Текст книги "Seth"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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“Listen, Manon…” He shifts on the sofa, not looking at me, and reaches for the dry pants I laid out for him. “I should head back.”

“You serious? In this rain, with your knee like this?”

“Then what?”

“Stay,” I say. I swallow hard, because in my mind it didn’t sound so weird. “I mean, the couch is long enough.”

“Not sure this is a good idea,” he whispers and rakes a hand through his hair. It’s almost dry now and falls in his eyes, soft and shiny black. He reaches for the brace. “Need to put that back on.”

No idea why I feel so disappointed. No, it’s just worry. Has to be. I help him put the brace back on and pull on the pants.

“Need to use the bathroom,” he mumbles, and he ignores my outstretched hand, bracing himself on the back of the sofa instead to get up. “Dammit, I…”

All the blood drains from his face. His knees go out from under him, and I barely manage to catch him in time and pull him back down on the couch. He lands half on top of me, and ow, he’s heavy.

“Fuck.” He pushes off me, arms shaking, his face ashen. “Shit.”

“Codeine can make you lightheaded.” I frown. “You were dizzy before you took it, though. When we arrived.” A thought hits me. “Did you eat well today?”

“I think I…” He shakes his head and gives me a sheepish smile. “I, uh. I forgot?”

“Forgot to eat? Come on. You’re a guy. Guys don’t forget about food.”

“Okay. The truth?” He winces. “I ran out of chow and couldn’t bring myself to call the guys to come over. So I ate a bar of chocolate Micah left yesterday.”

“That’s all?” Jeez. “But normally they visit and bring you food? Your friends?”

“Yeah. They’ve been great. But I’ve been in and out of hospital far too often in the past months. They work and need their own fucking free time. They have girlfriends, wives, families. I hate being a burden. Besides, Jesse is down with a bad cold and is stressed about working as a fully-fledged inker now, and what with expanding the tattoo shop and all… Everyone is in full stress mode.”

He rubs his face and sighs. He looks… defeated somehow, and I want to know more. Want to know why he’s been in and out of hospital so often, why he went out in the rain alone, why he has those tattoos and why his nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken sometime in his past.

Where is his family? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he in college? Is he into sports—is that why he’s so strong?

“I think I’ll take your offer,” he says, startling me.

“What?”

He leans back, his face still too pale for my liking. He looks ready to pass out where he’s sitting. “The couch.”

“Yeah.” I shake myself a little. “I think that would be best.”

“If you’re sure.” His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “It’s warm here. Comforle. Comfort’le.”

I snicker, because he’s cute like that, half-asleep, hair in his eyes. “Comfo-what?”

“Christ, I’m so out…” He yawns and chuckles. “Out of it.”

The codeine is hitting him hard. A bit too hard and too fast. Then again, on an almost empty stomach it makes sense. “Sleep it off. How’s the leg?”

“Better.”

And his smile is so bright it makes my chest tight. Who is this guy, who can make me feel so much even if I barely know him?

Chapter Three

Seth

God, these pills make me loopy. I’m laughing when she returns with a blanket to cover me on the sofa. Or maybe it’s the absence of pain. Can’t remember the last time I felt so good.

“Come here.” I grab her hand and pull her to me. She squeaks and falls on my chest, then scrabbles to get off me.

It makes me laugh harder.

In fact, it makes me harder, period. Damn.

But she moves away, arranging the blanket around me. “Tomorrow we’ll get a good breakfast into you. Then the pills won’t affect you so much.”

“Yeah.” The sofa smells of her. The blanket smells of her. Smells so fucking good. “Your boyfriend don’t mind me staying?”

“No.” She hesitates. “He won’t.”

“You won’t tell?” It’s hard to find the words, for some reason. “Tell him?”

“We’re not yet…” She clears her throat and straightens. “I mean, I won’t, no.”

Weird. Maybe.

Or not. I want to laugh again. Need to do something to lift the pressure off my chest.

Have to stop. “What’s his name?”

“Frederic.”

“Frederic?” I snort.

“It’s a good name. Stop laughing.”

