One Good Thing (4 page)

“Well I don’t,” he snapped.

I flinched. I heard him draw in a deep breath. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean … it’s just I thought it would be more fun to go out by myself.”

My arms folded across my stomach. I had a ridiculous urge to cry—I could even feel the backs of my eyes stinging. “I didn’t realize being around me was such a burden.”

“It’s not. I mean it wasn’t … it hasn’t been the same for a while.”

I stared at him and let out a tremulous breath. “What does that mean?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “You know what I mean. I think … I think we should take a break.”

“You mean break up.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Yeah, whatever you want to call it. I think it’s best if we see other people.”

Other
people
? Now he was bringing other people into it? Oh my God, he was saying all the things you heard about secondhand but that you never actually thought would be said to you.

Tears blurred my vision. “Best for you, maybe,” I said, my voice strangling.

He didn’t correct me. “I should have told you sooner. It was just … you moved from your mom’s house to be closer to me … and I felt bad. I couldn’t break up with you then.”

Did he think I was pathetic? That I couldn’t have handled him leaving me? “You should have if that was the way you felt!”

“I know,” he admitted. “That’s my fault. But I don’t know what you expected. That everything would stay the same forever? We’re only twenty-three.”

Maybe I
was
pathetic. I didn’t think I could listen to any more of his explanation; every word was like a dagger to my heart. “Let’s just call this what it is—you want to fuck other people,” I said. I hardly ever used that word to refer to sex. Anger made me vulgar.

He groaned. “Maybe I do want to fuck other people. Maybe I’m bored. Why the hell is it so wrong to admit it? You would have just kept dragging along even if being with me didn’t make you happy.”

Was I happy with him? Had I been happy the past six months? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I hadn’t wanted anything to change. But it had anyway, whether I allowed it to or not.

“Fine,” I said. “We’re done. Talking about it isn’t going to help anything.”

“Dani, wait,” he began.

I didn’t allow him to finish. I turned and shouldered through the crowd. I even managed to hold it together long enough to tell Lucy I was taking off without her suspecting anything.

But about five steps outside the door, I started crying so hard I could barely see straight. I was pretty sure passersby were staring at me like I had the plague, but at least with my blurred vision I didn’t notice.

“Dani?”

For a second, I thought Drew had followed me out. I brushed at my eyes … to find Evan staring down at me, his forehead furrowed like he was concentrating on something.

Of course it was him. I should just get used to it now—he was going to be witness to all my worst embarrassments. He’d probably come out here to laugh at me.

“Were you watching me?” I asked thickly.

“I wasn’t
watching
you,” he said. “I just noticed you talking to that guy. It looked like you were upset.”

“Did you hear anything?” I asked, my voice shrill.

He shook his head.

That was something, at least.

“Do you need a ride home?”

I peered at him. He didn’t look like he was fighting back laughter this time—but the expression of concern on his face was almost worse. Great … when I wasn’t accidentally hilarious, he felt bad for me. He must have thought I was a complete mess. The realization nearly made me start crying again.

“If I did need a ride, I wouldn’t ask you. Why are you even here? Are you like one of those weirdos who slows down to look at car wrecks?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You make it sort of hard to be nice to you.”

If my face wasn’t already hot from crying, it turned into a volcano then. Suspecting he pitied me wasn’t nearly as bad as knowing he did. “I didn’t ask you to be nice to me,” I practically hissed.

He held up his hands. “Then I rescind my offer.”

I stared at him blankly. “What?”

“I’m not driving you home, even if you ask.”

“Well … good!” I exclaimed, knowing I sounded like I was about five years old, but not able to help it.

“Okay,” he said.

I spun away and started walking down the sidewalk.

“Dani?”

Despite every part of me rebelling at the idea of turning to glance at him, I did anyway.

“You sure you’re okay?”

In response, I lifted my middle finger, right there on the sidewalk with people gliding past me. The asshole smirked and then gave me a jaunty little wave in return, like the insult had sailed completely over him.

