Complicated Girl (3 page)

He brings the paper cup of watered down coffee up to his lips and takes a sip. This gives me a special moment to enjoy looking at his mouth, which is certainly no disappointment.

Around us, everyone chatters happily over the food and coffee. I look up at the top of Drew’s head, at his lush, dark brown hair. Unlike Duncan, there’s nothing short about him. I have to look way up at him, so he’s well over six feet tall. The impeccable dark blue suit makes him look even taller.

I turn away to grab a bottle of orange juice from the table. When I turn back around, I see he’s followed me.

He moves toward me, his elbows nudging out at his sides to make him wide like a wall. I step back. He grins and keeps moving, tacking from side to side.

“Are you herding me?” I ask.

“Woof.”

I keep backing up, terrified that if I stop moving, he’ll collide into me and I’ll spontaneously climax from his touch and let out embarrassing coitus moans. I haven’t known the lust of a man in quite some time, let alone a HOTTT with 3 T’s man.

“I’m not a sheep,” I tell him. “I’m the opposite of a sheep, or lamb, or whatever. I’m very opinionated, and I have a unique sense of humor that most guys can’t handle.”

He keeps herding me, pushing me away from the herd. “Woof.”

He doesn’t stop until we’re by the window, overlooking the courtyard. The sun has set, and the shrubs and garden are brightly lit by security lights and strings of white fairy lights.

I stop with my back to the window. There’s nowhere left to go.

He looks down at my chest with interest. This low cut shirt I borrowed from my mother’s closet is really pulling some interest today.

Huskily, he says, “How long do pleasantries usually last?”

I clear my throat and try to look coy. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who goes to self-help groups to pick up chicks with low self esteem.”

“What if I am? That sounds like a lot more fun than my usual Tuesday nights, which involve earplugs. Would you like it if I was that kind of guy?”

His words stir conflicting emotions in me. I’m definitely in a pit of low self esteem, and I’d love to have Drew’s gorgeous arms reach down and pull me out. I can’t see his arms through his suit jacket, but I know they’re bound to be as perfect as the rest of him.

He sips his coffee again, wincing at the taste. “What is this, chicory?”

“My sister says all coffee tastes like a goat’s backside, even the good stuff.”

He glances over at the group, then back at me. The gesture makes me feel like I’m the most interesting person in the room. He keeps gazing into my eyes, until I feel like the most interesting person in the whole world.

“You have a sister? What’s that like?”

“I love my sister. She’s also my best friend.” I unscrew the cap from my orange juice bottle and raise it to my mouth.

He licks his lips, then says, “If your sister’s half as pretty as you, she must be a knockout.”

I choke on his compliment. Literally. The orange juice in my mouth has nowhere to go. I expel the juice from my mouth, spraying it all over Drew’s crisp jacket and equally crisp dress shirt.

He doesn’t back away or flinch. He nods his head down to one side, sticks out his tongue, and licks a few beads of orange juice from his shoulder.

“A much better choice than the coffee,” he says.

“That juice was in my mouth.”

“Should I be worried? Where else has your mouth been?”

A warm sensation creeps up my body and through my neck. The warm feeling extends to my cheeks. Am I sick? What’s happening? Oh my goodness, I’m blushing. It’s such an unusual sensation. I never blush.

This guy is making me blush, with his sexy smoldering brown eyes, and his innuendo about where my mouth has been.

He doesn’t seem at all concerned about the orange juice that’s settling into his expensive suit. His gaze doesn’t stray much from my face, except to move down to my cleavage and then back up again. He’s watching me like he’s a bounty hunter and I’ve got a million-dollar contract on my head.

I casually bring the orange juice back up to my lips and take another drink. I’m careful to swallow this time. I finish the whole bottle, and he takes the empty from my hand.

“Mouth clear?” he asks.

“All out of ammunition.” I open my mouth and stick out my tongue to show him.

“Good, because I have a request.” Staring steadily into my eyes, he says, “I’d like to get my hands on your buns.”

“Tonight?”

“Right now.”

Now, I’m not an idiot.
I know he’s making a joke based on the cinnamon buns, but I also know he’s making a play for my other buns. Cute as he is, this needs to stop right here. I’m not as stupid as I used to be.

“Listen, Drew. You are an attractive man, and I’m definitely suffering from low self-esteem right now. Part of me is screaming yes, but my brain is saying no.”

He keeps listening.

I shake my head emphatically. “I’m not into hookups. A few years ago, sure. I would have trotted right out of here with any cute guy who showed interest. But what I’ve learned is that guys like you are… terrible at sex. Just terrible.”

The smile drops off his face instantly. “Guys like me? What do you mean?”

“You good-looking guys make a sport out of sleeping with as many girls as they can. You’re all about the quantity, not the quality. Oh, you’ll buy a quality suit, and a quality car, and one day you’ll get married to a quality woman who’s either an idiot or a liar, but right now you’re only interested in the cheap buffet.” I point my thumb at my face. “But this cheap little carbohydrate is off the menu.”

His eyebrows pull together in a very sexy frown that almost makes me eat my words. “You’re what they call a
complicated
woman,” he says.

“Complicated. Hmmm. Isn’t that the word they use in magazines to describe someone who’s a bitch?”

“We just met. We don’t even know each other, and you told me I’m terrible at sex. How could you know that?”

“I guess I am pretty complicated after all.”

His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. “Maybe complicated is exactly what I need. In my job, I’m the one giving all the orders. Nobody stands up to me and calls me on my bullshit.”

“Is that why you’re here? Bad relationships? Bad choices? What? I’m dying of curiosity here.”

