Best Of Everything (3 page)

I try to imagine how things would have gone if I’d shown up back at home and announced to Ralph and my mom that I was with child. I’d rather be flayed alive and dragged behind a bus. In spite of myself, I feel a little sorry for Lisa.

“Anyway, she has the baby. Mom wants her to put him up for adoption, but she won’t. Things are tense and getting worse. Then she sees me on TV and freaks out. She doesn’t tell her mother it’s me, and she’s not sure how she feels about me not knowing. But one night she breaks down and admits she knows where the father is, and her mom goes into full-on action mode. You can imagine – saying that he’s half my responsibility, he deserves a dad, I need to step up, yadda yadda. She tells her mom who I am, and her mom says she needs to come to New York and talk to me. No telephones.” He pauses. “And that’s where we are.”

We’re both quiet. When I finally say something, it’s all wrong. “You must have liked her, Derek.” I know I shouldn’t go there. The problem isn’t whether he was into Lisa or just wanted to have some fun. The problem’s about six months old and named Jason.

“Sage…” He shakes his head. “It was so long ago. I mean, so much has happened. My brother had just died; I was…all over the place. She needed someone to look out for her. I think when Paul died, I maybe thought I could make up for it by protecting her. I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t hurt that she’s cute.”

Derek ignores that. He rises and begins pacing. “I’m just not sure what to do about any of this. I mean, it’s all…it’s a lot to absorb.”

“What does she want to do?”

He doesn’t say anything. I can feel my face flushing, and I close my eyes. Of course. What would any female want to do if Derek, who is now famous, was the father of her child? Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what she wants. I stand, not trusting my emotions.

Derek stops pacing and turns to me. “Sage, don’t worry. I’m not going to let this come between us.”

“Right. Your new son and your ex. No big deal. We’ll work around it.” I sigh. “I’m tired, Derek. I’m going to bed.”

“Sage, really. These last few days have been…incredible. Whatever happens with Lisa and Jason, we’re together.”

“Just the four of us.”

He shakes his head. “No. I mean, I need to think this through. She wants me to see Jason, thinks it’s important.” He hesitates. “I think it’s important to have a dad, too.”

I have no comeback for that. My dad walking out on us screwed up my whole life, so I can’t come down on the side of no father…but I don’t want to have to agree, either.

“I guess. I don’t want to talk about it right now, Derek.” I walk to the bedroom.

“Do you want me to go?”

I look at him, green eyes glinting in the light of the overhead lamp, his form-fitting black T-shirt clinging to his sculpted torso, and hate myself as I shrug. “Do whatever you want. I need to sleep.”

I brush my teeth and change into shorts and an oversized T-shirt. The lights are off and I’m pretending I’m asleep when he comes in and strips off his pants and climbs into bed next to me.

I spend the next hour faking slumber, my mind racing in ugly directions as I wonder if he’s also awake, which I suspect he is from his breathing. I want to turn to him and take him in my arms, feel his hard body against mine, wrap my legs around him and lose myself with him.

But I don’t. Instead I make myself miserable, and when I finally drift off, it’s into an uneasy and restless sleep filled with ugly premonitions.

Chapter 3

If I’m expecting the morning to arrive and wash away my problems with the rising sun, it’s a letdown, because when I wake up I feel like crap. My head hurts from tension, my eyes feel like I’ve got grit in them, and my mouth tastes like metal. Derek’s snoring softly beside me, and I crack an eye open. I’m facing him, but there’s a foot or so of space between us. Even in sleep he’s gorgeous, and my heart skips a beat. Here’s the man of my dreams, everything I want…and I don’t know how to react.

I think about Melody’s advice, which is to get busy with sexytime. But I can’t help feeling hesitant. I need to feel close, feel like it’s more than just our bodies – which immediately takes me to a place I don’t want to be: thinking about Derek and Lisa together.

But I can’t stop it. I’m wondering what he did with her, whether they shared the same heat, how often they did it, and the mental images make me want to cut my brain out and flush it. I know I’m in a danger zone now, and I quickly clamp down on the negative loop. That was the past, and Derek was clear about the present. I need to find a way to be happy with that, not poison my today with speculations about his yesterday.

