Текст книги "Resentment"

Автор книги: Nicole London

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 18

MIA

A few days later, I’m sitting at my desk in the gallery, thinking about Dean. I still can’t believe he stood up for me the other day, but I know it didn’t really mean anything.

He had a brand new date the next night, and he didn’t kick her out. As a matter of fact, he stayed with her on the couch until about two in the morning, and I had to turn my headphones up extra loud to tune out their laughter.

I wish I could hate him more like I did before, but it’s hard to do when he’s so close to me. When every time I see him, I’m drawn to a memory I had before.

Then again, I figure that I need to date just like him, since I clearly only bring out anger in him.

I zoom through the rest of my work until lunch, only stopping here or there to answer texts from Autumn.

After lunch, I set up the room for a mid-day showing and find myself facing one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen. His eyes are a deep, dark blue, he has a smile that rivals Dean’s, and his lips are beyond perfection.

Those lips...

“Hello?” He smiles. “Hello?”

“Um, hi.” I blush and set down my stencil. “How may I help you?”

“Well, I was here for an afternoon tour, but now that I’ve seen you, I think I should be here for something else.”

I blush again.

“I’m Trevor Whitmore.” He extends his hand. “I have a three o’clock with a Miss Gray?”

“That’s me.” I shake his hand. “You’re half an hour early.”

“It’s a habit,” he says. “Would you like me to wait?”

“Not at all. We can start now.”

“Or...” He looks at his watch. “Since I’m the only one here and you’re not due to give me the tour for another half hour, you could let me buy you a coffee across the street.”

The words “No, I can’t” are on the tip of my lips, but then I realize that this is exactly what I need right now.

“Let me grab my purse,” I say. “I’ll be right with you.”

I rush to the back and freshen up my make-up. I run my fingers through my hair a few times to give it that “I definitely tried super hard to do this” effect, and then I meet him at the front door.

I flip the gallery’s sign to say, “Out for Lunch. The Art will return soon” and before I know it, he’s leading me across the street to what I’m sure will be the stuff of fairytales.

Please be the stuff of fairytales...

He opens the door for me and we take a seat in the back. A waitress quickly takes our order, and Trevor offers me his dazzling smile again.

He leans forward in his chair. “So, Miss Gray—”

“It’s Mia. You can call me Mia.”

“Okay, Mia.” That smile is lethal. “Mia, how long have you been working in that gallery?”

“Weeks. It hasn’t been that long.”

“Did you just move here?”

“I did.” I pause as the waitress sets down our coffees. “I came from Boston.”

“What’s in Portland that can’t be done in Boston?” he asks. “Boyfriend?”

“Not at all. If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have accepted your offer for coffee.”

“Fair enough.” He looks into my eyes. “So, what is it then?”

“Art.”

He raises his eyebrow. “You actually know art or are you still learning?”

“I know it, and I do some of my own.”

Intrigued, he crosses his legs. “Monet or Manet??”

“Monet. Sharper images.”

“Post-modernism or modernism.”

“Modernism—everything post has hints of what came before it.”

He smiles and launches into a series of other art questions, and we go back and forth about our favorite artists. Even when we make it back to the gallery for the tour, my explanations for the collection are only side-notes to our art conversation.

When we reach the final piece and my manager lets me know she’ll be locking up in twenty, something comes over me.

“Would you like to continue this at my place?” I ask him.

“Definitely.”

I give a shorthand account of the last piece, even though I really didn’t need to, and the two of us leave the gallery. He offers to drive, and I almost turn him down, but I decide to go with it.

We still can’t stop talking in the car, and for a split second, I think this could go somewhere. This is exactly what I need.

When we arrive at the condo, I open the door and immediately run into Dean.

“Get out of the way,” he says, motioning for me to move past him. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Good,” I say, and Trevor steps beside me.

“Is this your roommate?” Trevor asks me, but then he extends his hand to Dean. “I’m Trevor.”

“Dean.” Dean looks back and forth between the two of us, and then he steps back to let us inside. Instead of leaving, though, he takes off his jacket and puts it back on the coat rack.

“I thought you said you had somewhere to be,” I say.

“I thought I did, too...” He glares at me, but I turn away.

“Anyway.” I direct my attention to Trevor. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Beer? Juice?”

“I’ll have a beer, thank you.”

“I’ll get it.” Dean says, smiling. “And for you, Mia?” There’s a sick little gleam in his eye.

“I don’t need you to get anything for us.” I step past him and into the kitchen. I quickly grab two beers and show Trevor to the couch. I sit right next to him.

Dean takes a seat across from us in the recliner.

