The Lion's Den(57)

A vision of us tumbling into it, ripping the wet clothes off each other, flashed before my eyes. I blinked it away.

He rummaged in a chest of drawers and produced a black long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of women’s leggings.

I held up the navy-blue leggings. “Are these Summer’s?”

“No. You can have them, though; she won’t be coming back for them.”

I had to laugh. “Gotcha.”

“I know Summer’s your friend, and I respect that.” He found and held my gaze. “I don’t know what she’s told you, but we’re not together. I’ve been very honest with her about that.”

I bit my lip. “Why?”

He shrugged. “We’re not compatible.”

I knew it wasn’t my business and I should probably have left it there, but after months of hearing it from her side, I was interested to hear his. “What do you mean?”

“How can I put this without sounding like a total dick?” He sighed. “She’s obsessed with money. Status. I understand it: she didn’t grow up with it; she’s looking for security. But that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m the opposite—my childhood was the casualty of a horribly greedy father. I’ve spent most of my twenties thinking money is responsible for all the evil in the world. But, of course, that’s not true, either.”

“So why do you still see her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her. And I enjoy her company. Like you do, I’m guessing. In small doses. She knows we’re never going to be serious, and she’s okay with it.”

I was shocked that he could be so perceptive about her and yet so blind. “Eric,” I laughed. “She’s not okay with it.”

“She says she is,” he protested. “I really am honest with her.”

I furrowed my brow. “Trust me,” I said, “she’s not. Summer’s used to getting what she wants. And she wants you. Once she realizes she’s not going to have you—well, you’ll know.”

He nodded slowly, but I could tell he still didn’t understand. “I’m moving to New York in a few weeks anyway, so that should put an end to it.”

I felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment. “Permanently?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll keep the place here, and I’m sure I’ll be back and forth some, but I need a change.”

He flicked on the light in the bamboo-and-slate bathroom, and I heard the water turn on. “A shower will warm you up,” he said as he left, gently shutting the door behind him. Our conversation echoed in my head while I warmed my shivering body under the hot water. How on earth could he believe that Summer was okay with their not being together? She must put on quite an act.

I emerged from his bedroom freshly showered and cozy to find him in the kitchen arranging the roses in a vase. He looked up and smiled. “Feel better?”

I nodded. “Beautiful flowers.”

“It’s my mom’s birthday,” he explained. “Tea?”

“Sure.” He filled a mug and handed it to me. “She lives here? Your mom?”

He shook his head. “She died when I was eleven.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. She’s the one who got me into gardening—she loved roses, so every year on her birthday, I buy them.”

“That’s so sweet.” I wanted to ask how she died, but knew it wasn’t polite. “Did your dad raise you after she passed?”

His face clouded. “No. My grandmother.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You know how I feel about my father.”

“He’s really horrible, huh?”

His eyes met mine, and suddenly I saw a lost little boy.

I set my mug on the counter and wrapped my arms around his waist, laying my head on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He hugged me tightly, burying his face in my wet hair. We stayed like that for a long time, our bodies pressed close together. I heard his heartbeat as his chest rose and fell.

When we finally separated, his eyes were wet with tears. He wiped them with his sleeve. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to talk about it. Especially today.”

“It’s okay.” I wanted to say more, wanted to know more. But that way lay danger. And outside, the rain had cleared. “I should go.”

“Let me get your car for you.”

While he was gone, I perused his collection of records and books. We had crossover in our taste, though his skewed darker than mine. I wanted to ask him about his thoughts on Siddhartha and Heart of Darkness, wanted to know which was his favorite Rumi poem. But I’d have to leave that to Summer.

Summer, shit.

When he returned, the first words out of my mouth were “Let’s not tell Summer I was here.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t going to. Sure you don’t want to stay for lunch?”

I’d have loved nothing more. “I can’t.”

Even if he stopped seeing Summer altogether, if she married someone else and was totally happy, I’d still never be able to go anywhere near Eric without being ready to permanently end my friendship with her.