Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story) (39 page)

“There’s the champagne
room in the back,” she says, lifting her eyebrows in comically rapid
succession.

“I think that might get a
bit weird,” I tell her. “How about the bar?”

It’s still loud there,
but at least we can get away from Mick.

Yeah, I want to chat and
catch up the same as I would with anyone who meant a lot to me that I haven’t
seen in a few years, but Desi and I have always been able to talk as friends,
even after our relationship ended.

Of course, the fact that
I have to justify talking to Desi could be seen as an indication that of a
guilty conscience, but that’s really not what this is. I’m almost positive I
don’t have feelings for Desi that way anymore. It’d just be nice to be able to
have a conversation with someone who I can actually talk to right now.

Or maybe it’s guilt. Who
knows?

Desi and I walk up to the
bar and we pull up a stool.

“Want anything to drink?”
I ask.

“I wouldn’t mind some
water,” she says loudly enough for the bartender to hear. He nods and grabs a
glass for her. “Are you having anything?”

“I’m already pretty
sloshed,” I tell her. “I think I should probably stick with water for now,
too.”

“It’s great to see you,”
she says. “How have you been? Are you still doing the racing thing?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m
actually running in the final round of a tournament right now.” Am I bragging?
“How long have you been working here?”

“A few months,” she says.
“I know you’re probably not going to believe this, but it’s helping me pay for
college.”

“You finally got
registered, huh?”

“Yep,” she says. “In
about $500,000, I’m going to be a lawyer. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m
going to have to
be
a lawyer to pay
off that kind of debt.”

The bartender keeps
glancing up at me as he works at tidying up his area. In a place like this,
it’s impossible to tell whether he’s got a thing for her or if he’s just making
sure I don’t violate the no-touching rule.

“I always knew you’d find
a way to do it,” I tell her.

Back when I was a few
years younger and living on Mick’s couch, Desi was our upstairs neighbor. She
was so quiet, neither Mick nor I even knew the apartment upstairs was occupied
until I was coming out of ours one morning and accidentally ran into Desi,
knocking the untied bag of garbage out of her hand.

After that, at least once
a day, either Desi was at our place or I was up at hers. Our attraction to each
other was never particularly a romantic one, more a mutual interest each
other’s minds.

Desi always seemed to
have everything figured out, and that was a huge thing for someone like me to
be around. I was an emancipated minor whose life goals rarely extended past a
week, but she had her whole life planned.

Of course, I don’t
remember “be a stripper for a while” on the list.

“So, why stripping?” I
ask. “I don’t care or anything, I’m just curious. If I remember right, going
against your seventy-five year plan was forbidden.”

“I couldn’t work with my
dad,” she says. “I’ve found that I can either get along with someone in a work
context or I can get along with them in a family context. If it’s both, I’m
going to end up hating something, and I didn’t want to end up hating my dad.”

By the time we were both
nineteen, Desi and I got our own place. For a while there, it looked like I was
going to become part of her life’s plan. Once we realized that we only worked
when we could retire to different homes at the end of the night, though, things
unraveled pretty fast.

I’d met her parents a few
times over the years, but they were always more focused on their jobs than they
were about anything else.

“I can’t tell you how
good it is to see you,” Desi says. “Are you dating anyone right now?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ve
been with Kate for a few months now.”

“Kate,” she says, “short
for Katherine or were her parents just lazy?”

“Oh right,” I scoff,
“like your parents naming you Desiree didn’t guarantee that you’d end up in a
place like this at some point.”

Desi elbows me between
the ribs, but she’s smiling.

“I’m glad to hear you’ve
found someone,” she says. “Is it serious?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “No.
I really don’t know. Up until recently, I would have said ‘absolutely,’ but I
don’t know, things have been a little weird over the last week or so.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”
she says. “I just got out of a relationship, myself.”

“Sounds like we could
both use another drink,” I tell her. “Barkeep, two more waters if you would.”
Just for the dramatic effect, I wait a couple of beats and add, “No ice.”

“Better slow down, you
crazy animal,” she says.

“Never,” I respond, and
we both smile.

A few years ago, I was in
love with Desi, or at least I thought I was. The truth is that the two of us
were never meant to be a couple. As friends, we fit together perfectly, but the
things a person finds charming or easily ignored in a friend tend to become a
much bigger deal when you’re starting to talk about spending your life with
someone.