Very plainly, he says, “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“There’s always next week. I hope you’re more than a sightseer.”

He pushes his left jacket sleeve up to reveal a flashy-looking watch.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he says.

He keeps backing away from me, but he’s moving slowly, like this is a game, and he’s waiting for me to say the magic words.

“Don’t let big, bad Meenie scare you off,” I say.

His dark eyes flash with annoyance. I smile inwardly. I’ve struck a nerve.

He stops retreating. “It was nice meeting you, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.” His tone has the ring of someone saying goodbye, not of someone who’s coming back next week.

“Drew, never mind me. This is an excellent support group. You’d be stupid not to come back.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Well, maybe you should call up that girl who took your balls and ask if you can have them back. Get your balls out of her purse, then stick them back on.”

“My balls?” His eyebrows raise higher and higher, until they look like they’re trying to merge with his handsome hairline. Now that he’s speechless, I want to lick his face more than ever. I bet his cheeks taste like orange juice.

I should shut up now. Or I should apologize for insulting him.

Instead, I keep going, my head bobbing with attitude.

“Yes, Drew. Your balls. If memory serves me correctly, they fasten right under your dick. Do that, and then come back next Tuesday, and work on your personal shit. Like a man. Like a grown, adult man.”

He blinks, clears his throat, turns around on the heel of one Italian leather shoe, and walks straight toward the exit of Room 3C.

And that’s the end of New Guy Drew.

He doesn’t say a word to anyone on his way out. He drops the empty orange juice bottle and coffee cup in the bins by the door. He takes the time to sort out which is recyclable and which is garbage.

I feel terrible. He recycles. He might come off as sensitive and touchy, but a guy who recycles can’t be that bad.

He reaches for the door handle.

Time slows down and my surroundings come into focus. Abbie and the other seniors laugh as they declare themselves Chocoholics. They’re such lovable goofs. This group is diverse, but what they have in common is they all have good hearts. Every one of them would gladly give up a moment of happiness to share the sorrow of another.

And then there’s me. Driving people away.

I should stop Drew, if only for business reasons. Feather lets people drop in to their first session for free, so she only makes money if people come back. Now I’ve gone and scared away one of her potential clients.

Drew pulls open the door.

I shouldn’t have said his balls are in a lady’s purse. But if I go after him, the truth will come out about what I said to drive him away. The others will know I’m not kindhearted like them.

Drew slips out without anyone but me noticing.

A guilty, shameful feeling slips over me like a dark cloak.

I’m poison.

I’m toxic to other human beings, and myself.

I am, quite simply, the worst.

But I don’t want to be like this. I want to be sunny and nice. I want a guy to like me. I want Drew to like me.

Things never turn out with me and guys, and I keep thinking maybe it’s the guys I pick. They definitely can’t handle my honesty.

But I’m getting a feeling that maybe the problem is bigger than that.

Maybe the problem is me.

I wake up Wednesday morning to sweet little kisses.

Muffin is on my chest, licking my chin and rubbing his wet nose on my mouth. I open my eyes. He looks at me like he’s truly surprised I’m not sleeping right through the application of his snot to my face.

“Good morning, Prince Charming,” I say.

He pulls his face back, disgusted by my morning breath. Of course. He licks his own butt, yet my morning breath offends him.

Muffin retreats to the foot of the bed and stretches his ginger-orange body out. You’d think I bought the seafoam green bedding just because it was a perfect complement to his fur. And you’d be right. I did.

We get up, and I feed him his wet food on the porch so the smell doesn’t get in my nose while I’m having breakfast. I sit by the window and look out at the back yard. My sister Tina lives back there, in the former garage that my mother converted into a cottage. She was going to rent it out, but Tina parked herself in there, and Tina always gets what she wants.

I crunch my toast and stare at the windows of the cottage. The blinds are closed, which means Luca is staying over.

He’s basically the perfect guy, from looks to personality. I’m really glad he’s in Tina’s life, and I’m truly happy for both of them, but seeing them together has brought back some old feelings. Bad feelings I’m ashamed of.

When we were growing up, I was always in Tina’s shadow. We’re close in age, only eleven months apart. My mother was breastfeeding her when she got pregnant with me by accident.

At first, I did better than Tina. When it was time for me to emerge from the womb, I rolled my tiny body around just like babies are supposed to, according to the baby manual. My mother wanted another C-section, but the doctors said she didn’t need it.

Out I came, a day later, with my pointy head and tilted nose—almost as cute as baby Tina, but not quite.

In school, I was almost as good at Tina in every subject. As teenagers, she did some modeling, and I didn’t.

I decided to do something she’d never tried, and joined the girls’ wrestling team in high school. Tina came to my first match and was fascinated.

That night, we were watching TV with Mom and Tina said she wanted to join the wrestling team. I suggested she try the drama club. Within seconds, she had the coffee table pushed aside, and we were tangling with each other on the area rug, both of us laughing like maniacs.

My mother said, “Teenie, wouldn’t it be nice to let Meenie have something just to herself?”

With my sister distracted, I slammed her down and crushed her face into the floral rug. It felt good.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “Teenie can join wrestling with me. I don’t mind.”

My mother nodded and gave me a knowing look, as if to say,
I completely understand your desire to kick your perfect older sister’s ass, and I approve of this adult-supervised method of doing so.

What my mother didn’t know was how much trouble we would get into on trips to other towns for matches. My sister started dating Jonathan not long after we started wrestling, so she was off the dating market, but I got my pick of all her would-be suitors. And wrestlers are hot.

I had a lot of fun, but I’m twenty-seven now, and things with guys my age are changing. When you’re younger, guys are into girls, period. Girls. Any kind.