by Molly Mirren
Panhead: What does your roommate think about your boyfriend?
emanomaly: My roommate doesn't know about my boyfriend either, as far as I know. I don't talk to my roommate unless I have to.
Panhead: Why?
emanomaly: Like I said, it's a long story. The short version is that my roommate hates devs. I heard him say some really shitty things about them—about me. Plus, he kind of blackmailed me into letting him live with me.
Jay gritted his teeth. Jesus Christ, the woman could hold a grudge. How many times did he have to apologize? And he'd been a model roommate, paying his share of rent and bills on time and even fixing a few things around the house (except for a certain TV). Apparently none of that counted.
Panhead: Blackmail? That sounds pretty serious. You sure you're not exaggerating?
emanomaly: I'm not exaggerating. I'm still in the closet about being a dev. None of my friends or family know. My roommate threatened to tell my brother I was a dev if I made a big stink about him moving out.
Panhead: Wow. That's pretty shitty. He never apologized?
emanomaly: Yeah. He apologized. But that doesn't mean we'll ever be BFFs. It's not like an apology can magically erase what he did and said. There’s a truce between us now—we're civil to each other—but it's just better if I avoid him.
Panhead: Why?
emanomaly: Like I said, I just need to stay away from wheelers in general.
Panhead: Then why do you still log on to the dev board?
emanomaly: Ha. Good question. I think it's kind of like free therapy.
Panhead: Therapy?
There was no answer, but just as Jay was about to prompt her, the IM feature indicated she was typing, so he waited.
emanomaly: A dev is not something I choose to be. It's sometimes hard for me to deal with. Lurking on the boards, seeing that there are others like me and what they have to say, sometimes helps me put it in perspective. I wasn't going to PM with wheelers anymore, just lurk, maybe chat with other devs.
Panhead: Then why did you answer my PM?
emanomaly: I don't know. Glutton for punishment?
Panhead: Okay. At least you're honest. Maybe you should be honest with your boyfriend, too, and come clean about the roomie.
emanomaly: I will eventually. We just started going out again. I'm giving it a little time before I rock the boat.
Panhead: Don't mean to harp, but keeping things from him doesn't sound like a very good basis for a relationship.
Jay winced as he typed that. He was a fucking hypocrite, considering what he was doing. But it wasn't like he wanted a relationship with her. Did he?
Shit. What he did know was that he didn't want her dating some other guy.
emanomaly: So, I gotta go.
Panhead: Sorry. Was I getting too preachy?
emanomaly: No. It's time for my monthly shower.
Jay chuckled.
Panhead: Hmm. Monthly? Your lack of success with relationships may be because of something other than the fact you're a dev.
emanomaly: Ha. Could be. But I really do have to go right now.
Panhead: Hot date with the AB?
emanomaly: Actually, yeah.
That stone in the pit of Jay's stomach, the one from earlier, started to expand. God. He needed to get laid—or at least the paraplegic's crappy substitute for it. He couldn't come because he couldn't feel his dick, but at this point he'd settle for being touched anywhere he could feel.
That had to be his problem. It had been too long since he'd had any sort of contact with a woman, and he was starting to obsess over his freaky but beautiful roommate—who smelled fresh and sweet like spring and definitely showered more than once a month.
Panhead: Can we chat again?
emanomaly: Sure. TTYL.
Panhead: What does that mean?
emanomaly: You don't chat much, do you?
Panhead: No.
emanomaly: It means 'talk to you later.'”
Panhead: Oh. TTYL.
emanomaly: :) (That's a smiley face.)
Jay rolled his eyes. He knew that much.
Panhead: Thanks. I thought it was a colon with a parentheses.
emanomaly: 'Parenthesis,' if you're talking about just one.
Panhead: Anal much?
emanomaly: Sorry. I'm a writer. Those kinds of things bug me.
A writer? That threw Jay for a loop. He'd had no idea. There was so much more to Erin than what she let him see. He didn't care if chatting with her like this was kind of devious. Okay, not “kind of”—it was devious. But just now he had learned more about her in fifteen minutes than he'd learned in weeks of living with her.
