Authors: Pamela Ann
Chapter Five
I hadn’t felt this bereft in quite a while, but I had intentionally provoked the situation, terrified Drew would do something to jeopardize what I had accomplished with my self-preservation. Had he done so, I wouldn’t have enough wherewithal to stop him, so I did what most people would have done in a precarious position.
When Jackson invited me to party with him again the next night, I declined, not feeling sociable. And if I really delved deep down, Spencer would be the last person I wanted to see after that bizarre evening.
Guilt aside, I kept to myself the next day. It wasn’t much of a blessing when Drew chose not to come back that night or the night after. To top it off, it was becoming apparent that Drew and Jackson weren’t spending as much time together as they had before. In fact, they rarely saw each other. I wondered, if they didn’t live in the same place, would they even go out of their way to see each other? They had been so close. What had happened since then?
It had been a few days since my arrival, and the drama that had followed was too much for my liking. I supposed it was a given since Drew and I weren’t in an amicable state, partly due to him and maybe a bit by me; I hadn’t been all that warm and smiles, either. Could anyone really blame me, though? The man evoked emotions I wished were nonexistent, and the undeniable chemistry that teetered over the edge made him all the more of a triple threat to my sanity.
As much as I loathed the way I had been toward him, it was the only way I could keep him at bay. All it would take was a mistake, and I would be where I had left off—waiting and hoping for him to love me the way I had loved him. Nevertheless, that wishful thinking didn’t do me any good. I’d had to get rid of it by letting it die, by burying it so deep I would never hear it again. All of that relentless perseverance would be greatly at stake if I kept playing with fire. Even admiring its beautiful blaze from afar could be blinding. That was why engaging in direct eye contact should be sparse. It was either that or fall into the trap that he only could cast upon me, and I chose to be free of it.
I shook off those thoughts, deciding it was a good idea to stay at home and unwind so I would be refreshed and jazzed up to start my big day tomorrow. The class schedule would be released, so I would be spending a lot of time on campus, hopefully getting all the books I needed. I hadn’t particularly decided on what I would major in, but I was leaning toward journalism. For now, however, I was settling on finishing all of my general courses.
It was still odd to wake up in a bedroom that wasn’t in my parents’ house in Newport Beach. It would take some getting used to. Without the safety net of the familiarity of my surroundings, the people and the city alike, I was sure homesickness was going to hit sooner than expected, which reminded me that I never made the call I had promised my grandmother I’d make on my first night in the Big Apple.
Without preamble, I took my phone and called my grandmother’s beachside cottage, but was unfortunately greeted with her answering machine.
“Hi, Grams. It’s me … Chloe. I know I promised to call the moment I landed, but things became hectic. How are you? School starts tomorrow, so wish me luck. Jacks and Drew are great. They’re busy doing their thing. I’m not sure yet, but I think your prayers are answered. Jackson finally found someone to date, but it’s still too early to tell yet, so I’ll keep you updated if there’s any news on that front.”
I finished my voicemail message, wishing her good health and letting her know how much I loved her with a promise that I would call her when I got a chance.
Since I had the apartment all to myself, I decided to do some cleaning in the kitchen and living room. The dishes were all in the dishwasher, but they hadn’t had the decency to simply put the soap in, press a single button to let it run itself, and be done with it. Boys would be boys and I didn’t expect anything less.
My parents had hired a cleaning lady to come in twice a week, but I was sure, between those days, I would be picking up after them. Knowing this would be the case, I determined there must be some ground rules set. I planned on definitely addressing that once I had both of them in the same room.
After tidying the kitchen before making sure the living room was free of any dried up foreign substance and goo-like anomaly, I made myself a light dinner consisting of baked salmon and a green salad with balsamic vinaigrette while I caught up on last night’s SNL show. By the time I was done with my dinner, it was almost nine at night.
Glancing around me, I wondered where Drew was. I could have easily sent him a message, but that open, direct communication had long been severed after I had sent him a message—it had been more like a rant—on how he had simply used me and thrown me out the second he had gotten what he wanted. It had deteriorated even further when I hadn’t received a response back, merely cementing my sentiment that he didn’t feel the same way I did.
But,
that was all in the past.
With revived vigor, I softly hummed a tune as I cleaned my dish before retreating back into my room where I opted for a lengthy bath complete with candles, a bath bomb from Lush, and Amy Winehouse’s
Back to Black
tracks playing in the background. I started off the playlist with “Love is a Losing Game” because her profound sadness was so evident in the song and her soulful voice that it never failed to capture my own melancholy.
A pleasurable, satisfying sigh escaped my lips the moment my body submerged in the bluish-pink water with the intoxicating scent that instantaneously sent me into a full-on relaxed state of mind. It was blissful, and for the time being, I lavished on that temporary serenity I found within this tiny space, basked with the soft warmth of the candles flickering and Amy’s despondent crescendo.
By the time I was done with my lengthy bath, I was a wink away from deep slumber, so much so that, after I had toweled my body dry and donned my favorite silk cherry blossom robe, I could barely keep my eyes open. I haphazardly threw myself into bed with a soft smile curling upon my lips before finally succumbing into deep sleep.
Maybe it was the muffled sound of traffic below as New Yorkers began their day or the early break of sunshine suddenly brightening my room, or it might have been the potently robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee that endlessly teased my senses to awaken from coma. The latter was a surefire answer to what had awakened me before my phone had even begun to shrill it’s deafening alarm of “Seven Nation Army.” Yes, I was one of those folks who could not function before coffee was in their system. Anyone advocating the limitation of caffeine intake due to heart disease and yada, yada had never fully experienced the joy of jumpstarting one’s day with an aromatic cup of medium roast blend that perked up one’s senses similar to sexual arousal. And since I very well couldn’t enjoy the morning sex part given the singlehood situation, an excellent coffee should suffice to curb those lecherous cravings.
