THE SIMPLE NEED
AN – I dedicate this to the amazing women who I had the pleasure of interacting with at the Charlie St. Cloud World Premiere in Los Angeles, California. I feel so humbled to have people who support my work on a level that makes me feel far more big-headed than I deserve. There are authors out there who have this incredibly focused dedication whom I admire so much and here I am, unfocused and flitting about the world and updating once in a blue moon and yet people respond with such positivity nonetheless and upon meeting me don't stone me for a lack of updates.
I also enclose a hidden dedication to someone special who never fails to make sure that I know how much this story is wanted and loved. For the record, I'd been planning this dedication in advance, it was not inserted due to a certain request ;) Hope you enjoy your chocolate cake.
xxx
EIGHT
xxx
The sounds of Anberlin's album Cities wafted throughout Troy's studio apartment. He was lying back on his bed with the thick black out curtains drawn, wearing a pair of cargo shorts. The grey v neck t-shirt he had been wearing had been tossed across the room and the lone pedestal fan he owned was turned on to full blast, the air blowing directly at him. He'd been lying still for over an hour. Beside him on the bed lay his iPhone, open to the contacts page.
Five Guys, Gabriella, Gerry...
Every so often he picked up the phone, staring at the screen and scrolling up and down, hovering over her name and then scrolling away. It was a process he'd repeated every five minutes for the last hour, in a ritual each day for the last six days.
A sudden pounding at his door startled him and he tossed aside the phone.
"Troy; it's Chad," he could hear Chad's voice faintly through the door.
Troy padded over to the door, pulling it open.
"Don't you own a shirt?" Chad remarked in greeting.
Troy rolled his eyes and stood back to allow Chad into the apartment. "It's a million degrees outside and I don't have air conditioning. Forgive me for trying to keep cool."
"Isn't this heat wave ridiculous? It's only spring," Chad stepped into the room and held up a paper bag he was holding onto. "Since you blew me off last night for beers, I brought this around." He lifted a six pack of beers out of the bag.
"I didn't blow you off; I had to cover a shift at the store. And I think we both know I'm not in the position to turn down overtime."
Chad had only been speaking in jest; he all too well appreciated the need for Troy to do overtime. A fact which was illustrated in perfect fashion when Chad plucked a couple of beers out for them and then opened the fridge to put the others away – noting the bareness with the exception of a pizza box, a couple of carrots, a few bottles of water and a carton of milk which he wasn't inclined to look at the expiration date of.
They settled onto the couch – Troy pulled on his shirt and moved the pedestal fan a few feet, having to unplug it and bring over to plug it into a different socket in order to have it blowing directly on them.
"So. How's things?" Chad said casually. "Overtime aside."
Troy shrugged. "Same old, same old. You?"
"About that." Chad paused. Subtlety wasn't his greatest strength. "Talked to anyone interesting lately?"
"Yeah actually at work the other day this random guy came in with a canary on his shoulder and..." Troy trailed off, spotting the blank look on Chad's face. "Why do I get the impression that you weren't asking me about random people I met and that you've got some, like, sneaky reason for being here today?"
Chad sighed. He'd lasted about a minute before being sprung. He decided that bluntness was his best approach. "Why haven't you called her?"
Troy gaped at him – there was no need for clarification of her, and he didn't even contemplate playing dumb because he knew all too well that it was a waste of time and they'd just wind up talking about the truth sooner or later. "How do you know about that?"
"Girls talk. And wives talk to their husbands," Chad said, the explanation rather obvious to him.
Troy narrowed his eyes. "Gabriella told Taylor?"
"Uh-huh."
"Gabriella was talking about me?" There was a glimmer of pleasure in his tone.
"Just the other day," Chad revealed, figuring that as long as he was having the conversation at all he might as well go with full disclosure in the hope of maximum impact. "She sounded a bit upset."
The pleasure which had been in Troy's tone dissipated. "About how I hadn't called?"
He really didn't like the thought of being that guy, that guy who said he'd call and then didn't, the guy who makes a girl wait by her phone in anticipation and doesn't deliver. In particular, he didn't like the thought of being that guy where Gabriella was concerned. And yet it was Thursday evening, almost a week had gone by, and he was doing exactly that – being that guy.
"Well, are you going to call?" Chad asked bluntly.
He'd known Troy since preschool – they were more than best friends, they were brothers. But strangely over the few months he'd gotten to know their neighbour Gabriella, she'd grown on him and he'd developed a protectiveness over her. However not only did he know that he wouldn't be happy if she got hurt – he knew that Troy didn't want to intentionally hurt her. But a few bad decisions and he was very much so in the position to do precisely that. Hurt the one girl who had actually succeeded in capturing a piece of him.
