CHAPTER 27
LYRIC
I keep thinking about causation.It’s very muddy. Like, did last year’s almost hookup ultimately cause us to become roommates? Or is it really Darcy falling in love that did it? Is being roommates with him what caused me to fall in love with him? Or did that start last year too? On a grander stage, is Darcy falling in love ultimately the reason I fell in love?
“I’ll tell ya, Miss Honeycutt, I really think this all started because Darcy answered a nanny ad,” I say as I pencil in her left eyebrow. Miss Honeycutt was only fifty-three, but she was a smoker all her life and gave herself a heart attack. Still, she deserves dignity.
The bright blue dress her daughter brought in for her to wear is truly beautiful, and though I didn’t know her, I think Miss Honeycutt would agree.
“Well, I’m not telling him,” I say, waving a blush brush into the air. I had to reconstruct a small portion of her foreheadbecause when she had the coronary, she also fell and hit the corner of the table. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but now that she’s all cleaned up, no one is the wiser.
“There’s no way telling him ends well.” I adjust her collar, making sure it lies straight on her chest. “Let’s look at the facts. He ran out on me last year. Darcy has expressly said he told Ridge he’s not settling down. And when we agreed it was just convenient sex, we shook on it.”
The room is silent, with the exception of a small Bluetooth speaker I play music through. I turn to change the station, because this algorithm is not doing its job.
I keep my mind on the facts I just laid out to Miss Honeycutt. They’re in complete opposition to all the feelings I’m having. Safe in his arms. Worshipped by his hands. Sated by his mouth. But feelings are not facts. And I have to live with that.
This arrangement has gotten too complicated, and I’m not sure I can do it anymore. I have to think about moving out. I’m really going to miss Tater. Maybe I can still visit him and see him when the whole group gets together.Oh no.Will I even still be invited to those things, or was I only in the fold due to living with Waylon?
I focus my energy on thinking about Tater because I can’t think about the obvious—how much I’ll miss Waylon. And I don’t just mean the sexy, intimate stuff. I mean the talks and laughs. I mean the smoke and snacking sessions. Watching him enjoy when I cook for him. Thinking about all that is enough to drive a girl crazy. And that’s coming from a woman who’s perfectly comfortable talking to dead people.
On the way home,I stop at the store to grab a few items to make dinner. Maybe I can broach the topic of moving over food to cushion the blow. I just think it’s what’s best for me at this point. The further we stumble down this road without intention, the more chance I have of not coming out of the other end with my sanity. Each day I’m near him—laughing, touching, tasting—I wonder to myself how much longer this perfect bubble will last. I think it’s better for everybody if I pop it.
I step inside, expecting to see Waylon lingering in the kitchen like always. He’s usually there, anticipating my arrival to help put away groceries or start dinner. I mean, he’s not much help, but he hands me things. But not today. He’s not in the living room or sunroom either. Strange. His truck is parked outside.
There’s a rustling down the hallway in the direction of his room. Huh. I don’t think too much of it and start putting items in the fridge. It’s only a few seconds later that I hear the clicking of his door opening. Tater’s feet pitter-pat across the floor, moving fast and the next thing I know, he’s nudging my ankles.
I bend down to give him his good-boy pats and that’s when I hear it. Laughter. Not just Waylon’s deep, growly chuckle, but something lighter too. Feminine. Two distinct laughs.
My heart starts racing as I swallow hard. When I stand, I’m face-to-face with my worst nightmare.
Waylon is standing there with another woman.Don’t cry. Don’tcry. Don’t cry.I take a deep, stabilizing breath. Because I’m notthatwoman.
“Will your friend be joining us for dinner?” My tone is flat, unamused. Certainly not happy. I imagine whatever my face is doing is probably just as cold. My jaw is tight in a way that makes me think it might actually be sore later.
“I should probably go,” the woman says, her smile quickly fading as she reads my temperature.
She’s pretty. Much prettier than I would like. Her short black hair and pale skin do wonders for her blue eyes. And of course she’s covered in tattoos, really beautiful ones.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me.
I narrow my eyes at him now that her back is turned to me. My ears are ringing loud enough to drown out whatever they’re saying to each other, but I do see the hug from the corner of my eye.
I turn away and place both hands on the counter in front of me, steadying myself. Part of me had this idea that I would tell him I want to move out and it would make him realize that he felt something for me. How stupid is that? Ugh. I’m such a girl for that.
Of course, now that I know he’s seeing other women, that idea is certainly shot to shit.
“Listen, that’s not what you think it is,” he says from behind me.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before from you. It’s like your catchphrase.” I whirl around and find his face holding a blank expression.
“Um, what?” His thumb is still pitched over his shoulder in the direction of where he said goodbye to her.
“Last year. That night. The next morning I heard you talking to Ridge after you snuck out of my room. You said, and I quote ‘It’s not what you think.’ You know, after you spent the entire night with me. Not hooking up but doing something much worse, it turns out.”
A dawning realization melts his features. He gives a half-hearted laugh and shakes his head.
“It’s ok,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “It’s fine, really. I mean, I didn’t know you were out here seeing other people. I feel like that’s something you should’ve told me. But it sure as hell makes telling you that I’m moving out easier.”
