Tall, Tatted and Tempting(24)

I nod and help her to her feet. She picks up her bag and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I flop back onto the couch and cover my face with my hands. This girl will shred me. I already know she will. And I’m jumping in with everything I am despite the fact that I know it.

“Want to talk about it?” Paul asks. Matt comes into the living room and drops down on the sofa beside me.

You too? I sign and then throw my hands up in surrender.

Matt grins and shrugs his shoulders.

You guys like her, right? I ask. Their opinions do matter to me.

Paul nods, while Matt shakes his head. What the f*ck? It’s like they’re at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Matt lays a hand on my knee so I’ll look at him. “I like her,” he says. He’s talking while he signs, which makes it easier to listen. “But how much do you know about her?” His eyebrows draw together.

I don’t know anything about her. Nothing, I admit. I don’t know a damn thing about her. I lean forward so I can prop my elbows on my knees. I feel like I can’t breathe. She won’t tell me anything. Not even her name.

“What’s she hiding?” Matt asks.

I wish I knew. I flop back against the couch again.

“She looks so familiar to me,” Paul says, looking toward the closed bathroom door. He shakes his head. “I wish I could place her.”

She busks in the subway tunnels every day, I sign with a shrug.

“It’s more than that,” Paul says. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking his crazy thoughts away. There’s no way he could know her from anywhere else.

“She staying over again?” Matt asks.

I nod.

“Don’t fall in love with her,” Matt warns.

Paul nods his head in agreement. “Fuck her and be done with her,” he says.

She’s not like that.

Paul exhales heavily. “You haven’t slept with her yet, have you?”

I slept with her. I hang my head. But all we did was sleep.

“You’ve never slept with anyone, dumbass,” Paul says.

I haven’t. Not since my mom died. I used to crawl in bed with her when I was young. Her bed was always warm and smelled like her. After she died, I used to crawl in her empty bed just so I could smell her, until Paul changed the sheets and took that room as his own.

I know. I’ve had plenty of women in my bed. But none of them stayed.

“Stay smart,” Paul says, tapping his temple.

“He’d have to be smart to stay smart,” Matt says, bumping my knee with his. “He’s already half in love with her.” He looks down at his fee and then glares at me. “If you don’t want her, can I ask her out?”

She’s mine! I sign.

He holds his hands up to fend me off. “I know! I know! I said if, *. I just wanted to see where your head is.” He heaves a sigh. “Apparently, you really like this one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think she has bad intentions. But I’m worried about you. Be careful.”

Matt’s in love with April. But she dumped him when she found out he was sick. Self-serving bitch.

“She brought me a bucket when I was sick last night,” Matt admits. “It was nice of her.”

Paul’s eyebrows draw together. “That was you, puking your guts out?” Paul asks.

This is Matt’s second round of chemo. The first didn’t work. This is his last chance. He nods.

Why didn’t you tell us? I ask.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m scared,” he admits. He looks me in the eye and then his gaze moves to meet Paul’s. “I’m going to f*cking die,” he says. He grins but there’s nothing funny about it. “So you don’t have to worry about me asking her out.”

“Don’t joke about that shit,” Paul bites out.

“I’m not joking,” Matt says. He’s serious.

Paul leans forward and squeezes Matt’s knee in his hand. “You have to believe it’s going to work. If you don’t, you don’t stand a chance.”

Matt pushes forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. “You guys believe for me, ok?” he says. “Because I’m too f*cking tired to do it.” He gets up and goes to his room, closing the door behind him.

“When did he start admitting he’s afraid?” Paul asks.

I shrug. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say it. I look up at Paul. Fear clutches my heart in a death grip. He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?

“I don’t know,” he admits. He swipes a hand down his face.

I pat my shirt pocket, reaching for my cigarettes.

“Matt has f*cking cancer, dumbass,” he snarls at me, his hands flying wildly. “And you want to smoke?”

I jerk the pack from my pocket and toss it across the room, into the waste basket.

Paul nods. “Thank you,” he signs dramatically. He sags back into the lazy chair.

He’s going to make it, right? I ask.

He nods. “Of course he is.”

I believe him. Because I can’t imagine a life without Matt in it. I won’t allow myself to think he’s going to die. I just won’t. If Matt can’t believe he’s going to live right now, I’ll believe enough for the two of us.