“Okay.” I’m really trying here.

“He’s a good guy.”

“I bet.” I sigh, fold my arms behind my head. My lids are getting too damn heavy. “Manon…”

“Yes?” She sends me a quick smile and goes back to gathering the dirty dishes and glasses, and I have a feeling I should be doing something—like helping her gather everything up—but my body is like a stone, heavy and dead.

“You’re nice,” I slur, and my eyes are closing. “Very nice.”

“Yeah.” She laughs. “Because I almost ran you over. So nice of me.”

“Brought me here. Gave me dinner. Pills. Mmm.” Images flash behind my eyelids. Flashes of dreams. “Sofa.”

“Sleep now,” she says and sounds very close by. Something brushes over my brow—her hand, I think. Soft. Warm. “Rest.”

That’s the last thing I hear before I sink into deep sleep.

***

I come awake with a start, pain shooting up my leg. I lift my head and find a crick in my neck. My heartbeat is booming in my ears, racing away and accelerating. I have no fucking clue where I am, and that always makes things worse.

Fuck. It’s dark. Where the fuck am I? Solitary? Or the prison infirmary? Am I alone? Am I safe?

I roll, tangled up in something, and drop.

Arms wind-milling, I try to stop the fall. Oh fuck. Too late. I hit the floor with a jarring impact. The pain hits a split second later, and I cry out.

My leg. Goddammit. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. Fuck me.

“Seth?” A woman’s voice, and I’m still trying to piece everything together. Where the fuck am I?

A light comes on, soft and yellow, and she appears out of the dark.

Manon. Her name floats in my brain, bypassing the numbing pain.

“What the hell happened? Oh God.” She kneels down by my side, sleek dark hair falling over her shoulders to hide her face. “You fell?”

“Sorta.”

My heart is still going a thousand miles an hour. Manon. Her apartment. Not the prison. It’s okay.

It’s okay, Seffers. Breathe.

“Did you hurt your leg? Let me see.”

Not that I’d say no in any case. Especially now, when I can only focus on drawing enough air in my lungs and convincing myself I’m free. Safe. That life is better now. That I haven’t gone back.

Freaking out like this always saps up my energy, and I didn’t have much to start with. Which at least means her intimate touch on my leg as she pushes up the pants to check on my fucked-up knee won’t give me the boner from hell.

“Can you move it?” she asks, and I grit my teeth and try, because yeah, this is important to know.

Turns out I can. Managed not to break it again. Thank God for the small fucking mercies.

“Why don’t you lie back down, and I’ll bring the compress?” she says, tucking a strand of shiny hair behind her delicate ear, and I’m not sure what she’s saying right now. “I’ll bring you more pills, too.”

I lick my lips, repeat what she said in my mind until the words make sense. “I think I’ll sit here for a minute.” Not sure I trust my muscles to cooperate right now. “It’s comfortable.”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then huffs a breath of laughter. “You’re weird.”

Sure. And an idiot, for staying the night.

“I’ll be right back,” she says and climbs to her feet in a smooth, liquid movement that has my dick interested despite the pain and pushing against the inseam of the pants.

Yeah. Not now, boy.

Not ever, dammit.

She comes back with the wrapped-up compress, gently lays it on top of my knee and I’m thankful for the cold seeping through the fire in my flesh. Then, instead of returning to her bed, she sits beside me, on the floor, leaning back against the sofa.

“Bad dream?” she whispers.

“Can’t remember.”

She’s so close. In the half-dark, with the outlines of furniture looming here and there, her face is like a goddamn star, drawing my gaze. She has a pale streak in her hair, and I wonder why.

“Want to talk?”

“About what?”

“Don’t know. Anything, to help you relax.”

“Does it work for you?”

She snorts, a soft exhale of breath. “If I had someone to talk to in the night, it might.”

All right. “So that boyfriend of yours… He doesn’t stay the night?”

“Why the obsession with my boyfriend?”

“I’m not obsessed.” Lie. Big fat lie. “Just curious. I mean, this is really helping me relax.”

She giggles. “You’re funny.”

“Thank you.”

