Professor Adorkable

by Edie Danford

  I avoid looking at the bed, at his face.

  “What did she say?” he asks.

  “She would like help implementing her plan for making things nice. At their house. For when Whitaker gets home.”

  “Oh. Hey. That’s a good idea. Maybe I should get on the horn and see if Cal can recommend someone to help. That place is huge. And it’s probably best to set up a sleeping space of Whitaker on the first floor. Heavy-lifting might be involved and—”

  “No. I am going over now. You don’t need to call anyone.”

  He folds the T-shirt in his hands and drops it on the bed. He says, “Okay. Let’s go. We can do some good work, just the three of us—”

  “No. I am going. Not you.”

  The hurt that flashes across his face hits me like a laser. I know laser beams quite well. They are sharp, powerful—a blast of energy that quickly destroys and that, just as quickly, dissipates. As if the energy had never existed.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I am not…” I take a breath and try again. “I’m not trying to make a big statement. To say something profound by this idea of not including you. But I can’t pretend things are normal, especially if you’re near. And Zoe, she needs…”

  “She needs things to be normal right now. I get it.”

  “Yes.”

  He picks up another T-shirt from the basket, crumples it in his hands. I allow a glance at his face. Mistake. His eyes are downcast. The smile lines around his mouth are etched in gray. He seems lost and defeated in this space where he’s always seemed to fit perfectly.

  I imagine the room empty. All of his sunny, cheerful things gone. I can already see it. It already seems to be reverting to a storage room. I don’t know what to do. I can’t fix this.

  I say, “I’ll go now.”

  “Text me if you need anything.”

  He says this automatically. He obviously hasn’t filtered it through the painful conversation we’ve just had.

  And I, automatically, think my usual thoughts in response. Yes, I can text him “I need you” right now and mean it. And keep typing and sending and typing and sending because I need him every moment.

  Today, though, I don’t imagine his face as he receives these thousands of messages—the hint of a smile, the teasing light in his eyes, the way he’ll sigh my name.

  Today the thought inspires despair.

  “Later,” I say, turning to leave, hating everything about standing there in front of him, in the room that suddenly feels so wrong.

  “Later,” his voice echoes behind me.

  Pete

  The second I hear the kitchen door shut behind Marek, I start bawling again. Ugly-crying. It’s awful. My throat feels like I’d swallowed a scouring pad, my eyes feel like I’ve soaked them in vinegar. I sit on the bed and let it out, using the T-shirt in my hands to wipe my face.

  When it becomes obvious that “letting it out” will take many days to accomplish, I make myself stand, find my phone.

  I text Cal, Need to see you. Are you available this afternoon?

  I’ll need to do this in person. My brain and fingers won’t be capable of spelling out all the complicated shit I’m worried about.

  I don’t get a response right away. My stomach tosses and pitches. I glance at the bathroom. I’d hurled my stomach contents when we got home from the lake. Dry heaves might make my burning eyes pop out of my head. I take a breath. Look around the room. Staying here is out of the question too.

  I stride to the small closet, find the duffel on the corner shelf. Usually, I love to pack, take care in folding and rolling and making everything fit. Not today. I grab things from the shelves and hangers and stuff them in.

  I’ll be back to talk with him, visit with him, cheer him on. I will. But right now we both need space, we both need a firm cutoff from my role as Marek’s housekeeper.

  I heft the duffel onto the bed and begin shoving the clean laundry into it. I know Mar didn’t mean to make me feel like shit. I know he was right to protect himself and protect Zoe from more misery.

  But the way he’d looked at me, seeing through me as if I weren’t standing here, as if I were already gone. There had been no hope.

  The complications and ramifications—everything I’ve tried to carefully point out—are settling in to his big brain.

  My phone chimes. I pick it up with shaking hands. Text from Cal. About to start a wedding-planning consult at the office and then have appointment at four. Could squeeze you in between if you can get here soon?

  I answer, I’ll be there ASAP. I immediately thumb over to a ride app. I’ll have my duffel and my messenger bag. I want fast and convenient.

