Break Your Heart (8 page)

Her face lost its tension, and she sighed, cupped my hand. “I know. That time wasn’t just hard on me. It was hard on you and your father too. But I really think this was a one-off. Not an indicator of the pain returning.”

Nothing in her body language indicated any aches or tenderness in her back, so I had to take her at her word.

I nodded.

“Hey, will you watch the trailer for a few minutes? I’m going to run to the restroom.”

“Sure.”

Mom took another chug of her coffee, then darted out of the trailer. I eyed the blueprints, her familiar block script with notes written around the edges, lines pointing to areas on the walls that had leaks or damage. I couldn’t help but smile. How many hours had she and I spent poring over blueprints, discussing building structure integrity?

Engineering wasn’t necessarily my thing, but I respected her passion for it. It had fed into my own passion for math.

As I shifted in my chair, I kicked my foot under the table and connected with her purse. The rattle of something falling on the floor drew my attention. I ducked my head down to see what I’d knocked out of her bag. It was a bottle of pills.

I picked them up and saw her name wasn’t on them. It was another woman’s, a person I didn’t know.

My heart gave a strange thud. Why would she have someone else’s prescription? What was this medication? I read the label a few times.

Inside her purse were two other bottles, half empty. These had her name on them.

The trailer door opened, and I dropped the bottle I held into the purse, then sat up with a smile plastered on my face.

Mom came in with a relieved sigh. “Thank you! Okay, what we were talking about?”

I could barely get the words out. “You were telling me your back was feeling better.”

“Yeah, it is.” She even stretched and turned to show me.

Was there a way to ask her what was up with the bottles of pills without pissing her off? I struggled with it for a moment.

“Oh, but I did get a minor ear infection,” she added, her face blanching. “I have some antibiotics for that.”

Ah. What was
wrong
with me? Was I really suspecting my mom had a pill problem? She’d had back pain and an ear infection. Maybe she’d borrowed pills from a friend when she’d complained about not feeling well from the earache and she was going to return the rest of them. Guilt swam through me.

I offered a shaky smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay. I’ll head out now—gotta figure out what I’m making for dinner tonight, so I’m going to stop at the store.”

“Good thinking. Maybe you can come over this weekend? Your aunt Kaye’s bringing the baby.” Dad’s youngest sister had just had a baby a few months ago.

“I’ll try.” I kissed her cheek and stood to go. Suddenly I needed to get out of there. Get away from this shame eating away at my chest. I couldn’t believe what a path my mind had gone down. About my own mother too. The woman who had raised me to be strong and self-sufficient.

I left the trailer and walked down the sidewalk in a much more somber mood than before. The problem was, as much as I was beating myself up for having those thoughts . . . there was still a teeny, tiny chance it could be true. And I had no idea what to think about that.

I
smoothed the soft, buttery fabric of my skirt over my thighs and struggled to maintain an even smile over the candlelight glow on our table. It didn’t help that I felt crazy awkward right now.

I should have realized that tonight’s dinner date with Dallas wouldn’t be the easiest ever. After all, he had never quite seemed comfortable around me. But what had seemed cute and endearing at first was now starting to frustrate me.

Dallas sipped his beer and gave a stiff smile. We hadn’t been served appetizers yet, but he was already on his second drink. Not to mention he’d barely said ten words to me the whole evening.

I cleared my throat and scrambled for something to talk about. Anything. Other than class, that was. “Um. So how was your week?”
Well done, Megan,
I thought as I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. Scintillating conversation, indeed.

“Oh, it was fine.” He swallowed the rest of his beer, and I noticed his cheeks were flushed and his eyes a bit larger. Obviously the alcohol was kicking in. I could see the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Just studying and stuff. You?”

My heart pinched. Why did he have to drink so much to be able to talk and relax around me? I wasn’t intimidating or anything, was I? I shrugged my shoulders. “I worked earlier today.”

“You have a job at that sandwich place, right?” His eyes roamed around as he looked for our waiter. Probably to order another beer. Fabulous.

A dull heat flooded my face. “He’ll be here soon,” I said flatly.

“What?” His gaze ripped back to me.

“Our waiter. He’ll bring you another drink.”

He must have read the look on my face, because he turned red to the tips of his ears. “Oh. No, I’m fine. I don’t normally drink like this, sorry. I’m just really nervous.”

