Farewell Apathy

by Jenn Hype

  “Yeah, I lied. I just wanted to talk to you.” His smile grows, and I realize how that sounded. “Shit, not to hit on you. Not that you’re not worth hitting on, but...oh my gosh...you make my brain go all kinds of stupid,” I say, flailing my arms around, expressing how exasperating he is. I close my eyes and start talking again. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you back there talking to Becky.”

  When he doesn’t respond, I open one eye to make sure he’s still there, then close it back when I see him still standing in the same place. “Um, hello? Did you hear me? Should I just go on?” I need to get back to work, and he’s really not easy to talk to.

  “Why are your eyes closed?” He asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Because I can’t talk when I’m looking at you. All I can think about is licking you like an ice cream cone and it’s very distracting.”

  He laughs again. “You always this honest?”

  I slowly open my eyes again, because, well, it’s getting weird. “Why not? There are worse qualities to have than being brutally honest.”

  “Unless you’re brutally honest about stuff that hurts people.”

  “I’m not a bitch, if that’s what you’re implying,” I snap. I’m not really irritated with him. I just want to see how he reacts. He throws his hands up, and all I can think about is how big his hands are and how they would feel on my body. “My, my, grandma, what big hands you have.”

  He raises a confused eyebrow, but I don’t bother finishing my thought. ‘The better to spank you with, my dear.’

  “Listen, it’s been real, but I gotta get back to work. Here’s my number. Call me tonight.” I shove a piece of paper in his hand that has my number scrawled on it. He looks at it and then back at me.

  “Awfully bossy, aren’t you? What if I have a girlfriend?”

  “Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “I want to talk to you about Mayra, dumbass, not go on a date. I get off at seven, so call me after that!” I yell over my shoulder as I run back inside.

  This day had started out so terrible. After making that huge mistake this weekend...just the thought of having to face Mark was enough to have me debating whether or not to call off. Damn bills. Luckily I’ve been able to avoid him all day. Unluckily, right as I come back inside, my mood considerably perkier after the little exchange with hot stranger guy, I come face to face with Mark, essentially zapping all that perkiness right out of me.

  “Hey, I’m sorry Mark, I don’t have time to talk right now. I’ll come find you before my shift is over, okay?” I blurt out without slowing, just barely making eye contact, though I at least looked long enough to catch that angry glare he sends me. Not wanting to hear his response, I literally take off jogging. It’s shitty of me to avoid him like this, I know, but my life's way too damn complicated already without adding work drama to the mix.

  Chapter Six

  Thanks to another restless night, I’m having to blare music from my iPhone just to stay awake while I redo the laundry I left behind yesterday. Plus, the music is keeping me from dwelling on remembering the reason why this laundry was left behind in the first place.

  “Holy shit, Wyatt! You scared the crap out of me!” I yell, yanking out my earbuds and smacking him on the arm. He’s laughing at me, and I’m so entranced by the carefree sound of it that for a second I forget I’m pissed at him for sneaking up on me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says between laughs. “I called your name three times and you didn’t hear me, obviously. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He casually puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a side hug. It’s a meaningless gesture, something a friend would do, just an apology hug. But knowing that doesn’t stop the tingling sensation from spreading throughout my body, and it doesn’t prevent my knees from weakening when his fingertips brush lightly on the bare skin of my shoulder.

  “Ugh, whatever. You suck,” I pout, shoving him off of me. I hope he thinks I’m pushing him off of me in a playful way and doesn’t realize I’m doing it because if his arm stays around me much longer I might melt into a puddle of goo in the middle of the laundry room floor.

  “Okay, okay, sorry. No sneaking up on Brailey, noted. Anyway, I was just wanting to see if we could push lunch back to dinner? Something came up and I have to step out.”

  “We don’t have to do either, considering you invited yourself over in the first place.” I’m just teasing, but when his face falls I feel horrible, so I quickly try to reassure him. “Not that I’d ever pass up someone offering to help with manual labor. If you do a good enough job then you might end up getting roped into other various household things, like fixing my faulty plumbing and changing light bulbs.”

