Nothing More (23 page)

It's definitely weird. “A little, yeah.”

“It's like the universe is giving me some sort of a test or something.” Her voice is heavy with exhaustion. “Do you think it's okay for me to be friends with him? I'm not even close to being ready to date anyone.” She looks around the room. “But I could use more friends. That's okay, right?”

“What? More friends than just me? How could you!” I tease.

Tessa kicks out at me and I grab hold of her pink-socked foot, tickling the sole. She screams and lunges at me, but she's easy to stop.

I hold my arms up and wrap them around her, preventing her from whatever revenge she was planning to exact. She screams and her laughter rings through the apartment.

God, I have missed her laughter so much.

“Nice try,” I say, laughing, tickling her sides.

She shrieks again, thrashing around like a fish on a line.

“Landon!” Tessa shouts dramatically, trying to get free from my grip.

This must be what it's like to have a sister. I can't wait for little Abby to come into the world. I better stay in shape so I can keep up with her. Sometimes I worry that the gap in our ages will be too big, that she won't want to be close to me.

Tessa is still kicking and I've loosened my hold on her. She's red-faced and her hair is messy. Her green tie is thrown over her shoulder and I can't help but burst into laughter. She sticks her tongue out at me. Hearing something, I look toward the hallway.

Dakota is standing in the doorway staring, stone-faced, at Tessa and me on the couch.

“Hey.” I smile at her, relieved that she didn't stand me up.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Dakota.” Tessa waves with one hand while trying to fix her braid with the other.

I stand up from the couch and walk toward Dakota. She's wearing a white T-shirt, hung off one shoulder and barely covering her pink sports bra underneath. Her pants are workout capris, the tight black material clinging to her skin.

“I'm going back to work. If you guys need anything while I'm out, text me,” Tessa says. She grabs her purse from the table and tucks her keys into her apron.

We never finished our conversation about Robert, but I don't think she feels comfortable enough around Dakota to talk about it. Still, it's so strange that he's here, living in Brooklyn. If this were a comic book, I would swear he was a creepy stalker, or some kind of spy.

A spy would be more interesting, for sure.

“Will do,” I say just as she walks through the door.

Turning to look at Dakota, I notice that she hasn't moved from the spot she was standing in when she came in.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her.

She fights a smile.

“So beautiful . . .” I go over and kiss her on her cheek. “How was your day?”

She relaxes and I can't tell if she's in a bad mood or if she's nervous to be alone with me after all this time.

“It was good. I had another audition, that's why I'm late. I came as soon as I could. Although it seems you were fine waiting, though,” she says with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yeah, I was talking to Tessa. She's having a hard time lately.” I shrug my shoulders and reach for her hand.

When she lets me take it, I lead her to the couch.

“Still? Is it Hardin still?” she asks.

“Yeah, it's always Hardin.” I half smile, trying not to think too much about his visit next weekend and the fact that I'm a chickenshit and still haven't told Tessa. She knows he's coming, just not how soon.

I'm going to try to keep the new-old waiter thing under wraps for now.

Even though it's a coincidence, Hardin will make way more of it.

“Well, she seemed fine to me,” Dakota says, looking around the living room.

“Is something wrong?” I ask her. “You seem mad or something. How was your audition?”

She shakes her head and I reach for her feet and place them on my lap. I pull off her sneakers and start rubbing her arches. Dakota's eyes close and she leans her head against the back of the couch.

“It was okay. I don't think I'm going to get it. The line for open auditions was still out the door when I left. I was the third—they probably already forgot about me.”

I hate when she thinks so low of herself. Doesn't she know how talented she is? How unforgettable she is?

“I doubt that. There's no way anyone could forget about you.”

“You're biased.” She gives me a little smile and I return the gesture with a huge grin.

“Hardly,” I scoff. “Have you
seen
yourself?”

She rolls her eyes and winces when my fingers press gently at her toes. I pull off her socks and they stick to her toes.

“Is that blood?” I ask her, slowly peeling off the black cotton.