I ignore him and face Trevor. “What were you saying about the eighteenth century impressionists?”

“Just that I thought they were over-rated. Le Blanc wasn’t the best of that time, like the historians like to say.”

“Le Blanc was from the nineteenth century,” Dean says. “And he was the best of that era.”

Trevor crosses his legs and smiles, clearly not offended at all. “You’re into art, too?”

“Some,” he says, his eyes meet mine and I glare right back at him.

“Oh, well that’s great. Where did you study?”

“Western Peak,” he says, and I remember wanting to ask him about that. If I didn’t hate him so much, that is.

“Ah,” Trevor says. “Western Peak is where some of the best artists go.”

“Where they’re supposed to go...” His eyes are still on mine.

“Where did you go, Mia?” Trevor asks.

“Harvard.”

Dean’s eyes widen briefly, but the shock dissipates within seconds.

“Well,” Trevor says, opening his beer. “Good artists go there, too, I guess. You mentioned that you paint, Mia? Do you have any of your stuff here?”

“Yeah, I can show it to you, if you follow me.” I stand up and Dean stands up, too.

Trevor is still completely unfazed, so I decide to ignore Dean.

I walk over to the office-room Eric lets me use and open the door. I’m proud of myself for actually cleaning it up earlier this morning.

“All of my newest pieces are on the easels,” I say, hitting the lights. “The older pieces are on the walls and the window sills. I have more in storage and in my bedroom, since I don’t have enough space to fit them all here.”

“These are amazing.” Trevor steps in front of my earlier high school pieces. “How old were you when you painted this?”

“Fifteen.”

“Wow...” He slips an arm around my waist. “What about this blue and silver one? What’s the inspiration behind that?”

“A boyfriend she did wrong,” Dean says, walking over. “Isn’t that this one, Mia? Aren’t those your high school colors?”

Do not punch him...Do not punch him...

Trevor looks at me, smiling. “Is that true? Are you an expressionist after all?”

“She’s more than an expressionist,” Dean says. “You’re the tenth guy this week she’s brought here and showed this room to, so you may end up in one of her pieces as well. Here.” He takes a condom out of his pocket and gives it to Trevor. “Just in case you left yours at home. I always make sure her dates have one. I’m that type of guy.”

Trevor chokes on his beer.

“I’ll leave you two alone now.” Dean smiles at us and walks away.

WHAT THE FUCK...

“It’s um, getting pretty late,” Trevor says.

“It’s only six o’clock.”

“Is it?” He steps back. “Already?”

“Trevor, please don’t tell me you believe anything that idiot just said.”

“Not at all.” He tosses his beer can into the trash. “I’ll see you around.”

I don’t bother leading him to the front door. I wait until I hear it shut and then I count down from ten before rushing out and finding Dean in the kitchen.

“What the fuck was that, Dean?” I yell at him. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Because he’s not your type,” he says flatly. “I was doing you a favor.”

“All the women you’ve had over are your type? Do you see me interfering with them?”

“No, but you’ve wanted to.”

“I have not.”

“Keep lying to yourself, Mia.” He turns to face me. “I fucking know you.”

“You used to know me—before I hated you for ruining my life. That’s when you knew me. Not now, and the next time I bring a guy home, I dare you to run him away.”

“You’ll do that all your own, but is that a threat?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” I poke his chest with my finger. Hard. “And I swear to God—”

“You swear to God, what?” He grabs my hand and holds it above my head. “You swear to God that—what, Mia?”

Our faces are so close that if we move just a bit, I’d bite his lips off.

“I fucking hate you, Dean,” I say, my heart is my throat. “I hate you and if I had known that you lived here with my brother, I would never have come here. I was a lot happier thinking you didn’t exist anymore. I. Hate. You.”

He drops my hand and I step back.

Tears are forming in my eyes, so I turn away and rush to my room. I make sure to slam the door as hard as I can as the end to our conversation.

Chapter 19

MIA

I’m starting to think that telling someone that you hate him is the fastest road to instant karma. It’s been more than a week since Dean and I have spoken to each other, and I have yet to have a decent day.

Despite the fact that we’ve been avoiding the hell out of each other, and we’ve stopped playing the “I’ll fuck with your food, since you fuck with mine” game, I’ve woken up every morning since, feeling awful.

My tours at the gallery have been beyond subpar, and I’m grateful that my manager has been at a conference, because otherwise, I’m sure she would fire me.  Eric hasn’t been around much at all, thanks to an influx of high profile clients making insane demands, and Autumn randomly decided to take an international trip with Jacob, so I have no one to talk to. (Well, there’s my mom, but she never counts.)