  Wyatt laughs nervously as he moves to stand next to me again. Nervous Wyatt is sexy as hell, but now that he’s so close to me, I’m the one getting nervous. He picks up a shirt out of my basket and starts folding it distractedly and I just stare like an idiot, watching him fold my laundry.

  “Hey, just because you dubbed me the maintenance guy to whoever you were talking to yesterday doesn’t mean I actually have to do all of that.”

  “Okay, smartass, then what is it that you do?”

  “Maybe I’m an international spy, like James Bond.” I roll my eyes at him and he laughs. “Tonight, Peaches. I’ll tell you all about myself, you tell me about yourself. Since we’re friends and all now, remember?” He says with a playful wink.

  Oh. Right. Friends...

  “Friends...not a date...” I muse to myself, then immediately blush when I realize I’ve just said that out loud. “Just wanted to make sure you understood that.” I spit out, hoping he doesn’t realize I hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud. His knowing smile tells me he’s not buying it, and words come spewing from my mouth before I can stop them. “Not that I wouldn’t want to date you! I mean, I don’t, but you know...you’re attractive and all that. I can see why some girls would want to date you. Just...not me, because, you know...friends.”

  I bury my face in my hands and hide from him like a two-year-old. I keep expecting to hear him laughing at me, but after a long moment of pure silence, I think he might have just bailed when I got all weird. I crack my fingers enough for me to peek out, and see a very amused Wyatt standing there, dangling a bright pink lacy thong off the tip of his finger.

  I snatch the dangling panties away from him and toss them back in my basket.

  “We don’t have to call it that if you don’t want, Peaches,” he says with a wink as he backs away from me towards the door. “I’ll text you when I get back. Oh, and you wouldn’t hear me complaining if you wore that sexy little number tonight.” What the hell?

  I’m so tempted to yell at him for assuming that one, it would matter what underwear I have on, because there is no chance he’s going to see them. Well, okay, there’s a good chance, but he shouldn’t just assume that. And two, for giving me that crooked grin that has me needing to change into a new pair of panties right here in front of him.

  Really, what I should do is either tell him to go to hell or just jump his bones right here and now, because whatever game we’re playing is starting to seriously wear me out.

  I don’t do either. I just spastically yell out, “You don’t have my phone number!” The biggest shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Dammit. I don’t think I’ll ever have the upper hand when it comes to Wyatt.

  Wyatt pulls his phone out of his back pocket and types something, then my phone buzzes where I’ve laid it on the counter. I look at it and sure enough, there’s one unread message notification looking back at me. Sender’s name is Sexy Neighbor. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, wavering between wanting to kick Keegan’s ass and or kiss it for giving Wyatt my number and putting his into my phone.

  I lose the battle to bite back my grin, just in time for Wyatt to pop his head back in and catch me grinning to myself like an idiot.

  “Hey, you buy tools yet or should I bring my o
wn?” I startle at the sound of his voice and he laughs when I blush.

  “Um, huh?”

  “Tools. You know, like a hammer and nails. For the paintings,” he says as he mimics the movements of hammering something.

  “I know what a hammer and nails are, you didn’t have to do the motions. And no, I don’t have any.”

  “Okay, I’ll bring mine. See you later, Peaches,” he says with a wink before disappearing again.

  An hour later I’m back in my apartment and trying to talk myself into texting him to cancel when my phone dings and the song “Sexy Back” starts playing. I snatch my phone up and don’t bother looking at it before storming over to Keegan’s apartment and banging on her door.

  “Jesus, where’s the fire?!” She yells as she yanks open the door, but she winces when she sees it’s me. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me to be bothered by her choice of words. Maybe if I actually remembered being hurt in the fire then hearing that expression might elicit some sort of emotional reaction, but that’s definitely one memory I’m thankful not to have.