She’s silent. I can hear her breathing, and this is relaxing. So much so, my lids are growing heavy again.

“Frederic is not exactly my boyfriend,” she says, and okay, this wakes me up.

Like, whoa.

“He’s not?”

“Not officially,” she clarifies.

Oh. Shit. Awesome. What the hell does that even mean?

“He’s studying music in the arts department. He’s two years older than me, and he’s just so…handsome. And self-assured. And all the girls want him.  I’ve had a crush on him since I started there a year ago.”

Goddammit. Not sure I can hear more.

“I mean, he asked me out. But that was only a month ago. We almost kissed at a party two weeks ago—almost—and he walked me to my car many times. We stayed up talking loads of times. We really fit, you know? We both like music and dance and the arts, and he’s so sensitive and kind. I was going to meet him tonight, but he couldn’t make it.”

Okay, now I’m sure I can’t take this anymore.

“You know, those painkillers would be fucking great. If you don’t mind.”

She jerks guiltily, and I swear under my breath, feeling like all kinds of an asshole. “Of course. I’ll go get them.”

I swallow two with the water she brings me and lift myself up on the sofa. “Thank you. I think I’ll be fine now.”

She nods and takes a step back. “Goodnight, then.”

“Night.” Something in her expression doesn’t let me rest, though. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. No.” Her voice has a break to it. A crack.

Damn.

“Sit down.” I pat the spot next to me. “Tell me.”

“I hardly know you,” she says quietly, but she comes anyway.

“Is it a secret? I won’t tell. I swear.”

“No, it’s not a secret,” she mumbles. “Just a disaster.”

“Why? What is it?” She doesn’t protest when I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “Your parents? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that.” She’s a bit stiff against me, but doesn’t move away. “God, no. Thanks for putting this into perspective.”

Don’t know what to reply to that. I guess my definition of a disaster is different than hers. Wouldn’t be the first time I assume murder when it’s just someone asleep on the carpet.

“I’ve been studying dance most of my life,” she says, and I grin. “What’s the grin for?”

“I knew it. Knew you were a dancer. It’s the way you move.”

She looks away, smiling, cheeks darkening. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” She draws a deep breath I can feel in the lifting of her slim shoulders. “I’m out.”

“Out?”

“Of the dance school. I’m not good enough. Didn’t make the cut.”

“That’s it? They can just throw you out?”

“You don’t understand.” Now she pushes away from me, prepares to stand up, get away. “Not everyone makes it. Not everyone is made for it. My Achilles tendons are too tight, and my pelvis too stiff, and I broke my right ankle two years ago. It just never recovered completely, and I…”

There’s that crack in her voice again, and no way am I letting her go like this. I reach over, aching leg and all, and pull her back to me until her head is resting on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Yeah, me too. Worked for this since I was nine. All my life I’ve wanted to be a professional dancer, and I can’t…” She clutches at the front of my borrowed T-shit with one slim hand. “Can’t believe it’s over. They said if I continue training, I might damage my ankle so badly I’ll have trouble walking.”

Jesus. “How about doing something else dance-related? Like teaching ballet?”

“Maybe if I want to teach kids. But I don’t.”

“Okay. Hey, everything will be okay, you know that, right?”

She says nothing.

Again I want to remind her this ain’t the end of the world. The world is full of opportunities when you have a roof over your head and dough to spend. When your past isn’t haunting your every step, and your body and mind aren’t fucked-up to hell.

But I don’t. Because that’s not what she needs right now. She needs someone to hold her in silence and accept her pain and sadness.

So that’s what I’ll do, and bad idea or not, you couldn’t rip me from her side for all the money in the world.

***

When I wake up next, I’m again not sure where I am, but it’s warm, and comfortable, and somehow feels good.

Okay. Don’t panic yet.

Drawing a breath of a sweet scent—vanilla?—I take stock of my situation. Sofa. A slim body tangled up with mine. No pain.

This doesn’t seem so bad. Not bad at all. Actually, this is interesting, could be interesting—only we’re both dressed.

And this is Manon in my arms.

