Page 12
Chapter 12
Tell Me It’s Okay
Gabe
No matter how many times I refresh it, Wade’s comment on my Instagram post won’t go away.
Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to take a selfie biting into one of the cupcakes I’d made and captioning it “me vs. dessert: who’s sweeter?” but I’d gotten social media manager approval, and for what?
Twelve hundred fifty-one likes for wadeboehner31 commenting, “No competition, not even close”? And don’t get me started on all the replies gushing over how cute Wade is, how we’re relationship goals, how lucky I am to have a boyfriend like him. Good thing they don’t know about the filthy follow-up texts.
Pretty Boy
No offense to the cupcake, but you taste way better, Freckles
Me
Gag me.
Pretty Boy
I’d be happy to
Me
In your dreams.
Pretty Boy
Every single night
Me
I can’t stand you.
Pretty Boy
You wouldn’t even have to stand
Pretty Boy
Just tie me up, take a seat right here on my face and ride til dawn
It’s not normal to get turned on by this.
End me now.
That way I have an excuse not to show up to this ridiculous birthday party.
Why is it such a big deal anyway? We’re all born, and we all die. And for my family, both events happened in October. My birth and Mom’s death. Grief and joy were forever and inextricably intertwined.
I tilt my head at the reflection, studying how the black dress fits. The material is gorgeous, chiffon or something, and the lace-up back plumps my chest against the scoop neck and creates a waist where there otherwise is none. My thigh peeks from the high slit, and I sway my knee to and fro with a pointed toe, accentuating the length of my legs. Okay, that’s sexy.
My eyes wander up, and a frown appears.
When I mentioned having to dress nice, Indi’s friend, Sheena, had it mailed over. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, and having fashion influencer contacts who can hook you up is nice, but it’d probably look better on either of them. Or even Bea. Their boobs would actually fill it, and as a long-standing chair of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, I simply am not capable.
“It’s fake,” I say to the mirror, splaying my palms over the bust. “It doesn’t matter if my boobs look good or not.”
I dread having to put on a full face. I should be used to it, but it’s different when it’s for work. Jas and her makeup crew are magicians. I nearly take my left eye out when applying a set of lashes and curse myself for not asking her to help me get ready tonight. Once it’s on and I’ve fixed the teary smear of foundation, it’s not so bad.
Hair free from their roller prisons, I do a quick floof and let the long curls bounce past my shoulders. Choosing between sensible sandals and uncomfortable stilettos just to surpass Wade’s height wastes some time, but I finally opt for a pair of open-toed block heels.
I can never manage to get these on without looking like a tangled grasshopper, but after a lot of huffing and puffing, they’re secure. I’ll sleep in them before having to go through that again.
Unless someone takes them off for me.
Shut up, brain. It’s not happening.
He’s not even here, but somehow, he can still get me worked up.
How annoying.
Off to this celebration, I go.
Goosebumps and nerves prickle across my skin as I exit the Uber. The doorman to Wade’s building stiff-arms the crowd and ushers me through the incessant flashing of paparazzi cameras, but despite the warmer temperature inside, the goosebumps remain.
It’s a party. Could be fun, right? Or it could be unbearable to have Wade at my side, callused hands touching me in surprisingly gentle ways and making me feel things for him I have no business feeling.
Bappa, give me strength.
Oh, my God. This man has me praying.
The elevator beeps as I get to the penthouse, and they slide open to equally wide-open doors. An instrumental indie folk tune softly plays from within, like Bon Iver and Hozier had a baby. I don’t hate it.
But the real kicker is walking in.
I should’ve known better than to make assumptions.
This isn’t his penthouse. It’s a private venue.
String lights hang from the high ceilings, softening the usually bright light fixtures. His cozy sectional has been repositioned, with classic white-cloth-covered cocktail tables surrounding it.
A few uniformed servers delicately place hors d’oeuvres on trays at the kitchen counter and pour champagne into glass flutes. The cupcakes I’d made are on display on several tiered cake stands on a dessert table off to the right and lead to two large dining tables.
Boughs of gardenia flow from tall vases between shorter candles and heavy tableware on charger plates.
The flowers are my favorite. My fingers reach for a bloom and I lower to take them in.
They smell like me.
Like I’m home.
Tears of rage blur my vision. Someone who doesn’t even care about me put so much thought into something as insignificant as a birthday party, while the man I was in love with for years, who I almost married, never did it once. A fake boyfriend did more than my real ex-fiancé. The anger and rue bubble up from my gut, heated and sour.