Unfortunately, today is starting just like every other day this week. The sun is refusing to make an appearance and an unrelenting rain is falling from the sky.

When I attempt to leave for work, Eric’s Civic won’t crank. I try to turn the engine over multiple times, but all I get is a check engine light and low clicking sound. Frustrated, I get out of the car to see if something is stuck under the hood, but then it hits me.

There’s no gas in it.

I haven’t put any gas in it for the entire week.

Sighing, I decide to deal with that after work, and take out my umbrella. I head straight for the bus stop and immediately regret that decision.

My umbrella might as well be made of paper, because I’m getting soaked with every step. I’m not sure what comes over me, but I feel tears welling in my eyes. I can’t deal today.  Just can’t deal.

I stand under the bus shelter and pull out my phone to call the gallery.

“Hamilton Array Gallery, this is Michelle speaking, how may I help you today?”

“Hi, Michelle, this is Mia.”

“Hey, Mia!” Her tone is upbeat as usual. “No worries about being late, if that’s why you’re calling. This weather is awful.”

“I’m...” I stall as the bus pulls in front of me.

The driver opens the door, asking if I’m getting on, but I shake my head no and he pulls away.

“Are you crying, Mia?” Michelle asks, sounding concerned.

“No.” I lie. “But I was calling to let you know that I won’t be coming in today. I can’t, and I’m very sorry.”

There’s a brief silence, and the sniffles I’m holding back start coming out anyway.

“Awww. Whatever it is, it’s okay, Mia.” She assures me. “Half of our showing clients for today have canceled, and I’m sure the rest will call to cancel by lunch. Don’t worry about today, just enjoy your weekend and I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Okay.” I tell her thank you once more before ending the call.

I make the trek all the way back to the condo, not even bothering to put up my umbrella, and when I get to the door, I realize I’ve locked the keys in Eric’s car. And not only have I locked the keys in his car, the staff downstairs have taken an “early day” and the second shift won’t be in until nine tonight.

Eric warned me that his shop would be in “beast mode” today, so unless it’s an emergency, he doesn’t want me bothering him. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t consider this an emergency at all, so I lean against the door and sigh.

The only option left is for me to call Dean, but I refuse. I can wait this out.

I get back onto the elevator and leave the building, walking down a few blocks and straight into a bar.

I know exactly how I’m going to fix this waste of a day...

I take a seat at the edge of the bar and take out my ID before the bartender can ask. I order three beers, two shots of vodka, and a Long Island Iced Tea. And when I’m finished, I order even more.

I don’t care that my head is spinning with every sip I take, or that I can’t seem to keep tears from falling down my face. I just need to keep drinking so I can forget. So I can remember to forget.

As I’m downing a fresh amaretto sour, a memory of when Dean brought me flowers, for no reason, begins to play in my mind. I try my best to stop it, but each attempt at resistance, only makes the picture clearer.

“Are you going to stare at the flowers or are you going to take them?” Dean smiles. “I got them for you.”

I step outside my front door and take a bouquet of roses from his hands. “Thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“Guess.”

“Um...Are they making, ‘Congratulations, you lost your virginity to me’ flowers now?”

He laughs and pulls me into his arms. “No. My apologies for ever asking you to guess. They’re just because.”

“Just because what?”

“Just because I really like you.” He kisses my lips. “I really don’t want this to end.”

I smile. “You just want to have more sex.”

“That, too.” He laughs. “But I’m serious. We’re going to have to find a way to make this work in college.”

“We will,” I say stepping back. “So, you just came by to drop these off, for no reason?”

“Yes.” There’s a sexy gleam in his eyes. “That, and well...Your mom is still out of town, and did you not just send me a text that said, ‘Can you please come over? I would really like to fuck my boyfriend today?’”

I blush and open the door, and he takes me up to my room.

“Hey, Miss!” The bartender’s loud voice lulls me back to reality. “Miss, I’m cutting you off now. You’re done.”

I see that he’s sliding my credit card back to me and still refusing to honor my request for an extra shot of bourbon in my tea.

“You got someone I can call for you?”

“What?” I can barely make him out now. There’s two of him and my head in spinning even faster. “What did you say?”

He groans and I see him get close and become one person again, and then he takes my phone. He taps the screen a few times.

“I’m going to call out the last people you contacted. Let me know who I need to call to get you out of my bar.” He slides me a bottle of water. “Michelle—Hamilton Array Gallery?”

“No! Please, no.”

“Okay...” He unscrews the cap of my bottle, since I can’t seem to get it open myself. “Mom?”

