Wasted Words (13 page)

We stepped out into the cool night, and I zipped up my hoodie, stepping to the curb to look for a cab, but Tyler stopped me.

“Let’s walk. It’s so nice tonight.” He smiled crookedly at me, his lids a little heavy.

I laughed. “It’s cold and you’re drunk. Let’s just grab a cab.”

“I’m not that drunk. You want my sweatshirt?” he asked earnestly and started stripping.

“No, I don’t want you to be cold,” I chuckled and stopped him.

“Come on. It’s only twenty minutes. Let’s just walk. Please?” He made a puppy dog face and begged.

I sighed, unable to deny him. “All right.”

He had this big goofy grin on his face as we started walking down Broadway toward our building, and I couldn’t help but smile too, content and happy with him. I didn’t want to talk about Adrienne, even though I knew I should, and I struggled with the thought that something I’d normally be dying to hear all the gory details about was the last thing I wanted to bring up.

A guy who looked like Jesus rode by on a bike, both man and machine covered in blinking Christmas lights, and we watched him, waving.
 

He didn’t wave back.
 

“New York is weird,” Tyler said.

“So weird and awesome. We just saw Christ on a bike. You don’t get that kind of entertainment in Walnut.”

He laughed. “I mean, maybe at a college party in Lincoln, but not just walking home for sure.”

“How much do you miss home?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes worse than others. I mean, I could take or leave Lincoln itself, but I miss my sisters, my parents more than anything.”

“I wish I’d had a big family like you. Being an only child was kind of boring. I had to make my own fun.”

“Having three little sisters was mostly a pain. There was a lot of squabbling over important things like hair brushes and who was sitting where in the car. But man, I miss them. They’ve mellowed out some now that they’re older. Like, I never thought Meg and I would be as close as we are. Before high school, my parents had the hopeless job of making sure we didn’t murder each other.”

I laughed and stuffed my hands in my hoodie pockets.
 

“Dad always made pancakes on Sundays. Of course, you cook for me now, and you’re a way better cook than he is.” We stepped off the curb and crossed the empty street.
 

“Hey, you cook for me too.”

“Eggs don’t count as cooking.” He sighed. “I dunno. My family and I just used to spend a lot of time together, and it’s weird sometimes that I’m not a part of that like I used to be. But I couldn’t stay there, and not just because Jack offered me a job. Too many memories I can’t shake live in that town.”
 

His words were somber, and I hooked my arm in his, squeezing it in lieu of a real hug.
 

“Anyway,” he continued, perking up a little, “it’ll be good to go home next weekend and see everybody. Get my fill of Dad’s pancakes. What are you gonna do when I’m gone?”

“Oh, I dunno. Probably mope around, contemplate how I could ever survive without you.”

He looked down at me, grinning again as he booped my nose. “It’s true. You can’t live without me.”

I ignored the flush in my cheeks and laughed. “It’s true, but neither could you. Do you even remember how to make coffee?”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s not rocket science, Cam.”

“No, but you’d be late every day if you had to make it yourself.”

“That’s probably true,” he conceded. “How’s it going with Greg and Bayleigh?”
 

I caught a hint of disdain in his voice. “Fine. He walked her home last night and told me all about it.”

“He kiss her?” Tyler asked skeptically.

“Not yet.”

“So, no.” He was smirking again.

I made a face at him, and he laughed.

“You look like a cartoon character.”

“Bullwinkle?”

“Ha, ha. No, you look like a character in a Pixar movie. Giant eyes, tiny nose, big smile. And you make all these little faces. Like when you’re concentrating, you stick the tip of your tongue out, but always on the right side. Never the left.”

I laughed, feeling self-conscious. “Must be my critical brain at work.”

His nose wrinkled. “Wouldn’t that mean it would always stick out the left? That’s the logic side, right?”

“Yeah, but when information crosses the hemisphere, it reverses sides. That’s why super right-brained people are sometimes left-handed. Or that’s the rumor, at least.”

“See? And you’re smart, too. You’re so busy matching everyone up, but how come you haven’t found a match for yourself?”

I took a breath. “Because it’s easier to see everybody else’s connections. Mine’s too muddled by my own perspective.”

