How to Deal Page 7

DESPITE MY EARLY tantrum, the cake has a calming effect on me, and I sneak away later, of course, to watch Tathan in the seclusion of the crowd where I can properly stalk him without him knowing.

  I never would have expected this, but Tathan is amazing when he photographs.

  Four couples dressed in wedding attire surround him, each one in their own pose as he captures various shots of them dancing. His brooding eyes concentrate on his work, his lips somewhat pouty with concentration, examining every shot after he takes them.

  As I watch him, all I can think about is him taking pictures of me preferably while I’m in his bed. Lighting low, me dressed erotically, him wearing absolutely nothing. Then him setting down the camera and seductively stripping away all my clothes. Imagine the possibilities and the outcome of that situation.

  After Tathan finishes, the women continue to flirt with him, but I see that when he’s taking photographs, he’s in a different mindset, ignoring their advances with a polite smile.

  Before Casey can catch me—or worse, Zane—drooling over Tathan, or Elliott. . . or whatever, I sneak away and find Casey paying for a dress she decided on. Pale white and wide eyes, she looks as though she’s about ready to throw up.

  “Dude, I can’t believe I spent five grand on a motherfucking dress.” She stares at the dress in her hand carefully holding it up in fear it may touch the ground. “It’s making me sick.”

  I hand her a cake pop from the stash in my purse. Believe it or not, they wrapped them up for me in cute little bags with ribbon.

  “I can.” I eat the one in my hand in one bite. “And you’ll only wear it once.”

  “Screw that.” She eats the cake pop, mindful not to get it on the plastic covering the dress by leaning forward. “I’m going to wear this damn thing once a month. Expect me to show up at work wearing it.”

  The entertaining part about that is Casey would totally do something like that.

  As Casey and I are walking around looking for Zane, Tathan is walking toward us with his camera in hand looking both worn-out and curious as to what my reaction will be.

  I want to run the other way, but there are people everywhere, and there’s nowhere to go but toward him. Especially when Casey refuses to let me run away.

  As he approaches, I watch his every move, the bright white lighting of the room making him stand out in his all-black attire.

  God, he’s fucking beautiful, so dark and handsome.

  And then he speaks.

  “Are you trying to avoid me, Amalie?” he whispers in my ear as he leans into my shoulder, his warmth undeniably inviting.

  Drawing back, he waits for my answer.

  Zane chooses then to find us, confusion all over his face as he has no idea what happened earlier.

  “Yes.” I want to wipe that smirk off his fucking face. And then lick it. “You’re making it difficult.”

  Tathan puts his hand on his chest, gasping. “I’m hurt.”

  Damn it. I’m fighting back a smile. “Yeah, right. I doubt that.”

  He leans closer so his lips are touching my ear. Zane looks like he’s going to have a heart attack as Tathan does this. Casey too.

  “I don’t see your date with you.” Tathan’s voice is extra raspy. It makes me shiver with excitement. . . or anticipation, maybe, you know, at this point I’m not even sure what the emotions I have are anymore when it comes to him. I know I don’t like it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me your real name?” I take a step back. “Or what is your real name?”

  He shifts, almost uncomfortably, if you could possibly make someone like him uncomfortable. “You seemed so appalled by Elliott I thought I could continue to be Tathan.” In probably the most adorable gesture a man like him can make, he scrunches his nose. “You seem to like him better.”

  I jab my finger in his chest. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag, isn’t it?”

  He smirks. Just fucking smirks. Like him forgetting to tell me who he actually is, is funny to him.

  “What is your name?”

  He holds out his hand. “Tathan Elliott Madsen.”

  I don’t shake it. Nope. Not happening. I actually fold my arms over my chest. “Why do you go by Elliott Warren?”

  “Because it’s easier, and Warren is my mother’s maiden name. It’s kind of a tribute to her.” He shrugs, and I feel like a complete asshole. His voice is softer when he speaks, as if he’s trying to maintain some privacy in the thick crowd. “No one knows me as Tathan in photography. Outside of it, I live a normal life. It’s like a pen name.”

