Wasted Words Read online

  Rose gaped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I wish. She was a real piece of work. But his last real girlfriend dumped him for being ‘boring’ and ‘too nice.’”

  “That’s not a thing,” Rose said and took another sip of her scotch.

  “I guess it is a thing, but only if you’re an asshole. Anyway, that’s why he moved in with me. He lived with her and didn’t have anywhere to go when she dumped him.”

  Bayleigh sighed. “How do you share a bathroom with someone that hot and not hook up? I’m dying to know.”

  Rose shook her head and propped her elbow on the bar, drink hanging in her hand. “It’s not easy. I’ve lived it, and I have to say that the outcome is inevitable. My bottom dollar is on you guys banging at some point, but don’t beat yourself up if you cave. It happens to the best of us.”

  I laughed and waved them off, though I could feel the hot flush in my cheeks. “We’re just friends, guys.”

  Bayleigh’s brow bent in confusion. “But he hangs out here all the time. Comes to our events. Like, you guys are close, right?”

  “Like I said, we’re friends.” I absently twisted a bottle of Fireball so the Devil on the label faced me with that wicked smile on his face.

  “It’s not often that the chick gets friendzoned.”

  “No, friendzoned by a guy means that you just end up a fuck buddy.” I chuckled. “I guess I’m just one of the lucky ones. It’s unfathomable to me that the two of us could ever be together, even in that daydreamy, pretend sort of way. We’re too different, even down to our height. He’s six-foot-six, which makes him sixteen inches taller than me. That’s almost a foot-and-a-half. Can you imagine having sex with him?”

  Bayleigh wet her lips. “Yeah, I could.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha. I mean, he’d basically crush me. My nose barely comes up to his nipples. I bet having sex with him would split me in two, if his junk is as big as I think it is based on seeing him in sleep pants.”

  “Oh, my God,” Rose laughed.

  “So you have daydreamed about it,” Bayleigh said as she crossed her arms.

  “You’ve seen him. How could you not? But it’s like fantasizing about a book boyfriend. One-hundred-percent of the time, it’s fictional, which makes it harmless.”

  Rose snickered. “Right. Totally harmless, you imagining Tyler’s giant hammerhead and what it would do to your lady parts.”

  “Nah, I imagine way more of him in the shower than anything,” I joked, not really joking. “Anyway,” I started, anxious to change the subject, “it’s nothing like you and Greg. The two of you have been through a lot, especially with dating. He’s caring and giving, and so are you. You work together, which makes getting to know each other easy, and you’re equal levels of hot. You get along. Your height difference isn’t ludicrous. Should I go on?”

  “None of that means that we’d be good together,” Bayleigh argued. “He’s not even into me.”

  “Absolutely not true. I’ve seen you guys talking, and I can just tell. Something in the way he looks at you, the way he smiles. Just because he’s not all googly-eyed or tripping over himself to get to you doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you — he’s not quick to jump into something these days. Rose, tell her.”

  She put up her hands. “Hey, don’t drag me into it. Just because we dated for a minute doesn’t mean I know much of anything.” She took a sip of her drink and narrowed her eyes. “I should probably have an opinion about the talk of you dating one of your managers, but alas. I’m out of fucks to give.”

  “So,” Bayleigh said, lost in thought, “what should I even do about it?”

  “Talk to him,” Rose answered. “He skates, maybe you could ask him for lessons. It was one of Patrick’s tricks to bag me.”

  Bayleigh brightened up. “I’ve always wanted to learn to skate.”

  “Just think,” I said as I pulled her into my side and waved my hand toward her dream future, or the doors of the bar, whatever. “Greg’s hands around your waist to hold you on the skateboard. Sunshine and Central Park, all smiles.” I glanced over and found her looking dreamily in the direction I’d gestured. “You should make a move on him. Let him know you’re interested.”

  She shifted and looked away. “I dunno, Cam.”

  “Psh. What is there to know?”

