“No.” Trisha’s blood red fingernail drove like a spike through the air. “If you recall, I do believe I said take him to Kelly, or drop him off at the shelter. What part of that did you not understand? The man could be a rapist, a murderer…”
Try none of the above. But Betty couldn’t tell her that, and Trisha wouldn’t believe it anyway. She huffed. “Yes, he could have been. But he’s not. So why do you care? He makes me laugh. He makes Briley laugh. I lo…” She jerked, realizing what she’d almost said.
Trisha’s eyes widened. “Love him? Is that what you were about to say?”
“No,” Betty shook her head, “I like him.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Trisha crossed her arms.
The man came up to the counter with two leather bound books in his hands. His rheumy blue eyes studied the girls. “I could come back later if you’re busy,” he said in the thin, scratchy voice of a man well beyond his prime.
Betty sighed, and plastered on a smile, though inside she wanted to cry. Why couldn’t Trisha just be happy for her? Betty wasn’t going to fall in love with the man, it wasn’t like that. She didn’t have a choice in the matter anyway. Yeah, so she’d almost used the word love. But not love-love, more like the way one loved a favorite pair of shoes, or a puppy.
She took the books, grateful her hands didn’t shake too badly. “No, now is fine. Library card, please?”
He pulled a well-worn card out of his pocket. The picture showed him, maybe ten years younger, with the horseshoe hair, but brownish instead of gray, and without the frizzy tufts poking from his ears. What would Gerard look like when he aged? Would he age? Thoughts scrambled through her head as she checked the man’s books into the computer.
Trisha paced behind Betty’s chair like a restless tiger in a cage, and Betty flashed him an apologetic smile as she handed him back the books. “Due back in a month, Mr. Adams.”
He nodded, grabbed the books, and sprinted as fast as his old legs would carry him out the door. Betty sighed, swiveling in her chair.
Trisha gripped the sides of her chair, pinning Betty in place.
“Listen, sweetie, if you think I’m being mean, I probably am. I miss you. But more than that, I’m worried about you. Can’t you see he’s a rebound guy? And not a good one. Yeah, he’s incredibly delicious, and if I were you I’d probably slather his body in warm chocolate and lick it all off.”
“Oh jeez, you’re so disgusting.” Betty scrunched her face.
“But, I’m telling you now, the man is a pig. A player. He’s another James, except prettier. He’s playing you, girl. He’s having his fun, but I swear to you, he’ll leave. Just like all the rest.”
“You don’t know that,” Betty mumbled.
Trisha smiled softly, stepping back and nodding. “Yes I do, sweetling. Because he’s just like James, just like high school quarterback Carter, and he’s just like me.” Her voice trailed off sadly. She hugged her arms to her chest.
The words were a fist hammering through her heart. She looked at her friend, as if seeing her for the first time. Trisha looked pretty today. Hunter green top and woodland brown pencil skirt-- a luscious figure on a petite frame. Compared to her, Betty might as well have been an ogre. Tall and gangly, awkward and a nerd to boot.
“We’re all fun, but zero substance, honey. Just guard your heart, Betty. Promise me. Because when you get hurt, I get hurt, and I don’t want to see my best friend turn into a puddle of crying goo again. Not over a player.” With that, Trisha turned and walked to the back of the library.
Trisha was right. Gerard would leave. Either she fell in love with him, or he’d die. Neither choice was particularly appealing.
If she fell in love, he’d leave. Only she had to love him to save him, he didn’t have to love her back. Which meant his heart was free to beguile and seduce someone else. Someone more like Trisha-- perfect, sexy, a blond bombshell-- a someone Betty could never hope to be. But if she didn’t love him, they’d kill him. The thought tore Betty’s heart into a million tiny pieces.
Love sucked.
Chapter 15
“You promise not to laugh?” Betty’s voice came out small behind the bathroom door.
Gerard sat on the bed, drinking his morning brew, breathing in the bitter vapors, anything to try and get more alert. “I’ll promise no such thing, Cherie. Spandex looks awful on anyone.”
“You’re not helping.”
Today was the day he’d been dreading all week. Comic-con. She’d woken him at an ungodly hour, stars still thick and heavy in the sky, with the fevered excitement of a child at Yule. She’d tried her damndest to get him to dress in character too. No chance in hell. Blue jeans and a shirt were good enough for him.
“Just come out, Elliptical,” he growled.
“It’s Eclipse, and I’m not gonna come out unless you’re nice,” her voice trembled.
Gerard chuckled, tapping the side of the ceramic mug with his thumb. “Fine, fine. Come out please.”