  Damn it, that makes perfect sense. “Okay, fine. But why do you sit next to me at work then if you’re a photographer? Clearly, you don’t need the money.”

  He seems nervous for the first time since I met him, probably because Zane and Casey are staring at us and have been watching this entire interaction. “Paul hired me as a contractor. I photograph the homes for the company. Then I do the editing and posting of them at the office.”

  “So you only come into the office for editing? Couldn’t you do that at home?”

  He glances at Casey, Zane, and then me again, so many emotions cross his face that I can’t even process which one scares me more. They all do. Every single one of them.

  But the biggest shocker of all comes with his words, “And because of you. . . .” He cringes, after the words pass his lips, like he’s afraid of my reaction.

  You’ve heard of fight or flight. . . right? I only know flight these days.

  I turn and run away.

  I ran out of the expo with Casey. Right out of there, stopped by the store for some ice cream and then back to my apartment.

  By the time we get inside, Oliver is cowered in the corner, and I realize why fairly quickly. He’s peed on the kitchen floor. Again.

  Some think—like Zane—that because Oliver is a dog, he shouldn’t annoy me. It happens to every couple, even in a dog/human relationship. Live with anyone for longer than a few days, and you’re bound to get annoyed with one another. Dogs are no exception.

  “Come on.” I motion for Casey to get off the couch where she’s staring at her dress in her hand. “I have to walk Oliver, and I’m not doing it alone.”

  Gently, she hangs her dress up in the coat closet next to the door. “Let’s go in the hot tub.”

  “Fine, but we have to bring Oliver.”

  We both change into our swimsuits. As I’m putting Oliver’s leash on him, Casey reaches for her cell phone.

  I eye it offensively, and she feels the need to explain. “In case Bryan calls me.”

  I’m not buying that, are you?

  “Uh-huh.”

  Her eyes drift to my body as I wrap the towel around my chest. “Damn girl. Swimming does your body good.”

  Pushing her hands away, I reach for her towel and throw it at her. “Grab that bottle of wine.”

  Outside, Casey smiles at Tathan’s door when we pass by it. I know she’s dying to go inside and beg him to take her wedding photos now that she knows exactly who he is.

  “Stay off your phone,” I warn her, opening the gate to the pool and hot tub.

  Inside the courtyard, she guards her phone and I know she’s on Facebook because I can see the blue login screen as it lights her face in the night.

  “I’m texting Bryan.”

  “You are not.”

  “I am.” She shows me her screen of a selfie she just took of herself in her bikini and sent to him.

  “You guys are sick.”

  All in all, I’m happy for them. Jealous, yes. But happy.

  “You know what makes me mad?” Casey asks, once we’re in the hot tub and Oliver is lying beside us on our towels.

  “What, Casey?” I twist to the side to fill my wine glass and Casey’s.

  “Over the last three months, I’ve sent Elliott Warren like a million messages.” She takes her phone and turns on some music for us. “Not once has he replied. I mean, it’s kinda rude when you think about it. I have a bone
to pick with him.”

  “He’s an asshole.” I bring the wine glass to my lips.

  “Or just that famous,” Casey adds, playing with the wet strands of her hair as I hand her wine to her. “I bet he has someone who checks his messages for him. I bet he has a maid too.”

  “I don’t understand him.” I face her, holding my wine in one hand. “He’s so confusing. And damn it, he lied to me.”

  “Technically, he didn’t lie to you,” she points out, picking up her cell phone beside her, careful not to let it drop in the water. “You never asked him if he was Elliott Warren. He just didn’t tell you he was a famous photographer.”

  “Whatever. He’s my neighbor. You would think I would know something like that. I didn’t even put two and two together when I saw the framed photos in his apartment.”

  “Like I said.” She sets her phone down, turning it over, so the screen doesn’t get wet. “You’re intimidating.”

