17. She said, “I want you to keep trying.”
17
She said, “I want you to keep trying.”
Eden
The Simmons Squad had been summoned.
Their call to action? Little ol’ me.
Sam’s online group of devoted fangirls was in meltdown. Was Sam finally settling down? Was I ‘the girlfriend?’ Post after post dissected every photo the Squad dug up, and the paparazzi were only too happy to feed their hunger with fresh content.
I’d become news. An even bigger deal.
But frustration tugged my stomach into knots. I’d dated celebrities and powerful men before, always quickly shaking off the gossip, but the comments about Sam annoyed me. Too many people deemed my long list of achievements as finally being worthy because the owner of a famed penis was standing beside me in a few photos. So much for feminism.
“You will not believe this,” Yvette said.
Groaning, I sank into the leather chair. I bet I could believe it. Thank God Yvette scored us this booth in the corner of the bar. At least my misery was safe from prying eyes and photographers. I scooted up to peek over the upholstered wall blocking us from view. Hopefully safe.
Andie leant over to get a better look at Yvette’s phone. Her beer stayed hovering at her lips. Her eyes went wide. “Ah…” She grimaced.
Was the latest photo that bad? I squeezed my eyes shut. “Just tell me,” I said. “Get it over with.”
Yvette’s cackle peeled across the bar. “The paps got one of you leaving the laser clinic.”
“Seriously?” I groaned. “Can’t a girl get the hair on her vajayjay zapped without it becoming national news?”
Nope.
When Yvette flipped her phone around, I was rewarded with the headline: It’s Silky-Smooth Sailing for New Couple.
I groaned even louder.
Yvette patted my hand. “If it makes you feel better, there’s also a nice write-up about your work with the youth centre.”
That didn’t make me feel better. “I don’t want people taking pictures of me doing charity work,” I hissed. “I don’t do that for clout or likes. That’s…” Personal.
Andie’s hand landed on my shoulder. She understood.
“This is a disaster,” I said miserably into my cocktail. I twirled the little umbrella stuck in the side. Nope, still miserable. I sighed.
Andie’s gaze turned sideways. “Maybe it’s time to stop stringing along a first-grade rugby player?” She swigged her beer.
I glared at her. “I object to the use of the term ‘stringing along.’”
Still the picture of innocence, she asked, “So you’re not just using him to make Zach jealous?”
“Of course not.” Maybe a little. It wasn’t the type of behaviour I’d bothered to indulge in before or felt entirely comfortable with now.
“Uh-huh.”
“Since when do you care about Zach’s feelings?”
Andie shrugged. “The suit’s growing on me.” She hid a small smile behind the foamy top of her beer. “I haven’t decided yet if he’s like a boil or a cute li’l freckle.” She was chuckling as she took the sip.
“Wait”—Yvette’s palm went up—“so despite all the dates, the movie premiere, the party where the cops got called in Longueville, you haven’t taken the hunk for a test drive?”
“Um…”
“Sweetie, if the rumours are true, Sam knows how to bend for the curves…if you know what I mean.” Yvette winked.
Andie almost choked on her beer. Who could blame her? I was close to puking myself. The idea of touching someone—sleeping with someone—other than Zach made the plantain chips I’d scoffed wage a war in my stomach.
Something was wrong with me.
The only time I’d been this hung up on a man was a misguided crush at the ripe old age of nineteen. That guy had been a dirtbag. Father 2.0. After spending thousands on therapy, it wasn’t a mistake I’d made again. Opening my heart to Zach was a new kind of mistake. I didn’t want therapy to make it better, but I couldn’t have what I wanted. I wanted to live in an alternative timeline where Zach was a lonely monk who’d never touched or even thought about another woman until I’d waltzed into his life to corrupt him. A shiver of pleasure tingled between my legs. That was a fantasy I’d indulge later.
I twirled the umbrella in my cocktail. “The lack of bedroom…er, activities with Sam is by mutual agreement.” Basically the truth.
Yvette’s eyebrows shot up. “Say what now?”
