Toeing the Line (The Complete Serial) (12 page)

Zane beat back his aggravation. Of course. He’d tried to cross that line one too many times with her, and she was getting tired of it. The realization pulsed through him, and he tried to grab any lingering emotion from inside, wrap it in a ball, and tuck it away in the bottom of his gut. “What is it, then?”

She perched on the edge of the futon he’d never folded back into a couch the night before. She was several feet away, ankles crossed and knees tucked to the side. “I was hoping we could just hang out.”

“Watch movies or something?”

She shrugged. “Or talk or something.”

Like they used to do back in high school. When they both pretended they didn’t have a crush on each other, and neither of them knew it. He didn’t miss those days. Except maybe the bits when she fell asleep in his bed. That was always nice. Though it had been innocent, he’d loved being able to curl around her like they were the only two people in the world.

He pushed the thought away. Childish fantasy. He dropped onto the opposite edge of the futon from her, the battered quilt wrinkling under him. “I can do that. How’s your sister?”

There. That was neutral, right? So why did she look like she swallowed a mouthful of bad milk?

“She’s good. Great. I think she’s the kind of person who was made to get married. I’m pretty certain this whole planning thing is just one orgasm after another for her.” She clamped her jaw shut. “I mean…You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

She fidgeted. “I’m going to try this one more time and hope I make myself clear. Whatever happened while you were gone, it doesn’t change what I think of you or how I feel about you. I know who you are, even if you can’t see it. I’m not going to run away because you made mistakes. I’ll leave—walk out of your life for good—if that’s what you want. But don’t you dare push me away because you think that’s what’s best for me. That’s my decision to make, not yours.”

The words struck a chord he didn’t want to acknowledge. He couldn’t have this conversation with her. Not now, maybe not ever. The high-school memory popped back into his thoughts, and he was about to ignore it when inspiration struck. That memory was exactly what he needed. “Do you want to sleep over?”

“Zane.”

He ignored the pleading in her voice. “Like we used to. Except this time we don’t pretend we fell asleep on accident. Stay over. We’ll be careless kids. We’ll have a sleepover, pop popcorn, and watch the stupidest movies ever. The ones we loved back then.”

A smile crept onto her face. Sadness tinged it, but it was a start. “Did you hear anything I said?”

“All of it.”

“Are you going to respond?”

“Give me time.” He tried to hide his wince as soon as the words passed his lips. Had he let too much of himself show?

Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before he could interpret it. She bounced to her feet, false cheer flooding in. “All right. I’m in.”

This was what they needed. Teasing. Joking. Fun. It was what they were missing. Even if her actions did look forced and mechanical. That would pass.

She bent at the waist, to flip through a list of films on his hard drive. “What do we watch first?”

“Whatever you want.”

She double-clicked on
Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure
. He shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d watched that movie to death when they were younger, each of them taking one of the lead characters’ lines. “You know, I kind of miss that old black-and-white TV of yours,” she said as the movie started rolling.

“I kind of don’t.” He much preferred the widescreen multi-media laptop he’d gotten as a
welcome back
gift. It didn’t have the horsepower he needed for some of his extracurricular activities, but since he had more or less outgrown hacking websites—and didn’t miss it nearly as much as Sabrina thought—he wasn’t too concerned about it.

She pushed him back on the futon as the movie started. “Get comfortable.”

He shifted his weight until his back was against the wall, legs out in front of him. His cock throbbed when she crawled over the blanket toward him. The sitting-in-his-lap thing was new, since he’d gotten back.

“I swear”—she pushed his legs apart, to sit between them—“if I feel something hard poking me in the butt…”

She would. There was absolutely no way around that. “You’ll know I’m a healthy man and you’re an incredibly sexy woman, sitting as close as is physically possible?”

She pulled his arms around her waist. “I was going to say I’d be flattered, but you win.”

He wanted to strip off her clothes and watch her squirm and moan in pleasure, instead of paying attention to the movie. But this was nice too. Actually, when he thought about it, this was amazing. Maybe it was a bad idea.

