By Degrees (34 page)

I trudge up the stairs and go into my bathroom.
 
The shower removes every last trace of Tarin off my body, but it can’t erase the feelings that still plague my system and the memories of his face and body that are burned into my brain.

Still wearing a damp bathrobe, I collapse into bed and fall into a restless sleep.
 
I dream all night of Austin, a ghost standing just out of my reach.
 
He just floats there and stares at me, saying nothing.
 
I beg him for his forgiveness, but it doesn’t come for me.
 
The only thing I can feel is pain, and the worst part is that I don’t know if it’s his or mine.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I’M AWAKENED BY SOMEONE TAPPING on my door.
 
I slide off the bed, knowing before my feet even hit the floor that today is going to be a major chore.
 
I have a headache, either from the terrible cocktails or the self-loathing that has taken me over, and my tongue tastes like I’ve been licking cat butts all night.
 
The clock says it’s seven o’clock in the morning.

I crack the door open, fully expecting to see Scott there.
 
My heart drops to the floor when I realize it’s not him.

“Time to work out, sunshine. Why aren’t you dressed yet?”
 
Tarin’s looking me in the eye like nothing happened last night.
 
He’s freshly shaved and showered, the bastard.

I put my hand over my mouth so my breath doesn’t leak out into the hallway.
 
“I overslept.
 
I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.
 
Just a little hungover.”

“Mmm…”
 
He nods his head.
 
“I hear great sex’ll do that to ya.”

“Shut up.”
 
I close the door in his face.
 
He walks away laughing, and I rest my head against the wood frame, a long sigh breezing out of my lungs.
 
I am so going to wish last night never happened
.

I slog through the tasks of showering and dressing for our morning workout.
 
I put on my navy blue running shorts, a white jog bra, a hot pink tank top, and light green running shoes.
 
It looks like a toy store vomited on me, but I don’t care enough to try and match anything; I’m too hungover with regret.

Everyone is down in the foyer waiting for me thirty minutes after my wake-up call, dressed in workout gear that’s way less obnoxious than mine.
 
Except for Scott of course.
 
His shoes amp my headache up another couple notches with their horrible orange fluorescence.
 
He has a collection of truly awful footwear, but today he’s outdone himself.

Scott smiles up at me.
 
“Ready for a run?”

I shake my head, trying not to smile back.
 
“You’re enjoying this torture way too much.”
 
I hold up my hand to block the view of his feet. “Could you please turn off your shoes? They’re giving me a migraine.”

“That’s just the booze talking,” he says, stepping outside ahead of me.

As I walk through the front door, Ricky says, “Tarin made you one of those nasty bubble gum drinks, didn’t he?”

“Two of them actually,” I said.

“Damn, that ain’t right,” he says to Tarin.
 
“Taking advantage of the boss like that.”

“Hey, I didn’t force her.”
 
Tarin’s pretending to be all put-out when I know very well he’s totally proud of himself.
 
He’s a giant, walking penis throbbing with testosterone right now. “She did everything she did last night without any encouragement from me.”

I snort loudly but say nothing as we jog down the driveway en masse.
 
My heart-rate is already elevated now, thanks to Tarin, and I haven’t even left the property.
 
Damn him and his casual sexy grins and attitude.
 
I hate that this mean-boy gone nice is affecting me like this.

We get to the sidewalk and Zach is in the lead followed by Tarin.
 
Scott and I are last, jogging side-by-side.
 
Leonard must have stayed at the house because I haven’t seen him at all this morning.
 
I’m glad Tarin’s in front of me and not behind me watching my butt, or next to me making me all hot and bothered.
 
It’s bad enough I have to watch his back, ass, and legs and know that I was under him on his couch just a few short hours ago.
 
The memories make me blush.

Guilty.
 
So, so guilty.

“So, d’ya like the show last night?” asks Scott.
 
He’s playing it casual, but I know my answer’s important to him.

“You were awesome.
 
I’m sorry I took off, I just couldn’t listen to that last song.”
 
The memory of the lyrics tries to bust into my conscious mind, but I beat it back.

“I know.
 
Sorry about that.
 
I tried to tell Jack not to do it but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I wish he wouldn’t push me into a corner like that.”
 
I’m getting stressed just thinking about it. He should have known better.

“I told him you don’t react well to pressure, but he’s doing his own thing. He said …”
 
Scott cuts off in the middle of his sentence, and all I hear now is the pounding of our feet on the sidewalk.

Row hedges and trees go by in a blur as we eat up the pavement with our group stride.
 
Sweat is running down my back and my heavy breathing belies the pain I’m in running hungover like I am, but this conversation is not over.

Scott continues.
 
“Anyway, I’m happy with how it went.
 
We’re going to do another one in a couple weeks.”

“What did Jack say?” I ask.
 
Maybe I don’t want to know the answer, but I’m not thrilled with the idea of him and Scott talking about me behind my back.

“I think I’d like to plead the fifth on this one.”
 
Scott tries to speed up, but I grab his shirt and pull him back.

“Not happening, but nice try.
 
Tell me or else.”

“Or else what?
 
You’ll make me run before nine in the morning in the eighty-five degree heat?
 
Oh … wait … already suffering that torture.
 
Try again.”

I lower my voice so Tarin won’t hear me.
 
“Just shut up and tell me or you’re going to be giving His Highness an ass massage after this run.”

“Was he serious about that slave stuff?” Scott asks, sounding way too happy about it.

I punch him in the arm.
 