I swallow it down.
“You like it?”
Wade’s question echoes, his cognac Oxfords clopping against the floor where my gaze lingers. It wanders up the faint weave of his gray slacks, then follows the veins snaking over his forearms, where he rolls back a black sleeve.
His fingers clasp my chin and lift.
Those melted chocolate eyes of his deepen with concern. “Don’t look at me like that, Gabe. You don’t like it?”
“I—”
Hate it. Am overwhelmed by it. How did he know about the gardenias?
“ Whoooaa .” Landon booms from the entryway.
Wade’s hand drops, taking whatever blood is left in my face with it.
“Holy shit, man. This place looks great.”
Indi’s dimpled smile shines across the room with a gasp. “Gabe!”
“Tell me the truth later, Freckles.” Wade wraps the same hand around the cinch of my created waist. His whisper against my neck has my heart climbing out of my chest through my throat. “For now, pretend like you’re happy being here with me.”
I’m not gonna survive the night if I have to be pressed against his firm torso the entire time, with layer upon layer of pretending to like him over not liking him over something in between, and all while he smells like a fresh morning in Heaven and holds me like I’m his .
My friend rescues me by pushing him aside when the four of us meet. “Unhand her, goon!” Our hands clasp before she draws me into a tight hug, then checks me out. “God, you’re so freaking hot .”
“What about me?” Landon pouts and moves his hands up and down his body.
“Christ, Radek.” Wade’s palm slaps against his forehead.
“It’s Davé-Radek,” Landon corrects.
Wade coughs out, “Pussy whipped.”
I thought Indi would’ve rolled her eyes, but she doesn’t. Pretty Boy gets a pitying, disappointed look thrown at him before she turns to her husband.
“ Aww ,” she coos and steps away to leave a kiss on his bearded cheek. “You’re the hottest .”
Pride beams through the well-loved bastard. Obviously, the two are disgustingly obsessed with each other, but Indi always kept her sharp edge. Suddenly, it’s a plastic, collapsible knife, like the ones used in stage plays.
I seek Wade’s attention to exchange a confirming “did-you-see-what-I-saw?” regarding her softened behavior, but it’s already on me. He blinks and recomposes a welcoming smile toward his teammate.
“Alright, Landy. Let’s grab a beer.”
More guests come in. Most of the team arrives, led by Fletcher Donovan, Theron Olsen, and Blake Szeczin, before people from the network, Mel, Jordan, my camerawoman Denise, and her partner, Jen, enter.
Mel and Jordan simultaneously widen their eyes and mouth wow in greeting. I play it cool and direct them to the bar with a polite smile. They reply with a thumbs up and an exaggerated wink. I quietly groan.
Subtle. Real subtle.
It’s not long before realizing Indi is my only real friend there. I need a drink. Luckily, there’s champagne being served with appetizers.
“Bea couldn’t make it?” I ask her.
“Sorry,” Indi says through a bite of a mini bruschetta at one of the high tables, then rests her head against my shoulder. “She was so sad to miss it. The articling program in Toronto is super demanding. I blocked those grueling eight months from memory.”
My lips envelop the circumference of a champagne flute, and I throw back the drink in one gulp.
“That’s a handy trick.”
“Mmm.” I keep down a cough when Wade’s eyes reach mine from the bar. I grab two more from a passing server’s tray and offer it to her.
“No, thanks.” She snags a few skewered caprese bites. “I’m so hungry.”
“I think there’s red wine somewhere here, too.”
There’s that green look on Indi’s face again.
“Please, no .”
“No red wine? Who are you, and what have you done to my friend?”
She hushes me and swats my hand away. “I’m serious. I’m all ‘wined out’ from Italy.”
Skylar and Derrick Jaeger’s arrival cuts our conversation short.
Wade hugs them first; then, she extends her arms my way. The tiny thing only comes up to my shoulder, even in heels.
“Happy birthday, Gabe!”
“Thanks for coming.”
Her hand squeezes my shoulder. “We wouldn’t skip it for the world.”
I don’t miss the approving glance she sends to her best friend, whose smirk has returned. “He did good, don’t you think?”
“ Uh , y-yeah,” I stammer. “It’s beautiful.”
“He’s kinda known for throwing the most insane parties, but they’re usually not this classy.” She inhales deeply and reaches for her husband’s hand. “It smells incredible in here. Glad you cleaned up, Wade.”
