The movement startled her. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on top of you.”
“I didn’t mind, since I crashed too.”
Her body tensed.
I hoped it’d take her some time to come around. But one second she was sprawled on me; the next she practically launched herself back to the passenger’s seat.
Okay. Not only did she have catlike reflexes, she was as jumpy as a cat.
She fumbled with her seat belt and her legs started bouncing.
“You all right?”
“I have a hideous headache. Can you please take me home?”
“Of course.”
The ride to her house was silent except for her occasional mutterings. The fact she wouldn’t look at me gave me a bad vibe.
After I parked next to the curb in front of her house, several long moments passed before she noticed where we were. She immediately reached over to undo her seat belt.
I stayed her hand. “Trinity. Are we going to talk about—”
“You don’t understand. Ramon . . . that’s just how he is. Sometimes he’s not even aware he’s being—”
“Such a fucking tool?” I snapped off.
Trinity talked over me. “Yes, he knew exactly where to dig into me so the barbs would do the most damage. Friends know each other’s weaknesses. It really sucks that this seems to be the norm in the art world—hey, just point out those weaknesses at a damn dinner party where everyone can get a running tally of all my faults. But what gets me the most is that Ramon isn’t entirely wrong and that’s a hard truth to swallow.”
Before I could jump in with, It’s hard to swallow because it’s total bullshit, Trinity was off on another tangent.
“I haven’t been as focused as I need to be. I have to find a better way to jump-start my creative process than taking on random odd jobs and praying they’ll inspire me. I know myself. I know how easily distractions become excuses. You are this larger-than-life guy who takes over my thought processes, even when I’m not with you. And you can’t help that you’re”—her gaze flicked over me—“all that.”
Jesus. Was that a compliment or an insult?
“I can’t afford to blow this chance. I need to regain my focus. Eye on the prize, right? So can we just take a step back?”
“A step back from what?”
“From this.” She gestured between us. “I need to lock away the emotions you bring out in me and concentrate on my work.”
My jaw might’ve dropped if I hadn’t been clenching it so tight. “You’re serious. You’re cutting me loose . . . on our second date?”
“Not permanently. Just until I straighten out a few things.”
“Well, that’s just great, Trinity. Of course I’d love to just hang the fuck around while you ‘straighten out a few things’ in your life. It’s not like I have a life or anything better to do.”
She beamed at me. “See! I knew you’d understand.”
Was she drunk? That’s the only way she could’ve missed my sarcasm.
When she leaned forward to . . . pat me on the cheek, for Christsake, I noticed her eyes were expressionless. Like she’d checked out of her body somehow.
“Gotta go.” She bailed out of the truck and ran—she fucking ran—up the sidewalk and into the house without looking back.
Eight
TRINITY
Sunday morning I woke up later than usual and more refreshed than I’d expected. Ambien was good stuff. I had a momentary pang of guilt for popping a pill that allowed me to hide in sleep. It wasn’t something I did often. I wondered if Walker had ever tried medication for his occasional insomnia.
Walker.
Last night as I’d drifted off I’d tried to remember specifics of our conversation after the disastrous dinner party at Ramon’s. But I could only bring up silence and a few brusque words from his end. I’d chalked up the lack of recall to the Ambien.
So being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning meant I should’ve had perfect clarity.
Nope. Why couldn’t I have a normal social anxiety disorder like drinking too much? Maybe as the day wore on things would come back to me. That small sliver of hope allowed me to shove all of last night’s events aside and switch into work mode.
I headed to my studio—leaving my cell phone in the house—and brewed a strong pot of tea. Then I slipped on my headphones and set my Sonos system playlist to random. I picked over the objects on the table that Esther had given me. She’d been considerate enough to label each one and rank the items in order of importance.
Yesterday I’d assembled the three separate sections into one base piece, suspending it from the ceiling with wires and connecting the bottom to hooks in the floor, allowing me mobility while it remained stationary.