I haven’t been back there since my accident.
“You can sit in a chair for an hour without discomfort?” Lindsey’s expression is skeptical.
“I can try.” I shrug. “If it starts to hurt too much, I’ll get up and walk the deck.”
“Okay. But first I want to read through some of this training material and read another few chapters of Invisible Kids.” She points to the book and pile of papers from the nonprofit group. “You still have work to do, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile.
Lindsey and I sit in companionable silence, reading our respective research. Although we’re not talking, it’s nice to work alongside her. She’s excited about pursuing this child advocacy thing, although the stories and statistics in that book upset her. I can’t help wonder if my own history affected her choice.
No doubt she’ll be a sharp and sympathetic ally for helpless children with lousy parents, but Lindsey’s sensitive heart is bound to take many beatings in the process. I’m convinced she’ll become too attached to the kids, but I won’t undermine her enthusiasm by voicing my concern.
Late in the morning, I shut down my computer, then shower before we leave for lunch. While dressing, I hear the familiar bass beat of Lindsey’s music as the floor beneath me vibrates in time with the song.
I hide so I can watch her reflection in the living room mirror without being noticed. She’s cleaning the breakfast dishes while dancing and singing animatedly. She knows all the words to the B.o.B song “So Good.” Although she’s not a talented singer by anyone’s measure, she’s enthusiastic. Her spirited facial expressions charm me.
She whisks her hands above her head when she belts out the refrain. Instead of being rattled by my spying once she sees me, she encourages me to join her. I shake my head, which draws a sharp look of disapproval, then dismissal. She finishes her singing as if I weren’t in the room.
She’s fun to be around, and each day I sink deeper into the dangerous waters of attachment. Worse, I’m drowning willingly.
The drive to Duke’s is brief, so my back doesn’t bother me. It’s a beautiful late-July day, and luckily, we nab an outdoor table. Joe, a bartender I know from years of drinking here, stops by to ask about my recovery. I introduce him to Lindsey and he jokingly warns her of my reputation.
Shari, a leggy server with wild, dark hair and green eyes, ends up waiting on us. Shari and I slept together a few times last year. It never meant much to either of us. We get along fine now and enjoy occasional harmless flirtation. However, with Lindsey there, I minimize the coy banter.
Shari, however, treats me the same flirty way she always does. I might assume she was trying to make Lindsey jealous if I didn’t know this is how she treats most of the regulars. In any case, Lindsey pretends not to care. However, she stiffens every time Shari shows up or touches me. Fortunately, my back provides a great excuse for a quick meal, so the torment doesn’t last long for either of us.
“So, Shari’s an ex-girlfriend?” Lindsey asks once we’re in her car and she can elude eye contact because she’s driving.
“I told you, I don’t do girlfriends. But yes, you could say we know each other, biblically speaking. Is that a problem?”
Lindsey flinches and her forehead creases. “No. I’m simply curious about the kind of girls you find appealing.”
“You don’t find her attractive?”
Lindsey frowns. Shari’s objectively attractive and very sensual. In fact, she’s the polar opposite of Lindsey’s kind of beauty.
“Of course she’s attractive. She’s very friendly. Why’d you stop seeing her?”
“Our kind of relationship doesn’t have any start or end. It’s one of mutual convenience and pleasure.”
Lindsey’s eyes pop open in shock, and I chuckle at her innocence.
Her voice becomes high and strained. “So, you mean, you two still get together now and again?”
Despite knowing I’ve no interest in Shari, I provoke Lindsey to see her reaction. “If she and I are mutually interested at some point now or in the future, then sure.”
“Are you?” She shields her emotions.
“Am I what?” I tilt one brow up, still prodding her.
“Still interested?”
“Right now? You give me too much credit. I’m still healing, darlin’.” I wink, knowing I’m grating on her nerves. I don’t reveal Shari and Joe are supposedly dating, from what I’ve heard anyway.
“Oh, so in a couple of weeks, when you’re all healed, thanks to me, then you’ll run up here to drag her to your bed.” Her sarcasm doesn’t cover her jealousy, and I’m having too much fun to stop nudging her. “How lovely.”
“I don’t have to drag anyone into my bed.” I cock my head and stare at her. “Why’re you taking this personally?”
“I’m not!” She tips her chin up. “I simply don’t understand it. I’ve only been with two men, including Rob. Both have been during prolonged, serious relationships. I can’t imagine how you bed-hop and don’t care one way or the other.”
I’m stunned into silence. I knew she wasn’t promiscuous but didn’t realize how wholesome she’d been. Now I regret my remarks. If I admit I don’t care for these women, her opinion of me will plummet further. If I pretend to care more than I do, I’d be lying. After some deliberation, I step onto the tightrope.
“So, you haven’t had any friends, male or female, who’ve slept with someone they liked but didn’t love?” It’s not possible. Not in today’s day and age, and not in New York City.
