Not Just a Friend Read online

  “How could I forget about the fucking rainbow slides?” Maya hit her forehead with her palm. “I had a total brain lapse. There must be rainbow slides.”

  Sometimes it was hard to believe this was the girl he’d loved back in high school. Well, the girl he’d thought he loved. It was probably more of a youthful infatuation.

  She’d changed—of course she had—but sometimes it seemed like she’d turned into a completely different person in the process of growing up.

  Yet in those moments when he thought she’d changed so much, he could see glimpses of the girl he’d known. He’d thought she was funny then too, but swear words hadn’t been part of her vocabulary. At least not in calculus class, which was the only time he’d had much chance to talk to her.

  Maya knew he’d had a crush on her. She hadn’t known back in grade twelve—a result of him being far too chicken to tell her, though he’d come close. But when they reconnected, he was no longer the shy boy he’d been, and it was easy to talk about the past.

  “In high school, I thought you were sweet and cheerful and smart and beautiful,” he said. It was the sort of thing they laughed about now.

  “Sweet and cheerful. Oh, the horror.”

  “You were more optimistic, too.”

  “It’s hard to be less optimistic than I am now.”

  But he knew that part of her remained, even if just a little. If she were truly hopeless, she wouldn’t bother dating, and she wouldn’t smile when a guy called her back.

  None of his previous romantic affection for her remained, however. They’d recently had sex, and now that they were done, he didn’t feel the need to pull her close and hold her all night.

  But pulling her close and sliding inside her once more…

  Liam was still an optimist, and maybe this date with Tyler would be all unicorns and flowers and rainbows, and this was the last time he would be in bed with Maya Gregory.

  So he’d take advantage of it.

  He lifted up the bottom of her tank top.

  “I don’t know why you put this back on,” he murmured.

  Chapter 2

  Maya sat alone at a table in South Plate, a glass of some kind of bourbon cocktail in front of her. It was just after seven. Tyler should be here any minute. As she waited for him, she went over her disastrous dating history.

  Yeah, that was exactly the way to psych herself up for a date.

  When she was younger, she’d had a thing for bad boys. Men she thought she’d be able to change but couldn’t. After she dumped a guy when he refused to shut down his dog-fighting ring, she decided she was done with that. Five bad boys? That was enough.

  Not that it turned out any better with “normal” guys.

  Her next boyfriend was an accountant, just like she was. Good, she thought. Nice and boring. He seemed like a decent guy, but six months into their relationship, he was fired for stealing from his employer.

  Then she figured that if she wanted a boyfriend who obeyed the law, a policeman would be a good way to go. Justin even gave talks at middle schools about drugs and peer pressure. He couldn’t be a criminal, could he?

  After two years, he proposed to her, and she said yes. Everything was wonderful…until he cheated on her with his neighbor. But he was so, so sorry and promised it would never happen again. She stupidly believed him.

  Then she saw his picture on the front page of the paper when he was arrested for dealing crack. That was it. She was taking a break from men. What was it about her that seemed to attract criminals?

  Maya looked at her empty glass and then at her watch. Tyler was ten minutes late.

  Maybe he was cooking meth in his basement. Maybe he was waiting for a big shipment of crack that was behind schedule. Or maybe he was buying his wife diamond earrings before having dinner with Maya and pretending to be single.

  She sighed. Given her dating history, none of these possibilities seemed all that far-fetched.

  “Can I get you another drink?” the waiter asked.

  “Uhh…sure,” Maya said.

  When her drink arrived, she took a large swallow and pulled out her phone.

  He’s still not here, she texted Kristy.

  There could be traffic or a subway delay, Kristy said. Wait a little longer.

  Maya checked the TTC website. No subway problems. Damn.

  She felt ridiculous. Her date was fifteen minutes late, and she was already assuming he was waiting for a shipment of crack because there were no subway delays.

  But if it doesn’t work out, I’ll find you someone else, Kristy said. One of Grant’s friends.

  Now Maya had something to look forward to.

  Not.

  The men Kristy set her up with were invariably nice and boring. Zero chemistry. It seemed Maya was wired to only like men who were bad for her.

  Well, she wasn’t the only woman with that problem.

  It was seven-twenty now. Still no sign of her date. She had another sip of her drink and read the menu again, though she’d already decided on the blackened catfish.

  If she ever got to eat here, that was. But if Tyler didn’t show up by seven-thirty, she might order without him rather than leave. It looked—and smelled—delicious. At least he’d picked a good restaurant, though perhaps she should reserve judgment until she’d tried the food.

  The restaurant might be like the Justin: it looked good on the outside but was actually full of shit.

  “Hello.”

  She startled at the greeting and looked up. It was Tyler.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. “I had to wait forever for a streetcar, and when I took out my phone to call you, the battery was dead.”

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile. The date wasn’t off to a great start. But this was the first guy who’d asked her out in years, so she ought to give him a chance.

  “I’m so sorry,” he went on. “Really, I am.” He smiled sheepishly. “You look lovely tonight.”

