Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (2 page)

“Huh?” I asked loudly, as the person in question rapped again. It was
amazing, the sound of knuckles on the door was just in time with the throbbing in my head. Neat.

“
Ryen? Is that you?” a masculine voice came in, muffled by the still closed door. He sounded familiar. I knew that I knew him, just couldn’t place him. To be honest, I didn’t really care – I was just happy the incessant pounding had stopped.

“Uh
… yeah?” I answered, half wondering what a stupid question that was. I mean, he
was
knocking on
my
door, after all. Who else would be at my house answering the door, without opening it?

“You sound weird
… Are you going to let me in, babe?”

The endearment caught my attention.  The only person who called me ‘babe’ was Chris, the
guy I’d been dating. Suddenly, I was even more exhausted.

“I’m sick,” I told him through the door, holding tight to the handle as
if to keep him from opening it. Realistically, I knew he didn’t have a key, thank God, but still. I could barely stand, for goodness sake; he was the last person I wanted to deal with right now.

Don’t get me wrong, Chris
was a nice guy, obviously, or I’d never have dated him. Just shy of thirty, he was certainly good looking, with floppy blond hair and mischievous hazel eyes. He’d been blessed with good genes, too, built tall and lean without needing a gym membership. Quite a catch, right? Well, for all his positives, he had a couple really big downsides. Or one, really, that snowballed into about a dozen.

See, lazi
ness sort of bothers me and Chris has the monopoly on it. At his age, and with the brains I know he has, somewhere, he should have at least a semi-successful job. Hell, any job would do … Instead, though, he sat on his cute butt and played video games. He was crazy lucky that his parents had left him a trust fund. If he had to actually
work
, try to support himself instead of live the lifestyle he did, I shuddered to think what would happen to him.

“
Ry … Ry! Are you still there? Wow … this is weird, talking through the door like I’m a stranger, or a salesman, or … something.”

“Sorry
… I spaced out. Like I said, I’m sick,” I said again, holding my head with one hand, the other clutching my stomach.
I will not throw up. I will
not
throw up,
I mentally chanted, hoping my body would listen.

“I don’t mind
–” he started, but I cut him off.

“Chris, I mind. Please
… I’m seriously trying to not lose the Nyquil in my stomach. What. Do. You. Want?”

My patience was officially gone, kaput. I couldn’t promise that
I could remain standing, albeit fully propped up by the door, for much longer. I had maybe two minutes left; I didn’t even want to think how I was going to get back to my bed. Maybe teleportation?

“…
for the Black Ops tournament, did I leave it here?”

Leave what here
, I thought, almost desperate for him to leave.

“Nope, it’s not here. I don’t see it,” I answered, praying it would be the right answer.

Silence met me and I held my breath. It probably wasn’t a good idea since it made me even more nauseous.

“Um
… okayyyy,” he said hesitantly, obviously unhappy with me, but I didn’t really care. “Do you want me to bring you some soup? Or some tea?”

“I’m good.” I knew I sounded short with him, but I just couldn’t help it. The poor guy was well meaning, but I just wanted to
lay down. At this point, even the floor was looking good to me. The comforting coolness of the door had gone warm, amplifying my fever tenfold.

“Um
… I guess I’ll just … err … alright. I’ll check on you later, if you want.”

When I didn’t r
espond, I heard him sigh before stomping loudly away. I knew that he was confused – I’d never been flat-out rude to him before, always trying to handle him with kid gloves. He’d probably be text messaging me within ten minutes, asking what he’d done wrong. Yes, he was just that type of guy. Annoying.

I wish I could say that I stayed where I was so I could hear his truck start up, but the truth of the matter was I was afraid to move. I’d let my thoughts go back to the playbook, how to get myself back to the bed
; play number four just wasn’t an option and I was slowly losing hope I’d ever get back there. Using momentum from pushing off the door, I let my feet lead me, stopping short when I was directly in front of the microfiber sofa in my living room.

Hmmm
… maybe this could work
, I thought, my eyes trailing over the faux sheepskin blanket folded across the back. There were plush accent pillows against each armrest, and though I’d probably hate myself later for denting them – hush, I’m picky about my throw pillows– I figured it was as good as I was likely to get. Besides, at least here I’d have a pillow AND a blanket. That’s more than the hallway carpet was offering me.

Sighing, I
face planted onto the cushions, completely content now that I was no longer vertical. I draped the blanket over my body, did a little wiggle to make sure I was comfortable, and hoped sleep would take me soon. I was lucky, it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep. My last conscious thought before I fell, though, made me smile. My cell phone was still in the bedroom; Chris wouldn’t be disturbing me any time soon.

Chapter two
 

I awoke for the third time, my head half hanging off the sofa, completely famished. My stomach was roaring like a starved tiger and my brain hurt – whether due to the lack of blood flow from being half inverted or from low blood sugar, I’m not sure.

Sitting up, I tested my equilibrium, curious to see if I was going to be immediately seized by the need to upchuck. Luckily, my world stayed solid. I still didn’t feel too well, but at least the thought of standing didn’t make me cringe. Food, the draw for food was strong.

Making my way into the kitchen on shaky, yet decently solid, footing, I was depressed by the contents of my cabinets. It hadn’t been that long since I’d gone grocery shopping, but Chris had been here since then.