Panhead: What do you write?
emanomaly: I HAVE TO GO. HOT DATE, REMEMBER? :)
Panhead: Next time?
emanomaly: Next time. BYE.
Panhead: Bye.
He heard the uneven thump-thump as she crutched from her room to the hall bathroom and clicked the door shut. His gut twisted at the thought of some other guy kissing and touching her, and he wanted to see who this mystery dude was.
Jay rubbed the stubble on his chin. It was time Erin's boyfriend and her roommate met each other, whether she wanted them to or not.
Chapter 10
When Trynt pulled up to the curb in his silver BMW convertible, Erin was waiting for him on her crutches. She always made sure she was outside waiting for him because she wasn't ready to reveal Jay to him. If Trynt thought it was weird she never invited him inside the house, he didn't say so, and she was glad. It really wasn't much different from when they'd been engaged. He'd rarely come in the house then either, because it was no secret that both Nana and Zac had disliked him.
Erin's relationship with Trynt began in high school and lasted through college. They'd become engaged right after they both graduated, but things ended when she'd displayed a colossal error in judgment and told him about her odd attraction.
Yes, it had been a dumb thing to do, but in her defense, the whole dev thing wasn't a big deal to her back then, just something she mentioned to Trynt one day in passing. It was just a curious thing she'd noticed about herself, this surge of attraction whenever she saw a handsome disabled guy. It was something kind of weird but harmless, sort of like Trynt's thing for the mannequins at Dillard's—which, when she thought about it, was pretty dang weird itself.
The point was, Trynt didn't go around humping mannequins, and Erin had no plans to go out and start humping disabled dudes. The thought never crossed her mind. After all, she was very much in love with her fiancé.
She explained all that to Trynt, but he freaked out anyway. God, how naive she'd been. How could she not have seen the stigma that would come with devoteeism, the creepy quotient it would have for most people?
Erin never told anyone the full story of why she and Trynt broke up, and, as far as she knew, neither did he. Nana and Zac had both said good riddance, but Erin was devastated. The demise of her engagement was a painful blow to her self-worth and self-confidence. It shattered her belief in who she was and where she was headed in life.
Despondent and lost, she did some research and learned her attraction to disabled men had a name: devoteeism. Finding this out somehow made it more real, more substantial. She got caught up in the devotee world and tried to understand it, tried to make it okay.
Now she wondered if pursuing the whole dev thing and trying to find out more about it hadn't made things worse. What started out as an occasional spark of attraction grew stronger as she acquired more knowledge and got to know actual wheelers.
Maybe if she'd ignored it all and never said anything to Trynt, she wouldn't be so damaged and confused now. She must have wished a thousand times over the years that she could wipe the slate clean. Now, here she was, getting a second chance. She couldn't wipe Trynt's memory clean, but maybe time had mellowed the repugnance of what she'd told him, had made him more accepting.
Trynt represented everything Erin wanted to be. He was no
rmal, the mannequin thing not withstanding. He was successful. Although he'd grown up in a wealthy Alamo Heights family, he'd made his own way in life. He'd worked his ass off in Austin as an architect, making a name for himself, and recently he'd moved back to San Antonio to start his own firm.
Why he was interested in Erin again, she wasn't sure.
San Antonio was a large city, but it had the feel of a small town in a lot of ways. So she wasn't surprised that Trynt had heard about her car wreck through the grapevine. What did surprise her was that he'd called her a couple of weeks ago and asked her out for drinks.
“I've missed you, Erin,” he'd said. “I don't . . . My God. When I think of what might have happened, that you could have died—it was a wake-up call for me. So much time has passed, but I never forgot you. I couldn't stand the thought of you dying thinking I got over you. The truth is, I've hated myself for breaking the engagement. I never should have done it.”
Holy Houdini. How many times had she dreamed he would say exactly that? Erin sat in stunned silence. Talk about coming from left field.
