by Molly Mirren
* * *
Jay: Still missing you.
* * *
Jay: Watching the sunset here in Cali. It's almost as amazing as you are. Wish you were here. Love you more than my life. Hope you are okay.
* * *
Jay: sotruefacts #916: The founder of match.com, Gary Kremen, lost his girlfriend to a man she met on match.com.
How's that for irony? Poor bastard.
How are you? I can't stop thinking about you. Not that I want to.
* * *
Jay: sotruefacts #488: You can't hum while holding your nose closed. It's true. I tried.
Still missing you.
* * *
Jay: sotruefacts #876: The North Face clothing company once sued The South Butt clothing company. Get it? South Butt? I hope North Face lost.
So, any chance you could let me know how you're doing? Just a clue would be good.
* * *
Jay: Two and a half months since you split. Talked to Zac yesterday. He said you're getting my messages. I know you think it won't work between us, but you're wrong. There's never been anyone more right for me. I know that now, darlin'. You're perfect. PLEASE forgive me.
P.S. Zac said you're sleeping with Norf. What the fuck's a Norf? He told me it's just out of necessity because the RV is cramped, that there's nothing going on between you. I want to believe him.
Christ, Erin. Don't hook up with someone else, especially not a dude named Norf.
* * *
Jay: “If you think nothing is impossible, try slamming a revolving door.” —Anonymous
Thought you might think this quote was as funny as I did. I miss your sense of humor, darlin'. I also miss your smile, your voice, and the addictive scent of your skin. I want to touch you. I want to wrap my arms around you and feel the warmth of your body. I don't care if you're a dev. You have to believe me. Please.
* * *
Jay: Things are busy here, but I think about you constantly. I know you don't believe me, but I love you, Erin. Please talk to me. Please. I'll never give up on you. Never.
Chapter 27
Erin's phone bleeped in the silence of the '80s RV she shared with her brother and the rest of the band. She ignored the skip in her heartbeat and resisted the urge to snatch her phone up to see who the new text was from. She was the only one in the RV at the moment, so she didn't know who she was trying to impress with her show of self-restraint. Everyone else was in the bar where the band would be playing for the next two nights—a rare thing, to have two nights in the same place.
There was a ninety-five-percent chance the text was from Jay. Turns out, he'd meant what he said about the whole cyberstalking thing.
Erin could have easily blocked his number from her phone and relegated his e-mails (both from his regular e-mail account and the Panhead account) to her spam folder, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She never answered any of them—the texts, the voice mails, or the e-mails—but she read every single one and never deleted them, no matter how inane. Even worse, she listened to the voice mails over and over, unable to stop herself from getting a fix of Jay's seductive dark-chocolate voice.
Feeling pathetically weak-willed, Erin picked up her phone off the RV's built-in, brown Formica table and read the screen.
Did you know tacocat spelled backwards is still tacocat?
Erin laughed. It was small and rusty, but it was a laugh. She hadn't found much of anything to smile at in the last three months, but for some reason, this random text from Jay struck her as funny. Maybe he was finally wearing her down.
Except for a couple of odd days last month when she hadn't heard from him at all, he was persistent and managed to send her something or leave messages several times a day, no matter how meaningless or ridiculous, just to let her know she was in his thoughts.
She supposed the bombardment was serving its purpose. It was getting harder and harder to stay mad at him, especially when some of the stuff he said was really sweet. That didn't mean she wasn't still angry with him or that her self-respect wasn't in tatters.
She felt ill every time she thought of what a dupe she'd been and the depth of Jay's betrayal. She'd poured her heart out to “Panhead,” had told him things she'd never told anyone else. If she'd known it was Jay, she never would have confessed the whole car wreck thing. She didn't know what had possessed her to even tell Panhead.
Jay’d had no right to pose as someone else, to trick her into confiding things she'd never wanted anyone else to know. It was the ultimate breach of privacy and trust. Of course, she was the dumbass who'd spilled her guts to an invisible stranger, but that was the point. She never thought she'd come face-to-face with him. He wasn't supposed to be real.
But he was real, and now he wouldn't leave her alone. Why? At first, she'd been certain Jay was acting out of a humongous case of guilt and the fear she might try to off herself again.
It seemed like his guilt and his sense of obligation should have started to fade by now, though, and if his messages and texts were any indication, he wasn't giving up anytime soon. Was it possible he really did love her? She didn't want to care, didn't want to get her hopes up, but it was getting more difficult to ignore him, to pretend indifference.
She let her head drop back against the ratty banquette she was sitting on, ignoring the jagged gash in the cream-colored vinyl seat that was poking her thigh and probably ripping a hole in her black tights. Not that it mattered. Her tights were full of holes already, and so was the black miniskirt she'd gotten from Goodwill. Ah, thrift stores: the clothier of choice for poor musicians.
Of course, some might argue that calling Erin a musician was a stretch. Since she'd joined the band on tour, she went through the motions onstage and managed to get most of the chords right on her guitar, but Zac was probably regretting making such a big deal out of her joining back up with them. She knew she had about as much charisma onstage as dryer lint, not to mention she was extra baggage in their already cramped RV (which wasn't much of a step up from Dale's RV in The Walking Dead).
