Stealing Phin (11 page)

Byron was silent. He looked confused, his forehead wrinkled with concentration as if he were doing some complicated mental math.

Finally, the puzzle pieces seemed to come together for him. He shook his head. “That lying bastard.”

Now
what was he talking about? I wondered if he had paid any attention to what I’d just said. Nothing he’d said in the past five minutes made any sense to me. I was starting to wonder if it even mattered.

“Who?” I was losing patience with him.

He looked at me. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you.”

It was more of a statement than a question, but I answered anyway. “I always tell the truth.”

Byron pressed his lips together. “You didn’t cheat on him. If what you’re saying is true, and I believe that it is,” he threw in when I opened my mouth to protest his doubt, “then you and your ex weren’t together when we, well, you know.”

I shook my head. “He had my heart. Still does. So in my mind, it was cheating because I wasn’t being true to my heart.”

Byron stared at me hard. “How can you beat yourself up like that when
he’s
the one who did you wrong.”

I paused, searching for the words to express what I felt. “It’s not about who’s right and who’s wrong. He made a mistake. One that caused me a lot of pain and damaged our trust. But even the most painful wounds heal eventually. And as for the trust—I believe we can rebuild it.”

“How do you know that?” His hands curled into fists. “How can you ever trust anyone again after they hurt you this way?” Byron’s face darkened with the shadows of his past. “Even when you think you know someone—they never fail to surprise the shit out of you.” I watched as the ghosts of a painful past shadowed his face. “Usually, it’s not the good kind of surprise either.” As he said this, he seemed a million miles away. For a second, his wall came down completely, and I could see straight into his heart. I was surprised to see that it was as bruised and battered as my own. My heart went out to him.

“It’s not something you can know,” I said, though I wasn’t sure he was listening anymore. He seemed buried in his own thoughts. “You just have to believe.”

But even as I said this, Byron’s point created doubt in my mind. For the first time since I decided to take Douglas back, I realized that I hadn’t thought about the possibility he might not want
me
back. As forgiving as I might be to Douglas, I wasn’t so sure he’d be as forgiving to me.

Byron refocused his attention on me, looking at me like I was some strange, pitiful creature. Suddenly, I felt as though he’d read my mind and now viewed me as a love-sick puppy who was too dumb to learn a lesson and kept crawling back to its owner even after getting kicked around.

Was he right? Was I really that pathetic? Did love fuck everyone up to this degree, or was it just me? Before I knew it, tears began to fall down my cheeks. I looked away.

“Hey,” Byron said softly, “don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

“For what?” I sniffed. “Being an asshole? You can’t exactly help that.”

He chuckled. “Well, not just for that. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. For jumping to conclusions. And for judging you.”

Always quick to forgive, I shrugged it off. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Not as big as the ones I’ve made lately,” he said gravely.

His words punched me in the stomach. Just as we were coming to an understanding, he had to hit me while I was already down. Did he have to rub it in yet again that he regretted having sex with me?

“I’m gonna get going,” I said stiffly and moved toward the door, wishing I’d sat on the end of the couch closer to the exit so that I didn’t have to cross in front of him to leave.

But then Byron stood up abruptly, and I walked face-first into his chest.

“Oops, sorry,” I muttered. My hand went to my nose, which I’d bumped against his hard pecs.

“You really need to stop apologizing so much.” He put his hands on my shoulders and made me stand still as his eyes examined my face. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” I said, side-stepping his question. Yes, he’d hurt me, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

My eyes began to water from a combination of the pain in my nose and the one in my chest. Embarrassed yet again, I wanted even more to leave Byron’s presence. But when I started to move toward the door again, he stopped me.

“Wait,” he said. “Please don’t leave yet.”

“Why not? I’ve said pretty much all I came here to say.”

“I just…” Byron bit his lower lip as he seemed to struggle to say something. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

“But I—”

“Here,” he said, “why don’t you sit back down and relax. I’ll make you a cup of coffee. Just let me make sure your nose doesn’t start bleeding, otherwise it’ll bother me for the rest of the day.”

He spoke firmly, but gently, and he seemed sincerely concerned about my nose, so, despite how uncomfortable I felt around him now, I complied.

Byron left the room and came back a few minutes later with a mug of steaming hot coffee and aspirin. “Figured you could probably use some pain killers, too.”

“Thanks.” I took the aspirin with a sip of coffee. The coffee was perfect. It tasted just the way I liked it, which was odd since I made mine with half milk and three spoons of sugar. Not exactly a typical cup of joe.

Byron sat on the couch and angled himself toward me again. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, giving me his full attention. It made me decidedly self-conscious, and I suddenly wished I’d at least pulled back my hair before storming over here. I tended to have massive bedhead in the mornings.

“Listen,” he said in a serious voice. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. I really didn’t hit my nose that hard.”

“Not just that. I meant about everything else. Like last night—”

“Let’s just forget about last night, okay?” I interjected, not wanting to hear him say again what a big mistake it was or how much he regretted it.

His eyes searched my face, though I didn’t know what he was looking for. “Okay,” he said finally. “If that’s what you really want. Consider last night forgotten.”

