Headstrong (27 page)

“God, where didn’t I go?” Libby couldn’t recall much after about six o’clock—a series of wine glasses set before her on various bars, each a little blurrier than the one preceding it.

“Everything all right?” Colin asked. “Celebrating, not wallowing, I hope. You seemed pretty cheerful when you got here.”

That surprised her. Libby couldn’t remember feeling much aside from utter misery and confusion the previous afternoon. “I… Shit, I don’t know. I just felt like getting drunk.”

“Fair enough. No butter? You sure?”

“A little, I guess.”

Colin already had two browned English muffin halves on the cutting board. Their toaster always cooked one piece much darker than the other and Libby watched him grab the next pair as they popped up and assemble her breakfast out of the two least-burned halves. He buttered them and slid a plate in front of her on the center island before joining her.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to take the burned pieces.”

“I like them well done.” He made little attempt to sell the lie. “Plus all that crunching inside your skull might give you a migraine. You should have the soft nursing-home ones.”

“You’re a very full-service bartender.”

“I like to keep my patrons happy.”

Libby remembered his pair of Monday-night admirers, and it jogged something from the previous day. That horrible conversation she’d had with Reece—that talk, which had followed on the heels of what she’d thought had been their most comfortable day spent together on a documentation excursion. She’d always assumed that the closer she got to Reece, the more access he’d allow her to his goodness. The more she could soften him up, the more genuine affection she’d be able to tap. Unnervingly, the side of himself Reece had shared hadn’t impressed her.

“Libby?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you had your keys on you,” Colin said. “I need to head out soon, but you should feel free to stick around, take a shower. Let your head dull a bit. Reece is teaching through the afternoon.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Colin finished his toast and dusted the crumbs off the counter. “Sorry I can’t hang out longer.”

“Don’t be silly. Thanks for breakfast. And my puke bucket.”

“Thank
you
for not puking.” Colin smiled and clapped her gently on the back, the contact so familiar. She watched him walk to his room and heard the Velcro of his bag ripping as he got ready to leave.

He reappeared, pulling his gloves on. “When do I see you next?”

“Oh, I dunno. Soon, probably.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Colin…”

“Yeah?”

“Did I say why I came over here last night?”

“Not particularly,” he said, shifty.

“Are you lying to me?”

Colin tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Why do you usually come over here?”

“Well…”

“To try and have your way with one of the blokes who lives in this flat, right?”

“Partly,” she admitted.

“Well, let’s say that last night was no different. You’re just lucky Reece wasn’t in when you turned up.”

She groaned. “I’ll bet.”

“But don’t worry,” Colin began, leaning over to plant a kiss on the top of Libby’s head.

“Ow.”

“Booze isn’t the truth serum everyone makes it out to be.” He walked to the living room.

Libby hurried to the threshold after him. “Why? What did I say?”

“Just a bit of nonsense. Trust me, it wasn’t you talking.” There was something melancholy in his expression when he said this. He tugged his shoes on.

“Tell me,” Libby said.

He smiled and stood. “Can’t. I’ve already forgotten what it was. I’ll see you later, then.”

Libby wished she could turn a dimmer switch down on the sun. She shielded her eyes from the glare bouncing off the post office’s front door. A bell jingled as she entered, painfully cheerful in her ears. She dug out her key and opened her post office box.

Flipping through the thin stack of envelopes, she scanned for the immigration bureau’s return address. Any day now she’d be hearing about her visa extension…but not today.

Her hangover redoubled as she came to an expedited airmail postcard. It was a panorama of the Manhattan skyline, the glossy cardboard banged up from a long journey. She closed and locked her box and flipped the card over. She stared at her sister’s handwriting, so eerily like her own.

Dear Libby,

Please call me as soon as you get this! Same number as always. Dad and I will be in Wellington the second weekend in July. I can’t wait to see the country and, more importantly, you! Would you pick a good place to meet us for dinner while we’re in town? We’d both love to see you—yes, really. Hope you’re doing well. I miss you.

