I rolled my eyes and finished putting on my shorts. I fastened the button, pulled up the zipper, and then went in search of a hairbrush. When I didn’t find one in my nightstand, I pushed open the door to the adjoining bathroom to rifle through the drawers while Amanda’s third message began. “Since you haven’t returned any of my calls . . .”
The toilet lid was down, which I found odd since I never lowered or raised it, as I was pretty much the only person who used this bathroom—we’d have to have guests for anyone else to use it. And while questioning if it had been that way when I’d come home this morning or if someone had been here while I’d napped, I missed the first part of her message. However, I stopped obsessing over the toilet as Amanda’s continuing message yanked me out of my thoughts.
“I won’t lie,” she said in a hushed voice, more than likely cupping her hand over the mouthpiece. “I highly doubted your story about Jay. I mean, you weren’t exactly convincing when you spoke about him. I knew he was real, but I didn’t think you were actually dating him. I assumed you made it all up to get back at Michael.” Then her voice became clearer when she finished it up with “Okay, call me back.”
I ran into the room and started it over again from the beginning.
“Since you haven’t returned any of my calls to give me the scoop, I’ve been unsuccessful at quieting the rumors. Which, you should know, have gotten worse ever since Jay came in with a bouquet of flowers for you with a card attached. I’ll read it to you . . .” There was a bit of rustling in the background, and then she cleared her throat. “It says, ‘Here’s to forgetting last night and that thing we agreed not to talk about. Have a great day at work. Jay.’ I won’t lie, I highly doubted—”
I ended the playback and exited the phone app, remembering the notifications for two texts I’d gotten from Jason while I was asleep. I was so discombobulated that I ended up hitting four other icons before finally tapping the right one. Bypassing the message from my brother, I zeroed in on the bold letters that formed Jason’s name.
My heart hiccupped, which apparently affected the amount of oxygen my brain received, because I grew light headed and had to sit down in order to open it. Perched on the edge of the mattress, I carefully took in each word—twice. Then again for a third time, hoping I’d read the last text wrong.
Jason: Hey, just checking in to see how today went. I haven’t heard from you, so I’m hoping that means you didn’t lose your job. Text me when you get done. Or if you did lose your job and just didn’t think to call, text me when you get this.
Jason: So . . . when you didn’t respond to my last message, I assumed that meant you were at the restaurant. I took some flowers over and left them with the hostess. I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think she likes me. Anyway, Kelsey had called and asked me to grab something from the apartment while I was out. That’s when I realized you were asleep in bed, not working. Let me know when you’re awake.
By the fourth time, it became rather clear that I had not, in fact, read it wrong. Which only left me with the hope that he’d written it wrong. Autocorrect could mess up a lot of words, so it wasn’t that farfetched to assume it’d screwed up the entire message. Because if he’d been here . . .
All I could think about was the toilet lid.
And the door from the bathroom to my bedroom being slightly ajar.
And the lack of clothes covering my very naked body as I slept.
I groaned and fell backward onto the mattress with a hmmph. Everything had gone wrong. I’d hoped the talk at work about Jason would die down, but unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen now that he’d decided to show some grand gesture and bring me flowers. He should’ve done that when they had all believed we were dating. Now, I probably looked weak, like I’d forgiven him rather than kicking the cheating asshole to the curb. The only thing I had in my favor was the four-day suspension. There was still a chance they’d forget about it by the time the weekend was over.
Unlikely but possible.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the very real possibility that he’d seen me naked. Granted, I’d had on panties, but let’s be honest . . . nowadays, those don’t cover enough. If only I knew what position I’d been in while sleeping, I’d be able to figure out how to handle it. If I’d been on my stomach, he more than likely wouldn’t have seen anything other than maybe a cheek and bare back. I could’ve lived with that—after a few shots of vodka. However, if I’d been on my back, he would’ve gotten a full view of the high beams as if facing oncoming traffic. That, I doubted I’d be able to get over no matter how much vodka I chugged. In fact, tequila probably wouldn’t even be strong enough to wipe my memory clean.
Which meant every time I saw him, I’d be reminded of the time he saw my boobs.
My phone rang in my hand, pausing my mental meltdown. Thank God it wasn’t Jason . . . or Amanda. It was Kelsey’s mom. I already knew what she was calling for, and considering I’d flaked two times already, I wouldn’t be able to ignore her again. “Hello?”
“Hey, Tatum. I hope I’m not bothering you. I just thought I’d see if you were available to bring over that pasta thing you were telling me about. If you’re too busy, I completely understand.” This woman had mastered the art of guilt trips. I was convinced she could guilt a dying man into coming back to life if she tried.
“No, Mrs. Peterson, I’m not too busy. I can bring it over now if you’re home.”
“That would be wonderful. Are you on your way?”
I sat up and pulled myself from the bed. “Yes, ma’am—in about two minutes.”
“The front door will be open. Let yourself in, dear.”
After saying goodbye, I disconnected the call and made my way into the kitchen. I pulled the pasta machine off the top shelf in the pantry and then shuffled out the door. The last thing I wanted to do was leave the apartment—even to go to see Diane. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I would’ve buried myself under my blankets and hidden for the next four days. Just the thought of Jason seeing my bare breasts left me paranoid that everyone I passed had seen them, too.
