String Me Along (Learning to Love Series), page 7
I chewed on my lip, not saying anything for a moment. I didn’t have an answer. Not for her or myself. Because I didn’t know what I wanted or what I’d do.
“Just something to start thinking about.”
“I know.”
We said our goodbyes, my mom sensing I didn’t want to talk anymore. I needed to get to work anyway. Ken may be flexible with when I showed up, but he was only so flexible.
Giving Sadie one last goodbye scratch—Rugpants was already buried in a blanket somewhere—I slipped out the door, locking it behind me.
I headed down the porch and driveway, walking like a newborn giraffe to keep from slipping. Unlocking my car, I tossed my purse to the passenger seat and glared daggers at my icy windshield. It wasn’t thick and could easily thaw in about ten minutes, but the idea of sitting in my car staring at ice melt always made me feel like I was straddling the line of “too lazy.”
Grumbling out a curse and wishing I hadn’t lost my only pair of gloves, I snatched my ice scraper from behind my front seat and worked it across the windshield, one cold swipe at a time.
Yet another reason it’d be really fucking nice to have my own version of a Garrett. I was almost done, fingers pink and screaming at me, when I heard a slight shuffling behind me, followed by a throat clearing.
“Excuse me.”
I whipped around, ready to shove my scraper into an eyeball if someone even thought to sneak up and rob me, only to find a pinched-faced woman standing a few feet behind me. Holding a soccer ball.
She smiled. Or what could almost be considered a smile. “You’re Layla, right?”
She was dressed in a formless, brown dress that washed out her already chalky-white skin, with closed-toe, nude heels, and had her hair pulled back into a tight bun. I instantly recognized her sharp features and the slightly longer nose that always seemed to be in everyone’s damn business all up and down the block.
Kathy Newman. Our bitchy neighbor who lived with her husband and two kids across the street from us. Madison had tried being friendly to her once only to discover the interaction hadn’t been worth a second of her time.
Kathy had taken one look at Madison’s sinfully unwed parenting status and instantly decided she was trash. That’d been months ago, and Kathy still refused to acknowledge Madison existed anytime they were both outside.
I fucking hated people like that. Which was probably why I felt zero guilt leveling an unimpressed look her way and crossing my arms. “Sorry, but I’m not interested in buying anything.”
She blinked rapidly, her jaw jutting forward and her hands tightening around the ball she was clearly returning. “I’m not selling anything.”
“Oh,” I said, looking her up and down and crinkling my nose as if confused as to why she’d walk over. “Well, I’m not really interested in hearing about Jesus today either.”
“I’m your neighbor,” she snapped, before closing her eyes and gathering herself. She smoothed her palms down her dress, and it took everything in me not to burst out laughing at the disgust on her face.
I mastered my face just in time before her eyes popped back open. She held the soccer ball up an inch, a forced smile plastered across her face. “I found this in my yard.”
I glanced down at it and back at her twice, clutching the scraper tighter in my hand. “Huh. Guess the wind must’ve blown it over last night. Sorry about that.”
Lie. I wasn’t. Jamie had a bad habit of not putting it away, but she easily could’ve dropped it in our yard at any point without saying a word.
But I tossed the scraper onto the floorboard of my car and walked toward her, taking the ball from her outstretched hands. “Thanks,” I said, expecting her to immediately leave. But instead, she brushed her hands against each other and watched me.
“I thought you were just a visitor at first, which was why I never introduced myself,” she said, like I gave a shit. “I’m Kathy Newman.”
I just continued staring at her with the same unmoving, unimpressed expression.
Silence.
Keep it together, Layla. Don’t you dare laugh. Poker face, poker face, poker face.
“Okay, well, it’s been lovely meeting you, Katie Newport, but I’m…”
“Kathy Newman.”
“What?”
She huffed out of her nose like a little angry bull. “Never mind.” A pause. “So, your friend and Mr. Rowe are seeing each other?”