“No, not her either.”

“Eric—Big Brother?”

“Yes.” I slur, sipping the water. “Yes, him.”

He dials the number and holds the phone up to his ear. “May I speak to Eric, please?” There’s a pause. “Eric, I’m the owner of the Beach Bar down on Fifth, and I believe this is your sister in front of me. I need someone to come pick her up. We no longer do calls for cabs here.”

I can hear Eric saying, “Jesus Christ, Mia” over the bar’s music and I know he’ll have a shit ton more to say when I get home, so I wave my hands to get the bartender’s attention.

“It’s just down the street. I stay right across...” I fall forward against the bar and grab a chair before I hit the ground. “Like I was saying...”

The guy next to me helps me back into my chair and the bartender rolls his eyes as he gives me my phone back.

“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” he says. “Drink the rest of that water, and the next time you’re thinking about coming in here to get drunk—Don’t.”

I nod and sip the rest, feeling as if an eternity passes between each and every swig.

When I’m almost finished with the bottle, I feel a tapping on my shoulder and slowly turn around.

“I’m so, so sorry, Eric. I know I—” I stop talking when I see Dean.

He’s dressed in his uniform and he actually looks somewhat concerned.

“Come on,” he says, slipping an arm around me and pulling me up.

“I’ll wait for Eric to come,” I say, hating that my body is reacting to his touch. “I’m not interested in being arrested right now.”

“Who the fuck do you think Eric called?” He rolls his eyes. “And I’m not going to arrest you. I’m giving you a ride home.”

“Down the street?”

“Unfortunately.” He walks me out of the bar and opens the door to his squad car.

He doesn’t wait for me to say anything or protest; he simply picks me up and places me into the seat. He secures my seatbelt and shuts me inside.

Once he slips into the car and pulls into traffic, we don’t say anything. The only sound is the dispatcher on his police radio and the sound of the heavy rain drops falling against his windshield.

At a red light, he looks over at me. “Did you go to work today?”

I don’t answer.

“Mia...” He sighs, turning down his radio. “I’m trying to be cordial with you. I think that’s the best the two of us can possibly do for the rest of this situation.”

I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.

My head is still being pulled in a million directions, and the motion of the car is making me feel sick.

Dean leans over and places his hand against my forehead. He gives me a look of sympathy and pulls over to the CVS at the corner. He parks the car and gets out, quickly going inside and returning with a few bags.

He hands me a bottle of water as he cranks the engine again. “Do you still take your coffee the same way?”

I nod and he pulls into a Starbucks drive thru. He orders my usual, a pike blend with toffee and hazelnut syrup, and lots of whipped cream.

I expect him to hand it to me, but he places it in a cup-holder and says, “Wait. I’ll give it to you when we get home.”

I lean against the car window for the rest of the ride home, and when we get there, he pulls me against his side and leads me to the elevator and up to our floor.

Walking me to my room, he opens the door and pulls back the sheets.

“Get in,” he says.

I stumble forward and fall face first onto the mattress.

“Jesus...” He sighs and lifts me up, placing me under the sheets himself. He sets my coffee on my night stand, and he takes out some of the things he bought at CVS as well: Three bottles of orange juice, Tylenol, and cool-packs for my forehead.

He readjusts my sheets and brushes hair off of my face. “Why were you at a bar and not at work?”

“I was having a bad day.”

“Since when do you drink on bad days? You paint on bad days.”

“People change.”

“We don’t.” His eyes are on mine. “At least not that much.” He turns on my lamp and turns off my alarm clock. “Regardless of the bad day, why didn’t you just stay home?”

“I locked myself out.”

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“Because I would’ve had to call you.” The liquor is still rushing through my veins. “I didn’t want to call you.”

“Because you hate me that much?”

I nod. “Because you hate me, too.”

Silence.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks.

“No.” I try to roll onto my side, but it doesn’t work.

Shaking his head, Dean grabs my hips and helps me. He leans down and looks at me, pressing his hand against my forehead once more, and I’m not sure what comes over me, but I press my forehead against his and kiss him. Thoroughly.

My arms go around his neck and I continue to kiss him because I suddenly have the urge, because I want to. And for some strange reason, I feel like I need to. My tongue slides against his and I moan into his mouth, but then I realize that he’s not kissing me back and my eyes widen.

Before I can pull away in complete embarrassment, he runs his fingers through my hair and kisses me harder than I was kissing him. His lips fit perfectly onto mine. It feels so good that I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming or not.

I don’t get a chance to figure out if I’m in reality or not because all of a sudden, I pass out.