Bloom (10 page)

Chapter 22

Things change, superficially,
after our talk. He’s polite and he no longer runs off when I walk in the room, but the strain is still there. And watching him struggle to be pleasant is almost worse. I still long to seek him out when my shift has ended and he’s sitting on the deck, but it’s muted by dread of what I know I’ll find: the way his smile will flicker out upon seeing me, the way he’ll grow solemn and watchful, removed as if I’m some danger he must guard against.

And it’s not only things with James that have gone bad.

It begins with Edward, who re-emerges on the cover of the tabloids because his wife is leaving him. There’s another picture of me, slightly less grainy than its predecessor. Corinne texts to say that reporters are asking the staff about me.

And then I go to yoga and they tell me my credit card has been declined. I don’t panic immediately, but there’s a little whisper of worry up my spine. For the first time it occurs to me how little I seem to know about my parents. If it’s possible that my mom’s dating an aging rock star and my dad is marrying a girl roughly my age, it’s also possible that he hasn’t been the beacon of financial responsibility I thought he was.

I stand on the deck and take a deep breath before I dial his number, knowing it will be a struggle to sound civil. It would have been anyway, but under these circumstances — his absolute failure to even try to contact me during all of this — it’s twice as hard.

“I’ve been meaning to call,” he says.

“What stopped you?” I ask.

“Your life isn’t the only one that’s gone haywire, Elle.” I’m not surprised by his attitude — that’s vintage Andrew Grayson. He’s everyone’s best friend and biggest supporter until he registers even a hint of criticism.

“I would think,” I reply, “that given your role in the ways my life has gone haywire, you might have made the effort.”

“You know, your little part in all this hasn’t made
my
situation any better either,” he retorts.

“My part?” I ask. “Exactly what part is that?”

“The network might have managed to spin this better if you hadn’t already done so much damage.”

“He was
your
friend, and I thought that was why he was helping me out. Are you really faulting me for that?” I hear the anger in my voice, a rasping kind of anger that could bleed to tears at a moment’s notice.

“You couldn’t have been so naive as to think he just wanted to take you to dinner every night, Elle,” he chides.

“Are you shitting me?” I snap. “You raised me and you can suggest that?”

“You need to watch your language.”

“And you need to watch yours, because I swear to God if you ever even hint that I knew what was happening I will never speak to you again.”

“You’re overreacting,” he says, sounding bored.

“Whatever,” I hiss. “I’m not calling about that. My Amex got declined this morning. What’s up?”

“I changed your limit,” he replies. His tone is both defiant and uncertain at once, as if he’s trying to defend something even he doesn’t believe.

“Changed it to what? Zero? Because I only tried to charge $20 to it.”

“Your credit limit is now $250, and it’s for emergencies only. Holly thinks you need to learn some responsibility,” he says.

“Responsible like her, perhaps? Should I get knocked up by my married boss as well?” I spit out.

“I’m not going to listen to this,” he says. “And you’re going to have to reimburse me for the current balance of that card.”

I’m so staggered I can’t speak. The arrangement we had is one
he
suggested — no, encouraged: I’d spend summers and breaks interning, he’d cover my expenses. I never got paid a dime during all those years I worked for him.

“And what is the current balance on that card?” I ask.

“About $3000,” he says.

“$3000?! I haven’t charged anything close to that amount!”

“I haven’t paid it off in a while. I think it’s probably those work clothes you bought in New York.”

“You
told
me to buy those work clothes. You said ‘go see Anne at Saks, she’ll take care of you’.”

“You can send me smaller monthly payments until it’s paid off. I’m not trying to be a monster.”

“Too late, Dad,” I laugh. “And you know what? You’re not getting a dime from me. We had an agreement.”

“You’re going to ruin your credit,” he warns.

“It’s
your
account,” I reply. “So I’m pretty sure it will only ruin yours. You are not getting a dime from me.”

“Is that
all
you can say?” he asks condescendingly.

“No, I can say other things,” I reply. “Here’s one of them: go fuck yourself.”

I hang up and slam my phone against the deck. The glass on the front of it cracks, and I bury my head in my hands and weep. I thought the universe would come to right the wrongs done to me — the shame of the whole Edward thing, the loss of my internship, my parents’ divorce and the ensuing humiliation. Most of all, the fact that James doesn’t want me. But the universe doesn’t give anything. It seems, right now, that all it does is take.

**

That night, miraculously, Brian suggests there are extra shifts available if I’d like to pick them up. I’m still leaving the beach, but until I can go home the money will help.

