She was still all over that window and was always sharing with him.
He was still letting her share and listening like he did with me and the other girls, but appeared to be listening harder and taking more in when she spoke.
All hard looks and edge, drove a motorcycle, and smoked like a chimney on his breaks, fingers, hands, forearms, and I’m betting the rest of him covered in tattoos, plus the whole not speaking thing, which made him a tiny bit scary.
But twice now I’d seen him smile.
Not much of one. Barely a lip spasm behind his blanket of a beard, but it was there and both times appearing after Shay said or did something cute with her back to him.
Stitch had a soft spot, and Shay filled it. I was certain of that.
It felt good telling him about Brian. Telling anyone about Brian, when I wanted to tell everyone and everything, living or not, because if I was being honest, I had already confessed my secret to numerous objects around Tori’s house, and to just about every blade of grass surrounding Whitecaps when I’d step outside on my break.
Even confiding in a stupid blade of grass felt good.
But the one person I really wanted to tell, my best friend, my partner in crime, and the one person I didn’t keep anything from couldn’t know. I couldn’t tell Tori.
For a number of reasons.
I was scared she wouldn’t approve.
I was scared she’d tell me I shouldn’t be feeling the things I was feeling for Brian when I was still technically married to Marcus, and boy oh boy, was I feeling things.
Lots of things.
Tickling butterfly wings and a runaway heartbeat. Goose-bump-giving thoughts and toe-curling desires.
I felt them all the time.
I was scared Tori would tell me it was too much, too soon, too fast.
I was scared I’d start believing her.
I was scared she’d be right.
So I confided in coffee mugs and my bedroom ceiling, her favorite Christmas quilt wrapped around me and my shower-fogged reflection.
And now Stitch.
I had no idea what his thoughts were on the matter, but his silence didn’t bother me. It just felt good telling someone.
Anyone.
Stitch would do for now. Maybe in a month I’d feel better about telling Tori.
And maybe she wouldn’t hate me for keeping it from her.
Maybe.
God, I really hoped she wouldn’t hate me.
Guilt, I was feeling it. And I was feeling it hard, which led me to spending my day off cleaning Tori’s house from top to bottom, set on making it sparkle. I even cleaned the oven, got a little dizzy from the fumes and had to sit for a minute and regroup myself, then heard the buzzer go off on the dryer and went about folding a mix of our clothes.
I was being stupid. I knew deep down cleaning wouldn’t help me feel better about keeping my secret from Tori, but it did distract me and I appreciated the distraction.
It also wore me out.
By four thirty I was slumped on one arm of the couch in my cleaning sweats and baggy tee, my hair a hot tangled mess and my eyes closed as I curled into the soft leather cushion.
The front door swung open, hinges creaking.
I peeked my eye open and watched Tori do a little spin and hip shimmy in the entryway after closing the door, find my one eye peeking and lock on to it, smile big, then continue popping her hips as she threw her hands into the air and swayed them like trees blowing in the wind.
Someone was in a good mood.
“Good lunch with your dad?” I asked, popping my other eye open and lifting my chin to see her better over the armrest.
“Good? No. Great lunch. Check it out.”
She stopped dancing and pulled something white and rectangular out of her back jeans pocket, held it out in front of her as she closed the gap between us, doing this while sliding her fingers smoothly, separating the objects and displaying two of whatever it was as she came to a stop in front of the couch.
I stared at the objects, not getting what I was supposed to be checking out, then lifted my gaze to hers.
“What’s that?”
She smiled, slow and devilish with wine-colored lips.
“Get up, get in the shower, and put yourself in something fierce, hon, because you and me are spending the night with”—she turned the objects around and thrust them in my face, yelling—“GAGA!”
I sucked in a breath and sat up, blinking between her and the tickets in her hand.
“What?” I asked, my breath hitching excitedly. “You got us tickets to see Lady Gaga? Where?”
“The Pier,” Tori stated casually, handing me a ticket and fanning herself with the other. “They sold out in eight minutes, but Daddy pulled some strings for his little princess. Surprised me with them at lunch today. He’s the best.”
I couldn’t begin to think how much these probably cost Mr. Rivera. I knew he had connections, but Gaga connections?
Holy shit!
“This is awesome!” I leaped off the couch, tugging the waistband of my sweats when they started sliding down, and stood in front of Tori after she took a step back. “How much do I owe him for this? Oh, my God. I can’t believe we get to see her! We’re her little monsters!”
“Yeah, we are!”
“No, but seriously.” I touched her arm. “How much were these? I don’t want your dad paying for me.”
Tori waved her ticket in the air dismissively.
“It’s on him. He said he’s proud of you for staying so strong right now and finding your happiness. I filled him in the other day on the phone.”