Who’s pretty and sweet and is dating another man.

Dammit.

Even worse, someone’s knocking on the door. Fuck.

I sit up, the blanket slipping off both of us. She’s wrapped up in a black, silky robe. It has fallen open in the front, and underneath she’s wearing a white nightie with black lace.

My mouth is dry, and my dick is growing hard. Not a good thing, all things considered.

Not when the doorbell starts ringing, too.

“Oh God.” She rolls over on her back, blinking those dark green eyes, and jerks. “Shit. Is that…?”

“The doorbell? Yep.” I throw my legs off the sofa and swallow a groan as I bend my knee. The compress fell to the floor sometime last night. I gather it up as I look around for my boots and socks. “Any idea who it might be?”

“No. Wasn’t expecting anyone today.” She’s tying up her robe tightly, covering up her nightie. “Stay here.”

“Don’t want me to hide in your closet?”

“You wouldn’t fit.” She sighs and goes to get the door, but she throws me a tiny smile over her shoulder before she does, and it burns through me like a wisp of fire.

I grab my cell phone from the coffee table and pretend to be busy with it as the door opens. I take out the battery, put it back in. Turn it on.

And it works. It’s working again. Fuck, yeah.

I’m so happy about this little victory that I miss the entrance of Manon’s visitor until she’s standing right in front of me.

“Hey, Seth. Whatcha doing here?”

The. Fuck.

Cassie, smiling at me like the Cheshire Cat from hell. Why is she here?

Oh, right. She’s Manon’s friend. Forgot about that for a moment—what with waking up with Manon in my arms and all. Go figure.

“I was just leaving,” I mutter and try to figure out how to grab my still wet clothes and boots and get the hell out of Dodge.

“What do you want, Cassie?” Manon snaps, and uh-oh, sounds like there’s trouble in paradise.

“To see you?” Cassie’s smile falls, and she turns to face Manon. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Been busy.” Manon’s face is closed off.

“With Sethy here?”

“Oh, get out.” Manon folds her arms over her chest and glares. “I mean it, Cassie.”

“You can’t… Manon, I really need to talk to you.” Now Cassie seems close to tears. Her blond hair is hanging limp on her shoulders, and her eyes are bloodshot.

Oh shit. I shouldn’t be here. I may hate the bitch’s guts for what she tried to do to Jesse and Amber, may want to plant my fist in her face, but I won’t. Wouldn’t do it then, won’t do it now.

Besides, this is between two friends. I have no place being here.

“I really should be going,” I mutter and reach for my knee brace. “I’ll just take a piss, put my brace back on and leave you gals alone to talk.”

Cassie nods, and Manon rolls her eyes, but leads the way to the dining table and they both sit there.

Okay.

Getting up is a bitch. Limping to gather my stuff has me clenching my jaw so hard it aches. But I finally have everything, including my walking stick, and take my sweet time in the bathroom changing clothes and putting on my brace.

I splash my face with water when I’m done, wiping off sweat, and stare at my reflection.

What are you doing, Seffers? Man, Cassie’s arrival sure was a wake-up call. Cuddling on the sofa with Manon. Holding her while she tells you her woes. Eating dinner together.

As if you belong together. As if you could.

Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I grab the borrowed clothes and turn to go. What I should have done last night.

Should never have come here. Touched her skin, smelled her scent, felt her body against mine. It was easier when she was uncharted territory, a distant dream.

Not sure how to put her out of my mind now. Not sure it’s possible.

I cross the living room as quickly as I can, my stick thumping on the carpet. Before I reach the table where they’re sitting in silence, I realize I should’ve folded the clothes, probably. Too late.

She takes them without a comment, gives me a strained smile.

“Thanks for helping me out last night, saving me from the downpour,” I tell her, completely ignoring Cassie the Bitch. “I won’t forget it.”

Won’t forget you. Wish I could.

“Don’t mention it.” She bunches up the clothes, presses them to her chest. “I should drive you back to your place.”

“Nah, I’ve got this. Seriously.” I grin, although I’m not feeling it. Don’t want to leave her. Christ. “I’m much better today.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m solid. Let you girls catch up.”