The man who lived across the hall from me smiled. He saw them.
The woman pulling the baby carrier from the back of her car waved. Yup, her too.
The teenager in the Explorer next to me at the light . . . he probably had pictures of them.
And when I made it to Diane’s house, I was certain the man in her living room had most definitely seen them. The way his lips curled in the most obvious grin while his summer gaze held me hostage screamed, “I know what you look like without clothes on!”
“Oh, good! Tatum’s here with the pasta thing,” Diane greeted me when I came to a sudden stop in her kitchen, frozen by the hungry stare of the one and only Jason Watson.
9
Jason
I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind all day, and there she was. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep myself from calling or showing up at her apartment . . . again. If she knew what I’d seen when I walked by to use her bathroom, she’d never come around, and I couldn’t take that risk.
I also refused to analyze why I couldn’t chance never seeing her again.
I didn’t need to get lost down that bunny trail.
Her deer-in-headlights stare let on that she might’ve been aware of the view I’d happily locked into my memory, though. Then I realized I had a shit-eating grin plastered on my face. Nothing said “I’ll be thinking of your breasts while I take a shower tonight” more than a goofy smile and lust-filled eyes. I couldn’t be sure if that’s what I looked like or not, though her withdrawal today seemed more than normal. Which could’ve been paranoia on my part.
It also could’ve been her knowledge of the pornographic images of her I had in my head.
Aunt Diane took the box and set it on the counter. She was oblivious to Tatum’s inner freak-out. I wasn’t sure how, because it had been written across her face from the moment
she’d stepped into the kitchen.
“Thank you so much, honey. I can’t wait to use this bad boy.” She ran her hands along the edge of the box. “Are the instructions inside?”
Tatum stared at me, ignoring my aunt. So I figured I’d help her out. “Why don’t you open it, Aunt Diane? I’m sure Tatum doesn’t need instructions, so who knows if they’re in there or not.”
Tatum nodded, her eyes still locked on mine.
Aunt Diane turned to her and set her hand on her shoulder, jolting Tatum out of her daze. “You should stay for supper. Kelsey has plans tonight, so it’ll just be me and Fred here.” Then she swung her bright eyes my way. “Oh, you too, Jason. Join us.”
My aunt returned her attention to the gadget Tatum had brought over. Apparently, since she hadn’t technically asked a question, that somehow meant she didn’t need to wait for our responses.
But that didn’t stop me from getting Tatum’s answer.
“What do you say, Tatum?” I cocked my head slightly and waited for her to speak.
“Oh, um . . .” She twisted her lips to the side and squinted for added effect. “I have plans, too.”
“With Kelsey?” I prodded.
“Yup. Sure thing.”
“Interesting.” I narrowed my gaze and crossed my arms. “Then maybe you can tell us which high-end home builder she’s meeting with.”
Her throat dipped, and to my personal delight, she shifted from one foot to another while moving her arms through various positions. Crossed, then hands on her hips before shaking them slightly, then back to crossed. She even threw a head scratch in there somewhere.
Finally, she said, “The um . . . the big one. They build those, uh . . . those big houses. Real high end, those people are. Everyone knows them.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Who exactly are you guys meeting?”
“The owner. Manager. The uh . . . builder guy.”
“All of them?” I raised my brows, fully invested in the act I put on.
She shrugged and said, “More or less.”
Aunt Diane had long since stopped paying attention, her focus glued to the contents of the box, but I refused to let it go. This was far too entertaining. “What exactly is the meeting about? You know, since you have more details about it than we do.”
“I’d love to tell you, but I have everything written on my day planner, which I left at the apartment. So unfortunately, I’m unable to give you that information at this time. Until I check my calendar. Where I write all my plans. Including the one for tonight.” She blinked a few times, apparently snapping out of the awkward trance she’d been in. “Thanks again, Mrs. Peterson. So great seeing you.”
“You too, dear,” Aunt Diane said without turning her inquisitive stare away from the wooden handle in her hand. “Have fun.”
Tatum offered me a very uneasy, forced grin, but before she turned around, I held my arms open. For once, she understood the sentiment without needing to be reminded. But I didn’t get the embrace I sought, because my oblivious aunt chimed in with, “Oh, Jason. Tatum hates hugs.”
Her onyx eyes grew wide, and without warning, she turned and took off.
I wasn’t about to let her get away, so I patted my aunt’s shoulder and muttered, “See ya later, Aunt Diane.”
“You too, dear,” she repeated. My cousins were such liars—their mom could’ve been distracted by dust floating in sunlight.
I ran out the front door, making sure it closed behind me before trapping Tatum in the driveway. “You hate hugs, huh? Why did you tell me you loved them?”
With her keys in her hand, she stalled about three feet from her car. It still amused me to picture her small frame sitting behind the steering wheel of something so big. Yet at the same time, the SUV suited her. “Would you believe me if I told you I tripped and fell into you by accident, having no idea you were even there, and to save myself from public humiliation, I said the first thing that came to mind?”
