The Tenant (10 page)

It was an organizer. Amanda’s organizer. Where he supposed she kept all of her wedding-planning-slash-apartment-renovating appointments. He wouldn’t need to do more than make sure a couple of them overlapped. And maybe ask the weird bug-kid down the block for a handful of ants to let loose by Amanda’s bed—nothing more dangerous than that, though he was momentarily tempted to go with a spider.

Derek called the only plumber he knew and trusted, his buddy Jerry, but the guy couldn’t make it during the weekend, damn it.

“I could come over Monday, after I’m off, if there’s beer.”

“Oh, there’ll be beer. I may even be taking it in IV till then.”

“What’s up man? Still with the breakup woes?”

Derek snorted. “I wish. Have more pressing issues right now. Like how to keep from killing my landlady.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she moved in with me.”

Jerry cracked up, and Derek couldn’t hold back a smile. “You done?” he asked when Jerry stopped laughing.

“Why does every woman you meet go nuts? Or do you just like’em nutty to begin with? Why did she move in? She hot for you?”

That would have been interesting, actually. Probably way more enjoyable than his reality. “She hates me with the fire of a thousand suns and is trying to get me to move.”

“She pretty?”

“Dude, she’s annoying. Bitchy. Entitled.” Look at how he
didn’t
answer that question.

“But is she hot?”

Well… “Doable.”
Very
doable, but he didn’t want Jerry coming around to check her out. He was the happy-go-lucky, blond, blue-eyed, dimple-chinned, surfer type of guy women always seemed to be falling for head over heels.

Which didn’t matter, of course. Derek just didn’t need another complication.

“Guess I’ll see for myself on Monday,” Jerry said.

Derek hung up with a non-committal grunt. Amanda wouldn’t be giving Jerry the time of day. She just wasn’t that sort. She was the annoying sort who thought all men were beneath her.

Being beneath her would be enjoyable too.

He decided to focus on the lack of cold water instead. He’d have to ask Alice if he could use her shower till it was fixed. There was little consolation in the fact Amanda would have to do the same.

The rest of his calls went much,
much
better. Amanda would soon get a series of nasty surprises, and wouldn’t be able to place the blame on him.

He was dialing his last number for the day, preparing to once again introduce himself as Ms. Murphy’s fiancé, when the sound of a key pushed into the lock reached his ears. Trying his damndest to appear as innocent as a newborn kitten, he snapped her organizer closed with one hand and pressed the off button on the phone with the other. He placed the receiver on its cradle. This one would have to wait.

“Hey.” He gave Amanda a jolly little wave when she entered.

“Hey.” Her first reaction to seeing him was obvious surprise, before a flash of irritation crossed her features. The smile that replaced it was as fake as his good cheer. “Thought you might be out.”

“Nah. Simply enjoying my TV-watching years, as I should.” He nonchalantly pressed ‘8’ on the remote, hoping she hadn’t already seen what he’d been semi-watching. “Have fun?”

Her furrowed brow indicated she’d had the exact opposite, though his presence might very well be the sole reason for her constipated look. “Eh, I’ve had better. Though not in a while.” She shrugged and let her bag slide off her shoulder and onto the nearest armchair. Her body, amazingly, mimicked the fluidity of the bag’s strap on the way down, and before Derek knew it, she was folded in the same seat, legs bent at the knees, feet tucked under her butt.

Her sandals were still on, and she obviously couldn’t care less about the upholstery—
slob
. She made for a cute slob, however, with her messy blond hair piled up on her head and held in place with just a chopstick. Her makeup was minimal, as was her skirt, which she kept trying to stretch down to her ankles, if possible.

Derek never understood why women bought flimsy excuses for clothes that covered nothing, only to try and make them longer, but at that moment the answer was glaringly obvious: to entice men. His gaze was glued to the hem of the skirt, while he mentally urged the thing to resist Amanda’s tugs and snap back up.

Being attracted to her would be ridiculous, which was why he most definitely wasn’t. He hadn’t gotten laid in a while, and she was practically naked, and he knew what she looked like in her birthday suit, so he was doing the male thing and ogling. What was more, he’d been watching porn until moments earlier. Who could blame him?

