She got it wedged in the loo
So she screamed like a shrew
And passed out in a panic attack.
“Do me, do me,” Tim yelled.
“Okay, okay,” I agreed with a chuckle. “Let me think.”
I paused for a moment, then grinned.
There was once a young man named Tim
Who in actual fact was really quite dim
He lifted weights and got hurt
When he tried to flirt
And perve on all the hot guys at the gym.
Much to everyone’s disappointment, Jared came over, sat my guitar down, and picked me up off the table. “Come, my sweet poet.” He grinned at me. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, flushing in embarrassment as he carried me off amidst loaded catcalls and shrieks of laughter. The stairs must have been too far away because we somehow found our way into the pantry, backed up against the shelving, between flour and unopened packets of red lentils. Jared yanked my head back and began sucking and biting his way up my neck to my lips in a heated frenzy.
“Can’t get enough of you, Evie,” he muttered and my h*ps jerked as he tugged at my earlobe with his teeth.
I felt it when he pulled back to look at me. His lids were heavy, his eyes serious and steady. His hands ran slowly up my outer thighs, stopping to rest on my h*ps where his fingers dug in. His look made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
It was a look I never wanted to see him give to anyone else. The jolt of possessiveness shook me so much I almost shoved him away.
“What?” I asked him to cover the sudden loss of breath and the shaking in my palms.
“Are you okay?”
The pantry door rattled. “Evie?”
“Won’t be a sec,” I called out to Mac.
“Okay, well everyone is starting to leave.”
We peeled ourselves apart, and Jared smoothed down the wrinkles on my clothes with tender hands. Leaving Jared in the kitchen, I hit the lounge room to say my goodbyes. There were only a few people left when the shouting started. Mitch and Jared were in the kitchen with each other having what appeared to be a yelling match.
Jared stormed out, brow furrowed and fierce eyes glaring. “Tell me it isn’t true, Evie.”
I looked at him in confusion. “What isn’t true?”
“You and Tate.”
What the hell? My mouth opened and closed like a fish with the confusion becoming no clearer.
“The other day, at the station,” he clarified.
All eyes swivelled to me, and I heard Mac suck in a breath.
Mitch came out and I spared him a glance.
“Evie,” he muttered, not quite meeting my accusing eyes.
“Mitch, what did you say?” Fury was bubbling close to the surface, and I could see Mac waiting for it to spew over.
“We reviewed the interview footage today, and I might have mentioned something about you and Tate.” He shrugged an apology.
“Tell me, Evie,” Jared shouted. “I want to hear you say it.”
Awkward tension tied the room in knots. People didn’t know whether to leave or stay and began an awkward shuffle for the door.
“You’re overreacting,” I ground out.
He glared at me accusingly. “Did he touch you? Did you let him?” His tone went from angry to broken, and I scrambled to get the words out before I caused him any more pain.
“Jared,” I said in a hurry, “it’s not what you think, you don’t―”
He cut me off. “Fuck. Save it. I should have known better, really, it was stupid of me to think you would be different.”
He rushed to the front door, swung it open and stalked out, slamming it shut behind him.
I sucked in painful breaths while everyone watched me in silent shock, apart from Mac who was looking at me with narrowed eyes.
I made for the stairs with blurry eyes, in shock at how quickly Jared turned into just another a**hole. How could he look at me like I was his whole world in one moment, and the next, believe something about me that wasn’t true without talking to me first? If he didn’t trust me, then it was likely I didn’t matter to him half as much as I was starting to believe. His actions were proof that protecting my heart should have been my number one priority. When would I ever learn?
Chapter Fourteen
It had not been a good week. Not that I’d expected it to be all sunshine and daisies, but we had studio time to plan for, and I'd be damned if Jared being an a**hole got in the way of all that happiness. I hardly slept without him there, I was being a high maintenance bitch, and if Cadbury wasn’t my middle name, things would have been a lot worse, and not just for me.
J: Evie, please answer your phone.
Delete.
J: Evie, I’m sorry. I managed to get the full story. Please can we talk?
Oh you did, did you? Nice of you to wait until after your a**hole episode and skank assumptions to realise I’m not a cheating bitch.
Delete.
J: Look. I understand you’re angry but just let me explain.
I don’t think so.
Delete.
I received a message from Mitch the next day.
M: Sorry, Evie. It’s my fault. I didn’t see the actual footage. One of the detectives here was obviously exaggerating by saying that Tate was all over you.
What could I say? I would have thought Mitch knew me better than that, but he was looking out for his little brother after all.
E: That’s okay, Mitch. I’m not angry at you, just at Jared for choosing to believe it.
In the heat of the moment, Mac was, surprisingly, supportive.