Love,

Abby

Libby blinked a few times. Her head had already been pounding and now her heart joined it. She glanced at the post office clock. One in the afternoon, which made it five p.m. on the East Coast, yesterday. Her sister might be about to sit down to Sunday dinner—an unlikely guess and a lame excuse to put the call off, but Libby wasn’t feeling choosy at the moment.

Worry enveloped her like an itchy sweater. She strode out of the lobby and off toward her makeshift therapist’s office.

Colin slowed his bike as he reached the dispatch, dying for lunch and a break from the cold air and the even colder glares from the drivers he routinely pissed off.

He pushed the door in and waved wearily at Pete, the guy who manned the phones.

“Hey, Col. You’ve got a visitor.” Pete nodded to the seats lined up against the window. Libby raised her hand, her smile like a kick in the midsection, as always.

He leaned his bike against a wall. “How’s the hangover?”

“It’s been overshadowed by something far more painful. Can I talk to you for a minute?” She looked calm but pale.

He nodded. “I’ve got to eat. Can we talk over food?”

“Yeah.”

They walked a half a block in silence to Colin’s default lunch destination. He ordered a lamb kebab and sat down with her at a wobbly table. His nerves felt raw. He was willing to guess she’d regained a few memories from the prior evening, and he dreaded the apology he felt coming.

“What’s up?”

She blew out a tense breath and rubbed her temples. “I got a postcard from my sister today.”

“Oh. Is everything all right? Back home?”

“Yeah, I think so. But she’s coming to town. With my dad. The end of this week, I think.”

He nodded, cautious. “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s…it’s just a thing. Not good or bad.” She toyed with her bracelets. “I have two questions for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Can you recommend somewhere decent-ish to take them for dinner? Somewhere nice, but not fancy-pantsy.”

“Sure. I’ll jot down a few places that might suit. What’s the other question?”

“Would you be my date?” Her brows rose plaintively.

He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t intrigued. A chance to meet her father was enticing, ditto her twin sister. A chance to pretend he was meeting these people as her boyfriend felt ten times more pleasurable than it should have. “Do you need one? A date?”

“I’m petrified to go alone.” The strain tightening her face confirmed this.

“And I guess you can’t take Reece.”

“Yeah, that’d be genius. ‘Hey, Dad, this is my date. Oh, you know him already? You hired him to stalk me, you say? Wow, what a small world!’”

“You don’t think I look enough like my brother to raise any suspicions?”

She shook her head. “Not enough. But we’ll need to give you an alias.”

“Fun. I’d been feeling left out of all the espionage going on around here.” He tucked into his wrap, struggling to process how this invitation made him feel. Honored? Used? Obscenely and disproportionately pleased?

She let out another deep breath and slumped in her seat, relieved. “Thanks.”

Colin pulled out a pad and pen, and scribbled some restaurant ideas between bites. An acute and irrational desire to impress Libby’s father tightened his chest, but he kept the suggestions upscale-casual. He doubted she owned anything dressier than jeans, anyhow.

“Thanks,” she said, scanning the list. “Say, do you know when your brother’s got an evening off from the pub and the studio, next?”

“Hmm…three nights from now, I think.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

A little knot of hateful, all-too-familiar jealousy twisted in Colin’s gut. “You look like you’re up to something.”

She raised her shoulders in sheepish mock-innocence.

“Well, I better head out.” He ran a napkin over his mouth and stood, chasing an urge to get back to the distractions of work. “Maybe I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll let you know the exact date for the dinner thing when I know it.”

“Sounds good. I’m sure I can trade shifts with Annie or Reece for the pub, if I need to.”

She stood and stuffed her hands in her pockets, and smiled weakly at him.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked.

“A little. I have to call my sister back. We haven’t spoken in over a year…which is completely my fault.”

“I know how that goes.”

Her eyebrows asked
Oh?
but her lips stayed sealed.

“You’ll be fine. Just keep calm and lay off the sauce for a little while.”

She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, that goes without saying.”

“Well,” he said as they exited, “I’ll see you soon.” Soon meaning every second of every day in his mind’s eye, until the next time they met for real.