Which is all fine in theory, but more difficult in practice. I can intellectualize all I want, but I can never unknow what I was blissfully ignorant of. Making peace with images of Derek and Lisa sharing what he and I now have is going to be harder than snapping my fingers. I know myself too well.

I stir, and my head sends a flare of pain through my eyes. I hope my sharp intake of breath doesn’t wake Derek, but he’s still out cold. At that moment I envy him, but after glancing at my watch and calculating the few hours of rest I got, I realize it’s more about pitying me – and I completely did it to myself.

I push the sheet aside and swing my legs off the bed. The wood floor is cool. I pad to the bathroom, taking care to close the door softly behind me, and set about my morning ritual. When I’m done showering, I consider myself in the mirror, and Lisa’s image springs into mind. I look at my breasts and frown at myself – hers are bigger. My eyes glow blue in the light from the window, but hers are violet – a more interesting color.

After I finish beating myself up and building my inadequacy brick by miserable brick, I offer my reflection a smile. One of us is a rising star. That’s got to count for something. And one of us has Derek in her bed; the other, not so much. I don’t feel much like gloating, but it’s a victory. Maybe I’m reading too much into her looks. Could be she’s a dolt. Or really irritating.

I swallow two aspirin, cupping the foul-tasting tap water into my mouth with my hands, and debate swabbing on some eyeliner. I decide not to – no point in drawing attention to any dark circles under my eyes.

When I step out of the bathroom, Derek hasn’t moved. I sit in a battered overstuffed chair near the curtained window and gaze at him, the muted sound of traffic outside a constant background din I’ve gotten used to. He’s got one arm under that gorgeous head of his, lips slightly open as if in invitation, and his expression is serene. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, making him look somehow childlike and vulnerable, and it’s all I can do to resist the urge to jump on him.

As if sensing my gaze on him, he slowly stretches and opens his eyes, fixing me with a sleepy stare. He rubs his face with his hand and runs his fingers through his hair, which only makes it stand up more, resembling a haystack in a strong wind.

He clears his throat and gives me a fatigued grin. “Hey.”

“Good morning. I thought you were going to sleep all day. I’ve been up for hours.” Only a little white lie.

“Damn. What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

He squints at the window. “That’s not so late.”

“It’s my last day in New York. I don’t want to miss anything.”

Derek sits up, looking cautiously interested. “What do we have planned? Hang out at Lucifer’s for old times’ sake?”

“Hardly. I was thinking we could go to the Statue of Liberty. And maybe see where you’re staying. I’m curious about where you live.”

“It’s a shithole. But cheap.”

“Magic words. You had me at shit.”

We laugh together, and the tension that’s twisting in my gut relaxes a bit. It’s the same Derek as yesterday morning, the same easy grin, the same incredibly sexy manner. He climbs out of bed and stretches again, and I begin rethinking my commitment to staying troubled. I can always go back to concerned tomorrow, when I don’t have the hottest guy on the planet half naked in front of me.

He doesn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil. “You already use the bathroom?”

“I’m dressed, aren’t I?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I’m still a little out of it. Let me take a shower and I’ll be raring to go.”

The door closes behind him and I feel better. None of this is his fault. He didn’t intend to introduce a ton of drama into our lives. He’s probably less happy about the situation than I am. He’s the one who’s got to deal with the fallout. I’m getting on a plane.

I’m rising out of my chair to go into the bathroom as I hear the shower go on when the follow-on thought stops me cold. I’m flying back to California, leaving Derek behind.

With Lisa.

In the cold, lonely city.

Because a son deserves to have a father.

And maybe mom deserves to have another bite of that love muffin that made her a mom in the first place? I saw the way she looked at Derek. He may think there’s nothing there between them anymore, but Lisa’s eyes tell a different story.

I feel like a ping-pong ball being swatted back and forth. I should just do what Melody would: pull off my clothes and go rub all over him in the shower. Give him something to remember me by in case Lisa has any bright ideas.

Then I hear the water shut off and the chance is lost. Another triumph for uncertainty, I think as I reach for my charging cell phone. Melody’s sent the URL for a gossip site that’s featuring photos of Derek and me taken by one of the autograph hounds. In the first, Derek looks like he was just told he was under arrest, and the expression on my face is of someone who’s been gut shot. The headline says it all: “Holy Sh#t, I Did What?!?”

