Less Than Nothing (25 page)

I don’t know what to say. I want to hold Derek, comfort him, smother him with kisses. But he’s retreated into himself, into whatever personal hell waits inside his head, and I know enough not to intrude. After a few minutes of silence, he takes several deep breaths and continues.

“We used to joke about going on
America’s Got Talent
or
X Factor
. That’s what gave me the idea when I heard about this show. I thought of him, and I figured I’d try it, if nothing else, to honor his memory. It’s just so…so frigging sad and pointless. When my mom died, we both wound up on the street, and I really thought he’d do okay, that he could handle it. I looked out for him, and we made enough to get by. I even made him stay in school, walked with him every day, rain or shine.”

“Oh, Derek…”

“But he never got over my mom. I think he secretly wanted to find out what the attraction was, why she chose to trade her life for drugs. Either that or he wanted to escape. He was…he was a gentler soul than I am. More vulnerable. I didn’t even know he was using until his habit got so big that he was stealing from our pot. But by then…I tried to get him onto methadone, but the program in Seattle sucks. In the end it got so he’d disappear for days at a time. I knew what he was doing, but I couldn’t stop it.” He pauses and releases my hand. “First my mom, then my brother.”

Some days I feel like I’m three years old, living in a grown-up world I don’t understand. I’ve had my share of adversity, but nothing like this. I try to imagine what it feels like to lose a younger brother who I’m basically parenting, but I can’t. The closest I can come is my mom, and she’s an adult.

He takes another sip of coffee. “I left Seattle after he overdosed. That’s when I moved to Vegas. Big mistake. But there were too many bad memories for me back home, too many ghosts.”

There’s nothing I can do to make it better. So I respect his privacy and sit in silence. He’s stopped talking, and I’m not going to force him.

We finish our coffee, but I’m still a little buzzed from the wine. One of the big pluses of hardly drinking is I get the active effect from almost nothing. We make our way toward the subway station, and my stomach tightens as the area goes from bad to terrible. This is the latest we’ve been out, and the Bowery has a deserved reputation for being one of the worst areas in town – no small accomplishment.

We pause at a corner, waiting for the light to change. Music drifts from the open doorway of a bar across the street, and I recognize it – Sade. It used to be one of my favorites when I was a kid, and it brings back memories of happier times. Two thugs eye us from near the bar, and Derek moves closer and takes my hand. They look us up and down and go back inside. I exhale with relief and then make a snap decision.

“Congratulations again on the show, Derek. We make a good team,” I say and put my guitar case down and hug him. He seems surprised but hugs me back, and then before I can chicken out, I raise my mouth to his.

His full lips brush mine, hesitantly, the lightest tremble of a feather, and then he’s lowering his to mine, his arms tightening around me.

It’s exactly what I always knew it would be like in my best dreams, only better. We breathe as one and I stand on my tiptoes to get higher, greedy for more. The taste of him is like heaven, warm and male and Derek, salty and musky and everything good. A liquid rush surges through me, and I feel lost, my only connection to the world his mouth.

This is nothing like my reluctant make-outs with boys in high school. This is real and immediate and intoxicating, and the intensity leaves me gasping. I let out a soft moan and press against him. My leg muscles feel like I’ve run a triathlon, and I’m weak and shaky. I want to keep kissing him for ever and ever, to lose myself in him, to make him mine.

He stiffens and pulls away, and I open my eyes, confused. “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t stop.”

Derek gazes down at me, and I see the hunger in his eyes. But instead of kissing me again, he shakes his head. I don’t know what’s wrong. Is it me? Maybe I’m a lousy kisser? Does my breath sicken him? Is he repelled?

“What?” I try again.

He hugs me to him, but it’s nothing like the last time. I feel safe, but empty. Something changed. He’s no longer responding the way he’s supposed to. I try not to feel rejected, but I’m crushed. I finally worked up the courage to kiss him, and he can’t get away fast enough.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” I say and try to keep the hurt from my voice.

He shakes his head. Sade finishes her song, and with it goes my hopes for something more with Derek.

“No, it isn’t you. I mean, yes and no. Yes, because I’ve been wanting to do that so badly – you’re awesome and beautiful and sexy and funny…”

When a guy starts reciting your positives instead of kissing you, you’re dead.
I feel sick, the wine sloshing around in my stomach not helping.

“Right. That’s why you don’t want to kiss anymore. Because I’m so awesome.”

Derek’s mouth works, but no words come out. He makes a sound like a hurt puppy and tries again. “I do want to kiss you more. I want nothing more than to kiss you, Sage. Nobody but you.” He frowns slightly. “But it’s not a good idea…right now.”

“What, like right this minute? Or not now, like in this lifetime?” I can feel anger rising.

He shakes his head. “Let me try to explain. We’ve just accomplished something most people never do in their whole lives. We’re in the show. And we stand a good chance of winning it. Think about what that means, Sage. Think about how our lives will change if we win.”

What does this have to do with kissing? I’m waiting.
He seems to expect a response, so I offer one. “Right, and that’s great, and I’m stoked. So why won’t you kiss me?”

He runs a finger over my cheekbone and pushes my hair aside. I hate my bangs right now. Hate, hate, hate them.

“I do want to. But when two people start…when they get romantic, everything changes. Sometimes for the good, sometimes not. The point is we’ve just done the impossible, together, as a team. Not as a couple. As two singers.” He sighs. “I don’t want to risk our future on something changing between us.”

“What? You’re afraid that if we keep kissing, we might not sing as well? Are you for real?”

“Sage, there’s a tension between us that’s really powerful. It’s dynamite when we sing. That’s part of what makes it magical. If we relieve that tension or do something to change it–”

“Wait. You’re saying that you really want to kiss me, and I really want to kiss you, but if we keep doing it, it might affect our…
performance?
And you’re serious?” My fury’s building, but I can’t seem to stop it. This is going all wrong. A moment before it was bliss, but now…

Derek steps back from me. “How many relationships have you been in, Sage?”