Yep, still nosey as shit. I nodded, inching toward my car and tossing the ball in to join my purse. I was definitely going to leave it in there for a while as punishment for Jamie leaving it outside again.
“Are they pretty serious?”
I mentally rolled my eyes. What did I look like, a fucking gossip pal? But I nodded again, allowing myself the tiniest of grins. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he bought the entire duplex,” I said, knowing that was the opposite of the answer she wanted.
“Oh.” She looked past me, her eyes darting from our side to Garrett’s. “Should we be expecting a wedding sometime soon?” she asked, her words dripping with ill-concealed disapproval.
God, I seriously hoped that when the day came that we moved out, someone far worse than us moved in. No one who would endanger her or her kids, of course, but a loud, obnoxious neighbor. One who mowed the lawn at five in the morning.
Or maybe an atheist who’d loudly challenge her on all the pettiness and judgments she hid behind her so-called religion. I’d cross my fingers for the latter.
But right now, I was done with the conversation, and definitely fucking late to work, so I decided to poke the bear one last time. For Madison.
“No wedding. Sadly, North Carolina hasn’t legalized polyamory yet, so unless that day comes, we’ll just continue on as we are. We’re married in the ways that truly matter anyway.”
“Oh…I—”
“In our hearts.”
She took a quick step back. “I didn’t realize—"
“And our beds,” I tacked on before she could finish whatever rubbish she was about to spew, fluttering my eyelashes at her.
Her face turned a shade of reddish-purple I’d never seen on a human being before, and she whipped around, power walking to her house like her life depended on it.
I cackled, not even bothering to hide the sound, and wished I’d had the forethought to record the conversation. Madison was going to piss herself when I told her.
Chapter Seven
I glared at the phone in my hand, tempted to smash the ignore button. I had nothing good to say to Larry, and definitely nothing the drivers lingering around my office needed to hear.
My finger hovered over the red icon, but I chickened out at the last second and swiped my thumb across the screen. Just the thought of not answering when he might have a gig, and then him giving it to Adrian instead, was not something my pride could risk.
“I’m working. What do you need?” I snapped, making more than one head turn my direction. I shot a glare the drivers’ way, letting them know to mind their own business and twisted my chair around so my back was to them.
“I know you’re mad, Layla, but I promise you—”
“Your promises mean nothing, Lair.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” he said in a rush. “They were asking for something new, and I’d just run into Adrian earlier in the day and had scheduled a meeting with him. It was pure coincidence.”
I ran my free hand through my hair, shoving it angrily through a few knotted strands. Men were so fucking dense.
“I’m not mad about the gig, Larry.” At least, not anymore. “I’m pissed because you lied to my face, and because you picked the worst person in the world to take my spot.”
There was a pause on his end of the line, and then he sputtered out, “Worst person? Why do you say that? He’s one of the highest-paid musicians in Raleigh.”
“Because he’s a selfish prick who thinks he’s God’s gift to music.”
A chorus of low “Oh’s” sounded behind me, and I rolled my eyes. People tended to think truck drivers were gruff, rough men, but in actuality, they were more like a bunch of gossiping old ladies.
“Let me make it up to you, Layla. I talked to Jemmy’s, and I think you’ll like what we came up with.”
I sat back, tucking my legs beneath me in my chair and using the desk to twist back and forth. “Then tell me quick. I need to get back to work.”
“Damn right you do,” Ken hollered from his office. I snorted, knowing he didn’t actually give a shit that I was on the phone.
“It’s more than I want to lay out over the phone. Can you come out tonight so we can talk and plan out the schedule for the next few months? There’s that new coffee shop not far from your place. I’ll buy you the largest size with an extra shot.”
I slouched, grumbling into the phone. I hated giving in to people who didn’t deserve it. It made my skin crawl. But since no one from the holiday party had called me to talk about collaborating yet, I didn’t exactly have a choice if I wanted to continue playing at new places. I needed Larry’s connections.
