24. Casey
CASEY
“How was your weekend showing Imani around the city?” Ryan is sitting in the chair facing my desk, an ankle crossed over his knee and a smug look on his face. Based on that look alone, I’m guessing he’s not here to talk about Imani.
“Great,” I say distractedly. I was in the process of responding to a rather cryptic email from one of my new author’s agents when Ryan barged in here.
Not to mention that the weekend was far from what I thought it might be.
It wasn’t because of Imani or her friend—it was incredibly enjoyable watching their eyes bug out of their heads at the fancy lunch at the top of the John Hancock building, and the way they giggled the entire time on the Navy Pier Ferris wheel.
Trina and I took them to the Field Museum and the Shedd Aquarium, hopping from one to the other because of their close proximity, and then treating them to Chicago-style hotdogs from one of the vendors on the lawn of the museum campus.
Imani was more adventurous there, laughing as she tried to keep track of all the toppings.
Her friend, on the other hand, insisted on only mustard since we told her ketchup was absolutely forbidden.
Anyone on the outside looking in would have called it a great success.
We were able to snap a few more pictures of Imani for our socials, and everyone had a great time.
But I could tell Trina was reserved. I had noticed the bags under her eyes when she and Imani were in the office on Friday, but in the light of day, they were even more apparent.
And I couldn’t miss the way she’d slump when she thought no one was watching her, or how often she was checking her phone.
I told myself she was probably waiting for news on another important deal, but that didn’t connect all the dots. Why the exhaustion? Why the bags under her eyes?
I never noticed before how good she was at pretending everything is okay. Though, I guess maybe I’ve never had an occasion to see that part of her. But every time someone spoke to her or needed something from her, she’d straighten up, flash a brilliant smile, and no one but me was ever the wiser.
She said we’d talk later, but we were so busy that later never came. On Sunday, I had to bow out of most of their activities to go see my brother, and she didn’t call me after. If only there was a way—
“Earth to Casey?” Ryan’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Hmm?” I make a quick show of clicking through some things on my computer. “Sorry, my mind is in a million places. I had a lot of things to do this weekend that didn’t get done while Imani was here.”
“Sure.” He clearly doesn’t believe me. “I was asking about any other new authors on your radar, but I’m guessing that a certain blonde has occupied your thoughts recently.”
Blinking at him, I school my face so I hopefully give nothing away. “I don’t think I have a blonde author on my list.”
Ryan ticks up a dark eyebrow. “You and I both know I didn’t mean an author.”
“The antecedent was unclear.”
“Don’t use editor speak to avoid the question, Casey.”
“Was there a question? I don’t remember you asking one,” I hedge.
Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Ryan uncrosses his legs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. “Does Trina put up with this evasive behavior from you?”
“God, it is infuriating when you continually answer me with hypothetical questions.”
She was so beautiful when she leapt to her feet and shouted that at me that day in this office. I shouldn’t have fucked her in here, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed her, and I couldn’t wait one more second.
I shake my head as if to clear it of that memory. This office will never be the same. “No,” I say slowly. “What has Scarlett told you?” I’m not sure if Trina divulged our relationship—or…whatever it is—to her, but it would make sense.
He shakes his head. “Scarlett is beautifully, wonderfully, and also woefully unaware of most social interactions. But I have eyes, man. And I could plainly see that you couldn’t keep yours off her.”
I press my lips into a thin line, still unsure of what I want to give up, mostly because I want to honor Trina’s fears about people finding out. But a large part of me is dying to spill everything to Ryan and ask for some advice.
“It’s…complicated.”
Ryan huffs. “I’m still atoning for the sins of my own complicated workplace romance.” He raises his hands, palms out. “So I get it. Plausible deniability. You don’t have to tell me anything more.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I try to reassure him.
“Really, it’s okay. It’s not like we’re lesser friends because you won’t kiss and tell.”
I chuckle softly, shaking my head at his joke, but he squints at me, clearly thinking about what he’s going to say next.
“Is this unrequited or reciprocated?” he asks carefully.
