Take a Bow (The Perfect Plans Series Book 2) (29 page)

“Ummm, yeah…fine. I-I just came over to drink.”

Flashing me a quick smirk, he shakes his head, his eyes light with mischief. “You came over here to drink?” he makes his way towards me, unaffected by his partial nudity.

“Ahhh, yup. With you,” I smile brightly, snapping back to the brilliance of my original plan -
Distraction 101.

“Call me crazy, but I’m guessing you’re way ahead of me,” he chuckles lightly. “Am I wrong?”

His sudden proximity and slightly somber gaze locks with mine momentarily, my words lost in the fog of my inebriation as I trace the features of his handsome face. Bright blue puppy dog eyes, stubble-covered cheeks, and that brilliant, wide smile.
Jeez, my friendly neighbor really is quite the looker
. He’s no Alexander Tate…
But, Alex Tate can kiss my…

“Aby?”

I jerk slightly as he pulls me back to reality, quickly turning away in embarrassment from my obvious perusal.
Oh, good lord.

Diversion. Think of a diversion!
This was supposed to be a distraction. Now I need a distraction from my distraction?
Shit
. “Wine. I could definitely use more wine,” I blurt, a little too exuberantly, raising my glass in the air, its contents sloshing and threatening to spill.

“Whoa, there,” he reaches for it, the touch of his hand igniting a spark I wasn’t prepared for.
What the hell was that?

My breath hitches as I struggle to break his gaze. “Sorry,” I laugh awkwardly, quickly turning towards the kitchen.

Laying my glass down on the island, the memory of the first time I was here hits me - that
other
awkward moment when his hand brushed mine as we cleaned up the spilt wine.
Humph. Was I drunk that night too?
I can’t even remember
.

“What is it with your place?” I try to brush it all off. “I have a habit of klutz-ing out in the wine department every time I’m here.”

“Maybe I should serve you beer instead,” he laughs. “Or, coffee wouldn’t hurt at the moment,” he shrugs his shoulders when I shoot him a teasing evil glare. “Hey,” he raises his hands, laughing, “…I’m just saying.”

“I came here to find a
drinking
buddy,” I reply, opening the fridge to grab two bottles of beer. “You in?”

“I’m in,” he smiles.

“Good. Heads up,” I warn, tossing him a bottle - probably not the smartest move considering my current hand-eye coordination.

His quick reflexes kick into gear to catch it, the efforts showcased in every glistening, flexed muscle as he reaches up and to the right. Bad aim on my part, poor towel wrapping on his. My eyes trace the quickly falling towel, pooling at his feet on the floor.
Shit.

Lifting my gaze to find his, I inadvertently catch a glimpse of what was, just moments ago, left to my imagination.
Double shit
. Wait.
Why is it…like that?
“Jesus, Andrew,” I blurt, without thinking, my eyes glued to his
package
. “That’s not exactly what I meant when I said heads up,” I finally compel myself to find his eyes.

“Ah, humor,” he nods his head, bending to retrieve the towel. “That’s one way to handle an awkward situation.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

He says nothing as he wraps the towel around his waist, though his gaze is locked on mine. His expression, however, is leaving me in the dark - which is a dangerous place to navigate under the influence of alcohol.

“Is
that
because of me?” I nod towards his now covered, though still evident, erection. “
Please
tell me there’s someone in the bathroom.”

“There’s no one in the bathroom, Aby,” he replies flatly, twisting off the beer cap to take a rather large swig. “Are you really implying surprise that I’m attracted to you?” he asks after seconds of silence.

“I…well, we’re friends,” I manage, reeling from the unexpected confrontation.

“Yes, we are.” He walks towards me. “Our friendship is something I truly value. But can you really blame me for feeling more?” He searches my eyes for a moment despite the rhetorical sentiment. “And, since we’re asking,” he shrugs slightly with a small, warm smile, “If we’d met before you met Alex…”

“We didn’t,” I interrupt him curtly. I’m drunk, hurt, and suddenly a little torn and confused. The last name I need to hear is…
his
. Not right now. He left me for
her
. Isn’t that why I’ve drunk myself into this ridiculous stupor?

And, you know what
- my inner actress steps into the spotlight, booting my sulky inner dreamer off stage -
maybe testing the waters with my handsome neighbor
isn’t
such a ridiculous idea
. I’ve said it myself, Andrew is a wonderful guy. A great catch. Any girl would be lucky to have him.
And, if things
had
started differently
…

I meet his gaze, my eyes whispering what I’m thinking before he slowly bends his head towards me. It’s a soft, slow brush of his lips against mine, just enough to set off that small spark that’s been hiding in the shadows waiting for the right time, if and when it ever came. There’s no reason to deny it. Nothing standing in the way of seeing where it can go. Nothing…
and, no one
.

He leans back, our gaze locked, my breaths labored as I absorb what’s about to happen, what line we’re about to cross.

Taking the bottle from my hand, he turns to lay it down beside his on the island, his eyes returning to search mine. It’s a silent, gentlemanly request, awaiting my returned approval. And I give it, without a word.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, cupping my face in his hands, the pad of his thumb brushing along my lip.

My nod of certainty is quick.

His kiss…is slow.

Slow and sensual.

And though my body awakens to the spark of arousal at the hands of my inebriation, it quickly fizzles. My mind isn’t in the game. Or maybe it’s my heart.

His lips feel…soft…
foreign
. My head spins as I struggle to give in to the moment and the feelings it should be evoking. I shouldn’t be thinking at all, but I can’t ignore the words floating through my mind like cue cards in grad school study hall - the most prevalent in bold italics:
Awkward
.

