Songbird (Songbird, #1) (47 page)

“Thanks for the beers, Tara,” he said when the movie was over, and it was time to go. “I’ll make sure everyone knows that we
didn’t
sleep together tonight,” he said with a wink.

“That’s obvious, isn’t it? You don’t call me ‘sweetheart’ like you call all your bimbos,” I teased.

He laughed. “I only call them
sweetheart
because I can’t be bothered learning their names, and I don’t think they’d be so forthcoming if I called them
bimbo
.” He shrugged. “You know, this is new for me; having a female friend. Kinda nice, actually.” He smiled down at me, his emerald eyes searching my face. “I’ve never taken the time to get to know a girl. Never really wanted to before, but you’re an exception.” He kissed me quickly on the forehead. “Good night, Tara. Hope to see you tomorrow evening at the bar.”

T
HINGS WERE
awkward, to say the least, at
Songbirds
. I only went in when I had to work, and not only was I missing my friendship with Marcus, but I was missing being able to play the piano for an hour or two each day.

Thank goodness Riley was coming for a visit at the end of the week. I really missed him, and I missed the physical contact. I hadn’t realised how many hugs I was receiving from Marcus until he stopped giving them to me.

It had been two weeks since the enormous screw up of the Valentine’s Day night out, and things had only marginally improved. At least now, when I went to the bar Marcus didn’t run in the opposite direction. He had even managed to say hello to me, and give me a half-smile the last time I was there.

But he was extremely closed off still; I guess that was what he meant by needing to “distance himself”, and it broke my heart every time I saw him. I just wanted my old friend back, and for things to be the way they used to be. I missed Marcus, even though I still saw him a couple of times a week.

Riley was due back home this evening, and I was like a kid waiting for Santa. It had been eight weeks since we had seen each other, and although we were in touch nearly every day, nothing could beat having him physically near me.

I’d spent all Thursday evening at the beauticians, splurging on a facial, eyelash tint, and of course, head-to-toe waxing.

I had shaved “my privates” the last time Riley had visited, and it had sent him into a tailspin. However the whiskers that grew a week or so later drove me crazy, and I had to keep consciously stopping myself from scratching like some twenty-dollar hooker with crabs. So I decided to try waxing, the thought of which brought tears to my eyes. I found a place on the Internet that was close to home, and booked myself in. I didn’t feel comfortable asking the girls at work if they could recommend anywhere; that would be a dead giveaway to my plans.

Tamzin, the beautician, was lovely, if not a bit airy-fairy, as some beauticians tend to be. She chose the order of business, deciding on the waxing first to get the worst over with, before the facial, and then the eyelashes.

“Okay, I’ll give you a minute to undress, and lie up on the table,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

Right, so did I leave my underwear on or not? I decided to leave it on; no point stripping everything off if it wasn’t necessary. Then I jumped up on the paper-covered table, and covered myself over with the minuscule hand towel she had left for me. I was just trying to decide the best place to strategically position the hand towel when she re-entered.

On the plus side, the whole episode went by in a bit of a blur—probably because I almost passed out several times from the pain. I also now had a new respect for beauticians, who have to keep a straight face as their clients try to twist like pretzels to get the best hair-removing angles.

On the down side, every time I moved I stuck to the paper that was laid on the table, and my thighs stuck together when I was eventually allowed to close my legs.

Finally, that part was over, and I let out the breath I had been holding for nearly forty minutes.

The facial was relaxing, and thank goodness, uneventful. Tamzin worked her magic hands over my face and down my neck with practiced skill, and at one stage I may have actually drifted off to sleep.

Last was the eyelash tint. I had tinted my eyelashes in the past, and always liked the fact that you no longer needed to wear mascara every day. I chose the blackest-black dye, and tried really hard not to move while Tamzin painted the stingy ink on my lashes. After twenty minutes of leaving the dye on, she skilfully rinsed the colour off, and held a mirror up for me to see the results.

She had done a great job on all three tasks, and I thanked her, and promised to come back in about six weeks to do it all over again. Well, the facial and tint at least—the jury was still out on the waxing. I would need to see the results when it wasn’t red and sore.