  Tyler took off his winter jacket and sat down across from her. He was wearing a button-down navy shirt, which looked quite smart on him. He was a tall man—more than six feet—and he had strong features, dark blond hair with just a bit of a curl, the beginnings of a beard. The sort of man any woman would find attractive.

  Maya had a sip of her drink and hoped his tardiness would be the only strike against him.

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, they were finished with their appetizers and everything was going well. But Maya couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be something wrong with Tyler.

  She’d met him at a colleague’s housewarming party the previous Saturday afternoon. He’d asked her a bit about her job, told her he was a financial analyst, and then they’d talked about movies for a while.

  “So you’re a financial analyst,” she said now. “Where—”

  “Oh, I quit that job on Tuesday,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “You…quit.” She had a bad feeling about this. “What do you do now?”

  “I’m an artist. I raid dumpsters, and I make beautiful junk art out of what I find.”

  “You…raid dumpsters.” Maya couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

  Actually, she could believe it. It was the sort of thing she expected from a guy who asked her out. In fact, it was a step up from dealing drugs or running a dog-fighting ring.

  “Do you sell your work?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But I will. Don’t look at me like that. I couldn’t work at that job another minute. It was stealing my soul.”

  She’d always hated that expression. Such melodramatic garbage.

  “What do you do for money?” Maya hoped he wouldn’t expect her to pay for both their meals.

  “I have savings. Those should tide me over until next January. But I expect to be making a decent living as an artist by April.”

  “Really? That’s optimistic.”

  He glared at her. “You’re trying to crush my spirit. Like ev
eryone at my old job.”

  Just her luck that when a man finally asked her out, he was a financial analyst turned dumpster diver who said things like “steal my soul” and “crush my spirit.” Why was her love life so pathetic?

  “I’m not trying to crush your spirit,” she said, holding back laughter. “I’m just trying to be practical. It’s difficult to make a living as an artist. If you didn’t like your old career, fair enough. But surely there are other options.” Options that did not involve making beautiful—or, more likely, not-so-beautiful—junk art.

  The waiter came over and served a plate of catfish to Maya and steak to Tyler.

  Thank God. Here was some distraction from this horrible conversation.

  Tyler ignored his food, however. “I’m certain my current project will make me lots of money. If you saw it, I’d bet you’d agree.”

  Man, he sure was full of himself. “What’s your current project?”

  “Glad you asked. I found an old microwave, and I’m going to fill it with discarded computer mice and TV remotes and cellphones.”

  “And that’s it?”

  Tyler reminded her of the flakes Kristy used to date before she met Grant. No way was Maya going on a second date with a guy who was raving about his work in progress involving a dead microwave, and who was convinced someone would pay him good money for this so-called art.

  No, at this point, she was staying just for the story. Just to see how much worse it could get. And the fish was excellent too. Yes, he had picked a good restaurant. But that was all she could say for him.

  Tyler folded his arms over his chest. “Of course there’s more to my project than that.”

  “Of course there is,” she murmured. “Are you going to wrap the entire thing in aluminum foil and—”

  “Plastic wrap, actually. I thought of foil, but I want something transparent.”

  “Then spray paint it and stick an old satellite dish on top? Maybe cover it in glue and dump the contents of a vacuum cleaner bag on it? A toilet paper roll as a final touch?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “That’s an interesting idea.”

  Was that a joke? Or did he truly believe she had some talent in the junk art department?

  “But let me tell you about my idea.” Tyler put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “After I cover the entire thing in plastic wrap, I’m going to tape food to it.”

  “Food you find in the garbage?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her like she’d asked an incredibly stupid question. “Eggshells, banana peels, chicken bones, rotten fish…”

  “That’ll sure smell good.”

  “It won’t.” Had he failed to pick up on her sarcasm? “But that’s part of the experience.”

  “And what experience are you going for? What’s the message of your piece?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? The disposability of modern life.”

  Maya smacked her forehead with her palm. “How could I be so blind?”

  He chuckled. “It’s pretty obvious once you see it, isn’t it? But I wonder if my current idea is a bit…small. I’ve done a lot of searching in the last week, hoping to find an old refrigerator. I’ll still use the microwave, of course. It’ll sit on top.”

  “And will you fill the fridge with TV remotes and cellphones? Wrap the whole thing in plastic wrap and stick rotten chicken on it?”

  “That’s the plan, yes. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve thought of several words to describe it, but ‘brilliant’ isn’t one of them.”

  “Ah.” He stroked his beard. “Deep? Thought-provoking? Edgy?”

  How the hell had Tyler come across as normal at first? When she’d met him last weekend, he’d seemed like a regular guy. Their long conversation about movies had been interesting, and she’d hoped for more of that. This…this was something else.

  “Edgy,” she said. “Yes. That’s it. But I think you should use the microwave and fridge in the creation of your artwork, too. Stick the old remotes and smartphones in the microwave, put it on high for twenty minutes, and see what happens. Maybe add some non-microwaveable plastic containers. I bet you can find lots of those in dumpsters. Or at least some non-microwaveable plastic wrap. Then stick everything in the freezer for twenty-four hours.”