Toward the end of the night, I stand with Kristy watching her last customer nurse his two-hour-old beer. Matt has been off for over an hour, and sits at the bar waiting for her with decreasing patience.

“Jesus,” he sighs. “He’s never going to leave.”

“I’ve got this,” says James. He changes the channel from baseball to HGTV and mere seconds later, the guy is waving for his check.

When Kristy and Matt finally leave, James turns to me. “Did Brian tell you there are extra shifts available?” It strikes me that he’s trying a little too hard to act nonchalant.

“Yeah, he told me,” I say. “It’s perfect. I’ve had too much time on my hands here.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard. I’ve got money saved up from last summer if you’re ever in a pinch.”

There’s no way this is a coincidence.

“You heard my phone call, didn’t you?” I ask.

He shifts uncomfortably and hesitates, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I didn’t mean to,” he says. “I was lifting weights under the deck.”

“I probably sounded like a spoiled brat.”

“No,” he argues. “Your dad is an asshole, in a hundred ways. He always was. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed listening to you tell him off.” He grins then. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Elle. I never thought I’d hear the kid who could name every single ‘My Little Pony’ character tell her dad to go fuck himself.”

I laugh, a little unwillingly. “Not my finest moment.”

He smiles then, a sweet smile that fills my stomach, that delights me and hurts me in equal measure. “It was one of them.”

Chapter 23

When Ryan texts,
there’s maybe a half-second where I consider deleting without reading it.

It’s impossible not to be friends with my ex. Even people who want to hate him can’t quite pull it off. He could steal your car and hit on your underage sibling and you’d still find yourself buying him a beer. He sucks you into his orbit, no matter how hard you resist. And with his looks, he sucks you into other things, things I’d rather avoid.

Which is why I’m conflicted when he texts to say his band is coming to town. God knows I could use a distraction from James and a small reminder that someone still sees me “that way”. But Ryan is a particularly dangerous distraction.

I was standing in the world’s longest line, shifting uncomfortably beneath a pile of books, the first time I met him. Without a word of introduction, he took the books from me, and then told me I needed to come to his show that night. My irritation lasted only the millisecond it took for me to actually look at him — too good-looking and cocky to be a safe bet, but with a disarmingly boyish smile that also made it impossible to tell him no. And any reservations I may have had dissipated when I saw him onstage. He was mesmerizing. His voice, the concentration on his face as he watched his guitar instead of the crowd, as if he wasn’t even aware that we were there. Of course he knew it would have that effect — that’s why he invited me.

When he found me in the crowd, he smiled for the first time all night, pointing me out as he stepped up to the microphone. “Who here thinks she should go out with me?” There was general approval of the idea from the audience. And then he did an acoustic cover of “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon, and he never looked away from me once.

I’d been single for exactly four days of my freshman year. And I wasn’t single again until it was all over.

Things didn’t necessarily end poorly between us. They just ended sadly, because in a way neither of us was ready for it to be over. I was worried that if I saw him again this summer, I’d be weak. Now it almost seems like a little weakness would be a good thing: I’d rather make a mistake with Ryan than continue to be crushed by James.

I walk into the den, where the guys are collapsed on the couch. James, shirtless and tan, legs spread wide. I have a brief image of all the things I could do to him in that position, and find that I’m actually shaking my head to dispel the thought.

“I have a friend coming into town next weekend,” I announce. “Do you mind if he crashes here?”

James does not look pleased by the question. His brows come together as his jaw sets.

“He?” smirks Max.

“Yes,” I sigh. “He.”

“And is
he
someone who will be staying in your room, perchance?”

James’s face gets stormier still.

“I don’t care where he sleeps. I don’t even care if you say no. He’s asking me,” I say, holding my phone aloft. “So I’m asking you.”

Max looks at James and then grins even wider. “Sure, he can stay,” he says with slightly too much enthusiasm. “Any friend of Elle’s is a friend of ours, right James?”

James turns his glare toward Max, and then back to me. “He stays on the first floor,” he warns. God his voice is hot when he’s being bossy. It makes my insides completely liquid. “He sets one foot on those stairs and I’m throwing his ass out.”

I roll my eyes. “You know, if you’re trying to preserve your sister’s chastity, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

Max laughs. “Yeah, James. Stop worrying so much about
Ginny
.”

James scowls at both of us. “Whatever. First floor or he leaves this house missing parts.”

**

James stops me as I’m leaving work on Friday night. “I’m almost done,” he says. “I’ll give you a ride.” I’ve given up trying to drive to work entirely, as my car is always parked in three-deep at the house.

I glance at my watch.

