by Maggie Riley
“It’s not technically a meditation thing,” Reagan said slowly, kind of sheepishly. “I kind of made this part up on my own.” She sat back down, putting her perky breasts right in my line of vision.
I looked away.
“I’ve just found that it sometimes helps to bare yourself physically when you’re doing it emotionally.”
“I don’t know if I want to bare myself emotionally,” I said, because I sure as shit didn’t want to spill my personal feelings and issues to her. Or to anyone, really.
“It’s more that you’re baring them to yourself.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “It’s worth a thought, don’t you think?”
She looked so eager, so happy to offer her help that I felt bad saying no. And, I wasn’t that adverse to the whole baring oneself physically. It really would have been rude not to at this point.
I stood and pulled off my shirt before removing my jeans as well. Reciting baseball stats in my head had helped get my dick back in line, but I still sat down quickly, in case it got its own ideas about the kind of baring I should be doing.
Reagan’s eyes widened behind her glasses as I settled in front of her, giving my ego a bit of a boost. I had been told I looked pretty good without a shirt. The results of daily training had definitely been something women seemed to appreciate, but for whatever reason, the slight blush on Reagan’s cheeks was more gratifying than any compliments I had gotten in the past.
“Ok,” she said, settling back into the position she had been in before, hands on her thighs and her eyes closed. “Ready to try again?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, but didn’t close my eyes.
Instead I kept staring. Kept fantasizing about kissing that perfect slope where her shoulder met her long, graceful neck. Using my teeth and my tongue until I found all her secret spots on my way to her mouth. Soft and full, it tempted me now. I could just lean in. Just a few inches and I could taste it. Taste her.
What would she do, I wondered. Would she pull back, flustered and scandalized? Or would she kiss me back? I didn’t know a lot about women, but I sure as hell knew when they were interested. And the way she had looked at me when I sat down in front of her? That had been interest. Attraction.
But she hadn’t acted on it. No, she had told me to take off my clothes so we could “meditate” and she was actually meditating. Other women might have used that as an excuse to get things going. Not Reagan. When she said we were meditating, we were meditating.
“Concentrate on sensation,” she was saying. “Anything that you feel—the carpet underneath you, the air around you. How does your body feel?”
Extremely turned on.
She opened one eye and then the other.
“You’re not even trying!” she chided.
“I was,” I lied. “I was feeling things.” At least that was true.
Reagan crossed her arms and regarded me seriously. It was hard not to squirm under her intense stare, but I forced myself to stare back.
Finally she sighed. “I guess that’s enough for now.”
She stood and started putting her clothes back on. For a moment I thought of suggesting we do something else involving our bodies’ feelings but I hesitated. Had I misread her interest? This would have been the perfect opportunity to make a move, or explicitly encourage one, but she hadn’t.
Was she just genuinely trying to help me, end of story?
The thought made me feel like a real jerk for fantasizing about her, but I didn’t have a lot of experience with women where we didn’t end up in bed. I should have known that Reagan would be different. That she was without artifice, without pretense.
We both dressed in silence.
“So!” Reagan said once she had pulled her shoes back on. “Are you ready for some pizza?”
REAGAN
Half-naked meditation had been a bad idea. First of all, if I was trying to quell my attraction to Josh, having him take his clothes off was the worst possible thing I could have done. His body was amazing. Panties in flames amazing. Somehow, his shoulders seemed to get even broader without his shirt on, and it had taken everything in my power not to reach over and drag my fingers down his flat, hard abs to the waistline of his very snug briefs. His whole body seemed to emanate strength, from his muscular thighs to what looked like rock hard biceps. I wanted to lick him everywhere.
It was pretty much a guarantee that the feeling was not mutual. I’d heard from enough ex-boyfriends that while I might be able to pull off cute on a good day, sexy was just too far out of the realm of possibility for me. I was tall and skinny and guys liked boobs and butts and hips and all those soft sexy things that I was lacking. And that was fine. I had tons of other redeeming qualities.
I watched Josh put on his shoes and was once again struck by how lonely his apartment felt. And now, with him, sitting in the middle of all this emptiness, my heart got that same tender feeling it got when I saw animals at adoption fairs. Like I wanted to take them home and take care of them. No wonder Allie had asked me to help Josh. There was a good chance I would have wanted to do it even if she hadn’t made the specific request.
“How long are you planning on staying?” I asked before I could think any better of it.
He glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“How long are you planning on staying here?” I clarified, gesturing to the apartment.
Part of me hoped he would say that this was only temporary. That he was actually going to move somewhere with life and energy. But I wasn’t surprised when that wasn’t his answer.
“I have a year lease,” he said. “So, I guess until it runs out.”
“You need furniture,” I told him, immediately wishing I had phrased it as a suggestion instead of a command. Just because I directed for a living, that didn’t give me the right to try to direct his life.
Josh stood. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice flat. “You suggested pizza?”
“I could help you find things,” I offered, knowing that I should back down.
“No thanks.” His mouth had flattened into a straight line, his jaw tight.
“You can’t live like this.” The ill-advised words just kept pouring out of me.