“He said to me”—I hulked my shoulders and deepened my voice—“‘Gotta be honest with you, babe. I wanna bang you like crazy, but we gotta wait ’til the season’s over.’ Or something like that.” And I’d never been so relieved.
“Why is banging off the menu until the season’s over?” Yvette asked, sipping her cocktail.
I shrugged. “Something about keeping enough rage simmering to knock everyone’s head off on the field.”
Yvette’s face screwed up. “Erm, weird much?”
“Right?” I laughed.
Yvette and Andie exchanged a look.
“What?” I asked.
Andie’s eyes disappeared to some invented spot of interest on the other side of the bar.
Yvette smiled sweetly. “Oh, nothing. ” Her laugh was anything but sweet. “Andie just owes me fifty bucks.”
Zach
Do you have time to talk?
I chewed on my lower lip. This message wasn’t like the other goodnight wishes from Zach.
Last night, he’d sent, “May your dreams be filled with the softest feathers and the sweetest honey.” He explained in a follow-up message it was from one of his favourite books when he was a kid, The Secret Garden . I’d seen the movie yonks ago but didn’t remember that line.
I stared at my phone. This new message wasn’t anything like the one before.
We needed to talk. We were hopeless at communicating. Zach had shut me out, and I certainly couldn’t pretend I was perfect—I’d shut him out, too. There was so much he didn’t know about my past. There was also still a part of me that hoped Zach could do something big enough—some grand gesture—to make the past few months hurt less. That part of me knew we needed to learn how to talk to each other. A message like ‘time to talk’ was rarely a simple conversation, but when had we ever done things the easy way?
I hit the button to video chat.
One beat.
Two.
Panic shot through me. Zach wasn’t answering. Was he giving up?
I breathed again when Zach’s face filled the screen. He waved, then propped his chin in his hand, dark circles hanging from his eyes. I didn’t have to ask where he was. One disastrous visit had been enough to memorise every detail of his office, including the row of fancy certificates on the wall behind him.
I glanced at the time. Past midnight. And Zach was still at work?
I scuttled my mind back to all the hours I’d put into opening my first salon. Double shifts to save up the down payment. Painting the walls on the weekends. Scavenging antique mirrors and dinged wooden furniture from garage sales. Bringing Andie plenty of snacks and beers because she had the talent to refurbish all my bargains. Having support was the only reason I’d made it. I understood the grind to achieve your dreams, but was Zach’s promotion worth the exhaustion in his eyes?
“Hey there,” I said gently.
“Hey.” Even his smile was tired. “I wasn’t expecting a video call.”
“It’s so much nicer to chat face to face.”
“Says the extrovert.”
“Too much?”
He shook his head. “I want to see you. Your hair.” His finger swirled around the screen. “It’s a blowout, right?”
“Yeah! You know some styling?”
“Yvette was in her element when I helped at your salon.”
I bounced one of the curled waves. “She styled this.”
“I was instructed an acceptable response is an appreciative but not fake ‘Ooh,’ but…can I tell you…you look beautiful?”
My cheeks heated. “Also an acceptable response.”
Zach smiled.
“So…” I twisted a wave of hair into a tight ringlet around my finger. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Oh. I, um…” A deep breath rose in his chest. “I saw the photos. Of, you know…you and…” He waved a hand as if that filled in the rest of the details.
He was talking about Sam.
“You stalking me on the internet?” My tone was teasing, but the question was genuine. I wanted him to be interested in what I was doing. I twisted the ringlet tighter around my finger.
“No, not exactly.” He winced. “I did sorta create an account to follow your salon.”
A fact I’d already known. I concealed the smile threatening to burst across my face. The glasses avatar of MisterPaigeTurner had stood out when it popped up in my notifications. His confession was sweet, though.
“I can’t categorically promise my mum isn’t stalking you.” Zach chuckled. “She was the one who sent me a photo of you and Sam having dinner together, along with many outraged texts demanding to know what I planned to do about it.”
“Yeah? And what do you plan to do about it?”