God, I hope it’s reciprocated. I know the physical attraction is for sure, but the way I want to be near her all the time, finding myself thinking about just texting her in the middle of the night to say hi or see how she’s doing, looking for little pockets of time to spend with her or trying to devise reasons for her to come into the office…
I don’t know if she’s feeling any of that.
The best I can give Ryan is a shrug. “It’s at least…mutual.”
He nods as if this confirms whatever he was thinking and takes in a breath through his nose. “If I may offer some advice?”
“Please.” I hate how eager I sound, but I’m dying for someone to weigh in on what has become the only thing I can think about, especially as I am apparently hemorrhaging writers at the new press I’m supposed to bring back from the brink. I could use the brain space for something else.
“Tell her how you feel,” he says as he stands. “It is annoying how much can be sorted out with a simple conversation.” He looks at me as if to drive the point home, then starts to leave. But before he can walk away fully, he turns back and raps his knuckles on my desk. “And bring food.”
“Is that advice from your personal experience?”
“The talking, yes.” He winks. “The food is guidance from blondie herself.”
I purse my lips against the wide smile that wants to break free. That figures, actually.
Ryan pauses near the door, regarding me. “I can see by your expression that she brings you a lot of joy. You deserve that, you know. So does she. I’m sure you two can figure it out.”
He has no idea how much I hope he’s right.
Even though I have about a hundred other things to do, I only spend half the day in the office.
I work until Trina occupies almost every spare inch of my mind and I can’t concentrate anymore.
I leave five unread emails in my inbox and a half-edited chapter on my screen, close up shop, and walk out for lunch with the intention of not returning until tomorrow.
The whole drive back into the city, I’m writing and revising what I’m going to say to her in my head.
Nothing I land on feels quite right. I want to tell her I’m falling for her—that’s the only thing that seems even remotely close to the truth, but I’m sure that will scare her away.
She and I agreed this thing between us was going to be physical and nothing more.
When I tried broaching the subject last time, she balked, but I wouldn’t be happy with only her body forever.
I want her mind and her heart. I wanted those things a year ago—I started to hope there was a way before we broke things off—and it turns out this time is no different.
I owe her the truth. I just have to find a way to deliver it to her that doesn’t make her shut down or shut me out.
Needing to clear my head, I opt for public transit to her apartment, getting off a few stops before I normally would. It’s a hot day, so I take my time, allowing myself to take in the sights.
As I slowly round the corner of the public library building, I’m met with tables of books and an older woman who is wiping her brow with a handkerchief.
“Hello,” she says cheerily. “How are you today?”
I pause to peruse everything that’s laid out. I can never resist looking at books. “Good, how about yourself?”
“Wonderful. Today is our Friends of the Library book sale. Feel free to look around. Paperbacks are fifty cents, hardcovers are one dollar,” she tells me. “All proceeds go to support the public library.”
I pick up a middle grade paperback that has definitely seen better days and flip through the pages.
A few are dog eared, and there’s the remnants of a crude drawing on the inside back cover.
Chuckling to myself, I put it back down, idly wondering if one of Imani’s books might meet the same fate one day.
I kind of hope it does. Having a tween or teen deface your book feels like a certain rite of passage.
“Thanks,” I say as I take a few steps toward the more adult books. There’s less of a chance of finding a crude drawing in those, but still not zero.
I’m about ready to give up when a book catches my eye—the hardcover edition of the one I bought when I ran into Trina at the airport. Ryan said to bring food, but there’s no way I can pass this up.
I rummage around in my wallet for cash and hand the woman a ten. “It’s a donation,” I say, and she smiles widely as she tucks the bill into the cash box on the table.
With the book under my arm, I walk a little faster to Trina’s place, completely forgoing my plan for food in my haste to get to her.
For all my musing and thinking on the way over here, I am completely unprepared when Trina answers the door.
She’s dressed in a tight black tank top, very short green athletic shorts with a white stripe down either side, and black socks that bunch up at her ankles.
Half of her hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the very top of her head, and the rest falls to her shoulders in waves.
She’s completely bare faced, not even sporting her signature red lipstick, and I can see a faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose.