More Than Him
Page 11
He had a disgusted look on his face; I don't know what I looked like.
"That was gross," he announced.
I chuckled. "Way to make a girl feel special."
He lifted me until I was standing, and then stood up, himself. "I mean . . ." He eyed me up and down. "You're hot and all, don't get me wrong, but dude, that was like kissing my sister."
I laughed. "You're an ass."
He sat on the bed, and his features turned serious. "So, I have some news," he announced.
"Yeah?"
"I, uh, got offered a job today."
"You already have a job." I sat on the bed next to him.
"No, I mean a proper job. One where my Juilliard education is actually going to come into play."
"Yeah?"
Nodding, he said, "I've been asked to go on a worldwide tour with a band. It's actually a pretty big deal."
I couldn't hide my smile. "That's amazing, Tyson. Who is it?"
His small smile turned into a huge shit-eating grin. "John Mayer."
"No fucking way!" I pushed him. I was so excited for him.
He nodded, his smile huge.
"No. Fucking. Way!" I repeated.
"Yes way," he spoke through his laughter.
"Congratulations!" I jumped on him and hugged him tight.
He started to pull me off him. "Okay, crazy, calm down."
We sat on the bed opposite each other, our legs crossed. He took both my hands in his. "I have to leave in two days," he said, his voice softer.
"Oh." I couldn't help the disappointment coming through. "That's . . . soon."
"Yeah." He blew out a breath. "Look, Dim. If you need me here, I'll stay—"
"What? No. Just . . . no."
"But if you're not going to be okay—"
"Shut up, Ty. You're going. I'll be fine. I promise."
"I don't want to leave you if—"
"Tyson, I love you. I love that you care about me. I love that you'd give up this opportunity for me. I love that you somehow think I'm your responsibility. But I'm not. I'm no one’s but myself. It's been months, I'm okay."
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I love you, Dim."
I jumped off the bed and pulled him up with me. "Let's get you packed."
He smiled, and then pulled me in for hug. "I'm gonna miss you," he said, his voice low.
I held him tighter. "I'll miss you, too."
***
A few hours later, most of his stuff was packed. He didn't have much with him, just the couple of bags he brought from New York.
"Why did you kiss me?" I asked.
He shrugged. "To prove a point."
"What point?" I looked around his mostly empty room. My old room.
"That you still belong to him, whether you know it or not. A piece of you left when he did, and I don't see it coming back until he does."
My heart dropped. He was right—I didn't want him to be—but he was.
"Besides. . ." He stood up. "I've been here for months, and you've resisted me . . . and all of this . . ." He made a show of pointing up and down his body. "If I can't tempt you, then no one can."
I laughed and threw a pillow at him. He blocked it, took two steps forward, and looked me right in the eyes. "You wanna fool around, for old time's sake?" His tone was serious, but his eyes danced with amusement.
"Fiiiine." I feigned annoyance.
We didn't.
***
We told Ethan that Tyson was leaving. He was happy for him, but I knew that he'd worry about me. Turned out, he didn't have to worry long, because Tristan called that night. When Ethan had told him that Tyson was leaving, Tristan jumped at the chance to move in.
That's the story Ethan's pushing. Personally, I think E asked him to be our housemate slash babysitter. Either way, I was excited to have Tris here.
"Mini golf," Ethan announced. He lifted the flask in his hand and pointed at me. "You're driving, Demander."
I turned to Tyson, who was already getting ready to leave. "Done." He walked over and put his arm around me. "Let's make mini golf our bitch."
***
"I'm really going to miss you, Dimmy. I mean it." Tyson and I were lying in my bed, my head resting on his chest. He lifted my chin and made me face him. I could smell the booze in his breath. "I hate that sometimes I get to see you, you know? Like, a glimpse of who you used to be. The sixteen-year-old Amanda I fell in love with. The one that lived life and wanted more. I really hope you find her again. And when you do, I hope the guy who gets that part of you treasures it, even if that guy is Logan. I just want you to be happy."
"Tyson." My voice broke.
"You know . . ." He kept talking, "You really broke my heart, Amanda. Fuck," his eyes started to drift shut, "I loved you so damn much. I dreamed about it last night—you and me—what our future would have been like if you'd never met him. I pictured us in an apartment in New York, like I wanted us to be . . . you know . . . before you broke my heart. I always told myself it was for the best, but I don't know anymore. I planned on marrying you. I told Logan that . . . when I told him about what happened to you that summer . . . I told him I wanted to. Maybe it's not right for us to be together, maybe it's timing." He was rambling. I let him. "I hope he was worth it. I don't think your story is over yet. But I really, truly hope he's worth it, Dim. After everything you've been through, everything we've been through, he better be it for you."
7
It'd been almost six months since Tyson left. He calls, texts, or contacts me on Facebook almost every day. I tell him he doesn't need to. Especially now that he’s traveling around the world. He tells me it keeps him grounded, reminds him of home. I wasn't going to complain, Tyson—he was my constant. I needed that. He never brought up what he’d told me that night. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers it at all, or if it was just a drunken rambling. Either way, I remember his words. I'll always remember them.
"So?" Tony pulled me from my thoughts. He was drying some wine glasses behind the bar.
I scrunched my nose. "Definitely not a date?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Amanda. Not a date. You've made it very clear the last thirty times I've asked you out that you're not interested in dating, or in me."
"It's not personal," I tried to soothe. "I'm just not ready to—"
He raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know. I get it. So tonight? It's just a bunch of Twiggy's friends, not the usual college crowd. Come on, it'll be fun. A bunch of hipster stoners? What's not to like?"
I chuckled under my breath. "Fine." I caved in. "But I'm driving, and I'll meet you there." I pointed my finger at him. "Not a date."
