To Each Her Own Page 10

  Casablanca was a colorfully decorated establishment where belly dancers performed every Friday and Saturday night. Erin was trying not to stare in morbid fascination at the ample belly of a gray-haired dancer jiggling and tinkling near them, but it was hard, since Trynt certainly wasn't providing any distraction by way of conversation.

  Once the belly dancer's song finished, she sat at a table in a far corner. A man with gray hair longer than the dancer's, woven in a braid down his back, sat waiting for her. Apparently it was break time.

  Without the diversion of the belly dancer, the silence at Erin's table grew oppressive. She couldn't stand it any longer. “Are you just gonna glare at me all night, Trynt?”

  He gave her his tight-lipped, bitchy look.

  She set her fork down with a definitive thunk. “This is about Jay, isn't it?”

  More bitch stare.

  “Oh, come on, Trynt! He's just my roommate, and I don't even like him, even as a friend. I avoid him as much as possible.”

  Trynt gave a “yeah, sure” sniff.

  She realized she was gritting her teeth and made herself stop. “I swear. I hardly ever even see him.”

  “He called you 'darling.'”

  Erin rolled her eyes. “He calls every girl 'darlin’.' It doesn't mean anything.”

  “Don't roll your eyes at me. You know I hate it when you do that.”

  She rolled her eyes again just to annoy him. It was petty, but she wasn't going to let him tell her what to do. She'd been a doormat the first time around with him, and it wasn't going to happen again.

  When he spoke, his tone was accusatory. “You do realize your roommate is the very thing that broke up our engagement before.”

  “No, he wasn't. I didn't even know him then,” she said, deliberately being obtuse.

  A muscle in Trynt's jaw jumped. “Don't be cute. You know what I mean. He's handicapped.”

  Anger started to simmer inside her. “So what if he is? Contrary to what you believe, Trynt, I don't want to fuck every guy I see who's in a wheelchair!”

  His face reddened. “Keep your voice down, and don't be so crass.”

  “Kiss my ass.” She gulped more wine, trying to control her temper.

  He studied her for a moment. “What's happened to you, Erin? You weren't always so . . . coarse.”

  “I don't know. Maybe life happened to me.” Or maybe you dumping me happened to me, she thought, but she didn't say it out loud. It sounded too pathetic.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You're not living up to your potential. You're better than a waitress, Erin. It's making you too hard, unpolished—and so is hanging out with those musician spooks of your brother's.”

  “You don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Yes, I do. You're college educated. You grew up in Olmos Park and went to Alamo Heights High School, for God's sake.” He leaned toward her for emphasis. “You should be doing more with your life.”

  “I didn't grow up in Olmos Park. I moved there when I was sixteen, and I never fit in with those snots at Alamo Heights.”

  “You know what I mean. You can do better. You're wasting your life.”

  She hated how disdainful he was of her life and how he'd insulted her brother. Zac's friends were her friends. “You're wrong, Trynt. For one thing, Zac's band has gained a lot of following and recognition in the last year. And there's nothing wrong with being a server in the hospitality industry. It's honest work, and it supports me while I write.”

  He snorted. “Oh, yeah. The elusive novel you've been working on for—how many years is it now?—that no one's ever seen.”

  That one stung. He was right, sort of, but she'd never admit it to him. “Maybe you're the one who's changed, Trynt. When did you become such a snobby, judgmental ass?” She pretended to ponder for a beat, index finger touching her mouth. “Oh, wait. You've always been one!”

  That sparked his fury. “You didn't think so when you almost married me!”

  “Maybe I did!”

  He looked around, and his cheeks reddened again when he saw their argument was drawing unwanted attention.

  Erin was past the point of caring. The wine was loosening her tongue and her inhibitions. She wasn't some blue-blooded socialite and never would be.

  He lowered his voice. “You don't mean that. We were good together, Erin. We were close until . . . ” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

  “Until I told you something I'd discovered about myself that I hadn't even begun to understand. I thought I could trust you, and you ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it under the heel of your fucking Cole Haan.”

