Tangled Series: Tamed Part 19

I just keep smiling. And in my best Darth Vader voice I tell him, "You don't know the power of the Dark Side."

This Thanksgiving dinner is definitely one for the record books. Or the sc.r.a.pbooks. If I'd had my camera handy, I totally would have doc.u.mented the entire hilarious, horrifying debacle. It was stupid of me to think the all-hearing Mackenzie didn't pick up on Drew calling me "p.u.s.s.y-whipped." She heard, all right. The reason she didn't charge him was because she didn't know it was a "bad word."

After she repeated it at the Thanksgiving Day dinner table? Then she knew. And all h.e.l.l broke loose.

I can't help but chuckle again. Her asking Steven, "'Wha's p.u.s.s.y-whipped, Daddy?'" will forever live in my brain as the funniest f.u.c.king thing I've ever heard. I was so shocked, I spit out the black olive in my mouth and almost blinded Steven when it hit him right in the eye. Drew's father practically choked to death on his turkey and my mother knocked over her gla.s.s of wine-leaving a permanent reminder on Anne Evans's lace table cloth.

Good times.

Alexandra was rightly and truly p.i.s.sed. Of course, if her ire was directed at me, I probably wouldn't find it so awesomely amusing. But it's aimed squarely at Drew, so I laugh over Mackenzie's parody and its aftershocks the entire ride home.

I only wish Delores had been with me to see it. Speaking of Dee, before I get back to the city, I stop for gas and call her to see how her day went.

"Better than expected," she says. "But, can I stay at your place tonight? My cousin is channeling his feelings into his music. And while I love listening to him sing, if I have to hear one more f.u.c.king song about his heart breaking, I'm going to make our food poisoning episode look like a hiccup."

And my life just got a whole lot more perfect. I know when things first started with Dee and I, she said she wasn't into relationships. And I know she's had her moments of insecurity-but look at us now. She's coming to me, asking to stay at my place. That's a huge tell. It means she wants the same things I do. That we're on the same page. That she's invested-interested in a future-with me.

I chuckle against the cell phone. "Sure, I'll be at my apartment in thirty minutes. Come on over, baby."

It's always darkest before the dawn. It's a common saying. What's less common, but equally true is, Pride comes before the fall.

Remember a while back I told you that women needed to stop playing the victim card? Stop reading into a guy's actions, thinking they mean something more than they do, and just accept what a man is telling them, straight up? I was so into Dee, so eager to take what we had and run with it all the way into the end zone, I ignored my own advice.

Ever heard of the myth of Icarus?

You probably weren't expecting a Greek mythology lesson, but indulge me anyway-this is important. Icarus was the son of a master craftsman. His father made him a pair of wings out of feathers and wax and warned him, before he took off, to stay on the flight path. Not to fly too high. Icarus agreed.

But once he was airborne, he was so caught up in how amazing it felt-the beauty and warmth of the sun-he forgot all about the warning. He ignored the signs that were right in front of him because he was positive he knew where he was going, thought he had everything under control.

You can guess what happened next. Yep, Icarus got burned. His wings fell apart and he came crashing back to earth.

Unfortunately . . . I can relate to that.

Chapter 16.

The Bible says there's a time for all things under heaven. A time for peace and a time for war, a time to reap and a time to sow . . . a time to love . . . and a time to tell a girl you love her.

It doesn't actually say that. But it should. Because many poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds make the mistake of telling a woman at the wrong f.u.c.king time.

Like after s.e.x. Wrong. That's just asking for trouble.

Or during an argument. Really wrong. There's a reason the Doors' song "Love Her Madly" is still popular today. Because the lyric, "Don't you love her as she's walking out the door" is timeless. Men don't like to lose. Not a bet, their favorite T-shirt, or a girlfriend. In the attempt to keep from losing the latter, we could say something stupid-things we really don't mean.

But for me, tonight is the perfect time to take my and Dee's relationship to the next level. I had a key to my apartment made for her, and when I put it in her hands, I'm going to tell her I'm falling in love with her.

You're not surprised, are you? Jesus, you had to have seen this coming.

I've been thinking about it a lot lately. It happened gradually, but that's the best way. In four weeks, Dee's gone from a girl I wanted to nail, to a girl I wanted to hang out with, to a girl I really liked . . . to someone I don't want to live without.

I think about her all the time, I crave her-miss her-when we're apart, no matter how long we were just together. She's funny and beautiful and interesting . . . and sure she's a pain in the a.s.s too, but-like I told you in the beginning-I love her because of her quirks, not in spite of them.

The last week and a half has been amazing. Billy's still crashing at her apartment, so except when she's there checking on him, she's been here with me. But I still want more. There were plenty of times that I could have dropped the bomb on her during the last few days, but I wanted it to be memorable. Special. Something she'll proudly tell Kate about, or someday-our kids. Girls love that s.h.i.t.

