Chapter Six
I sat, staring out of the window of Trent’s Jeep, nose aching, heart pounding, mouth dry. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” I repeated for the second, or maybe the fifth, time. “I could have gotten a ride home.”
He downshifted so violently, the whole vehicle shook. “It’s fine,” he said, not even glancing at me. “I wanted to.”
“Okay.” I looked out of the windshield, not soothed by any of this. Damn Evelyn. Woman was too nosy for her own good. “Turn here,” I said, pointing to the faux pretentious sign indicating my apartment complex. He turned so fast I had to grip the armrest to keep from sliding into his lap.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Which way now?”
I stared at him, confused and rattled by his seeming curtness. I pointed left, then directed him through the rat’s maze of buildings until we reached mine. A white aluminum-sided, three-story affair, with six units flanking an outdoor staircase. I had the cheap unit—the studio on the basement level. It did walk out to a small, goose-infested pond. But between the goose-shit and their infernal honking, I never opened the sliding glass door much wider than a few inches.
He parked and sat, his fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel. I sighed. I was obviously not someone he wanted to be around. No matter the superhero move he’d pulled with my attacker in the men’s room.
“So, thanks. For everything.” I wrenched open the door and climbed out, gave him a non-committal wave without looking and turned toward the building. My nose ached. My head was weird and echo-y in a way that made me nervous. I didn’t want to be alone. But I’d weathered worse than this. I’d be fine.
As I was heading down the stairs toward my door, my face jangling in pain with every step, I couldn’t hold back self-pitying tears. I sucked in a snotty breath, and tried to see where to stick the key through my weepy vision. The damn things fell out of my hands with a loud clank on the metal threshold. “Fucking fuck,” I muttered, reaching for them.
I saw a set of shoes—box-toed, brown, dressy—near the keys. My skin tingled. I set my jaw. I didn’t need this right now. I didn’t want it—ever.
His hand covered mine so I let go of the keys. He stuck the right one straight into the lock without even trying. The door swung open. We stood, staring into the depths of my place—a place I’d innocently left Wednesday morning for work, not knowing anything. Much less that the incredible man standing close enough to me that I believed I could sense the heat of his skin would be here, making me weak and not from pain, either.
“Well,” I said, my voice all nasally and weird. “Thanks. Again.”
He stood there, his jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grinding. Before I could stop myself, my hand lifted and my fingers grazed his dark stubble. He closed his eyes and took a step back.
“Sorry,” I said, unable to take my eyes off him. I wanted to touch him. My fingers itched—they burned—to feel his skin. My legs got wobbly again. I took the step over the threshold, leaving him standing there, looking miserable. I shut the door halfway, using it as a shield between us. He put a hand on it, pressing against it. I pushed back, feeling defensive all of a sudden. This was my space. I didn’t want him in it.
I did. But that was beside the current point.
I didn’t trust myself around him. The last thing I needed was this kind of bizarre neediness.
“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Sure,” I said, opening it all the way.
Nice one, chica. Way to be strong.
He stepped inside, instantly overwhelming my small space. I turned into the kitchen area, flipping on the kettle for something to do. He stood, hands in his pockets, watching me as I busy-worked for a few seconds. I mixed the hot water with my mama’s spiced tea mix, stirred the two cups and handed him one. He smiled and sniffed it.
“Yum.”
“Family recipe.”
We sipped. Silence descended like a heavy blanket. I sighed and put my cup down.
“How’s the nose?” he asked, leaning against the tall counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“Painful,” I admitted. Exhaustion washed over me, making me sway on my feet.
He grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you set up somewhere horizontal.”
“I’m not usually this much of a wimp,” I insisted, letting him lead me to the couch. “I swear it.”
“I’m sure.” He grabbed pillows and propped them all at one end, sat me down and gave me a tiny shove so I flopped back. “There. Consider yourself nurtured.” He grinned at me. I felt something unclench in my chest. I stretched my arms up over my head and my feet out behind him. He grabbed the blanket over the back of the couch and tossed it down over me. “See. This is me, Mr. Sensitive.”
I pulled the blanket up around me. The remnants of the painkillers were wearing off. The soft edges of the pain in my face were taking on a bite, making me squint in the light. “Would you mind grabbing the pills in my purse? And a glass of water?”