“Not for a second.”
She nodded. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
When she shifted on her heel to turn away, I asked, “Really, where are you going? And don’t lie, Tatum. You’re not very good at it.”
She rolled her eyes to the sky, paused in a show of deep thought, and then shrugged. “Fine. I was planning to go home and hide in my room. And not come out until Monday.”
It didn’t matter how hard I fought against the rolling humor, I lost. My shoulders bounced as I pinched my lips together to at least keep the laughter inside, and when it had slowly faded away, I took a deep breath to compose myself. “You should come teach me how to cook this food you stocked my kitchen with. Call it charity or community service. I’m hungry, and I can’t eat anything because I don’t know how to make any of it.”
“Your aunt has a perfectly good pasta machine. I’m sure she can feed you.”
I glanced over my shoulder, on the off chance my aunt was outside, and then faced Tatum again. “You do realize she doesn’t have the first clue how to use that thing, right? You pretty much handed her a weapon.”
She giggled, and I never wanted the song to fade away. “It’s a pasta machine. Manual—not even electronic. It’s pretty difficult to mess it up. But in the event she has as much difficulty as you suggest, maybe you should go in there and help her with it.”
“Tatum . . . she doesn’t have anything to put in it.”
“I don’t understand. You literally feed dough through one side, turn the handle, and out comes noodles.”
“Exactly.”
Her confusion was palpable in her creased brow as she blinked slowly. “Oh-kay. What am I missing here?”
“Well, if you were my aunt, you’d be missing the dough.”
One corner of her mouth gradually curled, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “She has a pasta maker without pasta?” When I nodded, she released the restraint on her laughter and let it bubble out. “What did she think she’d do with it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But now do you see why I’m starving? Seems like the women in my life are out to get me. Mom pretends she’s not home, even though I can see in the windows and know she’s there. My aunt thinks that contraption will spin air into spaghetti, and you decided to fill my fridge and pantry with shit I’ve never heard of.”
Referring to her as one of the women in my life, in the same breath as my mom and aunt, twisted me up and left me more lost than if I’d awoken after a twenty-year coma and discovered aliens had taken over the planet. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, and even worse, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Granted, I couldn’t do much with the ban my cousin had put on her, though that didn’t stop the knots from tightening in my chest.
“You make it sound like I went shopping at a pet store.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”
She shook her head in mock disbelief. “Well, I’m sure you know where the grocery store is, and you seem to be a rather competent individual, so navigating the aisles shouldn’t be too much of a task. You’re a big boy.” Crimson licked her cheeks just before she dropped her gaze to the ground.
“You’d really make me live off microwavable dinners?” I even stuck out my bottom lip in the hopes she was one of those people who couldn’t resist a pout. My desperation knew no limits.
“I’m fairly certain the store carries other options. If not, you might want to ask a manager.”
“If I knew how to cook, that would be great advice.” I wasn’t a moron in the kitchen, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. At this point, I’d be willing to lie and say I couldn’t differentiate between a pot and a bowl if it meant she’d come home with me.
“You seriously don’t know how to make anything?”
I shrugged, and without thinking, I said, “My ex used to handle dinner.”
Sympathy fell over her face like a veil. My initial reaction was to laugh it off, tell her I’d been joking. Bringing up Jen had been a mistake, but I cou
ldn’t take it back now. And no matter how badly I wanted to retract everything I’d just said, her intoxicating gaze refused to let me.
However, her reaction taught me some vital information. A pout she could resist, but she couldn’t deny a man suffering from a broken heart. If dredging up my feelings of Jen worked in my favor, then Tatum just might be the ticket to dealing with the pain I refused to acknowledge.
“Fine. I’ll show you how to make one meal. After that, you’ll have to figure it out yourself. Search Google for recipes, or hire someone—I don’t care, but after tonight, I don’t owe you anything.” Her words might have been harsh, yet her tone was teasing and light, much like her smile.
Tatum appeared very out of place in my kitchen. I tried to do everything I could to loosen her up, yet nothing worked. The way she moved was robotic, and I wondered if she even heard half of what I said to her.
“Here, hop up.” I set a glass of wine at the end of the counter, the small side of the L shape without cabinets hanging above it. I patted the granite and then waited for her to give in. As happy as I was that she was here, I needed to figure something out before her nervous energy gave me an ulcer.
“You want me to sit on the countertop?”
I glanced between her and the spot I’d slapped a few times. “Generally, that’s what hop up means. Unless we’re playing Simon Says. But we aren’t, so . . . yeah, I want you to sit up here.”
“How am I supposed to help you cook?”
“You’re not.” I slid my palm in a circle on the space in front of her, hoping it would entice her to climb up. “You’re here to teach me how. So, make yourself at home right here, and instruct me on what to do.”
Wary, she did as I said and lifted herself onto the counter. When I slid the glass of white wine closer to her, she regarded me with an arched eyebrow. “Why are you giving me something to drink? Just because it’s five o’clock doesn’t mean it’s mandatory.”
The (Half) Truth Page 12