Tabitha throws her arms in the air. “And what does he do? Nothing! Doesn’t say a word about it, the shithead.”
We entertain Greyson and Cal, volleying barbs.
“What was I supposed to do? I had to get your attention somehow. Pocketing the book you wrote was the best way to do it…”
“Well, you didn’t have to steal it and hold it hostage so I’d go out with you.” She slaps my arm playfully, squeezing my bicep in the process. I flex. “It was so rude. He used it to blackmail me into going on our first date.”
“Puh-lease, don’t even act like you were going to say no—”
“I was going to say no! You were so annoying.” She punctuates this pronouncement with a kiss to my jawline before enthusiastically prattling on. “He was purposely trying to embarrass me. He even read out loud from chapter ten when we met up. I finally agreed to meet him because I really needed it back.”
Lost in our own stream of babbling nonsense, neither of us realizes why Calvin and Greyson are staring at us, slack-jawed.
Wait.
Why the fuck are they staring at us like that?
Was it something we said? Did we….
Oh shit.
Oh. Fucking. Shit.
I squeeze Tabitha’s waist, prodding her to stop talking. In her excitement, she doesn’t even realize we blurted out her secret. That with her rambling, she’s giving away her secret, too.
Cal holds his palm up to stop us. “Back up. Did you guys just say the book she wrote? What book? Who wrote it?”
I feign ignorance. “Did we say that?”
“Yes, jackhole, you did.” He looks point blank at his sister, a dark cloud descending on his expression. “Tabby, did you write a novel?”
“Uh…” She stands frozen, rooted to the floor, stunned. “Oh my god. I told, didn’t I? Collin, please tell me I didn’t just…”
Silence.
Followed by the inevitable.
Tabitha pulls away, unfolding herself from my body. I try to stop her by grabbing her upper arm, but she surprises me by giving me a shove so hard I stumble back a few steps. “Tabitha, it just slipped out. Babe, calm down—”
“Just slipped out! Just slipped out? Oh my god, I was going on and on about it! I’m such an idiot. An idiot!” She throws her arms in the air, defeated, and turns to confront me, poking me in the chest with the tip of an index finger, ignoring her brother and my sister. Angry. Frustrated. “One year, Collin. One. Year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. That’s how long I’ve kept my novel a secret.” She stomps away, huffing and muttering to herself before stomping back. “Everyone is going to hate me for lying! How am I going to look my parents in the eye, and see my grandma on the weekend after they find out? They’re going to think I’m a… a… Collin, I just told everyone the secret I’ve been keeping from them for an entire year!”
“Well, not everyone. Mom and Dad aren’t here,” her brother interjects, trying to be helpful.
“Shut up, Calvin. This is between me and Collin,” Tabitha admonishes with a loud shriek. Okay, maybe it’s not a shriek, exactly, but it’s definitely a cross between a scream and a whine.
Whoa, nelly, calm down.
She seriously needs to chill.
I’m not a complete idiot, so I compress my mouth shut, determined to power through her tirade.
“This was my well-guarded secret. How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking! God, why didn’t I just tell you no when you asked me out the first time? This never would have happened. I’m such an idiot.”
Wait. Is she blaming me?
“Tab, please. Calm down, sweetie, be reasonable. This is a good thing, can’t you see it? I’m sorry, but maybe your brother knowing—”
“No. Forget it, Collin. This isn’t for you to decide. You don’t get to tell me to calm down.” She grabs her purse off the table.
“Tabitha, stop. Where the hell are you going?”
“I need time to think about what I’m gonna do. Alone.”
Except, we’re in a college town, staying with her brother for Christ’s sake, not back home where she can hitch a cab and go back to her place.
“Take me back to your apartment, Cal. I can’t sit in a car with him for three whole hours right now. Not just yet.” Tabitha drags her brother towards the door by the upper arm. “I just have to get out of here. Think.”
He’s powerless to fight her, instead launching an inquisition.
“What novel?” I hear Cal asks as he’s physically being led away. “Did you write a book, Tabby? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
She’s so angry. At herself. At me.
Irrational.
From beside me, my sister places a caring hand gently on my forearm, reminding me of her presence. “So, I take it Tabitha wrote a novel and didn’t want to tell anyone?”
My head gives a jerky nod. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” Pause. “That is so… cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would she keep it a secret?”
My broad shoulders shrug feebly. “Because it’s romance. The slutty kind.”
“Wow,” Greyson repeats. “That is so… awesome.”
Tell me about it.
Grey rests her palm on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “This will blow over. You’ll see.” My sister’s words are quiet and slightly skeptical.
“Yeah.”
But even I don’t believe it.
Collin: Tabitha, would you please answer my calls? You barely spoke on the car ride home and you’re not responding to my texts. We need to talk.
Collin: Please. I’m so fucking sorry they found out that way, but it was bound to come out eventually.
Collin: Greyson told me that your brother told your parents. What did they say? Please call me back.
Collin: Did you get the roses I sent to your office? I didn’t want to be cheesy and I know you’re pissed, but the red, yellow, lavender, and peach roses say everything—please, Tabitha. Let me tell you in person how I feel about you. Please.
T abitha’s Notes for Book THREE, title to be determined. Titles I’m considering: THE BETRAYAL. Back cover blurb: Tarran felt betrayed by the world. By the one man she loved. Handsome and clever, the quick-witted devil had become her downfall. Because of him, the walls she’d so carefully erected around herself didn’t just fall; they imploded…
“Honey, can I come in?” A few short knocks at my office door interrupt my thoughts, and quickly, I close the expanded document on my laptop screen when my dad sticks his head in.
Ironically, building up walls has become my specialty lately.
“Sure, Dad. Of course.”
It’s his company and his building; the man hardly needs permission.
His distinguished salt-and-pepper gray hair appears in the doorway, leading the way inside my office, the permanent smile he’s never without pasted across his face. Around his eyes, weathered from the elements and years of working outdoors, are well-earned wrinkles and laugh lines.
We get our humor from him, Cal and I.
“Come in. Want to sit?” I indicate a spare chair in the corner.
Plopping himself unceremoniously in the chair that has been around this office longer than I’ve been alive, my father, Hodge Thompson, stretches, crosses his arms, and looks around.
“I haven’t been in here for quite a while.” He inches forward, plucking a framed photograph of me and my college roommate Savannah off my mahogany desk, studies it wordlessly, then sets it back in its place. “Your mom will be joining us shortly.”