“Why?” I asked him bluntly. “I said yes. What’s there to be nervous about?”

“Because . . .” He waved a hand at me. “You’re beautiful. I didn’t think you’d even agree to a date. And I don’t want to screw it up.”

My heart softened a touch at that. Okay, that was kinda sweet.

The waiter appeared then, bearing a plate of bruschetta. “Here you go. May I get you anything else?” He saw the empty beer and picked up the bottle. “Another for you?”

Dallas shook his head woodenly. “No, just water please.”

Great. I fought against the urge to grab my phone and text someone to get me out of this. The night was going downhill, fast—Mayday, Mayday! I smothered a laugh.

Luckily, food was a good distraction, and the bruschetta was delicious. I savored the tangy bites and sipped my water.

“So, what do you want to do when you graduate?” I asked. “Any plans?”

“My cousin works for a company that gathers and analyzes statistical data for businesses. He says there’s a job for me if I want it.”

“That sounds neat. Are you into statistics?”

“Yeah, I like data.”

I waited for him to expand on that, but he just sat there and ate another piece of bruschetta. Okay then.

Time ticked on. It was painful—Dallas didn’t ask me any questions about myself, nor did he offer up much commentary on anything other than how good the appetizer was. When the waiter brought our dinner, I ordered another glass of wine, and he must have figured it was okay to drink again, because he got a fresh beer.

I was halfway through my fettuccine Alfredo when he said, “So I hear you date a lot of athletes.”

I froze midbite. Put my fork down and eyed him. He was staring right back at me. Apparently Lightweight’s alcohol had kicked in hard-core. “And?”

He blinked. “Um. Well, I’m not an athlete.”

I just stared. What the hell point was he getting at here?

“You look really pretty tonight.” His eyes dipped to my cleavage, lingered, then swept back up to my face and my wild curls. “I’ve wanted to touch your hair since the first time I saw you.”

I couldn’t help the shocked laugh that barked out of me. “Have you ever been on a date before, Dallas?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Oh Lord. I just turned my attention to my plate. Shovel fast, I told myself. I’d be home soon enough, enjoying ice cream and pretending this never happened. Hopefully he’d get too drunk tonight to remember how awful this was so class on Monday wouldn’t be crazy awkward.

Dallas tried to throw out a few inane comments about the people around us as he downed his fourth beer. I noticed his speech was getting a bit slurred and his gaze kept dipping to my breasts. He was no longer making any pretense of subtlety about it. Normally I didn’t care if a guy checked me out. I felt good about myself—I wasn’t embarrassed or modest, and so long as they didn’t get creepy about it, all was fine. But for some reason, he was putting me off tonight. Maybe because this date had been a total flop, nothing like I’d thought it would be.

Dallas had turned out to be like every other guy, after all. Interested not in the space between my ears but in what he could touch and see. That was disappointing. Unsatisfying. Which both surprised and unsettled me. Maybe I was just burned out on casual dating. Maybe I was ready for something more substantial.

I didn’t even bother finishing my second glass of wine. He paid for the meal—at least he did something right tonight. I tugged on my coat and followed him out the door.

“So, what now?” he asked as we approached my car. Thank God I’d driven separately. I just wanted to leave.

“Now it’s time for me to go home,” I said in an upbeat tone. It was so hard to maintain my manners, but I tried. I thrust out my hand. “Thanks for asking me out, Dallas. Hope you have a good evening.”

He took my fingers in his and squeezed them, then stroked my hand with his thumb. His palm was super sweaty. I could hear his breath coming out in a rush. He stepped closer, peered down at me. His mouth was inches from mine. “So, can I get a good night kiss?”

My jaw dropped. Seriously? I just stared at him. He stared back.

“No, I don’t think so.” I removed my hand, dug into my purse and got my keys. As subtly as I could, I swiped my now sweat-slicked palm across the inner lining of my coat. Gross. “Good night.” I ducked into my car before he could say anything else.

As I drove home, I called up Kelly and bitched to her about how badly the date went. She laughed so hard she snorted, which actually helped lighten my mood and made me laugh too.

“You just don’t even know, girl,” I said with a groan. “It was awful. I was probably his first date ever, I swear.”

“I can’t believe he got drunk. You must have looked really hot.”