Troy picked up the lonesome ratty off-white cushion which 'decorated' his sofa. It had a series of dirty marks caused by spilled food and drink he'd failed to clean up properly – partly due to a lack of knowledge how, partly because he didn't own the right cleaning products, but mostly due to a lack of care. The soft object was being wrangled by his hands.
"You know, I went to call her the other day."
"Went to?"
"Yup. I dialled the number and everything."
Chad was confused. "So, what happened?"
Troy stared at the cushion – not able to look Chad in the eye as he made the following slightly embarrassing confession. "I got a recorded message from AT&T telling me that my service has been disconnected."
"Say what?" Chad was still a little confused.
"I hadn't paid the bill."
Chad sighed. "If you need money..."
"No! It's sorted already," Troy assured him. "It was just a problem with some money transferring on time. It's fine now. But when that happened it was like, a light bulb moment. I'm fucked up. I can't commit to paying off my credit card on time, let alone to an amazing woman like her. And I... she shouldn't have to put up with my shit. She deserves someone who can take her out for fancy dinners and..."
"Dude, shut up."
Troy stared back at Chad, taken back by the force of his tone of frustration. "Excuse me?"
"What happened to the guy who was so cocky and sure that he could land her?"
"This isn't about sex anymore."
"Finally, you admit it," Chad said with a smirk, and then turned serious. "So what is it about?"
Troy groaned, bringing the cushion to his face momentarily and growling into it. "You sound like her."
"It's a valid question."
"Why? Why is it valid? Can't a guy suggest coffee to a girl without having to justify 'what it's about'?" Troy said, making air quotes. "We haven't even been on a date and it's like I have to know exactly what I want."
"Under normal circumstances, sure you wouldn't have to. But you guys haven't followed conventional here," Chad pointed out. "And you know what, if I was her and a guy who I'd had what was seemingly a one night stand with had continued to show interest on a sexual level and then suddenly was talking about coffee – I think she's got the right to ask questions."
"I told her it's about more. That's all that matters, isn't it?"
Chad shrugged. "I might be married but like, I don't even get Taylor's mind half the time. I wouldn't even try to understand the mind of any other female." He paused, and then added slowly, "But the little I do get? She's really into you, like, I think she likes you a lot. Why I don't know," he teased.
Troy ignored the latter teasing remark, focused on the former part of the statement. He cocked his head. "You think?"
A nod was the only response Chad gave. They both sat in silence, taking slow sips of their beers.
"What if I fuck it up?" Troy asked quietly.
"What if you don't?" Chad countered.
"But what if I do?"
"Dude. She doesn't think that you're perfect. She's into you. She knows you're fucked up, and she's into you anyway. She's not gonna take crap, but she's not gonna write you off because of it. You're just making excuses. Grow some balls, just ask her the question."
"The question?"
"You know. Will you come to dinner with me? Hell, make it coffee if it's less scary. But just ask."
Again it went quiet. Again beer was consumed.
"Hey, where's your phone?" Chad asked casually.
"Over there somewhere," Troy said, gesturing toward his bed. He was a bit distracted, his thoughts deep as he contemplated the candidness of the conversation he'd just had. It was the most honest he'd been about his feelings for Gabriella, and it surprised him that he wasn't feeling more uneasy about being so honest. In that moment of distracted contemplation he'd not clicked that Chad enquiring about the whereabouts of his phone was peculiar. It was only when Chad stood up with determination and stalked over to the bed that Troy's eyes widened. "Why?"
Chad didn't respond. He just spotted the iPhone on the bed – with a prominent crack down the plastic cover – and snatched it up. It took him a moment but he navigated to the contacts, Troy rising to his feet and watching with wide eyes.
"What are you doing?" Troy asked with alarm.
Chad grinned as he found the contacts list, found her name, and dialled the number. He handed the phone back and Troy stared at the screen,
"Dude!" he hissed in alarm.
"Don't hang up, then she'll think you like, accidentally dialled her," Chad warned.
Troy was stuck. He had no choice but to bring the phone to his ear and wait.
And wait.
As it rang out.
"Hi there, you've reached Gabriella Montez, I'm sorry I can't take your call at the moment but if you leave a message with your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you!"
"Hi um Gabriella this is um Troy. Um... I... sorry for not calling sooner I uh... I've been busy. I uh... I just wanted to um... look, if you could call me back that'd be neat. Thanks bye."
The moment that Troy hung up, Chad burst into laughter. "Neat? That'd be neat?"
Troy tossed the phone onto the couch and then punched Chad on the arm, somewhere between playful and serious. Chad was still laughing but grabbed at his upper arm which smarted from the force of Troy's strike.
"What the fuck, dude?" Troy groaned. "Seriously? What. The. Fuck."
"If I'd left here today and you hadn't called her then you were gonna not call and make up more excuses," Chad said plainly.
