“I haven’t cooked any dinners,” Piper said plaintively.
“Ah, but you will,” she said, turning a hopeful grin her way. Piper squirmed when she jabbed her in the side with her knobby elbow. “Buck up. Turn that frown upside down.” When Piper didn’t immediately comply, Shelia twisted to face her and attempted to manipulate her face by force. “Smile, girl. Smile!”
Piper batted her hands away, finally giving into the smile and belly aching laughter her friend was searching for. “Alright, I give! I give,” she shouted breathlessly. As her attacker backed off, Piper righted her clothing and smoothed down her hair.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” She had a feeling she already knew.
“Your boss. Tate Larson to be specific.” In a rare show of maturity, Shelia crossed her legs and regarded her with a serious expression—she even had one eyebrow arched, so Piper knew she meant business.
“Alright…” she said slowly, bracing herself for the inevitable.
“I’ve been talking about this with Tom—”
“Why am I not surprised—”
“And he tells me that Tate has been asking around about you, like, daily.”
“Because he’s a stalker.”
“He’s concerned.”
“Only because he lost his prey.”
“Would you shut up and let me talk?” She paused, waiting for Piper to give her the signal before she continued. Just to be stubborn, Piper waited a few beats before nodding her head. “The guy is a total mess. Tom said he can’t even be sure the man has bathed. Who does that?”
A person who is desperate, Piper’s inner dialogue supplied. She shrugged the thought away, determined not to fall into whatever trap Tate was weaving. “Maybe he finally got screwed by the wrong woman.”
“Maybe.” Shelia eyed her, the message she was trying to convey returned to sender. “You can’t keep avoiding him,” Shelia pressed. “He’s determined to talk to you, and that means you’re going to have to talk, whether you like it or not.”
“And if I don’t want to talk?” Piper challenged.
“Then don’t. Write him a letter; send him a text, an email. Anything! Just let him know where you stand.” She sighed. “I’m just sick of seeing you mope around over the guy. You need to confront this head-on. Be honest with him and with yourself. Even a total douchebag deserves that much.”
Piper glared at her, her breaths coming in short bursts as her anger bubbled to the surface. “Even if that douchebag kissed you like you were the only woman in the world and then jumped into bed with the first woman to come along hours after you had sex with him.” She flew up off the couch, her hands finding her hips. “Even if that douchebag followed you around just to rub his floozy in your face. Even if that douchebag ripped your heart out and stomped it into the ground. Even then, Shelia?” Her voice cracked and she felt a warm tear slide down her cheek.
Piper slumped back into the cushions, folding her arms over her chest, as if that would be enough to keep her from crumbling apart.
“Does he know he broke your heart?” Shelia whispered.
Taking a deep breath, Piper tried to calm herself down. As much as she wanted to deny his effect on her, there was no point. She’d showed her cards. “No,” she growled. “And he never will.”
Sighing, Shelia gave her knee a gentle squeeze and pushed to her feet. “Well, I think you should tell him. How else will he ever know how you feel?”
“Where are you going?” Piper sat forward, drying her cheek with the back of her hand. Despite their little tiff, now that Shelia was home, Piper wasn’t eager for her to leave.
“I’m on lunch. I just thought I would stop by and try to knock some sense into you.” She looked tired, defeated, as if it were her heart that was beating outside of her chest and not the other way around. “Think it over,” she told her.
Piper stared at the door long after Shelia left, the woman’s words floating through her head on an endless loop.
What should she do? It was obvious what her friends thought she should do—call the asshole. She wasn’t sure if that was a wise decision. What had started out as a simple hook-up had morphed into something far stronger—something she wasn’t ready to give voice to, because if she did, she might well and truly crumble.
As she stared at the phone in her palm, Piper’s heart felt heavy, her mind clouded with too many thoughts, too many doubts. Her thumb hovered over the screen, daring her to do what she knew she wanted to do, but wasn’t sure she had the strength for.
Taking a deep breath, Piper quickly dialed the number tattooed in her brain before she could chicken out. It started to ring and Piper’s hand shook with the effort it took not to hang up.
“Hello.” Tate’s rough, worn voice was like a balm to her soul. Piper closed her eyes, committing it to memory. “Hello,” he repeated, then perked up. “Piper, is that you? Baby, answer me.”
Piper chewed her lip. The military could strap her to a chair and shove bamboo under nails and she would never admit it out loud, but she absolutely loved when Tate called her that.
“Piper? Are you all right? Do you need me—”
“I’m here. I’m fine,” she croaked before he could continue down that path. Before she blurted out that she did need him. One thing she’d learned early on in life, you couldn’t take words back.
There was silence, and then, “Good. I’m glad.” Tate sounded subdued, no anger or resentment in his voice. Sadness, maybe. She couldn’t tell for sure.
Before things could get any more awkward than they already were, Piper forged ahead. “I heard you’ve been looking for me?”
“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I wanted to talk to you. About what happened in Vegas. At the hotel.”