I don’t know why I hesitated. I took another sip of coffee before I answered. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

Byron sat back. “All right, then.” For a fleeting moment, he seemed hurt. But that was probably just more wishful thinking on my part. In all likelihood, he was probably just relieved. Maybe he was afraid I was one of those clingy types who wanted to discuss baby names after the first date. “I appreciate your coming over here to talk things over. It was nice of you to want to spare me hurt feelings and let me down easy.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. Not for a moment did I believe he’d be hurt or feel rejected by my declaration that last night was a mistake. “I wasn’t as worried about your feelings, to be honest. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d take a one-night stand personally. I came here because I just needed to…” My words trailed off as I realized I wasn’t sure how to finish this sentence.

Why
did
I
come
here
then?
A not-so-little voice inside my head rang out with the truth.
You
came
here
because
you
wanted
to
see
him.
Because
as
much
as
you
want
to
think
being
with
him
was
wrong,
it
felt
terribly
right,
too.

Unable to say out loud what I was thinking, I nervously took another sip of coffee. Then, a completely random thought occurred to me.

“How did you know how I take my coffee?”

Again, Byron seemed preoccupied by whatever mysterious musings went on in that frustratingly handsome head of his. “Part of the job,” he muttered.

“What do you mean by
part
of
the
job
?” I set my mug down hard on the table in front of the couch. Some spilled onto its surface, but I resisted the urge to wipe it up. Let him clean his own damn table. “Part of your how-to-get-in-her-pants schtick? What, were you sitting in some dark corner counting how many spoons of sugar I put into my coffee at the breakfast buffet?”

Byron’s face softened. “Hey, no reason to get testy. Although I understand why you’ve drawn certain conclusions about the type of person I am, I’m not as bad a guy as you think.” Genuine remorse shadowed his face. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came across like an asshole to you. I realize now that some of the things I said to you last night at the Lava Lounge were wrong.” He pressed his lips together, and his eyes darkened. “I was wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you. You have no idea how wrong.”

I was more than a little taken aback by all this. Having spent the past two years with Douglas, King of Defensiveness, I wasn’t used to a guy actually listening to what I said, understanding my point of view, and then, by some miracle, apologizing for his screw ups. He had me flustered again, but for an entirely different reason now. He was being honest with me—that I could tell.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose it’d stop you if I said no.”

He smiled. “Forget about your ex. You’re better off without him.” His smile faded and he looked serious. Pissed, even. But I couldn’t figure out why.

“And you know this based on…”

“Let’s just say I know guys like him. You deserve better.”

“You know guys like him because you’re a lot like him?”

Byron smiled again, but his eyes were clouded with sadness and remorse. “Remember that thing I said about people surprising you, even after you think you know them?”

“And what’s so surprising about you? That you’re not really a man-slut? Don’t tell me you were a virgin until last night.”

Byron laughed despite himself. “Some surprises are better off kept under lock and key.”

“Until they pop out when you least expect it,” I said bitterly. “The way Marissa’s head popped up from Douglas’s lap when I walked in on them.”

“Marissa?”

“The nineteen-year-old bimbo.”

The muscle along Byron’s jaw flexed. “Your ex is an idiot.”

“Actually, he’s really smart,” I said. “He’s a lawyer.”

Byron shook his head. “I meant he’s an idiot for losing a girl like you.”

I blushed. Compliments always made me tongue-tied. “I guess even lawyers can be dumb about some stuff,” I sputtered lamely.

Suddenly, I became acutely aware of how small the space was between us on the couch. I could almost feel the warmth of his flesh from where I sat. Being with Byron, whether we were talking, arguing, or doing, well, you-know-what, felt more intimate than my most intimate moments with Douglas. Self-conscious again, I chewed on my bottom lip, wishing I’d thought to put on a dab of lip-gloss.

“You look fine,” Byron said, somehow reading my body language. I could tell he was the type of person who noticed little things. Maybe he did just happen to notice how I fixed my coffee during breakfast one morning. “Better than fine, actually. Most women look like tens when you pick them up at the bar or club, then the next morning, when half of their face has rubbed off onto your pillow, they look like—”

“An older, scarier version of their mothers.”

He chuckled. “Exactly.” He quickly added, “Not that I’ve taken loads of women home with me from bars or clubs. Even though I know you don’t believe me.”

I thought for a moment. As I looked into his eyes, there was earnestness in them. “I believe you,” I answered honestly.

He smiled, but it seemed bittersweet. “You’re not like those girls. You look fresh. Natural.” He reached toward me and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “In a really good way.”

I felt my face redden. His touch triggered memories of how his skin felt on mine last night. A mix of conflicting emotions battled within me. I squirmed and reached for my coffee mug, except my nervousness made my hands unsteady. Coffee sloshed over the rim of my mug and onto the rug.

“I’m so sorry. God, I’m such a klutz,” I sighed, tears welling up in my eyes out of sheer mortification, “I must be the sorriest mess of a girl you’ve ever met.”

Byron leaned forward and put his hand on mine. “I don’t think that.”

His eyes, his voice seemed so sincere. Byron was quite possibly the most confusing guy I’d ever met. My attraction to him was also beyond my comprehension. He had an effect on me that I didn’t understand nor had I experienced anything like it before. Despite having just met him, I felt a strange kind of closeness to him. I realized that Byron had fallen into the one-percent of guys my original thumbnail assessments failed to fully encapsulate.

His mouth moved and then paused. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t get it out. I sympathized with him. He looked as conflicted as I was beginning to feel.