“Honestly, Sandwich, all men are wankers. Henry excluded,” she added quickly when he flipped her the finger. “It’s a wonder they can find their own dicks what with them being stuck about on their heads all the time.”
However, two days later her tune started to change. “Maybe you should talk to him.”
“Why should I, Mac?”
“Because there’s more to it than what you realise and maybe if you spoke to Jared, it might clear a few things up.”
I thought back to my chat with Coby.
“It’s not just you I’m worried about.”
“What does that mean?” I’d asked.
Coby had sighed and waved his hand. “Nothing.”
“You’re keeping something from me.”
“It’s not my place to tell you, Evie.”
“Why couldn’t I manage to settle for a nice quiet unassuming dork that pecked me on the cheek as he headed off to his nine to five office job?” I wailed.
“Evie,” Mac snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You used to walk right over the top of Hairy Parry and Beetle Bob. They bored you silly.”
“They weren’t boring, Mac. I did like them you know, and yes, they might have been safe, but I didn’t use them.”
When Jared messaged me again a week later, I didn’t delete it in light of Coby and Mac’s words.
J: Can I see you?
I sent a reply off quickly before I could change my mind.
E: Okay, but not here.
The duplex was full and as much as I appreciated the support of my friends, I wasn’t in the mood to have them involved in our conversation.
J: Come to my place. Travis isn’t here.
He messaged me the address and an hour later found me pulling into an allotted visitor park outside a converted warehouse apartment complex in Woolloomooloo.
Jared buzzed me up to the top level and led me in to a beautiful loft style apartment with double height ceilings, massive windows, a huge open style dining room, a kitchen, and a lounge room. The kitchen was right in the middle, separating the two rooms with wide caesarstone benchtops and stainless steel appliances. There were doorways off to the side, which I imagined led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Big glass doors led to an outdoor deck that was perfect for entertaining. The whole place was painted white with a feature red brick wall and decorated in man. No girly touches here. As I wandered through the room, I glanced at photos here and there in an effort to avoid looking at Jared and moved to one of the giant windows where I could view the famous Finger Wharf where Russell Crowe supposedly lived.
“Evie, who drove you here?”
I turned to face him and sighed. He looked tired, but even wearing just an old pair of faded jeans and a shirt with a big tear in it, he still took my breath away.
“Jared…”
“Evie, Jimmy is still out there. Shit. Just…don’t do that again, okay?” He sighed. “Drink?”
I latched onto the subject change. “Yes, please.”
He poured us both wine and led me over to the couch. Once I’d arranged myself comfortably, he took a sip from his glass, sat it down, and took hold of my hand.
“So, here’s the thing,” he began without wasting time on small talk. “Jessica was the girl I was going to marry.”
“Oh.” I snatched my hand away, thinking that maybe a bit of conversation beforehand would have been a good idea to soften that particular blow. “How lovely for the two of you. Am I standing in the way of that?” I asked.
Jared and Jessica had a much better ring to it. Their celebrity name would be Jarica, pretty in a sort of ghetto-ugly kinda way.
“No,” he said, grabbing my hand back. “She died.”
“Oh, Jared, I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, horrified at my insensitivity. “I can be such a thoughtless bitch sometimes. I’m sorry.” I gave his hand a squeeze.
He squeezed back before letting go to rub his hands down the front of his jeans. “That’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“What happened?”
He picked his glass back up off the coffee table and sank into the navy leather couch, fiddling with the stem of the glass rather than taking a sip. “I met her when she moved to Sydney from Perth. Her dad had been relocated for work. She was only a little thing with short blonde hair and brown eyes, but she was trying out for our high school mixed soccer team anyway. I was inside the six yard box and going for a hat trick when she got in the way and the ball slammed into her jaw and sent her flying. I got ribbed for months after that, but it certainly got her attention,” he said with a chuckle. “She asked me out after I’d bruised her jaw all purple and green, said she liked my powerful inside curve kick.”
I didn’t know anything about soccer, and for a brief, selfish moment, I felt jealous that this girl had shared something with Jared that I would likely never do.
“Anyway, we’d been together for three years, and about two years after we started uni, she began acting strange. Not ringing or coming around as much, being secretive, taking phone calls in another room. At the time, we were so busy caught up in part time jobs, assignments, and group study, I didn’t think too much of it. Then a few months later, she started getting really sick: tonsillitis, constant infections, tired all the time. When she came down with pneumonia and was hospitalised, they diagnosed her with a rare type of leukaemia.” He paused to take a sip of wine and ran his fingers through his hair. “It progressed so bloody fast. Three months later they said there was nothing they could do for her, that she had anywhere from two to four months left, and sent her home. It was awful and I felt like I couldn’t do or say the right thing.”