He made a noncommittal noise. “Adrienne’s nice,” he said out of nowhere, and my heart jolted.

“She is nice. I like her.”

“She likes you too.” He didn’t elaborate, but I could almost hear him thinking. I took the pause as an opening.

“You guys looked good together. I told you it was a good match.”

“You know best.”
 

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, so I made light of it so there would be no question. “I do. I’m glad there’s no question on the matter or I’d bust out my list of conquests.”

He laughed. “So instead of a little black book—”

“I have a little pink notebook. And scrapbooks with engagement announcements and wedding invitations.”

“Not to brag.”

“Who, me? Never.”

He smiled down at me again as we walked up to the building, though when he reached for the door, his lips stretched in a yawn.

I sighed and walked in. “You shouldn’t have waited for me tonight.”

He gave me a look as we headed to the stairs. “Like I was going to let you walk home alone.”

“I only walked because you insisted, Drunky McTankerson. I would have taken a cab.”

He chuffed. “Not safe. You need muscle.” He made a tough guy face and flexed.

“Easy, boy. No need to break out the gun show for little ol’ me.”

The grin was back as he stripped off his sweatshirt. “Psh, now they’re really getting unfurled.” He stopped on the landing and gnashed his teeth, flexing his arms in front of him like a bodybuilder.
 

I laughed until my face was contorted as he hammed it up, changing positions.

“Yeah, you like that?” He shifted, making a show of it. “How about that?” He moved again, and I have to admit, it wasn’t easy to keep my eyes off his biceps. “And a little of this?”

“I’ve seen this show, beefcake. Remember you walk out of the shower every single day in nothing but a towel?”

We walked up to the door, and his smile was as sideways as his mental state. “Yeah, I’ve seen you looking. You’re a fan of the gun show. Free admission.”

“Oh, my God,” I said, giggling and rolling my eyes to play off the flutter in my chest. “You’re so drunk.”
 

I swung at his chest playfully, but he grabbed my hand, all of a sudden dead serious, his eyes dark. I didn’t realize how close we were, and I looked up at him, stunned silent.

“I’m not that drunk, Cam.” The words were barely above a whisper, and I couldn’t breathe.

He was about to kiss me.

I laughed awkwardly and way too loud as I took a step back. “Yeah, you are. Super drunk. Open the door, nerd.”

He smiled, but it took a moment for him to erase the look that had been in his eyes. My heart was still racing from the adrenaline of it as I watched him unlock the door.

We didn’t say much once we made it inside, just went through our routine of changing and brushing our teeth, joking when we did speak. I didn’t want to be serious, didn’t want to think about what had just happened. He was just drunk, that was all, probably caught up in the fact that I was ogling his bod. He knew I thought he was attractive, it was just the energy of that, nothing more. I was sure of it.

I poured him a glass of water and grabbed him a couple of ibuprofen, finding him climbing into his bed, shirtless, with a thump.

I smiled as I approached his bed, handing him the pills and water, and he smiled back gratefully before knocking them back. He set the glass on his nightstand as I fussed with his covers.

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“About what?” I asked absently as I pulled his blanket up over him.

“About you being able to live without me.”

“Oh?”

He met my eyes, saying gently, “Maybe it’s me who can’t live without you.”

I turned out his light so he couldn’t see my face — I wasn’t sure what expression I wore. And all I could do was laugh and say playfully, and maybe a little patronizingly, “Goodnight, Tyler.”

He sighed in the darkness and answered, “Night, Cam.”

And I made my way to my room, slipping into bed as I wondered how life could be so cruel.

Cam

THE STEADY HUM OF THE crowd filtered into the kitchen from the TV as I pulled the fundido out of the oven. The cheese and tomatoes bubbled around chorizo, and I swear to God, I actually salivated when the smell of the dip hit my nose.
 

“Incoming,” I said as I made my way into the living room, setting the small cast iron skillet on the trivet next to the chips and salsa we’d been nibbling on.

Tyler didn’t take his eyes off the TV, just muttered, “No. What the hell are you doing? Throw it!
Throw it!”

The quarterback was sacked.