He gave my leg a quick pat, sending all my nerve endings down happy lane. I pulled the blanket up higher, watching as he dug through my bag, then poured a glass of water. “One or two?”
“Just one, thanks.”
He crouched down beside the couch and handed me the pill, then the water. I swallowed it and dropped back, half asleep already. He must have grabbed the glass. Sighing, I stretched again, loving the sensation of being in my own space. And yes, the fact of Trent’s presence. That he’d come to get me, driven me home, unlocked my door when I was too weepy to deal. And he’d just brought me a pain pill.
My brain was shutting down. But I reached out anyway. His warm hand closed around mine. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’ll stay, if you want me to.”
I nodded, rolling onto my side. His dark, handsome face was the last thing I saw before falling into a deep, drug-induced sleep.
* * * *
I woke with a start, dragging myself up from a deep hole filled with old beer smells, the ocean, moldy buildings and pain. I sat up too fast, slamming straight into a wall of actual pain. “Holy shit,” I said, touching the bandages on my nose. The room was dark—too dark.
I sat and wrapped the blanket around myself, trying to shake the cobwebs. The doorknob rattled, making me jump up, heart in my throat. Trent appeared holding a greasy bag that smelled amazing. “You scared me,” I said, running a hand through my hair and my tongue over my fuzzy teeth. “I need a shower.”
He put the bag on the tall counter and took a few steps toward me. I held up a hand, unable to stop the giggle. “I’m good, thanks. I think I can manage it.”
“Right. I’ll get the food out.”
“Yes. Good plan.” I smiled at him. He took another step closer. I put up both hands. “Nope. I reek from head to toe. Go there.” I pointed to the kitchen. “Be useful.”
“I’m pretty damn useful,” he said, running both hands down his chest. I tried not to gulp, settling my face in a firm expression.
“Yeah? Prove it.” I headed for the back of the apartment where my small bedroom space adjoined the bathroom. One hot shower and a careful tooth brushing session later, I emerged, feeling slightly better—if woozy from the pills. I had to wean myself off, step down to some regular old ibuprofen. I could hear music—something that sounded a lot like the Beatles—and smelled the sharp edge of takeout Indian food.
Perfect.
I grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a long, shapeless sweatshirt, dragging it down over my sports bra. On the way down, I managed to whap my own nose, which forced me to sit before I fell down from the dizzying pain. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“Yeah, I can imagine,” Trent said. Startled, I stood, tugging the ragged edges of the sweatshirt down to cover my crotch. His eyes gleamed in the gloom in the back of the apartment. “Hungry?” He held out his elbow.
“I was,” I said, ignoring his arm and heading toward the good smells and happy noises. “Then I smacked my own nose.”
He circled around me and headed into the kitchen, then turned to me, brandishing two full plates of food. “Your feast, madam.”
“Gracias, guapo.”
“Huh. Yes, I am quite handsome, now that you mention it.” He tilted his head, studying me again. “You surprised I understood you?”
“Nope. I’ve decided that nothing about you will surprise me.” I set my plate on the counter and dragged one of the two tall chairs that I’d found at a cheap furniture store. They were still too short—the damn surface was so unnaturally high. Trent set his plate down next to mine. I picked up my fork, but my hand shook so much I dropped it and clenched my fingers together in my lap.
“In pain?” Trent was reaching for the small packet of pills I’d gotten from the hospital pharmacy. I shook my head and pointed to a cabinet behind him. He opened them until he located the small cache of over-the-counter pills and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. I nodded and caught the bottle when he tossed it to me, popped a couple of them into my mouth and drank the water.
I took a tiny bite of the biryani—my favorite Indian dish and how the hell did he know that? He sat next to me and dug into his food. When he ripped the naan in half and handed me some, I nodded but stayed silent. The food was so good, I couldn’t imagine taking the time to speak. The Beatles made up our background. All we lacked was the cheap Chianti bottle with a waxy candle.