On the way home, I called into a candle shop, and picked up some beautifully scented candles, then on the spur of the moment, bought some new linen as well. Most of mine was a bit girly, and although it was my apartment, I wanted Riley to feel at home too, so I bought a set that was more neutral coloured and unisex.

Everything was set, and I couldn’t wait for Riley’s visit.

I’d been glued to the photocopier all day at work, so when I finally returned to my desk, I wasn’t surprised that my phone was blinking with a missed call. Riley would usually call just to confirm what flight he was arriving on, so I knew what time to be at the airport and greet my beloved.

I started listening to the message with a smile on my face, but his voice this time was different. Instead of the usual lilt that set my heart on fire, he sounded distant and distracted. He told me that he wouldn’t be able to make it, something important had come up, and he would be “off the radar” for a few days.

My smile disappeared as my heart sank. Wondering if that “something important" that had come up affected the entire unit, I quickly called Kelli. She had flown out to Tasmania that morning, and was meeting Cooper there for a family visit. Did he have to cancel his leave as well?

Damn!
I got her voicemail, so I left a message, asking her to call me back when she got the chance.

I packed up my desk and headed home, disappointment wrenching my heart straight out of my chest.

I had planned what we were going to do for the next few days, and everything I looked at reminded me that all our plans had gone out the window. From the bottle of Shiraz waiting for
us,
to the delicious food in the fridge, to the restaurant booking I would now have to cancel.

I went into the bedroom to get changed, and looked at the beautiful new linen on the bed, and the candles placed around the room that were not going to be lit tonight.

Needing more than a vague voice message, I sat on the edge of the bed and phoned Riley.

“Hello,” a female voice answered, and I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment to double-check I had called the right number.

“Hello,” I replied frowning. “Who’s this?”

“Who’s this?” the voice responded smugly.

I hated her already, after only three words.

“It’s Tara, Riley’s girlfriend. Who are you, and why are you answering my boyfriend’s phone?” I waited for a good explanation to that question.

“This is Rebecca, and I’m answering his phone because he’s in the shower, washing that magnificent body of his. He was a little sweaty after his workout.” She practically purred the last part of that sentence.

Yes, I hated her, all right. I didn’t know what to say. Why was she in Sydney at his house, and was this the important “something” that had come up? Had he ditched me for her?

“What are you doing there?” I asked, barely audibly.

“I’m living here for a while; didn’t Riley tell you?” She was so smug I wanted to reach into the phone and strangle her. “Can I leave a message for him?” She was speaking, but the words were not sinking in.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Finally, I managed to answer her. “Yes, you can tell him his EX-girlfriend called,” I said, and I hung up.

I burst into tears, but my tears of sadness and loss soon turned to ones of anger.

A million thoughts raced through my mind, but they all came back to the same conclusion: he had been with her all along.

The more I thought about it, the more furious I got. He had played me, and I had been stupid enough to fall for it. After everything I’d been through with Stephen, I didn’t deserve this.

I started pacing back and forth across my living room. I needed to speak to him, and give him a piece of my mind. I picked up the phone, and clenching my teeth, dialled his number. Then, as my stomach tied itself in a knot, I braced myself, waiting to hear his voice.

“Oh it’s you again,” that smug bitch said, and I knew I was going to have to deal with her to get to Riley.

“Yes, it’s me. Put him on, now.”

“He’s not here, he’s gone to get some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. He likes the Chocolate Fudge Brownie flavour.”

“I know what he likes,” I snapped, even more furious that she was telling me what my boyfriend liked.

“That’s not what I hear.”

The tone of her voice was like a slap in the face. What had he been telling her about me?

“Did you tell him I called before?” I asked sharply.

“Yep, but he didn’t want to talk to you. I can tell him you’re stalking him, if you like?”

I hung up; there was no point continuing the phone call. If she did really tell him, then he obviously didn’t want to talk to me. If she didn’t tell him the first time I called, then she wouldn’t be passing this message on either.