He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. “This,” he gestured to the screen, “is why A&M won’t make the playoffs this year. Their passing game just isn’t strong enough to compete.”

I snorted and sat down next to him, leaning in to dip a chip in the cheesy mess. “Getting sacked by Purdue tells me they’ve got bigger issues, like lack of a decent offensive line. He didn’t have a receiver to throw it to.” I took a bite and moaned.

Tyler huffed and changed the channel to put on a different game. “I don’t think I can watch any more of this. It hurts too bad.” He landed on the Tennessee-Georgia game and tossed the remote on the table, leaning forward to dig into the dip beside me. He moaned when he took a bite too. The sound gave me a deep feeling of satisfaction.

“You ready for next weekend?” I asked. “I’m kinda sad you’re going to have to witness the Huskers getting shucked by the Hawkeyes.”

He snickered. “Not a chance, Cam. You guys are gonna get ruined. There’s not a single defensive lineman for the Hawkeyes who can stop Darryl. He’s too fast.”

“No one’s infallible.”

“True, but Darryl’s the closest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” He tossed another chip in his mouth. “What’s cooking in there?” He nodded toward the kitchen.
 

“White chili for Mrs. Frank.”

“And us?” he asked hopefully.

I smiled. “And us.”

“I thought old people weren’t supposed to eat spicy stuff.”

“Not Mrs. Frank. I swear she makes the spiciest Bloody Marys I’ve ever tasted.”

He chuckled. “You going up there later?”

“Yeah, after the game. What are you doing tonight?” I stuffed a dip-slathered chip in my mouth.

“I’m going out with Adrienne,” he answered, something undecipherable in his voice.

Thankfully, I had a full mouth to keep me from giving myself away.
You’re glad. It’s good. Best thing ever. They’re perfect together. Stop being weird, Cameron.
I swallowed and took a long sip of my beer. “Good,” I said, sounding completely normal. “Where are you going?”

“Frenchie’s — it’s a French-American hipster bistro, or something. That’s what Adrienne said, at least. She asked me out.”

A laugh shot out of me. “I love that. She’s got some pretty serious lady-balls.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you like her. I don’t know when I became so dependent on your approval, but it really makes me feel better knowing you set it up.”

It was like last night hadn’t even happened. I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing, him nearly kissing me, saying things I didn’t know how to take. He just sat there next to me, eyes on the screen, sipping his beer like everything was fine.
 

All I could do was pretend everything was just fine. So I swallowed hard and did just that.

“Well, I’m happy to set you up. After you brought home that Julia chick, I had to stop letting you make your own decisions on the matter. She was a mess.”

“She wasn’t that bad.”

My face was flat. “She laughed like a horse, and she called a soccer goal a touchdown.”

He laughed. “She could have been taught the proper terms.”

“Yeah, but you would have had to live with that laugh. And by proxy,
I
would have had to live with that laugh.”

He sat back on the couch smirking, and I tried not to pay attention to how his Huskers shirt stretched across his broad chest. “Oh, come on, Cam. You have to admit that your standards are high.”

“Well, someone has to keep them high. Otherwise you’d be dragging home girls who are all wrong for you.”

Tyler’s brow rose. “And what’s ‘all wrong’ for me?”

“Well,” I said, taking a sip of my beer to buy me a second, “if I didn’t monitor you, you’d be bringing home who knows what. Nerds. Short girls. Girls who aren’t into the things you’re into.”

He shrugged and took a swig of his own beer. “Far as I know, there is no right or wrong. I don’t really think about people like that. Categorized.”

“And that’s exactly why you need my help,” I said with a smile.

He laughed and shook his head. “If you say so, Cam.”

“So what do you really think of Adrienne?” I asked, morbidly curious, as if I was asking for something I shouldn’t know, like what color underwear she wore.

“She’s smart, interesting,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “We have a lot in common — not just in work, but she enjoys some of the things I do. Football.
Law & Order
.”

I giggled. “It’s like a crime-based soap opera.”

“Don’t mock my favorite show, snob. Anyway, seems like a good match, on paper, at least. We’ll see how it goes tonight.”

“You don’t seem overly enthusiastic.”

He raised a brow at me. “Well, what would make you feel better about it?”