27. tallulah
TALLULAH
WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE INVISIBLE
In the morning, Nick left for hockey practice and I was a lifeless blob, buried in a mountain of blankets. I cried freely without him there. I was more crushed over my paper being stolen than I’d been when my relationship ended with Fridge.
I called out sick from the internship. Called out sick. I’d never lied to a boss before. I’d never skirted obligations like that. Yet the time to go badass journalist and craft the most amazing profile anyone had ever written would have to be tomorrow. Getting out of bed sounded impossible.
I’d worked nonstop on that paper—for what?
For what?!
I sniffled, and Rat meowed, splayed over my neck, her furry tummy my only source of comfort.
The bedroom door creaked open, heavy steps on the floor. I knew those footsteps, but I couldn’t bring myself to greet Nick. I was splintered into tiny pieces.
Nick pressed his face to mine, cheek to cheek, lounging on me. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Rat meowed, still laying on my neck. I sighed. “Hi.”
Nick kissed my cheek six times in rapid succession. “You need to get up.”
“Get up?”
“And get dressed.”
“Get dressed?” He might as well have asked me to move the house with my bare hands. “In these conditions? I want to mope.”
“I have a surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Uh-huh.” Nick dipped down again, his breath at my ear. “And we’re getting pizza.”
“I do like pizza,” I said reluctantly. Nick slipped a hand under Rat, pulling her up to his chest, and I pouted. “But I liked my fuzzy neck warmer even more.”
“You’ll like the surprise the most. Plus…” Nick made a show of putting his fingers over Rat’s ears, folding them down to cut her out of the conversation. “You can sit on my face for an hour when we come back home.”
That was a better incentive than the pizza. I bit my lip. “An hour?”
“Uh-huh. An hour of slow pussy-eating. And then we’ll keep going until you want to fuck or my jaw locks.”
I pushed out of bed. “I’m getting up.”
“Good girl.”
He had my curiosity and I could only handle Nick’s mysteries for so long. I put his comb to my hair, then searched for my jeans. They weren’t on the ground or in his laundry basket.
“Where are my pants?” I asked.
“In your drawer.”
“My what?”
Nick opened the top drawer to his dresser. “Your drawer?”
I waited for the punchline, for this to be one of Nick’s jokes.
He didn’t say anything, just refilled the cat’s food bowl.
I was left alone to peek into, apparently, my drawer. My jeans were washed and folded, there was a tube of my mascara, a couple of my bookmarks, two pairs of earrings, a beaded keychain from my backpack, a pile of hair ties, and for some reason, Nick’s For the Arena sweatshirt.
I pulled it out, confused. “This isn’t mine?”
“It’s the one you wear all the time.” Nick shrugged, shaking the bag of cat food. “It’s pretty much yours.”
He had a point. His sweatshirt was big and comfy, dark purple with long sleeves that I had to pull up to write with. Usually it smelled like his cologne, his citrusy soap, and, well, him. It was my favorite.
I’d never had someone’s sweatshirt before. I’d never had my own drawer in someone’s place before.
Biting back the smile, I slipped his sweatshirt over my head. I was freshly determined. I didn’t want to think about my paper for the rest of the day. There was nothing I could do about it. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, did the normal things, until I looked halfway decent in the mirror.
I stepped out of the bathroom, and Nick pulled me in to kiss my forehead. “Such a pretty girl.”
That was laughable. The bags under my eyes could’ve been sold at a consignment store. Yet the way he gazed at me had butterflies fluttering inside.
Taking his hand when he offered it, I followed him down the stairs.
“I felt so crappy this morning,” I admitted in his car, buckling my seatbelt.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to try to make you feel better.”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly shy. “You already make me feel better.”
His eyes slid to mine. That slow smile on his face made my chest squeeze.
That smile made everything feel okay again.
Nick introduced me to his team’s favorite pizza joint.
A fancy pizzeria about as slammed as one could be, situated on the first floor of a downtown Toronto building full of restaurants.
The entrance was packed, bustling with customers.
Nick guided me through the crowd, hand gripping mine until we were led to a private booth in the back.
After I assured Nick that my ‘sick day’ extended to tonight, we shared two glasses of wine, and he teased laughter out of me over one of the best pizzas I’d ever had.
“How is it?” he asked, chomping at the cheese.
I rolled my eyes back to show how delicious the pizza was. “The caramelized onions are to die for.”
“Garlic too—perfect make out food.”
“Oh my god, why didn’t you think of that?”