  I take a quick look around the suite before leaving. I’ve straightened the comforter and the throw, poofed the pillows on the sofa. Wiped down the bath and packed my toiletries.

  My clothes and bath stuff are gone, but the place doesn’t look empty. It looks like I’ve been here—someone who’d loved and cared about this place had made a mark. It looks welcoming. And I don’t know why exactly this is important to me. Maybe I think it will be a comfort to Marek. Maybe I like the idea that it looks like I’ll be back soon. Either way, it allows me to keep more tears from falling as I turn to go, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me.

  Chapter 13

  Pete

  Thirty minutes later, I heft my bag up the narrow stairway of Domesticated, Inc’s offices.

  The reception area is vacant. Brian is on a break or helping someone, I guess. Good for me, because I need a minute to collect myself, figure out where the hell to stash my stuff.

  I’ve run away from home, Cal, and now I’m here to ask what you think I should do with the rest of my life. By the way, do you mind if I move in to your reception area?

  I’m eyeing a corner of the room, thinking I might be able to shove the duffel discreetly between a potted plant and a couple of waiting-room-style chrome chairs, when the door to Cal’s office opens, letting the sound of happy clients into the room.

  Shit. I jab at the overstuffed duffel’s stiff, canvas-covered side. It’s not gonna fit. And, perfect, now it’s stuck. Wrenching it free with a scary-sounding grunt—who knew I could make that kind of noise?—I drop the duffel on one of the chairs. The chair topples.

  Oh fuck. I have Mar-disease. I try to pick up the chair unobtrusively.

  Cal is laughing, saying, “Well, it was a true pleasure to meet you two, and I can’t wait to brainstorm more ideas about the wedding. And the reception.”

  “We’ll be sending you lots of ideas,” a rich, deep voice says in response. “But you gotta promise not to forward any of them to my mom. She already has way too many ideas.”

  More laughter. These clients sound nice. The meeting has obviously gone well. But if they catch sight of a dude who looks like a deranged homeless man hanging out in the office…

  The duffel’s strap is somehow caught under the chair’s leg. Silently whimpering, I kneel on the floor, heft the chair—

  “What the heck?” Cal asks in his usual tone, laidback and edged with humor.

  I turn my head, grimace-smiling. “Sorry,” I begin. My gaze lands on the two men standing with Cal. And then—more comedy. The men and I do double-takes. Simultaneously. My head spins from the effort. How many takes is that? I need Marek for doing math. A sextuple take?

  The shorter and slimmer of the two gorgeous-as-fuck men croaks out my name. “Pete?”

  I stand slowly. My ears are clogged with a rushing noise, my vision sparkling. I take a dicey step—

  “Shit,” I hear the other man say. “He’s going down.” Big, capable hands catch my shoulders, pushing me gently into one of the chairs. “Head between your knees, buddy. Nick, find him some water.”

  “I’ll get water,” Cal says through a fog.

  “Breathe, hon,” the achingly familiar voice says, careful fingers finding my scarf, gently untangling it from my neck. The scarf falls to my feet, but the warm fingers stay on my neck, rubbing
. His other hand reaches for mine.

  I moan. “Nick?”

  “Yep. It’s me.” He laughs softly and it’s the laugh that makes me realize I’m not hallucinating. Nick McQueen, the best friend I’ve ever had (except for Marek) is holding my hand just like he’s held it so many times in the past.

  “I think I can sit up now,” I say.

  “Give it a try,” Josh, Nick’s super-stud boyfriend suggests.

  I straighten my spine slowly, keeping my eyes shut.

  “He doing all right?” Cal’s voice. “I’ve got some water for you, Pete. When you’re ready.”

  My head feels better. I open my eyes. Nick sits next to me, his knees pressing against mine. I clench his fingers hard. Familiar fingers in their look, their artsy, silvery rings, and, oh God, their feel. Nick was the first kid I’d met in Lake Woods. I’d halfway fallen in love with him, but never all the way, thankfully. We’d both needed friendship more than romance when we’d been in school.

