The Break-Up Psychic (21 page)

“It’s a date,” I say, pulling the phone from my ear, my fingers shaking as I press
End.

Amber emerges from the back of the shop as I place the phone back in its cradle, an annoyed look on her face. “I thought I told you to stay away from that guy,” she says, her voice accusing.

“How’d you know who I was talking to?” I ask, confused.

“I put a spell on you so I can hear everything you say no matter where you are.”

“Amber…”

“Fine, I was listening from the phone in Brook’s office.”

“Amber!”

“I was just trying to help, but whatever. You want to get your heart stomped on by some guy, that’s your choice. Just don’t come crawling back to me when you want to make him into a voodoo doll.”

I give Amber a stern look, which she in no way seems to mind, and march past her into the stockroom. Obviously Sam and I still have some things to work out, Tim being the least of it. But I can’t deny I’m falling head-over-heels for him, and that scares me far worse than any trick Amber’s got up her spike-adorned sleeve. Tomorrow night I’m just going to come right out and ask him about his ex. I’m going to be mature and open-minded. And if that fails, I’ll have Luanne ask him for me.

As I snake my way into a parking spot behind the Chinese restaurant and Luanne’s apartment, my ears pick up the distinct sound of alarm bells ringing. I slide out of my seat and hunch down, scanning the lot for signs of trouble. This is no time for heroics, so I use evasive measures to cross the space between me and building’s back door, weaving in and out of parked cars, keeping my head low and my eyes alert. My psychic senses are playing a game of colder-warmer with me and, as I close in on the building, the alarm bells are telling me I’m red-hot.

Lounging against the fire door on the back corner of the building is Tim. His back is to me and he’s leaning against the door with his left shoulder, the expensive fabric of his well-fitted navy suit not designed for coming into contact with aging, brown brick. His blond hair is slicked back from his face in its usual cool perfection. My forward movement comes to an immediate standstill and I have to throw my arms out on either side of me to maintain my balance. Ever so quietly, I raise my right foot and place it behind me, coming down softly on the gravely concrete. Keep it steady, girl, slow and steady.

My heart is racing, the loud thump, thump, thump echoing in my ears. I cast a cautious look at Tim to see if he can hear the deafening beats from his position against the wall, but he doesn’t move. He’s holding a bouquet of white and red roses upside down by their stems. The petals are slapping against the plastic wrapped around the bouquet as Tim bats them rhythmically against his leg. I continue my clumsy retreat backward as he raises the arm holding the flowers to check an expensive looking watch. He seems annoyed, stepping away from the building to scan the alleyway toward the street.

I take another backward step and the heel of my shoe comes down on a piece of broken glass. There’s a loud crack and the glass breaks apart under my weight, getting Tim’s attention. He turns to face me, still holding the upside down bouquet, and flashes that perfect white smile of his, the irritation from a moment before masked instantly. Damn, I was so close to getting away.

“There you are!” he calls, flicking his wrist and bringing the bouquet upward, a few of the loose petals falling to the ground.

I sigh deeply and let my outstretched arms drop, resigning them to hang limply at my sides. Tim’s wearing his favorite gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses. I remember when he bought them. It was a few months after we began dating and we were out in the city, having lunch on a sidewalk café. A woman approached our table and asked Tim if he was a movie star. I’d felt flattered at the time, to be dating such a handsome man. When he saw the sunglasses at a little kiosk in the mall later that afternoon, he laid out a cool two-hundred bucks for them.
“To protect my anonymity,”
he had joked. I suppose in retrospect I should’ve been hurt he hadn’t included me in his little joke. Had he been ‘recognized’ again, he probably would’ve told his adoring fans I was his personal assistant.

“Don’t be shy, come here,” he says, holding out his free hand to me.

I walk to where he’s waiting and try not to dwell on the fact that he looks flawless out in this heat, even in a suit. I, on the other hand, am wilting faster than the roses.