She gets up to let me out, and I linger for a second too long at the door. It’s as if there’s a threat wrapped around me, trying to keep me where she is.

Then I turn around and go, because that’s what I do when I want something. Because when I want something real bad, that’s when I know I can never have it.

Chapter Four

Manon

Closing the door behind Seth, I turn back to Cassie. My steps are slow. It’s as if I’m reluctant to let him go.

Which makes sense. He’s hurt, and I’m partly to blame for it, and I’m letting him return home on his own. I hope he’s smart enough to get a cab and not walk.

He’s been taking care of himself all this time, I tell myself, taking my seat at the dining table. All his life. He wasn’t waiting for me to babysit him. He has his friends, his family.

Stop worrying.

Talk to Cassie.

Last thing I want to be doing right now. She’s right. I’ve been avoiding her since the fiasco at Asher’s wedding, when she threw herself at Jesse Lee and pissed off everyone.

Including myself.

“What’s up, Cass?” God, I need a cup of coffee. “You’re here early.”

“I know. Thought to catch you before you left to classes. Didn’t think I’d catch you with Mr. Dark and Sexy, though.”

“Oh shut up.”

Silence spreads between us. Not the friendly, comfortable kind.

“Okay. I guess I know now how you feel about me.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “Guess I deserve it, too.”

Jesus. “It’s been a crappy couple of days. Not everything is about you, Cass.”

“Ouch.” She puts her hand on the table. Her eyes are a bit too bright. “Say it. Go on.”

“What, that you’ve been a bitch to Jesse and Amber? Like you don’t know?”

“Oh I know.” She clasps her hands together and gnaws on her lower lip. “I know.”

“Why did you do it, Cass?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe because it makes no real sense. Except you wanted Jesse and couldn’t think past yourself.”

She shakes her head. “Thought you’d let me explain, but I guess that’s asking too much, right?” She pushes her chair back and stands up. Her pink blouse is askew, and she’s wearing no make-up. “That’s just great.”

Never seen her like this. So distraught.

But before I can say anything else, before I can think of anything I could say, she turns on her heel and leaves.

***

Seth’s words buzz in my mind as I sit down to have breakfast. That it’s not the end of the world. That I could find something else. Become a dance teacher.

Do I want that? All my life I dreamed of swirling on a stage on my pointes, dancing my favorite classical pieces. Swan Lake. Cinderella. Nutcracker. La Bayadere.

And the modern ones. Bacchanale. The Rite of Spring. Phaedra’s Dream.

These pieces are more than dance. They are my escape into another world. Others get there by dreaming, reading, taking drugs.

I dance. Can’t imagine myself doing anything else. Never had to imagine anything else. Pliés, jetés, arabesques. Movement, music, joy.

God, I feel like such a failure. It’s not the first time I was told that my body wouldn’t allow me to be a professional dancer, but I thought with hard work I could get over my ‘handicaps.’ Training seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Dedication should count, right? Driving yourself to the brink of collapse. Getting better, more flexible, increasing endurance, improving rhythm.

But I can’t change my tendons, or my screwed-up ankle.

If only I hadn’t broken it two years ago. If I’d started training when I was five instead of nine. If I had a different body.

I put down my bowl of organic cereal and zero fat yoghurt. What am I doing? Who cares now if I gain weight? If I don’t do my stretches every day?

It’s over, Manon. Accept it. Get over it.

But just the thought of emptying my locker at the dance school and walking through its halls for a last time makes my heart ache.

Not sure I can do it.

I push away my untouched breakfast and go shower and get dressed. The girls from the dance school are nice, but we aren’t that close. I wish I had a bestie to talk about this, or just to do girly things—go shopping, eat ice cream, have a marathon of Sons of Anarchy and stuff our faces with chocolate until we get a bellyache.

Cassie.

But she’s not my bestie anymore. I’m so upset with her. I don’t think I can trust her. And yet she’s the closest I have to a bestie. I spent my last year of high school in France, with my mom, and the friends I made back in Detroit before that not only aren’t here in Madison—I’ve also mostly lost touch with them.