Nate hadn't gone home to his baby mama after all. Erin suspected that had just been an excuse Zac made up, that Nate had never really intended to leave, so now she was a fifth wheel to the band's normal foursome.
Zac had welcomed her with open arms, literally, when she'd caught up with them in Nashville; it was as if their argument never happened. He was the leader of the band, so no one protested when she'd joined up. In fact, Norf had been happy to share his bed with her again.
As if conjured by her thoughts, Norf—past friend-with-benefits, current pothead and drummer extraordinaire—entered the RV and slammed the flimsy metal door behind him, breaking into Erin's reverie. “What's shakin', bacon?”
“Nothing.”
He crowded in next to her on the banquette, and the smells of weed, cigarette smoke, and alcohol emanating from him were sweetly pungent in the cramped space. Norf had obviously been indulging in his usual debauchery in preparation for their upcoming show.
He smiled, his white teeth peeking through his auburn Grizzly Adams beard. The unstained state of his teeth was a miracle, considering he smoked like a chimney and had questionable dental hygiene.
He was cute in a grungy kind of way, with long hair the same auburn color as his beard and muscular arms from playing the drums. He always wore a slouchy beanie crocheted out of olive-green yarn. It was the kind of hat people with dreadlocks wore, although he didn't have any.
He inclined his head toward her phone. “You're gonna break that thing if you're not careful.”
She looked down to see she was white-knuckling her phone. She tossed it onto the table.
“So what's up?” he asked. “I never see you these days.”
That was ridiculous. “Norf, we live in a place the size of a space capsule and sleep in the same bed. You see me all the time.”
They shared a bed out of necessity, not because of any sexual attraction, at least on her part. It was the same with her brother and Michelle.
They also had to share a bed, but it was strictly platonic. Nate was the only one who got a bed of his own, but it was nothing to get excited over. The lumpy, thin berth that pulled down from the wall in the back of the RV was far from comfortable.
“Not true that I see you all the time,” protested Norf. “You're always asleep by the time I get to bed.”
“That's because you don't go to bed until seven in the morning.”
Ignoring that logic, he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “And then you're always gone when I get up.”
“You don't get up until three in the afternoon.”
“Well, aren't we Miss High-and-Mighty.” His tone was one of mock indignation, and the exaggerated look of disapproval on his face coaxed a small smile from Erin. “Nice,” he said. “Haven't seen one of those from you in a while.”
Feeling self-conscious, she looked down and started fidgeting with a fingernail.
“And when we are around each other,” he went on, “you're usually typing away on that laptop of yours. We never really talk.” He looked at the offending computer sitting on the table next to her phone. She'd bought a refurbished laptop when they were in Lincoln, Nebraska, with the meager paycheck she got for her part in the band.
She shrugged. “My writing is important to me.”
She didn't try to keep it a secret anymore. When she wasn't sleeping, eating, rehearsing with the band or onstage, she was writing, and she didn't care who knew. She'd been stripped bare by Jay, and she'd survived it. Nothing else after that could be as painful.
She'd let Zac and Michelle read some of her stuff. To her surprise, Zac had liked the mystery novel with the wheeler hero, but—and this was not a surprise—he hadn't liked the romance. His criticism of it, though, wasn't nearly as hard to hear as she'd thought it would be. In fact, it had been constructive.
Michelle had supposedly liked everything. Erin found that harder to believe but tried to accept her friend's praise gracefully. Still, she appreciated Zac's blunt honesty. In the long run it would make her a better writer, and she was proud of herself for realizing that instead of freaking out and getting down on herself.
She'd sent a few query letters to agents regarding her mystery novel. So far, she'd gotten two rejections and hadn't heard from the others. The rejections, like Zac's criticism, didn't hurt as much as Erin had thought they would. If she couldn't find an agent or a publisher, maybe she would check into self-publishing. She might only make ten bucks from her novel that way, but who knew? Whatever happened, she would learn from it.
“It's cool you're so into your writing,” Norf said, drawing her attention back to him. “I get that, but you know what Confucius said: 'All work and no play makes Erin a dull girl.'”
Amused, she said, “I think that's from The Shining, not Confucius.”
Norf grinned. “Whatevs.” He reached a long arm over to the mini fridge across from the table and grabbed a couple of Miller Lite longnecks.
Erin didn't want one, but Norf popped the cap off and handed it to her before she could decline. She curled her hand around it but didn't take a sip.
Norf eyed her. “That's called a 'beer.' You're supposed to drink it.”
“I'm not really thirsty.”
He snorted. “Since when is thirst a factor? It's beer.” He studied her face for a moment. “You're different these days. No more Party Erin.”
She shrugged. “It always seems to get me in trouble.”
His gaze grew thoughtful. “Was it the car wreck? I mean, that was some life-changing shit, wasn't it? You almost died.”
She focused on the dark, amber-colored beer bottle in front of her, tracing the rim with her index finger. Where did that question come from? The car wreck was months ago, and Norf had been on the tour during her recovery. She wouldn't have expected him to think too much about it. “I wasn't wasted,” she said, feeling like she needed to clarify. “That wasn't the cause of the wreck.”