  His nostrils flared, and he looked away. “I'm sorry. You know that. And you also know what a shock the whole . . . devotee thing was to me.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “We've talked about all of this. It's old news. We agreed to put it behind us.” His features darkened. “You told me you weren't a dev anymore.”

  “I'm not!”

  He shook his head. “I'm very disappointed you didn't mention your roommate is handicapped, Erin.”

  “It's not PC to say 'handicapped,' Trynt. I'm surprised you don't know that.”

  His lips thinned, but otherwise he ignored her statement. “The fact that you hid your roommate from me makes me think it's a bigger deal than you're letting on.”

  “I wasn't hiding him. Not really. I hardly ever see him, and I didn't say anything because I knew you'd react this way—make something out of nothing—and there is absolutely nothing between Jay and me!” She hated that Trynt had put her on the defensive. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I was going to tell you if things worked out between you and me. I feel like things are so tentative between us. We've both changed. Things aren't like they were before. I didn't want to have this whole fight about Jay if it wasn't necessary—if you were going to dump me in a week anyway.”

  Trynt threw up his hands in exasperation. “That's just great, Erin. I'm glad you have so much faith in me, in us.”

  “In us? There is no 'us' yet. It's all new, Trynt. We're starting over, getting to know each other again.”

  He tilted his head, his clear, blue-green eyes piercing her, the muscle in his jaw pulsing. “Do you even want to try again? I think I'm the one who should be worried about getting dumped, especially in light of this evening's revelation. You told me a week ago you still had feelings for me. Was that a lie? Am I wasting my time here?”

  She looked away before refocusing on him. “No. You're not wasting your time. I do still have feelings for you.” Weak, half-assed feelings, but feelings nonetheless.

  “Tell me about this Jay guy, then.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “I'm not sure I can, since I don't know him that well. What do you want to know?"

  “First of all, how did he end up as your roommate?”

  “My brother rented Nana's room to him while I was still in the hospital. Believe me. I was pissed when I found out I didn't get a say in the whole thing, especially since I was the one who would have to live with the guy. When I got home from the hospital, Jay was already moved in.”

  “Why didn't you tell him to leave?”

  “I . . . ” I did. She stopped before she said it out loud. She didn't want to go into how Jay had finagled his way into her house. It had all happened before Trynt was back in her life, and it was none of his business. Instead, she used her brother's argument. “I needed the rent money, especially since I'm stuck here and not on tour with the band.”

  Trynt sat back in his chair, his mouth pursed. “If it's just a money issue, I'll find you another roommate.”

  “He's paying double what Zac asked for.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Great neighborhood and a decent house already made accessible for his disability. We're close to downtown. There's lots of reasons he would want to live there.”

  “And a girl for a roommate who's got a fetish for cripples.”

  That made Erin's b
lood boil. “That was low and uncalled for,” she hissed. “Don't be a dick. And trust me, Jay's not interested in me.”

  Trynt scowled. “Why wouldn't he be interested? Doesn't he know what you are?”

  She glared at him. “What am I, Trynt?”

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Does he know about your . . . inclination?”

  She downed the last of her wine and poured another glass from the bottle of cabernet that sat between them, filling the stemmed glass uncouthly to the very top.

  “I think you've had enough,” warned Trynt, eyeing the glass with disapproval.

  Erin took a defiant sip. “I think I haven't.”

  Bitch face number four.

  “And to answer your question, yes. Jay knows I was a dev. He also knows I'm not one anymore.”

  Trynt sniffed. “Even if that's true, I find it hard to overlook the fact that you're living with a guy who's disabled when you had a thing for disabled guys. It's a little too much of a coincidence, don't you think?”

  She was so mad she was surprised steam wasn't coming out of her ears. “You want to know what I think? I think I'm done.” She threw her napkin on the table, slung her purse on messenger style, then grabbed her crutches and stood. She had to hesitate for a second because the room swayed a bit. She was buzzing hard.

  When she crutched outside, the cool, brisk air of the spring night cleared her head enough that she could think. She texted Angie but wasn't surprised when Angie replied she was working and couldn't come get her.