“I did. That’s why for dessert, we’ll lick the bottom of the waiter’s shoes to add flavor—”
I laughed so hard, I choked on my glass of wine. “Stop, I’m going to throw up—”
“Even better.”
“You’re so gross.” I mock-shuddered. “How do you expect to pick up girls?”
He played with my hand across the table. “Good thing I’m stuck on you.”
I flushed, peeking at him over the glass. The soft lighting of the restaurant gave him new depth, his cheekbones, the curves of his muscles through his shirt, his eyes, so dreamy through the teasing. Here, in this little, magical world he made for me, everything was okay because Nick made it so.
“This is such a good surprise,” I murmured.
“This isn’t the surprise,” he scoffed, offended. “I take you out to eat all the time. What kind of lazy bullshit did you think I was up to?”
I giggled. “This isn’t the surprise?”
“Not even close.”
I would’ve been happy with the pizza, wine, and silly jokes, but I couldn’t wait to see what Nick planned for me.
With a smile, I followed Nick down the busy streets of Toronto, hugging close to him.
Ever since the paper fiasco, I found myself drawn to his circle, to his atmosphere of goodness. I didn’t want to leave it.
We took a sharp right turn, and I couldn’t help the shiver of excitement.
In comparison to the fancy pizzeria, the bookstore was rundown.
Its sign was peeling, the windows were dirty, and there were stacks of books everywhere on the floor, mismatched piles with no rhyme or reason.
Lightbulbs buzzed overhead, flickering to show the long lines of bookshelves that smelled like mothballs.
My voice was hushed. “A bookstore!”
“You have a book-buying budget,” Nick informed me.
My eyes darted to him. “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You say that…” He released my hand, motioning to the bookshelves that looked ready to collapse. “It’s a book budget for you…and…” Nick sighed. “This is a one-time deal, Tallulah Walker. One time.” His sigh was dramatically long. “Any book you pick out for me, I’ll read it.”
My eyes were wide as saucers. My heart pattered in my chest. “Really?”
“It’ll take me nine billion years,” he warned. “Your expectations should be low. Below the floor low.”
“But…?”
“I’ll read it for you.”
A breathless laugh escaped me as I squeezed him around the middle, abandoning him to go spelunking through the bookstore. I poured through the staff’s recommendation corner—I always found treasures in those sections—and stacked a few in Nick’s arms.
What could I get for him to read?
I flipped through more and more books, on a hunt for something perfect. This was my one and only shot to get Nick into reading. I needed something he could fly through, still for an adult, and themed to his interests.
I needed a book he could fall in love with.
“You look so happy,” Nick chuckled.
“I am so happy,” I gushed, stepping on a ladder to peer at a few promising books. “Nobody’s ever—oh!” I grabbed another book for me and placed it on top.
“Tallulah, this one has a torn cover—”
“I know.”
“Grab that one instead—”
I turned around on the ladder, carefully stepping down. “I buy the most damaged copies that are still readable. Nobody else wants them and—” A blush touched my cheeks and I shrugged. “I want them to be loved too.”
I caught sight of Nick watching me, a soft look in his eyes. “Fuck, you really are a succubus.”
My blush deepened as I wandered through the aisles. What a funny thing for him to say. A little unusual, out of his vocabulary. Eyebrows furrowed, I stopped at the poetry section. “What did you say?”
“What did I say?”
“Succubus?”
Nick’s smile vanished.
Memories of the sleepover in June’s dorm tugged at me. Racing downstairs, crashing into Nick, the papers flying through the air in a flurry. The quiz I couldn’t find. The quiz I was convinced had never been printed.
“You saw my quiz,” I whispered, heartbeat quickening.
“No—I—” Nick cleared his throat. “Just a list of names. It had your name and the title—succubus, I didn’t know what it meant—”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?” I connected the guilty look on his face. The papers that he’d slid into his backpack. The same papers I’d assumed had been his. “You kept it?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I still have it.”
“Why? Why did you keep it?”
“Tallulah…” Nick shifted the books in his arms, hesitant. “Do you still not see it?”
“Was it…because of me?”
“Isn’t it always?”
Tension electrified under my fingertips, like I’d been struck by lightning. I walked along the bookshelves, not avoiding him, just thinking and walking to keep pace with my thoughts. I could see him through the shelves on the other aisle, his steps slow and careful, following me.
I met him at the end, my voice hushed. “You wanted to sleep with me? Back then?”
“I didn’t spontaneously become attracted to you.”
“I—I thought…” I twisted my hands. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me because we’re both from Marrs, and we know each other, and…it was convenient, and…”
“No. That’s not it at all.”