“I should charge him for the food he eats,” I grumbled, grumpy at finding two cans of cream of chicken soup, a half-eaten box of Cocoa Puffs, and peanut butter, no jelly or bread. Sighing at my choices, I snatched the box of cereal down, pouring some into a bowl before reaching for the door to the fridge.

“Ugh, for the love of Batman,” I swore, finding only a couple drops of milk left in the gallon. “Really? I mean … why does this always happen to me?!”

I was starving and now my only options were soup that wasn’t meant for just eating, spoonfuls of peanut butter, or dry cereal. Of course, I could always go to the grocery store to get some more – after all, it wasn’t that far from my condo.
Contemplating the notion, I snatched my keys off the counter, ran a brush through my hair, dropping it into my purse when I was done - I may need it later - and marched out the door before I could change my mind.

Luckily for me, it was a super
-short trip, seeing as I forgot my glasses on my nightstand, despite going in to grab my phone. Yep, I was running on all cylinders.

I pulled into the parking lot, sighing in relief as the engine shut off
, and threw the keys in my open bag. Going inside to get groceries was just about the last thing I wanted to do, but since there was no milk in the house, I didn’t really have an option. Groceries versus sick me, round one, goes to groceries.

Accepting my fate, I climbed out of my car, for the first time
second guessing my attire when the chilly wind blew right through my clothes. Changing into more people-appropriate attire had been too difficult a concept to grasp and I steeled my back as I lived with my choice of black yoga pants, pink lace top, and hot-pink zip hoodie. So what if they were pajamas and I wasn’t wearing a bra … The world was lucky enough that I wasn’t wearing my adult Superwoman pajamas, with matching attachable cape.

Double pressing the lock button on the key fob, I waited impatiently for the horn to alert me that the alarm was set. It seemed to take forever, especially when I was just trying to get in and out before my slight burst of strength failed me. As always though, the world had plans for me that it knew I wouldn’t like, and my life took a turn to
crazytown.

“Hey
, you!” a voice called faintly in the dusk-lit parking lot. I spun, recognition pinging my subconscious, but also curious if I was the ‘you’ that was being called upon.

Spotting the man hanging out of the window of his car, I froze, struck dumb. Everyone has ghosts in their closets, memories of people and choices made. You know the ones I mean, the ones that were such important parts of your life, the ones that could have changed your entire life, had you chosen the door on the left rather than the one on the right. Here, on this random Thursday evening, sick as a dog, I was coming face to face with one of mine.

“Hi!” I answered, trying for enthusiastic, though I failed. I couldn’t wipe the shock or surprise from my face any more than I could hide it in the tone of my voice.

“How have you been?” he asked, face lit by the lamppost he’d pulled up under.

“I’ve been good … I’ve been good,” I answered lamely, saying the words repeatedly, completely lost as to what to say. Me, with all of my strengths and skills, had no defense for this. All my conversation abilities had flown from me, as effectively as air being expelled from lungs. I blamed it on being sick.

“Good! Me too,” he answered, his smile wavering at the lack of return from me. “I, um, I’ve thought about you a lot
… It’s really good to see you again.”

Despite the slight stutter, his words were matter of fact, genuine. A part of me relished them, soaked them in like a sponge
… but another part of me resented them, hated them. It had been three years. Count them, three, since we’d mutually turned our backs on each other. I say mutually, but I really mean ‘he’ … not that I’m still bitter about it.

“Yeah…” I said, cursing my lack of preparation in dealing with situations like this. What was I supposed to say? That I cried myself to sleep for months after we split? That I missed him like crazy, but that I’d moved on, and he knew it? “I’ve thought about you too
… you know, when I drive by the turn off to your street.”

His eyes traveled over me, taking me in, his handsome face looking exactly as I remembered it
… maybe even better. Damn him. He looked all scrumptious with his hair done, freshly shaved, his cologne drifting out of the open window … and here I was, lucky that I’d even pulled a brush through my hair. Definitely
not
how I would have planned an accidental meeting if I’d had my choice. If I’d planned something like this, it would’ve been after a four-hour trip to the salon, complete with a manicure, pedicure, and a makeup artist … but that’s just me.

“Are things still good with you and
… Chris is his name, right? I think I heard through the grapevine that’s who you were dating.” He was searching for information; I knew him well enough to know it.

“They’re, um … fine … Well, you know … I mean, yeah we’re good,” I stammered.
“How about you?” God, I was so lame.

“I’m good. I’m almost finished with school, my last four classes,” he informed me, his eyes lighting up, obviously proud of his accomplishments. My heart smiled for him
. He’d always wanted his degree, and I was happy that he was finally going to have it. I knew what it meant for him.

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty happy about it. So, what are you up to?”

“Um
…” I looked around, my hands lifting as I turned, waving toward the grocery store. “Grocery shopping.”

“Oh, duh
… why else would you be here.”

Silence fell as I stood awkwardly, my hands resuming their position stuffed in my jacket pockets. The wind was still bitterly cold, and I couldn’t stop rocking back on my heels, desperately wanting to leave, but wanting to stay at the same time. What can I
say, I’m an emotional cutter.