“Eden, I…” He dragged a hand down his face. Paused. Took a big breath. He was planning to say something serious. “I don’t want to give up on us. I want to keep fighting to prove I’m the right man for you.”
“I sense a but coming.”
“If you’re serious about this guy—I dunno—it doesn’t feel right for me to keep bothering you. Am I crossing a line? Do you want me to stop trying?”
Everything suddenly felt too real. I turned away from the screen to examine the pearly polish on my nails for any tiny fault.
Was that what I wanted?
I trusted Zach to respect the boundary if I scratched that line between us. If I told him once and for all there was no chance, he’d step back. He’d be gone. Possibly…forever. I blinked away the prickle of emotion stinging my eyes.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to stop trying.”
When I was brave enough to lift my gaze, Zach was waiting. Water swam in the corner of his crinkled brown eyes, and he rubbed the tip of his nose, relief written all over him.
“Then I won’t,” he said.
For once, I planned to handle my personal life with maturity instead of chaos.
Okay.
Big breath.
Okay.
I headed for the salon, dashing down the narrow laneway, sensible loafers thunking on the cobblestones, my phone pressed to my ear.
The first hitch in my mature plan: Sam wasn’t picking up.
Not entirely unexpected at 8:00 a.m. Even less surprising after Yvette had sent me a photo of him on the dance floor—allegedly last night—surrounded by a group of grinning women. Righto. Sam was a great guy. Fun. Chill. So, I wouldn’t be on his bang roster when the season ended. Who cared? But it was time to end the shenanigans once and for all.
Andie explained to me there was a certain etiquette for breakups. Apparently, I’d ‘dated’ Sam too long for my preferred option—ghosting—and we hadn’t kissed, so he wasn’t getting the obligatory breakup over coffee. He’d earned himself the minimum of a heartfelt text breakup. I was going one better. A call. We’d have a pleasant chat over the phone.
I rehearsed it again as I turned the last corner for work.
“Thank you for including me in your life. I’ve had a lot of fun getting to know you, and I think you’re a cool guy. But I’ve had to be honest with myself about what I want for my future, and I think—I think—” I groaned. Maturity was overrated. This sucked. “I think I’m stupidly head over heels for another man,” I mumbled.
Saying those words out loud was a mistake.
The universe hadn’t just heard me but decided to hand-deliver the man twisting me into knots right to the doorstep of my salon.
Zach was the poster child for swanky lawyers in his finely tailored suit, but I did a double take at the dainty lunch bag clutched in his big hand. Colourful cartoon cats dotted a dusky pink background. Cute as a button, but not quite vibing with the rest of his corporate wear.
He nodded a shy smile my way. “Good morning, Eden.”
If the universe wanted to test me, bring it on. I swallowed my nerves and lifted my chin to give him a playful smile. “Hey, stranger.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
I arched an eyebrow. Zach was acting even more socially awkward than usual. “Yeah?”
His face brightened. “This is for you.” He thrust the bag at me. “I made you lunch. I might have gone a bit overboard, but everything in there is great if you’re on the go. I know getting a proper break can be hard for you.”
Almost giddy because my heart was fluttering so fast, I lifted the bag from Zach’s outstretched fingers. The rip of the Velcro made me cringe when I peeled open the top to peek inside. A neat stack of clear containers was filled with all kinds of yummies—strawberries, spongy chocolate cake, finger sandwiches with what I hoped wasn’t tuna but probably was, and a quaint but wonky home-baked quiche. Curse him. I adored everything he’d packed in the kitty cat lunch bag. I loved that he’d taken so much time to make me something special.
“This is thoughtful of you.” I fought to keep the emotion from my voice. “Thank you, Zach.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, dropping his chin so I wouldn’t see the blush forming around his smile. “I also wanted to see if you’re free on Friday night.”
I hummed thoughtfully. “Friday?” Where was he going with this? Should I keep him guessing?
“Maybe we could have dinner together,” he said. “Andie mentioned a new restaurant you liked the other day. The French place. I can book a table.”
My heart skipped a beat. The two of us sharing French food over candlelight was a dream, but I couldn’t look too eager. “I think I might have something on with Sam…”
“O-Oh.”