"Not true," Troy said sourly, although deep down he knew that it was a strong possibility.
"It's done now. No point in being pissy."
"Thanks to you she has a dumbass message from me using the word neat."
"I'd be more worried about the eighty five times you used the word 'um' myself."
xxx
Worry was precisely what Troy did.
He would never confess it out loud to a single soul, but when he hadn't heard back from Gabriella later that evening he was concerned. By morning he was anxious, turning up Hello Alone by Anberlin on his iPod as he walked to work. By evening he was panicked. Gathered backstage at The Lion's Den with his bandmates, finalising their set list, he found himself suggesting songs they'd dabbled with in the past like Since I Don't Have You by Guns N Roses and Something for the Pain by Bon Jovi.
S.E.X. was struck off the set list with a violent flourish of the pen across the page, the force of Troy's pen stroke almost tearing the paper.
"Dude?" Andy said questioningly, with eyebrows raised.
"We don't wanna overplay it," Troy returned tightly.
To the untrained eye, Troy was the same talented musician he was week in, week out. However those familiar with him knew that there was something off about his behaviour. A lack of spark; not quite the same charm oozing from every movement. His head was down, he played the notes, he sang the lyrics, he looked up and smiled only when someone would call out to him and even then the smile wasn't the cocky, flirtatious grin he'd normally flash – it was false, forced. He didn't come out to chat to his friends before the set or during the break, only appearing after they'd finished and packed away their instruments for the evening.
He ignored Zeke's extended hand ready for a shake in greeting, isntead turning straight to Taylor.
"Why hasn't she called me back?" he demanded, having to raise his voice to be heard over the music.
"Hello to you too," Taylor said, lips curving up at Troy's state. It wasn't a Troy that she'd seen – ever. She'd heard stories from Chad about Troy in high school stressing about what flowers to get his girlfriend Tess for their one month anniversary and about how devastated he'd been at the two month mark when Tess's parents had announced they were moving to Germany. She'd heard about a more vulnerable Troy who existed beneath his facade, but she'd never really seen him – even before he'd put up the walls and written off women as the evil sex only required for fulfilling simple human needs, she'd not really been witness to this Troy.
Troy was beyond formalities. In his mind, he'd put himself out there in a way that he hadn't put himself out in a very long time. He knew his gossiping circle of friends well enough to know that there were no secrets, no need to be coy.
"Wasn't my message good enough? Maybe she just doesn't want to talk to me. I know I took a little while to call her but I really have been busy and..."
Taylor raised her hand, silencing him. "Troy. I don't know why she hasn't called you. I haven't talked to her in a few days. The last I talked to her she was swamped with work, so maybe that's why. And if you're so desperate to call her, why don't you just call her back again?"
"Call her back again?" he said dumbly, eyes widening at the mere prospect.
Sharpay contributed an explanation. "It's where you pick up your phone and dial the number."
He glared at her condescending tone before replying, "But then I seem desperate."
"You are desperate," Zeke smirked.
The glare shifted. "I am not desperate."
Taylor thwacked Zeke on the arm. The last thing that Troy needed was his friends adding to his already messed up interpretations of relationships and how to interact with women. "You won't seem desperate; you'll come across as being actually interested in her. Which, given the current scenario, would work in your favour," Taylor pointed out.
"No I... ugh. It's only been a day. Maybe I'll wait a little while and then call her back," Troy said.
"You waited six days to call her and she doesn't call you back within 24 hours and you're freaking out?" Sharpay remarked.
Troy blinked. "You think she's purposely not calling me back?"
"That's what I'd do."
"Well... that's... that's kinda bitchy if that's really what she's doing. Why would she do that?"
Sharpay leaned over, her hand slipping into Troy's right pocket.
"Hey, watch it," Zeke said jokingly – knowing that there was nothing sexual about the wriggling of her hand, despite the appearance it gave off.
Sharpay emerged with Troy's battered phone, and handed it to him. "Only one way to find out."
Troy paused thoughtfully, before brightening up with a, "You're totally right, I should've done this earlier."
He made a big show of dialling a number and bringing the phone to his ear and waiting.
Moments later, Sharpay's Blackberry began ringing from, the chorus of Boys, Boys, Boys becoming a little louder as she fished the black cell from the confines of her silver clutch. She glanced at the screen, and then rolled her eyes, looking up at Troy with a smirk on his lips. She answered her phone with a sarcastic, "See, you do know how to call a girl."
He ended the call with a roll of the eyes. "I'm going out with Andy. Thanks for coming. See you guys later."
"Troy," Chad called after him, and he begrudgingly turned back to face his friend. "Three times is desperate. Twice... twice is acceptable. Especially when you did take a week..."
"Six days," Troy interjected.