She sighs with reluctant acknowledgement. “Actually, this is yet another thing you and Jill have in common, although I suspect she’s bothered by it more than she’d ever admit.” Lindsey’s glowering thinking about Jill, or me, or both.
“Well, I can’t speak for Jill, but I’ve always maintained a friendly status with women I’ve slept with, assuming I see them again. I told you, I don’t get involved with women who want something more than what I’m offering. If Jill comes to visit, well, you’d have to advise me on how to proceed there.” I’m teasing, hoping to lighten the mood. She shoots me a look that tells me I failed.
“I thought you weren’t attracted to Jill.” Her eyes reflect betrayal, which is oddly gratifying. Seems I might not be the only one who’s wading into dangerous emotional territory.
“Not true. I said she’s pretty. Just said you’re prettier. But you’re not in the market for a casual fling, are you?” I ask jokingly, but I mean it, too. Now I’ve intentionally wandered toward the end of the plank. I watch her, hoping perhaps she’ll amuse me with her response, but she doesn’t.
“Not now, not ever.” She stares at the highway. “Let’s change the subject, since we don’t see eye to eye.”
“Okay by me.” I lay my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. This whole conversation was a major miscalculation on my part. I’m not used to being on the losing end of any game.
We enter the house in silence and I immediately slide into the hospital bed. The ride and the chair at Duke’s strained my back, but I don’t complai
n because I suspect she’d be unsympathetic in her current mood.
I don’t care what Lindsey says or denies—there’s a ton of sexual tension between us.
But pursuing Lindsey would mean breaking all my rules, or changing myself into something I’ve never been. The only viable solution is to rid myself of this longing. I suspect it’ll be easier said than done as long as I’m living in this house.
Lindsey
I take my mail up to my room, unable to face Levi while I’m still seeing red. No wonder he suggested lunch at Duke’s. Shari draped herself all over him. How’d she know he and I weren’t dating, or did she intend to sabotage our relationship . . . friendship . . . whatever? She kept touching his hair, caressing his shoulders. Ugh.
She oozed sexual confidence. More awful, she’s hot in the same carnal way he’s hot. Meanwhile, Levi relaxed there, basking in all of her attention. I thought he didn’t have close friends. I have plenty of friendly acquaintances. Friendly acquaintance my ass!
I’m burning with jealousy and curiosity, but can’t ask more questions without tipping him off. He’s right about me taking it personally, too.
Maybe we’re not dating, but we’ve spent so much time together. I know he’s shared personal details with me he’s never discussed with her, or anyone. We’re not physically involved, but that’s less important than our emotional attachment, isn’t it? I mean, really, how could he be satisfied with a purely physical relationship now?
Of course, he can’t understand me, considering his limited experience in this arena. Our different outlooks and upbringings make us utterly incompatible. I should maintain some distance. Besides, I’ve no business indulging my desire until I’m one hundred percent resolved about Rob.
I’ve been cut off from him for two-thirds of the summer and haven’t spoken to him since our last call. Would he be proud of, or unimpressed by, my foray into the nonprofit world? Probably the latter since Rob’s most interested in money and power.
Perhaps that’s why he sought intrigue with Ava. She works at Goldman, so she must share his ambition and professional interests. Has he spent more time with her, or any other woman, this summer? Will I ever be certain, one way or the other, about the right choice where Rob’s concerned?
I sit on my bed and flip through my mail. My heart skips a beat when I come across a mail pouch from Rob. The e-mails had stopped after our last argument, so this package shocks me.
I tear it open to find a card and a framed photo of the two of us taken at a party this past winter. I recognize it as the photo I used to keep in our living room beside the sofa. My fingers trace his face, and my heart aches to see how happy I looked. I lay the frame on my lap and open the card.
Dear Lindsey,
It’s been a long month here in New York. I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and what I’ve done. I’ve stopped writing because you need space, not because I don’t care. I haven’t given up on us. I’m hoping this picture will remind you of all the good things we share so you don’t spend all your time out there focused on the bad. Maybe if you see it every day, you won’t write me off so quickly.
I miss you. I love you. I wish you’d return to me.
Love,
Rob
I wipe the tear from my cheek and pick up the photo again. He’s right, it does remind me of the good times. The love. The security. The life I had in New York.
Until this summer, everything had seemed relatively easy. Black and white. Now my life is so confusing and complicated. I’m not exactly happy, but I’m not horribly depressed, either. I have one foot in the past, one in the present, and my next step is uncertain.
I lie back on my bed and set the photo on my nightstand next to one of my parents and me. Is Rob still my future? I hear Levi moving around downstairs, which reminds me of our unpleasant conversation about Shari.
Darn it, my head aches. I need a nap.
I wake up around four o’clock and find Levi on the deck. It occurs to me he’s fairly independent at this point. He’s ditched the back brace. He still needs to rest often, but with the exception of driving and lifting heavier objects, he doesn’t really need my help. Any day now he’ll probably move out. The realization saddens me because, for the most part, I’ve enjoyed his company. With that in mind, I choose to ignore our earlier discussion when I go join him on the deck.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Reading.” He holds up Laura Hillenbrand’s Unbroken. I swear, the man’s rarely separated from a book.
