True (True Believers #1)(37)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Because you don’t really want to have sex with me, do you?”

He shook his head. “You don’t either.”

I didn’t. But I didn’t want to hear that. I didn’t want the confirmation that he had been willing to use me as a lousy substitute for Jessica, even if I had already known it. I didn’t want to feel that I was unattractive just because a disgusting human being like Grant wasn’t attracted to me.

Besides the creep factor and the total deception in his idea, it didn’t allow room for the fact that I had been then and still was a virgin, which presumably would have been revealed to Tyler, making it obvious Grant and I had lied. Of course, he didn’t know that. Nor did it matter because I decided I truly hated him, and while I wouldn’t leave him to die in a burning building, I wasn’t going to lift a finger to help him otherwise.

“Sorry I wasn’t any help to you,” I told him with massive quantities of sarcasm.

“Maybe you could put a good word in with me to Jessica.”

“I’ll do that.” Never. Unable to look at him, I tore open the box of crackers and let a whole pile slide onto a plate.

“Okay, cool.”

Someone clearly didn’t recognize verbal cues. But then I guessed that wasn’t really such a huge surprise. He hadn’t understood no, so why would he get sarcasm?

“I know she likes pills. Let it drop to her that I can get her some.”

I definitely wasn’t going to tell her that. Grant getting Jess hooked on prescription drugs was not happening on my watch. My knife sliced into a cheese wedge, as I fought to keep my mouth shut. Where the hell was Tyler?

“And let me know when Tyler gets bored with you. I’ll see what I can do to help you out.”

Oh, would he now? How effing generous of him. Afraid I was on the verge of stabbing him with the paring knife, I picked up the plate of cheese and crackers and skirted him, heading into the living room. I was putting the plate down on the oak coffee table when the front door opened and Tyler came in, carrying two twelve-packs of beer.

“What the f**k is going on?” he asked immediately, glaring at Grant, depositing the beer on the coffee table.

Grant shot me a smug look, like this somehow validated all his points.

“Pizza rolls are in the oven,” I told Tyler, brushing my hair off my forehead. “And apparently Nathan invited Grant over.”

There went Tyler’s fingers, straight into his pocket, searching for his cigarettes.

“I was just telling Rory I’m sorry about what happened,” Grant said. “She’s being cool about it.”

Tyler slid his eyes over to me, seeking confirmation of this pronouncement. I chewed my bottom lip, not sure how I felt. In the end, I just nodded, because that felt like the only way to disprove Grant’s victim theory. Grant had made me feel unsure of myself with Tyler and that made me angry. I didn’t want to be the stray he felt sorry for.

“Okay,” Tyler said carefully. I suspected he was going to ask me about it when we were alone. If we were alone. We really didn’t get much time to just be together without someone interrupting.

His lighter flicked on.

“Hey guys!” Kylie said, bursting out of the bedroom, a huge smile on her face. She was wearing Nathan’s sweatpants and T-shirt, and she was waving her phone at us. “Check this out!”

I leaned forward to study the screen, grateful for the interruption in the awkward silence. It was her online social-networking page, and she had changed the profile picture to one of her and Nathan, temples touching as they smiled in tandem for the camera. Under her hometown, it said that she was “in a relationship” with Nathan Turner. That was new. They had never once made it Facebook Official before.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” I told her.

“We’re legit,” Nathan said with a grin, looking sleepy and very pleased with himself, and no doubt Kylie. “No more beating around the f**king bush.”

Then he and Kylie looked at each and busted out laughing when they realized the possible double entendre of his words.

“Well, I hope you don’t give that up completely,” she said, reaching out for his hand.

“Hardly.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss that made me jealous. “But now I get to say you’re my girlfriend and that just rocks, I’m telling you. You’re gorgeous, fat lip and all.”

She giggled and they snuggled, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at Tyler. I wanted to be in the same position as Kylie. There was no denying it. I wanted Tyler to feel pleased to call me his girlfriend. I wanted him to announce it online, where anyone could see it, in black and white, at any given time.

But there weren’t even any pictures of Tyler and me together. We weren’t there yet. If ever. We were something, but we weren’t official.

He wasn’t looking at me. He was reaching for a piece of cheese, ash from his cigarette drifting down onto the coffee table, which he ignored. “I think I just threw up in my mouth,” Tyler told Nathan.

Not exactly what I was looking to hear.

It shouldn’t matter. I should be happy with what we did have. When had I let myself forget the danger and get too close? I went into the kitchen to retrieve the pizza rolls out of the oven with a balled up T-shirt I had found lying on the counter atop a pile of mail. There were no pot holders. There weren’t even any kitchen towels.

When I brought the rolls out on a plate, Tyler was turning on the TV to watch the pregame whatever. I wasn’t exactly into football, but I was willing to give it a shot. Or at least I had been. I was feeling decidedly less generous about the whole thing. It was a repeat of the night before, me seeking something, but not really sure what.

Tyler tore a pizza roll in half with his teeth and said, “Thanks, babe.” His eyes went to the TV.

Whatever I was looking for from him, that wasn’t really it.

But then he reached for my hand, pulling me down onto the couch, tucking me into the space next to him, his arm around my shoulder, our hips touching.

Better.

***

The coffee shop was warm, the sign for seasonal gingerbread lattes hanging behind the register, the gas fireplace in the corner turned on for the first time since last winter. When I was little, I had loved the smell of coffee. It was the scent of Saturday and Sunday mornings, of pajamas and pancakes and my parents smooching against the kitchen counter. It didn’t matter if it was the sweltering heat of August or the bitter cold of January, there was always coffee brewing, and I enjoyed standing in front of the pot watching the drip, drip, trying to puzzle out how water could so readily pick up the flavor of the beans in such a short amount of time. It was amazing to me, how quickly things could change.