“With Casey, right,” Piper said irritably. “I think I know all I need to about that, so no need to rehash the past. If that’s all you wanted—”
“You quit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You quit,” he accused. “You didn’t say anything, just quit.”
“Not that I need to explain myself, nor is it any of your business, but I turned in my resignation to Mr. Sinclair. Besides, if you’re worried about finding a new assistant, I’m sure your girlfriend would be more than happy to take my place.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Tate snarled.
“Sex slave, booty call, whatever. Look, I need to go. I don’t have time for this. I just wanted to tell you that I’m fine and to stop harassing my friends.”
“Piper—”
“Goodbye, Tate.” Piper ended the call and threw the phone down. Less than five minutes and she was ready to have a meltdown. Tate affected her that way—extreme emotions, irrational responses. Always had, but before their relationship had been more antagonistic with a heavy focus on lust. Now, it was all about the hurt feelings and heaps of anger and resentment.
And yet, Piper still found that she craved him.
She was pathetic.
Staring out across the room, Piper bleakly took in her surroundings. Nothing here, save the suitcases leaning against the far wall, belonged to her. Not the outdated tube television. Not the bookcase housing a total of four romance novels and an army of dust bunnies, and most certainly not the zebra print rug tickling her bare toes.
Just then, Piper had never felt so far away from home. So lost and alone. She had friends, yes, and she knew they would do just about anything for her, but that didn’t replace the hollow feeling in her chest.
Sitting there, all alone in the deadly silence, it slowly dawned on Piper what she needed to do. It was the only solution, and no matter how hard she had fought against it, no matter how extreme it might be, it was a long time coming. She didn’t even know why she had bothered to deny it when it had been standing right in front of her face all along.
Shelia wasn’t going to be happy, but after a lot of arguing, Piper knew her friend would support her decision.
Piper
went in search of her phone. Finding it lying between a yellowing potted plant and an old, crusty hairball, she began making all the necessary calls.
32
“She what!” Tate pushed aside his laptop and jumped up. He paced the floor, stabbing his fingers through his hair. How could this be happening? Why was she doing this?
“She called and left a message saying that she was catching a bus home,” Shelia told him, her voice hovering a notch below frantic. “I just thought she meant back to her apartment, but then she said something about Alabama and not having anything left here. I called my apartment, but there was no answer. I think she already left!”
“And where the hell were you when she was leaving this message?” Tate demanded angrily. His heart was pounding in his chest, his hands shaking as he flew into his room to throw on some clothes.
“Don’t you yell at me, Tate Larson!” Shelia shouted back at him. “When nature calls, you answer.” She calmed a bit, but the distress in her voice was still clear. “I left work earlier to check in on her and try to convince her to call you—”
Tate stopped in his tracks, his hand stilling on a pair of plaid boxers. “You did?”
“Yeah, I did,” Shelia snapped. “She may not know what she wants right now, but I do. And for some reason, that’s you.”
“Hey—”
“Hey yourself. Anyway, I checked in on her this morning, but I had to get back to work. I didn’t get a chance to listen to my messages until just now.”
“How long ago did she call?” he tried to ask in as calm a manner as possible. It was difficult, but somehow he managed.
She paused. “About an hour ago.”
“Hold on.” Tate slipped into a t-shirt and marched back into the living room where he’d left his laptop. Scooping it off of the couch, he all but slapped it on the table and crouched down in front of it. His fingers flew over the keys as he called up Chicago bus station information. “Where did you say she was going again?”
“Alabama.”
“Where, specifically?” Tate asked, careful not to lose his temper with the woman again.
“Oh, Wilcox I think?” She didn’t sound very confident.
“You think.” Okay, he was starting to lose his patience now. What could he say, he had a short fuse and his nerves were already rubbed raw.
“Well, what do you want me to say? I don’t have the greatest memory and I ran out of Ginkgo last week. So shoot me. You should be grateful I remember this much,” she huffed.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tate apologized. The action felt…weird. Rusty. Totally and completely foreign. “So, Alabama. Wilcox you think, and she went by bus?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
“What happened to her car?”
“It was on lease. She returned it to the dealer.”
“Why?” Given the choice, he would rather drive in the comfort of his own car than suffer through public transit.
“She’s liquidating her assets, eliminating debts.”
Tate could practically hear the woman shrug. Liquidating assets and getting rid of debt meant that Piper either didn’t have much money, or she felt she needed to hold on to as much of it as she could for however long. She was jobless, so he guessed it made sense.
“So what did you find?”
Dropping his eyes, Tate focused on the information laid out in front of him. What he saw there made his chest tight. “There’s only one bus heading that direction and it left twenty minutes ago.” God, he felt like crying. How could everything he ever wanted just slip through his fingers in a heartbeat? And why did he have to take so long to realize what he had?
“The good news,” he continued, fighting the urge to punch his fist through the wall, “is that the trip will take almost thirty-four hours and it stops in Camden, not in Wilcox. Which means she’ll have to stop to find another mode of transportation.”
“Which gives you time to catch up with her?” Sheila asked hopefully.
“Damn right. Listen, Shelia, thanks for calling me. I know Piper and I haven’t been exactly…”
“Functional,” she supplied.