  After graduating, I’d moved to L.A. and he’d moved to Vermont to go to college. When things went south with my job, and I was doing desperate things to prove I was still having a fabulous fucking time out in Hollywood, I’d managed to shit all over my friendship with Nick—yep, my shit-coverage had been that wide. Weirdly, losing Nick’s friendship had helped open my eyes to things I’d been blind to with my SoCal relationships.

  After figuring out the difference between true and fake friends, I’d apologized for my awful behavior via email and written letters. But I’d never had the opportunity to apologize to Nick and Josh in person.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wrenching my gaze from our hands. It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

  He looks into my eyes. Smiles. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  I make a horrible snuffling sound in response. He takes me in his arms. And Josh, his pain-in-the-ass, kind, perfect boyfriend sits on my other side and hugs both of us. “God,” Josh is saying, his voice hoarse. “Shit. I hate when people cry.”

  “Wow,” Cal says from somewhere next to us. “I think this might call for cupcakes. And lattes.”

  Ten minutes later we’re all sitting around the table in the conference room—Nick’s chair close to mine because he’s still holding my hand.

  Brian has returned and he’s helped Cal set out treats and coffee.

  “It is crazy-cool that we bumped into you,” Josh says for like the third time. “Seriously, because Nicky had his hair cut at Rogo this morning and Ro had mentioned you. And Nick was all, ‘This time we are tracking him down.’”

  “It’s true,” Nick says, smiling at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Again. “I’ve been trying to, um, stay away from old paths and forge new ones. Hoping that, you know, once the new ones are good enough, that then I can…”

  Nick nudges my shoulder with his. “It’s okay, Petey. This redemption and recovery shit takes time. I know this well.”

  “We both got your letters,” Josh says. “We get what you were going through. And, like Nick said in the letter he sent back, we accept your apology.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Crazy that it’s been almost three years since I’ve seen them. And now we’re sitting around Cal’s conference-room table, noshing cupcakes. I’d wanted to make more of a grand gesture for an apology at some point, but today I’ll make do with a gentle squeeze of Nick’s fingers.

  Cal shakes his head and says, “I can’t believe you guys know each other so well.”

  “Wish I had some pictures to show you,” Josh tells him. “You should’ve seen them in high school. Nick’s hair was blue, and Pete always wore at least one item that was hot pink. They both loved painfully skinny jeans that looked fricking painted on, and—”

  “Oh my God,” I say, giving Nick a fake-accusing look. “Did you show him all those hideous photo albums I used to make?”

  Nick laughs. “Of course. We ought to look at them together sometimes. Hi-fricking-larious.”

  We joke and eat cupcakes for a while, sugar and laughter making me feel halfway alive again. I ask them questions about what they’re up to. They’re in town for a long weekend to celebrate Nick’s grandma’s ninetieth birthday. They’re planning their wedding for the spring—a few weeks after Nick graduates from Ellery College. When they talk about it, they’re so adorable and in love, I almost start crying again. And, okay, I do actually shed another tear when they tell me I’m invited.

  Finally, Cal says, “I hate to say it, but I have to split for another appointment in twenty minutes. Did you need to talk to me privately, Pete?”

  My mouthful of cupcake turns to sludge. I gulp water, choke a little.

  Nick takes my hand again. “Okay?”

  I nod. Then shake my head. “No. Actually, things are pretty shitty right now. But I’m working on fixing them.”

  Cal and Josh both give me worried looks. Nick asks, “You need help?”

  “Probably,” I admit. I smiled crookedly. “But I need to figure this one out on my own. Be a grownup and all that good shit.”

  Josh holds out his hand. “Gimme your phones. Both of you.”

  Nick and I obey. I watch with a small smile as Josh types info into each of three phones. “You’ll call or text when you need something, right?”

  I nod.

  “Promise?” Nick prompts.

  “Yep.”

  “And you’ll come to the wedding.”

  “I might even bring my boyfriend.” I cast a sidelong glance at Cal. His silvery brows rise.

  “That would be awesome,” Josh says, flashing his twenty-four-carat smile. “What’s his name?”