  “Maybe that he actually likes me? That would be nice to know before I throw myself at him,” she said, exasperated. “I’m kind of a relationship idiot. I took a job at Habits from a guy who only wanted to have sex with me, and once he did, I got shipped off to Rose to get rid of me.” Her cheeks were pink, and she sniffled, her eyes shining. “I don’t want to get hurt again or taken advantage of. That’s kind of my track record, you know? I just want a good guy who loves me and brings me donuts when I have a bad day. Is that too much to ask?”

  I pulled her into a hug, and she sighed against me. “No, it isn’t too much to ask. But Greg is a good guy. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s one of the most stand-up guys I know.” Next to Tyler. I almost said it out loud, but hesitated. Not sure why. I just saw Bayleigh with Greg before Tyler. Maybe it was those high standards.

  Bayleigh sighed and pulled away. “That’s true. I’ve just ended up with a long line of scumbag douchers, and I’m kind of done.”

  “Well,” I said, “be glad you weren’t here earlier, because the doucheking was in here with Tyler a bit ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah — Kyle Churchill.”

  Her eyes widened. “The same Kyle Churchill who plays for the Giants?”

  I wagged my finger at her. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s exactly the look that will end up getting douche all over you. Go for Greg. He’s a catch, just ask Rose.”

  She nodded. “It’s true. He and I went on a couple of dates, but I was still hung up on Patrick. He’s one of the good ones.”

  “Well, then why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” Bayleigh asked, still suspicious.

  Rose shrugged. “It’s not for lack of trying. He’d hit the online meat market looking for someone, but that didn’t pan out, and then his dad got really sick and passed away a few months ago, before we opened.”

  “I had no idea,” Bayleigh breathed.

  Rose nodded. “Yeah. So he’s really busy outside of work. But I’m sure if you can be patient and understanding about his family life, it could definitely work out.”

  Bayleigh’s big, brown eyes were soft. “Yeah. It’s really admirable that he would sacrifice so much.”

  “It is admirable,” I said. “He’s an admirable guy with muscles and tattoos and a great smile, which is exactly what you need. And you, my gorgeous, loving friend, are exactly what he needs.”

  She smiled, her cheeks flushing yet again. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” I bumped her hip with mine. “I’m always right.”

  Tyler

  I’d come home to the quiet apartment and changed out of my slacks and button-down, opting for sleep pants and a T-shirt before settling into the couch to read.

  Or: try to read.

  The only books I’d ever read were for school, never for entertainment or leisure, and on hearing that truth, Cam made it her personal mission to find a book I’d love.

  Over the last year, I’d read — tried to read — dozens of books, from a slew of graphic novels to high fantasy, sci-fi, and even romance. But so far nothing had captured my interest, not even the one in my lap — The Martian. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, because I did. It was fascinating, but I kept getting bogged down by the science, which made me feel dense, and when I tried to skim forward, I felt like I’d missed something.

  I’d started and stopped the page I was on probably three reading sessions in a row, and that night, I abandoned the story, opting instead to troll my phone. I was in the middle of an article on predictions for college ball that week when Cam walked in the door.

  She smiled cheerily as she removed her key from the lo
ck and made her way inside. “Hey. What’s up?” She glanced in my lap, and when she saw the book, she lit up like the Fourth of July. “You’re reading!”

  Her bag hit the ground with a thump, and she bounded around the couch, flopping down next to me so we were shoulder to shoulder. Or more like shoulder to bicep.

  “Tell me stuff.”

  I made a face, not wanting to admit defeat, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t pick it up again. “It’s kinda … science-y.”

  Her smile fell, slipping into a pout. “Dangit, I really thought this one would be it. I mean, it’s a major motion picture, for goodness sake.” She flicked the bookmark. “You did good on this one. Look how far you made it.”

  “It’s not the book,” I said in encouragement. “It’s just me. I think I just don’t like to read.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Everyone likes to read. You just have to find a book that turns you on.”

  I raised an eyebrow, and a flush blossomed across her cheeks as she looked up at me.

  “Not like that, perv.” She laughed and socked me in the arm to divert her embarrassment. “Imaginatively. Everybody has that one book, that first book that just, like … unlocks their brain.”