“Probably,” she says like it's no big deal.

Like it's a paper cut that she barely noticed.

Sure enough, it's blood. Her toes are crusted with it . . . I've seen what ballet shoes do to her feet even before she was dancing full-time. They were bad then. But this is worse than I've ever seen.

“Jesus, Dakota.” I peel off the other sock.

“It's fine. I got new slippers and they just aren't broken in yet.”

She tries to move away, but I put my hand on her leg to stop her. “Stay here.”

I lift her feet off of my lap and get up from the couch.

“I'm getting a washcloth,” I tell her.

She looks like she wants to say something, but doesn't.

I grab a clean washcloth from the bathroom cabinet and run it under warm water. I check the cabinet for aspirin and shake the bottle. Empty, of course. I can't imagine Tessa leaving an empty bottle of anything around, so the blame is mine for this.

I glance in the mirror while the washcloth soaks with water, and try to tame my hair. The top is getting long, too long. And the back needs trimming; it's starting to curl up on my neck, and unless I want to look like Frodo, I need a haircut soon.

I shut off the water and ring the excess out of the washcloth. It's a little too hot, but it will cool down by the time I get back into the living room. Grabbing a dry towel, I walk back to Dakota.

But when I find her, she's fast asleep on the couch. Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes are tightly closed. She must really be exhausted.

I sit back down, careful not to wake her, and, as gently as I can, dab the cloth on the damaged skin of her feet. She doesn't stir, just lies silently sleeping as I clean her cuts and wipe away the dried blood.

She's working herself too hard. From the bloody feet to the pure exhaustion she's wearing on her face right now. I want to spend time with her, but I want her to rest, so gathering up the bloodstained washcloth and the towel, I grab the blanket from the chair and cover her sleeping body with it.

What can I do to occupy myself while she sleeps?

Tessa is at work, Posey is at work . . . and thus ends my long list of pals.

I
N THE END, ASPIRIN AND
Gatorade were the friends I decided to call upon, which meant a trip to the deli.

Ellen is working, and since her birthday is tomorrow, I killed some time seeing what she was up to (nothing much) and asking what she thought her parents might get her (again, nothing much).

Which sounds terrible. So I try to ferret out what she likes so maybe I can get her something fun.

On the way back, I gave my mom a call and talked to her and Ken for a few minutes.

When I get back in the apartment, I hang up and hear noise from the living room and figure Dakota's woken back up. Going in, seeing her there looking at me with a sort of confused where-the-heck-have-you-been look, I set my cell phone down on the table as slowly as I can.

I do it somewhat comically, but I feel like I'm trapped in an interrogation room or something. Only in this room there're Cheez-Its and bottles of Gatorade. So, maybe not so much like an interrogation room.

Though . . . Dakota would make a sexy-ass cop. I can imagine her body dressed in a tight uniform, just for me to peel off. The look on her face right now, though, says that if she were a cop, she would arrest me. And not in a sexy, playful, handcuff-me-to-the-bed-and-tease-me way.

“It was my mom and Ken on the phone. They had an appointment today for little Abby,” I say with a somewhat fake smile.

Not fake in that I'm
not
happy about the baby's progress, or that Ken is still head over heels for my mom, but fake because I suddenly get paranoid that Dakota overheard me talking to my mom about Nora right at the end of the conversation.

But Nora is my friend, if barely. Still, Dakota hearing her name as I said it to my mom would only further fuel the fire of jealousy she's creating over her roommate. The match in her hand is burning pretty bright now and I want her to understand that there's nothing to be worried about. Nora wouldn't give me a chance even if I pursued it. It would be messy because of her friendship with Tessa, and I barely know her anyway—so why is this a thing?

Dakota gets up and stretches out her back. “So, how is she?” she asks. “Abby. How is she doing in there?”

I let out a little tension-breath I didn't realize I was holding and step into the kitchen with my haul. Dakota follows me in, wrapping her arms around my neck and leaning her head on my shoulder. Her hair smells like coconut and her curls are soft against my cheek.

