The normal me would want to respect that and to give him the space, time, and support he needs to feel okay about getting there together. But precog me knows we don’t have that kind of time. So I have to give it one last push with as much truth as I can manage.
“Look, I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks,” I hedge. “But I can’t help feel like this is something we need to get out there. Because it just … it feels like there might be something I need to know here or we won’t be able to go forward in our relationship. I know it may not make sense to you, but I wish you could trust me enough to —”
He folds his hands over mine and shakes his head. “I do trust you,” he interjects. “This is not about that. This is about me. You’re just going to have to trust that nothing about all of that has anything to do with us. I’m not hiding anything, I’m just … look, I’m sure there are things about you that you haven’t told me, right?” He looks at me expectantly and my heart freezes in my chest.
There’s no way he knows, but it freaks me the fuck out. And, you know, touché. Maybe if he did know my secret, he’d tell me his. But then, I’m afraid to tell him for the same reasons he’s afraid to tell me about Amber.
He looks at me curiously as I process all of this.
“You don’t have to answer that. Obviously, you have your own secrets. And that’s okay.” He sighs. “I think this is what they call an impasse,” he says, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “I have to get ready for work. Let’s just put all of this aside for a while, okay?”
I resist asking, “How long?” He’s demonstrated repeatedly that he’s not going to budge anytime soon. Maybe I should just tell him. But it’s not an option right now since he has to go, so I just nod.
“Good,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss me. I allow it for a moment before pulling back. “I’m going to take a quick shower and make us some breakfast.”
He hops off the bed before I can even answer. I lean forward to an angle where I can see the clock and I realize why — he’s going to be late if he doesn’t hustle.
With a sigh I roll out of bed and go about finding my clothing that’s strewn around the room. At least the makeup sex was good, I think to myself as I pick my underwear off the lamp.
Before I can pull any of my clothes on, a dripping wet Drew pops back in and starts getting dressed. It’s almost enough to distract me from my sour mood.
“Why don’t you take a shower while I make breakfast?” he suggests.
“Okay, yeah, thanks,” I agree, trying not to sound too down. I give him a reassuring smile as he leaves the room.
I take my time in the shower, using Drew’s products to wash myself from head to toe. I definitely needed it, and having his scent all around me is reassuring while I try to figure out where to go from here.
Unfortunately, I take so long that by the time I’m out and dressed, I’m greeted by a covered plate with a note in the kitchen.
Had to get to work. I’m off Tuesday, but I hope we can talk before then.
I lift the cover to a plate full of bacon and eggs. How he manages to whip something up so fast, I’ll never know. But then … chef. Duh.
I’ve just finished my breakfast and am washing my plate when Nick ambles out of his bedroom in nothing but boxers. When he sees me, he grins widely and I can’t roll my eyes hard enough.
“Heeeeey, CJ,” he greets me. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You and lover boy made up, I take it?”
“Um, hi,” I say, eyeing him with barely suppressed disdain. “Yeah, I guess, but it wasn’t really …” He starts doing stretches, shifting his shorts in a way that’s borderline obscene. “I’m just going to …” I make to move around him and head for the door.
“Oh shit, I’m not wearing anything,” he says with a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot. Not used to waking up to a beautiful woman in the apartment.”
I blush furiously, not so much at the compliment as the sleezy attempt to chat me up. And at the thought of chatting, I remember Anna’s joke about asking the roommate. I spend about half a second trying to talk myself out of going behind Drew’s back before realizing it’s probably the fastest way to get answers. And Nick’s not the brightest bulb in the pack, so …
“Well, good to know Drew doesn’t constantly bring women home,” I joke.
Nick waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, hell no. I may give him shit, but he’s a good guy. Plus, he hasn’t really dated much since the Amber debacle.”
Bingo. Opening.
“Yeah, I can imagine,” I respond encouragingly, taking a couple of steps and settling onto the couch.
Almost unconsciously, he joins me, and I have to suppress a smile. Monkey see, monkey do, I think to myself.
“Can you?” he jokes. “Because that chick was epically nuts. They only went out a couple weeks, and it took him nine months to shake the allegations. But then, her parents are loaded, so there’s that. And the fact that she was only seventeen.”
I try not to react, but I can feel my eyebrows climbing as he talks. The word “seventeen” particularly catches my interest. Not for a second do I think Drew would have knowingly dated a teenager. But almost every teenager these days has a digital trail a mile wide. Especially a rich one.
“But he didn’t know that, right?” I interject, voicing the assumption in the hopes that it makes it seem like Drew has already talked to me about it.
“Oh, yeah, of course he didn’t,” Nick agrees. He picks up the remote control on the coffee table and flicks the television on. Christ. I should’ve known he’d have the attention span of a fruit fly.
“And her parents — they’re rich. I didn’t know that. Are they like, well known?” I prod.
Nick doesn’t answer as he mindlessly flips through channels.
“Nick?” I push.
“Huh?” he asks, turning his head ever so slightly in my direction.
“Who are her parents?” I ask more bluntly.
“Whose parents?” he asks as he settles on the Discovery Channel to watch two lions fucking.
I roll my eyes and snatch the remote out of his hand and turn off the TV.
“Hey!” he protests, swinging toward me.
“Who are Amber’s parents, Nick?” I ask. Nerves shoot through me. I don’t know where this desperation is coming from. Maybe it’s being so close to having something I can use? Either way, I’m not thrilled with how this is playing out.
“Give me that,” he insists, grabbing for the remote.
“Dude, we were in the middle of a conversation and you totally ignored me for the TV,” I point out, trying to calm the situation. “I was just curious what her last name was. You know, in case I’ve heard of her folks.”
God, it doesn’t even sound casual to my ears.
He fixes me with a nasty look. “Fisher. Her last name is Fisher. Now give me the damn remote.”
I’m frozen, shocked that he actually told me. So I don’t notice when he lunges to grab the remote from the hand holding it behind me.
The move topples me back onto the couch with Nick on top of me, scrambling to find the remote under me. I squeal in protest, flailing under him.