Seth (Damage Control #3) (17 page)

I’ve been meaning to call Fred, call until he picks up and we can talk. I need to hear his voice, be reassured about what—who—I want, and why. I mean, we share so much. What other guy can I talk about ballet with? And classical music?

We spent hours debating whether Marius Petipa’s classical ballet choreographies are better than his contemporary’s Sergei Diaghilev’s. Whether Tchaikovsky’s music was a better fit than Stravinsky’s. About Fred’s preference for contemporary dance, and what kind of music he’d use for the piece I was working on.

Over our long talks, it was as if we were setting the foundations for something. An implicit promise. He’d compose the music. I’d make the choreography. He’d play. I’d dance.

Unless it was all in my mind. And besides, I’ve broken my half of the promise, haven’t I? Didn’t fight to stay in the dance school – which makes me wonder if the dream of becoming a ballet dancer was really mine, or my mom’s. Wouldn’t I have fought more if I really wanted it?

In any case, would good conversation be enough reason to be with someone? Really be with someone, sleep with him, date him?

God, I need to see Fred.

And yet I don’t call him. My phone is right here, on the nightstand, within reach, and I make no move to reach for it.

I close my eyes and remember Seth. The way his dark eyes crinkle at the corner when he grins, his naked, powerful body, his ink. How sexy he looks with his hair falling over his eyes, how vulnerable he looks when that shadow passes over his expression.

How kind he is. How he gives me exactly what I need when I need it: acting gentle when I feel fragile. Overpowering me when I’m not sure how to ask for his touch. Stepping back when I’m confused.

But he’s been clear about this strange thing going on between us: he’s helping me win over Fred.

He’d obviously like to do more with me, and his suggestions make me curl up tighter, the blood burning in my veins. The thought of him going down on me makes me moan. The thought of his big cock filling me make me squirm.

If I let him show me, like he says, what it’d feel like—what then? What will he do afterward? Will he walk away? Is that all he wants?

And what do I want from him?

I lift my fingers to my mouth, recalling how he kissed me both times—like a man starving for this kiss—and I know my heart is tangled up. Can’t mistake the way my chest tightens when I think he’s sad, the way it flutters when he looks happy.

The way it threatens to burst when his eyes darken with desire.

No, no way. I’m not falling for Seth. I can’t be. That would be stupid—letting my heart dictate what I’ll do, change my plans of being with Fred.

As if love can be planned…

Shit.
I bury my face in the pillow and tell my brain to shut up. Plans change, anyway. Everything changes. Right when you start feeling happy, safe in your decisions, a wave comes in and turns everything upside down.

Like with ballet.

Like when Mom left us.

Like when Dad decided to move to another city. Every time I found people I cared about, life delivered a perfect roundhouse kick and sent me spinning.

I screw my eyes shut, punch my pillow. This isn’t helping. I don’t care about Seth. Truth is, I don’t know how I feel about him.

Or Fred, for that matter. Not anymore.

All I want is to lie low and let life roll over me for a while, close over my head like the sea, and pretend I know nothing about the mess in my head—and in my heart.

Pretend everything’s crystal clear.

***

My phone ringing wakes me up much later. I recognize the ring tone immediately, even though I can’t have heard it more than once in this past month.

The opening notes of Debussy’s “Clair de Lune”, performed by Luka Sulic of 2Cellos.

It’s the one I’ve set for Fred.

Couldn’t I have picked a sadder piece? Yawning, still half-asleep, I make a grab for my phone.

“Yeah?”

“Madeline. Are you okay? I was calling you earlier, too.”

Figures the one time he decides to finally call me I’d be in such deep sleep I missed it.

“I’m fine.” I twist around so I’m lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a light blue, like the morning sky. “Fell asleep while reading in my bed, that’s all. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. In my room, too, finishing up an essay. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to check up on you.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

I can imagine him so clearly in his dorm room—where I’ve been exactly once and for five minutes—sitting at his small desk with his laptop on, his glasses slipping down his nose, his fair hair sticking up. Maybe he’ll be dressed in old sweats and a T-shirt, like Seth was.

