Pickup Lessons (Awkward Arrangements Book 3)

by Tanya Gallagher

  Dash jerks his head toward me, eyes wide. “What?”

  I dip my chin and blow out a breath. “I’m the thing that’s making it hard for you. The thing between you.” I force myself to say the words I’d rather swallow because I know Dash’s relationship with Ti is worth saving. I can’t stand in the way, and I can’t pretend to be a badass who speaks her truth online if I don’t live it in real life. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other until you’ve figured it out.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Dash says.

  I shake my head, and the wind whips tears I didn’t know I’d cried from my cheeks. I need to do the right thing, even if the right thing isn’t the easy or immediate one. “I do.”

  Emotions choke his voice as he answers me. “I need you to fight for me, Eden. For us.”

  No words will spare us the pain that threatens to crumple my chest and steal my breath, but he deserves an answer. “I am, Dash,” I whisper, the words trembling as the wind swallows them. “Just in a different way.”

  Dash stays quiet so long I’m not sure he’s heard me. He just stares straight ahead until a warning bell rings through the air to announce the gate holding in all the water is starting to open.

  Then, before he can see the boat make a safe passage, he turns and leaves me standing at the water’s edge, alone.

  26

  Dash

  Twenty minutes.

  I wait for Titus to show up at today’s coffee shop meeting for twenty minutes before I finally give up hope that he’s gonna show.

  Then I wait an extra twenty minutes like a total chump. I’m here and my coffee’s hot, and why not really rub salt in the wound that is my life right now.

  I don’t have Eden and I don’t have Ti. Neither of them have answered my texts in the last week, and the uncertainty of it feels paralyzing. I thought putting the truth out there would change things. Like it would be as simple as finally speaking up for what I want. But Titus turned away from me and then so did Eden.

  Figure this out, she said. How the hell am I supposed to do that when no one will even answer my messages?

  I just hope to god Eden’s position is temporary, that this vast emptiness doesn’t become a permanent thing.

  A bite of pain in my hand snaps me out of the tailspin of my thoughts. I look down to see I’m gripping my pen so hard the cap’s digging into my skin.

  If I have any hope of finishing a comic to submit to Dark Horse before this contract ends, adding a hand injury’s the last thing I need. I loosen my grip and go back to working on the drawing spread over my table, but my coffee tastes like ash and my art holds none of its former magic. It was so much easier to love the story when the heroine loved me back.

  Fuck.

  I may have screwed up everything else in my life, but at least I still excel at wallowing in self-pity.

  “Dash?” A sweet, feminine voice pins me to my chair.

  I turn my head cautiously and find Megan standing in front of me, wearing a pair of practical slacks and a blue button-down shirt that’s devoid of personality.

  “Megan.” The syllables scrape as they leave my throat.

  Her face brightens. “It is you!”

  Not that that’s worth much. “What are you doing here?”

  “Quick break from work.” A pink flush colors her cheeks. “I really like their coffee.”

  I nod. Do I invite her to sit?

  Megan answers my uncertainty by remaining standing and balancing her hip against the chair across from me. “You doing okay?”

  I feel my shoulders tighten, but I force myself not to crush my pen again. “It’s been a weird few weeks,” I admit.

  She cocks her head to the side and softens her voice. “Your heart figure out where it wants to be yet?” she asks.

  Guilt washes over me at the memory of how I ended things with her. It would be so easy to ask her to stay for another coffee right now, to escape into her smile, but I can’t lie to myself and pretend she’s who I want.

  I frown and shake my head the tiniest bit. “Still working things out,” I say.

  Megan bites her lip like she wants to say something, but when she finally opens her mouth, her words aren’t what I expect. “I saw Eden’s blog post last week.” The damn bra pictures. She shrugs lightly as if brushing off the apology I haven’t yet offered. “I just want you to know that things between me and you are cool. You were never going to look at me the way you look at her, so I’m glad you’ve found each other.”