"Almost a week..." Chad corrected himself with a roll of the eyes. "... to call her. If you fuck this one up, you're gonna regret it. You might not admit that to anyone, but you know it's true."
A long hard stare between the two brothers was all that Chad needed to validate his opinion and all Troy needed to admit Chad's correctness to himself. Troy headed out the back to where Andy was waiting for him.
"Oh no. What's she done now?" Andy said.
"Huh?"
"That look of gloom you've had on your face all night is like, seriously killing me. It's too bad you refuse to write lyrics because you could pen some killer shit right now while you're pining after this chick."
Troy didn't respond to Andy's comment about his lack of lyrical composition, instead saying, "I know I said I was gonna come hang with you and your buddies but I kinda think I might just go home."
Andy shrugged, not phased. "Suit yourself. You want a ride?"
It wasn't too long of a walk from the bar to Troy's – being on the border of SoHo and The Village – but it wasn't a walk that was enjoyable late on a Friday, mostly because of the throng of partly drunk patrons in all of the neighbourhood bars filling the sidewalks. The lack of cash he was rolling around in also made a free ride as opposed to a cab ideal, so he nodded and hopped into the passenger side of the van.
"So I got Gabriella's number last Friday," Troy revealed to Andy as he backed out of the alleyway.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah... I kinda didn't call straight away. And when I called I got her voicemail and she hasn't called back. I think she's punishing me."
"When did you call her?" Andy asked.
"Err, yesterday."
"Call her again."
Troy sighed with irritation. "I knew you'd say that."
"That's why you asked me. You knew I'd say that, and you knew that you needed to hear it."
"I've already heard it," Troy said glumly.
"I've known you for a while now and I seriously don't get you, man. I know you had a few shitty relationships but doesn't everyone? You're just making it more complicated than it needs to be."
"I seem to do that."
"You like her?"
"Yeah."
"You wanna see her again?"
"Yeah."
"Then make it happen."
Troy was silent and when he finally spoke, it was on a different topic completely. "You think the guys were okay with rehearsing Monday night instead of Sunday?"
Andy knew that Troy was changing the subject, but allowed him to do so. "Yeah, they seemed cool. What's this gig you picked up?"
Troy grimaced. "One I'm not looking forward to at all. I'm DJing at this girls birthday party out in New Jersey."
"How are you getting out there with all your equipment? Don't you normally do college gigs around here?"
"Yeah. I was thinking about renting a car. I haven't quite worked out the details yet."
Andy frowned. "Let me know if you need a ride, I'm not doing anything Sunday."
"Nah man, it's totally out of the way for you."
"Hey, you kept saying that I could come help you at one of your gigs."
Troy smirked. "I'm pretty sure you had the college party scene in mind, not some teeny bopper who will want Kesha and Bieber playing."
"You have Bieber in your set?"
"Fuck no. But if they give me the CD..."
Andy shuddered. "Anyway, let me know. The offer is there. You can give me for gas whatever you would've paid for a car and then you don't have to worry about the hassle."
"I'll think about it," Troy said truthfully.
Andy pulled up outside of Troy's apartment building on Jones Street. "Sure you don't want to go out for a few drinks with the guys?" he prodded with a final offer.
Troy wrinkled his nose. "Thanks but no thanks. Next week, maybe?"
"Sure. Let me know about Sunday."
A fist pump took place of a farewell handshake and Troy slid out of the passenger side of the van. He darted up the stairs toward his apartment, taking two at a time. He went on autopilot once he entered his familiar studio apartment – dropping his keys onto the kitchen bench, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, peeling off his dark green hooded sweat shirt and dropping it onto the couch, and then heading over to his bed. He always felt a bit grubby after doing a set – whether it was the sweat he worked up while performing or the stale smell of beer and cigarettes which inevitably made their way to his clothing, even since the ban on smoking in bars. He reached beneath his bed into one of the pull out drawers, in search of a wife beater and sweats to change into after a shower, and his fingers grasped something unfamiliar. He cocked his head and withdrew the item – and a smile filled his face.
He had an in.
Abandoning the thought of showering altogether, he sprung up, the open beer left on the counter, his keys and sweatshirt snatched up, and the item he'd found shoved into his pocket.
At a brisk pace, it was less than ten minutes, closer to five. He headed out left on Jones, right on Bleecker, pausing momentarily outside of Five Guys – who served the best burgers and fries in the world, in Troy's opinion – to take a whiff of the air. He continued on, turning left on Grove and heading the one block west. He paused for a moment outside the building, contemplating which buzzer to press. He decided and to his good fortune, the occupant was home.
"Yo?"
"Chad, buddy, can you let me into the building? I'm uh... visiting someone..."
An exasperated sigh came over the intercom, and a moment later the familiar buzzing of the door opening sounded. Troy slipped through the entrance way, and just as he was almost at the top of the flight of stairs that led to his destination, Chad's head popped from around the corner. He cocked his head, standing arms folded across his chest in front of Troy.
