Moore To Love (19 page)

“Madeline Moore! Look at me! Now!” Tatum stomps her foot like an insolent child and then shakes my shoulders.

I can’t ignore her forever and maybe if I just get on with this humiliation, I can move on and she will leave me alone to wallow in my misery. “What? What can you possibly say to make this any better?”

Tatum kneels in front of me, her hands on my knees, her eyes sparkling with optimism. I have been friends with this wacko a long, long time. She’s been by my side for all of it—the good, the bad and the portly—I don’t know what I’d do without her. And although I’d love to push her tiny frame and send her teetering over to join Rocky Road in the belly up position on my area rug, I don’t have it in me to do anything but hug the bitch.

“Why do I love you? Please remind me?” I fling my arms around her neck and squeeze—maybe a little tighter than I should.
That’s for making me think he’s gay, bitch.

“You trying to thank me, or kill me?” She breaks free of my hug/choke hold and sits in front of me, legs criss-crossed into a pretzel.

“I wish we had real rocky road right now,” I admit with a sigh and wipe the remaining droplets from my soon-to-be-puffy eyes.

“Well, you have me instead, so deal. Slumber party?” Tatum’s smile spreads wide across her flawless face, her eyebrows reaching her hairline.

It’s been eons since we had a good old fashioned sleepover that didn’t include puking and morning after hangovers. As much as I thought I wanted to be alone to overanalyze this whole Lane thing, a Tatum and Leni couch-campout including our time honored favorite and most quotable flick,
Mean Girls
, might just be what I need to recharge before my trip to Miami.

“DVD in place?” she asks, reaching for the remote.

“Of course.”

Midway into Regina George getting her plastic ass fooled by the pre-train-wreck Lindsay Lohan, I sleepily surrender to the reality that I cannot allow a man’s affections or rejections to define me. Before I slammed into that tree I was on the right track—the road to loving me. Gay or straight or what have you, I cannot give Lane, or any man, the power to doubt myself. Anyone with that influence, is just totally
fetch
.

MY PHONE BUZZES LOUDLY, SKIDDING
across the side table in an effort to get my morning off to an aggravating beginning.

“Shut it up! Stop it! It’s too early!” Tatum mumbles from underneath the blanket cocoon we shared in our toe-to-head position last night.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and focus them on the cable box clock. “Not exactly that early, Tay. It’s nine o’clock.”

“Ungodly,” says the woman who doesn’t ever have to be at work before noon. She pulls the fleece throw over her head and curls herself into the fetal position. “Wake me in half an hour.”

We stayed up to watch all of
Mean Girls
and then wound up chatting some more, way into the wee hours of the almost dawning new day. While I’m okay with less than eight hours of beauty rest, my best friend is a diva who can barely function on nine.

The phone vibrates again, reminding me that I already ignored one incoming message. I stretch out the kinks in my back caused by uncomfortably squeezing on the couch with my restless sleeper of an overnight guest, and reach for the confounded thing that just won’t stop buzzing. “Geez! Who are you and why are you so persistent?”

My eyes go wide and I gulp back a nice helping of stanky morning breath when I notice I have a few messages from Lane. Before swiping the screen to open them, I shake the shit out of Tatum. “It’s him, Tay! It’s him!”

A moan that could rival a lion’s growl erupts from the fleece cocoon. “Who? Who the hell is so hell bent on waking me up?”

“Lane! Lane texted me—”

“And?” One eye pokes out of the blanket, waiting for my answer.

“I didn’t look yet.”

Tatum rockets into a sitting position and snatches the phone from my hand. Typing in the passcode I once told her in a drunken stupor—stupid me for not changing it—she scans through the texts. A beaming smile brightens her groggy features as she reads. “Definitely not gay, I’ll tell ya that.” She hands the phone back to me and then drops back onto the pillow.

I open the texts to see for myself what has Tatum convinced she was wrong. This is a day for the Guinness Book of World Records. My best friend rarely admits defeat. Between that victory and Lane’s messages, my skin is tingling all over.

Lane (8:30am): Hey, gorgeous. Did you open those beautiful big brown eyes yet? Wanna join me for a run?

Lane (8:48am): Either you’re still asleep or ignoring me. If it’s the latter, I need you to know that I hardly slept last night, thinking about how we left off. I’m sorry if I weirded out. It’s not what you think. You definitely know how to drive a guy to the brink of insanity with that incredible mouth of yours.

Lane (9:12am): I’m not leaving until 10, so if you get this and feel up to it, put a guy out of his misery and text me back.

“Oh my God! Praise the Lord!” I clutch the phone to my galloping heart and let my head fall back against the couch.