  “It was an assignment,” I whisper.

  “No,” she says, but she doesn’t seem pissed. Just resigned and factual and maybe a little wistful. “You drew her like you love her.”

  I swallow down the spike in my throat. God, I didn’t even get to tell Eden I loved her all alone the first time. Instead, she had to find out in the middle of a fight, when those words probably felt like a weapon. Something to throw at Titus to hurt him.

  I don’t even know how to form words, so I just nod.

  “How’s Princess Diana?” Megan asks over the lip of her coffee mug.

  Another pang of sadness in my chest. I huff out a laugh that sounds too bitter. “I haven’t seen her in a week or so. She’s kind of gone missing.”

  She makes a sympathetic face like she can read between the lines. “If it helps, sometimes with cats you’ve gotta let them do things at their own pace. Just let them know you’re there for them, and they’ll come back when they’re ready.” A faint smile plays at her lips. “Treats help, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  Megan clutches her coffee and takes a quiet step toward the door. She stops just as she passes me and squeezes me gently on the shoulder. It’s a kindness I don’t deserve. “Good luck, Dash,” she says. “See you around.”

  I sit at the table for a long time after she goes, thinking about how I need to fix things with Titus and Eden. To do that, I need to prove I’m the guy Eden needs. Honest and loyal. Strong, motivated, committed to keeping up with her. To do that, I can’t sit on my ass and let all my old insecurities hold me back from ever doing anything. I need to follow through and finish something.

  No time like the present to start.

  I order a second coffee, then bend over a fresh spread in my sketchbook. For the thousand drafts I’ve started and never finished, this time the story flows easily, the pictures rendered vivid and crisp against the stark white pages.

  I thought I knew what I was doing before, but maybe I was wrong. Because I have no doubt Eden’s one of the heroes of my story, but I’m one, too.

  This time, I let myself show up on the page, with words and images to tell the story of a guy who always held himself back from winning finally standing up for what he wants. I tell the story, not for Titus or Eden or Matt or Dark Horse—I tell the story for me.

  And this time, I give myself a voice.

  Darkness is falling outside when I finally drop my pen and stretch out my hands. Black ink stains my fingertips, and caffeine buzzes through me in a jittery rush. I feel sore but happy. When I look down at the story I’ve created, I know it’s good. It doesn’t even matter if it never gets published, it matters that it was born. I’m still going to give it every chance to succeed. First up, I’ll add a layer of color, and then I’ll send it to Dark Horse.

  But before I do any of that, Titus needs to read it.

  27

  Eden

  I’m staring at my work computer, listlessly trying to finish today’s work, when a calendar reminder for tomorrow night pops up on the screen.

  Winner bartends at The Hole. 6 p.m.

  For a second, my lungs go too tight to breathe. How did April Fool’s Day come so soon? For weeks it’s been a date circled on my calendar in red marker, the original endgame for my bet with Dash. Now that it’s here, I don’t even know if there’s anything left fighting for. I don’t know if anyone will show at all.

  I shake my head and draw in a ragged breath. Matt. I can count on Matt to be there. Th
e thought brings little relief.

  I rub a hand in the center of my chest, hoping to ease the ache that’s deeper than flesh alone. My eyes burn with the threat of tears, and I know if I don’t leave, I’m going to embarrass myself in this huge open office. At least most of my coworkers are gone, off to dinners and family time and dates. Work’s been my one solace this week, and I threw myself in like if I could just make everything go okay here, I could shut out how badly I’ve screwed up in other places.

  Guess I’ve failed at that, too.

  With a frown, I pack up my laptop and head outside to catch the bus home. The warm, cramped interior promises me an escape from my thoughts, and I force myself to people watch instead of contemplating my own misery.

  All too soon, I find myself imagining the way Dash would draw my fellow passengers—a women’s tight bun and high cheekbones, a little kid’s sticky hands and plush toy. The thought makes my chest pang, and I sweep my eyes away, catching sight of a WanderWell advertisement bearing the face of my former boss.