"What are you doing?" Chad asked, effectively blocking his friend.
Troy stared back. "None of your business."
"I let you into the building so it is my business."
"Well I wasn't visiting you..."
"Then you should've buzzed her. Why didn't you just buzz her?"
Troy sighed. "Because... if I buzzed her she could send me away easier than if I knock. Plus if I knock I can just say I was leaving your place and in the area..."
Chad rolled his eyes. "Pathetic. Why don't you just call her? Why are you coming over?"
"Look, dude, I know you're trying to be all like, helpful and shit, but if I'm gonna do this, I have to do it my way. And maybe you think my way is a little unusual but at least I'm here."
Chad sighed. It was true – at least Troy was there. But if Troy was there because he was going to accuse her of being a bitch for not calling him back, then it wasn't exactly going to be in his best interests. He examined his friend – he was a little agitated, but not looking raging mad. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Okay. Fine. Just... don't blame me if it backfires."
"Never said I would. Now if you'll excuse me..."
Chad stepped aside, and Troy headed the few steps up to round the corner to the third floor hallway, pausing outside of her doorway. Chad watched from the stairwell, shook his head and rolled his eyes and called out a final, "Good luck," before disappearing back around the corner to head up one more flight to his own apartment.
Troy took a deep breath before knocking on the door. The minute that he knocked his face contorted into a wince, swearing under his breath, "Fuck fuck fuck what are you doing what are you doing fuck fuck fuck..."
His string of expletives was cut off when the door handle began to rattle and he stood up a little straighter, a hand quickly running through his hair in one final bout of preparation.
The door chain was still latched on and the door creaked open the few inches that it would allow. She peered through; he spotted a bright, surprised brown eye and her dark tresses, out and flowing over her shoulder.
"Um... hi it's Troy," he said a little awkwardly. "Can I uh... if you're busy I can leave..."
"Um, no it's okay," her uneasy voice returned. The door closed momentarily and he could hear the chain unlatching, the door swinging open a moment later.
She was dressed in a pair of dark grey yoga pants, a black tank top and a worse for wear grey sweatshirt with maroon Harvard lettering zipped up half way. Her hair was a little damp, out in a wild mass of untamed curls.
He could feel his body reacting.
"So um... hi," he said, the door now wide open.
Her arms folded over her chest, hugging herself. "What are you doing here?" she asked, caught off guard by his arrival. She felt a little self conscious – okay, she felt a lot self conscious. She was aware however that if she asked for him to excuse her, it would be a little peculiar to emerge wearing make-up and a fresh change of cuter clothes given that it was late at night.
"Well... I uh... I was just in the neighbourhood, you know at..." he scratched the back of his neck and trailed off, sighed, and said simply, "You didn't call me back."
She raised her eyebrows. "You came over because I didn't call you back?"
"Well... um... not only that. I also um... see I thought I should return something..."
She watched in bewildered confusion as his hand dipped into the deep pocket of his sweatshirt, and yanked out a black strapless bra. Her eyes widened at the sight of the piece of lingerie.
"This is yours," he said, holding it out. "Errr... you uh... left it at my place. You know... back..."
"After we had sex?" she supplied, surprised at the confidence in her own tone. She was internally a shaking mess – not understanding the logic behind his visit.
He nodded. "Yeah, then, I didn't like, throw it out, but forgot about it and found it and so I thought I'd, you know, bring it back. Since it is yours."
Tentatively she accepted her bra from his outstretched hand. She wasn't sure what to do with the item, and decided upon placing it on the small table just by the door which housed her keys, sunglasses and a few other items.
"So... you came by late on a Friday night to return my bra?"
Suddenly, Troy was beginning to wish he had a time machine and could go back to that moment when Chad had attempted to make him think about the logic of coming over. He closed his eyes, muttered a 'fuck' under his breath, and looked at her.
"You didn't call me back," he repeated. "And I thought maybe that was because you didn't wanna call me back. So I didn't want to call you again – even though that's what like everyone said I should just do. And I did just randomly find your bra again tonight but then I thought that maybe that would be like, a good excuse to have pretended I was coming over for so I could talk to you. And here I am. And I might just leave now so..."
He'd turned to turn to walk away, when her slender hand reached out, gently grabbing his arm and turning him back around.
"What happened to that guy who bragged of his 'dancing' abilities and ordered me an Orgasm?" she asked curiously. She was acutely aware that the guy she'd first met in Troy wasn't a real person – he was a mask. She'd been privy to conversation with the real Troy.
"Good question. I'd like to know that too. That guy isn't such a fucking mess."
She sighed, shaking her head. "You're not a mess, Troy." She paused, backtracking his statement. "You were asking people about me? About... whether you should call again?"