“Hi,” I say, cautiously. “What’s going on? What’re you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy stop by to bring a friend some flowers?”

“Tim…” I begin, exasperated by his show of fake friendship.

“Alright,” he says, removing the sunglasses and fixing sea-blue eyes on me. “I came by to apologize for the other night. I think I might’ve caught you off guard, and I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

I
fold
my arms over my chest, my favorite protective stance for when he’s near, and search his face for any truth to his apology. “I appreciate that, but you shouldn’t be here and you definitely shouldn’t be bringing me flowers.”

“Ellie, c’mon. It doesn’t have to be like this between us.”

“Like what? You know, I really don’t understand you, Tim. You’re the one that chose to be with someone else. You waited almost two weeks to even call and make sure I was alright, that I had a place to stay. Now suddenly you’re all concerned about being my friend? Are you kidding me?” I move past him and wrench open the back door, knocking into the bouquet of flowers with my shoulder and displacing more of the white and red petals.

“No, I’m not kidding. I promise you that I don’t find any of this remotely funny. Just please, stop walking away and talk to me for a minute,” he demands, grabbing me by the elbow.

I let go of the door, his hand on my arm halting my progress to step through. The heavy metal clangs shut behind me, trapping me. I pull my arm out of his grasp and spin on my heels to face him. I want to hit him. I want to slap him across the face and kick his shins and just, just…God! I stomp a heeled pump on the ground, place both hands against his hard chest, and push him with all my strength. Caught off guard by my attack, Tim stumbles backward and is barely able to maintain his balance. His charming smile and cool demeanor are immediately replaced by the annoyance I spotted earlier.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yells at me, throwing the bouquet of roses to the ground.

“I don’t want to do this anymore! You can’t just pop up whenever you want and confuse me with your fancy suits and your perfect tan! I won’t let you hurt me again.” My chest is rising and falling rapidly and my nails are digging into my palms. I’m readying for a fight.

“Ellie, calm down,” Tim says, hands up in defense as he walks slowly toward me. “I’m not going to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you. Please believe me.”

He closes in on me, the familiar scent of his cologne throwing a blanket over my anger, muffling it. His presence is overwhelming and I feel so weak, so helpless when he’s near. A few pathetic tears escape my eyes despite my struggle for control. All I need to do is not look at him, smell him, or feel him, and I should be able to hold out.

Tim places a hand against my cheek, making me jump. His thumb wipes away a tear at my temple before his fingers entangle my hair. He moves closer to me, his other hand going to my waist, pulling me to him. My traitorous body completely overrides my good sense, allowing him to place warm lips against my forehead. I can’t think, can’t come up with any reasons for wanting to put distance between us. My actions now are guided only by my physical response to him and by the shadows of happy memories dancing at the back of my mind. My hands, still balled into fists, go to his chest and give a half-hearted shove, my last attempt to defend myself against him.

“Stop fighting this, Ellie. Don’t you know how crazy I am about you?”

My eyes, half closed against the onslaught of Tim’s charms, fly open. He’s not the first man to say this to me today. Sam’s crazy about me too. I drag in a choppy breath and this time, I shove him away from me successfully. I wipe at my tears and bring my hair up and off my face with shaky hands. “I’m not doing this with you again,” I say, turning away from him, shutting him out. “I’m moving on.”

“Moving on? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not interested in getting back together with a guy who cheated on me.”

“Oh God, this again? Ellie, you’ve got to get over that. It was just a momentary indiscretion. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” I turn and pull the heavy back door open again, stepping one foot inside the building’s cool interior.

“Wait! Wait, just stop and give me a minute, okay?” Tim rushes to the door and places one hand above my head on the door frame, using the other to hold it open. I can see a thin sheen of sweat forming around his hairline. He looks disheveled, his demeanor rattled.

“Let me go,” I beg, grabbing the door and pulling it back toward me.