  I push past her and hold my phone to her face when she turns around to face me, closing the door behind her.

  “Uhhhh, cool. A phone,” she says in a bored tone.

  “Yeah, it’s my phone. Why did you mess with it?” Keegan’s nose and eyes scrunch up in confusion. She clearly has no idea what I’m talking about. Since I haven’t opened Wyatt’s last message, my phone starts playing “Sexy Back” again and the phone lights up with his name. Errr, what was saved as his name in my phone.

  Keegan snatches the phone out of my hands and ignores me when I yell at her to give it back.

  “I didn’t do this, babe,” she says between laughs. “He probably did it yesterday when you had your freak out. He had it in his pocket when he brought you back to your apartment.”

  “Ugh, of course he did,” I groan, tossing my head back and looking at the ceiling. I need to put a freaking passcode on that thing. “You guys are gonna be best friends, what with your privacy invading tendencies and what not.”

  “Have you read this message?”

  “No.” My shrug might be meant to convey a lack of interest, but it’s seriously killing me right now not knowing what it says.

  “When were you gonna tell me you guys were going on a date tonight?”

  “What!?”

  I could smack that grin right off her face, but instead I yank the phone out of her hands, glaring at her and growling loudly when I read his text.

  Don’t even think about trying to back out of our “non-date” tonight...I know where you live. Plus, you can’t hide from me and my super-secret spy resources. I would find you.

  Keegan disappears into her bedroom saying something about figuring out what I should wear, but I’m too busy trying not to giggle and act like a teenage girl who just got asked out by her first crush. Seriously, what is wrong with me?

  “It’s not a date!”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s a “non-date” - whatever that means. You don’t have to explain now, but you can bet your sweet ass that I will be getting every damn detail tomorrow. I don’t like you holding out on me,” Keegan calls out from inside her closet.

  “I’m not holding out on anything! When he left my place last night after bringing me back to my apartment he invited himself over for lunch saying he was going to hang those paintings I bought at Pottery Barn and put together the rest of my furniture. Honestly, I wasn’t sure he really meant it until he showed up downstairs while I was folding laundry and asked to push it back to dinner. He was being all charming and sexy and you know how I get around him. I clammed up before I could argue with him.”

  “Oh, he’s really not holding back is he?”

  “I hope that’s a rhetorical question, because I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Honey, you are so clueless. It’s both endearing and annoying as hell. Trust me,” she says as she grabs my shoulders firmly with both hands and looks straight into my eyes. “This is a date.”

  “Ughhhhhhh,” I grumble, falling back on to her bed. She’s wrong, I know she is, but obviously it’s not going to do any good to keep arguing with her. All I can do is give in and let her play dress up with me, which doesn’t end with just clothes. An hour later, barely an inch of me isn’t covered in Keegan - clothes, makeup, hair products and even perfume. Sitting still while she plucks at my eyebrows and shoves pins in my hair is only making me more anxious. What if she’s right? What if there is a little more to this than him just trying to be friendly?

  “Voila!” Keegan pulls me out of her bathroom and into her bedroom and plants me right in front of her floor length mirror. As hesitant as I was to let her help me, I have to admit I’m a little impressed.

  She used just enough eyeliner and mascara to make my eyes pop, and a hint of blush paired with a light pink lip stain makes me look fresh and flush. She’s dressed me in a dress she bought on our shopping spree, which has a light grey top and high waist with a coral skirt that flares out, stopping just above my knee. It’s silky and makes me feel feminine, but is still casual enough to not make me look too dressed up. My blonde hair is straight and shiny, the sides pulled together and pinned with sparkly clips just above the nape of my neck.

  Two hours later I’m wringing my hands nervously while pacing around my living room floor in nude, sparkly ballet flats when a knock sounds at the door. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that Wyatt is just a neighbor, a friend. A really, really hot friend, but still just a friend.

  Yep, it’s decided. Friends. No need to be nervous.

