Page 48 of Due South

“You never know, she might decide to woo you instead.” The look on Lucy’s face says not likely. And I can’t say I disagree. That woman is unpredictable, and I don’t want Lucy worrying about what India might say. “I won’t breathe a word until you give me the go-ahead.”

I’m doing my best to be supportive, but I’m screaming inside.Don’t leave me here. Don’t go.But why does it matter? If she stayed, it’s not as though we could date, and if she leaves, we certainly won’t. All of this seems suddenly, intensely unfair, and I’m torn between being a stand-up nice guy who says the right thing and being incredibly selfish.

The thing is, though, what if she’s waiting for me to ask her not to go? What if she’d rather stay and I act as though it’s six of one, half dozen of the other for me? She’ll think I don’t care, when the truth is, I care very deeply. If she’d stay, I’d never eat another one of those snack cakes ever again. I don’t know why those two things would be in any way related, but I’d do it. And more. Way more.

I’d give up what little I have to myself, and I’d do it gladly—not like the grudging sacrifices I make for my family—because Lucy would appreciate it. She’d say thank you and give me what I need in return, not presume and take me for granted.

She’s still standing there, looking lost, her eyes darting around my office, fiddling with her fingers. Like a sweet, pretty, adrift deer. I wish I knew what she wanted me to do. I’d do it, whether it ripped my heart out of my chest or not. Because the truth is, I don’t just like Lucy. And I’m not just attracted to her. I don’t even just want to have sex with her all the time. I’ve had crushes on women before, but never like this.

It’s possible that, though I haven’t allowed myself to want anything this badly for a long time, I’d desperately like for Lucy to be mine. Because I’m pretty sure I love her. That’s what that is when you can’t think of anyone you’d rather spend time with and you can talk easily to them and have fun with them and also have mind-blowing sex, right? Because if that’s not love, someone’s going to have to explain it to me.

“Lucy, I—”

“I should—”

We’ve talked over each other, because of course we have.

“You go first,” I say with a lift of my chin.

“I should get back to work. Those tables aren’t going to proof themselves.”

“No, they’re not.”

“What were you going to say?”

Whatever you want me to say. Whatever you need to hear.

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll send you this section when I’m done with it, okay?”

Her gaze is tinged with uncertainty and I want to stand up and be that guy, but in this particular instance, I’m not sure what that guy should do, so I’ll just be me, sitting here behind my desk and not doing anything.

“Sure.”

She turns and walks out of my office, and as soon as I can’t hear her muffled footsteps on the carpet anymore, I slide open my desk drawer, take out the remaining cupcake, and shove the entire thing in my mouth. Maybe the sugar overload will zap this sick, sinking feeling and get me through this afternoon.

Chapter Eighteen

‡

December 23rd

Evans

This is it.The moment of truth. My palms are sweating, and I’ve got this jittery feeling all over. Like I might shake so hard or for so long I’d vibrate right out of my clothes and that would be super embarrassing. Because this needs to be harder. Jesus. I wish I’d remembered to bring extra clothes in because I might sweat right through these. At least there are a couple of showers. I could take a shower. And then what? Put on my sweaty disgusting clothes?

The jittery feeling has somehow coalesced into the very real possibility of vomiting and my sweat has gone cold. I’m so not cut out for this. But I can dig up that guy. I can do this for myself and for Lucy. I can. I will. Because we both deserve more.

It’s lunchtime, and Lucy’s gone a couple of blocks over to pick up some sushi for us. Which means I don’t have long to set my plan into motion so I need to man up and get on with it.

I wrap my fingers into fists and then knock on India’s door. There’s a muffled “come in” instead of a yell, which is a good sign, probably. It means she’s working but not pissed off. Yet.

When I step over the threshold, she’s staring at the screen in front of her, completely intent. What I wouldn’t do for a fraction of her focus. But I guess there are trade-offs. I clear my throat because she might be so absorbed in whatever she’s looking at that she forgot between when she invited me inside and when I got here that there was anyone coming to talk to her.

She blinks up at me, her eyes coming into focus, and she wrinkles her nose. “What the hell happened to you, Evans? You look like you pulled your clothes out of a dryer that wasn’t done yet.”

Ouch. Well, probably true. I don’t have that ability she and Lucy have to look put together all the time. And today is worse than usual because, for the past hour or so, I haven’t been able to stop…tugging at things. Everything feels like it’s too close to my skin, as if it might choke me, but I’m grateful because the butterflies haven’t managed to burst out yet.

“Yeah, well, I’m uh, I’m…”Terrified.“I need to talk to you.”

---