  A reluctant grin tugs my lips.

  Greer dated Damien Price right before he became our boss, but he soon proved to be the arrogant dick I’d always suspected he might be. And when he took things too far and sexually harassed her, Greer got his ass fired faster than you can say “asshole.”

  Unfortunately, Damien’s face is plastered on half the busses in the Seattle public transit system, and it’s too costly to take down the photos until another sponsor buys them out. But seeing Damien’s face serves as a reminder of how badass my friends are. And how important it is to stand up for what’s right.

  I sink back into my seat and watch the neighborhoods I love flash by. Why is it so hard for me to just tell Titus he’s gonna need to live with me and Dash being together? And why am I putting all the pressure on Dash to fix everything? I’m just as capable of saying what I want in my life, of doing the hard thing and facing my brother even though I’m scared of hurting him worse.

  This situation has to be worth trying to fix, because the reality of not having either of the men I love feels crushing. By now, even Princess Diana’s tired of my tears.

  Being with Dash was the first time in years I felt real, like all the parts of myself had knit together.

  No, not real—whole.

  I’m not into the idea of someone else completing you, but it’s like when I’m with Dash, I complete me. I’m the best, most fully authentic version of myself. His love reminds me to love myself.

  The bus lumbers to a halt at a stop in Titus’s neighborhood, and I make a split-second decision to get off.

  “Excuse me!” I call, pushing through the crush of bodies.

  I escape the smell of pee and B.O., breathing in fresh air as I head straight for my brother’s apartment. Titus’s front door looks innocent enough as I stand on the sidewalk with my shoulders hunched up toward my ears, but I know as well as anyone looks can be deceiving. It’s been a week since I’ve talked to Ti, and it feels vitally important that I fix this now.

  I push back my shoulders and raise a hand to knock on Ti’s door, but there’s no answer.

  My nerve falters as I try again to no response.

  Mother. Trucker.

  Lord knows my brother hangs out in about three places—bars, coffee shops, and his apartment. For after work on a weekday, I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot of finding him here. Guess I picked wrong. Reluctantly, I turn away.

  “Eden?”

  Hope swells in my chest as my brother’s voice rises over the slow shuffle of pedestrians down the street. With a smirk, I turn back. “Took you long enough.”

  My brother slants against his open doorway. “I was indisposed.”

  “Gross.” I wrinkle my nose and stare up at him. “You going to invite me in?”

  He moves aside and sweeps his hand toward the door, so I step inside. Beyond the foyer, Titus’s house shines with order—every dish and plate put away, every piece of paper aligned parallel to the one next to it.

  “Is it me, or is this house unbearably clean, even for you?” I ask.

  Titus shrugs and drops onto his couch. “I’ve had fewer obligations this week.”

  The smile falls off my face. Dash. He means he hasn’t seen Dash.

  Some small part of me had hoped they were still working things out, but it seems I was wrong. Guess I expected too much. Still, my disappointment comes as a surprise.

  I sit down next to my brother, tucking my legs underneath me. “About that.” I continue, despite Titus’s frown. “You need to forgive him.” My brother’s lips pinch tighter, and I flinch and try again. “I mean, it would mean a lot to me if you could forgive Dash. And me.”

  “It would have meant a lot to me if you’d been honest.”

  I wince as the words take impact. “I know. But what’s really making you mad? That we lied? Or that I’m with anyone at all?”

  This time I see a flicker of recognition on my brother’s face. “You’re my little sister,” Titus says defensively.

  I nod, but I’m no longer scared of hurting him. He’s pissed because he’s trying to protect me, but I don’t need him to be my gatekeeper. Just my friend.

  “It’s kind of hard when you live parts of your life publicly,” I say, twisting the hem of my shirt in my hands. “Everyone has an opinion of who I am. To my work, I’m professional and techy. To my readers, I’m all fashion and ambition and living your best life. And to you, I’m still trapped at six, right?”