  “Dammit,” she muttered to herself. She could call a taxi. Or Jay.

  She looked at the time. It was only a little after nine. Jay would be awake. And having him pick her up would be easier on her almost nonexistent bank account than calling a taxi. His number was in her contacts for practical reasons, and she tapped his name without overthinking it.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Um, hey.”

  “Erin?” He sounded surprised.

  She cleared her throat, trying to sound more sober than she was. “I, um, just—could you . . . ” God, this was embarrassing.

  “Are you okay?”

  "Yeah." She forced her thick tongue to work properly. “I'm okay. I'm fine.” She let out a sigh. “I was just wondering if you'd mind coming to get me?”

  “Sure, darlin'.” He said it with no hesitation, and the warmth of his easy California drawl sent little fizzies tingling through her. Must be the wine.

  “Thanks," she said. As she was giving him directions, Trynt came out of the restaurant.

  When she ended her call with Jay, Trynt asked, “Who was that?”

  “My ride,” Erin said, refusing to look at him.

  Trynt snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. I'll take you home.”

  “No, you won't.” She gripped her crutches and shifted her weight on her booted foot, wishing she could cross her arms. The nights were still cool enough to make her glad she was wearing her favorite black leather jacket.

  Trynt put his hands on her shoulders, but she still wouldn't look at him. She was pissed.

  “Erin,” he said, “let's be adult about this.”

  She glowered. “I don't like being accused of something I'm not guilty of. If you can't trust that there's nothing between Jay and me and never will be, that's your problem. I don't need this.”

  Trynt's mouth tightened. “Who's coming for you?”

  “My roomie.”

  His fingers dug into her shoulders.

  “Ow!” she cried. She tried to wriggle free, but he only tightened his grip. “Take . . . your hands . . . off me,” she said. Her tone was deliberate and cold.

  In the dim light of the parking lot, Trynt's teal eyes were darker and more sinister. He spoke with clenched teeth. “I'm the one taking you home. Do you fucking hear me?”

  Erin was too livid to be afraid, and her rage and the chilly air were quickly sobering her. Looking straight into Trynt's eyes, she said, “You're hurting me. If you don't take your damn hands off me right now, I will scream bloody murder. If you thought I was making a scene inside that restaurant, you haven't seen anything yet.”

  Trynt scanned the surrounding parking lot nervously and then gave her an ugly, parting shake that almost unbalanced her before he loosened his grip.

  The engine of Jay's black muscle car rumbled as he pulled up to Trynt and Erin, windows rolled down.

  One corner of Trynt's mouth pulled back in disdain.

  The ghost of Jay's familiar smirk shaped his lips, but there was no humor in it, and his gaze was flinty, almost lethal. He spoke to Erin, but his eyes stayed locked on Trynt. “Everything all right, darlin'?”

  “Peachy,” she muttered, feeling a little weak in the knees. She crutched around to the passenger side of Jay's car, opened the door, threw her crutches in the back alongside the wheels and frame of Jay's wheelchair, and collapsed into the seat, then leaned over Jay so she could see Trynt out of the driver-side window. Being so close to Jay made her stomach pitch, like she was weightless for a split second. He smelled nice, all clean and spicy and leathery.

  Hello. Not attracted to guys who think I'm a perv, she reminded herself. Not even when they smell really good. She forced her brain to focus on her ex-fiancé, who was staring her down, and said, “Thanks for a truly shitty evening, Trynt.”

  Trynt pointed his finger at her, his lips pinched together. “I should have known this wouldn't work. Once a freak, always a goddamn freak.”

  He was good at those barbs that dug deep. It was even worse because he'd said it in front of Jay. She almost winced but stopped herself, not wanting to give Trynt the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt her.

  Jay tensed, and to her surprise, out of the corner of her eye Erin could see his jaw harden. She put a hand on his solid arm and squeezed, partly as a thank-you and partly to stave him off.

  To Trynt, she said, “Fuck off, asshole.” It wasn't brilliant as comebacks went, but it got the job done.

