7. PARIS
PARIS
I almost said the wrong thing to Vanessa back in that parking lot.
I couldn’t believe she didn’t want to call the cops.
But clarity came to me before I could put my foot in my mouth.
Who am I to judge her decision in that situation?
I’m glad she let me come into her house, but now I don’t know what to do.
As soon as she opened the front door, she bolted down the hallway.
I glance around, noticing that everything is immaculate and organized.
Even the picture frames on the bookshelf are placed in chronological order.
I spend some time looking at them, but when I see a picture of our old youth group at church, I have to look away. Cory and I are in that picture.
I wonder why it’s on display and who put it there. Vanessa didn’t seem to care much about my family back then. She never called or came to see me after Cory died. And then she acted surprised when I didn’t want anything to do with her when we met again in high school.
I shake my head, refusing to dwell on the past, and make myself comfortable on her couch. But as much as I don’t want to think about our younger years, I can’t help it. I was a mess, and even if she didn’t want to be my girlfriend, I could have used a friend.
Time slips by, and when I finally return to the present, I see that a half hour has passed and Vanessa is still in her room. I’m all for respecting people’s privacy, but I’m worried sick she might do something foolish. I have to check on her.
Mind made up, I take a few steps toward the hall, but I freeze when I hear a door open at the end. I debate running back to the couch, but this house is too small, and she’d catch me. A few seconds later, she returns to the living area and finds me there, rooted to the spot like a damn tree.
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Were you coming to check on me?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah.”
“I had to take a very long shower.”
It’s then that I notice her hair is damp. I also see the red mark that asshole left on her neck. The anger from before returns with a vengeance. “Is your throat bothering you?”
She covers the mark with her hand. “A little.”
“I can make you tea with honey.” I veer for the open kitchen without waiting for her reply.
“It’s my house, Paris.”
I look over my shoulder and take note of her standing there, a frown on her face and her hands on her hips.
Something stirs in my mind, and my pulse accelerates.
It’s an old memory of her, looking at me just like that before everything went to hell.
Despite the current situation, I grin. That pissed-off look is better than the dead look in her eyes from before.
“I know it’s your house, but I want to help. ”
“Aren’t you the gentleman?” She crosses her arms.
“Sarcasm noted. For your information, I am a gentleman.”
She snorts. “I guess for a select few.”
“Are you still mad about last semester’s incident?”
“That’s just your most recent offense. You took your girlfriend’s side as usual, even though you knew she was being a fucking bitch.”
I wince. Vanessa isn’t wrong. I’ve acted like a total jerk many times because of Lydia.
“I’m sorry. I had my reasons. Besides, she’s no longer my girlfriend. I thought you knew that.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “It took you long enough. I bet your teammates let out a collective sigh of relief.”
She’s not holding back, but everything coming out of her mouth is a reminder of the firecracker girl who stole my heart when I was thirteen. I smirk. “Andy set off fireworks to celebrate.”
Surprisingly, she returns the grin. “That tracks.”
We don’t speak for a couple of beats. I don’t know why she’s staring at me in silence, but I know why I’m staring back. My heart is beating faster, the same way it did all those years ago when we were alone in the park and I confessed I liked her.
“You said you’d make tea?” she asks, breaking the spell.
I blink fast, and then look at everything but her. “Yeah. Just point me in the right direction.”
She walks around me and proceeds to open cabinets. “Heather and I aren’t huge tea drinkers, but I know I saw chamomile here somewhere.”
After she empties most of the cupboard, she finally locates the tea box, which she sets on the counter next to two coffee mugs and a jar of honey.
“There. Now you have everything you need to make tea.”
“Uh, where’s your kettle?”
“Don’t have one. Just stick the mug in the microwave.” She’s grinning when she heads to the living room. I suppose there isn’t much to making tea, and she did half the job by getting the supplies ready.
Well, there’s nothing for it but to make the tea.
Vanessa turns on the TV, and when I join her carrying two steamy cups of tea with honey, I see she has The Fellowship of the Ring on the widescreen.
“I didn’t know you were a Lord of the Rings fan.” I set one mug in front of her on the coffee table.
She pulls a pillow over her lap and crosses her legs. “I don’t trust anyone who isn’t a fan.”
My lips twitch upward. “That’s a good qualifier to judge one’s character.”
I bet that motherfucker ex of hers didn’t like Lord of the Rings .
“Ryan hated it,” she says as if reading my mind. “I should have dumped his sorry ass when I found out.”
She reaches for her mug and blows on the liquid before taking a tentative sip.
“I never understood why you went out with that loser in the first place.”
Her expression closes off. “You’re one to talk.”
“Touché. But in my defense, Lydia wasn’t always difficult. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with her otherwise.”
I don’t know why I said that to Vanessa.
Maybe I’m trying to salvage my reputation for being such a pussy.
I’m not even sure I ever truly loved Lydia.
I try my tea, burning my tongue in the process.
I should have blown on it first. I chance a peek at Vanessa, wondering if she noticed my grimace.
Her gaze is glued to the TV screen, and her jaw is set in a hard line.
Hell. I don’t know what to make of that expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
The sound of a key makes me sit up straighter. I turn my attention to the front door, belatedly remembering I don’t have an excuse for being here with Vanessa. It’s either the truth, or Heather will think we were about to hook up.
Vanessa’s twin stops short when she finds me sitting like a damn statue on her couch. She cuts her eyes to Vanessa, and I can guess the direction of her thoughts.
“Hey. I thought you were going to stay at Ryan’s tonight,” she says.
“Change of plans,” Vanessa replies curtly.
“Oh.” She turns to me. “Are you spending the night, then?” I open my mouth to deny it, but Heather continues. “If you are, please make sure you lower the toilet seat after you use it.”
“He’s not spending the night, Heather,” Vanessa grits out. “We’re just watching a movie.”
“Fine. Make sure you keep the volume low, please. I have to wake up early tomorrow for cheer practice.” She strides down the hallway and a moment later, a door bangs shut.
“Do we have to worry about your sister spreading rumors about us?” I ask.
Vanessa looks at me. “Why, Paris? Are you afraid Lydia is going to find out and come after your balls?”
My nostrils flare, but I don’t fall for her baiting.
She’s mad about something I said earlier.
Maybe it was my comment about Lydia not being a bad girlfriend in the beginning.
Whatever the reason, I have to maintain my cool.
Vanessa just went through an ordeal no one should have to experience.
If she wants to use me as her punching bag, so be it. I plan to stay until she kicks me out.
“No. I’m thinking about you.”
“Right, because it’s okay for guys to dump their girlfriends and jump in bed with another chick thirty seconds later. But if a girl does it, she’s a whore.”
“I don’t make the rules.”
“The rules are garbage. I’m sick and tired of the double standards.”
Ah hell. I can’t believe the conversation has devolved to this topic. This would be dangerous territory on any occasion, but with Vanessa ready to blow, it’s definitely not a place I want to linger.
“That’s why my favorite character in the Lord of the Rings franchise is éowyn,” I say, keeping my face glued to the TV.
I can sense Vanessa’s gaze burning a hole through my face.
“For real?” she asks after a moment.
I look at her then. “For real.”
She clamps her jaw while her sharp gaze remains glued to my face. Then, begrudgingly, she says, “Well, Paris. You’re not a total lost cause.”
I grin and face the TV again, trying to ignore how her comment lightened my heart.