I continued walking, huffing to myself as I did.

But at least I didn’t feel like crying anymore.

I stared down at a printer that looked more elaborate than anything involving paper and ink had a right to be. It almost made me long for the days when movable type was the hot new invention.

There was a little room on our floor that contained a couple of printers and a copier, and one of my duties was to check them a few times a week and replace the paper and ink if they ran low. The guy who’d trained me had mentioned it briefly on the first day but must have forgotten about it after that.

My confusion probably wasn’t helped by my being dead tired. My body felt heavy from lack of sleep—each night that weekend I’d lain in bed and thought of what had happened with Drew. It was pretty depressing to date someone for a year and then end things with a fight. We’d never even fought before—had we just spent a year bottling up our emotions until the bottle exploded from the pressure?

I sighed as the message “Low Toner” continued to blink on the display. I’d found the toner box in the cupboard, but now I had no idea what to do with it. Maybe I should ask someone, but would I look really stupid for not knowing how to load a printer?

Though to be fair, this was less of a printer and more of a Behemoth Printing Machine. It was nearly four feet tall. What kind of shit were they printing at SLQ anyway?

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. It couldn’t be that hard. I leaned over the device and noticed something that looked like it opened. I reached under the flap and tugged.

And jerked my hand away when the printer started beeping at me.

“Shut up,” I whispered. I wondered if they could hear the beeping in the main room.

I fought the urge to hit the printer and see if that worked. Instead I breathed deeply to calm myself as I searched for the place where the ink went. But that meant the beeping was right in my ear, and it was really getting on my nerves. Maybe I should just unplug the chord and slink away like nothing had happened.

“Yeah, fuck you, too, printer,” I muttered.

“Does that work?” an amused voice asked from behind me.

“What?” I squeaked, spinning around and coming face-to-face with Evan.

“Swearing at it. Does that work?”

It still took me a second to register what he was saying because I was feeling that familiar flash of awkwardness that I was starting to call “the Evan feeling.” Before when I’d looked at him, I’d just remembered he’d seen my butt, which was bad enough. Now I remembered that he’d seen me ugly crying outside a bar, too. Not even
Drew
had seen my ugly-cry face.

“I guess not,” I said, since the printer was still beeping. I could feel a blush creeping into my cheeks.

He reached past me and pressed a red button next to the display. The printer immediately went silent. Damn.

Then he lifted the toner from my hands and I nearly spluttered. “
I
was doing that.”

“It didn’t really look like you knew what you were doing,” he pointed out.

I bit back an angry retort. He was right. And if he didn’t help me, I’d just have to go back out and ask someone else. And Evan would probably be smirking the whole time.

“Did you hear the beeping from the main room?”

“Everyone heard it,” he said.

Perfect. “Why didn’t someone else come to help me?”

I realized how rude that sounded after I’d already said it. Evan just grinned.

“Lucy was going to, but I volunteered,” he said.

I couldn’t find a response to that. He was like some sort of sadist, except, instead of enjoying my pain, he enjoyed watching me make a fool of myself.

“You’re unbelievable,” I said.

“And you’re printer impaired.”

“That’s not a printer,” I muttered defensively. “It’s a monster.”

He lifted his shoulder. “It’s time for my lunch break anyway,” he said as he started toward the door.

“Wait.” If he left and I had to go out and ask a second person for help, they’d all think I was technologically deficient. “I’d like your help.”

He tilted his head like he was waiting for something.

Through gritted teeth, I said, “Please.”

“Sure, Dani, I’d be happy to help.”

I barely managed to stuff down my annoyance long enough to watch him put in the toner. After he was done showing me that, he also showed me where to load paper, and then he showed me how to work the copier, and he did it all really patiently, even though I was probably cutting into his lunch-break time.

I had to admit, when he wanted to be, he was pretty helpful.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked. “If not, I’m going to take off.”

I shook my head.

He waited, a little half smile on his face. Had I actually had a flash of goodwill toward him? He didn’t deserve it.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice tight.

