Constructing Us (New Adult Romance)

by Lake, C. J.

  Tragan didn’t bother responding to that last part. Instead he asked, “By the way, have you talked to her today? I…was just wondering how the party went,” he improvised.

  “I’ve been at the hospital, in and out of surgeries all day,” Brad answered vaguely, then came around the sofa to stand in front of Tragan. “Listen, can I talk to you, man to man?”

  “Sure,” Tragan managed, watching him through guarded eyes.

  “I’ll be honest,” Brad began, “I had my apprehensions when Andy told me she was going to move into this apartment. It’s understandable that I would be a little concerned. But she seems very happy here. In fact, she told me that she considers you a good friend.” A sour taste filled Tragan’s mouth. He didn’t want to be her goddamn good friend. “I want to thank you for that,” Brad finished, smiling smoothly as he extended his hand.

  “No problem,” Tragan replied tightly, reluctantly accepting the handshake.

  “As her friend, you’ve probably noticed that Andy’s been a little off lately. She hasn’t been herself; I think she’s been distracted. And, of course, I’ve been so busy at the hospital. Saving lives is a bitch,” Brad threw in and chuckled at his own remark. Then straightened the thick shiny watch on his wrist. “In any case, I’m going to make it up to her tonight. Take her out for a special romantic night. She deserves it, you know?”

  Tragan swallowed down a bitter, painful shard of jealousy, while his chest suddenly felt constricted, like his heart was in a vice. With the way Brad was talking, it was like he hoped Tragan--as Andy’s friend--would put in a good word for him or something. Did he think that Andy stayed up fretting and confiding about how Brad worked too much? Please, she barely talked about the guy. And this morning her so-called boyfriend seemed to be the last thing on her mind.

  As Brad went on about the romantic dinner he had planned in the North End, followed by a wine festival in Cambridge, Tragan’s blood began to boil. Was Andy seriously still sticking with this guy?

  Swearing under his breath, Tragan turned and walked toward the door. He had to get out of there. No way was he going to stand here when Andy showed up and tried to act like their steamy encounter in her bedroom had never happened. No way was he politely going to endure Brad’s “hi, gorgeous” bit and their whole perfect couple act.

  It was all so obvious now. Earlier, Andy had gotten caught up in the moment. Sex with Tragan had been a fun diversion, but obviously not a game changer. That was why she’d acted so distant afterward, like she was immediately trying to put space between them. She wasn’t serious about him--not the way he was about her.

  “I’m actually headed out myself,” Tragan explained brusquely over his shoulder. Hell, he had to say something; he’d just turned around while Brad was in mid-sentence and stalked off. “I only stopped home to get something,” he lied.

  “Oh, okay,” Brad called to his back. “Well, you have a good night.”

  “Right,” was Tragan’s gruff reply before the door banged shut behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “So Tray’s in kind of a bad mood tonight, huh?” Bardo remarked and threw a dart at the board. It ricocheted off and hit the floor. “Something’s wrong with these darts, I think.”

  Pellican snorted then stepped up to throw. Before he actually launched a dart, though, he positioned and re-positioned his stocky frame, making a point of squinting his eyes, strategically. “You’re over-concentrating,” Bardo said.

  “Oh, this from the guy with the defective darts theory,” Pellican quipped and then finally threw. After the dart stabbed the board, Pellican glanced back at Matt, who was standing against a wooden railing, holding a bottle of beer. “What’s his problem tonight anyway? Do you know?”

  “Yeah, Matt, you must know what’s up with Tray,” Bardo put in.

  Unsure, Matt looked across the room at Tragan, who was still sitting at the bar, being antisocial. In fact, he looked glum as hell. Since Tragan had arrived, he’d been routinely pulling out his phone, checking the screen, and shoving it back in his pocket. “No idea,” Matt replied now. “Shitty mood, I guess.” He supposed he could conjure up a better guess, but he wouldn’t.

  Soon Bardo ambled up next to him, chomping on a handful of pretzels. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad he decided to meet us out. But he’s so brooding tonight. I asked him what’s up, but he said nothing’s wrong.”

