In Too Hard (Freshman Roommates Trilogy, Book 3) (25 page)

“Jesus, no wonder you didn’t want too many friends,” he said, the corner of his mouth inching a fraction higher.

I didn’t mention that it wasn’t because
I
didn’t want more friends. Friends who would ask questions about my home life. That would throw him back into my past, and I didn’t want to go there again, except to tell him…“I didn’t have posters on my wall. I had that one picture of you, from the interview you did with
The New Yorker
, propped up next to my lamp, held in place by my copy of
Gangster’s Folly
.”

“Syd,” he said, caution in his voice, afraid of what he assumed was Folly Dolly possibly emerging.

But there was so much more to me—more to us—than some Dolly.

“I read
Folly
over and over, I told you that. And I would look at your picture after I’d finish, and think that I…
knew
you somehow.” He seemed to get uncomfortable and I quickly went on. “And yet, I didn’t know you, not really. And you did the same thing with me.”

He quirked a brow at me and I tried to tug my hand out from under his, but he held on fast. That gave me the courage to go on. “Okay, so not for five years, and not as…”

“Obsessively?”

“Strongly,” I offered instead, though he was probably closer to the truth. “But you were first…drawn to me because of what—and how—I wrote, and then by seeing me so frequently, like I did with your picture.”

Now. Now a smile, though just a tiny one, and tinged with a little sadness. I’d take it. “Well, it might have been a little reversed for me, if we’re being honest. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you from the first day of class. I didn’t read your first paper for a couple of weeks after that.”

“Seriously? ’Cause like you said, we’re being honest here.”

He nodded, still holding my hand to his chest, the warmth enveloping me from both his palm and through his shirt, as somehow our hands had slipped inside his sports coat.
 

“Seriously. From day one.”

“Not Lily? She’s the one every guy went for when we’d go to parties.”

He shook his head, the movement so tiny it was almost nonexistent, but I saw it. Felt it.

“Not Jane? Guys are drawn to her, though I don’t think they even know why. And the way she would flirt with you—”

“Not Jane. You, Syd. You.”

I could feel the lump in my throat as I swallowed, trying not to fall into his arms, to pull him close and bury my face in his strong chest. I wanted to get this out.

“So, yeah, that came first, with
both
of us. The initial attraction from the writing and the physical. But, those first couple of days, on the phone, without seeing each other? That’s when I knew you were so much more than just the author of my favorite book.”

“Even though we were basically talking about my next book.”

“Were we? Really, that’s all? I remember feeling like I knew you so quickly, so intimately, and not at all as just someone with a book to write.” I flexed my hand under his, against his chest, and he flattened his more heavily on mine.

“So did I,” he admitted softly.

“And what we’ve become since?” I asked, holding my breath. “What we were?”

He seemed to be searching for a word, the man who could string words together so beautifully and effortlessly.

“Real,” I offered up to him. “It was…we were…real.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “You’re speaking in past tense,” he said.

“You put us in that tense.”

Another tiny nod, though his eyes never left mine. I tried to convey the depth of my feelings with my gaze, but knew my plain brown eyes could never let him know how much I loved him. Him the man, not the writer, though the two were inextricably connected.

“I know,” he sadly said. “But I think…Syd, I agree with everything you just said, and I’m glad you pointed it out. But…”

God, the dreaded ‘but.’ I knew this was not going to go the way I wanted it to.

But maybe it was going to go the way it needed to.

“I think that’s the tense we need to stay, for a lot of reasons. A lot of
other
reasons.”

“Okay,” I said, “I understand.”

And I really did.

That didn’t mean I could stop the tears from falling down my face and from doing what I’d wanted to do for the past ten minutes.

Hell, since I’d first seen him.

I burrowed my head into his chest, not caring that my tears were wetting his crisp white shirt, probably leaving mascara stains. He could afford a new fucking shirt.

“Syd,” he whispered, finally letting go of my hand so he could wrap his arms around me and pull me close.

“Goodbye, Billy,” I said, but put my arms around his waist, hanging on to him, like I’d never let him go.

I would, but just…not yet.

“Goodbye, Syd,” he said, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head.

We stood that way for a moment, but it wasn’t long enough. Finally I stepped back. It was important to me that I be the first to let go. I didn’t say another word or look back at him as I left.

Walking back to Creyts I let the tears flow down my face, not worrying about what anyone might think if they saw me. That in and of itself was probably a first, and a cause for a small celebration.
 

Yes, I had grown up this freshman year. A new strength, a new sense of self, insecurities in check.

And a broken heart to go with them all.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Montrose

“B
illy, this is Nora. Are you sitting down?”

Well, shit. That could mean good news or bad news. I was just entering my office, having finished a class. “Yeah, give me a sec. I need to put my stuff down.”

I heard a sigh from Nora. I’m sure she didn’t mean that I literally needed to be sitting down. But I wanted to have a hand free to write details down. I threw my bag on the guest chair, and my sports coat on top of it. Quickly making my way around my desk and sitting down, I pulled out a pen, grabbed a tablet and put Nora on speaker.

“Yes, okay. Shoot.” I looked down at the empty tablet and wondered how big of a space “no deal” would take up.

“Adina loves it. They met our price.”

Holy shit. “They’re going to pay
two million dollars
for a preempt?” The amount came out on a part choke, part chuckle of disbelief.

“No.
Three
million. She offered for it so quickly I knew that we could get more than what you and I were originally thinking. She came in at one-point-five with a first offer. I got her up to three.”