“Me? Enough.”

“I mean serious ones, with someone you want to be around all the time. Someone you’re head over heels for.”

I’m not going to answer that question. “What’s your point?”

“I’ve had a few girlfriends, and believe me, things change. Look, all we have to do is wait six weeks, and then this is over. At that point we can start fresh, pick up right where we left off, with that kiss. It’s only six weeks. And the stakes are high, Sage. Too high. It’s an all-or-nothing situation, and I don’t want to throw it away by doing the wrong thing.”

I’m furious that he’s willing to reject me over the show, but I remember Helen’s words and force myself to stay calm. Derek obviously isn’t lying about wanting me. That kiss didn’t lie. But he’s trying to think with his head, not his…he’s trying to do the right thing for us, for our shot at changing our lives. He’s not rejecting anyone – it only seems that way because I’ve invested so much in getting him to kiss me, and with kisses, it becomes way more than just that. And he knows it. He’s telling me that it’s way more for him, too, and he doesn’t want to play with dynamite, at least until the show’s over.

The difference between Derek and me is that I’ll happily risk our chances at winning to get what I want, which I’ve decided is Derek. And he won’t. He’s trying to be responsible in the same methodical way that he eats.

I try to see it from his perspective, and have to admit there’s a logic to it. But I don’t care about logic. I want his lips on mine,
now
, goddammit, and he’s not playing.

I’m drained, and tired, and all I have to look forward to is another night of rats and stinky bodies and snoring and subways. Any interest I had in kissing is slipping away.

“But once it’s over, you really do want to pick this back up?”

He steps close to me again and frames my face with his hands. He leans into me, and his lips flit across mine, and then his fingers are in my hair, pulling gently, the slight pain exquisite. I close my eyes, not thinking, and he whispers in my ear before kissing the lobe.

“More than anything, Sage. If you only knew how much, you’d understand how hard it is for me to do the right thing.”

I know, all right. My body’s sending me every signal possible to tell me that Derek’s the one, and it wants him more than I would have thought possible. It’s a completely new sensation, unfamiliar but as powerful as a steam engine, and it’s taking every bit of will I have to keep from tearing his clothes off right here on the street.

How the hell am I going to make it six weeks? Six minutes seems like an eternity.

I pull away and retrieve Yam, and he lifts his rucksack. He takes my hand and looks down at me.

“We good?”

I want to cry, I’m so frustrated. WWMD? Crap. I sniff back tears and nod, both hating him and wanting him more than I thought possible.

“We’re way better than good, Derek.” I shake my head. “It’s going to be a long six weeks.”

My night goes by without any sleep as I toss and turn, trying to make sense of Derek’s reasoning. Eventually the wine burns through my system, leaving me with a dehydrated, spent feeling, which doesn’t help. I want to slide my cot next to his and talk him out of his conviction that us being anything more than friends will risk our chances, but a rancid utility area on a closed subway route filled with the homeless isn’t exactly ideal for intimacy.

I try to understand his thinking, but I’m not getting it. Derek’s already way more than just a friend – the kiss proved that to me, if I didn’t already know it. How can he be so logical and detached when I’m grinding my teeth and trying to come up with an excuse to repeat it?

Which is his point. Things have already changed between us. I don’t feel the same as I did a week ago. And now I’m losing sleep over it. If I’m looking for proof that there might be something to his fears, all I have to do is look in the mirror. My mind isn’t on the show, on winning, or on anything but Derek.

I hate that he’s right.

The next day we’re up early and playing for our breakfast. New York isn’t a generous city to musicians, partly because of its tough character, but also because there are so damned many of us. All the best spots are taken, so we’re stuck in areas where people are jostling and rushing to be somewhere else, most with little time or interest in stopping and listening, much less in parting with tips.

Derek hasn’t said anything more about last night, and neither have I. We can both sense that even discussing it will cause more drama, which is what he’s trying to avoid. We finish the day with sixty dollars to split, which will cover hot dogs and coffee, but not a lot else.

The following day is a repeat, with the only variation lunch with Jeremy. Derek passes, wanting to play through the peak hours, so it’s just the two of us at a little wraps restaurant in midtown.

The good thing about Jeremy is he’s not hard to spot, even in a crowd. His flamboyant red hair and colorful wardrobe announce his presence before he sees me and waves. He’s wearing a lime green tank top and khaki yoga pants, his outfit completed with a pair of huarache sandals and white-framed sunglasses that cover most of his upper face. He throws his arms wide when I approach and lets out a little scream. The other diners largely ignore him.

We hug, and I notice that he smells like something expensive. I sit down, and he takes off his glasses. He’s wearing a little mascara.

“So, dahling, how are you coping in Nueva Yorka? Getting along okay?”

I nod. “We’re playing all day, so we’re eating.”

He purses his lips. “And how are you doing with that hunk of burning man who follows you around like a puppy?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing’s ever easy.”

“Tell me about it. Believe you me, even for someone as obviously a catch as I, it’s hard to find decent material. You’re lucky to have him, I’d say.”

“Well, I don’t really have him.”

Jeremy’s eye roll is as dramatic as a silent movie star’s. “Girlfriend, yes, you do. It’s written all over his face. He’s smitten.”

I sigh. Jeremy’s easy to talk to, and so over-the-top about everything that nothing I say is going to shock him, I can tell. So I share the last couple of days with him and ask his opinion. When I finish, he’s shaking his head as he nibbles on his wrap.

“Boy, that’s a toughie. Everyone I know is on the same page. Life’s too short to delay pleasure. I can resist anything but temptation, as the saying goes.”