7. Waverly
CHAPTER 7
WAVERLY
Fortunate: I bought a plant today. Having plants indoors promotes healthy living.
Unfortunate: A ten-year-old dog was just surrendered to the shelter because her family said she’s getting too old.
I fucked up. I’ll be the first to admit it. Roman’s proposal—well, not an actual proposal, but an offer to help me with my to-do list—spooked me, and my walls went up. But Tom is right. I do need to start going with the flow. I’ve lost years of my life, and every year I lost more and more of myself. Waverly’s identity became Patrick and Waverly’s identity. We were the equivalent of a dog and its owner looking alike, and it's pretty obvious which one of the two of us was the bitch. Except instead of looking alike, we started acting alike. No . I started acting like him. How he wanted me to: poised, put together, and always in control by never being willing to lose control. Never willing to have fun unless it was pre-planned. Even then, that version of fun was mundane.
Pacing back and forth in my kitchen for an hour isn’t going to help make anything better. It’s time to tear down those walls, and the first step is to apologize to Roman.
He told me I know where he is, which I’m only assuming is at the house he recently bought in Santa Monica. Patrick told me he had bought a beautiful piece of land with a home that’s perfect for him—whatever that means. I may or may not have dug through the junk drawer to find a piece of an envelope from an old Christmas card I ripped off that contained a return address label with his new location.
I pull off the main drag and drive through a long stretch of roadway that is decorated with rows of established California palms.
Large houses start lining the street. “Damn, these are nice.”
I glance at the GPS screen and at the house on the right. “Holy shit, Rome. You did good,” I say to myself.
It’s a modern Bungalow style with windows everywhere. Palm trees surround it with beautifully maintained landscaping.
“I wish I had a house instead of my tiny apartment,” I mumble as I pull into his driveway next to his Ducati?! I would expect nothing less of him. Patrick told me he’d bought a motorcycle, but insisted it was an old man bike. So I assumed he’d meant one with three wheels and more along the lines of a moped. But a Ducati?
“That’s hot.” I silently scold myself. “The bike. Not him on the bike. Not him .”
I throw the car in park and hop out. I’m not even sure what I’m going to say. I feel like a stalker.
Once my finger presses the doorbell, I feel instant regret. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, dealing with my shit or cleaning or something.
The door opens, but it’s not Roman’s face that greets me, but a beautiful young woman. She’s gorgeous. Natural face, barely any makeup, and no wrinkles around her eyes when she smiles at me.
“Can I help you?” she asks with enthusiasm.
I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m looking for Roman. I thought he lived here?” I try to glance past her, but she’s a bit taller than I am.
“Oh, you must be Roman’s aunt. He said you were stopping over.” Her hair bounces as she turns to call for him.
“Actually, I’m not his?—”
“Roman, your aunt’s here!” she shouts into the house.
I shouldn’t have come. It’s so obvious now more than ever that he really is just taking care of his older brother’s woman. “You know what? I’m just going to–” I thumb behind me toward…anywhere but here.
“My aunt? Already?” Roman shouts from deeper in the house. Jesus, get me out of here.
“Hey…Kensi?” He looks at the young woman with perky breasts. “This isn’t my aunt, Lena. This is…” he pauses. Did he forget my name in his post-sex haze?
“You know, I’m sorry I came. I just…I’ll go. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I turn and head to my car.
I hear him say something to Perky Breasts and close the door. “Waverly, wait!”
He catches up to me as I reach my car. It’s not like I was walking too quickly. I had to stop to admire the pristine spacing between his line of Red Sister plants. Impeccable.
“Why’d you come?” He grabs my elbow and turns me to him. My gaze drops to where he’s touching me. His grip is full of pent-up tension. Not gentle enough to let me pull away, but not hard enough to hurt. I like it. Damnit, I like it.
He backs me up against my closed door, still holding my arm. “Why did you come?” he asks again, but this time with more of an assertive tone.
My mouth goes dry, and I can’t find my words. His hand drops to my wrist like he’s feeling my rapid pulse. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Mhm.” He slowly lets go of my wrist, but doesn’t put any space between us. I look up at his silvery eyes, which are lighter than they were in my kitchen. “Go on.” I watch a smirk form on his symmetrical face, and he doesn’t try to hide it.
I stand straighter, which brings me a little closer to him. “I wanted to take you up on the stargazing. As friends, like you said.” I glance at his house and back at him, but my eyes don’t meet his. They fall to his lips for one second too many. His lips are slightly fuller than Patrick’s, and as he smiles, he exposes dimples under his light scruff that I never knew he had. I’ve never been close enough to notice. Or I just never paid attention. “I don’t want to cause any issues with your girlfriend–”
“Ex.”
“I’m sorry?” My eyes widen, and I hate how my body deceives me.
“Stop saying ‘sorry’. Lena’s an ex.” His thumb rubs circles where his hand is now resting on my arm.
Oh.
“Back there…did you forget my name or something?” I can’t help but ask as I point toward his front door as an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy washes over me.
He laughs. “Not at all. I don’t want to introduce you as Patrick’s fiancée. But introducing you as my friend feels wrong, too.” He dips his head trying to get me to look at him.
I don’t ask why being here, surrounded by him, feels wrong. This is new territory for me. Whatever this may be. But the knot that forms in my throat, and the butterflies that take flight in my stomach are making it clear exactly what this is for me.
“She’s here picking up the rest of her stuff. Found her sitting on my porch when I got home.” He backs away and takes a quick peep of the house before looking at me. “We ended it not too long ago. It’s part of the conversation that we were having at the funeral. I wanted more and she didn’t. But enough about her. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at nine.
“Nine P.M. ?” I ask, shocked. I just aged myself. My bra’s normally been off for three hours by then.
He doesn’t make fun of me. He doesn’t make me feel bad for asking. “Is that okay? It’s a three-hour drive. Or is that too late? We could go earlier if you want to see the sun, instead.” he jokes, and I offer him a smile. “Where are you taking me that’s three hours away?”
Roman shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. But do you trust me?”
“Nine’s perfect. I’ll be ready.”
He steps closer and hovers a mere three inches from my face. His lips ghost over mine, and I feel heat rush through my body until he reaches around my waist.
Just when I thought he was going to kiss me, I hear him open my car door behind me.
I wouldn’t have kissed him back. We are just friends. He’s Patrick’s brother. My fiancé’s brother. I feel my cheeks flush before I move aside and let him open it the rest of the way.
Embarrassment smacks me in the face. He wasn’t going to kiss me. He was opening my door. “I’ll just go then,” I whisper to myself and slide into the car, turning on the engine. A waft of coconut fills the air as the AC starts pumping.
“Have a good night, Kensi.” He smiles as if he knows what he just did to me. He gently shuts my door and stands back. I don’t bother looking at him—I’m sure he can see the smile on my face that mirrors his own.