If nothing else, he’d ace
Rationalization 101.

Pinching the bridge of his nose until his eyes watered seemed to have the desired effect of helping him focus. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked. “What made you not have fun?”

She opened her mouth, and for a second he could swear she was about to tell him, open her heart and share the cause of her sighing and huffing. He wasn’t sure he would be able to go ahead with his devious schemes if she did anything of the sort.

Mercifully, she didn’t. “Derek, we agreed on a truce, not heartfelt confessions and braiding each other’s hair.” Her laugh sounded forced, but he refused to look for subtext. She said she didn’t want to talk about her mood with him. He’d believe her.

He’d ignore how she sucked in that last breath until the buttons of her shirt nearly popped and then let it whistle out, gaze averted from him. He’d cling to her words. They hadn’t agreed to be friends; they were just supposedly no longer enemies. No-longer-enemies didn’t care about their once-upon-a-time-enemies’ wellbeing.

They could still be curious, though. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Whatever it is, I promise not to tell a soul or laugh at you.” He accompanied the last with his best boyish grin, and was amazed when it didn’t seem to do the work.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll go by Alice’s later, and she’ll do the sisterly thing and listen to my whining.”

With another smile, he stood and walked to the liquor cabinet. “As you wish. Want a drink?” Alcohol always helped him loosen up, and he had it on good authority that was a common thing. “When I was still with my ex, we used to make ourselves comfortable every night, each with a glass of scotch in hand, and talk about the day’s events.”

Plying Amanda with alcohol and throwing in a couple sob stories about Cat should bring her defenses down long enough for him to spot a weakness or two.

“I’m not much of a drinker, and it’s only five in the afternoon. Plus, you’re sort of creeping me out with the buddy routine.”

He’d have to try harder. As if he hadn’t heard her speak, he poured two shots of Jack and tucked the bottle under his arm. “I miss her so much some times,” he said, making sure his back was to her and his smirk wasn’t reflected on any surfaces she could see. He was exceeding proud of the catch in his throat. “Please, have one shot with me?”

It was true what they said about women not being able to say no to a broken man. Amanda took the shot and later reluctantly accepted a second one, while Derek unfolded the story of his lover’s betrayal. By the time he got to the part where Cat stole his restaurant, Amanda sat next to him, using words like ‘ho-bag,’ and half the bottle was gone.

It was too easy getting her to pity him, but that didn’t bother Derek. What caused the niggling sensation in the pit of his stomach was that thinking about Catherine didn’t hurt half as much as it had a week ago, and the way Amanda patted his shoulder in camaraderie made him want to lay her beneath him on the couch and do exceedingly nasty things with her.

Alcohol could get in the way of one’s libido, he reminded himself and drove all impure thoughts from his mind.

All but the thoughts of getting her to change her whole life’s plan, that is.

He made a show of looking at his watch. “Shit! I’ve been talking about myself for almost two hours. You must be bored out of your mind. I’m sorry.”

When she shook her head, he dealt the final blow. “Just know that you can talk to me, despite our differences. An outsider’s opinion can help sometimes. Whatever’s bothering you may seem like a mountain now, but unless it’s a major health issue”—which he sincerely hoped it wasn’t, lest he feel like an ass—“there will come a day when you’ll look back at it and see how insignificant it really was.” And wasn’t that the truth?

“Meantime, you can always get drunk.” He got up, not sure where he was going to go, but knowing it was time for an attempted exit. Seeing she wasn’t trying to stop him, he turned to head toward his room. By the time he reached the corridor, her silence had made him regret having shared anything about his own past.

He was contemplating saying something more—anything, really—when she finally spoke.

“It’s Mason. I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.”

That stopped Derek in his tracks. He was glad he hadn’t promised not to use whatever she was going to say against her.

Amanda didn’t know what to say next. She’d admitted her problem was Mason without really thinking about it. Now, though, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to talk about her relationship with someone whose guts she hated—it had taken her months to discuss it with Alice or Becca, and she loved
them
.

She reached for the bottle and poured another shot.

She hated more than Derek’s guts. She hated his everything, from his stupid long toes to his stupid frosted hair. And she hated his blue-blue eyes that looked at her with something like genuine concern.