  I get defensive. “What are you going to do when you’re married? You can’t stay here every Friday and Saturday night.” I slump down in the water until the bubbles hit my chin and tickle my nose.

  “I’ll still be with you. Bryan is on the night shift until his residency ends,” Casey tells me, as if I should have known this. Which I did. “You know I can’t stay alone at night by myself.”

  A year ago, Casey was at home alone when a man broke into their apartment about six miles from here. She was unharmed, and the guy freaked out and left when he realized Casey was home, but still, it was an invasion, and she never stayed there alone anymore.

  I can’t blame her because I would be the exact same way. The idea of someone coming into your home, unwelcomed with malicious intent, is just plain scary.

  “Yes, I know,” I finally admit. “Maybe you can pay half my rent then since you’re staying here.” I’m joking, but Casey looks appalled.

  “No.”

  “That’s mean. You should at least offer since you’re here so often.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You don’t make Oliver pay half the rent.”

  Oliver’s ears perk up at the mention of his name, but he doesn’t move from his position on my towel. “He’s a puppy.”

  Casey starts laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. “I still can’t believe Zane named his puppy Prada.”

  “I can. Remember the goldfish he had last year and he named it Gucci?”

  “How could I forget? He cried when it died.”

  He really did.

  Casey and I are down there about ten minutes, talking about the bachelorette party when I see Tathan walking toward the gate with a towel in hand and his swim shorts on.

  I glare at Casey. “You tagged us in the hot tub, didn’t you?”

  She nods, smiling so wide her eyes squint.

  Setting my wine down, I splash water in her face. “You’re an asshole.”

  Casey says nothing more as Tathan approaches. “Hello, ladies.”

  I want to drown myself. And then have him resuscitate me back to life.

  “I’m getting married in two weeks,” Casey announces, trying to get her foot in the door when Tathan emerges himself waist deep in the water next to me.

  Tathan nods, smiling politely at her, but says nothing to her directly.

  I suppose in a sense he’s polite, but there’s a certain amount of shyness present when he’s around a group of people. It’s almost like he’s a completely different person, guarded and unsure.

  “Are you excited?” he asks Casey, making an attempt at conversation when I don’t say anything to him.

  “I am.” And that sends Casey into a conversation I’m not sure Tathan is prepared for. “We met when we were fifteen, and I can’t wait to finally be married to him. He’s in the middle of his internship at Deer Valley Hospital where’s he’s going to be a surgeon.”

  Tathan nods to everything she’s saying as she goes into detail about the proposal and everything she has left to do.

  He knows exactly what she’s getting at when she says, “I’m still searching for a photographer.”

  A good amount of silence follows that statement, and he smiles, understanding what she’s waiting for.

  Only it doesn’t come.

  He says nothing to her, but smiles and takes a drink of his beer he brought down with him.

  Maybe he’s playing hard to get, I might never know, but I laugh despite what happens.

  Oliver, who’s beside me licking my wine glass knocks it over when Casey’s phone starts ringing.

  She picks it up and answers, Tathan’s eyes shift to mine so I look over at Oliver and pet his ears. Immediately he’s trying to drink my wine. Damn dog is an alcoholic already.

  “Buddy, no.” I tap his nose to keep him from drinking the spilled wine.

  “It’s Bryan.” Casey grabs his leash and holds the phone away from her ear for a second. “I’ll take him up with me.”

  “I’ll come with you.” I go to get out, but she waves me off and gives me that look like don’t be rude.

  “You stay.”

  I do, but I don’t like it.

  Well, I don’t want to like it.

  Truth is, I want to be around Tathan, I just don’t want to admit it to myself.

  “Tell me the truth.” He looks at me once Casey’s gone. “Did Casey tag me down here and that’s why you came down?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” His tone seems off when he replies, but I can tell he’s not lying. Honest eyes never lie. “Didn’t look.”

  “Why did you come down here then?”

  He shrugs. “Long day.”

  “I bet.”