I try the image out in my mind. Try to picture him standing before me, pressing his body to mine, like Seth did. Pressing me up against the wall and kissing me. Reaching into his pants and—

“Maybe we could go for a walk along the lake?” he’s saying. “The weather’s nice. We should take advantage…”

His voice fades into a buzz.

Nothing. The image of him naked or touching himself is doing nothing for me. How’s that possible? Would it have excited me a week ago?

Did I ever think about this before meeting Seth? Did I ever realize what Cassie was talking about when she asked her questions? How it feels to crave a man, to desire him. To get flushed and sweaty just thinking about him.

Then again, I haven’t even kissed Fred yet, not properly. Can’t even tell you how he smells, how his body feels under his clothes.

“Madeline? Are you still there?”

“Yeah.” I sit up, hug my knees with one arm. “I’m here.”

“You sure?” He laughs. “What’s on your mind? It’s as if you’re somewhere far away.”

Yeah, maybe I am.

“I think…” I say, a thousand random thoughts whirling around in my head, “I think I’m going to get a tattoo.”

“What?” Stunned silence follows, then he says, “Tell me you’re joking.”

“And if I’m not?”

More silence.

Then, “What’s happening to you?”

“I might also get a piercing or two. Would you like to see them?”

“Madeline.” A choked sound. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? What if I decide to pierce my nipples? Do you think that’d be hot?”

“Jesus.”

I’m pushing him. Kind of like when Seth pushed me, made me react. Made me think, and realize things.

“Do you want me, Fred?” I need to know this. “Do you desire me? Do you need me?”

“I really like you.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“We have time. We can figure this out.”

Christ.
I bite on my lip so hard I think I taste blood. “What has you so confused, Fred?”

Looks like I’m not the only one who’s feeling torn here.

“I’m not confused.” He spits the word out like something rotten. “I’m not an asshole. I can take my time with a girl before I have sex with her. Maybe that’s confusing
you
.”

“What are you saying? That knowing that you want me makes you an asshole? I don’t get you.”

“No! Dammit, Madeline, that’s not what I meant.”

“Do you want me or not? Do you get excited when you think of me? Of seeing me, touching me, kissing me?”

“Of course I do. This whole conversation is absurd. Look, we can talk another time.”

Really?
I’m close to cursing him, or howling my frustration into the phone, when he hangs up.

What in the world?

I throw the covers off me and grab my clothes from the chair by the bed. Suddenly I know what I must do: I have to see Fred. Have to test this in person. My imagination is unreliable. My memory, too. I bet he isn’t too skinny or too fair, or too anything just because I keep comparing him to Seth.

A bad habit. I should stop.

Have to stare into Fred’s eyes, put my hands on his body, find out if I want him, if I’m still attracted to him.

If he wants
me
.

If we fit together, if we’re destined to be, or if it all was a distorted image of me and him together—a fake impression that’s stuck in my mind.

***

Fred’s not in his dorm room. His roommate, who’s apparently the same Brandon he’s been rehearsing with, opens the door for me, introduces himself and tells me Fred hasn’t been in all day.

“You’re mistaken,” I say, trying to see past him. “He called me from here half an hour ago.”

“He’s not here, sweetheart.” He steps aside, makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Feel free to check if you like. Make sure to look under the bed and inside the closet, too.”

He’s making fun of me, but I don’t care. I brush past him and enter Fred’s room. It’s exactly as I remember it. The narrow bed, the window with the gray curtains, the small desk with his laptop resting on it.

Fred is nowhere to be seen.

“See?” Brandon is lounging against the doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. Dressed in faded jeans and a button-down blue shirt, with his crazy afro hair and cinnamon skin, he looks every part the musician he is. Same thin shoulders like Fred. Same bright gaze. Same long, thin hands.

I shake my head to stop myself from getting caught in that crazy loop again. “Any idea where he might be, then?”

“Probably at Mondays.” At my wide stare, he laughs and says, “the bar? Off State Street. That’s where he usually hangs out.”

He does? He has a place where he usually hangs out?

Do I even know Fred at all?

“Thanks,” I say, giving Fred’s room one last glance, hoping that somehow he’ll appear from behind the curtain and say “surprise” and we all laugh together.

