CHAPTER 10
Another week passed without talking to Tylar. It was obvious to me that I was going to have to be the one to make the first move. I had no problem extending the olive branch; it just seemed to me that it would be nice if just once if it wasn’t me having to be the one to do it. I didn’t mean just with Tylar; we had never had the occasion before to need one. It seemed like a life-long thing with me. My mother had always said that my quick tempered remarks would cause the need for it. She had been right. Still, I didn’t say anything to her that I hadn’t meant. Tylar was just overly sensitive; or perhaps it had been the way I had delivered the message.
I dialed up her landline since the cell signals out in the boonies, where they lived, were sometimes problematic. Jean answered the phone. She told me that Tylar was napping. She said she would give her the message that I had called when she woke up. I wondered if Tylar had given Jean instructions to say that if and when I phoned. Now who was being overly sensitive?
I busied myself around the apartment getting things ready to start dinner. I was making another one of Tristan’s favorites this evening, rigatoni with my famous tomato and mushroom marinara sauce. I couldn’t take credit for the recipe. My mother had given it to me; Mrs. Camerucci had given it to my mother.
Mrs. Camerucci was my mother’s very best friend. They had gone through grade school and high school together. They had been pregnant at the same time even. Both of them had given birth to sons within a couple of weeks of each other; my brother, Peter had been born first. Mrs. Camerucci had given birth a couple of weeks later to their first child, Nicholas. Of course growing up, I had known him as Nick. He had been my brother, Pete’s best friend. I had been the pesky, tag-along little sister that had bugged the hell out of my brother and his friend, Nick.
My Blackberry chimed, interrupting my thoughts about Rocky Camerucci which was fine by me. It was Tylar.
“Hey, girlfriend,” I greeted cheerily, as if nothing was amiss between us. Perhaps we could just let this blow over without having to dwell on it.
“Jean said that you called while I was napping. I’m returning your call,” she said, her tone was obviously cool.
“Well, we haven’t talked for several weeks, Tylar. I just wanted to make sure that everything is okay.”
“Everything here is fine. How are things with you?”
(She wasn’t going to give an inch I could tell. Whatever . . .)
“I’m doing okay. I’ve missed talking to you. I’m sorry I snapped at you a few weeks back.”
“You more than snapped at me, Gina. You were genuinely pissed and said some very hurtful things.”
“Okay, Ty. You’re right. I was pissed. Sometimes that happens. Look, I don’t want to argue about it. I said I was sorry and I am girlfriend. Can’t we put it behind us?”
“Of course we can, Gina. I’ve missed you as well, you know.”
“So,” I continued, “How are things with you? Is Trey still putting in all those hours with that Amber bitch?”
“I told you I wouldn’t whine anymore about that topic, remember?”
(You can’t stop whining about her yet, Ty!)
“Oh Ty, I was just being bitchy about that. Besides, that was before I met her. To be honest, there is something about that bitch that I don’t trust.”
“Well - she definitely is not my favorite person. She seems to hang on every word Trey says. I understand he is supposed to be mentoring her, but she gives off that ‘come hither’ pheromone that even I can smell.”
I started laughing at that. Sometimes Tylar came up with some weird shit.
“Yeah, I get what you mean. She doesn’t seem to care whether the other female notices how obvious she is, either. Where did you tell me she’s from?”
“I’m not sure where she was born or raised. I just know that when the rest of the partners were reviewing potential candidates to bring into the firm, she was at the top of their list. Trey mentioned that it was because she had graduated in the top of her class at Stanford University in California. Oh, and she made law review whatever that means.”
“Impressive, I guess. How old do you think she is?”
“Trey said that she’s a couple of years older than he is so around thirty-four I would guess. Why?”
“Oh - no reason. I mean, she mentioned that she had talked to my ex, so she is right around the same age as Ian. Maybe we should try to hook them up, huh?”
“Yeah. That would certainly kill two birds with one stone, wouldn’t it? Do you know she calls here at all hours for Trey?”
“Have you asked Trey why she does that?”
“Well, I’ve bitched about it enough. He says it is case related questions on some big class action suit they’re working on together. He doesn’t seem to mind her constant interruptions . . .”
(Hmmm. Maybe it is Trey she is after. Ian might have been fucking with me about the conversation he had with Amber at the bar. . . Tylar has already told me how well Trey is hung . . . but the birthmark - that damn birthmark!)
“Tylar,” I interrupted her as she was now going on about how she hated when Amber would pick Preston up and hold her. “Does Trey have any birthmarks on his ass?”
(A moment of stunned silence . . .)
“What? Why in the world would you ask me something like that, Gina?”
“I’m sorry girlfriend,” I said, laughing, “I was kind of day dreaming about something I discovered on Tristan last week.”
“Which was?”
“Well, I was giving him this really thorough body massage; had the whole aromatherapy thing going on, and I noticed that he has this really cute little birthmark on one of his butt cheeks. Looks like a devil’s fork. I just thought you know, he and Trey resemble each other and quite possibly Trey has a similar birthmark on his ass.”
(Christ that was lame. Tylar is not going to buy this.)
“I’ve not come across one yet, Gina. I’ll be sure to let you know if I do, though.”
(Now that was just plain being a smart-ass!)
We talked for a few minutes more, and then promised we’d get together the following week for lunch.
I finished my dinner preparations and then took a quick shower and dressed before Tristan got home. At 7:30 I was still waiting for Tristan to get home. I had called his cell but it had gone to voicemail which meant he either had it turned off or was in an area where a signal was difficult to pick up. I was getting more pissed by the moment. I wasn’t about to call the club and come off as some insecure, suspicious girlfriend.
(Although, that is exactly what I was at the moment.)
He finally rolled in at almost eight o’clock, acting like nothing was amiss.
“Hey sweet baby,” he said coming over to give me a kiss. It didn’t take him long to notice my statue-like appearance.
“You’re mad?”
“No shit, Tristan. Dinner has been ready for hours. Where in the hell have you been?”
“I’m sorry, babe. I guess I should have called to let you know I was running late. I just had a few errands to run after I finished my shift. I didn’t think it would take as long as it did. Forgive me, babe?”
He still hadn’t really told me where he had been. I couldn’t resist him though when he was that close to me and giving me such a sweet, apologetic expression.
“I already ate,” I grumbled at him. “If you want something to eat, you’ll have to warm it up yourself.”
“Fair enough, babe.”
Later on, I was nearly asleep in our bed; Tristan was in the shower, whistling like he often did, when our landline extension in the bedroom rang. I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly eleven o’clock. The caller ID showed that it was a ‘Private Caller.’
I grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
(Silence on the other end; definitely hear breathing.)
“Hello?” I repeated. A soft, sexy female voice came across the receiver finally. It was not much louder than a whisper.
“I’m sorry; I think I must have the wrong number.”
Click.