“When did it happen?” Riley’s voice was soft, as she leaned more of her weight against his chest.

The almost overwhelming desire to spend the night making love to her? He was starting to think it had always been there. “When did what happen?”

“When did we lose this? The ability to let loose with each other. Things have been strained for so long. I mean, not like in a way most people would notice, but I see it, and I’m pretty sure you do too. Those awkward pauses that never used to be there. Did it happen when you enlisted?”

The answer popped into his head, and he realized he’d been thinking about it for a long time yet never recognized it. “It happened when I started dating Amanda.”

She leaned her head back on his shoulder, touching her cheek to his. “How do you figure?”

He expected the memories to hurt. He hadn’t been down this road willingly in so long. “She hated me spending time with you.”

“Why?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“She was insanely jealous of you. Vocally. Intensely.” Zane had never understood why, until now.

“She was insane. It’s not the same. I’m still not getting it.”

Because Amanda was just the girl he’d been fucking. Riley was the entire other half of his universe. “I couldn’t talk to her the way I talk to you. I tried a couple times. I guess it felt like… I was betraying you.”

She closed her eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You were together for so long.”

It was true. “She asked me to marry her, not the other way around.”

Riley sat up and turned to look at him in shock. “Seriously?”

“There was always something missing there. I think she hoped marriage would fix it.” The same thing Archer had said.

Riley shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know that now, but back then… Let me put it this way—why did you think people were going to hate you when they found out you turned Archer down?”

Suddenly her body wasn’t molded to his anymore. Her spine went rigid. “At least one person does.”

He moved a hand to the back of Riley’s neck, to rub lightly. “Their opinions aren’t worth shit.” She relaxed under the attention. Or maybe it was the words. He wasn’t sure. “That’s my point. It’s what we’re told people do. Right? They date for a while, and as long as they get along, they get married. Everyone expects it. She and I had been together for years. I figured it was the next step.”

Riley leaned back into him again. “Except there was something missing.” He didn’t know if she was talking about him and Amanda or her and Archer. “Getting along, nice qualities… they don’t really mean anything if the two of you don’t click. I mean, maybe I’m just a cynical romantic, but I’d rather go without, than tie myself to someone I don’t have that spark with.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist again and rested his cheek against hers. “Yeah, me too.”

“About Sabrina…” She trailed off.

Where had that come from? He tried to keep his tone light and his posture casual. “What about her?”

“I guess it’s none of my business, and I probably don’t want to know the answer, but since I’m wondering and we’re being open, I’m going to ask anyway.”

He frowned, glad she couldn’t see it. What was she getting at?

She shuddered. “Do you have a similar agreement with her that you do with me?”

The line of conversation made less and less sense the deeper it dove. “I don’t have anything with her, let alone something even close to what you and I have.” Speaking the words sent a sharp spike of heat through him. They hit so close to home and at the same time seemed woefully inadequate to the love he had for Riley.

“So this afternoon was just a tumble because you were bored?”

It took him a moment to process what she said, and when he did, he almost choked. “This afternoon was her telling me I was stupid for turning down the CIA job. There was no
tumble
. Did she tell you that?”

“Yes.” Riley’s answer was almost lost among the exaggerated
boguses
in the background.

That explained why Riley seemed removed and on edge. Or he hoped it did. “I swear on all I hold dear, I haven’t done anything with her or even thought about it for ages.”

She sagged against him, but her neck was still straight, rigid. “The guy who fantasizes about every attractive woman he knows isn’t even thinking about
it
in regards to
her
.”

A smile leaked out at the dry teasing. “Most guys do that. Besides, not every woman—just you and a couple of movie stars, and honestly… really only you, since we started fooling around.”

“I have a hard time buying that.”

He brushed his lips over the outside edge of her ear. Relief flooded him when she sighed and relaxed further instead of pulling away. “You can be a pretty all-consuming thought. I mean that in the best way possible.”

When she shifted her weight and rubbed her back against him, it called to the lust he’d tried to beat back since she turned him down. Apparently his dick wasn’t listening.