Because it does seem like a big joke.

But he doesn’t, and I turn to go.

“You’re Madeline, right?”

I stop and look at him. “You know me?”

“Not really. He’s talked about you. Only good things, I promise.”

“Like?” I ask. I can’t help it. I’m so curious to know what he’s been saying to his friends about me.

“You’re a ballerina. A classy, sweet, nice girl.” Brandon lifts a dark brow at me. “Not what you expected to hear?”

“Yeah,” I stammer. “I mean, not really. That all he said?”

“What else?”

The tips of my ears are burning. “Nothing.”

What else did I expect? That he’d tell everyone he thinks I’m hot, I guess. That he’s with me. Something like that.

“You’re exactly as I pictured you,” he says. “I can imagine you dancing on stage, pirouetting on your tiptoes.”

“Um, thanks?” I manage a weak smile, because he obviously doesn’t know I’ll never be a ballerina, and besides, this mess isn’t his fault. “I think I’ll swing by Mondays, see if I can find Fred. Need to talk to him.”

“Uh, sure.” He winces. “Listen, why don’t you call him first or something? Before you swing by.”

“Why?”

The alarm bells in my head start ringing before he even opens his mouth to reply, and through them I faintly hear the words.

“He had a fight with his girlfriend this morning. He might need some space.”

Girlfriend.

The word settles at the bottom of my mind like a rock.

Muttering something – goodbye, I guess – I stumble out of the room. I can’t remember getting out of the dorms and into my car, but here I am, and I know exactly where I’m heading.

***

I park as close to Mondays as possible. The day has been sunny, but the sun is dipping now behind the buildings and it’s turning chilly. In my favorite fifties dress and vintage pumps, I shiver as I trot down the sidewalk, and it’s not just the cold. I feel as if I’ve landed in a spy movie.

It’s nauseating, spying on the guy you thought you wanted to be with. Only… When I reach the bar and walk inside, when I see them standing together—Fred and the strawberry blonde whose style eerily recalls my own, a veritable pin-up girl in her red dress, a match for my blue one—I don’t feel as devastated as I thought I would.

Weird.

I stay long enough to make sure I’m not making anything up, that they aren’t just friends meeting for a drink.

Hey, it looks like he isn’t confused about her at all. He doesn’t need time to figure things out. Doesn’t want to take things slowly. No, Fred’s all over the blonde Marilyn there. He’s sucking on her mouth like a vacuum cleaner. His hands are on her ass.

Yeah, he looks like a guy who knows exactly what he wants.

I back away before they notice me and return to my car. Feels like I’m walking through a thickening fog, battling against rising water.

I’ve been living a lie for months now. Waiting for him to make up his mind, to make the final move. Thinking I was the problem—my inexperience, my insecurity. Thinking he wanted me but was being nice.

What the hell just happened? Why would he insist he wants me if he doesn’t? What’s the matter with this guy?

My feelings are a whirlwind as I climb into my car and turn on the engine. I’m upset. Betrayed. Angry. Hurt.

But I also feel strangely relieved. Like I thought I was going crazy, that I was imagining something was off, that I was acting like a bitch, like a slut, like a crazy person, when he was stringing me along and seeing someone else.

I’m not crazy.

I still hurt, though. And I’m really pissed. How could he do this to me? Let me believe I wasn’t good enough.

Hot tears are rolling down my cheeks. I lick my lips and I taste their saltiness. Screw you, Fred, with your artistic ways and gentle manners. Screw your lies and your games. I want…

Christ, what do
I
want?

“If you’d let me, I’d show you how a boyfriend should treat you.”
That’s what Seth said to me just yesterday. Seth with his dark eyes and even darker shadows, with his powerful body and sexy ways.

I’m turning the car about and driving toward him before I even know what I’m doing. I just know he’s the only one who can keep me from sinking to the bottom tonight.

Seth

Jesse’s here.

I thought I’d escaped interrogation for the weekend. Needed a reprieve after Manon left yesterday. After I realized she still wants the douche who isn’t sure if he wants to be her boyfriend or her brother, and that I’ve been pushing her for nothing. The only thing I succeeded in doing was to scare her and push her away.