“Yeah, that,” he conceded. “But I want you to know that I love Piper and I plan to do whatever it takes to get her back.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Tate. To be honest, I wasn’t so sure about you at first. I mean, you’re really hot, and you have an ass that I wouldn’t mind roasting my marshmallows on.” Tate frowned, puzzled and slightly disturbed by her analogies. “But I know Piper, and she wants you. She’s wanted you since the first day you meant, warts and all, and whatever makes my girl happy, makes me happy.”
Tate smiled into the phone. “Then that makes two of us.”
“Right. Now go get our girl.” She paused. “Just so you know if I were there, this would be the part where I slap your tight little ass and shove you out the door.”
“Duly noted,” he chuckled. This Sheila lady was pretty cool. He had a feeling that if he pulled this off, they could be okay friends.
“Call me when you catch her. Better yet, you have that whore call me,” she amended, her voice rising, “so I can personally rip her a new one.”
“Uh, okay?”
“Thanks, hun.”
The line went dead. Tate held the phone out, staring at it like it had sprouted two heads. Take that back. Maybe it was best that Shelia remain Piper’s friend and he would just keep his distance.
Anxious to get on the road, Tate hastily threw together an overnight bag. He was already twenty minutes behind if Sheila was right and the information online was reliable, and he was not about to let his woman slip through his fingers twice in one week.
His woman. Hmm, had a nice ring to it.
Grinning to himself, Tate dashed out the door, each pounding step punctuated with determination.
*****
Halfway into his thirty-four hour drive, Tate felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. Turning down the radio, which was dancing somewhere between hillbilly and static anyway, he answered the call, hoping beyond hope it would be Piper.
“Hey, sweetheart,” his mother said cheerily. “I was just calling to ask you what kind of dessert you wanted me to bake for Sunday brunch. I was thinking grandma’s old pecan pie recipe, because I know how much you always loved her pie, or maybe a nice cheesecake? What do you think?”
Tate tried not to feel too disappointed that it wasn’t who he expected.
A truck swerved over the center line, cutting him off. Tate grimaced as he pressed the brakes to let the semi slide in front of him. Damn things were going to kill somebody someday. “I don’t know, Ma,” he said shortly as he maneuvered into the far left lane and hit the gas to speed around the truck. “Cheesecake sounds fine.” Piper loved cheesecake.
“You sound distracted. Are you driving?”
Shit. She hated it when he answered his phone while on the road. “Uh, no?”
“Tate Michael Larson, don’t you lie to your mother!”
“Sorry,” he said, well and thoroughly shamed.
“I know you are,” she said firmly. “Now, why in the world are you answering the phone? How many times have I told you how dangerous it is to drive while distracted? Do you want to give your mother a heart attack?”
Tate shook his head and his mouth inched up into a smile. His mother always had a knack for drama. “No, Ma. I actually thought it was going to be someone else.”
“Oh?” she asked curiously. “Are we talking about your girlfriend? How is Piper? I feel like I haven’t seen her in so long. I’m glad that you finally found a nice girl to spend your time with.”
He felt the same way. “Me too, and she’s fine, I guess. I’m actually on my way to see her right now.”
“Hot date?” she teased.
“Not exactly,” he groused. The tension was starting to get to him. No matter how fast he went, the distanced seemed too great. Time was at a standstill, a thick and powerful wall he pushed futilely against. He
glanced at the clock on the dash. Only fifteen hours left to go. Already halfway there. It might as well have been an eternity.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? Is something bothering you?”
Tate sighed deeply. He never could get anything past his mother. But then, he really wasn’t trying all that hard to mask his emotions at the moment. “It’s just been a really shitty week.”
“Does this have anything to do with our girl?”
The woman really was perceptive for her age. “Yeah.” With barely a nudge, Tate confessed everything to her, from how they started out—he purposefully left out all the sex—their strained working relationship, to the peaceful truce they seemed to develop over time, all the way up to the encounter at the hotel when Casey had shown up unexpectedly and became his sidekick. She stayed quiet through all of it, measuring his words and formulating her response to it all. When Tate was finally finished, he swallowed down the knot in his throat and waited for her lecture to begin.
“I don’t know if you remember when you were younger how much your father and I used to argue.”
Tate rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kind of hard to forget that, Ma.”
“Not that kind of arguing,” she said tersely. “I’m talking about passionate fights. The kind that starts over nothing and at the end, all you want to do is tear each other’s clothes off.”
A very vivid and unwelcome picture of his mom and dad going at each other like a couple of wild animals flashed before Tate’s eyes and he groaned. “I could have gone my whole life without that mental picture,” he complained.
“Oh, stop that. It’s a natural thing for two people to have sex. I swear, you kids act like I’m not even a woman. Just how do you think you came into this world anyway?”
Another mental picture threatened, and Tate slapped it away with frantic hands.
“What I am trying to say is that I’ve seen you two together, and while you may have some things to work out, as any couple does, it doesn’t mean that you should throw in the towel.”
That First Kiss Page 24