I gasp when he pulls away, though not from passionate despair at the loss of his lips. It’s more a sigh of relief from somewhere deep in my gut.

Dropping his hands from my face, he takes a step back, his gaze taking in mine. His blue eyes reflect my inner battle of mind over need, and every part of me wants to beg him to form an alliance against the prevailing side of thought. I need to forget. I need to lose myself in mindless passion. Forced or otherwise.

Have you ever been so drunk in both wine and despair that you can’t think straight? That’s pretty much where I’m sitting. “Try it again,” I mutter in a desperate plea to force something that doesn’t seem to be there.

“I should get dressed,” he replies in forfeit, but I convince myself I see a flicker of hope in his eyes as I reach to stop him from stepping away. “Aby, don’t,” his tone is gentle, understanding.

Ugh
. He knows what I’m refusing to admit. “Come o-n-n-n…” I whine like a five year old, a smidge away from stomping my little feet.
Yup, I’m officially pathetic
. I want an escape. I’m desperate for one, even if it means trying to force a cube into the circle hole.
Try summoning a slutty grin, and bite your lip like a whore propositioning him at the curb
- my inner actress rolls her eyes at me from the corner. I purse my lips - it’s an outward action that hides my inner flipping her the bird.

He says nothing to my childish plea.

It makes me feel foolish. Which ties in a whole bunch of other feelings that don’t mix well with my consumed bottle of Vino. And together, the lot certainly doesn’t sit well against my drunken, defensive wall. As a matter of fact, they shatter it. “I know you want this,” I challenge him.

“Not like this, Aby,” he shakes his head, and the pity I see in his eyes - whether I’m imagining it or not - makes me want to scream.

Instead I call bullshit, and reach for the towel around his waist, a quick tug sending it falling back to the floor. If I felt like a fool before, I now see one dancing between us, smiling and laughing at me as my unveiled trump card hangs its head in shame - Andrew’s limp biscuit.

Oh God.
“I’m so sorry,” I turn around in embarrassment - no, it’s full-fledged shame, with a capital “H” for humiliation. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I shake my head, wanting to disappear. What I really want is for everything that’s happened in the last two weeks to disappear. I want time to turn back and transport me into Alex’s arms, back in L.A., before the call came about Ben. Before everything fell apart. Before
she
told the truth and turned our worlds upside down.
My
world upside down.

“No,
I’m
sorry,” Andrew pulls me back to reality, flicking a switch in my mind that returns a seething bitterness for allowing Alex back into my thoughts. “Aby, it was really shitty of me to take advantage of the situation.”

“What situation?” I spin around defensively, noting the return of his towel around his waist yet again.

“The one where you’re drunk. And heartbroken.” His closed mouth smile of sympathy elicits an urge to vomit.

Literally.

I make it to the bathroom just in time.

“FEELING BETTER?” ANDREW asks when I finally have the courage to emerge. “I made you coffee,” he holds up a steaming cup, cautiously walking towards me.

I feign a small smile of gratitude before the scent hits me, sending a nasty ripple through my emptied, though still churning stomach. It takes a moment of pause to wash away. “Maybe a water instead?”

“You got it,” he winks, turning back to the kitchen.

I note his newly donned clothing, and wince as everything that just happened threatens to poke its finger down my throat.
Jesus
. Is there anything left in my stomach to come up? “I don’t know why I was sick,” I state aloud, though it was more a thought.

“Probably because you haven’t been eating much,” he calls over his shoulder, and I roll my eyes defiantly at his accurate assessment.

Every part of me wants to head straight for the door and leave this entire mortifying event behind. But I can’t do that. I can’t do that to Andrew. Especially when he turns, and I see that fun-loving smile - the one that belongs to my good friend. The friend I came here to see before it turned into a gong show. And, since I feel like the one that banged the gong, I should be the first to still its pounding reverberations.

“Andrew, I’m really sorry,” I begin, taking the bottle of water with a humiliated bite of the corner of my mouth.

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. “Let’s not do that. Aby, I took that kiss because your eyes said you were feeling it too. But it was selfish, because I knew you heart wasn’t.”

“How…” I pause, remembering that he said I was heartbroken, “How did you know that Alex and I are…” I can’t even finish, looking away as another churning wave assaults my core.

“That fight…Then no sign of him in the last two weeks.” I meet his eyes as he continues, “You’ve been crying a lot lately - those thin walls,” he shrugs. “And when I saw the latest publicity pictures…”

My legs feel suddenly weak, and I rush to the sofa to sit down.

“I knew as soon as you showed up tonight that you had seen them too. That you drew your own conclusions about them.”

“Them? You mean, Alex and
Julia
.”
Ugh
, I close my eyes, regretting how much I’ve leaned on him for support in the past when Stacey’s not around.
Drew my own conclusions?
“Are you suggesting I’m wrong? That those pictures don’t scream that he chose
her
? It’s obvious,” I stand, unable to sit in one place, despite my body’s disagreement.

“Nothing is obvious. It’s just marketing, Aby. Perception is everything.”

Alex’s words spewed from Andrew’s mouth stab at my heart, the serrated edge too much to take. “I know what those pictures mean, Andrew. I knew it the minute he walked out the door.” Tears loom in the corners of my eyes, and the minute his face flashes sympathy at seeing their impending fall, I turn away.

I need to get out of here. I need to sleep. Just sleep. And not wake up until this all goes away. “I’m so sorry about…everything,” I manage, making it to the door.

“Aby, don’t go,” I hear his concerned plea as I quickly reach my flat, no longer able to see him in the open doorway adjacent to my own.

“Please, just let me go,” I whisper, unsure if he can even hear me, or if the words were even meant for him at all.