I don’t think there was
one specific incident that did it. One day, we just kind of looked at each
other, realized that the relationship wasn’t making either of us happy, and I
started looking for apartments.

We’d always said if we ever
broke up, we’d stay friends, only we never really got around to following
through with that.

“You look like
something’s on your mind,” Desi says. “Wanna talk about it?”

My brain is saying, “Not
really,” but my voice is saying, “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well,” she says, “why
not start at the beginning, and if I start to get bored, I’ll call Robby the
Bouncer over here to rough you up and remove you from my glorious presence.”

She has a flair for the
dramatic.

When I met Desi that
first day—after helping her pick up the spilled bag of garbage, of course—I
honestly thought she was a little weird. Those things you think, but don’t say
because you know people will look at you funny? Those were almost exclusively
the kinds of things that Desi wanted to talk about.

I’d been so used to
watching everything I said—my parents were on my mind a lot more back then—that
hearing someone who wasn’t afraid to express herself was flat out inspiring.
Mick had tried to get me to come out of my shell, but as soon as I met Desi, I
didn’t need encouragement.

Her willingness to tell
me whatever happened to be on her mind at a given moment naturally got me doing
the same thing.

That was just the first
day.

My phone vibrates in my
pocket, and I tell Desi, “Sorry, would you excuse me for just a second?”

“Sure thing,” she says
and strikes up some small talk with the bartender.

It’s a text message from
Kate. She writes, “Hey, give me a call when you can. I’ve got something I want
to talk to you about.”

I’ll call her in a little
while. I’m still a bit irritated from the way things went earlier, and I don’t
want to end up taking that irritation out on Kate.

“Everything all right?”
Desi asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her.
“That’s Kate. Apparently, there’s some news.”

“Do you need to take it?”

I shake my head. “I’ll
call her back in a while when I’m feeling less likely to pick an argument with
her.”

All this time I’ve been
sitting here, I hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that Desi’s still in
her work clothes. By that, of course, I mean the black sarong and bra top she
put back on after her set was over.

Even with as
uncomfortable as I should be for any number of reasons right now, though, I
can’t help noticing how much easier it is to talk to Desi right now than it is
to talk to Kate.

I don’t know if it was
Mick’s punishment or something else entirely, but just sitting here with Desi
makes me realize that if Kate and I are going to work things out, we’re both
going to have to start being more upfront with each other.

My phone vibrates in my
pocket again, only this time, I don’t bother taking it out and looking to see
who’s calling me.

Chapter
Seventeen

The Slow Turnabout

Kate

It’s only been a few days
since I told my dad I was going to start looking for a place. I really was settling
in for the arduous process that was no doubt to follow, and after my dad begged
me to reconsider that night, it was looking like that’s exactly what was going
to happen.

I didn’t expect him to
drop an envelope on my lap the next morning with $5,000 from his savings tucked
inside.

“I have to tell you this
is a loan, it’s not a gift,” he said as he was walking out of the room. “We can
figure out repayment later. For now, just start looking for something in a
decent neighborhood.”

Now, I’m standing in the
living room of my admittedly small, though wonderfully tidy new apartment.

Things move a lot faster
when you have money.

After Eli ignored my
calls and my messages the other night, I figured that was the beginning of the
end for our relationship, but I can’t help wishing he was here right now to
help me celebrate.

I doubt it’ll change
anything, but I go to the far corner of the living room and take a picture of
the place with my phone. I send the picture to Eli with the caption, “This is
the surprise I wanted to tell you about.”

The apartment’s full of
boxes, but at least that means I’ll have something to do over the next few days
before I start thinking too seriously about getting a job. Dad co-signed the
lease with me—under the strict condition that Mom never finds out about that
detail—but I don’t want to just end up asking him for money at the end of the
month or whenever this $5,000 runs out.

My phone rings and it
startles me to the point that I trip over a box as I’m going to answer it. I
pick myself up, frustrated, and answer the phone, saying, “Yeah?”

“Hey, Kate,” Eli says. “I
just got your picture. Did you get an apartment?”

“I did,” I tell him.
“It’s been a couple of days since I heard from you. I was starting to think
you’d lost interest.”

“Not at all,” he says,
his voice bright. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of contact. I’ve just been trying to
get some things figured out. I don’t know what you’ve got planned for tonight,
but if you want, I’d love to take you out to celebrate your new place.”