  Trynt huffed with derision. As he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder, “Have a nice life with your gimp.”

  Jay mashed the gas lever with his hand, revving the car’s loud engine. He was glaring daggers at Trynt. As if sensing the threat, Trynt started to walk faster.

  Erin settled back into her seat and let her head fall against the black leather headrest. The heavy weight of failure compressed her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  “Fucking dickhead,” Jay growled. “What was that all about? Did he hurt you?” His voice was hard and gravelly. Gaze still tracking Trynt, who was heading toward his BMW, he said, “If he hurt you, I swear to God, I'll run his ass over. I should anyway.”

  “No, I'm okay,” Erin said, even as she felt bruises forming on her shoulders where Trynt had squeezed too hard. As angry as Jay was, she was half afraid he meant what he said, and Trynt sure as hell wasn't worth going to prison over.

  Jay focused on her then, his brow creased in that way that made him look all soulful and earnest. His tone was gentle. “Erin, you can—”

  “Don't,” she said. She had the feeling he was going to say she could do better, but he didn't know. She couldn't do better.

  She couldn't make it with a wheeler. She couldn't make it with an able-bodied guy. One thing was for sure: She was so damn tired of trying.

  She inhaled deeply, forcing her chest to expand, and watched as her chance at normal got in his silver BMW and slammed the door.

  Chapter 12

  Panhead: So, how was the date last night?

  emanomaly: Don't ask.

  Panhead: Trouble in paradise?

  emanomaly: I thought I just said don't ask.

  Panhead: Oh, I thought you were just saying that.

  emanomaly: I was just saying that.

  She was ribbing him, and it made him smile.

  Panhead: Let's start over.

  emanomaly: OK. What do you want to talk about?

  Panhead: Your date last night.

  emanomaly
: Hmm. Am I the only one getting a sense of déjà vu here?

  Jay laughed.

  Panhead: Come on. Talk to me. You'll feel better.

  emanomaly: OK. Maybe you're right. I kinda do need to talk about it with someone.

  Panhead: I'm listening. I'm like a priest you can confess to, since it's all anonymous.

  Jay looked up at the ceiling, hoping God wasn't about to smite his ass for lying.

  emanomaly: Hmm. Are you Catholic?

  Panhead: No.

  emanomaly: Celibate?

  Panhead: Fuck no. But it's been a while. Does that count?

  emanomaly: Ha. I guess it has to. You're as close to a priest as I'll ever get. You ready?

  Panhead: Bring it.

  emanomaly: So, my budding re-romance is over.

  Jay’s mouth spread into a small, grim smile. From the moment he met Trynt-with-a-Fucking-Y, he hadn't liked him. When he'd seen the pompous prick getting rough with Erin in the parking lot of the restaurant last night—Erin on crutches, no less—he'd wanted to rip the asshole's head off.

  He took a deep breath and quashed his animosity. He didn't want it to bleed through to Erin and make her suspicious.

  Panhead: Sorry to hear it's over. What do you mean by 're-romance'?

  emanomaly: Remember I told you in our last chat that I'd dated this guy before?

  Panhead: Yeah.

  emanomaly: He was actually my fiancé at one time, right after college. Five years ago, if you want to get technical.

  Jay raised his brows. Fiancé? Jesus. Who the hell was Erin Silver? He couldn't see the Erin he knew going out with a guy like Trynt, let alone almost marrying him. She was too cool—too good—for that metrosexual shithead.

  Panhead: What happened?

  emanomaly: Remember I told you he knew I was a dev and wasn't comfortable with it?

  Panhead: Yes.

  emanomaly: Well, that's the reason he broke off our engagement all those years ago. Like a freakin' idiot, I let it slip about my attraction to disabled guys. He didn't take it well, and duh. Who could blame him, right? But I was young and stupid, and I thought he would—I don't know—understand, I guess. Be more open-minded. I was fresh out of college and all liberal and stuff. I thought he was, too. I was wrong. Anyway, not too long ago, I was in a car wreck.