  Maya had been staring at her plate, and when she looked up, Tyler was furiously scribbling on his paper napkin. He still hadn’t touched his food.

  “The use of both a microwave and a fridge is brilliant,” she said. “One heats and one cools. You can use that as some kind of representation of…I don’t know. Different parts of society?”

  “Yes, yes. I do think you’re onto something.”

  She peered over and read his notes. Microwave plastic wrap for 20 min. He’d seriously written that down.

  “I’m sure some wealthy man will want to buy your edgy artwork,” she said. “Although it’s been a decade since I dabbled in dumpster art, I can still tell a good idea from a bad one. Maybe you could throw the fridge and microwave into a dumpster, then have people go inside to see them. That would be quite an experience.”

  Tyler tapped his pen against the table. “I’m not sure. I think using an actual dumpster might be too obvious. It just screams disposability, doesn’t it? I want people to think when they look at my art.”

  “Right. I totally get your point. I’m sorry I looked at you skeptically before. Really, this has enormous potential. Very innovative.”

  “Do you think so?” He placed his hand on her knee, and she knocked it away.

  And then she burst out laughing. She couldn’t keep this up any longer.

  Tyler shook his head and sighed. He looked horribly disappointed in her. “You think my idea is garbage, don’t you?”

  “Yes. It literally is garbage.”

  He was not amused. But he’d walked right into that one.

  “But one man’s rotten chicken breast is another man’s foie gras, right?” she said. “One girl’s melted plastic doll is another girl’s favorite toy.”

  “Maya,” he said quite sternly. “I thought you were different. You seemed like a really genuine person when I first met you, and I thought you understood me. That’s why I opened up to you about my artwork. I have to fake it so much of the time, pretend I’m someone I’m not. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to do that with you. But I was wrong. You’re just like everyone else.”

  This date couldn’t get much worse.

  She’d finish her food then make a quick escape, although the pecan pie with whipped cream and banana sure sounded good. Well, she could come back some other time—maybe with a half-normal man who was gainfully employed—and order dessert. But she wouldn’t today, not unless Tyler was rude enough to leave in the middle of dinner.

  Which, unfortunately, he didn’t do. But he was rude.

  “Eww.” He scrunched up his face as he looked at his plate. “The menu didn’t say anything about celery and onion. Can you believe this place?”

  “I think the food is delicious.”

  “Like I value your opinion. You’re no better than the eggshells I’ll stick to the plastic wrap.”

  Maya was glad he valued her so little. She’d be disturbed if he thought highly of her. What would that say about her as a person?

  “You can throw the meal in a dumpster,” she suggested, “then come back for it in a week and stick it in the discarded microwave.”

  “Haven’t you been listening? The electronics go inside the microwave. The food is on the outside.”

  “My mistake. How stupid of me.” She didn’t bother suppressing her laughter this time.

  “I can’t believe I asked you out.”

  And she couldn’t believe she’d said yes.

  Tyler flagged down the waiter and argued with him about the presence of onions in his meal for a solid five minutes. By the time the waiter had refused to refund his meal for the third time and Tyler had demanded to speak to the manager, Maya was finished eating. She pulled o
ut her wallet and left enough money to cover her drinks, appetizer, and fish. Plus a generous tip.

  She hurried out of the restaurant without acknowledging Tyler. Once she was on the sidewalk, she texted Liam.

  * * * *

  Liam had planned to spend Saturday evening alone in his apartment, marking quizzes. But when he sat down with a cup of tea after dinner, he couldn’t concentrate on basic trigonometry.

  He couldn’t stop a series of disturbing images from rotating through his mind.

  Maya wearing that cream-colored shirt she’d worn when they went to the bar a couple of months ago, the one with the plunging neckline…Actually, that was a pleasant thought. He quite liked that shirt. It was his other thoughts that were the problem.

  Maya laughing at another man’s jokes. Maya splitting dessert with this guy, perhaps eating off his fork and licking whipped cream off her fingers. Very, very slowly. Maya waiting as her date called a cab, smiling as he whispered something in her ear…

  Liam sighed and tossed his pen on the table. This was hopeless. He wished he’d gone out tonight.

  Why was this bothering him so much? Sure, he didn’t want to stop having sex with Maya, but he wanted her to be happy. If she hoped to get married and have kids someday, then dating was a necessary evil.

  He blamed it on his teenage crush on her. Perhaps because he’d been crazy about Maya for so long, he couldn’t help but think like this. It was instinctive. When the first woman you’d ever yearned for was out with someone else, it was natural to feel this way. Wasn’t it?

  Except he hadn’t had a crush on Maya in well over a decade. No, it didn’t make sense to him.

  He hoped this feeling would go away soon. He hated being consumed with jealousy.

  Giving up on marking math quizzes, Liam plopped down on the couch and turned on the hockey game.

  Near the end of the second period, his phone beeped. It was a text from Maya. Date was terrible, so I’ll still come over tomorrow.

  He couldn’t hold back a smile. Without thinking, he replied, Why don’t you come over now?

  Chapter 3

  Maya knocked on Liam’s door, a tingle of excitement traveling down her body.