“What’s your hurry?” he asks a little sourly. “You have plans?”

“No, but Ryan is waiting. I feel like a bad host.” He rolls his eyes, and I don’t get the sense that he plans to hurry on my behalf or Ryan’s tonight.

“So who is this guy anyway?” he asks as we –
finally
— walk outside.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I tell him. The door slams a little loudly as he climbs in.

“You didn’t mention the whole boyfriend part before,” he says.

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

He has no answer for that. “Is he here to see you?”

“No, not at all. He had this gig lined up before I even knew I’d be down here.”

“Gig?” he hisses. “Is he in a
band
?” As if I’d said Ryan was out on parole.

“Yes, Dad,” I laugh. “He’s in a band. And he has a tattoo, if that’s your next question.”

His jaw grinds. “You dated a guy in a band? What band?”

“Far Too Far,” I say.

“They play here every summer,” he says. He doesn’t seem happy about it. “So how old is this guy?”

I laugh again. “Jesus, James. You’ve now asked me four questions more about him than my dad ever has.”

“That’s because your dad is a selfish asshole.”

“Well, yeah.” He’s kind of got me there.

“So answer the question.”

I don’t like his demanding tone, or the way he seems to think I owe him these answers, and yet there’s something compelling in it too. I just wish it was jealousy and not some misplaced big brother-type concern.

“He’s 22.” James rolls his eyes. Every answer I provide seems to make him wind tighter. “Why are you acting like I’m bringing home a 50-year-old?”

“I’m not,” he says tersely. “Are you going to see him play tomorrow?”

I shrug. “I guess, if my shift ends early enough.”

He follows me into the house, tensing at the shout of laughter that comes from the deck. Ryan sits in one of the lounge chairs, so relaxed with Max and Ginny you’d think he’d known them forever.

“There she is!” shouts Max. “Are your ears burning, Elle? I had no idea you were such a wild little thing.”

I don’t even want to know what they were discussing. Ryan smiles, but it fades a little as James walks up behind me, standing closer than he should — as if we’re together. They lock eyes, and suddenly there is vast tension where there was none a moment before. Ryan jumps up and pulls me into a tight hug. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, kissing my cheek.

“Hey, you,” I reply. I’d forgotten how he looked to me when we first met. Before I knew what a narcissistic ass he could be. When all I saw was his gorgeous face and his washboard abs, how amazingly blue his eyes looked against his tan, his dark hair and his perpetual five o’clock shadow. I’ve questioned the fact that I stayed with him as long as I did, but I can definitely understand it right now. He’s pretty irresistible. When he pulls back he looks James in the eye and raises a brow. “Who’s your bodyguard?”

I laugh. “This is Ginny’s brother, James.”

James doesn’t extend a hand, just nods in a way that seems slightly threatening.

“The guys want to see you,” says Ryan, turning back to me. “Can you rally or are you too tired?”

“I can rally,” I tell him. “Ginny, you want to come out?”

“I don’t know,” she says, with a little smile. “How hot are your bandmates?”

“We’re all irresistible,” Ryan says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Right, babe?”

I laugh. “No comment. But yeah, Ginny, you’d probably want to come. If you didn’t already have a
boyfriend
.”

She stands anyway, and there’s a gleam in her eye that probably shouldn’t be there.

“Just let me shower first,” I tell Ryan. “I smell like bacon grease.”

“I thought you smelled pretty good,” he grins.

Ginny bumps my hip as we go upstairs. “Why didn’t you tell me how hot he was?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Why would it matter?”

“Because if I’d known how completely edible he was I would have told you not to break up with him.”

“He can be a complete dick,” I counter.

“Mmmm. I’d be willing to live with that.”

“Why is it that you keep acting like you don’t have a boyfriend you’re crazy about?”

“I’m not,” she replies testily. “Why am I not allowed to enjoy myself like a regular college sophomore without everyone assuming there’s a problem?”

I shower while she runs through our closet. When I emerge, she hands me a dress. “You’re wearing this.” I eye it. It’s her dress, and she’s a lot shorter than me. “That dress is gonna end just under my ass,” I tell her.

“I know,” she laughs. “But someone needs to sleep with your ex tonight, and it won’t be me.”

“It won’t be me either,” I reply. “And you need to stay right by my side so Ryan doesn’t get a chance.”

Her smile fades, replaced by something unhappy and a little suspicious. “What would be so terrible about sleeping with him?” she asks. “It’s not like you’d be cheating on someone, right?”

“No,” I say. “I just don’t want to go down that road again.”

