Page 8 of Reading Between the Lines
Another aggravating pause followed. Diem never quite knew how to end phone conversations. I could practically hear him crawling out of his skin as he fished for something to say.
“So… Did you have a good dinner with your mom?”
“Yes. Beef stew and biscuits. She wants you to come next Sunday.”
Silence.
“You don’t have to.”
Nothing.
“D?”
“Maybe. We’ll see. Are you almost done? Are you heading home?”
“Collecting my leftovers for the week, and I’m out the door. Why?”
“Leave them for Heath.”
I gasped. “Hell no. I’m a growing boy with fashion needs and barely enough money to cover expenses, never mind buying groceries. You think you’re broke? Babe, I live off other people’s leftovers. Plus, Heath likes bologna sandwiches.”
“Tallus…” Diem’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
“Yeah, D?”
“Leave the food and move your ass. You need an overnight bag. I already called Kitty. Your shifts are covered until Wednesday. If you aren’t here in the next forty minutes, I’m leaving without you.”
My eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m fucking serious. It’s a sensitive situation, and empathy’s not my forte.” He paused, then added, “I don’t want to do this without you. I’m gonna fuck it up, and we need this job.”
We.My heart melted. Trained or not, I was part of the equation.
I shoved the containers of food I’d collected toward my mother. “Heath can have them.” Into the phone, I said, “Diem, if I didn’t think you’d run for the hills, I would use theLword right now. I’m on my way.”
3
Diem
Ihung up the phone, shoving Tallus’s final statement from my head because theLword, even as a joke, was too much to process.
One month and thirteen days, and I still didn’t know how I’d ended up in a relationship. One month and thirteen days of flying on instinct and hoping I didn’t fuck up.
The fact that Tallus had nearly squealed with delight at my invitation was a good sign, right? When the call from Delaney Mandel had come in that afternoon and she’d relayed about her son’s condition, the alleged accident, the police’s dismissal, and her request for an investigation, I knew hers was not a situation I could handle alone. Too delicate. Too sensitive. Too… not me.
Tallus was right. I lacked tact. I lacked empathy. I lacked a filter, and my mouth had gotten me in plenty of trouble over the past thirty-five years. It was why my business was failing. Knowing Tallus would jump at the chance to join me in PortHope, I arranged for Kitty to cover his shifts in the records department. Then, I decided to have some fun with him.
The surrealness of our relationship status remained. Boyfriends. Partners. Whatever you wanted to call it. The word hit right, and every time he spoke it casually in a sentence, I had to remind myself I wasn’t dreaming. I coveted the title. Cherished it. I had wanted it more than I expected.
With that want, however, came fear that I would lose Tallus by simply being me. I wore myself out trying to fill a position I wasn’t qualified for. Every day was like donning an ill-fitting shirt where the itchy material squeezed my body to the point of suffocation. All I wanted to do was tear it off, but then I’d be naked and vulnerable—alone—and I didn’t want that either. It was the discomfort of knowing a room was booby-trapped but not knowing what action would trip the wire, so you stood perfectly still and let life move around you, doing all you could to not disturb the balance.
Neither situation was good for my blood pressure, but I was coping. One step at a time.
One month and thirteen days, and Tallus hadn’t given up.
The best part of dating the too-hot-for-his-own-good records clerk was not having to come up with excuses to see him. Not having to spend endless hours sitting outside his apartment like a fucking stalker. It was knowing he didn’t bring guys home from Gasoline and shared his body with only me.
The downside of being in a relationship? Expectations. Fucking expectations. They would be the death of me.
