Ten Thousand Words (28 page)

“Can I walk you home?” I asked.

“No,” she replied quietly.

To push her for more would bring us nowhere. Too late had I appreciated what she had given me back in New York. Unencumbered by her pen name, she had shown me the woman she truly was. I should’ve been man enough to recognize that then.

“I’ll call you later then,” I told her.

She gave me a noncommittal shrug, closing herself off again. Xanthe had slipped and exposed her secret longing when she initiated that second kiss. She’d missed me as much as I had missed her, but she was desperate to hide it from me now.

Self-loathing bloomed bright in my heart. I’d well and truly fucked up. I had broken something fragile and precious between us. We’d had the potential to forge an incredible relationship, and I had obliterated it by being—in Xanthe’s choice words—
butt-hurt
.

But the pieces were still there. She wasn’t going to do a damn thing about them, but she would allow me the opportunity to gather them up and attempt to fuse them back together.

“Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll be hearing from you then.”

“Yes.”

With a little nod, she turned and headed down the sidewalk. I didn’t know where she lived, but she was heading toward the bookstore. I watched her retreating form until the evening shadows swallowed her up, leaving me staring after her like a lovesick fool.

Xanthe

By the time I made it to Aunt Ellen’s, I was a wreck.

It was closing time, and I saw her through the front window, wiping down the café tables. Glancing down at the display stacks of
Haunted Bonds
, Ollie’s gorgeous furry face scowled up at me from at least five books.

For the love of God, why?

Angrily, I wrenched open the door. The bells jangled sharply, slapping against the glass.

“Xanthe?” Aunt Ellen straightened up, a look of concern on her face. “What—”

Fuming, I wasn’t having any luck holding it in. “I haven’t been home for more than a couple of hours, and I run into that jackass the second I step out of my house!” I shouted.

Aunt Ellen’s jaw dropped.

“He was at Wurther’s!
My
bar! Meeting with
my
roommate! Not once in the last however many fucking years we’ve coexisted in this city have we
ever
run into each other! Why
now
? When I don’t want anything to do with him?”

“Ehhhh…”

I waved her off. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell at you. I’m just upset—”

“But that’s good, dear—”

“How is that in any way a good fucking thing?” I huffed. “I just want to forget I ever met the asshole!”

Then, why did I get his number?

“Augh!” I shouted. “I want my cat!”

Aunt Ellen burst out laughing. “Lock up, sweetheart. I got some Helmersen’s waiting for us upstairs to celebrate your homecoming. The good stuff.”

Wiping away my furious tears, I turned and locked the door, and then I followed Aunt Ellen up to her flat. She busied herself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle and making tea for us. I sat down on the couch, and Beefcake immediately jumped into my lap. I snuggled the fuck out of him.

I could still smell that awesome scent that had come from Oliver’s beard into my nose. It had smelled so good that I’d gone back for seconds.

“Now, tell me what happened,” she said, plopping down my favorite tea blend in front of me. From a cigar box tucked under the coffee table, she pulled out her ashtray, lighter, and a joint.

“Damn, who rolled that?” I asked.

“Oliver Fairfax,” she replied.

“What?” I gasped.

She nodded. “He’s come by nearly every day for the past week.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I shit you not,” she replied. “He came in the first time last Monday, looking lost and heartbroken. I took pity on him. He keeps me well-oiled with espressos and weed. I have to tell you, Xanthe…I like that boy.”

I glared at her, and she handed me the joint to light.

“He’s licked that. I watched him roll a handful of joints in here, and good Lord, woman, I could only imagine what it’d be like to be licked by him.”

“I wouldn’t know. We never got to that.”

“Shame.”

I grunted in agreement. “Why has he been coming around?”

Taking a huge hit, I melted into Aunt Ellen’s massive couch. Beefcake purred in my lap.

Arching an eyebrow at me, she replied, “Isn’t it obvious? He wants to be as close to you as he can get. All he wants is to hear stories about you, talk about you. He asked about your childhood, about your mother, what it was like for you growing up with your weirdo father. He asked about you and Rex. He asked about your relationships with Jaime and Ricki, why you didn’t have more friends. The man was driving me bonkers. I’m glad you’re back, so you can take him off my hands.”

Aunt Ellen was full of shit. I exhaled toward the ceiling, not wanting to get Beefcake in the face. Smoke was bad for cats.

Handing the joint to Ellen, I scratched Beefcake behind the ears. “What did you tell him?”

“The things I knew you would have a hard time with,” she replied. “Consider it a favor, honey.”

“Damn it. He—”

“Messed up. He knows that. And what you’re finding so hard to forgive is the fact that he let everyone down, not that he broke your heart.”

“Exactly!” I huffed.

“Xanthe,” she said in her stern voice, “he’s
not
Donovan. He’s Oliver. He’s human. And he’s hurting just as much as you are.”

I looked into her eyes.

“I’m not telling you to forgive him right away. I think he wants to earn it, not have it handed to him. He
needs
that, so he can prove to the both of you that he’s got what it takes. He’s never been in love before.”

“He told you he loved me?” I asked weakly.

“He didn’t need to.”

We smoked in silence, finishing the joint. It had been a while since I smoked, so I was ripped. Sinking into the couch, I stretched out, getting super comfy.

“He made me unblock his number.”

“Did he now? How’d he make you?”