"Not a date," he repeated.
"That was gross," he announced.
I chuckled. "Way to make a girl feel special."
He lifted me until I was standing, and then stood up, himself. "I mean . . ." He eyed me up and down. "You're hot and all, don't get me wrong, but dude, that was like kissing my sister."
I laughed. "You're an ass."
He sat on the bed, and his features turned serious. "So, I have some news," he announced.
"Yeah?"
"I, uh, got offered a job today."
"You already have a job." I sat on the bed next to him.
"No, I mean a proper job. One where my Juilliard education is actually going to come into play."
"Yeah?"
Nodding, he said, "I've been asked to go on a worldwide tour with a band. It's actually a pretty big deal."
I couldn't hide my smile. "That's amazing, Tyson. Who is it?"
His small smile turned into a huge shit-eating grin. "John Mayer."
"No fucking way!" I pushed him. I was so excited for him.
He nodded, his smile huge.
"No. Fucking. Way!" I repeated.
"Yes way," he spoke through his laughter.
"Congratulations!" I jumped on him and hugged him tight.
He started to pull me off him. "Okay, crazy, calm down."
We sat on the bed opposite each other, our legs crossed. He took both my hands in his. "I have to leave in two days," he said, his voice softer.
"Oh." I couldn't help the disappointment coming through. "That's . . . soon."
"Yeah." He blew out a breath. "Look, Dim. If you need me here, I'll stay—"
"What? No. Just . . . no."
"But if you're not going to be okay—"
"Shut up, Ty. You're going. I'll be fine. I promise."
"I don't want to leave you if—"
"Tyson, I love you. I love that you care about me. I love that you'd give up this opportunity for me. I love that you somehow think I'm your responsibility. But I'm not. I'm no one’s but myself. It's been months, I'm okay."
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I love you, Dim."
I jumped off the bed and pulled him up with me. "Let's get you packed."
He smiled, and then pulled me in for hug. "I'm gonna miss you," he said, his voice low.
I held him tighter. "I'll miss you, too."
***
A few hours later, most of his stuff was packed. He didn't have much with him, just the couple of bags he brought from New York.
"Why did you kiss me?" I asked.
He shrugged. "To prove a point."
"What point?" I looked around his mostly empty room. My old room.
"That you still belong to him, whether you know it or not. A piece of you left when he did, and I don't see it coming back until he does."
My heart dropped. He was right—I didn't want him to be—but he was.
"Besides. . ." He stood up. "I've been here for months, and you've resisted me . . . and all of this . . ." He made a show of pointing up and down his body. "If I can't tempt you, then no one can."
I laughed and threw a pillow at him. He blocked it, took two steps forward, and looked me right in the eyes. "You wanna fool around, for old time's sake?" His tone was serious, but his eyes danced with amusement.
"Fiiiine." I feigned annoyance.
We didn't.
***
We told Ethan that Tyson was leaving. He was happy for him, but I knew that he'd worry about me. Turned out, he didn't have to worry long, because Tristan called that night. When Ethan had told him that Tyson was leaving, Tristan jumped at the chance to move in.
That's the story Ethan's pushing. Personally, I think E asked him to be our housemate slash babysitter. Either way, I was excited to have Tris here.
"Mini golf," Ethan announced. He lifted the flask in his hand and pointed at me. "You're driving, Demander."
I turned to Tyson, who was already getting ready to leave. "Done." He walked over and put his arm around me. "Let's make mini golf our bitch."
***
"I'm really going to miss you, Dimmy. I mean it." Tyson and I were lying in my bed, my head resting on his chest. He lifted my chin and made me face him. I could smell the booze in his breath. "I hate that sometimes I get to see you, you know? Like, a glimpse of who you used to be. The sixteen-year-old Amanda I fell in love with. The one that lived life and wanted more. I really hope you find her again. And when you do, I hope the guy who gets that part of you treasures it, even if that guy is Logan. I just want you to be happy."
"Tyson." My voice broke.
"You know . . ." He kept talking, "You really broke my heart, Amanda. Fuck," his eyes started to drift shut, "I loved you so damn much. I dreamed about it last night—you and me—what our future would have been like if you'd never met him. I pictured us in an apartment in New York, like I wanted us to be . . . you know . . . before you broke my heart. I always told myself it was for the best, but I don't know anymore. I planned on marrying you. I told Logan that . . . when I told him about what happened to you that summer . . . I told him I wanted to. Maybe it's not right for us to be together, maybe it's timing." He was rambling. I let him. "I hope he was worth it. I don't think your story is over yet. But I really, truly hope he's worth it, Dim. After everything you've been through, everything we've been through, he better be it for you."
7
It'd been almost six months since Tyson left. He calls, texts, or contacts me on Facebook almost every day. I tell him he doesn't need to. Especially now that he’s traveling around the world. He tells me it keeps him grounded, reminds him of home. I wasn't going to complain, Tyson—he was my constant. I needed that. He never brought up what he’d told me that night. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers it at all, or if it was just a drunken rambling. Either way, I remember his words. I'll always remember them.
"So?" Tony pulled me from my thoughts. He was drying some wine glasses behind the bar.
I scrunched my nose. "Definitely not a date?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Amanda. Not a date. You've made it very clear the last thirty times I've asked you out that you're not interested in dating, or in me."
"It's not personal," I tried to soothe. "I'm just not ready to—"
He raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know. I get it. So tonight? It's just a bunch of Twiggy's friends, not the usual college crowd. Come on, it'll be fun. A bunch of hipster stoners? What's not to like?"
I chuckled under my breath. "Fine." I caved in. "But I'm driving, and I'll meet you there." I pointed my finger at him. "Not a date."
"Not a date," he repeated.