“Fine. But you’re buying me a brownie too.”
My stomach had been growling for the last solid half hour. After driving straight home from work and taking the dogs for a walk, I’d fallen face-first onto my bed and passed out. If it hadn’t been for Madison banging around the kitchen making dinner, I might’ve slept right on through the night.
I’d walked out with wrinkle lines down one side of my face to be bombarded by the comforting smell of spaghetti and garlic bread. Madison held out a plate for me, and I’d taken all of one step toward it before remembering I had to skip it and meet Larry for a measly pastry and coffee.
This man was number one on my hit list.
So now, here I was, hiding my face in a scarf, freezing my ass off, walking across a parking lot toward We Mean Beans-ness coffee shop.
Stepping in and shaking off the frigid air that had crawled into my soul in the sixty-second walk, I glanced around, expecting the typical—modern yet still smells like college textbooks—coffee shop vibe, only to do a double-take.
It was, indeed, a coffee shop, complete with dim lighting and small tables that barely fit a laptop. But behind the counter was also an entire shelf of liquor bottles and a menu listing every popular coffee and cocoa-flavored alcoholic beverage known to man.
Huh, guess they really did mean beans-ness. Noted.
Grabbing a to-go menu from the stand next to the door, I cut across the lobby, approaching Larry, who’d started waving his hands around like an idiot the moment I’d stepped in.
“You’re actually on time,” he joked, his voice carrying past me to every occupant in the room even though I stood a foot away from his high-top table. Apparently, my face wasn’t enough of an indication that I didn’t find him remotely funny because he continued, “I wasn’t expecting you for another ten minutes.”
I just stared at him, menu in one hand, phone in the other, contemplating my life choices. “And I wasn’t expecting you to be annoying from the first sentence out of your mouth, yet here we are.”
His lips snapped shut, and a tiny snippet of me felt a little bad when he looked legitimately insulted. I sighed, pulling out the seat across from him and plopping down, unceremoniously tossing all my shit onto the table.
“Sorry, Larry. It seems I’m a tad feisty today.”
He shifted in his seat, fingering the pen and physical calendar on the table before him. He was one of the few people I knew who still preferred the paper one over a digital one.
“You’re always feisty, Layla. It’s a character trait at this point, and we both know that,” he said, his eyes catching on something over my shoulder.
I shrugged and pulled my legs up to my chest, resting my feet on the edge of my chair and wrapping my coat around my knees. God, I hated winter.
“Anyway, I’m here. Now the real question is, where are the brownie and giant coffee you promised? Because I’m going to be honest, Larry, it better be a hot one. I’m a popsicle.” My stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. “A hungry popsicle.”
He only seemed to fidget more, shifting his pen back and forth across his paper and darting nervous looks over my shoulder. I raised a brow and sat up straighter, my spidey senses tingling when he still hadn’t met my gaze.
“If you’re about to tell me you left your wallet at home, I’m going to be pissed. I only came to hear you out because of the goodies you promised.”
“I have them.”
The reply was what I was looking for, but it didn’t come from my agent. I froze. I knew that smooth, deep voice, just as sure as I recognized the barely contained smirk hidden within it.
Every muscle in my body tensed until I was certain I’d shatter if I fell. “Larry.”
Finally finding his balls enough to look at me, he shrugged. “After what you said about him on the phone, I didn’t think telling you ahead of time was a good idea.”
So that’s what his pause had been about. I dropped my feet back to the floor and laughed, shaking my head. Why was I surprised? Why did I still give this slimy bastard the power to disappoint me? I had no one to blame but my damn self.
“Goodbye, Larry.”
An arm appeared at my side, sliding past in a way that was irritatingly similar to the night of the holiday party. Only this time, it was covered in a black coat rather than a suit. He set down the steaming cup, and then a second arm joined it, dropping a paper-wrapped muffin in front of me.
