The Break-Up Psychic (16 page)

The door slamming behind her makes me jump, and I wrap my arms tightly around myself. I feel cold and ridiculous standing here in front of him in nothing but thin silk. I feel the sear of his eyes as he stares at me across the coffee table. He shuffles his feet and I chance a look in his direction. He’s not smiling anymore. He looks frustrated and his body is tense with emotion. I look away before he can suck me in further.

I want to tell him he ruined everything, ruined my happily ever after and any hope that I’ll ever be able to find it. I want to tell him that he and Suzy can have each other and that I’m better off without him, but the words won’t come. Instead I’m just standing there, silent and vulnerable. It’s not until Tim brings a hand up to cup my cheek that I realize he’s moved. He wipes the pad of a thumb across my cheek and I feel the trail of wetness it leaves behind. I break, finally giving in to the pain I’ve worked so hard to forget.

He gently tilts my head back to look into my eyes. He’s not crying but his eyes are wet and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen anything like sadness mar his perfect good looks. “Ellie, I think…I think I’m in love with you.”

I
must
be dreaming because I’m pretty sure Tim just told me he loves me. Well, he thinks he loves me. “What?” I choke.

“I said, I think I’m in love with you.”

Over the course of our eleven months together, Tim never once uttered the word love. Whenever I said I loved him, he mostly responded with,
“Ditto, babe.”
For a long time I thought it was his way of saying he loved me too, but toward the end I knew he was just avoiding the conversation and probably the promise of a commitment to me.

“I want you back, babe. Come home with me, it’s been long enough.” He moves forward, pulling me in close and wrapping his arms tightly around me, trapping me. I’m like a doe in headlights; I know if I don’t move I’m going to end up as Tim’s new hood ornament, but the lights, they’re so pretty…

“Just get your things and let’s go home. We can put all of this behind us,” he says in a soothing voice.

The thought of going back to the apartment, to the defiled leather furniture, brings me out of my stupor. “No, no, I can’t go back with you,” I say, shaking my head, breaking away from him and moving to the other end of the small room.

“Yes, you can. You and I belong together and I’m not going to let you get away again.”

“Get away? Tim, you slept with our neighbor, in our apartment. I didn’t get away, you pushed me away.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks and take a deep breath, finding the resolve that’s been eluding me. I begin to pace, trying to put maximum distance between us. If I’m going to survive this encounter unscathed, I’ve got to avoid all further contact.

Tim mirrors my movements, anticipating my attempt to flee from him. He is the lion, the modern male predator. Instead of bringing down gazelles with superior speed and strength, he brings down hapless women with model good looks and financial success. “I know you miss me too. I know you, Ellie. I know you want to get married and have kids and live in a little blue cottage out in the country. I know you wanted me to be your Prince Charming, and I messed things up.”

“Prince Charming? Ha! More like Prince Cheats A-Lot.”

“That’s not fair. It was only the one time,” he says, hands held up in meager defense.

I ball my fists at my side and stamp my foot. How dare he try to diminish his stupid cheating penis! “You, you…” I can’t think of the right words to throw at him, to make him suffer for showing up here and getting me all worked up.

I’m about to tell him to get his Armani-butt out of the apartment when he surprises me with a stealth attack. Taking advantage of my momentary stillness, he advances and scoops me up into familiar arms, bringing his lips to mine. Electricity stuns me, and my mouth opens in surprise. He sucks in my bottom lip, nipping me gently and igniting a pool of heat in my belly.

My arms turn limp at my sides and my fists relax. My eyes are heavy and they give in against my will, fluttering closed. In the back of my mind I can hear the alarm bells telling me to stop, but they’re drowned out by the feel of Tim’s hands as they roam across my back and push me into his chest. I open my mouth a fraction and he seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. One of my hands has somehow found its way into his hair while the other grabs the lapel of his jacket and holds on for dear life.

Tim removes his lips from mine and trails a series of soft, erotic kisses down my neck. These kisses are just as I remember them, expertly nimble with just a hint of tongue and a little bit of bite. I’m glad there are no mirrors in the living room because I’m sure the scene looks like the cover of a bad romance novel. Heroine, neck arched back, heaving bosom pressed against her lover’s eager mouth. His hair billowing out in shining manliness behind him as they consummate their love over a rugged cliff…

“Christ, babe, your tits taste like honey.”

My eyes fly open, the romantic scene vanishing as his words bring me back to my senses. “Wait, stop,” I say, trying to push him away from me.

Tim, arms still wrapped tightly around me, lifts his head from its place atop my cleavage and tries to reattach his mouth to mine. I move my head to the side and he ends up planting a wet kiss on my ear.

“Tim, stop.” I firmly push him from me and take a step back.

He looks about as dumb as I feel. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and try to wipe away the memory of his lips on me. What have I done?

“You need to go,” I tell him.

“Go? Two seconds ago you were all over me. Now I have to go?”

“Yes, please, just go. I can’t do this again.”

“Ellie, we can be together. You can’t deny that you want me,” he says, reaching out for me again.

I dodge away from his reach and try to steady my pounding heart. “I don’t want you,” I say, my voice shaking.

Tim straightens and once again moves close to me, the heady scent of him infiltrating my senses. I refuse to look at him, refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing any indecision in my eyes. He lightly touches my shoulder with one finger and runs it down the length of my arm, leaving a tingling scar of confusion in its wake. I can’t stop the goose-bumps from rising, giving me away.

Tim releases a soft chuckle, confident in his ability to shake me up. “I know what you want.”

I cross my arms again and rub the place where his finger has left me feeling burned.

“I’m not giving up,” he says, turning his back to me and walking to the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

I wait until I hear the door close behind him before looking up. I know he’s right. There’s no denying his effect on me. I resolve to never fall for his tricks again, and he walks into my home and makes a fool of me.

