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Authors: Kate Perry

Project Date (9 page)

BOOK: Project Date
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Her forehead unfurrowed a touch. “Oh, how is Matt? I didn’t realize you still saw him.”
This time I did frown. “Why wouldn’t I see Matt? He’s my best friend.”
She shrugged. “Things change. People change.”
Whatever that meant.
“Besides,” she said as she went back into my office, “isn’t your boyfriend jealous of him? And vice versa?”
“No.” Scowling, I followed her. “Matt and I have a relationship that transcends all other relationships.”
She glanced at me briefly before dragging one of her suitcases onto the bed and unzipping it.
Suitcases? I gawked at them. “Don’t believe in traveling light, huh?”
“You never know what you might need,” she replied, her face averted.
I studied her. Something was
not
right. “What’s going on?”
“I’m unpacking.”
“No, I mean, what’s going on, really?”
“I said I’m unpacking.” Cool and composed, she pulled out a stack of shirts.
Overly composed if you asked me. But damn it, I wasn’t going to hang around and make an effort if she wasn’t going to cooperate. “I’m going to bed then. Maybe we can have breakfast.”
“Sure. Did you lock the door?”
“Of course.” Evil, I know, since I purposefully didn’t. But her obsessive need for security drove me mad.
“Goodnight, then.”
I crossed my eyes at her rigid back and left.
After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, I turned the hall light off and shut myself in my bedroom.
I love my room. When I bought this house I turned the attached deck into an enclosed sitting area with windows all around it. I had an oversized lounging chaise in there and at night I liked to lie on it and stare at the stars.
It was the perfect way to unwind tonight, so I stripped down to my underwear and flopped onto it. The stars weren’t visible since the weather had turned again, but it was still peaceful.
I briefly considered calling Matt and asking him to play his violin for me, but the solitude was just what I needed.
I had to plot.
Grabbing a pen and pad of paper I kept on the table next to the lounge (along with the latest Kung Fu magazine), I wrote:
How to Wiggle My Way Back into Barry’s Heart
All lists should have titles. How successful the list is depends on the title. Tapping the pen against my lips, I considered the (fairly ugly) situation and pondered where to start. Tough decision. So I listed my choices randomly.
1.
Invite him to Hurley’s and profess my never-ending regret
2.
Call him pretending to be a psychic from Dionne’s network and tell him he had to get back together with Mena, otherwise his life would go to shit
3.
Tell him I was briefly possessed, but the exorcism was a success
4.
Check his blog to see where he was going to be in the near future and make sure I ended up there too
5.
Tell him I had a month to live and my last wish was to get back together with him
 
“Hmm.” The last one had merit.
Seriously though, the idea of showing up where he was going had potential. Barry often publicized his social schedule on his blog. Once, I’d asked him why; he said it was so his mom could find him if she needed to. I wanted to ask why she couldn’t just harass him over the phone like my mom, but he distracted me with a fish kiss.
Enough said.
I automatically started to go to my computer to look at his blog, but then I remembered Daphne was in my office.
“Damn.” I dropped my list on the floor and dangled my arms and shoulders off the edge of the chaise. “Tomorrow,” I promised myself.
Tomorrow I’d find out what he was up to and then I’d make my move. Barry was as good as mine.
Chapter Eight
Lessons Learned from MacGyver
#21
A little research can go a long way.
Buzzzzzzz.
With my head buried under my comforter, I reached an arm out and smacked my alarm clock.
Buzzzzzzz.
Damn thing. I hit it again, which sent it skittering off the nightstand. I took satisfaction in the metallic plink of something breaking off, even if it meant I had to put it back together. That would teach it to go off.
Buzzzzzzz.
Lifting my head out of the covers, I glared at it. Why wouldn’t it stop?
Buzzzzzzz.
“Shut up!” I yelled.
What time was it, anyway? I leaned over, dangling off the edge of the bed. The clock was lying face-down, so I couldn’t see the time. Then I saw the cord lying unplugged, probably from when it went flying.
Buzzzzzzz.
Wait a minute. It was still broken. I hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. It couldn’t be ringing.
Buzzzzzzz.
I realized the annoying sound was coming from down the hall toward the front of the house.
Daphne.
“Damn it!” I shoved the covers aside and stumbled out of my room. As I trudged toward my office (yes, the obnoxious noise was still going on), it came to me that it was Saturday. “Hell.” I walked up to the closed door and banged on it. “Daphne! Turn the frickin’ alarm OFF.”
Silence. Then a faint, groggy “Sorry.”