“Great. Thanks, Colin.” Those final two syllables sounded so raw and sincere his heart broke a little.

He pulled her into a quick hug, regretting it instantly. When she turned away, he felt another hunk of his sanity crumble to dust and blow down the street after her.

Chapter Fifteen

“Fuck
me
.” Colin felt his eyes widen. He clicked off the evening news and sat up straighter on the couch as Libby closed the door behind her.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

This was dressed to the nines—for Libby, anyway. She had on a swishy white-and-red-striped knee-length skirt made of several gauzy layers that puffed out from her impossibly long, slender waist, a vintage-looking cloud of a thing. Her calves were pale and smooth, and Colin wanted to press his lips against the tiny razor nick he saw on her shin. Over the skirt she had on a red, long-sleeved T-shirt, a couple strings of false pearls knotted between her breasts, making her look like a thrift-store flapper. Considering Libby lived in a track jacket and jeans, this was a seriously formal ensemble.

She set her bag down inside the door and unlaced her sneakers. “I’m not even done yet.”

Colin watched with unveiled curiosity as she rummaged for a pair of silver ballet flats and slipped them onto her feet.

“Ta da!”

“Damn, woman, you look right purdy. Is this what you’re wearing to see your father tomorrow?”

“Nope, this is just for tonight,” she said and gave a little twirl.

“What’s the occasion?” Colin didn’t actually care to hear the details, certain now that this transformation was intended for his brother. Although that was okay with him. It felt like acid eating away at his insides, of course, but he’d survive it. “This is for Reece?”

Her scarlet-painted lips quirked to one side. “Maybe. You told me not to give up, so I’m stepping up my game.”

Colin smiled dutifully, feeling sick. “Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Looking like that, you won’t need it.” He stood and approached, bringing his face close to hers.

Her eyes grew round but she didn’t move away.

“Breathe on me,” Colin said.

Libby complied, exhaling her predictable peppermint scent.

He stepped back a pace and nodded. “Yeah, you’re dressed just like you smell.”

“I’m very coordinated.”

“Like hell you are. I’ve seen you dance.”

She gave him a little punch on the shoulder, but there was something different about her. Something softer and unmistakably shy.

“Well, whatever you’re up to, I hope it succeeds,” he lied politely.

“Thanks. So what are
you
up to tonight?”

“Annie’s working and the rugby’s on, so I’ll probably be keeping her company downstairs. That’s about it. I’m bloody knackered.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been away for like four days and you’re not dying of boredom? I’m so insulted.”

“Well, all the crying and carrying on’s been pretty exhausting and time-consuming.”

“That’s more like it. So what do you think—hair up or down?” She reached back and twisted her long mess of not-quite-dreadlocks into a knot at the back of her head.

Colin couldn’t help himself. He leaned in close again and studied her face, cocking his head to one side analytically. He walked around her to take the scene in three-hundred-sixty degrees.

“Now down,” he said, and Libby dropped her hair back over her shoulders. “Up again.”

She complied.

“No, down.”

“There’s no money for the right answer.”

The closeness of her, the proximity of her smell and her eyes and her skin, emboldened Colin. He smirked and bit his lip before reaching out to touch her hair with both his hands, lifting it up and drawing it back from her face one last time.

Libby’s neck was the part of her Colin fixated on most. Like her legs and waist and arms, it was long and slender. Her hair was rarely up, but when it was he could see the darker blonde layers underneath and the pale skin that ran from the nape of her neck downward, blending with the more tanned expanse of her shoulders. There was something elementally private about this, like evidence of a hidden side of her, one not seen by others and untouched by the sunlight. Standing this close, Colin could see the peach fuzz on her ears, and the little hollows behind them that he was dying to press his thumbs into…if only he were somehow allowed to tangle his fingers deep in her hair and take her mouth with his own, as hard and deep as he’d fantasized about every day for the past month.

During the few seconds it took for these thoughts to visit him, Libby’s gaze flickered back and forth between his eyes, uncertain. It always surprised Colin when he was this near to Libby, just how close they were in height. How close those taunting, mischievous lips were. And also how very,
very
far away.