After a long pause, he said, “You still there?”
“Um, yeah.”
“I should have said something a long time ago, I know. But there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I didn't think about picking up the phone and calling you.”
Oh, please. How stupid did he think she was? It had been five years.
“I want to see you again, Erin. Let me take you out for a drink.”
“Just one?”
“Erin.” He said her name as a reprimand, like he used to when they were together.
He had no sense of humor, but there was something familiar and strangely comforting about that. It made her feel nostalgic, just like old times when she'd been in love with him and thought she was loved back. And he'd just said all the right words—namely, “take you out for a drink.”
“Yeah, sure,” she answered, proving she was, indeed, stupid. Or just a lush.
They'd seen each other several times since then. Deep down, Erin figured Trynt was toying with her until something better came along. He was probably just horny and thought she might be an easy lay, although, to his credit, he hadn't ditched her even after she'd made it clear she wasn't going to do the horizontal mambo with him anytime in the near future.
Whatever his motive, she was ready to get on with her life, and she hoped Trynt would be a much-needed distraction from a certain roommate of hers who was hard to ignore, no matter how herculean her efforts were to do so. She was sick to death of being a dev and all the gut-wrenching drama that went with it—the shame, the frustration, the longing that, if her past relationships with wheelers were any indication, would never be fulfilled.
She didn't know why in the hell she'd started chatting with this new guy Panhead. It went against her resolve to ban all wheelers from her life. But he seemed nice, and it was a relief to be honest with someone. It was cathartic. Besides, no one would ever know. He wasn't real. He only existed in cyberspace, and that was where he would stay, as would emanomaly. Emanomaly was a dev; the new Erin Silver was not.
As Erin stood on the sidewalk, Trynt gave her an arrogant once-over, which she found annoying, and a short nod. Then he got out of the car, kissed her on the cheek, and helped her into the passenger seat.
Erin studied him as he slid back into the driver's seat. He wasn't bad to look at, with his teal eyes and dark hair. It kind of made up for his arrogance, at least for the time being.
Waiting for Trynt to start the car, she faced forward and suddenly saw Jay in the distance, the wheels of his chair ghosting through his hands as he coasted down the sidewalk toward her. He had on a mossy green sweatshirt that hugged his broad shoulders and muscular arms, and he wore his usual loose jeans and white tennis shoes. His legs were tucked in closely, and his feet were resting on the footplate. They bounced slightly whenever he rolled over cracks in the sidewalk. Chopper was on a leash, loping beside him.
The breath seized in Erin's lungs for a split second before she turned away, her heart racing. There was something so capable about Jay, something so vital, so strong and masculine. Simply put, he was hot, but there was much more to him than just looks. She knew that, had seen glimpses of depth and sensitivity in him, despite her best efforts to hold him at arm's length. A part of her wanted to be close to him, to bask in the golden heat of him, to uncover the intriguing guy beneath the cocky smirk.
In that moment, Erin wanted to touch every inch of him, even the paralyzed parts. She'd never admitted that to herself before, had always said it wasn't necessarily the physical aspect of a disability that attracted her but the grit and courage it took to live with it. It made the devoteeism easier to stomach.
But now, in this instant of stark clarity, she knew his thin, inert legs were a big part of what turned her on. She loved the way they contrasted with his ripped upper body. She wanted to touch them—the thought made her molten inside—because they were a part of him. Jay was the embodiment of strength over weakness, of will over adversity, of ability over disability.
But if he knew what she'd just been thinking, that she was perving on his crippled legs, he would be disgusted by it.
Deeply ashamed, Erin hid the barrage of disturbing emotions within her and leaned over to kiss Trynt on the cheek. “Ready?” she asked him, her voice sounding too high and perky. “Let's go.”
The wariness on Trynt's face showed her she was acting too enthusiastic.
“Erin?” Jay called out to her, still a good distance away.
She pretended not to hear him. “Ready?” she prompted Trynt again, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.
Trynt frowned. “That handicapped guy just yelled out your name.”