  He seems hesitant to look at me, his eyes on the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. “I never meant for that to be a lie. Just didn’t think it mattered.”

  “I guess it didn’t,” I say, knowing it doesn’t. If he wants to go by a different name for the sake of maintaining privacy, that’s up to him.

  The only reason I was mad was because I was caught off guard by it. At least I’m telling myself that tonight. It’s also the wine in my hand telling me that.

  For now, I’m going to try not to stare at him, let the warmth of the hot tub calm my Tathan/Elliott frazzled nerves, and do my best to not dream about hot tub sex with him sitting this close.

  He moves closer to me to the point where I can feel his breath on my shoulder.

  Leaning in, he whispers in my ear. “Don’t be mad, please.”

  I turn my head, ready to say something, but he’s so close that I could kiss him. I want to. He’s beautiful and tempting and it’d be so easy.

  Just lean in.

  I’m about to when I finally gather my senses. “I gotta go.”

  I jump up out of the water, reaching for my towel and run away for the second time today.

  I never saw this coming. Did you? I bet you did, didn’t you?

  And you know, I had a feeling Tathan had some secrets. Just one look at the dude and it’s certain he has them. No man who looks like him is single without a reason for being single.

  “How could I have been so blind? I mean. . . how could I have not seen this coming?”

  I’m asking all these questions to Oliver, who has a small drop of paint on his back.

  It’s Sunday morning and I’m painting my kitchen. I like to paint to distract myself. My apartment has so many different colors in it now you’d think I was a paint store.

  My thoughts must have been on Tathan because I went with a chocolate color for my kitchen. Consequently, this makes me think of his eyes.

  Most people don’t paint apartments, but I do. Yeah, I’ll change it back, but I like to be at home and painting makes me feel at home.

  After my second coat, I’m getting into my music selection and starting to shake my ass a little. Okay, I’m not gonna lie. I’m shaking my ass like I’m auditioning for a music video, which reminds me of the dance with Tathan at the Red Revolver.

  Once the song’s finished, I’m panting
, out of breath and clutching my side. “Damn, Oliver, I really need to do more cardio.”

  And then there’s a clapping sound.

  Turning quickly—though I don’t want to—I’m met with Tathan standing there, no shirt, watching in just a pair of worn khaki shorts sporting that same damn smirk.

  I hate him. His Sunday morning looks are just as good as the other six days of the week.

  Why does he have to be so hot? And he’s half-naked again to tease me.

  Does he ever walk around fully clothed?

  Doubtful with that body. I would probably walk around naked as well if my stomach looked like that.

  “Don’t stop on my account, Amalie,” he says with an amused smirk, his twinkling eyes focused on my ass as he motions for me to continue.

  Oliver looks up at him and growls at Tathan, but doesn’t move. It’s apparent Tathan’s not worth the effort to him at the moment.

  “What do you want and how did you get in here?” I growl, sounding a little like Oliver. I admit, I’m a little embarrassed at the show I gave him and still peeved that he didn’t tell me he’s Elliott Warren.

  He shrugs once, seemingly not deterred by the harshness and hands me a paper. “Sunday paper. Wasn’t sure if you’re the kind of girl who looks through sales ads.”

  He knows I’m not. This is his way to annoy me or get me to like him. Probably a little of both at this point.

  “I’m capable of retrieving my own paper, thank you.” I’m only bitter because I feel so damn exposed here. I was just shaking my ass shamelessly not knowing I had an audience.

  I want your mouth on me.

  Shit. Stop!

  He nods, his right hand running over his jaw. “You keep telling me that.”

  I love your hands. I want them on my body.

  “But yet you never listen.”

  “I know.” He’s smirking again. “It gives me an excuse to talk to you.” He leans up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “You could continue.” He motions with his hands. “I was enjoying myself.”

  “I’m sure you were, buddy. I don’t do private dances,” I tell him. “And you are going to need to wash off that paint before it sticks to you.”

  His brow furrows. “What paint?”