“Are you going to answer him or leave the guy hanging?” Tatum still hasn’t emerged from the blanket, but I know she feels the deliberation oozing from my always indecisive body.

Biting my lip and bobbing my leg up and down like a jack hammer, I take a split second to ponder and then—
fuck it!
My fingers fly across the screen with more ambition than a backstage groupie after a rock concert.

Me: Morning! I’ll meet you at the benches by the fountain in twenty.

I press send and within seconds—seconds that drip with the agony of anticipation—the three tiny dots appear in the bubble, mocking my eagerness.

Lane: So you’re not ignoring me?

Me: Nope, not today.

Lane: Good, because I was up all night thinking of a way to leave you with something to remember me by while you’re away.

That elicits a squeal and an uncontrollable burst of energy. “I gotta get ready. Get your ass up and out!” I pull the blanket off of Tatum with a strong tug that rolls her onto the floor. She comes nose-to-nose with Rocky Road and then looks up at me with a
what the fuck
expression.

“I take it you and your
beautiful big brown eyes
are meeting Lane for that run?”

“Uh huh!” I nod joyfully, folding the blanket.

“What else did he say?” Tatum rises into a sitting position. So does Rocky Road.

I’m not one to kiss and tell but—who am I kidding? “He said he was up all night thinking of a way to make me remember him while I’m in Miami. He was . . . flirting. I think.” And just like that I’m back to reading in between the lines. I hand my phone over to Tatum again, showing her exactly what he said.

“Have I not taught you anything?” She shakes her head and hands the phone off.

“I was never an A student, you know this.”

“Even though it kills me to say this—” She winces, her tongue hissing between her teeth as if whatever she’s about to say is painful. “I was wrong.”

I clamp my mouth shut with both hands, as to not spoil this moment of triumph.

“He likes you, Leni. For the record, I never doubted he
could
. I just thought—”

“You thought
wrong
. Wrong, wrong, wrongity wrong. Say it again, Tay. Savor it on your lips, cherish how it feels on your tongue. This might be the first and last time you ever experience it, you stubborn bitch!”

Never faltering or discounting my minute of glory, Tatum rises from the floor and searches for the bra she peeled off before we went to sleep. “I have to say, it’s a great reason to be wrong. This is a good thing, babes. I’m really happy for you.”

“I’m really happy for me, too.” And I am. So happy that the kale smoothie I make myself for breakfast tastes more like an ice cream sundae with a cherry on top.

I try to make myself look like I’m not a ball of nerves on the inside by acting professional on the outside. With my right foot propped on the bench for support, I fold my body in half and reach down to touch the tips of my toes. I repeat the same warm-up exercise with the opposite leg, until a pair of chilly hands at my waist startles me.

“Shit!” I shout, craning my neck to see who just got a handful of muffin top.

“Hey, you.” Lane smiles, coming around to plant a kiss on my cheek.

The nerves from earlier send shockwaves through my body, and then slowly come to a simmer when I inhale a deep breath of Lane’s manly scent.

“Hi.” I can just see my face right now—a total goof. Warm and gooey and all crimson stained cheeks.

“You look adorable, as always,” Lane scans me from head to toe and I can’t help but relish in the lustful expression on his face. But,
adorable
? A puppy is adorable; a newborn baby is adorable. Whatevs, I’ll take what I can get, considering last night Tatum had me convinced that the guy over there walking his dog is Lane’s idea of adorable.

“Thanks.
You
look breathtaking, as always.” He does. There’s no better way to describe him. In his proximity the altitude seems higher, my lungs feel smaller. He has that effect over me all the damn time.

Lane ignores my compliment and takes my hand. “Ready? I want to show you something today.”

I gladly accept his invitation, no words necessary, and we start on the path in the opposite direction of my normal route.

Lane is like the mayor of Central Park—everyone waves or gestures a greeting as he passes them. I recognize some familiar faces from my daily routine, but since this is a path I don’t normally frequent, it’s like a whole new world. The October sun is strong in spite of the subtle chill in the air. I’m glad I layered because with the sun beating down on us head-on I’ll need to shed my Pink hoodie soon.

“So, about last night.” Lane breaks the comfortable silence only filled with our footfalls. I find myself enjoying the steady pace between us, the fact he’s simply beside me is enough. And then he brings this up as if I need a reminder of how I acted like a horny fool last night. Suddenly, my pits are sweating again and the hoodie has to go.

I unzip it, feeling self-conscious of the way my T-shirt clings to all the wrong places, and tie it around my waist to hide the worst of it. Without making eye contact, my focus still on the paved path, I reply, “Maybe we don’t need to talk about it. Let’s leave it alone and just start fresh. I’m embarrassed enough for throwing myself at you.”