“Christ, Nora, you’re amazing.”

“Just doing my job,” she said, but I could tell she was particularly pleased as well.

“I…I’m…speechless,” I said.

She snorted. “That’s a first. Listen, they want to fast track it, have it available for Christmas gift season. She already has her marketing team working on a sales pitch for retailers. She’s going to call you later today to talk cover art thoughts and edits. She and I are going to meet next week and talk a book tour and appearances. We’re behind the curve for this season, but they don’t want to wait. They know they’ve got a hit.”

“Wow. They’re really moving on this.” It had taken well over a year from the time
Gangster’s Folly
sold to it being on the shelves. Publishing was not a fast moving machine.

“They really think they can capitalize at Christmas. A great gift idea for anyone who read
Folly
, and all that.”

“Great. Sure, yeah…” I looked down at my tablet. I’d written down “Three Fucking Million” without even realizing it. But it wasn’t all about the money to me. “Did Adina like it?”

“Billy. She just paid three million dollars for it. I think she liked it.”

“Well, there’s a difference between knowing a book will sell well, and actually…liking it.” God, would the insecure writer in me ever shut the fuck up?

“She liked it, okay? She loved it. She said if it were a person she’d fuck it. Happy?”

I couldn’t picture Adina saying those exact words, or anything even near it, but I just laughed and dropped it.

After getting off the call with Nora I tried to do normal things, so that I wouldn’t obsess about the book deal. There was a lot of work to do before I saw
Flames
on the shelf this fall.
 

I unpacked my bag, putting the new stack of students’ papers on the credenza, now box-free. There were stacks of papers throughout the office in various stages of completion. Some read and graded, but not entered yet, some still untouched.

I sat in my chair and looked around the tiny office. A room that had given me such joy this year. And also pain.

After getting some closure with Syd last week, it was easier to remember only the wonderful times in here when we would talk books, eat Peking Delight, and make love.
 

And this was also the room that brought me back to writing, and remembering that I
could
write a complete novel, not just a bunch of beginnings.

Because every good story had a beginning, a middle and an end. Even if I didn’t want my story with Syd to end, it had to. It was just too hard. There was just too much in our way, not the least of which was I was leaving Bribury in two weeks.
 

Yes, there would be times that she’d be in the same city as me, but as she’d pointed out many times, her New York was not my New York. I just wished I’d realized it earlier.

No. No, I didn’t mean that. It was worth it, even though it had been so hard. Yeah, definitely worth it.

I debated calling my parents, or my sister, to tell them about the book deal, but I didn’t. I wanted Syd to be the first to know, but after we’d said our final goodbyes last week it didn’t seem right. Besides, I wasn’t sure how happy she would be for me.

I decided to settle in and grade some papers, but wanted to first grab a soda from the machine down the hall. When I stepped into the hallway, I saw Jane Winters walking away from me, toward the exit. Most of the Bribury girls all looked the same from behind—long hair up or down and straightened, those legging things, brightly colored running shoes and, now that it was spring, small knit tops and light zippered hoodies. But not Jane. You could easily pick her out in the sea of Bribury co-eds.

And Syd, of course. I’d know Syd instantly even though she tried to fit the mold.

Seeing Jane reminded me of Caro Stratton’s recent passing and an interview that Caro, Joe Stratton and Jane had done, which I’d seen the other night. “Hey, Jane. Got a minute?” I said to her back, loudly enough for her to hear.

She turned, not looking shocked to see me. Yeah, she probably knew where my office was from first semester. “Sure,” she said, then made her way back to my office and through the door, which I held open for her.

I watched as her gaze quickly moved around the room, seeming to take everything in. I’d bet not much got past Jane Winters.

“The ‘Who I am Right Now’ papers?” she asked, pointing to a stack of papers yet to be graded.
 

“What? Oh, yeah. Not as entertaining as last semester’s batch, I’m afraid.” Jane and Syd in particular had written really insightful pieces that I still distinctly remembered. I’d felt so strongly about Jane’s that I’d talked with her briefly about it the last day of class. I’d felt so strongly about Syd’s that I’d offered her a job.

I motioned to the couch, the guest chair still having papers on it, and Jane sat down. My leather jacket was on the arm, had been there for weeks, since it had warmed up and I’d stopped wearing any jacket or coat over my sports coat. I made to move it for her, but Jane pushed it aside. A piece of fabric had obviously been underneath and it fell to the floor in front of Jane. It was the scarf I’d given Syd. She must have left it one of the last times she’d been here and it’d gotten into a crack in the couch during our lovemaking. A burst of pain swept through me. I wanted to snatch it out of Jane’s hands but didn’t want to tip her off to anything.

Which probably wasn’t going to work, given the way Jane seemed to recognize the garment. Of course she did, she lived with Syd. And the scarf wasn’t one that anybody else on this campus had. And certainly wasn’t a man’s piece of clothing, not with the feminine design. Then she brought it to her nose and I knew she was smelling Syd’s perfume.

God, did it still have her scent on it? Now I really wanted to rip it out of her hands. She handed it to me, not saying anything (yeah, Jane Winters not saying anything!), but lifting an eyebrow at me.

Busted.
 

 
“It’s, um…” Where to start. How could I possibly put my feelings for Syd into words? Me, who made my living by choosing words, who found great joy and solace in words…I just couldn’t begin to explain to Jane what I couldn’t explain to myself.

“Complicated? I’m sure it is,” Jane said.
 

I looked down at the scarf in my hands and willed myself not to bring it to my nose in front of Jane.