I mean, sure, we chat sometimes on Facebook, I see their pics on Instagram, and they keep asking me when I’ll go visit. With all the training, I never had the time to even think about traveling.

Now… Now maybe I should. Maybe they have ideas as to what a failed ballet dancer can do with her life.

I stand under the spray in the shower, and the water rolling down my cheeks feels like tears.

***

The problem with being friends with a traitor by the name of Cassie is that people who were friendly before are now avoiding you like the plague.

Like now.

I’m walking down the street, staring at storefronts, trying to take my mind off the present, when I run into some of the guys from the tattoo shop where Jesse works.

The one with the Mohawk is Zane. I remember him because that hairdo sure is impressive, but it takes me a moment to remember who the others are.

Micah is the tall, blond one, friend of Jesse’s and Seth’s, and he’s currently scowling at me like I’ve kicked his puppies. The tall dark-haired guy next to him isn’t looking happy to see me, either.

I stop to watch them pass, not sure what to do with myself. Not talking to them feels weird, but from their expressions I really don’t think they’d appreciate me chatting them up.

So I start when I realize they’ve stopped, too, just a few feet away.

“Hi,” I say, mortified.

“You Cassie’s friend?” the tall, dark-haired one asks. “Maud or something?”

“Manon,” I whisper, and oh God, my voice is barely audible.

Micah huffs and turns to—unlock the door of a shop?

DAMAGE CONTROL says the sign above. The tattoo shop where they’re all working. Didn’t realize it was here. I must have passed outside many times.

“Wanna come inside?” Zane asks, pausing at the store entrance. His dark eyes watch me intently. “Did you come by to see someone?”

“I was just passing by,” I whisper. “Seth… Seth works here, right?”

Zane’s almond-shaped eyes narrow. “Well, he’s one of our apprentices, though he hasn’t been around much these past few months.”

“Why not?”

“Accidents.” He turns to face me fully, and God, the guy’s huge, taller and wider than Seth. “First, he was beaten up by Ev’s psycho ex. Know Ev? Micah’s girl.” He nods at the shop. “And then by a guy who had a beef with Jesse. Seth’s been down on his luck lately, and it’s not like most of his life has been any better.”

That’s sad. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, because your friends don’t seem to like me much? Because of what Cassie did, I suppose.”

“You’re not Cassie. Or do you think what she did was okay?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s okay at all.”

“Then we’re fine.” He runs his hands over the shaved sides of his head. Silver hoops glint in one eyebrow. “As to why I told you about Seth…” He suddenly grins, a boyish, bright smile that catches me by surprise. “I like the way you said his name. I think you like him. And I think…” He leans closer, and I take a step back. “I think he could use some liking right now.”

He winks and turns away, opens the door and vanishes inside the shop.

Leaving me to stare after him, totally confused. Is this Zane’s way of telling me Seth could use a friend?

Because I could sure use one myself right now. It’s as if he read my thoughts from a minute ago.

And why not be friends?

I bite my lip, looking without really seeing the tattoo designs taped to the inside of the glass—snakes and skulls, hearts and roses.

Truth is, I’ve been worried about Seth, at home alone with his knee giving him trouble. Not eating. Nobody to prepare a compress for him. I’ve hesitated, unsure whether he’d want to see me again.

The person who ran him over and who’s best friends with Cassie.

But he’s the kindest person I’ve met in recent times. The way he didn’t openly blame me for hurting him, didn’t make me feel bad—not worse than I was already feeling. Then the way he smiled at me, held me close as I told him about my shitty day and my crushed dreams…

Least I can do is make sure he’s okay.

***

Too late I realize I didn’t ask Zane for Seth’s phone number or address. How am I going to find him now?

Stupid, Manon.

I’ve been too scatterbrained since I found out I was out of the dance program. All my focus had been on making the cut, and my thoughts are spinning out of orbit.

Cassie is the one who’s friends with Seth’s gang. She’s best friends with Ev, Micah’s girl.

Or was best friends with Ev. No idea how things stand now.