She widened her eyes, trying to appear guileless, and kept her focus on Trynt. “What handicapped guy?”
“This one,” answered a wry voice. The rich, deep rumble of it was unmistakably Jay. He had reached them much faster than she anticipated. “Chopper, sit,” he commanded.
Erin didn't have to see it to know the mammoth dog instantly obeyed.
Schooling her features into something she hoped was neutral, she turned her head to look at Jay and tried not to notice how the evening sun lit up streaks of light gold in his longish blond hair. “Oh. Hi.”
Chopper's leather leash was looped around one of Jay's wrists, and his large hands rested on his wheels. His blue-gray eyes sparked with curiosity as they took in first Erin, then Trynt, and then settled back on Erin. His face had that easy, cocky smirk that was always at the ready. “What's up, darlin'?”
She almost said, Don't call me darlin', but decided it was better not to. “Nothing.”
Trynt stiffened beside her, rigid as a statue. Erin laser-beamed an unmistakable go-away look at Jay, but he only raised an unrepentant brow in response. She gritted her teeth.
Chopper sat on his haunches beside Jay's chair, whimpering and wagging his tail. He obviously wanted Erin to acknowledge him but wouldn't disobey his master's command. She couldn't resist and, since Chopper's massive head was just inches from the convertible, she reached over the side and gave him a quick scratch between his shiny black ears. He licked her fingers as a thank-you.
Trying again to extricate herself from the situation, Erin sat back in her seat and said to no one in particular, “So, I guess we should be go—”
“Aren't you going to introduce us?” Jay interrupted. He was the picture of innocence, but Erin caught the subtle, sarcastic edge to his question.
She stared at him, trying to come up with an acceptable introduction without telling Trynt everything.
Apparently she delayed too long, because Jay took matters into his own hands. He raised his chin in a typical “bro” greeting toward Trynt. “How you doing? I'm Jay Bontrager, Erin's roommate.”
Erin closed her eyes for a second, her stomach sinking. Fuck. Trynt would be so pissed. She avoided looking at him, but she could sense the bitchy look on his face, the tight
set to his lips.
His voice came out frosty and imperious when he said, “Trynton McCutcheon. Most people call me Trynt—spelled with a 'y.'”
Jay nodded with cordial interest, but there was a cynical curve to his mouth. Erin knew what he was thinking. She could see him judging Trynt, thinking he was a douche.
She exhaled, and when she spoke to Jay, her tone was clipped and direct, hoping he'd get the hint and go away. “Well, guess we're leaving now. See you later.” Turning to Trynt, she said for the third time, “Ready?”
He gave her a terse nod. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Jay, sounding about as sincere as a politician.
“You, too,” Jay replied. His tone was affable enough, but his features were hard.
After they pulled away from the curb, Erin sneaked a glance in her side-view mirror. Jay hadn't moved from his spot on the sidewalk and was still looking in her direction.
Chapter 11
Trynt hadn't said a word. Not in the car, not during the meal. He answered any question Erin put to him with a caveman-like grunt.
She was starving, but her stomach was knotted so tightly she'd only eaten half of her chicken tagine, served in a reddish clay dish with a lid that reminded Erin of a volcano. The tagine was delicious, but every time she took a bite, she could feel Trynt's sullen, judgmental gaze.
So instead she kept sipping red wine. Now she was on her third glass. Or maybe it was her fourth. At this point, she didn't care. She just wanted to ease the knot.
Trynt could make her feel like an errant child. Why she let him, she wasn't sure. It was like wanting to be friends with the stuck-up, popular girls in high school in order to fit in. It didn't matter whether she liked them or not. She wanted them to like and accept her, even if she pretended not to care, and it was the same with Trynt.
Trynt had picked the new Moroccan restaurant because he always had to be on the cutting edge of things, and all his highbrow friends were into gourmet and foodie stuff. A Moroccan restaurant might not be considered that exotic in some cities, but it was a pretty brave thing to open in San Antonio, where Tex-Mex reigned.