He grimaced. The moment his ramblings had made that confession he'd hoped she'd swallowed up that particular piece of information and he could attempt to retain the slightest sliver of his manhood.
"Uh... it may have come up," he confessed.
She couldn't hide the smile that broke out onto her face. She stepped back slightly. "Um, do you want to come in? Just... you know... to talk?" she felt the need to hastily clarify her intentions for inviting him into her home late on a Friday evening.
He nodded gratefully – this was more than a step ahead of the worst case scenario, being a slap across the face and marching orders to leave and never come back.
"Would you like a drink?" she offered.
"Um, just some water?" he said, almost questioningly.
He noticed that she'd had an Aquafina water dispenser installed by her fridge, she quickly grabbed a couple of glasses from the cupboard and poured him a glass. He noticed that she had music playing – an old album, Fuel. As she poured her own glass, she spoke softly, "Your number is unlisted."
He furrowed his brows. "Pardon?"
She stood upright, and turned around to face him. "You said that I didn't call you back. The reason is because you have your phone set to not display your number."
Troy blinked. He cast his mind back to earlier the evening before to the horrendous voice mail – and realised.
"I never left my number..." He smiled sheepishly. "Uh... fuck. I uh... I'm clearly not good with this whole, calling thing."
"I was going to call you back, for the record. I was going to give Taylor a call to get your number, or at least to get you a message of why I hadn't called back."
Troy was feeling beyond idiotic.
And yet simultaneously relieved.
She headed toward her couch, taking the lead and sitting in her arm chair. Troy decided upon sitting on the couch, on the left hand side closest to her. There was a coffee table where they each placed their glasses of water.
"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. I was going to but uh... you know... I got busy," he explained a little lamely.
She didn't need an explanation. "It's okay. I won't lie I was a bit... I guess disappointed? That I didn't hear from you sooner." She rushed to clarify, "not disappointed in you! But just disappointed in general. Because I wanted to hear from you. God, who is the mess now?"
"So if I had left my number..."
"Truthfully I've been really swamped with work so I probably would've texted you saying I'd get in touch tonight or over the weekend." Gabriella gestured toward her dining table. Troy's eyes widened at the massive pile of textbooks and papers.
"But you would've gotten in touch? You wouldn't have written me off for taking like, a week to call you?"
"It wasn't a week, it was six days," she corrected him, before saying rather candidly, "Troy if I was going to write you off, I think it would've already happened. I'm... I'm happy that you called at all. Really happy. I do understand that was probably a big deal for you."
"I used the word neat."
She giggled, flushing. "I noticed."
"Did you judge me for it?"
She paused and said teasingly, "Maybe a little. But nowhere near as much as I judge you for turning up at my apartment tonight with my bra in your sweatshirt pocket."
"Not my smoothest move, I must admit."
"Maybe you've run out of moves with me?"
It was a challenging statement, a statement enough to incite the return of cocky Troy. "Beautiful, where you're concerned, I'll never run out of moves," he boasted.
There was the Troy that she'd first met. A Troy who had once with a graze of the arm and a murmur by her ear induced visions and thoughts and fantasies that she'd never anticipated experiencing in her life. He didn't quite have the same affect any longer – she much preferred the reality of who Troy was than the fantasy figure he exuded.
Her expression hardened, she sat forward in the arm chair and reached out, her soft hand squeezing his knee. "Maybe you don't need moves."
He cocked his head. "Why, because they've worked?"
She shook her head. "Because it's not the moves that I..." she took a deep breath, staring down at the grey socks which encased her feet. Her voice softened as she finished the sentence, a tint of blush to her cheeks, "It's not the moves that I like."
He swallowed. "You like me?" The statement wasn't cocky, it wasn't teasing. It was genuinely inquisitive. The question both terrified and excited him in equal measure.
"Come on Troy. The minute that I thought about giving you my number the first time... that was when I broke the rules. You had to know then that I liked you."
He had known – but he hadn't been sure what it was that she liked; how it could be that she could actually be attracted to who he really was. "You know I wouldn't have called you, if I'd let you give me your number." In some ways, it was a test. He needed to remind her of who he had been.
Gabriella nodded. "I do know."
"And... if I'd taken your number and then not called you; and then you'd walked into Starbucks that afternoon and seen me there at the counter..."
She finished the sentence for him. "I would've walked away. I would've turned in the opposite direction and gotten as far away as I could as quickly as I could."
"And we wouldn't be here now." That wasn't a reality that Troy relished in facing. He reached forward, picking up his water glass. She mimicked his action, equally needing a moment to allow the thought to resonate.