I drag my finger over the screen of my cell to find Cassie’s number and then hesitate. Should I ask her? Our brief talk yesterday didn’t end so well.

Do I want to hear what she has to say? Can there be an acceptable excuse for her selfish behavior? I’m not even sure I know her anymore.

But she’s still my friend. The possibility of patching up our friendship would mean a lot to me—and crap, I need her help with this. If I’m going to check on Seth, I need to do it soon, before I lose my nerve and say screw it.

She answers on the second ring. “Manon?”

“Hey.” I struggle for something to say.

“I’m so glad you called.” She sounds sad.

It makes me sad, too. “I thought about what you said. Maybe talking wouldn’t be a bad idea, after all. Let you explain about what happened. Seems only fair.”

“Thank you.” Her voice is lighter now. “Go for a drink with me? Tonight?”

I sink down on my sofa and images of Seth lying there assault me. “Sure. I need a favor, though.”

“Shoot.”

“You know you sometimes played pool with Shane and the guys? Before…” I sigh. “Before the incident with Jesse.”

A beat of silence. “Yeah.”

“Do you happen to have Shane’s number? Or any of the guys?”

“Maybe… Why? Oh, this is about Seth, isn’t it?”

Crap. “Look, Seth and I are just friends. Or trying to be.”

“So you don’t have the hots for pretty Seth?”

Is he pretty? I frown as my mind flashes those dark eyes back at me, the wide mouth, the square jaw, and that strong body… “No, I don’t. I’m dating Fred, did you forget?”

“No, I just think sometimes Fred forgets it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She clears her throat. “Nada. Not trying to be a bitch, okay? I don’t often think things through before I talk.”

“Or act,” I say, because I’m getting pissed all over again.

“Or that,” she says in a small voice. “Listen, I’ll find his number for you, okay? It won’t be easy with everyone hating my guts right now, but I’ll find it. Consider it a reconciliation gift.”

***

My cell rings sometime in the afternoon as I half-doze watching Arrow on TV, but it’s not Cassie’s number flashing on the screen.

It’s Fred’s.

Heart thumping hard, I hit connect. “Yeah?”

“Hi, Madeline.” No idea why he insists on calling me by my full name like that. “How is it going?”

“I’m…” Not okay. Definitely not. “Fine. I’m glad you called.”

“Sorry I had to cancel yesterday. I really thought we’d get the evening free, but with the concert coming up, I guess it’s understandable that Brandon wanted to practice. He’s so nervous about this. Reminds me of my first year.”

“Yeah.” God, I shouldn’t be jealous that this Brandon took precedence over my troubles, but that’d be selfish. And it was nice of Fred to help the guy out. “How about coffee?”

“When?”

“Today. Now.” I’m smiling at the thought of seeing him. “What do you say?”

“Sure. Where?”

“There’s a new coffee shop down my street, if you don’t mind hoofing it over here. They have great espresso.”

“Espresso, huh?” He’s smiling now, too, I can hear it. He loves espresso. “Deal. Be there in an hour.”

I put down the cell, hop off the sofa and do a little dance of joy. I haven’t seen Fred in more than a week, and I’ve missed his crazy stories from the music academy and the dorms.

I flounce around the apartment, turn on some music and throw clothes out of my closet until I settle on cowboy boots and a white mini dress. I gather my hair up in a messy bun and stick two chopsticks in it.

Voilà.

A dash of mascara and lip-gloss and I’m ready. Amy Winehouse is playing on the stereo, and I swing to the slow rhythm of “Rehab” as I gather my stuff and grab my purse and a denim jacket.

As I grab an umbrella from behind the door, I think of the rain and Seth. Hopefully Cassie will manage to get me his number today. I wonder if he’ll be glad to hear from me, how he’ll sound.

And… maybe I should focus more on my meeting with Fred, instead of Seth? Gah. What’s wrong with me? I’ve been waiting for days to see Fred, and I should be overjoyed.

Which I am. Definitely.

I hurry outside, feeling unaccountably angry with myself. Thinking of Seth isn’t a bad thing, is it? I only want to check on him.