Sex and coffee … I was losing it.
“I need to get a life,” I softly mumbled as slowly rolled out of bed, yawning, and during mid-yawn, my eyes instantly spotted the venti coffee and the small pink box.
I wouldn’t lie. My heart stammered against my chest as I nervously gazed at the lusciously enticing combo. Whoever was the culprit, they unquestionably knew how to play with my vices.
Without putting up much of a fight, my shameless hands fastened around the sweet pink token that held something I had ignored ever since I had realized sugar made me a chunky monkey, a term that referenced my once favored ice cream. I was again encountering the same witchery my sweet teeth always cast on me as I slowly lifted the lid of the small box with the words “I’m sorry” written on it.
Four cupcakes greeted me—two chocolates and two bananas.
Who in their right mind would be creative enough to apologize through cupcakes? It couldn’t be Jackson since we were fine, so that left one person, the one who had walked out on me, leaving me with words yet a hurt that lasted forever.
This wasn’t fair. Surely, he couldn’t say such things to me and expect me to forgive me just because he made a cute effort by getting me cupcakes, which he would have had to wake up early to procure with the rest of the millennials in line for their morning dose of addiction. All that effort … Did he know I was heading to school today? Of course he did, that sneaky bastard. The pun was unintentional.
Pulling the box close to my face, I closed my eyes and inhaled the decadent aroma of chocolate with whipped chocolate frosting sprinkled with dark chocolate powder, mixed with the tropical smell of perfectly smashed ripened bananas, mixed with brown sugar and the nutty whiff of walnuts topped with abundant banana frosting.
“Fuck,” I viciously groaned in protest before I finally found the strength to shut the lid and situate it on the side table, choosing the coffee, instead.
This shit was lethal for my diet and my poor heart.
Getting on with my morning, I buzzed about, readying myself and making sure I had every single piece of paperwork needed for school. Then I stepped out of my room before hesitantly pausing right outside Drew’s bedroom door.
Was he home? He had to be…
But upon opening his door, I was greeted by a made bed and no Drew Cavendish in sight. He probably had gone to school early, or maybe he had merely dropped these off and left. Whatever Drew had aimed to achieve with the impromptu treats this morning, be it my forgiveness or something else, I had to concede that he had succeeded in making himself significant in the majority of my thoughts.
Once I got to school, I immediately sought out my designated advisor, having an appointment with him first. Upon meeting him, he proceeded to go through my schedule. We spoke about what my intended goal was for this semester before he gave me a thorough rundown of what NYU had to offer when it came to extracurricular activities such as fellowships and organizations that could potentially pique my interest.
My classes were solidly filled from Tuesday through Thursday from eight a.m. to six p.m. It was either I joined something or found a part-time job somewhere to fill the rest of my week.
My parents wouldn’t be too keen about me having a job while in school. Most parents would actually encourage it, but mine were the kind who liked to get monthly dividends from the family business without lifting a finger, so they had no idea what the word “working” really entailed.
Not to sound harsh, but thank fuck I hadn’t inherited their mentality. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself quite honestly. Whatever I decided, it would be for the benefit of mental maturity and life experience. And since Jackson had gotten away with whatever he was up to with his secret school, then I was pretty sure I could do as I pleased as long as it didn’t reach my parents’ ears.
My next stop was the NYU Bookstore to get all the books I needed this semester. It took me a couple of hours to gather them all since I was often distracted, wandering around the rows of bookshelves, just browsing through books that captured my attention.
It was right after I paid for my items that my phone beeped, indicating a text message received. It was from my brother Jackson.
Dinner at home. Drew’s cooking. Hope you’re okay. See you later, booger!
Glancing at the time on the top screen of my phone, it stated it was fifteen past five. Well, I supposed this would be a good opportunity to discuss chores. And Drew offering to cook was always a good sign. Besides, I had missed his barbeques; they were the best. Then again, I hardly thought he would be dishing that out tonight. He’d probably opted for pasta or something along those lines. And as for those cupcakes, how could I even begin broaching that topic? I supposed I should see how tonight’s conversation panned out and decide from there.
I wasn’t particularly excited, nor was I indifferent about it, but maybe leaning a bit more toward blasé, so I surely wasn’t scurrying up to get to the apartment. When I finally got home and opened the door, the lovely smell of garlic sautéed in butter made my mouth water. It was one thing to be hot and all around sexy, but it was another to be hot, all around sexy,
and
be able to seriously cook a mean meal. And Drew was all of that and then some.
“I’m home!” I announced as I strode toward the hall then into the kitchen where I found Drew with messy bed-head hair and his cargo pants hanging low, just a tad below his pelvis. He was barefoot and donning only a black apron to cover his bare chest while he used metal tongs to check on whatever was in the hot pot in front of him.
Fuck. If my mouth had watered before, I was beyond salivating this time. Good grief. Was he ever planning to wear a shirt around here?
The ventilation fan was being used in full force, so I doubted he had heard me enter. I stood there for a moment, contemplating if I should try to get his attention or leave him be since he was busy with the heated pan where the garlic was being caramelized before he added the minced onion into the mix. I could stare at him all day long, and I wouldn’t be bored, but as lovely as that idea was, it sure as hell wasn’t feasible. Not now, not ever.
Slightly shaking my head to free it of idiotic thoughts, I took a few steps toward the six-seater glass table before leaving my purse and the paper bag on one of the seats.
I could feel my adrenaline kick up a notch as I approached the fridge, which was conveniently located next to where he stood.