I rolled my eyes. “I could have looked like a yeti and he still would have been awkward. It was just never gonna be amazing. So, you still in for tomorrow night?” We’d firmed up plans to spend Valentine’s Day evening eating Chinese takeout and watching
Kill Bill 1
and
2
—the least romantic movies ever. It was going to be awesome.

“All over it.”

I pulled into my complex and parked. “Okay, I’m home. Thanks for listening to me whine. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

We hung up. I went right into the apartment, into my room and stripped off my clothes, tossing on comfy jeans and a sweater. I was tempted to drink more wine, but I decided on a soda instead.

I hopped online and checked out my social media. Since it was a Friday night, I saw a bunch of pics of people going out and drinking, partying. Blech. I was so not in the mood for that right now. I checked email and saw one from Nick.

 

 

For some reason, I wanted to talk to him. I told myself it was because he was an intelligent man who saw more to me than just a pair of boobs. He valued my smarts. And if I closed my eyes, I could still taste his kiss on my mouth. That conversation in his office had haunted me more than I wanted to admit.

I was weak, I knew. But I couldn’t resist.

 

 

My email chimed a few minutes later.

 

 

Another email came right on the heels of that one.

 

 

Oh, how to answer that question. Should I be truthful? Or should I be socially polite? I couldn’t tell which one he wanted from me. I spent a few minutes waffling. Then I typed,

 

 

I hit send, my hands shaking and my stomach flipping over itself. That was forward of me, to hint that I’d been unable to stop thinking about him and our kiss, and I had no idea how he’d respond. But he’d asked, so I’d answered. The temptation had been too great to not see what would happen.

He wrote back:

 

 

My heart leaped to my throat. I stared at his email for several minutes until I almost had the words memorized. When I finally wrote him back, I asked what albums he had, said that I was interested in buying a record player too (plus, Casey was a huge fan of vinyl) and I’d love recommendations.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed as we talked. And I didn’t care. Our messages went back and forth, the trail of our conversation growing longer. I learned he was a fan of old metal, like Metallica, but also of the Beastie Boys and old hip-hop. I confessed I had a soft spot for eighties groups like Hall & Oates, and he addressed the next email to “Maneater.”

Our messages weren’t overtly flirty at first, but there was an undertone that vibrated with awareness. I couldn’t help but think about his fingers typing away on his laptop or desktop. Those intense eyes locked on the screen. Our words grew more intimate as we shared favorite music memories. He told me about going to classical concerts with his dad. I wrote back how my dad’s love of the Beatles had grown on me, and I owned all of their CDs.

Since my bedroom door was open, I heard a key scrape the lock, and then Casey walked in. She paused in surprise as she eyed me.

“Wow, you’re up late,” she murmured as she dropped her bag on the couch.

I glanced at the time—it was well after two. I’d long since finished my soda and had moved on to drinking coffee, not wanting to grow tired or end the conversation. “Yeah, just talking.”

“How did your date go? Obviously not
that
great,” she said in a teasing voice, “since you’re on the computer and not with him.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “It was a total dud. He got drunk and ogled me, then tried to press me for a kiss at the end of the night. Uh, no.”

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.” Casey stretched and yawned. She took off her boots and padded across the floor to give me a hug. Her warmth enveloped me, and I smiled. It still seemed so crazy to have her reach over and touch me like this. She was growing more natural at it now. “I’m exhausted. Going to bed—let’s chat more about it tomorrow. Night!”

I heard her door close behind her and turned my attention back to the computer. Nick’s latest message was facing me, waiting for a response. I wrote:

 

 

His reply came a few minutes later:

 

 

The lightness in my chest dampened, and my old friend embarrassment came sweeping back in. I’d inflated this conversation beyond what it actually had meant. Had given it more meaning, more intimacy, because I’d wanted to believe those feelings were there. I’d needed it, actually, especially after that crappy date.

I started composing an email telling him good night when he followed up his message with a new one.

 

 

That buoyancy came back in a rush that made me almost dizzy. From the wording of his request, we both knew we were crossing a line here with definite intent. No alcohol involved, nothing else to blame it on.

And yet there was no way I could say no. Every molecule in my body ached to see him. Hours of typing had built this need in me to be with him, only him. No other man had stimulated my mind or my body this fast before. Not even close. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to smell that soap scent and pretend I had a chance at him being mine.