I haven't talked to her yet today. I was out of the office all day, visiting with one client after another. But she's coming over tonight and I have the whole thing planned. You want to hear about it?

We'll start with an excursion to the Jersey sh.o.r.e. My parents used to take me there all the time when I was a kid. It's December, but most of the rides and boardwalk games are open year-round. There's an indescribable magic to the place-an aura of simpler days-a nostalgic beauty. I'll hold Delores's hand, spend thirty bucks to win her a two-dollar stuffed animal on one of those games where you have to knock the weighted cans over with a baseball. We'll ride the b.u.mper cars, maybe a roller coaster, and we'll share a delicious but incredibly bad for you funnel cake.

Then we'll kick off our shoes and walk down the beach, near enough to the water so we can watch the waves in the moonlight without getting wet. It'll be cold, so she'll lay back against me and I'll wrap my arms around her to keep her warm. And then, with the thunder of the crashing waves in the background, I'll tell her.

That she's changed my life. That I want to share the rest of it with her. That nothing looks or feels the way it did four weeks ago-because of her-it's unbelievably better. I don't think she'll freak out, although it's possible. If she does, I'll tell her she doesn't have to say anything back. I'm a pretty patient guy. I can wait.

Then we'll make out. And it'll be awesome. s.e.x on the beach isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sand is not a friend to genitalia. But . . . if Dee is interested, I'm sure as h.e.l.l not going to turn her down.

When I hear my unlocked apartment door open, I check my hair in the bathroom mirror. All good. Then I walk out to the living room. Smiling-until I see Delores's face.

She's furious. The teeth-grinding, pacing, nostrils flaring kind of fury. And words shoot out of her mouth-like a hail of bullets. That I walk right into.

"Your friend is an a.s.shole! And I want you to tell me where I can find him."

"Which friend?"

"Drew-I'm-gonna-cut-his-p.e.c.k.e.r-off-and-feed-it-to-him-Evans.

I chuckle, even though I shouldn't. "Easy there, Lorena Bobbitt. Calm down."

Calm down. What the h.e.l.l am I thinking? Those two words are like pouring water on a grease fire-just makes it hotter. It's the second most direct way to p.i.s.s a woman off even more than she already is. The first, of course, is to ask if she's on the rag.

"Calm down? You want me to calm down?" Dee yells.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me, you insensitive a.s.s, is I just left Kate's apartment. She's wrecked-completely devastated. Because your buddy, Drew, played her like a violin and then treated her like a wh.o.r.e that he couldn't even be bothered to pay afterward."

I knew Drew had a thing for Kate, but still, I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. "Drew and Kate hooked up?"

Dee crosses her arms. "They sure did. He's been all comforting and kind to her since the breakup with Billy. Made her believe he actually gave a s.h.i.t. She spent the weekend at his apartment. And then this morning, after they got to work, he pretty much told her she sucked in bed-wasn't worth another go around."

I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to digest the information Dee's telling me-that just doesn't make any sense. Drew doesn't take women to his apartment, any woman. Drew doesn't screw the same chick twice . . . at least . . . not if he remembers he's already done her. And spending the weekend with a girl? No frigging way.

"Are you sure Kate said Drew?" I ask.

"He called her a f.u.c.king 'project,' Matthew! One that he was 'done with.' And I'm gonna make a project out of his face. Kate is the best person I know. She puts on a tough front, but inside she's soft. Breakable. He doesn't get to treat her like this."

Underneath Dee's anger, there's pain. She's hurting, because her friend is hurting. I move forward to touch her, to comfort and calm her, but she steps back.

I put my hands up in surrender and try to reason with her. "Drew's not that kind of a.s.shole, Dee. He has a lot of respect for women . . . in his own way. He likes to have a good time, no hard feelings. He doesn't get off on making girls feel bad about themselves. He wouldn't go out of his way to hurt someone, especially . . . Jesus, especially not Kate."

"Well he did!"

I shake my head. "Kate must've misunderstood him."

For a moment she just stares. Her gaze rakes over me, up and down, like she's seeing me for the first time. Then her expression changes from righteous fury to cold disbelief.

And her voice drops to a harsh whisper. "Are you defending him?"

"He's my best friend. Of course I'm defending him!"

Her chin lifts sharply, almost like she's absorbing an uppercut. She hisses, "Well then f.u.c.k you too!"

"Excuse me?"

"If you think there's nothing wrong with what he did then you're not the person I thought you were. Not even close."

And I shout, "Are you f.u.c.king serious right now?"

"Yes! A serious idiot is what I am. To think that I let myself believe . . . I should've never let things get this far. We're done Matthew. Don't come to my apartment; don't call me! You and your a.s.shole friend can just stay the h.e.l.l away from us!"

Her words. .h.i.t me like a sledgehammer to the stomach. They're wrenching. Bruising. And f.u.c.king maddening. Dee's rant continues, but I'm not listening anymore. All I think about is how stupid I've been.

