I kissed him…but good.
I about passed out, mentally, when I realized I’d thought of Titus as my man.
He chuckled as he pulled away, touching my chin with a thumb. “Territory marked, huh?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. Just shrugged. “I just wanted to kiss you.”
He backed away. “Shitty liar, Laurel. You’re a shitty liar. But again, I’ll give it to you.”
“I’m not jealous!”
He held up his hands. “I think it’s hot, so don’t argue for my sake.”
I huffed, and turned to the counter. “Just go be a rock star while I order our pizza.”
He cackled, turning around only a few steps from the table of girls. “Hi, ladies. How are we doing this fine evening?” He grabbed a nearby chair and did the hot guy thing where he spun it around and leaned against the back of it.
He spent the next few minutes flirting with them, taking selfies, signing shirts and receipts and such, while I ordered a large pizza and a milkshake to share. The teenaged kid behind the counter was actually wearing a Bright Bones shirt under the open button-down shirt sporting the logo of the establishment. He was shy, though, afraid to make eye contact with me and finding it hard to look anywhere except my chest, because teenage boy—the only other place his eyes went was Titus, and there was hero-worship in his stare.
I took a table in the corner and sipped at the milkshake while Titus took his leave of the girls, who were giggling and comparing selfies and discussing which filter was best as they exited.
Titus was about to sit down with me when I glanced up at him, humming a negative as I swallowed a sip of milkshake. “Mmmm-mmm. Not done being a rock star yet, big boy.” I glanced meaningfully at the kid behind the register.
Titus saw the shirt, and nodded. Dug in his pocket as he headed for the counter. “What up, buddy. Nice shirt. Where’d you see us play?”
“Uh, here. LA. One of your last shows.”
“Sweet, man.” He pulled something out of his pocket—a much-folded piece of paper. “So, answer me a question. How big a fan are you?”
“I have every album you’ve ever made, on CD, digitally, and vinyl.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’d been saving my allowance and job money to buy a car, but when I saw you guys were doing a set of shows in LA, I used it to buy front row seats.”
Titus set the folded piece of paper on the counter. “So, this is pretty special.” He eyed the kid. “What’s your name, buddy?”
“Cal.”
“Cal, this here is actually the set-list for a show in Minnesota, one of our very first shows outside Chicago, actually. Written in Tommy’s own hand.” He pulled his Sharpie out from behind his ear, uncapped it, signed the paper. “I’ve been carrying it around for years, but I think it’s time it went to someone else.”
The kid looked about ready to shit his pants. “For real?” He traced the paper with a fingertip. “No fuckin’ way.”
I got choked up, watching Titus do something that sweet, so spontaneously. Damn him. Damn the man. It was easy to stay objective and detached when it was just fun and sex. But when he did something like that? God, how could I not fall for him?
Shit, shit, shit.
Did I just think that?
I wasn’t falling for him. Was not. Absolutely not.
Titus realized I was distracted the moment he sat down, but he didn’t push it. Didn’t angle to get invited in when he pulled into my driveway. Just…kissed me, quickly, lightly, and cupped my cheek with a rough paw.
“I’ll see you soon?”
I blinked at him, distracted by my emotions—namely, the freak-out I was shoving down, holding back. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.” I rallied, momentarily. “I had a really great time, Titus. Really, really great.”
He touched his thumb to my chin. “Good. I had fun too.” A pause. As if he was about to ask me what was wrong. Don’t—don’t—don’t. “Um. Yeah. I’ll call you?”
I smiled at him, leaned in and kissed him—I had to. “Yeah. Call me. Soon, okay?”
He nodded. “Promise.”
I went inside, watched him leave through the blinds of my front picture window…when he was gone, I promptly called Lizzy and demanded an emergency meeting, all hands, alert, alert, code red, major freak-out.
I was falling for Titus.
Lizzy slammed the empty wine bottle down on my coffee table. “I hereby call this emergency meeting to order.”
I laughed, already tipsy. Or, tipsy again, since I’d already been tipsy once today. “First on the agenda, I’m not talking about it.”
Teddy huffed. “Yes, you are. You called us, remember?”
Zoe was still taking the many cartons of Chinese carryout she’d brought from the paper bags. “You know, for all that you never stop talking, Laurel, I’m realizing how little you ever actually say.”
Kat was uncorking the next bottle of wine. “For real. The last year and a half or so, ever since Lizzy met Braun, I’ve learned more about you than in all the years I’ve known you before. And it’s making me realize how little I actually know about you.”
Teddy helped Zoe with the food, arranging opened cartons, stacks of paper-wrapped chopsticks, and packets of soy. “You’re a master of obfuscating, is what you are, and avoidance. And changing the subject. But as I said, you called us upset and said you needed some support. And in the years I’ve known you, you’ve never asked for help for anything. Which means it’s serious. But now that we’re here, you’re gonna be all like, oh no, I’m not talking about why I’m freaking out, even though we all know it’s because I’m falling for Titus Bright and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“I am not falling for Titus Bright.” I slugged wine.
Lizzy grabbed my wrist. Her eyes locked onto mine. “Listen, Laur—we’ll sit here all night and get drunk with you, as drunk as you want to get, and we can all take tomorrow off. But you have to talk to us.”
I groaned, flopped my head forward onto my palm. “Feed me. And then ply me with me copious amounts of alcohol, and prepare to be horrified.”
And so they did. We destroyed a couple hundred dollars’ worth of Chinese food, washed it all down with glass after glass of red wine, all shot through with jokes and levity and banter and acting like this was just another girls’ night in.
But then.
Oh, but then.
Food gone, floating with a full belly and a heady buzz, I leaned back in my favorite comfy chair and twisted the stem of my wineglass, watching the light sparkle through the ruby liquid.
And I told them everything I’d told Titus.
And more.
I told them, in candid detail I’d never have shared with any man, all the things I’d done to erase the memory of that night. How I’d also used shop therapy to fill the hole, to staunch the wound. Thus, the fact that my spare bedroom was a secondary closet, filled with hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of purses, shoes, dresses, skirts, tops, jackets, jewelry, and lingerie.
I told them everything.
How I suspected my dad wasn’t my father, the gross things I’d witnessed regularly as a child that had made sex to me always seem like no big deal. How I’d never had a sexual relationship that meant anything. How I wasn’t sure what that even looked like, how one would do that. How to…do that.