Stir Me Up Page 8

  Guess that takes care of that. Taryn recovers quickly and so subtly I doubt anyone else would even have seen either the brush-off or her reaction. But I caught it. And I’m not sure why, but the feeling moving through me seems like relief.

  “Taryn, it’s good to see you,” says Estella as she walks back in. “Sorry for the delay, everyone—dinner is ready.”

  “We’re not waiting for Dad?” I ask.

  “Your father’s stuck with a repairman,” Estella tells me with a frown. Yeah, I think to myself, sure he is. “Come on, grab a plate. We’ll do this very casually, if that’s all right.”

  Estella makes a plate for Julian and herself, then the rest of us take our own portions and head to the table. Luke sits next to me, of course.

  “So, I’ve received some news,” Taryn says as we’re digging in.

  I look over at her. “Oh yeah?”

  “Remember I said I went out on a few auditions while I was in L.A.?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’ve been offered a role in a movie.”

  Everyone stares at Taryn, stunned. She’s smiling—beaming actually.

  “That’s fantastic!” Estella exclaims.

  “Congratulations!” Luke says with a grin.

  “Yeah, congratulations,” adds Julian.

  “What kind of role?” I ask.

  “It’s a part in a movie called Tenure. It’s about this professor who goes crazy and I’m his daughter. The professor’s being played by Jonah Schmidt.”

  My eyebrows go up. “Didn’t he win some big awards last year for that role as the autistic man in that thing with what’s her name?”

  “Madeline Fields. Yes.”

  “You were offered a speaking role in Jonah Schmidt’s new movie?” I’m still trying to take it in.

  “Yes.” Taryn’s glowing now.

  “Taryn, that’s AMAZING!”

  “Thanks, I know. I can’t believe it’s happening. I just heard from my agent. There’s one problem though.”

  Uh-oh. I knew it. “What?” I ask.

  “They want to start filming in late April. In Santa Barbara.”

  “How long will you be away?” Estella asks.

  “Six, eight weeks.”

  “Can you make up the school you’ll miss?”

  “We’re still discussing it with them,” Taryn responds.

  “You’d miss finals. The prom. Graduation,” I point out. I try to imagine going through all those important milestones without her.

  “I know. But because I’m eighteen, the studio may not have to provide me with a tutor.”

  “You won’t just drop out though,” Luke says.

  “I might need to.” Taryn takes a sip of water. “I can always take the GED. Of course, my folks hate that idea. Even Mom, the one who’s always pushed me into this, thinks it might be a mistake.”

  “I think they’re right,” says Estella. “You should finish school. There will be other parts, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to be a high school dropout,” says Luke. He looks at me, hoping I’ll agree with him. But I’m not sure what to think yet.

  “So, you all think I should turn the job down if it means I can’t get my diploma?” Taryn asks.

  Luke gives her a sympathetic look. “Sorry, I do.”

  “So do I,” says Estella.

  “I don’t,” Julian says, surprising us all. I didn’t even think he was still listening.

  Taryn glances at him. “You don’t?”

  “No. Would you say that this is a big break?”

  “Yes, definitely. It’s a good role in a big-budget film with an award-winning actor.”

  “Then I’d take it.”

  I look at Julian and frown. So, I notice, does everyone else.

  “What?” he counters. “There’s a long list of extremely famous actors who were dropouts. If you think this is your big break, and it sounds like it is, I say go for it.”

  “What about the fact that my parents don’t want me to drop out of school?”

  “Tell them too bad. You’re eighteen.”

  “Oh great,” I say. “Encourage her to alienate her parents.”

  Julian shrugs. Why am I disagreeing with him—because I think he’s wrong, or just to pick a fight?

  “Yeah, maybe she wants to have parental support once the role is finished,” adds Luke. “Maybe she’s not ready to go out into the world at eighteen and have to support herself without so much as a high school degree.”

  “You mean diploma, first of all. And second, I’m not saying it’s not a gamble. It is. But then, she’s playing opposite a famous actor so the gamble’s minimal.”

  I look over at Julian. This is a lot of conversation for him.

  “Easy for you to gamble with someone else’s future,” Luke points out.

  “It’s just an opinion.” Julian’s eyes shift to me. “What’s yours?”

  My stomach clenches a little. “Hmm?”

  “What do you think Taryn should do if she can’t make up the schoolwork?”

  “I...” I look away from him and over at Taryn, who’s watching both of us. “I think it’s up to her.”

  “No,” Taryn says. “Uh-uh. I want a real answer.”