“You’re welcome,” he answered pleasantly.

I glared at the empty doorway for a long time after he left.

*

A couple of days after the printer incident, I leaned against the countertop in the break room, idly swirling a tea bag through hot water.

Dark color seeped into the water—I lifted the mug and watched it, more fascinated than I should’ve been. I blamed my hypnotic state on lack of caffeine.

It took me a moment to realize someone else had entered the break room. I heard the clank of the coffeepot being removed and glanced over; then I jumped, startled. Hot water splashed over the rim of the mug and onto my hand.

“Damn it,” I hissed, setting the mug down with a
thud
and flapping my hand like a lunatic.

Evan, the intruder, was immediately at my side. “Sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I said hi but you didn’t notice.” He could have been louder, I thought, uncharitably. He was probably hoping he’d startle me. He reached for my still-flapping hand and gently turned it palm side up, like he had some kind of right to handle me. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened almost imperceptibly.

I glanced down. An angry red welt was already forming.

He turned the cold water handle on the faucet and then guided my hand under the stream.

An embarrassing sound that was a cross between a sigh and a moan emerged from my throat as the cool water eased the sting of the burn.

His thumb trailed across my wrist, shooting electric currents up my arm. I stiffened, but I couldn’t tell if it had been intentional or not.

“You drink Earl Grey tea?” he asked.

I stared at our hands, unable to meet his eyes. I’d already noticed he looked rather good in a soft gray shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves and black slacks. He was close to me—I could smell a crisp scent like soap and feel the subtle warmth that emanated from his body. My instincts warred with each other—one screamed to break away from him, the other wanted me to stay exactly where I was. Or lean in. My instincts really weren’t helpful at all in this situation.

“Yes,” I responded stupidly, after way too much time had passed.

“I tried drinking it once,” he said, “because Captain Picard always drank it on
Star Trek
. I hated it.”

I lifted my head, meeting startling blue eyes. Captain Picard? Darth Shepherd? Was he a complete dork? But my mind couldn’t reconcile that … dorks were gangly guys with glasses and high-pitched voices … Evan was … he was … hell, I couldn’t lie to myself about this, no matter how much I wanted to … he was sexy.

And it wasn’t even because he was good-looking. He
was
attractive, but he wasn’t gorgeous. The things that made him sexy were his easy confidence, his slow smile, the loose-limbed way that he moved.

He was comfortable in his own skin, and he didn’t care what other people thought of him. You could tell with some people. I could probably tell because I envied their self-assurance.

“Captain Picard?” I asked, trying to sound cool and unaffected. That was the difference between us. I
tried
. Probably too much. And he just was.

“Yeah, I’m a nerd,” he admitted with a slight smile. “I’m not ashamed.”

If I were him, I wouldn’t have been ashamed either. The only thing nerdy about him was his taste in TV shows.

“I used to watch
Voyager
with my sister. I think Captain Janeway could have kicked Picard’s ass.” I realized I’d said “ass” after the word had already escaped. My face heated.

His smile flashed wider, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. I wondered if he’d had braces as a kid. If not, it really wasn’t fair. “Captain Janeway was pretty tough,” he agreed. If I’d reminded him of the fact that he’d seen my ass, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t mind coffee,” I said, trying to change the subject in case he
was
thinking about my butt and was just good at looking like he wasn’t. “But I like tea better in the afternoon. You know, less caffeine and all that. More soothing. Won’t you have trouble sleeping?”

I wanted to smack myself. Not only was I rambling, it was a
boring
ramble.

“No, I’m more or less addicted to it. I should sleep fine.”

I wouldn’t sleep fine, regardless of caffeine intake. I realized his hand was still closed around mine, under the running water. We’d stayed like that the whole time we’d been talking. Wait, was he flirting with me? My heart jolted.

I yanked my hand away abruptly, splashing us both with water. “I just got out of a relationship. It was really serious,” I blurted out.