Grr. I mashed my lips together to keep myself from spewing more obscenities at her. By all rights, I was justified. She woke me up
by alarm
on a Saturday. God help her if it was ...
But I knew it was before I even went into the kitchen and looked at the time. Six-thirty. In the morning.
She chose that moment to come out of my office. Bad move on her part. She never did have great timing where I was concerned.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I growled.
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Without so much as a blink, she sat down at the kitchen table and began lacing up her running shoes.
I crossed my arms and glared. “The alarm clock. It’s frickin’ Saturday.”
“Stop swearing.”
My teeth ground so hard I could feel the enamel wearing down.
“And I set my alarm because I wanted to go running this morning.”
“Excellent reason.” The bite of my words was sharp. “Good thing you set it so loud because I think there’s someone in the next county that wanted to get up butt early too.”
She glanced at me as she rose and stretched. “I said I was sorry.”
I shook my head and went to the cupboard to get my coffee supplies out. No way was I going to be able to fall back asleep with my blood boiling. I had to reach on my toes to get the bag of beans because they’d somehow gotten pushed back.
“Do you need a hand?” Daphne asked helpfully.
I glared at her over my shoulder. If looks could kill, she should have been day old roadkill.
“Fine.” She threw her hands in the air. “Be difficult. I’m going for a run. See you later.”
It took me three cups of coffee before I felt human, and even then it was debatable. There’s nothing like starting your morning on the wrong foot. Especially your Saturday morning.
When Daphne came back an hour-and-a-half later, I was sitting on the living room couch with my feet propped on the table. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her start to say something (probably to tell me to get my feet off), but she wisely closed her mouth and went to the kitchen instead.
Seconds later she joined me, a glass of orange juice in her hand. She sat down in the loveseat perpendicular to me.
I made an effort to be civil. “How was your run?”
“Fine.”
I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. I shrugged and concentrated on the last bit of coffee in my cup. The first sip is the best, but there’s almost as much satisfaction in the last swallow.
“You know coffee depletes your body of nutrients, don’t you?”
The look I gave her must have clearly communicated what I thought, because her lips tightened into a thin, pale line.
At least it shut her up.
And I had two weeks of this to look forward to. I wondered if Matt would let me sleep on his couch.
“Want me to make breakfast?” she asked after a long stretch of silence.
“I thought we’d go to Mom and Dad’s. They probably want to see you.” Since you’re their favorite.
She ducked her head, suddenly very concerned about a loose string at the waistband of her shorts.
I frowned. Something was up. “What is it?”
“Well—” She bit her cupid’s-bow lips that were a perfect shade of raspberry without lipstick.
I waited. When she said nothing, I barked impatiently. “What?”
She mumbled something, her chin tucked against her chest.
“What?”
“They don’t know I’m here.”
At least I could hear her, but I was confused. “Where do they think you’re staying? Mom wouldn’t let you stay in a hotel.”
“No, Mena, they don’t know I’m
here
.”
I nodded. I got that, but I still didn’t understand where they thought she was staying. It’s not like Daphne has any friends.
“
Here
,” she repeated. “In Portland.”
“In Portland?” Then it dawned on me. “They don’t know you’re here?”
Even her scowl was enchanting. “That’s what I said.”
“Where do they think you are?”
“At home in Palo Alto.” She narrowed her deep ocean eyes at me. “And I don’t want them to know.”
Whoa. A threat from the perfect one. I couldn’t help grinning malevolently. “What’ll you give me to keep quiet?”
“I won’t tell Mom it was you who broke that antique lamp in the living room.”
Damn. I studied my sister with new appreciation. That was a good one. I didn’t know she had it in her. But I couldn’t let her know about my admiration, so I said, “Mom won’t care. That was twenty years ago.”
“Yes, she will, and you know it.”
True. Mom tended to cling to transgressions.
Still, I couldn’t help needling Daphne more. I shook my head and tried to look concerned. “I don’t know. That means I have to lie to them. I don’t feel right about that.”
She gave me an annoyed look. “You’ve never had qualms before.”
Also true, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “It’s going to be hard. Real hard.”
“I’m sure your conscience will find a way to deal with it. I’m going to take a shower.” She got up and went to my office, closing the door firmly behind her.
I stretched my arms out on the couch behind me and grinned. Teasing her was one of life’s greatest pleasures.
But I sobered as I wondered why she wouldn’t want our parents to know she was here. Something was going on, and it didn’t seem good.
I stared at her bedroom door. Should I go ask her?
Nope. I shook my head. Our relationship wasn’t exactly close, and she’d rejected my concerned overtures before. She was SuperDaphne anyway—she probably had it all under control. What did she need help from me for?