“Seriously … shut up and tell me.”

“Fine.
 
But don’t shit on the messenger, okay?
 
I was just there listening.
 
I didn’t contribute to the madness.”

“Still waiting…”

“He said he thinks that he needs to do you a solid.
 
Help you like you helped him.”

I frown, confused.
 
“What?”

“I know, right?
 
The guy’s wishin’ and fishin’.
 
That’s what I told him, but he’s convinced.”

“Convinced of
what?”

“That you need him.
 
That you need help.”

My brain tries to put that together.
 
“That makes no sense at all.”

“According to him it does.
 
And since he’s helping me write some great stuff, I didn’t argue too hard.
 
But I swear, I did try to get him not to play that song.” He runs for a few more pavement squares before he finishes.
 
“You know, though, if you remove the part where he’s throwing his heart out there on the street for you to run over with your car, the song’s good.
 
I mean, the melody’s solid, the lyrics are rip-your-heart-out amazing, and the crowd loved it.
 
It was a five-panty hit.
 
I swear, a pair of red lace ones landed right on my face after the first chorus, like it was shot from a panty cannon or something.
 
They smelled good too, like bubble gum.
 
Weird right?
 
Who puts bubble gum in their underwear?
 
Anyway, he’s going to release it as a single.”

I feel like I’ve been bashed in the chest with a baseball bat, the way my heart is caving in on itself.
 
“Like
hell
he is,” I growl, taking a sharp right turn out into the road.
 
I yell over my shoulder as the group of guys slows down, each of them looking over their shoulders at me in confusion.
 
“Go ahead!
 
I’ll meet you back at the house, keep going without me!”

Scott takes off first, running on his toes.
 
The little wanker is more than happy not to get in the middle of the shit storm he just conjured up for me.
 
Tarin is the last to continue on, but he does it, turning around to jog backwards.
 
He lifts his hands up, as if to ask what the hell I’m doing.
 
I just wave him off and continue back towards the house.

I need to find my cell and call Jack right away before he goes too far down that road.
 
No frigging way do I want to see that song about my life and my issues going public.
 
Anyone who knows him and what we went through will realize the song’s about me and my personal business.
 
Word will spread and then the whole world will know.
 
He needs to be perfectly clear about what it will mean to me before he makes that decision. I pray our friendship is more valuable to him than the money.

Chapter Thirty

I ROUND THE LAST BEND on the trip back and see Tarin’s driveway ahead of me.
 
There’s a gate that connects the high fence circling the property.
 
It should be locked up tight, but for some reason it’s open.
 
I could swear I remember hearing it swing slowly closed as we were leaving, but maybe I’m just thinking about another time that happened or another gate from my past.
 
There have been so many.

I slow down to a jog and go through, stopping only to press in a code on the keypad that will shut the gate behind me.
 
Once I’m sure it’s closed all the way and not opening back up, I run up the driveway to the front of the house and go to the front door.
 
I try the front handle, even though I’m almost positive it will be locked.
 
It swings open easily.

Frowning in confusion, I hesitate before going inside.
 
That’s weird.
 
Why didn’t Ricky or Zach lock it up behind us?
 
This door has a keypad too, but when I glance over at it, the light is green.
 
No alarm is set and everything looks normal.
 
The door and keypad should only be like this when one of us inside.
 
What the hell?

I walk into the foyer.
 
“Leonard?
 
Are you in here?”
 
I had assumed he was in his place behind the main house, but I guess not.
 
He must be inside, maybe having breakfast.

No one answers my call.

I walk swiftly to the kitchen but find it empty.
 
There are half-filled coffee cups on the counter, but no Leonard.

I turn towards the hallway again, yelling, “Marta?!” The housekeeper who’s here most afternoons might have come early.
 
I hope it’s her and not just us being really careless and leaving things open like this.

Still no answer.

Walking out into the foyer again, I hear a noise upstairs.

The hairs on my neck stand up.
 
Leonard has no reason to be upstairs when we’re not home, and Marta
always
starts in the kitchen.
 
Josh told me yesterday that it’s some weird superstition she has about always cleaning the house in the same order: first kitchen, then bathrooms, laundry, and bedrooms, and everything else last.
 
Coffee cups on the counter means she isn’t here yet.

I take the stairs two at a time, first stopping in my room to get my phone.
 
It’s sitting on the bedside table where I left it.
 
I open it up and just for the hell of it and press in the numbers 9-1-1.
 
I don’t hit the dial button, but I’m prepared to if necessary.

Leaving my room, I take a left, going in the direction I know Tarin’s room to be.
 
If someone has broken in, it’s either a thief or a nutty fan, and that’s where they’ll be. Guest rooms are for amateurs.

I walk down the carpeted hallway quietly, my thumb hovering over the green button on my cell.
 
The door to Tarin’s room is slightly ajar and there are muffled noises coming from inside.

My heart is beating like mad.
 
I want to call the cops and run, but if it’s not an intruder and I call in the troops, there will be all kinds of crap press to deal with, and I don’t want that kind of attention on Tarin right now; things are going too well.
 
All we need to do is alert the crazies that his house is easy to get into, and we’ll be up to our assholes in the need for massive security.
 
A fence, gate, locks and alarms along with a couple of bodyguards should be enough in theory.
 
Unfortunately, nutbags don’t need much to construe an invitation; it’s almost as if one person gets in they feel like they’re all welcome to visit.

I push open the door.
 
It swings in slowly, just a whisper coming from the soft carpet being brushed by the wood.