Page 95 of Things I Read About
“I don’t need space,” I say softly.
“Fine,Iwanted the space,” he says, not hiding his disdain. “But that’s over now, I’m just going to have to stay by your side.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He heaves the word and stomps out of the room. I’m about to follow after him when he appears again, carrying one of the huge stuffed chairs like it’s weightless. He plops it down in the corner of the space and stretches out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle. He looks at the piano and raises his eyebrows.
I walk over to the bookshelf wall and pick up his ear buds. I turn to the big chair and he reaches out his hand for them.
“I won’t play for long. I have to do the feeding early and then get ready.”
He freezes. “For what?”
“My best friend and her twin are in town; they want to go out.”
“Mallory and Valerie?”
“Yeah, but I can cancel if—”
“Nope, we’re good. You want to go out, go out.” I squint at him, but he goes on. “I’ll talk to my team first but from what the file said, Mal and Val aren’t exactly wild. I’m sure whatever you girls have planned is just fine.”
He puts his ear buds in and gets out his phone.
Why does he affect me so much? The fact that he puts his ear buds in to block out my playing. The way he said “you girls” like we’re six-year-olds. The dismissal by pulling out his phone while I was still talking to him.
All of it enrages me. I am not usually one to get enraged.
I sit and play the loudest, angriest piece I know, Beethoven’s Sonata 14, Movement 3.I hope it gives him a headache if he doesn’t already have one. I play until my alarm goes off, then I realize it, with deep satisfaction….
Nate saidhewanted space fromme. He is affected by me. He may not want to want to be, he may hate that I get under his skin, but I do, in fact, get under there.
Under my skin. Cole Porter lyric, 1936.
A smile takes over my face as I rise up to head out to the garage. I can feel him following more than I can hear him. I’m going to do these chores and then take my time getting ready. And just in case he happens to look at me, really look, not just scan as he takes in the bar tonight… I’m going to look freaking phenomenal.
His epidermis better prepare itself.
24
While this house is ridiculous and the homestead outside is almost downright horrible, I very much enjoy having access to Sadie’s closet and Shep’s chocolate. From the former, I’ve paired my go-to high-waisted jeans with one of her crop tops.
On Sadie it looks tasteful and cute. On my much fuller chest, it’s almost obscene, in the best way.
Susan would die if she saw me in this. But she’s not here.
Nate is.
Not that I’m trying to seduce him. I am letting my dreams of him go. I’m letting him go, even as a friend, but as many good romance books have taught me, he may as well get a good look at what he’s missing as he walks away.
I have gone heavier on my makeup, like I did in Park City, and I’ve recut my bangs. I don’t have the darkening conditioner here or I would’ve darkened my tresses again.
For me, not Nate.
I felt all that main-character energy that week and I want it back. I’m the strong, feisty heroine. Not the little sister. Not the funny best friend.
Main character. Main character, Sally. Main. Character.
I repeat the mantra over and over as I walk to the door of my room.