  I sank a little deeper in the couch. “So what was yours?”

  “The Hobbit,” she said without hesitation and propped her feet on the coffee table. “It was the first novel I read that wasn’t written specifically for kids, and once I read it, I devoured everything I could get my hands on, even sneaking some of my mom’s novels. The ones on the high shelf. With penetration.”

  I laughed as she continued on.

  “Some kids played baseball and rode bikes. I read books. Books were what I asked for for Christmas and birthdays. They were what I spent my allowance on.”

  “I think that’s the best use of allowance that I’ve ever heard. I blew mine on baseball cards and Bomb Pops on the ice cream truck.”

  She shrugged. “I was weird, but so were my parents. I think it’s just an Emerson thing. But I didn’t really care, you know? I lived a thousand lives to escape from real life, because real life is boring and shitty. There’s no adventure, not like we get with Tolkien or Lewis. It’s fun to escape into a book, and I want you to experience it, so back to the drawing board we’ll go.” She picked the book up with a sigh, her fingers grazing my thigh without a thought, and she shook her head at it. “I really thought I had it this time.”

  “I bet next time will be the one.”

  She patted my knee and gave me a patronizing smile. “You’re sweet.”

  She settled back into the couch and sank a little into the crack of the cushions. Her thigh was pressed against mine from hip to knee, and she let out a sigh. I echoed her with a sigh of my own, comforted by her warm body against mine.

  “Damn, it feels good to sit down,” she said, leaning into me a little more.

  “I bet.” Instinctively, I wanted to put my arm around her, but stopped myself. “Still not used to being on your feet so much?”

  “Does one ever really get used to that?”

  “Dunno. I figured they’d have to, right?”

  “Well, if it happens, I’m not there yet. I spent most of my time managing the comic book store from the comfort of a stool behind the register. Even when we did inventory, I sat on that stool. A tired butt I can handle, but tired feet are the worst.”

  I chuckled.

  “Tomorrow is another long one — a meeting with everyone in the morning, managing all day, and then singles night that night. You’re still coming, right?”

  “Only for you,” I answered, and that was true, even though it was sure to be a good time. I wasn’t the most social creature these days. For a long time, really. But with Cam, it was always easy.

  “It makes me feel better that you’ll be there.”

  “How come? You’ve got this locked with your eyes closed.”

  “I dunno. You just make it easier. Like my magic feather.” She smiled up at me, and the apples of her cheeks touched the frames of her glasses.

  I nudged her with my shoulder, smiling back. “Same here.”

  “Anyway. I think this one will be even better than the last. Everyone loves dressing up, and dressing up as comic characters is the absolute best kind of dressing up. Is your costume settled?”

  I nodded. “Just put the finishing touches on my shield.”

  “Good. You’ll make a better Captain America than actual Captain America, as far as I’m concerned.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “You look straight out of a poster for cigarettes from the 40s. They always used the hottest models for those.”

  I smirked to cover the fact that I was suddenly very aware of her thigh pressed against mine. “Aww, you think I’m hot?”

  She gave me a look. “Anyone with functioning corneas would say you’re hot. I shouldn’t even limit it to that. I’m pretty sure I saw a blind guy give you a double-take the other day.”

  A laugh burst out of me, and she smiled, looking smug. “Well, thanks, Cam. You’re not so bad yourself, you know. I’m pretty sure I saw a guy at Wasted Words who was one set of batting lashes away from a proposal.”

  She made a noise in dissent. “Please. The only guys who think I’m hot look more like Jabba the Hut than Han Solo.”

  I snickered. “Aw, come on. You’ve dated some decent guys.”

  Cam laughed. “It’s true. I mean, I only date nerds, but they’ve been mostly decent, if not forgettable. But I’ll take what I can get. I mean, guys who play Magic aren’t all bad, although they’re usually serious babies when I beat them.”

  “Nobody likes a sore loser.”

  “Nothing hoses off the libido like a grown man in a My Little Pony T-shirt throwing a tantrum over Magic cards.”