He was trying to get some
things figured out. I’m still pretty new to the whole “being in a serious
relationship” thing, but if the sitcoms are right, that means he was trying to
decide whether he still wanted to date me or not. I get that I was a little
weird the last time he tried to take me to dinner and a drag race, but I’m not
excited about the fact that he apparently came so close to calling it quits.

At the same time, I can’t
really blame him. Since he ignored me when I was trying to share some of the
biggest news of my admittedly sheltered life, I’ve been trying to decide
whether he and I were really going to work.

I’d rather not be
offended by him right now, though, so I’m going to just go ahead and forget
that part for a minute.

“To be honest, I’m a little
surprised that you want to go out,” I tell him.

He sighs. “I know,” he
says. “I should have called you back. I guess I just didn’t want to participate
in the ending of our relationship, if that’s where things were going, but I’ve
managed to get some things cleared up, and I want to tell you that I’m in if
you’re in. I like you a lot, Kate, and I don’t want us to end things just
because we both had a bad night.”

“Sounds like you’ve been
getting some pretty good advice,” I tell him. “How much does Mick charge an
hour?”

Eli laughs. “I take his
advice when it comes to what mod is going to be the best bet for my car, but
when it comes to relationships, he’s not exactly the kind of guy I want to
learn anything from.”

“Ah,” I answer.

“Yeah,” he says. “I ran
into an old friend a couple of days ago and she’s been helping me work through
some things.”

She?

“Anyone I’d know?” I ask,
though I’m not sure who that could be other than Eli’s boss. Our social spheres
hardly overlap.

“No,” he says. “I
actually haven’t even seen her for about three years, but it was good to catch
up. Anyway, are you up for a night on the town?”

I swear I’m not the
jealous type, but with the timing and everything, I can’t help but follow up,
asking, “Anything I should be worried about?”

“No,” he says. “She’s
single, but I’m not interested in her. I’m interested in you.”

It’s a good answer,
assuming it’s the whole truth. I’ve never had any indication that Eli might be
the type to cheat on me, but personal advice he got from a single female he hasn’t
seen in a few years, during a time when neither of us were going out of our way
to talk to each other? That makes me nervous.

“That’s good to know,” I
tell him. “It’s not an ex-girlfriend or anything, is it?”

He pauses.

Oh great. This is exactly
what I need right now.

“We went out when we were
teenagers, but we never really worked as a relationship,” he answers. “We were
always a lot better at being friends.”

“Why are you being so
honest?”

“Would you rather I lied
to you?”

I sigh. “No,” I tell him.
“Isn’t that the sort of thing people usually lie about when they’re in a
committed relationship, though?”

“That’s the kind of thing
people lie about if they want to
ruin
a committed relationship,” Eli retorts. “Kate, there’s honestly nothing going
on between me and Desi.”

Desi’s a stupid name for
a stupid person and I hope I never see her stupid face or I’m going to have to
punch her in her stupid nose.

“I’ve always loved that
name,” I tell him. “You’ll understand if I’m a little hesitant about that,
though.”

Eli sighs. “I know it
sounds like a bad thing, but there’s really nothing left between her and I,” he
says. “Besides, it’s not like we’re back in each other’s lives in some huge
way. We ran into each other when I was out with Mick and the guys.”

This isn’t how we’re
going to get the relationship back on track. Either I’ve got to stop being
jealous, or he’s got to stop seeing his “friend.” Either option seems like a
lot of work without any guarantee of results.

Is it worth it? I guess
there’s only one way to figure that out.

“I could probably go for
some dinner,” I tell him. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Whatever you want,” he
says. “This is your party. We can go wherever you want.”

I don’t know what to do
in a situation like this. I’ve spent the last few days thinking it was over
between Eli and me, and while that may have been premature, the feeling isn’t
quite gone yet.

“We’ve got to figure out
a way to communicate better,” I tell him. “Whatever we’re doing now isn’t going
to cut it.”

“I’m with you,” he says.
“Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. So, do you want
to go out and celebrate?”

Why would he tell me he’d
been chatting with an ex-girlfriend unless nothing happened? That doesn’t seem
like a bright plan if something was going on with them.

At the same time, he
could have just been giving me a little bit of uncomfortable truth so I’d be
less likely to think there’s another shoe waiting to drop.

He sounds happy, though,
like he’s excited to take me out to celebrate. Maybe something’s going on,
maybe not. All I know right now is that I’m never going to know if things can
work out with us if I’m not willing to try.

“All right,” I tell him.
“Would you mind if we take my car, though?”