“Hey, it’s always clean.”
“Only because of the cleaners. And even then, there’s always the threatening odor of your musty socks in the air.”
Wade’s face stills. “Skylar,” he chides through his teeth.
Derrick Jaeger chokes back a laugh. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him smile.
She raises her hands like a white flag. “Okay, fine. I’ll be nice to you for the next couple of hours in front of your perfect girlfriend.”
Me? Perfect?
My acting must be a bit too well done.
“She is, isn’t she?” He steps beside me, and I lose track of my pulse.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” I ask under my breath, not meaning for him to hear.
But he does.
He announces dinner to redirect the group and leads us toward the dining tables. Despite the music, muted noise in the kitchen, and low chatter, I hear him, too.
“Sure, I do.”
My heart. He’s melted it.
Why can’t he go back to being the intolerable jock?
Too occupied with irritation, I only reorient after I’ve sat down and the server places a bowl in front of me.
“Roasted butternut squash soup with a slice of baguette, toasted.”
I stare at it a moment too long. It’s my comfort soup. My dad used to make it for us.
Wade drapes an arm over the back of my chair. “You gonna try it, or you want me to feed you?”
He watches me take a sip, pupils blowing wide when the spoon leaves my mouth. And he’s definitely torturing me on purpose by using his tongue as a landing strip while trying the entree himself. As if he knows I’m wondering what he’s capable of doing with it.
Even more torturous is how our pinkies brush when our hands settle on the table. He doesn’t retreat as his conversation with Donovan and Jaeger continues, instead covering my hand and stroking an apology across the knuckles with his thumb. S-o-r-r-y. But he has nothing to be sorry about.
So I pull away.
Pretty Boy’s got his signals crossed because he takes the motion as permission to palm my bare thigh.
Indi whips her head to me and sucks her lips in, eyebrow raised at his hand’s position. “ Ooooh . What’s going on there?”
I scoff out a tepid, breathy laugh. “You know these hockey boys. They get possessive over the silliest things.”
Wade’s fingers dig into my flesh, muscles tightening at the rough contact.
“Don’t I know it!” she agrees, looping her arm through Landon’s.
Her man is clueless and returns a dopey smile, his mouth full of bread.
The touch releases, but not entirely. His fingertips graze the surface in growing, concentric circles, which is somehow worse. I distract myself by quickly finishing my soup.
“I’m done!” I say to get the server’s attention, but everyone else’s comes along with it.
Way to play it cool, Finch.
They take away the bowls and replace them. I study the garnished slice.
“Quiche?”
“It’s a tomato and gruyere tart,” Wade answers.
Indi taps my elbow, and when I turn to see what she wants, she glows with the toothiest grin.
“What?”
“He’s so sweet, Gabe.” Girl is practically swooning.
“Sure.”
“I mean it,” she repeats. “Everything’s vegetarian.”
“Okay?” I shrug.
“Because you’re vegetarian.” Hearts form in her eyes.
What has gotten into my friend? Oh, yeah. Landon Radek. He’s brainwashed her with his cinnamon roll ways.
“Mmhmm.” My head turns back to the enigma clutching my leg like a lifeline. “Everything’s vegetarian?” I murmur towards his ear. He nods. “Why?”
“‘Cause you’re vegetarian.”
“I didn’t tell you that.”
His grin goes lopsided, and his eyes wrinkle in the corners. “I’m not as stupid as I look. We’ve eaten together half a dozen times. You don’t think I noticed?”
Heart in throat, meet stomach.
Deva re Deva, you were supposed to get rid of the obstacles, not create new ones.
“You okay, Gabe?” Indi asks. “I know it’s a lot, but?—”
“I’m good,” I lie.
She knows birthdays are tough, but she doesn’t need to know how tough this one is. How frayed my restraint is. And how Wade has scattered my emotions around this penthouse.
I join Mel and Jordan’s conversation about the upcoming season’s schedule, but I can’t get out of my head. And I’m wholly terrified that I’ll spontaneously combust if he doesn’t stop touching me.
Someone mentions dessert, and Indi gasps and squeals, clutching the crook of my arm as the cake is brought out. “It’s lemon raspberry.”
Engaged in a sort of auto-pilot mode, I allow myself to be whisked behind the beautiful display. Coated in a simple white buttercream, it’s topped with lemon curls and fresh raspberries. Judging from its height, it’s probably three layers.
“Where’s Gabe’s cake? I could eat this on my own.”
