From the Jump(81)

Hours later, walking down the sidewalk beneath the glowing streetlights, my body is still buzzing. Music echoes in my head, and I squeeze the beats into Deiss’s hand. I want to tell him he’s amazing, to thank him for making me feel so alive after so many years of being frozen. Instead, I catch sight of beautiful brunette who passes, and I ask him if he slept with Zoe.

I’m shocked when I hear the words leave my mouth. It’s an amateur dating move. Not to mention simple self-preservation suggests a person shouldn’t search for answers they don’t want to hear. I can’t take it back, though. It would involve pretending I don’t care, and I’m not sure I’m still the kind of person capable of doing that. Especially not with Deiss.

“I was going to,” he says quietly. “I intended to sleep with her in St. Lulia, and I also went out with the intention to hook up the night you moved into the loft.”

“And?” I don’t know why I want details. Deiss certainly doesn’t owe them to me, and my stomach is already queasy at the thought of him on the prowl, all sex panther and irresistible. But I seem to be on a roll.

“And I couldn’t do it,” he says.

A disbelieving grunt sneaks up from my throat. “You forget that I’ve met Zoe. I’m fully aware that you could’ve.”

“No, Liv.” Deiss tugs my hand, pulling me into him, then slides his arms around my waist. He drops his forehead to mine so I can see the sincerity in his expression. “I couldn’t. Both times, I knew I was only looking for a distraction from you. And it didn’t feel right to use a woman like that.”

My heart lurches at his implication, and I thread my fingers behind his neck and tug his mouth toward mine to keep myself from asking more questions. They’re unnecessary. I don’t need Deiss to explain to me why he didn’t act on his attraction. I already understand. Just like me, he learned from his past. We learned that people leave when you let them inside. And he wanted me to stay in his life.

My lips meet his, and I kiss him to say I’m hoping for the exact same thing.



* * *



—

“Well, what do you think?” Phoebe snaps her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back from my endless rationalization over the secrets I’m keeping. She still doesn’t know that Deiss and I are together, just like Deiss doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed his confidence to Simone.

I blink at her and feel a pang of guilt. I’ll tell her soon, I reassure myself for the hundredth time. It makes more sense to wait. The longer Deiss and I date, the more excited Phoebe will be for us, and the less it will appear the two of us are having a fling. And giving Simone time to prove she’ll keep Deiss’s secret also proves it wasn’t so bad that I let it slip in the first place. It’s best for everyone if I keep my mouth shut for a little while longer.

Even if this is true, it doesn’t justify the fact that I haven’t told anyone about the meeting I had on Wednesday with the manager of Bears in Captivity. I’m now officially contracted to do all the graphic work for their band. It’s great news, the kind of thing you tell your friends immediately.

It’s also the kind of guaranteed income that frees me up to move out of Deiss’s loft.

The fact that I haven’t informed Deiss of this update to my financial status is unjustifiable. He allowed me to stay with him because I truly needed a place to live. I can’t take advantage of his generosity by pretending to be needier than I am. And I certainly can’t trick him into making me his live-in girlfriend.

I’m going to tell him. Tonight.

“Liv?” Phoebe frowns. She’s dressed me up for tonight’s concert at Studio Sounds and is beginning to look frustrated by my lack of response to her efforts.

“This is sexy,” I say, forcing myself to focus. Pivoting from side to side, I examine myself in front of Phoebe’s full-length mirror. Her room looks like a tornado has blown through, littering its path with thrift store treasures.

“Good sexy or bad sexy?” Phoebe tightens the knot of the men’s Zeppelin t-shirt she’s tied to reveal my midriff. She claims its largeness offsets the tininess of the shorts she’s had me shimmy into. But her logic doesn’t work if we tie the shirt up to be smaller.

“I haven’t decided,” I say.

“Trick question!” She claps her hands together. “There’s no such thing as bad sexy.”

She puts on a scarlet slip dress and searches the gold-hooked board of jewelry she’s mounted on her wall. With a pleased murmur, she ties a velvet choker with dangling gold in the middle around her neck. She pairs it with simple gold studs in her ears.

“See-ola?” She holds her arms up and spins triumphantly. “I look like I forgot to put on the rest of my clothes, and it’s still not bad sexy.”

I concede to her wisdom and bring up her date with the guitarist again. They went out last night, when I was out with Deiss, and I can’t decide if she’s being cagey because my excuse for not doubling with the drummer was too vague or because she didn’t have a good time.

“He was nice, though, right?” I ask as we walk to the record store. If Seth has done anything to upset her, I can’t possibly work with his band. I don’t care how great of an opportunity it might be.

“He was wonderful. He’s just—” She cuts herself off, pointing at the window display in a boutique across the street. “Check out that dress. Isn’t it gorgeous?”