“I know. Probably just your usual crappy driving.”
She shoved his shoulder playfully. “Hey, I'm a great driver.”
“Right. That's why you totaled your car.”
“Just bad luck,” she said. She wasn't about to go into the real reason she'd crashed.
Norf sounded more serious, almost grave, when he said, “I was really worried about you, you know. Do you remember me visiting you in the hospital?”
She shook her head. “I don't remember much about that time.”
“That's probably a good thing.”
She gave a perfunctory nod.
“Hey,” he said, gently cupping her cheek and bringing her face up to look at him. “I'm really—like, totally—so very incredibly fucking glad you're okay.”
For Norf, that convoluted sentiment was pretty eloquent. Erin appreciated that he cared, even though he was looking into her eyes in that way, serious and intense—the universal look that said he wanted to kiss her.
For a second, she was tempted. It would be so easy to fall into her old pattern, to seek solace with a guy, especially with Norf. He was easy and familiar, but starting things up with him again wouldn't make her forget Jay. She'd learned that lesson with Duncan. It would just make her feel worse about herself and possibly hurt Norf in the process. Besides, she wasn't a slut. Not anymore.
Maybe there was a shred of her self-respect left after all.
Norf’s lips were nearly to her mouth when she put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Don’t.”
He stared at her for a moment. “It's true, isn't it? Some dude broke your heart.”
“No,” Erin lied. “Why do you say that?”
“Zac. He said you hooked up with some guy, that you originally didn't want to come back to the band. I figure you only came back to us because things didn't work out. That's why you've been all mopey.”
Erin didn't answer, just stared at her beer.
“Were you the dumper or the dumpee?”
“It was kind of mutual.”
“You sure it's over?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have feelings for this guy?”
“No.”
“Ah,” Norf said with sympathy. “So you've still got it bad for him.”
Erin shook her head and rolled her eyes.
After a faint beer-smelling burp, he said, “Well, if you need someone to help you forget, I'd like to offer myself up for your consideration. As you know from past experience, one night with The Norf Man will blow your mind.”
Erin grinned. “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”
He clinked his bottle with hers. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
“Seriously,” he said as he got up to leave, picking up both her untouched beer and his, “call Dr. Norf if you need to talk or if you need some sex therapy.”
She smiled dryly. “You'll be the first.”
With that, he shut the door, leaving her alone again. Erin sighed and slid her laptop in front of her. It was about an hour and a half until the show. She had time to write before she had to go.
She tried to start where she'd left off, but she couldn't concentrate. The renewed silence of the RV was too loud, and her phone seemed to be staring at her, its little black screen beckoning and seductive.
No. She couldn’t give in. She would never get over Jay if she opened up communication with him again. But her inner voice wouldn't be quiet. What if he meant everything he'd said, like the part about loving her? What if she was being too hard on him?
In the end, none of that mattered. She was still a freak, and he still deserved someone normal.
She squared her shoulders and pressed her lips together. She was going to write. She was not going to think about Jay Bontrager or wonder what he was doing or if he was okay. She was not. And that was not her cell phone burning a hole in the table. As of this moment, it didn't exist.
Fingers poised over the keyboard, she sat there for a full five minutes and couldn't write a word. She glanced at her phone, which s
eemed to keep shouting at her, and blew out a breath that stirred the bangs on her forehead.
She should turn the phone off and hide the damn thing before Jay texted her again or before she did something dumb, like texted him back.
She picked it up, intending to get rid of it so she'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
Right. And the road to hell was paved with good intentions.
Chapter 28
Yes. I know Tacocat is the same backwards and forwards. It's also a punk band from Seattle.
Erin didn't have to wait long for a response to her text. Her phone rang instantly. She let it ring a couple of times, her pulse pounding and her hands trembling with adrenaline. Finally, taking a deep breath, she got up the nerve to answer. “Hello?”
After a beat, Jay said, “Erin?”
She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sound of him. “Hi.”
“Hey.” His voice was thick, the small word holding so much emotion and longing behind it that Erin felt a powerful tug on her heart.
Everything they both wanted to say clogged the line between them, so Erin cleared her throat and broke the ice. “So, um, Tacocat? Where did that come from?” It was trivial after everything that had gone down between them, but it seemed better to start with an anthill than a mountain.
“Just thought you needed a good palindrome to liven things up.”
She responded with a quiet snort, rolling her eyes a little. He sounded more like himself now, more sexy cockiness tinged with teasing.
“Thanks,” she said. “I'm surprised you've even heard of Tacocat, though.”
“Or a palindrome?”
Another little puff of amusement. “That, too,” she teased. Although, for the record, he was one of the smartest guys she knew.
“I've been listening to some college radio.”
“Oh. Really?” She was surprised. She didn't think he liked it that much, that he'd only listened to it when they were together to humor her.
“Yeah,” he continued. “It's sort of grown on me. And I thought that was a cool name for a band.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“And it made me feel closer to you.”