“No, I won’t let you go. Walking away from me is a huge mistake.”

“It was staying with you that was the mistake. Please, just leave me alone.”

I duck beneath him and move quickly, stepping inside the dark hallway. I grab the stair rail and pull my feet up step by step, away from him.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart! And I’ll be waiting when you realize you belong with me!” he threatens.

As I round the staircase and come to the landing on the third floor, Tim’s words echo in the empty hallway. I dig the keys from my purse but stop short of putting them in the lock. I place my forehead against the apartment’s worn door and try to subdue the alarm bells ringing in my head. I’m doing the right thing. For once in my life, I’m sure of it. Tim represents my past. He’s the physical embodiment of every bad decision and psychic warning bell I’ve ever come up against. Sam is my future. Sam who knows what it’s like to be left broken hearted by someone you thought you could trust. Sam, who’s asked me to trust him.

I turn the lock and step into the apartment. I hear Luanne singing in the bathroom, her thick country twang hollering about taking a bat to a cheating ex-lover’s pickup truck. Amen, sister.

I kick the four-inch stilettos off my sore feet and head into the kitchen. The contents of the refrigerator are sparse but I spot what I’m looking for and pull the items from the top shelf. I pour in the iced tea first, filling half my glass before adding a finger or two of vodka. I mix the drink with one of the many chopsticks always present in Luanne’s kitchen, a benefit of living above a Chinese restaurant, I guess.

I drop to the sofa and stretch my feet out on the coffee table in front of me. Droplets of condensation have already formed on the outside of the glass, and it’s slick in my hand. The cool iced tea is no match for the intense Texas heat. Even with the constant blowing of the window air-conditioner, the apartment is humid. Luanne ambles out of the bathroom in a robe, a towel wrapped around her head. She homes in on my cocktail-hour beverage and halts her progress toward the kitchen.

“You know, I think I may’ve picked up some of that supernatural sense of yours,” she says, walking around the coffee table and taking a seat next to me on the sofa. “I was at the market today and the cart literally pulled me into the liquor aisle. Somewhere deep down in my gut, I knew it was
gonna
be a tea-vodka kind of day.”

“Yeah, well, it started out pretty good,” I say, closing my eyes, picturing Sam emerging wet from the shower. What kind of fool leaves that behind?

“You ask him about the ring yet?”

“Not yet. I don’t really know how to bring it up without admitting I was snooping.”

“It’s easy. Next time you find yourself over at his place indulging in some afternoon delight, accidentally knock over the vase the ring’s in. It’ll fall out and, voila, he’s got to come clean.”

I take another sip, inhaling the light scent of the vodka barely discernible over the current of strong black tea. Accidentally finding the ring would get him to confess about his ex-fiancé, but I don’t want this relationship to be built on lies. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“I can’t do that, Lu. I just need to ask him and get it over with.”

“Like
pullin
’ off a
band-aid
?”

“Yes, exactly. I know he’ll tell me.”

“So, is that what this is all about?” she asks, gesturing to my glass.

“I wish. Tim was here, waiting for me in the parking lot when I got home,” I say, gulping down another drink.

“Lord, give us strength,” she says, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Here,
gimme
some of that.”

I pass the glass of tea-vodka to Luanne and she takes a liberal sip before handing it back to me. “What’s he after now?”

“I can’t ever tell with him. He says he wants me back, but I don’t know. He says a lot of things.”

“What’d you say?”

I pass the glass back to Luanne who finishes it off. “I said I wasn’t interested. I said I was moving on.”

“I bet he loved that.”

“Not so much.” I lean my head against the back of the sofa and close my eyes, trying to block out thoughts of Tim, of Sam…everything. The vodka helps.

The sofa shifts as Luanne gets up, moving away from me. “Sugar, I’m afraid you’re
gonna
have to be on the lookout for that one. He’s not used to not getting what he wants, and it sounds like he still wants you.”