  Hmm... I take a minute to consider. “I think you should make every effort to get the diploma—you know, arrange for a private tutor or whatever if it’s at all possible. But the bottom line is I’d take the role, even if it means dropping out of school.”

  Luke stares at me.

  “Sorry, I just think she can’t turn down something like this.” I turn back to Taryn. “If you do, word could get around and you might not be hired again.”

  “Good point,” says Julian.

  Wait—did he just say something nice to me?

  “So you dropped out of high school to join the Marines then?” Luke asks him.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Estella’s cell rings. “Excuse me, that’s Chris,” she says and leaves the room.

  “So, you didn’t drop out,” Luke continues. “But Taryn should.”

  “She’s being offered a first step on a path to a major movie career. I enlisted as a private.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “With what?” Luke turns to me. “What the hell’s he talking about?”

  “Yeah, explain it to him,” Julian counters.

  He’s awfully defensive about his military service. I turn to Luke. “Just ignore him.”

  “Okay.” Luke wraps his arm around the back of my chair, leans over and kisses my cheek. Awkward.

  Estella comes back into the room and looks at us warily. “Everything all right here?”

  “Fine,” Luke says. “This really is delicious, Estella.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I take seconds.”

  Julian rolls his eyes at him. “Would you give it a rest?”

  “Why don’t you try giving your mouth a rest,” responds Luke.

  Julian turns to me. “This is who you’re dating?”

  “What’s wrong with her dating me?”

  “You mean other than the fact that you’re a stupid, insecure suck-up?”

  I rise up from my seat. Hurl my water in Julian’s face. And leave for the front yard.

  Luke comes out and joins me a few minutes later.

  “Why couldn’t you have just ignored him like I told you?” I demand.

  “I’m sorry. I did the best I could. He’s an asshole.”

  “True.”

  “That’s the guy whose room you sneak through at night?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So no wonder you don’t like doing it anymore.”

  “Here you guys are,” Taryn says, coming up to us.

  Luke hugs me tighter. “Look, it’s the big movie star. Congrats again.”

  “Thanks.” Taryn smiles. “No offense, Luke, but maybe you should leave before something e
lse happens.”

  “Yeah.” He gives me a quick kiss. “’Night. Tell Estella I said thanks again.”

  “I will.”

  Taryn and I both watch him go, then she touches my arm. “They were both being jerks, you know.”

  “It was mostly Julian.”

  “You do know how insanely gorgeous Julian is.”

  I stare at her, surprised to hear her say this out loud, though I already guessed she’d thought it. “Umm...actually...”

  “What is it with you and bewitching utterly gorgeous guys? I mean, come on. First Luke gives up sex for you for the better part of a year.”

  “Yeah, go figure.”

  Taryn looks earnestly at me. “And now you’ve hooked another one.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” she says, all innocence.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she repeats. “But you do know what they were really fighting about in there.”

  I look at her, a little bit lost. “You dropping out?”

  She smiles. “No.”

  “The military stuff?”

  Taryn gives me a hug. “No. Nice try.”

  “You’re not making sense. Stardom must’ve gone to your head.”

  “Yeah, just think, someday you could be saying, See that famous movie star there on TV? Taryn Lord?”

  “She was my best friend growing up,” I say, getting into the spirit of things. “But then she got her big break and left me in the dust.”

  “No, never. I’d never ditch you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “After all, you’re going to be a famous chef someday. I’ll take all my fancy Hollywood friends to your restaurant.”

  “You will?”

  “Sure, all the time.”

  I grin.

  “You really think I should drop out if I have to?” she asks, clearly worried.

  “I do. Even though it means I’ll have to face prom and graduation without you. I’m so proud of you. You deserve this chance. It’s a whole new world for you.”

  “For you, too,” she says.

  “I don’t know. Dad wants me to be the first Broussard to attend a university. I want to be a chef—and not necessarily at étoile.”

  “Just tell him.”

  “He knows.” I sigh. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “I know you will.” She gives me a hug. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Sure. Sorry about the world war.”

  “Don’t be. It was very illuminating.”

  I shake my head.

  “What? I meant in terms of me. Of course.” She grins, waves goodbye and heads for her car.

  Chapter Eleven

  While Hamlet tries to figure out if his uncle really did murder his father, I sit in English class trying to figure out if Taryn really did mean that Julian has a thing for me. I mean, she did say I’d hooked another. Who else could she have meant? But Taryn’s always seeing romances that aren’t there, isn’t she? Wait...does she? She got Luke right. She knew he’d ask me out long before he did. Could she be right on this as well? No. I decide no.