“I heard that earthquake from all the way over at the register. Eat. You’ll be less hangry.”
I reared back, twisting to glare at Adrian as he silently rounded my chair and sat beside me. He wore dark-wash jeans and a black coat that somehow made him appear both relaxed and put-together at the same time. His blonde hair was tied at his nape, drawing attention to his scruffy jawline, and his blue eyes sparked as he rested his ankle over a knee and met my gaze.
Fuck him for being so damn beautiful. Seriously. Only I would have someone who looked like a god walking among men as my self-proclaimed mortal enemy.
I crossed my arms. “I wanted a brownie.”
“I’m aware.”
I sucked on my front teeth and tipped my head, eyeing him. “Well, run along then. The deal was coffee and a brownie.”
If it’d been anyone else, hell, even if it’d been Larry, I wouldn’t have dared make such a spoiled comment—especially because the muffin smelled sinfully delicious—but it was Adrian. So my guilt stayed happily nestled in my chest, undisturbed.
He raised a brow, drumming his long fingers across the tabletop. “I said I was aware of your request. Didn’t say I cared.”
My mouth popped open. “Oh my God, I don’t even know you, and I hate you.”
He tipped his chair on the back two legs and laced his fingers behind his head, that stupid smirk plastered to his face. “Sure, you do.”
Nostrils flaring, I shoved to my feet, stuffing my phone in my purse and looking at Larry, who’d wisely stayed silent. “Enjoy your meeting, or whatever the hell this was supposed to be. Let me know when you actually have work for me.”
“He does.”
I rounded on Adrian; surprised smoke wasn’t coming from my ears. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Give us twenty minutes.”
“No.”
“Fine,” he said, lowering his chair to the floor and resting his forearms on the table. “Enjoy all your quiet Friday nights at home.”
My mouth snapped shut, and he grinned, knowing he had me.
“So, you’re seriously going to continue taking my gigs? And admit to it? That’s some real class you got there, Waters.”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to feel sorry for someone who isn’t trying very hard to get them back.”
First, was he fucking kidding me? And second, why the hell was he right? I’d never met anyone who gave my shit back to me and made valid points while doing so. It was infuriating.
Because I wasn’t trying very hard. I’d seen them working together and immediately gotten angry and given up. And knowing not only did I do that, but Adrian had noticed? Yeah, that stung.
He reached over, unbothered by my daggered expression that was meant more for myself than him, and tore off a chunk of the muffin. “Enjoy your night,” he said, stuffing it into his mouth.
I watched him chew, stewing in my own insufferable pride. I’d been the one who wanted to leave, but now that he was telling me to? No, thanks. I stepped around my chair and paused next to his. “What? No ‘Davis, wait’ this time?”
He tore another chunk off the top, stealing most of the crunchy cinnamon morsels and making me immediately regret not eating it. “Nope. If you’re set on continuing to be a raging bitch, then the door is right over there.”
I fisted my hands at my sides, trying to keep my cool. “You’re acting like I don’t have a good fucking reason not to trust either of you.”
“On the contrary,” he said, dusting his fingers off on his jeans, “I acknowledge you have a reason. But now it’s time to get over it. This is business. Either you want the business or not. I don’t want to work with you either, but the fact is that Jemmy’s wants both of us. And I can’t afford to turn down anything I don’t have to, especially a venue with such eager tippers.”
“Why?”
“As you so clearly pointed out, we don’t know each other, so I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Fine,” I huffed. “But can you please explain what your reason is for not wanting to work with me? I haven’t done a single thing to you.”
He reached for my muffin again, and I smacked his hand away, grabbing the entire thing and taking a giant bite out of it. His eyes flashed to mine, heat flaring in them.
“No, you just bombarded me at a bar when I wasn’t mentally capable of dealing with anyone, then verbally assaulted me at a holiday party instead of apologizing.”
Verbally assault? Apologize? “Now, wait just a minute—”