  “Um…” Would I be jinxing myself by telling them, by putting my hopes and dreams into words? “Professor Adorkable,” I say firmly. If anyone understood about hopes and dreams, it’s these three guys.

  “Professor Adorkable?” Nick’s lips quirk.

  “Yep.”

  “Cool,” Josh says, laughing.

  “Right on.” Cal smiles.

  We all stand. I give Nick and Josh big hugs, tearing up again, especially when Nick whispers in my ear, “I’m rooting for you, Petey. You’re worthy of love, and you’re worthy of the hard work it might take to feel worthy.”

  Guess it shows how much I’ve changed that I don’t give a shit that they’re seeing me at my absolute worst—heartbroken and panicky and unsure of my future. Not to mention my crying-hag appearance. As Ro would say, nothing proves I’m a changed dude more than my “grotty sweats.” The only thing I care about as I watch them head down the stairs is that I’ve seen some old friends, and they felt like just that—friends.

  “Awesome guys,” Cal says, catching my gaze.

  “The best,” I agree.

  “Not surprising that you all are friends, I guess. You’ve each got that certain something.”

  Laughing, I shove a wadded tissue—Brian had brought a box into the conference room—against my nose. “Well, those two definitely have something.”

  “You have it too. Or else they wouldn’t care about you like they so obviously do.”

  “Um…”

  “Come on,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder, steering me toward his office. “Tell me what’s happening with Professor Adorkable.”

  I know we’re pressed for time. I’m sure, given my state and his kindness, he’d be late or cancel his upcoming appointment for me. But I’ve spewed enough emotion on him today. So I give him only the facts: Marek and I are in love. I can’t work for him anymore. We don’t know what to do about the contract I’d signed.

  Cal listens intently. He sits back in his chair and makes some thinking noises and faces. Then he says in an even tone that’s scarily all-business, “Let me know when you figure it out.”

  “What? What are you saying?” I’m hoping for at least a tiny amount of advice.

  “Well, either Marek will fire you or he’ll figure out how to talk to his uncle at last.”

  “But what if he does
n’t? And what if Domesticated gets embroiled in this mess somehow? What if Jakub comes after you?”

  “Don’t worry about Domesticated. Our involvement ended after we provided the matching service and you signed the contract with Marek’s uncle. And as for Marek figuring stuff out… You guys are both smart. I know you’ll work it out.”

  I make a sound of disbelief. “The professor and I might be smart in some ways—very different ways. But I’m worried as hell they aren’t the ways that will fix any of this shit.”

  He smiles for the first time since we’ve sat down. “I do think you’re right to leave the townhouse. Any decisions will happen a lot faster. I’d give Marek…” He drums his fingers on his desk and narrows his eyes. “Two or three days at most for being able to live without you.”

  I shift around in my chair. I don’t like his indulgent tone. “Marek is actually very self-sufficient. Or capable of self-sufficiency. I don’t know why everyone always thinks that he’s—”

  “I’m not talking about his ability to bathe and eat and survive in a luxury townhouse. I’m talking about his ability to survive without being with the guy he loves, especially knowing that guy is upset and in turmoil. That’s gonna get him.” Cal’s soft laughter is more than slightly evil.

  “Wow, this is a new side of you. I’m not sure I like it.”

  “I deal with parties, dirt, and drama. Of course I’m a manipulative bastard.” It’s hard not to smile a little at the pleased expression on his face. “Do you have a place to stay?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yes. I’m all set on that front.” I just have to be brave about calling my stepbrother. I take a few big breaths.

  “Good. Let me know if that changes.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I guess waiting is what has to happen. In the meantime, I’m going to return that signing bonus to Jakub Janos.”

  Cal’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? Why would you do that? You’ve worked there for over six months, and you’ve earned—”

  “It’s the principle. If I hadn’t fallen in love with Marek, maybe I’d feel different. But I hate the idea of that money being a payoff. Or a suggestion that I’d take a bonus for fucking a client.” Hurt to say it, but there it was.