“She's good. They sounded a little worried for a second, but I think I'm just overthinking things.”

Dakota's breath is warm against my skin. “
Overthinking? You?
You don't say!” She chuckles and her laugh is beautiful, like she is.

I reach my hand up and gently squeeze her arm.

“I'm glad she's doing okay. It's still kind of weird to think of your mom being pregnant, at her age.” Seemingly aware of how her words sound, she quickly recovers, adding, “Not in a bad way. She's the best mom I've ever seen, and both you and Abby are so lucky to have her, at any age. I don't know Ken very well yet, but from what you tell me, he's going to be a great dad.”

“He will be,” I say, and kiss her arm as I put the snacks away in the cabinets.

“Let's just hope Abby is more like you and less like Hardin.” She laughs again and little needles prick my skin.

I don't like the way she said that. Not one bit.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I lift her arms from mine and turn around to face her.

Dakota's face gives away her surprise at my reaction.

Am I overreacting?

I don't think that I am.

“I was just joking, Landon. I didn't mean anything by it. You two are so different, that's all.”

“Everyone is different, Dakota. It's not your place to judge him. Or anyone.”

She sighs and sits down at the kitchen table.

“I know. I wasn't trying to judge him. I'm the last person who can judge anyone.” She looks down at her hands. “It was a shitty joke that I won't make again. I know he means a lot to you.”

My shoulders relax, and I start wondering why I got so irritated so quickly. It's like it came out of nowhere, although I do get tired of people piling on my stepbrother.

Dakota seems remorseful . . . and Hardin really
is
a tough pill to swallow. I can't really blame her for her opinion of him. She only knew him as the guy who smashed a cabinetful of dishes my dead grandma gave my mom. And as the guy who refused to call her by her actual name.

Hardin does this thing where he pretends that he doesn't know any female names except Tessa's. So Dakota became “Delilah” every time he addressed her. I don't know why he does it, and sometimes I actually wonder if, in fact, he really hasn't forgotten every woman's name except Tessa's.

Weirder things have happened between those two.

But I would rather not spend the entire night at odds with Dakota over one remark.

“Okay. Let's just talk about something else. Something lighter,” I suggest.

Since she's already apologized and seems like she genuinely didn't mean anything by her comment, I want to move on. I want to talk to her. I want to hear about her days and her nights.

I want to lie next to her in bed and reminisce about our wild teenage years when we had movie marathons on school nights and held pizza-roll-eating contests on my futon. My mom never questioned why I blew through bag after bag of pepperoni pizza rolls. She had reason to wonder what was going on when I started asking for the combination varieties, because she knew I hated them. But she never once asked me why Dakota ate so much every time she came over. I think she knew that since a couple of forty-ounce beers cost just as much as a bag of pizza rolls, the chances were slim that Dakota's freezer would have any food in it, much less name-brand pizza rolls.

“Thank you.” Dakota looks down and I smile at her and move closer.

“Come on, you.” I dip down and lift her body into my arms and she shrieks.

She's light, even lighter than I remember, but it sure feels good to hold her in my arms.

The twenty-two steps to the couch isn't long enough to make up for the last few months, but I drop her onto the cushions. She lands with a soft thud and her body bounces up a few inches and she shrieks again.

I step back and she's on her feet in no time, running after me with a huge grin. She's giggling, face red and hair wild.

When she lunges at me, I jump out of the way. I slide on the thick rug that I was supposed to tape down the second day I moved in and jump onto the chair, missing her fingertips by mere inches. Something creaks beneath me.

I really hope I don't break this damn chair.

I leap off of it and slide across the floor with the help of my socks. I lose my balance, and as my leg muscles strain, unsuccessfully, to right myself, I realize that my pants are so freaking tight that my legs are bending in a painful, unnatural way. Sitting on the floor, I pull one leg in and twist my body and Dakota rushes over to me. Her face is worried when she puts one hand on my shoulders and tucks the other one under my chin, forcing me to look up at her.