She trailed her fingers lightly down his forearms and then back up again. “You’re just saying that, to get laid.”

A small laugh shook his frame. “I’m saying it because it’s true.” His mouth hovered millimeters from the curve where her neck met her shoulder, the soft melon scent of her shampoo searing his veins with need. Maybe this was what he needed, to let go. Guilt and regret surged back, taunting him, reminding him he hadn’t earned that privilege.

Riley pressed into the warm body behind her, as consciousness seeped in, burning into her memory the feeling of his chest against her back. The night before had been incredible—talking like they hadn’t talked in ages. He skirted the one topic she knew lived at the forefront of his mind, but they’d get to that when he was ready.

And then falling asleep in his arms… When she climbed into his lap, she had worried it was too much. That it would take them to places it would hurt to go.

It had been worth the risk.

His warm breath tickled her neck in a steady rhythm. He was still asleep. Wake him up or bask in the comfort a little longer?

She crawled out from under his arm and blankets, and scooted to the edge of the futon. The night before had been fun, but she was still lying to herself about something important. Pretending she didn’t love him intensely, and then diving into an illusion of
just friends
to get closer wasn’t going to work.

Her drifting attention landed on a familiar business card, and she tugged it from its spot on the coffee table. Had he ever called Scott? So much had happened lately. She should have asked sooner.

She plucked a ballpoint pen from a cup to the right of the computer and flipped the card over. The pen slid smoothly over the stock, and the lines filled in quickly as she sketched. Within a couple of minutes, a picture of Zane looked back at her. It was different from her comics. He was hunched over a laptop, but she’d left out the cartoony lines, giving him a more realistic appearance instead.

Her phone buzzed at her from its spot on the table, where she’d left it the night before. Out of habit, she grabbed it to scan the new email message. Questions about Zane—what to do, how to do it, how she would cope if he didn’t feel the same—swirled in dizzying circles in her head.

Moving on autopilot, she pulled up her email.

Tell him and risk losing it all, or keep it to herself and risk driving herself insane with regret, because she never asked?

She paused, thumb hovering over the screen, when a familiar name caught her attention. They’d been number one on her list of agents to contact about her graphic novel. Why were they emailing her?

She needed to calm down. It was a bizarre coincidence. The knot growing in her stomach needed to go away. She clicked the message open, sickness filling her as she read.

Ms. Carter,

Thanks so much for contacting me about your book project. While the concept was unique and interesting, I felt like the artwork lacked polish. Please keep in mind this industry is subjective and…

Her vision blurred, and the words trailed off. Zane stirred behind her. She hadn’t sent her work to anyone. How did she rejected without querying?

Her artwork lacked polish?

“Hey.” Sleep lined Zane’s greeting.

She didn’t look up. Holy hell, this hurt. Part of her knew rejection was inevitable, but she hadn’t even been able to bring it on herself. How had this happened?

“Shit, Riley. What’s wrong?” The bed rustled some more, and seconds later, Zane knelt in front of her. He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Talk to me?”

Her throat was raw, and she couldn’t make her voice work.

“Riley?” He grabbed his shirt from the floor, where it had been tossed aside the night before, and tugged it on. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She swallowed, still unable to form words, and handed him the phone.

He glanced at it and sank back onto his heels. “Oh. Shit.”

The shift in his tone cut through her confusion. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. Her question was a dry croak. “What?”

“That’s horrible.” He set the phone on the coffee table, then took her hands in his, concern etched on his face. Something else was there too. She’d gotten far too familiar with it, since he came home. The way he didn’t quite meet her gaze. The catch in his voice that meant he was hiding something. “They’re morons. They don’t know what they’re talking about.
Unpolished
, my ass. You’re more talented than anyone else ever,” he said.

Something wasn’t right. “I don’t understand how she got my work. I only finished touching up the lines a couple of days ago. I haven’t scanned it yet.”