“I’ve heard that’s excellent.”
“I just started it, literally. It’s supposed to give the reader a new appreciation for life and hardship.”
“I should probably read it, then.”
“I’ll share.” He smiles, and it gives me an idea.
“Or you can read it aloud. I love being read to.”
I do. My dad used to read to me, even as a teenager. It’s one of the few cozy activities I remember enjoying with him.
Levi’s brows twist in an unusual expression. I’m certain it’s the oddest request he’s ever received from any woman. He shrugs.
“Okay, but I’m starting now. I don’t want to read on your schedule ’cause it’ll never get done.”
I smirk while pulling another lounge chair right beside his. I lie on my side, facing him. For the next thirty minutes, he reads aloud. The harsh afternoon sun beats down on the deck, but the ocean breezes keep us comfortable. Occasionally, a child’s laugh or a dog’s barking cuts through the air and interrupts Levi. Nonetheless, I’m lulled into peaceful contentedness by the cadence and tone of his oh-so-very-sexy voice.
“Are you sleeping?” He slaps the book against his thighs. “If you’re sleeping, I’m gonna be mad because reading aloud slows me down considerably.”
“I’m not sleeping. I’m listening with my eyes closed.” I open one eye and catch him studying me with one brow raised in doubt. “I swear! I heard every word.”
“Okay.” He closes the book and sets it aside. “I need a break. I’m thirsty and hot. I think I should lie in bed because my back’s getting sore.”
Inside, I pour us each a glass of his homemade sweet tea. I’m setting up the Scrabble board by his bed when my mother calls.
“Hi, Mom.” I notice a shadow cross Levi’s face.
“Hi, honey. I’m calling about your birthday. Dad and I are planning to be in Los Angeles next weekend and want to take you out to celebrate.”
“You and Dad will be here? I’d love to see you, but let’s ignore my birthday.”
“Age is only a number, dear. Of course, getting older puts a certain perspective on your future.”
I draw a deep breath, bite my tongue, and let her comment pass. “So, do you and Dad want to stay here with me?” If they come here, Levi will definitely need to move back home. I grimace at the thought.
“No. We’ll be staying in Beverly Hills at the Montage. Your father has a meeting to attend Friday afternoon, so we’ll fly in that morning. I’m tagging along to see you. I’ll have the driver bring me up to your house when we land, and we’ll join your father later for dinner. Unfortunately, we need to return early Saturday morning because of obligations here Saturday night.”
“Wow, that’s quick.” Sadly, I feel relief rather than regret. “Should I make dinner reservations, or does Dad want to pick the restaurant?”
“We’ll arrange everything. Do you have any new friends you want to invite?”
Levi’s pretending not to pay attention to my conversation, although I know he’s able to hear it. I’m sure my mother wants to meet him, but it would be a disaster.
“No, thanks. I’ll see you Friday. Thanks for making the trip, Mom.”
“I’ll call you when we land. Bye, honey.”
I pick up the Scrabble box, hoping to avoid any mention of the call. Of course, Levi overheard the reference to my birthday.
“Your mom’s coming for your birthday? When’s that?”
�
��August tenth, but they’ll be here on Friday, the ninth. An overnight visit. It’s best, actually, considering how unhappy they are with me lately.”
Frowning, Levi grunts. “They should be darn proud of you. You’re a good girl. You’re kind, smart, and solicitous as hell where they’re concerned.” He shakes his head. “What more do they want?”
“They are proud. They just want me to be happy.” I shrug. When I see the confused look on his face, I explain, “What I mean is they’re worried about me more than they’re unhappy with me. I’ve gone off the farm, so to speak, by disobeying them, quitting my job, leaving my fiancé . . .”
“Disobeying them?” He sits upright and flings his arm toward the ceiling. “You’re twenty-six years old, almost, anyway. It’s your life. Why do they get any say?”
“You can’t understand because you grew up differently. It’s not so easy to dismiss parents when they’re involved in your life.” His churlish expression warns me to proceed carefully. “They’ve given me their time, attention, money, and love. Don’t I owe them some measure of respect, loyalty, and concession in exchange? They have my best interests at heart and often give me solid advice. I’ve usually been happy to comply. This is the first time I’ve needed to seek my own answers.”
“Owe them. See, that’s one of many reasons why I’ve steered clear of love. People feel ‘owed’ and ‘owned’ in relationships. Love goes hand in hand with expectations, so people compromise themselves for the sake of someone else’s demands, dreams, or needs.”
He’s staring out the window. I’m not sure if we’re still talking about me, or someone else. Does he feel obligated to me because I’ve been helpful? Is this why he’s trying to forge a friendship despite his general lack of interest in one?
“Don’t worry, Levi. I’m not expecting anything from you. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done without expectation. Don’t panic. You don’t have to force yourself to be my friend out of some sense of duty.”