I knew I was crossing a line, I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but I couldn’t help myself. This place was horrible. Despite its great view, it was soulless and empty. And it wasn’t going to make Josh feel any better.
“I’ll live however I damn well choose.” Josh’s jaw was tight, his words measured.
Any tension that the meditation had erased was now back in full force.
“It won’t fix things,” I said, all the while telling myself to shut up. To just shut up. You’ve already teased him about his apartment looking like Patrick Bateman’s—do you really need to lecture him more? I asked myself.
“That’s because it can’t be fixed,” he told me. “This room. This apartment. None of this can be fixed.” He gestured to himself.
“That’s not true.” My heart ached for him. Because I could tell that he believed it.
He stared at me. Whatever gleam had been in his eyes was gone, replaced with anger. And a little bit of sadness. My fingers itched to reach out to him, to smooth away the line on his forehead caused by his frown. But I knew that wouldn’t help. His entire body was tense. Furious. And I had caused it.
“I’m actually not hungry anymore,” he finally said.
“Josh, I—” I stepped forward.
He stepped back. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered.
I didn’t understand.
“I just wanted to help,” I said lamely, hearing how pathetic that sounded.
He wouldn’t look at me. “You can’t.”
“Please, just—”
“Stop.” He put his hand up. “I know what you’re trying to do. I know that Allie asked you to fix me. But you can’t. And I’d like you to stop trying.”
My stomach plummeted downward. When had he figured it out? I shouldn’t have been su
rprised. He was a smart guy, eventually he would have put two and two together. But I figured that when he did, he would have told Allie. How long had he been pretending not to know? Since this morning? Since after the wedding? Since before? How long had he been humoring me for? And why?
But if I wanted answers, I was going to have to look somewhere else for them. Because the man standing in front of me had shut down. Completely. And it was my fault.
“Sorry,” I managed, crossing the room to get my bag. “I didn’t mean—” I paused, because despite knowing that I had crossed a line, I still meant what I had said. “I had fun today,” I ended up saying, my voice quiet.
Josh didn’t respond, so I gathered my things and left.
Chapter 14
JOSH
It was official. I was the world’s biggest jackass. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Reagan’s stricken face. How hurt she had looked by my words—like they had caused her physical pain. I rubbed a hand over my face, fighting the headache that had been building since our fight. I had been an asshole. An asshole who couldn’t deal with his own shit and ended up lashing out at the very person trying to help him.
I could just imagine the conversation Reagan would be having with Allie. How they would commiserate over what a shithead I was—how impossible and stubborn and childish I was being. Because I was. I was all those things. I knew it and yet I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was this train, careening off the rails, trying to keep from crashing into people and failing miserably.
My phone sitting on the couch next to me, I waited for Allie to call. Waited for the yelling and the righteous anger at how I had treated her friend. It took a special kind of jerk to be that mean to someone as nice as Reagan. Because even as she left, she still managed to be polite. Kind. Understanding.
“I had a nice day,” she had said.
After all I had said to her, after how bitter my words had been, she could conjure up a compliment. And not once had she seemed intimidated by my frustration. Hurt, yes, definitely. But she hadn’t backed down. She had stood toe-to-toe with me and told me that my current life wasn’t working. In the months since all this crap had happened, no one had said that to my face. No one except for my sister, but she had the protection of being family, which meant I couldn’t hate her, no matter what she did. But Reagan wasn’t family. She wasn’t even my friend, really. And she had dared to tell me what no one else had. She had challenged my wallowing and self-pity. And she had done it kindly. With grace and sweetness. But there was steel there too. She was stronger than me, that was for damn sure.
The phone rang and I grabbed for it. But it wasn’t Allie. It was my niece, Emily. Probably the one person in the world that could make me laugh these days. Ever since moving to New York, I missed her terribly. We had spent tons of time together when I was still in Nebraska, as she was apparently the one person who didn’t mind me being a big fucking grouch ninety percent of the time. Mostly because she was a kid and as long as the day ended with a Disney movie and candy, her life was pretty damn good.
I hit accept to answer her FaceTime call and grinned when her gap-toothed smile filled my phone screen.
“Uncle Josh!” She sent a big smooch towards the camera.
“Hey, Emy-bean.” I sent her a kiss back. “What’s new, honeydew?”
“A lot, honeydew!” she said, a little too young to understand the rhyme. “I got a new dress today.”
She pulled the phone—probably her mom’s—back to reveal that she was wearing one of those pre-made Disney princess dresses. This one, however, didn’t look like the others—there weren’t any ruffles or sparkles.
“Which princess is that?” I asked.
“Moana!” she told me, the tone of her voice telling me that it was an embarrassment that I didn’t know that already. “And she’s not a princess.”
“Oh, pardon me,” I told her seriously. Clearly being away for only a few months had severely impacted my knowledge of the Disney canon.
“I talked to Auntie Allie today,” she told me. “She knew who Moana was.”
I sighed. Somehow Allie still managed to rack up favorite relative points even when she was on her honeymoon. Then again, Allie and Emily were like two peas in a pod. It was a little unnerving how similar they were. How single-minded they could be.