“I mean, I’d have to check…”
“Yeah.” Zach forced a smile. “Sure.” His head snapped around at the sound of footsteps. “Speak of the lucky devil,” he muttered.
What?
I turned. Sam swaggered up the laneway, his sweatpants and T-shirt stretched taut over bulky muscle and his cropped hair glistening with sweat. He’d lost the winking grin now his black eye was only a smudge, but he was still all smiles.
What the hell is he doing here? Had he messaged…?
I quickly fumbled my phone out of my bag.
Oh no.
I slapped my palm against my forehead. My phone recorded a connected call—two minutes and twenty-three seconds of me rehearsing a breakup speech for a man I was technically maybe not even really seeing.
Zach stepped in front of me. “I hope you meant what you said last night.” His chest lifted, his nostrils flared on a big breath in, and he nodded like he’d made some kind of decision.
“Hey, crew!” Sam waved.
“Mate, mind if we step over there?” Zach said, jerking his head away from the salon. “We need to have a word.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. Sure, man,” he said. “If this is about last night…”
Head down, he lumbered after the lawyer, which was…weird. Maybe Zach’s words were Bro Code for something like, “We have a problem here.”
The two men huddled a few steps from the salon, face to face, tense words passing between them. Sam stood a head taller, but Zach squared his shoulders, braced his hands on the hips of his expensive trousers, and lifted his chin. Powerful. Completely in control. Absolutely no fear.
“What on earth…” I muttered to myself.
Sam’s head cocked to the side. A confused look darted in my direction but transformed into a smile. As the conversation went on, Zach’s eyes slid to me. He ignored Sam throwing his head back, laughing, and he didn’t acknowledge the friendly slap on his shoulder or the wave goodbye. Zach’s eyes never shifted away from me.
I nibbled nervously on my bottom lip.
I was in big trouble.
Zach beckoned me with a short, sharp wave. I walked over to him, my legs wobbling almost as much as my smile.
“So.” He drawled the sound so casually, but his eyes were razor thin. “Forget to mention something?”
“Um.” I played with the Velcro catch of my cute new lunch bag. “No?”
“Sam said he was here to explain the photos of him dancing with some girls. Ring any bells?”
“Not even a ding-a-ling-ling.”
“He thought maybe that’s why you broke up with him. I suppose you forgot to mention that part, huh?”
“Must have slipped my mind.”
“What else slipped your mind, I wonder?” Zach cocked his head, a slight tug to the corner of his lips. “Perhaps how you told him you’re head over heels for another man?”
“M-Maybe.”
“Maybe.” He grunted. “You’ve had your fun making me jealous, Denny Dee. This isn’t a game I want to play all the time, okay? I know you’re beautiful. I’ve always known I’m not your only option.”
He was right. I had plenty of options to be lonely, dance to the same old tune, and chase chaos. I hiked up my big-girl pants. “Zach, I’m sorry—”
He raised his palm to stop me. He wasn’t fishing for an apology. He wanted us to be honest with each other—and he was already light-years ahead of me.
“I’d like to renegotiate our terms,” Zach said.
Smirking, I flipped my hair off my shoulder. “You going all bossy lawyer on me?” My stomach fluttered. Now, that was a sexy thought. Even sexier than Zach, the uncorrupted monk.
“The. Bossiest.” A playfulness bounced in his eye I wasn’t sure I’d seen before. “If it’s you and me, it’s just you and me, okay? No more rugby players.”
I blasted him with my best finger guns as confirmation.
“No other men you or Yvette dream up to torture me either, agreed?”
“Agreed. Anything else?”
“Yes.” He beckoned me with his finger. “Come here.”
I glanced left, then right, and took a hesitant step.
“Closer, little schemer.”
A shaky smile curved my lips, and I took another step.
“Turn around.”
I slowly rotated on the spot. “Why do—”
A firm but gentle smack landed on my booty. I squealed, and with my brows speared down, I snapped a furious look at him over my shoulder.
He grinned. “Now, we’re even.”