His jaw worked up and down for a moment, before any sound came out. “You’ve got a Deviant Art page. Maybe you’ve got a reputation.”

No. Dread crawled through her. That couldn’t be right. She hated herself for thinking it. There was no way he’d betrayed her trust like that. “Literary agents don’t go crawling the Internet, to have an excuse to reject random people. How did she get my artwork?”

He stood and took a step back, his gaze anywhere but on her. He rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know?”

He was lying to her, but why? “What did you do?”

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, watching his toes trace lines in the carpet. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You’re skilled and fantastic, and you were getting cold feet, and she was supposed to see how talented you are, and it would be perfect.”

“Zane.” Please let it be anything but that. A deep, gouging ache of pissed-off started in the center of her chest and spread. “What did you do?”

He finally looked at her again. “I sent her your story, from your email address.”

Holy shit, he hadn’t. Fury coursed through her, stemming from his nerve—the assumption he had a right—and she clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. He’d lied to her about this and gone behind her back, after she told him what she wanted. “That’s why you kept my sketchpad for so long.”

He shrugged. “I tried to give it back before you missed it.”

She rubbed her face, so much happening in her head, she didn’t know what to focus on. “You went behind my back.” She stood. “I told you I was working on it. I laid out exactly how I felt.” She took a step toward him. “After everything we talked about, what made you think you had the right?”

“You deserve this. You weren’t taking any steps, and you’re better than that. This is motivation. I did it because you deserve better. You need to believe in yourself.”

“But that’s not up to you.” No matter what he said, it couldn’t make this better. “All this does is humiliate me. It shows the world how completely and totally untalented I am.”

“You’re none of that.”

“I’m all of that.” She was toe to toe with him now, anger flooding her. “You told me
no more secrets
. You said you were done going behind my back. “I thought we covered this last night. It’s not up to you to decide what is and isn’t good for me.”

“You covered this last night.” A mask slid onto his face, carving his features in stone. “I didn’t agree. Not before, not now. If you can’t make up your mind, you’re going to miss out.”

“And that’s on me.” Frustration lodged in her throat. “Besides, I have made up my mind. I know
exactly
what I want.”

“Really? Enlighten me.”

“You.”

His impassive expression faltered for the briefest second before hardening again. “That’s not an option.”

His rejection dug deep inside, and left an empty pit. But she promised herself and him this was the last time she’d do this. She made herself clear, and he wasn’t interested. Except she couldn’t find it in herself to walk away graciously.

“Fuck you.” The brush off was easier than giving into the tears stinging her eyelids. She stormed from the apartment and slammed the door behind her, rattling the windows. It took everything she had, to make it to her car before the sobs threatening to escape racked her body. Her chest ached, and her throat was raw from biting back the sobs.

Was she more upset with him, for pretending this didn’t hurt him as much as her, or with herself, for reading into things that weren’t there? Fuck. And why did she want to go back inside and make things better again?

No. They both made their decision. She’d be there for
them
for as long as he wanted, but if he didn’t, she couldn’t help that.

It took all her focus to make it home, get inside, and lock the world on the other side of the door.

A cry tore from her throat the moment she made it to her bedroom. Tears spilled down her face, and she clutched her sides, trying to keep the shuddering from getting out of control. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt at all. That was the point of promising
no strings
. It was the reason any of the teasing was okay. It had never been simply teasing, though. It always meant more, despite what they called it.

It hadn’t felt like this with Archer or anyone else. The pain of all the guys she’d ever broken up with, put together, didn’t ache as much as this. Sinking into depression was the exact opposite of what she wanted.

She dropped down onto her mattress, pulled her knees to her chest, and cried until most of the hurt washed down her cheeks. Her frantic gasps slowed, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. Calm crept through her, slowly evicting the desperation.

Life wouldn’t end because she couldn’t slide her nails up his back and hold him close any more. Forgetting what his lips felt like when they brushed her neck, the hint of five o’clock shadow scuffing her skin, was no big deal.

Watching from a distance while Zane’s demons devoured him was far better than doing it up close and personal.

Right?