Finally, I leaned back, patting my overfull stomach. He mirrored me with a groan of satisfaction that made me tingle in areas of my body that hadn’t tingled in over a decade. My phone buzzed its way across the counter, relieving me of the burden to speak. Trent reached over and snagged the thing, glancing at it before handing it to me. I frowned at him, but in truth, I loved how comfortable he was in my space.
Oh, Melody, you are fucked. Royally.
“Hey, Evelyn,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Just checking on you, chica. How’re things?”
“Pretty sore.” I touched the bandage over my busted nose. “I took a nap.”
Trent got up and took the plates and forks to the sink, rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher. It was too much. How could this guy be real? I got up and headed to the couch, tossing the blanket around my shoulders on the way there.
“And…”
I rolled my eyes and sat, curling my legs up under me. “What?”
“God damn it, woman, don’t make me say it.”
“He’s here,” I whispered, as Trent whistled his way through putting the leftovers in the fridge before he started poking around in my cabinets.
“Sweet!” Evelyn’s voice was high, like a teenager’s.
“Stop,” I said, my face flushed hot. “It’s nothing. He just brought me home.”
“Yeah, five hours ago.”
“Evelyn… I’m not… He’s… I can’t.”
“Never say never, sweetie. Enjoy.”
I answered her, but the phone was dead. I stared down at the device, then tossed it on the Ikea special coffee table. Trent sat and stuck his sock feet on the same table. “Evelyn?”
I nodded. “She hung up on me.”
“She’s good at that.” He handed me a glass of wine and held his up. We clinked and sipped. He was sitting within a foot of me, so close. But yet…
I shifted, putting more air between us. “You guys are…”
He shot me an arch look. “We went out a few times. Decided we’re better as friends.”
“Ah. Okay.” I sipped more, frozen with terror and uneasy anticipation.
“Do you have decent cable?” He grabbed my remote and flicked on the small flat screen television.
“Actually, I don’t have cable at all.” I tossed him the smaller remote. “It’s all streaming. All the time.”
“So, how do you watch football?”
“Easy.” I held out a hand. He put the small remote in it and I flipped directly to the Spanish language soccer channels. “There you go, guapo.”
“There you go again. Reminding me how handsome I am.” He glanced at the screen. “No, no, no. Not that. Real football.” He glanced at his watch. “Michigan’s playing.”
I grinned and settled back, putting the remote on my lap. “I only watch the beautiful game.”
He frowned at my screen, then stuck his socked feet up on the table once more. “I hate this game.”
“Well, then you’re going to have to leave and never return.”
He sighed, sipped his wine then smiled at me. I melted even more. But for the next hour we sat and watched soccer—or more like I explained soccer to him and he lapped up it up like a thirsty dog. When the game was over with an unsurprising Real Madrid win, he stood and stretched, giving me a mouth-watering rear view. I averted my eyes and fiddled with the remote.
Maybe he’d try to kiss me now.
But he didn’t.
He brought me a glass of water, another ibuprofen, patted my head and left. Just like that.
I ran for my phone, hitting speed dial back to Evelyn. “He left,” I said, by way of response when she answered.
“And?”
“And nothing. We ate. He brought me Indian food. I made him watch a soccer game while he obsessively checked his phone for the Michigan football game score. Then he just…walked out the door.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Oh shit, girl, I think he loves you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But I was tingling all over again. And I liked it.
“Call him,” she insisted. “Call him right now.”
“No,” I said, toying with the edges of the blanket. “You’re loco.”
“I am not. I’m an expert.”
“I am not calling him. That’s his job.”
“Oh Lord have mercy. Join us in the twenty-first century, already.”
“I’m here with you, chica. But I still think he should call me. Period.”
“Fine. Be that way. Want to do something this weekend?”
I curled my legs under me, as reality hit me hard. I had two long shifts at the diner and that was after a closing shift at the bar tomorrow. “Crap.”
“What?”
“Can’t. Gotta work.”
“The bar?”
“Yeah. And I also work at a diner. Marlo’s. Out on Field Road. I fill in when they need it and one of their servers is out on maternity leave.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well, now you do.”
“Melody, you can’t pull a bar shift and one at the diner. You’re injured.”
“Two at the diner, actually. I gotta go, Evelyn. Thanks for calling.”
This time, it was my turn to hang up on her.