The bedroom door creaks open and I turn to see Luanne leaning against the doorframe and frowning at me. “What’re you doing, girl?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. I really don’t know.

I think I may’ve found a new career calling as a ninja. Over the past forty-eight hours, I’ve perfected the art of avoiding all contact with Sam James, and this is no small accomplishment. After my disastrous run-in with Tim at the apartment, I’ve been avoiding Sam and his dimple like the plague. Luanne’s been aiding and abetting my disappearing act by telling him I’ve come down with a nasty cold. He’s called the apartment twice to see how I’m doing and both times I have to wordlessly plead with Luanne to keep the lie going. Now I owe her two favors, which is a dangerous thing.

The comforting aroma of chicken-noodle soup wafts over me. I toy with the card that accompanied Sam’s ‘Get Well Soon’ gift. I couldn’t believe it this morning when I peered past Luanne and saw Jason’s large frame filling our doorway, a small Tupperware bowl clutched in his behemoth hands. He told Luanne he was commissioned by Sam to bring me the soup, but I have the feeling Jason may’ve volunteered. He’s been after Luanne for another date, but so far she hasn’t caved. Perhaps he thinks playing the part of devoted friend will soften her up.

I open the card and read the message again:

Research leads me to believe that chicken soup cures all illness. Hope you feel better soon as I’m looking forward to conducting more experiments with you in the near future. - Sam.

I know I should be thrilled a man would go to so much trouble for me but honestly, it just makes me feel worse. His thoughtfulness is really hindering my ability to get over what happened with Tim. Luanne, for her part, is having no problem letting me live with the guilt. For the first time in her life she’s refusing to give me her opinion on what I should do about Sam or Tim or my messy love life in general.

“Girl, you know I’d walk through fire for you, but I can’t help you with this one.”

“I just don’t know how to fix this, Lu,” I say, placing the card back on the coffee table.

“Honey, there’s no fixing this mess. You’d be better off with a jackhammer and a truck of cement.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you need to repave this rocky road you’ve been traveling down and start fresh. You’re in love with the idea of love, but the reality of giving yourself over to someone whole-heartedly scares the
beejesus
out of you,” she says, leaving me alone on the sofa.

She’s right, of course. Every time I’ve gotten remotely close to finding real love, those damn alarm bells start ringing and I go and muck things up.

Luanne reemerges from the bedroom wearing a tight yellow halter-top and her signature low-rise jeans. I crane my neck to read the time on the microwave in the kitchen before flopping back down on the sofa, eyeing Sam’s card as it lies accusingly on the table.

“Are you planning on lying around in self-pity all day, or could you run a couple of errands for me?” Luanne asks, shoving her feet into a pair of black, pointy stilettos.

“How on earth do you wear those things at work?” I ask, not moving from my pity-party.

“Honey, I was practically born in heels. Anyway, I can hardly reach over the bar if I don’t have some serious inches under foot. So, how about it? You up for some errand running?”

“Lay it on me.”

Luanne whips out a list of chores and heads for the door but turns to face me before walking out. Her face is serious and her eyes are somber but sincere. “It’ll be okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will be okay.”

“I know,” I say, fighting for control over my quivering bottom lip. “I just don’t know how.”

I’m seriously rethinking my choice of footwear. After Luanne left for work I decided nothing would remove me from my self-loathing faster than a shower, a killer outfit, and a sexy pair of shoes. I dug through the pile of clothes still draped over Luanne’s arm chair and came up with the deep-pink dress Sam was so fond of the first time he saw me. It’s definitely too dressy for a day of running errands but who knows? I might have car trouble and I’ll want to be prepared in case I’m in need of some roadside assistance. I matched the dress with a pair of evergreen colored heeled booties and left the sanctuary of the apartment. I look fabulous, but my feet feel like they’re about to fall off.

I pull into my usual parking space in front of Brook’s Bath and Body Shop. I’ll get to Luanne’s errands after I talk to Amber. I need to know why she was so adamant about me staying away from Sam. Her concern for my wellbeing was downright disturbing. If Sam’s hiding something about his past, I need to uncover it before I end up getting hurt, again.

The shop’s ‘Closed for Lunch’ sign is hanging in the window. I use my key and push open the door, the announcement bell chiming above me.

“Amber, are you here?” I call out, making my way toward the back.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Jeez!” I shout, jumping at the sound of her voice. “You scared me.” I place my hand over my heart and turn toward her.

Amber’s sitting in her favorite shadowy corner, presumably waiting for a fly to get caught in her web. I guess I’m the fly. She’s reading a voluminous red leather-bound book and looking spikier than usual.

“What’s that you’re reading?” I ask, heart still hammering.

“You couldn’t handle it.”

“Uh, okay… Well, I was actually looking for you. Do you have a minute?”

Amber lets out an impatient sigh as she drops the book to her lap. “Well…” she drawls.

“Okay, so it’s no big deal or anything, but I just thought I’d follow up with you on the whole Sam James thing.”

“The Sam James thing?”

“Yeah, you know how you were telling me the other day not to get involved with him, and I was just wondering, uh, why?”

Amber rolls her heavily-lined eyes at me and reopens her book, already bored with my questioning. “I would’ve thought it was obvious.”

“What’s obvious?”

“My reason for telling you to stay away from him. He’s left a field of corpses in his path and for some stupid reason I didn’t think you’d want to end up as one of them.”

“As a corpse?” I ask, confused.

“Corpse, ex-girlfriend, jilted lover. Take your pick.”

I lean over the shop’s counter and place my head in my hands. So Amber wasn’t just winding me up the other day. She really does know something about Sam’s history with women. “Amber, please tell me.”