In the spirit of his night of honesty, in yet another moment of candid verbal diarrhoea, Troy found himself blurting out, "I like you too." He cleared his throat, setting down the water glass, scratching the back of his head, and then looking up to stare directly at her. She was watching him with a slightly wide eyed expression. He bit his lip. "I know it's because of me that this..." he motioned back and forth between them with this hand. "... is kind of, well, fucked up. So... I guess I just hope you know that I like you. I... I more than like you. And so that's why I called... I called because I wanna get to know you more. Hang out."
"When?" she asked, voice soft.
Troy faltered. "Um... well..." he scratched the back of his head, and verbally went through his schedule out loud. "I'm working tomorrow night... and Sunday afternoon through til evening..."
"So you're free in the morning?"
"Uh, yeah... not too early, preferably," he said with a smile.
"Wanna come for a run?"
Troy chuckled lightly. "Are you for real?"
"You're pretty buff. You obviously work out. Or is the gym more your thing?"
"Me? Afford a gym membership?" he said disbelievingly. "No, I do go for a run, usually a few times a week."
"I figured. And I've been thinking about like, you know, trying to get fit..."
"You're already pretty fit from what I've seen," Troy said, unable to avert the once over with his eyes observing her trim frame.
"I have good metabolism," she said with a slight blush. "I used to go to the gym back in Boston and do some of those group fitness classes but here I was thinking about trying to get into the habit of jogging. Spend some time up in that big patch of grass I hear is uptown from here."
He laughed. "The one with all the pretzel and hotdog stands around it?"
She grinned. "That's the one."
His mind was filled with images of Gabriella's body in gym clothes, a layer of sweat over her sun-kissed, soft skin; and it took approximately two seconds to come to a conclusion.
"Sounds great. I haven't been up to Central Park in a while. Um... we'll have to get one of the uptown lines from West 4th Street," Troy mused. "I can come by and meet you..."
Gabriella interrupted. "Troy, you live like a block away from that subway line and I live in the other direction. I'll come by your place on my way."
"Um... but shouldn't I pick you up?"
"We're hanging out Troy, going for a run. It's not..." she trailed off. The end of the sentence, of course, was going to be 'a date'. However she halted the sentence, a little wary of putting him off. He, after all, had been the one to declare that he'd wanted them to 'hang out.' He hadn't said that he wanted to take her out for a night of dinner, drinks, dancing and whatever may follow.
He shifted on the couch. He'd known what she was going to say – and he knew exactly why she had avoided saying it. A part of him wanted to suggest that maybe it was a date – they'd been anything but conventional so far and there was no rule which dictated that a first date couldn't be an arrangement to go jogging in Central Park. But instead, he cleared his throat. "Um, so it's..." he glanced around, eyes glimpsing a clock on the wall. "Shit, it's pretty late now. Wanna come by around 8:30, 9ish?"
She nodded. "Sure. That sounds great." She cleared her throat, and asked a little hesitantly. "Do you want me to text you when I'm on my way?"
He paused – about to respond, but then realised the likely cause of the hesitation in her voice. "Are you fishing for my phone number?"
She giggled, blushing slightly. "Busted."
He held his hand out, indicating that she hand over her cell phone. She jumped up, her cell phone on the kitchen counter, and brought it over to him. He programmed his number in efficiently and then handed the cell phone back to her. Just to test, she pressed the dial button and waited – a few seconds later, the chorus of I Get Off by Halestorm singing from his cell phone. She rolled her eyes slightly but was more amused than offended – in fact it didn't surprise her much that Troy would have such a song as his ringtone.
"See. I gave you a real number."
"I'd hope so after taking six days to call me," she teased.
He frowned slightly – she'd been joking, but it wasn't a joke he was quite comfortable with hearing. "I really am sorry about that..."
She raised her hand, silencing him, realising that the joke might've been premature. "Troy. I said it's fine – it's fine. Really."
Troy studied her for a moment, content to let the matter go for now but filing it away into his mind as something to beware of in the future – one of those things where a woman says she's fine with it, but at any moment it can be recalled and used as ammunition in a relevant moment.
He cleared his throat. "Well uh... I guess I'd better go."
She nodded – disappointed at the idea of him leaving but accepting of the reality. They both stood up, heading over to the doorway.
"So around 8:30, 9ish, and you'll let me know when you're on the way?" Troy said as he opened her door, and then turned back around to face her.
She nodded, confirming the logistics they'd agreed upon. Grazing his arm affectionately as she spoke, she said graciously, "Thank you for calling, and for coming over, and for... um... being honest with me. I do understand that this is kind of out of your comfort zone. And it's not exactly within mine either. So, I'm happy that we can muddle through this... together."
"Muddling sounds good," Troy agreed.
She then added with a teasing glint, "Oh, and thank you for returning my bra."
"Maybe I'll seize possession of it again one day?" he smirked, insinuating that an opportunity would arise where she could conceivably leave it behind again.