Blind.

Again.

It's almost funny, in a depressing, ironic kind of way. Dee told me-more than once-that she couldn't do this. That her relationships never ended on a happy note. But I didn't listen. I heard what I wanted to hear and believed I could change her mind. That if I was charming enough, smooth enough, she'd see-like I did-how great we could be together.

What a f.u.c.king moron.

It's really no different than Rosaline. The red flags may not have been there for the same reasons-but they were there. And I missed them.

"G.o.ddammit!" I kick the coffee table but it doesn't break. So I kick it again-until it does. The leg collapses and the gla.s.s top cracks against the floor, bringing Delores's rant to an immediate stop.

She takes two steps back, looking cautious-almost afraid that she's pushed me too far. And I hate that I've made her look like that. But I'm too p.i.s.sed, too disappointed in her to stop. So instead, I lash out.

"You say Kate puts on a tough front but she's soft inside? How about you look in a f.u.c.king mirror, Dee? You're terrified-nothing but a scared little girl. You'd rather be alone and tell yourself it's what you choose than take a chance on something that might be better. Something that could've been amazing. I have bent over backwards for you! I've spent weeks walking on f.u.c.king eggsh.e.l.ls trying not to scare you away! And where's it gotten me? Nowhere! You think you're done? I'm done! 'Cause it's not worth it."

Her arms cross over her waist, holding herself together. And she doesn't look angry anymore. She looks . . . sad.

I take a breath and push a hand through my hair. And I laugh at myself-because I'm an idiot. Pathetic. "I had this whole thing planned. I was going to take you to the boardwalk and win you a bear. I was going to tell you that I think you're the most incredible, beautiful, fantastic woman I've ever known. And I was going to tell you that I'm completely in love with you. And now . . . now I can't say any of those things." I shake my head. "Because you're just waiting . . . . looking for a reason . . . because I can't love someone who's so f.u.c.king eager to run out the door."

Her voice is quiet now. Softer. "I told you . . . I told you I wasn't good at this."

And mine is raw. "Yeah, well I guess I finally believe you."

I look into Dee's honey-brown eyes. Eyes that always said so much, even if she didn't speak a word. And I turn my back on her. "Just go, Dee. Just leave-it's what you've wanted to do from day one."

I hear her breathing. Waiting. And then I hear her footsteps. They stop near the doorway, and for a wonderful, awful moment I think she's changed her mind.

Until she whispers, "Good-bye, Matthew."

I don't answer, and I don't turn around. Until I hear the door close behind her.

Chapter 17.

"f.u.c.k!"

I spend the thirty minutes after Dee walks out cursing and pacing and kicking s.h.i.t around my apartment-generally p.i.s.sed off at the entire world.

"s.h.i.t!"

I'm angry at myself for letting things get as far as they did-for losing my patience and my temper-and for even falling for Dee in the first place. My self-flagellation is hot and varied and doesn't make a whole lot of sense-even to me.

I'm furious with Delores-for not trusting me, for not even f.u.c.king trying. For not thinking what we have is worth the risk. For thinking I'm a G.o.dd.a.m.n risk at all, when I've done everything possible to show her I'm not.

And I'm beyond irritated with Drew-but I'm not sure what the f.u.c.k for yet. Maybe he cut Kate down just like Dee claimed. And if he did, it was an a.s.shole move. One that's unjustly blown back on me. And I'm kind of p.i.s.sed that he even screwed Kate at all-breaking his precious, stupid f.u.c.king rule that was there for a reason. This reason. Because-like a G.o.dd.a.m.n suicide bomber-his actions have had painful consequences for everyone around him.

But most of all, I'm infuriated that Drew won't pick up his f.u.c.king phone so I can find out what the h.e.l.l happened.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it!"

Guys aren't chatty. The telephone is not a necessity for us-unless it's to find out where we're meeting up or what the latest baseball scores are. But this is one time I actually need to talk to him-and he's MIA. I call Erin, Drew's secretary, who's still at the office. She informs me that he went home sick this afternoon-that he probably has the flu.

f.u.c.king perfect.

Screw it. I drop my phone, grab my keys, and head over to Drew's apartment-to get the story straight from the a.s.s's mouth.

But when I get to his place, he doesn't answer.

I bang on the door for the third-or thirtieth-time. "Drew! Open the f.u.c.king door! What the h.e.l.l happened today? Drew!"

Nothing. I stop and listen for any sign of life inside the apartment, but all I hear is silence. Not even the rustle of footsteps or the squeak of couch springs. There's an excellent chance he's not even home. Which means, for now, I'm s.h.i.t out of luck.

Breathing hard, I leave the building. I get on my bike and ride-fast and sharp. Probably not the best idea at the moment, but I do it anyway. I get through the tunnel, onto the turnpike, where traffic is thankfully scarce.