“Needed you to hold his hand again? Have you told him he acts like a three-year-old?” Tessa snickers. “Men. Always so childish.”
I say nothing to that, and she grabs my arm and drags me away from the parking lot, toward one of the campus cafes.
“You have to bring him over one day,” Tessa chatters on as she steers me through the door and to a small table by the window. She’s in a fine mood today, and I wonder if Dylan is around. A surreptitious glance at the other tables reveals no broad-shouldered, blond-haired men.
Suspicious.
“I want to meet the mysterious Jax,” Tessa goes on, waving at the waitress, not deterred by my lack of response. She’s used to it, obviously, and doesn’t see it as a refusal. “I bet he’s drop-dead gorgeous, and you don’t want us to see him, huh? Afraid we’ll try to steal him? Push him against a wall and ravish him?”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. The waitress arrives, and we give our orders. I ask for a double espresso; I have a feeling I’m going to need it today. Tessa is again in a chatty mood, and I’m exhausted, too exhausted for this sort of conversation.
“Does he look like Tyler, I wonder?” Tessa says, batting her lashes at me and making kissy noises.
Oh crap. Definitely not ready for this discussion, because, yes, Jax does look a lot like Tyler. I sometimes wish he didn’t.
She squeals again, as if I’ve said anything. “Oh my God, he does, doesn’t he? I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“You’re still in love with Tyler.”
Suddenly my eyes burn like fire, and I put my hands over my face. A heaviness settles on my chest, and I can hardly breathe. What’s this? What’s happening to me? I’m over Tyler—though he was my first in everything, first guy I slept with, first guy I loved. The center of my world.
He’s come back too late. I have my routine, my life, the people who love me, who won’t leave me without a word of goodbye. I’m still trying to mend
my faith in mankind. And now…
Thin arms go around me, startling me, and then Tessa whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry. Don’t know what got into me. I won’t joke about this again.”
“No, it’s okay,” I find myself saying, dismayed when I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. I hug her back, where she crouches at my feet, and some of the weight lifts off my chest. “It’s just that I don’t know…”
Don’t know what to do with my stupid heart that still only beats for Tyler.
***
After a day of classes and playing catching up, then trying to teach a spoiled brat the joys of Spanish past tense, I’m starving and so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I normally love teaching—so much so that I’ve been considering a teaching degree, but tonight I’m beat. This schedule is killing me, but I need the money, or I’ll never pay back the debts from the medical bills I accumulated four years ago, Mom’s medicine and hospital visits, not to mention rent and college fees.
Depression clings to me as I pass by a store to pick up some stuff on the way home. My finances are like a sinkhole, sucking every penny I toss into the debts, but my parents are adamant that I should go to college and live like girls my age. I get that and I appreciate the opportunity. Mom barely finished school, and Dad works in a hardware store. They want something better for me, and I want that, too. I love teaching Spanish. A degree in that sounds great. Besides, after years having to stay locked up at home while my friends went to school and parties, met with boys and had fun, I want that, too, even if just for a while.
It’s just that, on some days I feel I’m in a theater play, pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m not a carefree girl. I have responsibilities. I have debts, for god’s sake. I should be working full-time and leave college for later.
I grab some groceries, thinking to make Zane his favorite dish: seafood spaghetti in white sauce—and take the opportunity to pass on Dakota’s request and maybe ask for Tyler’s phone number. Or maybe set up a meeting? Does Zane know where Tyler lives?
I guess I’m going to have to ask to find out. We all have our reasons for what we do. Dakota is right, and I feel a twinge of guilt as I unlock the apartment door and plop my grocery bags on the kitchen table. I should be cooking for Zane anyway—because he’s my friend and because he’s always there for me. Not to push some chick’s request on him and ask him for favors.
Crap.
Refusing to let myself drop everything and hide under my covers, I start cutting up the onions. At least that will give me a good excuse if the tears decide to return. The apartment is quiet; Zane is at work, but he should be back home soon.
I’m cooking the pasta and sautéing the mussels and shrimp with the onions and spices when I hear the door whine open and male voices. I recognize Zane’s, but it’s not until I see his companion I recognize the other.
Rafe.
Rafe’s a nice guy. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he’s easygoing and polite. I turn with a smile as they enter the small kitchen, sniffing the air like dogs on a blood scent.
“Something smells great.” Zane gives a wolfish smile and comes to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Is this my favorite food?”
“Yeah. Thought it’s been a while.”