She doesn’t look entirely appeased. “Fine,” she says. “James’s head would explode if you walked out wearing it anyway.”

I take the dress.

When we return to the deck I notice that James looks as every bit as grim as he did earlier. Apparently my ex’s charm doesn’t work on everyone.

And his face falls even further when he looks toward us.

“Damn, babe,” says Ryan, walking toward me slowly. “I’ve never seen that dress before.”

“It’s Ginny’s.”

“Ginny,” Ryan grins, “you’re in charge of her wardrobe from now on.”

“That’s not a dress. It’s a shirt,” grumbles James. “And not even a long one.”

“Have fun, girls!” shouts Max.

James says nothing, but I can still hear Max’s slightly maniacal laughter as we walk out the front door.

**

Ryan’s bandmates make room for us when we get to the bar. They’re all pretty good guys, despite what I consider excessive ambivalence about the Ivy League education their parents are underwriting. “Who’s your hot friend, Elle?” asks Paul, the drummer.

“This is Ginny,” I reply. “Who is not only hot, but incredibly brilliant.” I guess if she’s not going to bring up the boyfriend, I won’t either.

Once Ginny is happily situated with his bandmates, Ryan pulls me aside. “So what’s the deal with her brother?”

I shrug. “He’s just over-protective.”

“Are you dating him?”

“No. He thinks of me like a little sister.”

“No he doesn’t. He thinks of you like someone he’s either screwing or dying to screw.”

I wish I didn’t feel the momentary thrill those words elicit.

He did kiss me.

He said my name when he did it.

Yes, and then he said he doesn’t see me “that way”.

“You’re completely wrong,” I say. “He used to babysit for me. He acts like that with every guy who comes near me or Ginny.”

“If that’s true, then why didn’t he seem worried at all about Ginny coming out with us tonight?”

I shrug. “Maybe he just figured, because we dated … that you weren’t a threat to her.”

“So am I?” he asks, sidling closer to me. “A threat?”

“No,” I scoff, stepping back a little. “You’ve probably caught more diseases on this tour than medical research has even uncovered.”

“You know I always use condoms.”

“You don’t wear them for
everything
,” I say pointedly.

“I can’t catch anything that way,” he argues.

I’m not sure that’s true. I’m also not going to risk finding out. “Well, I can, so the answer’s no.”

“Damn,” he says. “You still give the best blow job I’ve ever had. I trained you well.”

I’d assumed that he was hooking up right and left all summer, but it still stings to have it thrown in my face. “I’m glad you’ve had ample opportunities to compare and contrast,” I snap.

“I’d give it all up if you’d come on tour with us,” he offers, suddenly earnest. “In a heartbeat.”

I thought he might suggest it, and I thought it was possible I’d still be tempted. But I’m not. Not even close. There’s only one person I want, and I’d give almost anything to be sitting with him on the deck right now. One person who could spend the entire night ignoring me or avoiding me, and make it entirely worthwhile with a single smile.

Ryan’s bandmates invite us back to the place where they’re crashing when the bar closes. “I’m going home,” I say.

“Well I’m staying out,” says Ginny, a little defiantly. She’s been drinking, but I know from experience that there’s no point in arguing with her. Fortunately I can trust Ryan and his friends not to push her into anything she doesn’t want to do.

“You sure, Elle?” Ryan asks. He tucks a curl behind my ear again, and for just a moment he’s the sweet version of himself. The one who played me songs on his guitar and brought me flowers when I got my first D on an exam. But he’s also the guy who admits he can’t keep it in his pants unless I’m there to play watchdog. And most of all, he’s not James.

“I’m beat.”

I walk into the house feeling defeated in a number of ways. James sits inside with a book in his hand that he doesn’t seem to be reading, and when he sees me there is relief on his face.

“Were you waiting up for us?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I just didn’t trust that guy. Where is he anyway? And where’s my sister?”

“They went to someone’s house,” I say. “They’ll probably be home in a while.”

I sit on the chair opposite him and kick off my heels. The movement catches his attention for a moment. He’d never admit it, but I think he likes my legs.

“Did you have fun?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Why did you guys break up?”

“A lot of reasons,” I reply. “But the clincher was that he wanted me to come on tour with him this summer, and said he wouldn’t be able to stay faithful to me if I didn’t.”

His eyes darken. “I knew he was an asshole.”

“I kind of get it,” I reply. “When he’s on stage, he’s irresistible. Even to me, probably even now. He has these beautiful girls throwing themselves at him after his shows. He was just being realistic, more than anything else. But I don’t want the pressure of being with someone who always has a dozen other offers.”