  My brother’s face softens. “I’m always going to be your big brother.”

  “I know. And I love you for it. But I’m not living my best life right now. Because I’m not any one side of myself. I’m all of them.” I screw up my courage and add the piece that could crumble everything. “And Dash loves me for it.”

  I register a flash of hurt in my brother’s eyes, but also acceptance. “You love him too?” he asks gruffly.

  It feels like everything over the past few weeks and months and years has led to this moment. If I look back, this thing with me and Dash didn’t just start with a kiss or a bet. It began years ago when he showed up at a party and shook my hand and offered me a grin that felt dangerous and safe at the same time.

  He’s been part of my heart for ages, whether or not I let myself admit it before now.

  I don’t hesitate as I answer Titus’s question. “I do.” I tip my head back against the couch cushions. “And I royally fucked things up because I walked away from him when I realized being with him was going to put a wedge in your friendship.” I feel tears well in my eyes as I turn my gaze toward Titus. “But I don’t want to have to choose between you. And I don’t want you to have to choose between me and him.”

  Titus swipes a hand across his face. “What happens when this ends in six months?”

  My heart sinks at his words, but a deeper part of me knows his worries won’t come to fruition. “It’s not that kind of love,” I whisper. “It’s the forever kind.”

  My brother’s quiet for a long moment, then he blows out a deep breath. “Does he know?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t get a chance to tell him yet.”

  I can tell how much it costs Titus to say the next words, but he rasps, “Maybe you should.”

  “No shit, asshole.” I choke out a laugh. “But I needed to make sure I said my piece to you first.” I didn’t realize how much I needed this truce, but he hasn’t shut me out completely, and relief makes me go limp on the couch.

  My brother nudges me with his foot. “I can’t make promises for what’ll happen,” Titus says. “But maybe you should show up at The Hole tomorrow.”

  I search his face. “Did something happen?”

  Titus shrugs, then rolls his eyes toward the sky. “Just a second,” he says with a groan, pushing off of the couch and disappearing into his bedroom. When he returns, he’s holding a hand-bound book. “Read this later,” he says, pushing it my way. “You’ll be glad you did.”

  The breath vanis
hes from my lungs as I see Dash’s familiar artwork covering the front page.

  I have to believe if Titus is giving this book to me, it’s not going to be something that hurts me. But even without reading it, even without knowing whether Dash wants me back or if he’ll forgive me, I know what I need. And I know what I need to do.

  Anticipation churns in my stomach. If I show up at The Hole, the only true way to do it is in a toga. It’s fall-from-the-top-of-a-roller-coaster terrifying and possibly humiliating. It could undo the whole reputation I’ve established in my life and in my blog, but Eden Ellis is just gonna have to brush it off.

  “Any chance you know how to tie a toga?” I ask.

  His face twists in disgust, kind of like it did when he first heard that girls had cooties. “Call your girlfriends,” he says. “They’ll know what to do.”

  “Right,” I say, then pull Titus into a quick hug. I haven’t fixed everything, but this conversation was a start. I smooth my fingertips over my face and push off the couch. “This is me, dialing friends,” I say, holding up my phone as I stride toward the door, the book clutched in my other hand. “I’m gonna need bedsheets. Lots of bedsheets.”

  28

  Dash

  Every time my phone has buzzed over the last week, my stomach’s done this little leap of anticipation, hoping it’s going to be one of the people I care about most. For over a week, every buzz and ding brings a fresh wave of disappointment. But today, when my phone rings as I finish up my work, Titus’s name fills my screen. For the first time, that little eager voice in my stomach feels justified.

  “Hello?” I ask, lifting my phone to my ear. I’m too nervous to sit still, so I pace my apartment as I wait for my friend’s response. I’m going to be late, but this conversation’s almost as important as the other ones I need to have tonight.