My fake boyfriend jabs Olsen in the chest.
“Cut it out,” Jaeger scolds.
Lucky Skylar. She got the most mature one.
“Yeah, cut it out,” Donovan parrots. He and Olsen slap each other around.
Our whispers hide under everyone else’s comments.
Wade pumps my side in his grip. “You don’t have to pretend not to like it. I know you do.”
“How did you know it was my favorite? I only made the cupcakes two days ago.”
A server lights a lone sparkler in the middle.
“Are we gonna sing Happy Birthday?” Landon asks. “We have to, right?”
“Your friends are blabbermouths.” His lips trace the shell of my ear. “Especially Dimples over there.”
“Good to know you give everyone annoying nicknames.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” he says through the smirk that sits against my jaw. “Freckles is special to you and only you. Now, smile. We’re about to sing.”
Embarrassment fills my cheeks when they start off-key, the men unabashedly cracking their voices and the women sticking their fingers in their ears. I can’t stop smiling. Laugh after laugh escapes from me. It’s a genuine and much-needed catharsis from the tangle of everything I’ve felt all night. Finally, they quit goofing around and sing in a crescendoing chorus at the end.
When I lean over to blow out the candle, Indi elbows me.
“You gotta make a wish first!”
Someone sedate this woman, seriously. She’s far too cheery. Though I’m one to talk. I look like I’m off my rocker with the wide smile tugging at my mouth.
I wish Wade Boehner would kiss me again.
I steal a quick glance at him and extinguish the flame before I have time to change my mind.
You’re so stupid, Gabe. Wishes don’t come true.
He cuts me a piece. It’s super attractive for some reason.
“Feed her!” Indi instructs. “It’s a desi tradition! With your hands!”
Woman is wilding.
“Don’t you dare smear it on my face,” I warn Wade with a pointed finger.
“That’s what she said,” he mumbles.
Okay, I’m slightly less attracted to him. But I won’t say no to cake, and not while everyone’s watching us.
His Adam’s apple drops as I take a large bite of the slice. Those smug brown eyes of his grow dark. I’m about to step away as he wipes his hand on a napkin, but he pulls me back.
“My turn.”
“See? He knows!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Indi this overexcited. Landon Radek has done a number on her. “Feed him, too!”
I reach for a fork. He stops me again.
“That’s not what I meant.” One strong arm rounds my waist, drawing me closer until our torsos are flush.
My jaw relaxes into his grasp, lips parting by reflex.
“Finally!” Skylar claps quickly. “You two have barely held hands tonight.”
“Gabe?” Wade asks.
“Do it!” Indi eggs on. “Kiss!”
“ Kiss ! Kiss ! Kiss !” They chant.
“Happy birthday, Freckles.”
His breath fans across my nose.
My lashes flutter, incapable of focusing on anything but his perfect, bow-shaped mouth.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” He releases another ragged breath. I don’t. I’m not breathing at all. “Tell me it’s okay.”
“Okay,” says my last working brain cell.
And that was the end of Gabe Finch.
Cause of death: crushed by Wade Boehner’s velvety pillow lips.
Our friends’ hollers mute to nothing, my ears ringing with silence except for the dull groan vibrating between us.
Wade kisses me like he’s dying of thirst, and I’m water, his tongue lapping and lapping. It’s desperate. Needy. Like nothing else can give him what he wants. Nothing and no one but me.
I catch a runaway breath. Shrill whistles and raucous cheering crescendo as he pulls away, his lazy smile pressed to my lips.
“Atta girl.”
Thank God for his arm supporting me because my knees have buckled. I’m a human puddle. A very, very wet one. He shouldn’t be allowed to have that effect on me with only a kiss.
I expect Wade to let go and enjoy the rest of the night with his boys. He does no such thing.
He doesn’t even move. Eyes locked on mine.
A noiseless lull passes.
“Everyone good with taking their cake to-go?”
Sounds of agreement reply back.
“Yep!”
Skylar herds the group toward the door.
Probably wise. My brain is in the gutter with no logic. Only filth remains.
They’re gone within two minutes, and we’ve scrambled toward the bedroom door, limbs ensnared in a backward tango.
My composure snaps and clasps his throat, slamming him against the door. Every ounce of rage and horniness boils over.
“You’re infuriating ,” I grit out. “It’s making me feel really out of control.”
Wade freezes, stunned. I’m stunned at what comes next, too.
“New rule, Pretty Boy. We’re gonna fuck.”