She blushed – it wasn't an offensive scenario to her. His words had been innuendo filled, with a dash of nervous hope. In fact in that moment with the shine of his penetrating blue gaze, the clump of chestnut brown hair which was incessantly falling across his forehead, and his hands shoved deep into his pockets in a posture of nervous energy – she'd never felt less offended and never felt more appeased by the prospect.
"One day," she agreed. "Maybe."
A lingering gaze was exchanged. A gaze of longing, a gaze of want. Gabriella took a breath, trying to get a hold of herself – and a hold of her libido.
"Good night, Troy," she said softly, and leaned over with the intent of pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
With the intent.
She'd taken a step closer toward him, the proximity of his body to her own alone enough to send a shiver through her body. Her eyes fluttered closed, the kiss indeed at first was chaste but it was lingering. She shuddered slightly, hearing Troy's sharp intake of breath. They remained standing still, lips united but barely moving, merely trembling as they softly, slowly pressed together and then separated. His hands instinctively grasped her waist, simultaneously both members to the union resuming the kiss. It was slow, gentle, cautious. In ways it reminded Gabriella of her first kiss with Bobby Willis when she was sixteen, minus the washing machine spin cycle technique. However as familiarity was regained, as the moment continued, libidos took charge and the heat was turned on. One of her hands clutched at his shoulder, the other was planted on his pecs, splayed palm and then raking down his front. Even through his sweatshirt and t-shirt he was more than affected by her touch, the hands on her waist cautiously slipping just beneath the hem of her sweatshirt and tank, not in a sexual move but rather with the mere desire to feel more skin on skin contact.
There was a part of her – the part that was burning with desire in her lower abdomen – that wanted to grab onto the lapels of his sweatshirt and yank him back into her apartment and slam the door behind him. It was only about nine hours until they'd agreed to meet, after all, and so it was only practical that he simply spend the night in her company rather than go all the way home so late at night. But then there was the most logical part of her – the logical part which happened to intercept with her emotions. The part which knew that the worst thing that she could do would be to confuse her newfound burgeoning whatever the hell she had with Troy with sex. The simple need that raged within to feel him, have him, take him – it didn't understand the complexities that came with simply taking what she desired.
The logical part of her temporarily won out, pulling back, hands clenched on his upper arms, foreheads pressed together, his heavy breath tickling against her face.
"You should go," she murmured. She shivered slightly at the sensation of his hand rubbing small circles on the small of her back beneath her tank top.
"I should," he agreed, but neither one made any move to separate the distance between them. It was Troy whose lips sought hers, however it was Gabriella who didn't make any effort to pull away. In fact it was she whose strength was waning, a strength she'd been resolute about just moments earlier. He had the ability with the intoxicating touch of his lips, the feel of his skin, the sensation of his hands on her body – to send all logical thought out the door. She was taking the slightest of steps back into the apartment, her hands which held tightly to his ripped frame pulling him back with her. The momentum struck a reaction within him – a reaction he knew that his straining erection would not forgive him for, but the gentleman his mama had raised him to be would be proud of.
He abruptly pulled away.
"I have to go," he murmured. "I am going to go. Or... this..."
"You don't have to go..." she stupidly found herself saying, as the words came out of her mouth a part of her knew she'd regret them.
He groaned and with supreme willpower, he stepped away, his hand slipping out from under her tank top, running up her side, down her arm, only his hand holding onto hers with a good distance apart. He squeezed her hand. She took a breath, composing herself, her free hand running through her hair and tucking a strand behind her ear.
"Make it closer to 8:30 than 9," he murmured.
"Even though you'll forfeit a half hours sleep?"
"Don't care."
With a final wink, he begrudgingly dropped her hand and turned to walk away. She watched his every movement, unable to avoid a gratuitous stare of his backside as he walked. He turned around, a final grin in her direction just before he disappeared around the corner. Then, and only then, did Gabriella close the door behind her, unable to wipe the broad smile from her face. She clutched her BlackBerry to her chest happily. All of his ridiculous behaviour beside, at the heart of it all, she knew, was goodness. She didn't know what lay ahead of them, what a non-date jogging at Central Park could lead to.
She knew one thing; and that one thing was that Troy liked her. Finally, she believed that.
Twenty minutes later, she'd changed into her pale blue flannel pyjamas covered in black and white cows, brushed her teeth and was in bed with the main light off, her reading lamp on and had The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks open in front of her. Her BlackBerry began to vibrate against the bedside table – she'd switched it onto silent for bedtime – and she frowned, reaching out to pick it up.
She smiled at the sight of the text message sender, and the smile on her face widened further at the text which he had sent.
last friday i made the mistake of not texting u straight away. not making that mistake again. good nite beautiful xo
xxx
"If you ask the question..."
Nickelback 'S.E.X.'