  Considering Tragan was Matt’s best friend, Matt knew him well enough to know that if he didn’t want to talk about it, he sure as hell didn’t want to be talked about. So, changing topics, Matt tapped Bardo on the chest. “Hey, by the way, I thought you said this place would be crawling with chicks.”

  “It is,” Bardo insisted. “After ten o’clock.”

  “What?” Pellican interjected, annoyed. “It’s only eight! What are we supposed to do till then?”

  “Oh, relax,” Bardo said, crunching more pretzels. “There are plenty of girls here. It’s not my fault they didn’t swarm you the minute you walked through the door.”

  Matt had to laugh at that, while Pellican mumbled, “Whatever,” and surveyed the crowd again. Just then a passing waitress stopped to ask Matt if he wanted another beer, and Bardo ducked his head over to request a gin and tonic. By the time she stepped away, Pellican was approaching, excitedly. “Hey, guys! See those hot girls over there? Behind you.”

  As Bardo and Matt turned their heads, Pellican scolded, “No, don’t look!”

  “Okay, then I don’t see them,” Matt said dryly.

  Bardo agreed, “Look, bro, I have many talents, but…”

  Impatient, Pellican relented, “Fine, look. It’s the blonde and two brunettes at that table by the window.” Once Matt and Bardo acknowledged the view, Pellican explained, “I noticed that the blonde keeps looking over at Tray. I think she’s feeling him. She’s probably working up her nerve to go talk to him at the bar. Perfect! He’ll be my in.”

  “With the blonde?” Bardo asked skeptically.

  “No, with one of the brunettes. Actually, the blonde’s really the only hot one. But her friend on the right isn’t bad. I’d be okay with her,” Pellican stated as though he were being generous.

  Clapping him on the shoulder, Matt gave him a pitying look. “Well, the friend’s not looking at ya.”

  Pellican scoffed. “Duh, I know. That’s why I need Tray to be my wingman.” They all headed to the bar, finding Tragan in the middle of taking out his phone yet again. This time he laid it flat on the bar rather than jamming it back in his pocket. “Hey, Tray, listen, don’t look now but there’s a hot girl staring at you,” Pellican told him.

  Tragan didn’t even reply. He just sat there, looking darkly into his empty glass.

  “Did you hear me? I said there’s a hot girl checking you out, man.”

  “I don’t care,” Tragan mumbled, his expression somber.

  Clearly perplexed, Pellican curled his lip at that reaction. Then said: “All right, I know I said ‘don’t look,’ but actually you can. Go ahead.”

  Tragan ignored him and focused instead on the bartender passing by. “Can I get a tequila shot?” The bartender nodded and produced a shot glass instantly.

  “Tray, she’s really hot,” Pellican insisted, obviously frustrated, and began nudging him in the shoulder. “And her friend’s not bad--so c’mon, be my wingman. You can have the hot one!”

  Tragan’s voice was apathetic. “No, thanks,” he said, before draining his glass and slapping it down on the bar.

  “Aren’t you even gonna look?” Pellican said, exasperated.

  “Nope.” He smacked his hand on the bar, indicating another shot. As the bartender refilled his glass, Matt spoke up.

  “Stop nagging him. C’mon, I’ll be your wingman. Let’s go.”

  Still glaring at Tragan, Pellican accepted that. Matt didn’t have trouble talking to girls at bars, especially after a beer or two. It was meeting a good girl in real life that seemed to be harder for him. He didn’t meet
a lot of women during the day since he worked in construction. And then when he did cross paths with one that interested him, half the time he didn’t know what to say to get a vibe going. Like this new receptionist his father had just hired to help run the main office. Matt was immediately attracted to her, yet still hadn’t been able to think of a damn thing to say to her that wasn’t empty nonsense.

  Now they reached the table and Matt smiled at the girls. Admittedly, the hot blonde was in her own league, but her friends were cute, too, in a more natural girl-next-door way. “Hi, boys,” the blonde said with a flirtatious smile.

  “Hi. I’m Matt and this is Dan.”

  “Kristin.”

  “Sara.”

  “Angel.”

  “What are you ladies drinking?” Matt asked, turning to motion for a waitress.

  “Pomtinis,” one of them said.