“I’m sure she did,” I told her.
“I heard her talking to mama.” Emily pulled a face, contorting her adorable features into an exaggerated frown. “They said they’re worried about you.”
Dammit meddling sisters.
“Don’t worry,” I told Emily, hating that I was lying to her. But what six-year-old wanted to hear how a grown man couldn’t get his fucking life together?
“I told them you’re like Eeyore!” she informed me. “And you lost your tail.”
“Eeyore?” I asked, wracking my mind for what character she was talking about. “The donkey?” Jeez. Just like Bottom from A Midsummer Night’s dream. Apparently I was destined to be the ass no matter the story.
Emily nodded. “He lost his tail and he was sad. If you find your tail, you’ll feel better.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “How did Eeyore find his tail?”
“He asked for help,” said Emily seriously.
That hit me hard. Was I so far gone that even my niece knew I needed help? I told myself that was just an Emily thing. That she was smart and intuitive. She was going to be a force of nature when she got older. As it was now, she already had half a dozen people wrapped around her finger. Myself included.
“Well, Emy-bean, if you find my tail, you’ll let me know, ok?” I waved at her. “I gotta go now.”
“Ok!” she waved back, almost dropping the phone in the process. “I love you!”
“Love you too,” I told her and then hung up.
Leaning my head back against the cushions, I took a long drink of beer. Usually my conversations with Emily made me feel better. But now it was apparent that my shitty mood was so bad that even six-year-olds thousands of miles away could spot it. I sighed.
Eeyore indeed.
I looked at my phone again. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t heard from Allie yet. It had been hours since Reagan had left. Since she had shut the door quietly behind her and left me in my lonely, empty apartment. Left me to sit in front of the TV and drink beer. Alone. Everything inside me feeling empty.
I made a fist and brought it down on the cushion next to me. I was such a jerk.
But maybe I could fix this. I owed Reagan an apology, that much was obvious. I grabbed my phone, scrolling to find her contact information. But my thumb paused before I could call her. It didn’t seem right to say it over the phone. And I definitely couldn’t do it over text.
No. This kind of screw-up warranted an in-person apology. And Reagan deserved that.
REAGAN
I was pretty much useless all day. Auditions were starting tomorrow and I had to prepare sides and line up someone to run lines with the actors coming in, and all I had done was stare at the script and think about how horribly I had screwed up.
The worst thing about what had happened with Josh was that I was pretty sure that I had been making progress. That he had been feeling a little better, a little less hopeless, a little less sad. But I had pushed. I had pushed too hard and too soon and now I had undone any small bit of progress that I had made.
I knew I should call Allie. Tell her that Josh knew what she had asked, and that he wasn’t very pleased with me at the moment. But I didn’t call. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to disturb her on her honeymoon, but that was only part of it. I was embarrassed by how I had mucked up her plan.
Usually I could count on work to distract me, but not even Shakespeare could get the image of Josh out of my head, where he had gestured to himself, indicating that he was broken. Permanently broken. I knew a little of what that felt like. It was how my parents had made me feel for years. And no one should ever
feel that way.
“Have you tried Liz?” Joanna asked, breaking through my haze.
I was sitting on the couch in her office, while she was at her desk, looking through her contacts.
“Liz?” I tried to place the name because it sounded so familiar.
“Allie’s Liz?” Joanna clarified. “She was at the wedding.”
“I thought she was out of town,” I said, remembering the sweet Southern belle that had only been able to show up for the wedding.
Apparently, she was one of the reasons that Allie and Shane had gotten together in the first place. She was also an actress.
“I think something happened with the show.” Joanna put a finger to her temple, clearly thinking. Her big brain seemed to hold an insane amount of information, but it sometimes took a moment for her to sort through it. “She mentioned something at the wedding about staying put for a while.” She held up her phone. “I can call her and see.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “She’s also welcome to audition, of course.”
Joanna nodded, her phone against her ear.
“Liz? Hi, this is Joanna Millet. We met at Allie’s wedding.” Joanna nodded. “I’m good, yourself? Good, good. Listen, I remember you saying that you were going to be in town for a while and we’re in desperate need of someone to run lines for our audition tomorrow.” She paused. “Wonderful,” Joanna said. “I’ll send you the information. And the sides if you’re interested in auditioning.” There was another pause, this one longer. “I see. I completely understand. Thank you again.”
She hung up the phone.
“Is she available?” I asked, hoping that we could at least cross the item off our to-do list.
Joanna nodded. “Yes, but apparently she’s not acting professionally anymore.”
“Really?” I was surprised. From what I had heard from Allie, Liz was quite talented and making a splash in the out-of-town shows she was getting cast in. “Did something happen?”
Joanna shrugged. “I didn’t want to pry.”
Yep. Joanna wasn’t the type to pry. Or ask personal questions. Or inquire about someone’s personal life at all. I knew it baffled people that we were such close friends, but I knew that beneath Joanna’s cold, standoffish appearance, she was a kind and loyal friend. She just kept that circle of friends incredibly small.