 
I don’t know why I felt compelled to hang out at home to see if Daphne wanted to do anything, but I spent a couple of hours waiting for her to come out of her room. It became apparent that she wasn’t intending on emerging any time soon (I put my ear to the door to make sure she hadn’t fallen over in there and knocked herself unconscious).
I had no problem with her being reclusive. Fine with me if she wanted to lock herself in there the whole time she was here. The problem was my computer was in there with her, and I needed to go online to check out Barry’s blog. I only had two weeks to get him back—plenty of time, really, but I didn’t want to leave it to the last minute.
I sat at my kitchen table, tapping my fingers against the wood. I stared at my office door and tried to guess how long she would be holed up in there. I mean, I thought she’d have to use the bathroom eventually, but I had doubts she was really human, so maybe not.
I would have called Matt; he’d let me use his computer any time. But I knew how he felt about Barry and my plan.
Leaving work or the public library.
Work would be convenient, but the library would be anonymous. The Web logs wouldn’t trace anything back to me. Not that Barry checked his Web logs but you could never be too careful.
So I grabbed a jacket (it was drizzly today), hopped in my car, and headed to the downtown branch. All the terminals were occupied when I got there, so I killed time browsing their record section. (Yeah, I was surprised they still had records too. The scary part: They had more vinyl than they did CDs.)
Finally a computer opened up. I dove into the seat, cutting off an elderly woman. I smiled at her and said, “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Bitch.” She flipped me off and tottered away.
Oo-kay.
I shook my head and typed in the URL for Barry’s site. Then I waited for it to come up (you’d think the library would have a better connection). It seemed like forever, but it was probably only ten seconds before his site appeared on the screen.
“Ah.” About time. I rubbed my hands together and got to it.
“Blah, blah, blah.” Barry liked to go on and on sometimes. I scrolled down, trying to find his weekend itinerary. It had to be here somewhere.
“Got it,” I muttered a moment later. He was so predictable. I skimmed through it.
Then I froze.
Aw, hell.
Couldn’t be. I rubbed my eyes and reread the paragraph. Unfortunately, the words didn’t change—it was exactly as I read it the first time.
Barry had a girlfriend. The bastard. What nerve. It’d barely been over a week since we’d broken up.
“Shit shit
shit
.” I could feel the woman next to me staring at me, so I turned to her with a contrite smile and said, “Sorry.”
This was a rebound fling, I reassured myself. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.
When the danger of fainting from hyperventilation had passed, I slowly read his Web page again.
If what he’d written was true (and I had no reason to doubt it—he was the most honest man I knew, next to Matt), he’d met her the day after we broke up. He said they “clicked.”
“Clicked!” I exclaimed to the woman next to me. “
We
used to click.”
Her eyes were so round, I thought they were going to pop out of her head. What? She’d never seen a woman scorned before?
I ignored how she scooted her chair away from me and read on. Barry described his new flame in great detail, but if that weren’t enough, he also had a small picture of them together.
“Can you believe it?” I asked the woman. “They’ve only been dating a week and already they have a picture together.”
The woman must have decided I was a harmless freak because she leaned closer to take a look. “She’s kind of pretty.”
I scowled. “She has no chin.”
The lady pursed her lips. “But her eyes are so beautiful, you don’t notice her lack of chin much.”
“Hmmph.”
“And look at her hair.” She pointed. “How it looks so silky and how it’s all in place.”
I turned to glare at her. “Whose side are you on anyway?”
“I’m just saying.” She shrugged, her nose in the air. With a pointed look at my hair, she gathered her things and walked away.
My hand flew to my ponytail. My hair could look like that, if I really wanted it to. Maybe.
I frowned at the picture. Barry’s rebound looked familiar. Something around the blond hair, the way she smiled for the camera ... She looked, I don’t know, angelic.
I stiffened. Angelic. I leaned toward the computer until my nose was inches from the screen.
Holy shit—she looked just like Daphne. She looked more like Daphne’s sister than I did.
Barry was dating a Daphne look-alike. In essence, he cast me aside for Daphne.
“Bastard.” I glared at him, standing so happy with his arm around her.
Yes, the little voice inside was adamantly pointing out that I was the one who cast Barry aside. Still. He wasn’t supposed to go out the next day and replace me with someone who looked just like my nemesis.
Pout.
Maybe my mom was right—maybe Barry
was
a great catch. If he got a girl like Daphne just one day after I (erroneously) dumped him, he couldn’t be so bad after all, right? How could I have missed his greatness?
BOOK: Project Date
11.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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