  “I love those,” Pellican lied. When Matt heard loud crunching behind him, he realized that Bardo had followed along, too. “Do you guys live around here?” Pellican said, opening with possibly the stalest line of all time.

  Before they bothered answering that, the blonde one--Kristin--said, “What’s up with your friend over there? That’s your friend at the bar, right?”

  Matt was about to respond when Bardo joined the conversation. “Oh, that’s Tray,” he explained. “But don’t waste your time. We already asked him to come and talk to you guys, but he wasn’t interested. Hi, I’m Jamie,” he finished, extending his hand with an utterly clueless smile.

  Taken aback, Matt almost laughed--but he didn’t want the girls to misunderstand and think he was laughing at them. Predictably, Kristin and her friends didn’t respond well to blatant rejection, even if it was doled out by a third party. “You know what?” she said, scrunching her nose and giving Sara and Angel a knowing look. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Excuse us.”

  As they abandoned their chairs one by one, Pellican looked crestfallen. “Wait…” he called to their backs, grasping at nothing.

  Ever the optimist, Bardo looked to Matt for guidance. “So...should we just wait for them here?”

  ~

  About forty minutes later, Pellican and Bardo finally gave up on the trendy Bubble Bar and went to a nondescript sports bar a few doors down. Matt told them that he’d gather Tragan from the bar and meet them there. “Good luck with that,” Pellican had grumbled. “He’s being a real dick tonight.”

  “Hey, he helped you move, didn’t he?” Matt countered, coming to his friend’s defense, which humbled Pellican quickly.

  Now, after finally convincing Tragan to forego another shot and walk over to join their friends, he abruptly changed his mind. Stopping at an empty table on the way to the door, he slumped down in one of the chairs. “You know what? I don’t feel like it; you go.”

  “What’s there to stay here for?” Matt asked, to which Tragan just shrugged, his expression sullen. The guy was in a bad shape. His mood had been off most of the day, but tonight it was downright miserable. Had to be a girl. And if so, there was only one girl it could be.

  Just as Matt pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, a waitress appeared at the table. “Anything, guys?”

  Tragan glanced up at her, but Matt quickly answered for both of them. “No, we’re fine, thanks.” When she left, he said, “So. This is about Andy?”

  “Fuck Andy,” Tragan spat back, sounding bitter. And a little drunk.

  “What happened?”

  With his eyes cast down toward the table, Tray didn’t respond for a few moments. “We hooked up this morning,” he finally said. “Now I guess she’s blowing me off.”

  “Why d’ya think that?”

  “Because I haven’t heard from her all day. She hasn’t answered any of my texts and I tried to call her…” He shook his head, still scraping at the table.

  “Maybe something’s really wrong,” Matt ventured.

  “No, she was acting all weird afterward, like she couldn’t flee fast enough. And then--oh, get this,” Tragan went on, now becoming more animated, “guess who I see in my apartment tonight. Dr. Brad Trewell,” he said, obviously imitating the guy, “and he’s sitting on my fucking couch! That’s who she’s with tonight. Dr. Fucking Lamborghini Douchebag.”

  “Shit, he’s got a Lamborghini?” Matt blurted, impressed.

  With a grimace, Tragan admitted, “No, probably not. But still…I’m sure he’s rich. Took her to a wine festival or some shit--said they had a ‘romantic evening’ planned--but what the hell, right? I don’t even care so fuck it.” At some point, he’d begun absently scraping at the edge of the table.

  For a second, Matt wasn’t sure how to console his friend. Sensing it was futile, he still tried to keep it simple. “Listen, buddy, no chick is worth all this. Why don’t you just forget about Andy? You know, just--” He made a slicing motion with his hand. “--let her go.”

  “I can’t,” Tragan mumbled, pushing his hand into his hair. Then shook his head, his elbow resting on the table. “She’s got me all twisted up.”

  Honestly, Matt felt sorry for him, but was also surprised. He’d known Tragan for years, but couldn’t remember seeing him this upset. Feeling protective of his friend--and specifically, not wanting him to lose his shit in public--Matt stood up and shoved Tragan’s arm. “All right, buddy, c’mon.”

  “Nah…” Tragan waved him off. “I don’t feel like going to another bar.”