Hate.

Down went the shot.

Derek leaned against the doorframe, his feet pointing to opposite directions.

Amanda felt like giggling. Men always seemed confused when it came to her. Add talking about feelings to the equation, and their conundrum worsened.

Con-un-drummm.
Such a pretty word.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked, and all of a sudden she really,
really
wanted to. More: she
had
to, or she’d burst.

“He’s a jerk.” That was not a nice thing to say about her fiancé. “Not all the time. He’s not a jerk
all
the time, and he’s
my
jerk, but…you know.”

He looked at her as if he did—which was weird because she didn’t know, and how could he ever?—and took a couple of steps toward her. “Does he…hurt you?” The way he furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw at the end of the question made her believe for a second that if she said yes, Derek would find Mason and hurt him. That was weird. And she’d probably had too much to drink, because angry Derek looked good and Derek should never look good.

She needed some water.

Derek’s nostrils flared, and it occurred to her she hadn’t answered yet. “No. Never. I mean, if he even tried, he’d be in a world of pain.” She pointed her thumb at her chest. “I teach martial arts.” Huh. Derek might be good in martial arts. He had one of those lean, sinewy bodies that seemed to be made of live wire. He was probably bendy. And fast.

“So then?” Derek returned to his seat next to her. He sat sideways, elbows on his knees, his gaze scanning her face.

“He just doesn’t get me. He’s stubborn in menial things. He’s convinced the way I see the world will change as soon as we’re hitched. Sometimes I wanna—”

“Smack him?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Only harder. Maybe with knuckles involved.”

“Ouch.”

Were they actually sharing a laugh? At her future husband’s expense? That had to be wrong. “It’s not bad, most of the time. I’m sure we’ll work things out. He loves me, after all. And I love him, of course.”

“Of course. Which is why you expect
him
to change the way he views the world, once you’re married.” His leg felt warm against her skin, despite the layer of denim.

“That’s a trick question.” She frowned and held out her shot-glass.

“Not a question.” Derek refilled it, and she downed it in one gulp.

Her frown deepened. “You’re saying I’m a jerk too? But I’m right.”

“I bet he thinks he’s right.”

“So you
are
saying I’m a jerk.”

Derek shrugged, but the smile curving his lips was very eloquent.
If the shoe fits
, it said.

“Jerk!”

“Never denied it, babe. In all honesty, though, I think you and the big lug need to talk. Sort things out. You don’t wanna realize five years down the road you’d rather throttle him than fuck him.”

The thought that she wouldn’t feel passionate enough about Mason in half a decade to do either was depressing. Things would work out. She knew they would. And there’d be passion. “Mason and I are both very fit,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

“Good for you, I guess.”

“We are. And we’ll be very compatible in bed. When we finally get there.” Her sentences sounded choppy. Were her sentences choppy? Her sentences also sounded like very private stuff she shouldn’t be sharing with Jer-ek. She sniggered.

He was probably wondering what she found so funny, she thought. Only he didn’t seem to be wondering anything. Anything so innocent, at least.

He pursed his lips. “When you get there? Have you been missing the bed so far, or are you not engaged in…the
sport
at all?”

Amanda threw her head back. “I knew I shouldn’t have talked to you. You’re probably getting me drunk so you can make fun of me.”

“I’ve had twice as much as you. Not my fault you can’t handle your booze. And I wouldn’t make fun of you for choosing to wait.”

“Not my choice.” Her eyelids felt heavy. It was comfortable there. She could doze off. She’d have to leave the shot glass on the table first. But the table was so
very
far away. And there was still a hint of liquid in the glass. She brought it to her mouth and stuck her tongue out to try and catch that drop.

“You mean
The Incredible Hulk
is a virgin?”

“No. Neither of us is.”

“So he’s a prude?”

With a groan and a lot of effort, Amanda pulled out the throw pillow from behind her back and slung it his way. “He’s not a prude. He’s decided he holds me in too high an esteem to sleep with me before we’re married.” The words sounded pretentious. Then again, the whole thing sounded pretentious to her, no matter how Mason phrased it.