“I don’t remember.” I thought back. “Damn it. He kissed me—that’s how.”

“Hmm…doesn’t sound so forceful to me.”

“I know.” I sighed.

The hollowed-out sensation that had numbed my heart this past week and some days lessened. I knew it wasn’t Aunt Ellen’s sass or the weed. It was the fact that Oliver wanted me back.

“Did he talk about me being Elaine?” I asked.

Beefcake spread out over my tummy, his happy little face between my boobs.

“Mmhmm.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He listened mostly.”

Well, that was a start, I supposed. “Was he still mad?”

“No.”

Conversation ceased. My relief was so intense, my body responded, and I slipped into a healing, restful sleep.

A loud banging and jangling bells woke me up the next morning.

“What the—”

“Xanthe, dear, I believe that’s probably for you!” Aunt Ellen yelled from behind her closed bedroom door.

“Ugh.”

Wearing all my clothes and the blanket Aunt Ellen had draped over me along with Beefcake asleep on my butt, I was overly warm. Pushing myself up off the couch, I spotted my phone on the coffee table, the indicator light telling me I had missed messages and calls.

All from Oliver.

I quickly scrolled through them, discovering he had started out cute, telling me he wished to hear my voice. Then, the messages grew increasingly panicked that I wasn’t answering anything. Glancing at the time—
8:33
—I calculated that I’d been asleep for over twelve hours.

Damn.

Making my way to the front of the store, I saw Oliver standing there, looking worse for wear. He spotted me with red-rimmed puffy eyes, slumping in what could only be relief. My heart lurched. I unlocked the door, and he wrenched it open. He took a forceful step inside, and I scuttled back.

“Oliver, what—”

“Why didn’t you answer me?”

“I just woke up!” I snapped.

“You knew I was going to call you last night.”

“I got stoned with Aunt Ellen and passed out—not that it’s any of your business.”

His eyes flashed with fury. “I was worried out of my fucking head over you!”

“That is
not
my fault.”

With his nostrils flaring, his eyes narrowed at me. He looked ready to unleash hell. “You want to punish me for what I did; I get that. I fucking welcome it really. But don’t go around, letting me think that you could be missing, hurt, or worse. It’s bad enough that you didn’t come home last week, making me call Ronen—”

“I didn’t
make
you do anything!” I hissed. “You
dumped
me, Ollie. You told me there was no
this
,” I said, waving my index finger between us.

He closed his eyes, as if in pain. Indeed, he seemed to embody the word wholeheartedly.

“So, to act like that shit didn’t happen is insulting.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” I had to take a deep breath. Thinking back to that night in New York always left me airless. “I’m doing all I can to move on.”

“Xanthe, if I could go back and do it over—”

“I wouldn’t want you to. It happened for a reason. It just ended up being a fling, okay?”

“The fuck it was!” he exploded. “The
fuck
that was a fucking fling! I haven’t been
destroyed
for a fucking fling! I’d been gutted to think you’d played me for a fool!”

“I didn’t do any such thing,” I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest.

Miserably, he said, “I know.”

“You didn’t just hurt my feelings. You broke a signed contract, your
word
, to be by my side when it was required. You disappointed my readers because you lost your temper. How am I ever supposed to trust you again?”

“I plan on earning it back,” he softly told me, his voice smooth and deep. “It’s the first item on my to-do list.”

“Yeah?” I said, sounding snarky.

His genuine apology and concern were making it hard for me to stay mad at him.

“What’s the second?” I asked.

“Making you realize that
this
”—he waved his finger between us—“is nowhere near over.” He took a step closer.

I took a step back. “Don’t,” I said.

“Fuck that,” he replied, reaching out and grasping my upper arms, pulling me toward him. His arms went around me, tightly hugging me. Resting his cheek against my head, he sighed. “You told me you felt it, too, Xanthe. If you felt it, then you know there’s no walking away from this.”

“You didn’t have me telling you to go fuck yourself.”

“You didn’t find out I was something other than who I was.”

“Damn it, I told you!” I said stubbornly.

“I
know
.”

His arms squeezed me harder, and I relaxed.

That amazing scent was coming from his beard. Fresh and woodsy with a trace of mint…
mmm.
I was melting inside, sniffing at it.

“What is that?” I whispered, resting my cheek on his shoulder.

“What?”

“That smell.” I sighed. “It’s fantastic.”

He chuckled. “It’s that good?”

“Oh, man. Hell yeah.”

“I guess I’ll sign on to be a spokesperson for The Sophisticated Caveman then.”

“Oh?”

I knew the man who had created the line. Deo was a good friend—my ex, to be exact. I didn’t tell Ollie this though. He’d gotten seriously jealous over Ronen.

Just my fucking luck that Ollie would be a spokesperson for Deo’s line.

“They contacted FairFawkes and wanted my beard.”

“That’s nice.”

“I guess I have a lot to thank you for,” he told me, rubbing slow circles on my back.

Uncrossing my arms, I slipped them around his waist. That scent…I might be getting stoned off it.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m one of the models for Timeless Clockworks, too. I had to do a photo shoot last Wednesday.”

“But I thought Rex…”
Yep, I’m getting stoned on his beard funk.

“Well, I’m not the
only
one,” he said, sounding slightly exasperated. “Speaking of Rex, I’m meeting him at the studio in a couple of hours. I woke him up this morning, and he told me you were probably here.”