  The visual made me smile. “You should teach me how to play.”

  She raised a brow. “I dunno. Are you a sore loser?”

  “Not really.”

  Her brow climbed.

  “Listen — Street Fighter doesn’t count because you cheat.”

  She gaped in mock surprise. “Sir, I do not cheat.”

  “Sure, sure. And I hate steak and beer.”

  “Says the guy who cheats at chess.”

  I gave her a look. “You can’t cheat at chess.”

  She folded her arms. “Uh-huh. You can Google it — there are strategy sites where you can put in the board and it tells you how to win.”

  I folded mine back at her. “Oh? And how would you know?”

  Her lips pursed. “I don’t cheat.”

  “Prove it,” I challenged.

  She huffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed off the couch. “Fine, but we’re playing on the board this time, no cheating phones. I practiced for at least six hours last week, so bring it on. Oh, and I’m black this time.”

  I rubbed my hands together. “You can lose as whatever color you want.”

  “I’m gonna beat you one day, if it’s the last thing I do, Knight,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Good,” I said, smirking at her back. “Then I’ll have someone to beat for life.”

  SEXY KALE

  Cam

  I WOKE EARLY THE NEXT morning as I usually did, making a huge pot of coffee for Tyler and I to share before cuddling up on the couch with whatever I was reading. Currently, it was Mists of Avalon, which was a favorite of mine. I hadn’t read it since I was in high school, and I was long overdue for a re-read. I’d been in a book rut, uninspired by the last three books I’d tried, but as my dad always said — the best cure for a rut was to pick up a sure thing.

  I heard Tyler’s alarm sound, breaking the silence in the quiet apartment, and I did my best not to look when he shuffled out of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of sleep pants, dark hair ruffled. I waited until his back was turned to sneak a quick glance, at least — his skin was smooth and immaculate, and the taper of his long waist was of a mathematical proportion that made my ovaries
clench.

  Any hetero woman would have looked, I told myself for the thousandth time since he’d moved in. It made me feel a little bit better about blatantly creeping on him.

  I turned my attention back to my book, sorta — I couldn’t fully focus as I listened for cues. I knew his habits so well, I could almost time the flush of the toilet, the length of his shower, the moment when he’d open that door and walk out, soaking wet, towel wrapped around his waist in front of a cloud of steam, water dripping down his abs—

  Look, I know it’s vulgar, me ogling Tyler like hippies ogle kale in Whole Foods. But Tyler was some good looking kale, if that’s a thing. If it’s not, I’m making it a thing. The guy was built like a dream. Like a teenage dream you’d plaster all over your walls, spend your nights fantasizing about your wedding spread in Seventeen Magazine. The way he looked was unreal. He was so beautiful, you’d be tempted to touch him just to make sure he was made of flesh and blood and not actually a man-bot of chiseled beauty, hand-crafted by an erotic inventor of eroticness.

  I attributed my lusty thoughts for Tyler to the fact that I hadn’t dated or slept with anyone in a while. My stupid, hard-up body was a traitor — the lack of physical contact had just reached unmanageable heights, forcing me into fantasizing about the unattainable guy who paid half the rent.

  Life is so unfair that I’d be attracted to a guy I’d never date. We were too different, and I’d done that once before, which had resulted in nothing but humiliation and regret.

  Tyler and I were friends — I was nothing but his fun and amusing little buddy, definitely not the kind of girl who he could ever publicly date. My mouth could not be trusted, and neither could my ability to walk in high heels or look pretty.

  I had been what I call ‘genetically doomed’ — my father was a small, slender man who spent more time with books than he did with people. He had a collection of cardigans that would give Mister Rogers a boner, and nearly every wall in my childhood home in the cosmopolitan city of Walnut, Iowa, was lined with bookshelves. He met my mother at the University of Iowa. Classic story: he was an English major, she studied Library Sciences. She admired his cardigan across the library, and he approached her, complementing the chain on her gigantic glasses. Her cardigan too — he’d appreciated it from across the room. She smiled and said she’d gotten it at Sears, in the men’s department, on sale.