“That’s fine,” he says.
“The Galaxie’s in the shop, anyway.”

If we do end up staying
together, I think we’re going to have to have a talk about that car of his at
some point.

*
*
       
*

When I get to Eli’s
place—an apartment I still haven’t seen the inside of—he’s waiting for me by
the curb. As I’m pulling up, a big smile comes over his face.

I take the key out of the
ignition and get out of the car, saying, “I know we’re taking my car, but would
you mind driving? After all the moving I’ve been doing today, I could use the
break.”

“I wish we’d connected before
you moved,” he says. “I could have helped.”

Yeah, I’m trying not to
think about that right now.

“Sure, though,” he
continues. “I’ll drive.”

I toss him the keys and
get in the passenger’s seat.

Eli gets in and we’re on
our way, though we haven’t settled on where we’re going yet. After about
fifteen minutes of driving past restaurants, I finally say, “Just pick
something. I’m really not in the mood to make any decisions right now.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I tell him,
letting him hear the frustration in my voice.

“Okay,” he says. “Do you
want to get something to go or do you want to dine in?”

“Why haven’t I seen your
apartment?” I ask. “You’ve been in my house a few times, and my parents live
there.”

“We can grab something
and take it back to my place if you want,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t spend a
lot of my time there, so I guess I hadn’t realized I hadn’t invited you in
yet.”

“Let’s do that,” I tell
him.

Here we are, on our way
to celebrate my new apartment, and I’m insisting that we eat at Eli’s. The
evening could have had a better start.

After driving for a few
more minutes, he asks if I’m up for Italian.

“As long as it’s not
Olive Garden,” I tell him. “If I wanted lazy, flavorless pasta, I’d ask my mom
to cook.”

He chuckles as we drive
past Olive Garden.

“You know,” I tell him
finally, “I’m really not all that hungry. Do you have anything to drink at your
place?”

“I think so,” he says. “I
should have some stuff left over from the last time Mick crashed on the couch.
We can always hit a liquor store on the way back.”

“Hit?” I ask.

Eli glances over at me
with a smirk. “Go to,” he says. “I didn’t mean we should rob the place.”

“Ah,” I respond.

“Apart from traffic
violations and some light money laundering, I’m actually a pretty law-abiding
kind of guy,” he says.

“Oh, well
that’s
a relief,” I tell him.

He looks over at me, and
I know he’s trying to figure out whether I’m serious or not. For whatever
reason, I start laughing.

Eli’s snickering in a
particularly nervous way, but that only makes the situation more hilarious to
me.

“What?” he asks as I’m
wiping a tear from my eye.

I’m trying to stifle my
remaining laughter, but it’s difficult. “Life’s just funny sometimes,” I tell
him.

We stop by a liquor
store, and over Eli’s many protests I grab a nice, big bottle of tequila.

I have been drunk exactly
once in my life, and that was just because Paz would give me the stink eye
every time she ordered a drink and I passed. Still, I think we’re going to need
something if we’re going to get through the new awkwardness and find a way to
get back to where we were before that night in the restaurant.

When we pull up in front
of Eli’s place, I’m cradling the bottle of tequila like an infant with a very
different kind of bottle. The funny thing is that the longer I hold it, the
less I want to drink.

What Eli and I need right
now is a way to relieve some tension, but I don’t think alcohol’s going to be
the way to do it. The obvious next choice for tension relief is sex, but I’m
not quite there.

Eli walks me up to his door,
and he unlocks it. Opening the door, he leaves the light off until we’re both
inside and the door is closed behind us.

I’m half-expecting a
surprise party or something before he flips on the lights, and another reason
for his discretion becomes apparent.

“Where did you get all
this?”

Along with the things I
expected—the huge television, the occasional tool or car part tucked away
nearly out of sight—there is a lot that I didn’t. There are fine art prints on
all the walls and all of his furniture is either modern and expensive, or very
old…and very expensive.

“Races, mostly,” he says.
“A lot of people will insist on a pink slip when their opponent can’t pay their
losses, but I hate to take someone’s ride if they didn’t put it up in the first
place. So, when I can, I offer them the chance to trade. New people don’t
usually have too much, but if you can get someone who’s been racing for a while
into a position like that, you can end up with some pretty crazy stuff.”

“My parents actually have
this exact print,” I tell Eli, gazing over a surrealist piece featuring a sun
shaped like a cracker “setting” into an ocean of what I’ve always thought
looked like fondue cheese.