  “Not another bar. It’s time to go home.”

  “I can’t yet. I’m too wasted.”

  “I’m driving, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” Reluctantly, Tragan came to his feet. Matt wished he had words of wisdom to offer, but he was coming up empty at the moment. The best he could do was relay a trite sentiment he’d often heard from his parents when he was growing up.

  “It’ll be better in the morning,” he said on their way to the exit. Tragan didn’t bother arguing--but he didn’t look too convinced, either.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  When Andy heard the front door shut and keys drop somewhere, she gave up on her futile attempt to concentrate, tossed the novel she was reading and hopped off her bed. Quickly, she checked her reflection in the mirror that hung on her door. Just habit really, since she was hardly primped, wearing pjs and a tee shirt, her hair in a ponytail and her face freshly scrubbed.

  Still, her body hummed with anticipation as she stepped out and followed the noise.

  She found Tragan in the kitchen, ducked inside the open refrigerator. After accidentally knocking over a couple of unopened water bottles, he banged his head on the roof of the fridge. “Shit,” he muttered, briefly rubbing the spot before pulling out a water bottle.

  “Hi,” Andy said, crossing her arms and smiling at him.

  “Oh. Hey,” Tragan grumbled as he straightened up. She felt a fluttering in her chest when Tragan’s dark eyes turned toward her. Even with only the streetlight from the kitchen window cutting across his profile, he looked unbearably sexy.

  “Are you okay there?” she asked teasingly.

  “Yeah,” he scoffed, sounding sarcastic, “I’m just great.” Untwisting the cap of his bottle, he stepped out of the way so the fridge door could close. “Sorry, did I wake the mannequin?”

  She tipped her head at that. “What…?”

  “Brad,” he clarified and brought the bottle to his lips. As he took a long gulp, Andy squinted at him for a second.

  “Brad isn’t here,” she said, confused.

  Nodding, Tragan leaned against the opposite counter. Then he remarked, “That’s right; you don’t bring him around here much. He’s part of your other life.”

  Andy stayed quiet for a second, studying him. He was twisting the cap back on, his face inscrutable and yet he was obviously annoyed or in a very bad mood. “What’s wrong? Did something happen today?”

  With a frustrated sigh, Tragan shook his head toward the floor. Keeping hi
s eyes cast down, he absently rubbed a hand over his jaw, as if debating whether or not to explain.

  “Did the move go okay?”

  Now Tragan looked up, his gaze focused on her. “Yes--something happened today, Andy,” he said impatiently. “Not with the move. With you and me.” A brief look of hurt crossed his face before he turned toward the window.

  Emotion clutched at her--as well as a need to fix this, to mend whatever was wrong. “I know…” she said gently, coming closer. When she was standing beside him, she affectionately touched Tragan’s arm.

  His eyes skimmed down to where her fingers rested on his bicep. He was so close that she couldn’t help herself. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up, took Tragan’s cheek in her hand and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. It seemed to catch him off guard, which was half of her objective. The other half was just to kiss him again.

  When she pulled back, she found his bleary eyes searching hers. Warm puffs of his breath feathered over her face and smelled of alcohol; maybe it should have turned her off, but being this close to Tragan only excited her. “Why are you acting this way?” Andy asked softly.

  Again he shook his head, and lightly pulled Andy’s hand from his face. It was a halfhearted gesture, though, since he didn’t move away or put any real distance between them. “Don’t do that--don’t try to distract me with your…”

  Puzzled, she blinked at him. “With my what?”

  Expelling a breath, Tragan rattled off the list as though it aggravated him. “With your big blue eyes--and your beautiful face--and your cute, sexy ass. Okay? Just…don’t.”

  Biting her lip to keep from smiling, Andy said, “Okay. I won’t. That’s really sweet, by the way.” Unable to resist, she laid a hand on his stomach. “You’re sweet,” she added and shifted even closer. Now her body touched his. If he would just relax his posture, they would almost be snuggling.

  “Andy, I’m not ‘sweet’--I’m pissed.”

  “About what?” she said, getting frustrated herself now. But she was more than hopeful. Whatever was bothering Tragan, he still hadn’t moved away from her.