The next is from the same angle, and all you can see is the blurry image of a baby being held toward Derek. At this point I look like I just mouth vomited and it’s coming through my nose. Nice. Derek looks like the devil’s risen from a manhole and is showing him his future.

The brief article is long on speculation and short on substance, as is typical for the site, but they nailed the high notes: Derek’s been a naughty boy, Sage doesn’t look like she knew about it, and the miracle of birth has reared its ugly head to the delight of onlookers.

If I didn’t feel sick when I started the day, I do now. If I crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head, will it all go away?

Derek comes out of the bathroom wearing only a towel and a sheen of moisture on his skin. Elvis ripples on his forearm as he smiles at me. “I forgot to grab clothes,” he explains. “You think Jeremy might have a shirt I can borrow?”

The part of me that was freaking out melts into a puddle of quivering goo as the now familiar surge of heat shoots through me. I’m thinking, walk in like that and he’ll give you more than a top, but instead I say, “I’ll ask,” and force myself to my feet. I’m halfway to my bedroom door when he grabs me and spins me around. I find myself staring into his face, his emerald eyes as intense as lasers.

“I’m sorry all of this is happening, Sage. But I want you to know. Nothing’s ever going to come between us. I mean it.”

His arms are so strong. They feel like steel bands around me, holding me against his taut, hard stomach. My pulse quickens and I feel weak. All I can do is nod. He leans down and brushes his lips against mine, sending a shock of sensation through me, and then…lets me go. I stand like a deer in the headlights and manage a weak, “I’ll get you a shirt,” and then slip out the door. I stand in the hall, my heart trip-hammering.

What am I doing again?

Oh. Right. Shirt.

I knock on Jeremy’s door, and his singsong voice calls out, “
Entrez
.”

I push the door open. He’s sitting by the window reading on his tablet, a cup of tea in his hand. He looks up at me and winks.

“I thought you might be that hunk of man candy you’ve been keeping all to yourself.” He eyes me. “Maybe looking to take a walk on the wild side.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “No such luck. But he needs a shirt.”

“Ooh, playing dress up? Now that’s more like it. Does he favor chiffon? Sequins? I have a cunning little salmon tank top he’d look all that wearing.”

I keep a straight face. “I was hoping you had a Megadeath T-shirt.”

“I’m a gonna go Versace on your ass if you keep that up, girl. I can probably find something from my boring butch phase. Lime green chemise or vertical stripes?”

“Surprise me.”

“I should so give you something that would have half the horndogs on this block baying at him, but I don’t need the competition, so this is your lucky day.” He looks at me over his tablet. “I saw the snaps of you and Derek online. Not the best composition.”

I stare at the ceiling. “Oh, God, please just kill me now.”

“Dahling, don’t you know that as long as they’re talking shit about you, you matter? Hey, as long as you’re in the public eye, you’re selling records. I’d look on the bright side of all this.”

“Right. The bright side that has my boyfriend with a surprise baby and an ex who wants back in his pants like nobody’s business.”

“Well, sweetie, she’s not alone there, so get used to it. But I sympathize. Maybe next time find a nice pencil-necked geek with Coke-bottle glasses and bad breath instead of Adonis there. I should live so long as to have your problem.” He sighs and rolls his eyes, then puts the tablet down and stands. “Now, let’s see if we can find something that will fit his great big…frame.”

I blush as he winks again. He delights in embarrassing me, I know, and takes endless pleasure in shocking me. I try hard not to give him the satisfaction, but I can’t. “I was serious about Megadeath. Or maybe Metallica?”

He pulls out a white oxford shirt with blue pinstripes and holds it up. “Have you ever seen him in real clothes before, or was he wearing an animal skin when you met?”

“That looks like it’ll fit.”

“Abercrombie, baby. It was absolutely made to be worn by Derekissimo. The Derekster. Dereeeek.” He blinks a bunch of times. “I like that. I think I’ll call him that from now on. Dereeek. Sounds vaguely French. Hmm. You have a lovely Dereeek.”

“Find your own damn Dereeek,” I snap and whip the shirt out of his hands.