  Pasting a big smile on to my face, I swing the door open wide and open my mouth to greet him – only nothing comes out. How am I supposed to make sounds and words like a normal person when Wyatt looks like a fitness model wrapped in bad boy packaging?

  He’s wearing black jeans and a plain white t-shirt underneath a black leather jacket and he looks positively sinful. His dark hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it, and his bright blue eyes aren’t blue at all. They’re almost black, and I watch them glaze over as he takes in my appearance slowly, an inch at a time, at an agonizingly slow pace.

  I’m no expert at reading people, but I’d have to be blind to not notice the desire written all over his face. My nerves have me frozen in place, too torn between wanting to run and hide and wanting to throw myself at him to move. When the tension between us becomes so intense that breathing is actually painful, my survival instincts kick in, willing my legs to move and put some distance between us.

  Wyatt apparently doesn’t feel the same need for distance, because despite the ample amount of room I made for him to be able to walk past me and into my apartment, he makes it a point to brush up against me. If I still questioned his desire for me before, I don’t anymore, because I just felt that desire rubbing against my stomach.

  “Okay, well, I’ll get started on dinner,” I choke out, my voice sounding way too breathy and husky for my liking. Clearing my throat, I quickly head towards the kitchen, anxious to put some distance between us. “Do you want anything to drink?” I call out without looking back. For someone who was so convinced this wasn’t a date, I sure did go all out at the store with the fresh ingredients and variety of beverages since I didn’t know what he likes to drink.

  “Actually, I brought this.” His deep voice sends chills down my spine, his body close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck and his heat against my back. After a few stabilizing breaths, I force myself to turn and face him, simultaneously taking a step back.

  “Um, thanks. I actually don’t have wine glasses,” I say with an apologetic smile, taking the wine from his hands and looking it over, even though I have no clue if it’s a nice bottle or what kind it even is. Unlike Star Wars trivia, wine did not survive the blow to the head, so my knowledge of it is absolutely nil. It must be clear on my face, because he smiles at me in a way that makes me feel embarrassed and sma
ll.

  “I guess maybe I should have asked how old you are before I brought alcohol over. I just assumed since you drank the beer at my apartment…”

  “I’m twenty-six. Would you like to see identification to prove it? Although, I don’t see how me not owning wine glasses should make you question my age. There are a few things I still haven’t bought. I’m not a big wine drinker,” I half lie. My voice is defensive, but not because I’m offended. I’m just a bundle of nerves, afraid that any second I’ll either say or do something really stupid, or just attack him and start tearing at his clothes.

  Wyatt chuckles and closes the gap between us, and I instinctively take a step backwards, bumping into the counter. My kitchen isn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but it shrinks in size by at least half when Wyatt presses his body against mine and lifts his hand towards my face.

  The only sound in the room is the loud gulp as I try to choke back some of those pesky nerves when Wyatt leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “Excuse me,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my neck, and to my horror, I giggle. I might only be able to remember as far back as a month, but I’ve never, not once in that time, giggled. I’m not a giggler. Or at least, I wasn’t. Dammit.

  Wyatt pulls back and I see he has two coffee mugs in his hand and I feel foolish. He wasn’t leaning in to be close to me, he was trying to reach the open-faced cabinet behind me that houses all my dishes. Of course, he could have just asked me to move instead of getting all up in my personal space, but it’s clear I’m just reading into everything and making more out of this than it is. Damn wishful thinking.

  “Is it at least safe to assume that since you didn’t have wine glasses, you don’t have a corkscrew, either?”

  “Yeah, that would be a pretty accurate assumption. I’ll run next door and borrow Keegan’s.” I push off the counter and grab the bottle of wine to take with me before moving past him towards the door. His hand reaches out and his fingers wrap around my wrist, catching me off guard when he tugs on my arm hard enough to pull my body against his. “Ummmmm,” I mutter dumbly, looking from his hand to his face.