  Still the idea stays with me through statistics class, where we’re asked to go into eight different classrooms to count up how many kids are wearing shoes with shoelaces. We’re then charged with compiling the data and setting up the problems of the survey—namely, too small a sample population, no freshmen in that population, difficulties counting in classrooms with lab tables where kids were moving around. Anyway, it occupies part of my brain, but not enough of it to keep me from accidentally driving home at noon instead of heading to Luke’s.

  Where are you? he texts just as I realize what I’ve done. Are you coming?

  Luke’s only a mile away—I could just tell him I’m running late. Sorry! I have to start a paper for Gov I forgot about that’s due tomorrow.

  Okay.L

  I stick my phone in my backpack and go inside. Estella’s nowhere around, but I walk into the sunroom and there is Julian, fast asleep in Dad’s ergonomic chair. There’s an Economist magazine on his lap, turned over like he was just reading it. His medications are on the coffee table beside him, and his wheelchair is nearby. The sun is beating in through the windows, which take up the whole far wall and look out over the forest and rolling meadow. It is a nice place for a nap.

  I pull the magazine carefully away so it’s not bothering him and am taken aback by how handsome he is, the lines of his face, the smoothness of his skin, the way his expression is so peaceful and innocent when he’s like this. His mouth turns just a little at the sides. His hair is too short. From the pictures I saw, it gets blond when it’s longer. How does he feel, I wonder, about being stuck here in a house in the country with nothing to do but think, when not long ago he was caught in one of the world’s deadliest war zones? How is that adjustment going for him? Does he fill his days with something productive, or does he just sit and heal and read and sit... I look at his half leg and realize I barely even notice it anymore. But I’m betting that’s not the case for him.

  Eventually, I stop gazing at him and take his magazine over to the sofa. I start reading it and stretch out and the next thing I know, I awaken to see Julian staring at me.

  “GAH!”

  “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

  “No, I’m up.”

  He glances away. “I...shouldn’t have lost my temper with your boyfriend at dinner.”

  Huh. This is unexpected—and nice of him. “That’s okay. I shouldn’t have thrown water at you.”

  “It was cold, too,” he says with a trace of a smile.

  “Sorry.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?” I’m instantly wary.

  “How many hours do you work each week?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track.”

  “Think about it a minute.”

  I do. “Two to eleven four days a week and then eight a.m. to eleven or so on Saturday nights. Some Sundays as well.”

  “That’s more than fifty. Without the Sundays.”

  It occurs to me he figured this out extremely quickly.

  “Plus school twenty hours a week. And then there’s homework and midnight boyfriend runs.”

  I fight to not be embarrassed. There haven’t been many midnight boyfriend runs. “Your point?”

  “You don’t see my point?”

  I yawn. “Nope. Too tired. Do you know what time it is?”

  “It’s almost three.”

  “Shit!” I bolt up. “I’m really late!”

  “I called you in sick, actually.”

  “WHAT?” I snatch up the phone from the coffee table. Call my immediate boss, Georges, on his cell and tell him, in French, that I overslept and am on my way.

  Georges—get this—tries to convince me to stay home and rest.

  “What did you tell him,” I demand of Julian once I’m off the phone, “that I was dying or something?”

  “No. I just said you were asleep.”

  “Oh. Well you shouldn’t have...wait, you said you called me in sick.”

  “The person I talked to asked if you were sick, and I told him I didn’t know and wasn’t going to wake you and find out.”

  I frown at him. “I don’t need someone else micromanaging my life. I’ve got enough male micromanagers as it is.”

  He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me. “You’re welcome.”

  “Look, I made you breakfast. You insulted my dog and boyfriend and then called me out of work without asking.”

  “Interesting you put the dog before the boyfriend there.”

  I continue as if he hasn’t spoken. “So let’s just call it even with the good deeds and go back to pointed remarks and mutual contempt for each other, which of course won’t be a problem for me after you...WHAT are you staring at?”

  “Nothing,” he says. He’s still studying my face.

  “WHAT?”

  “You have freckles.”<
br />
  “I know—they’re obvious.”

  “Not that obvious.”

  I frown. “It’s not like I try to hide them.”

  “It’s cool,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m pro-freckle.”

  Wait—is he flirting with me? Kind of seems like it.... When did this start? I think back to the scene in the meadow. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Uh-oh.” He casts a wary look my way. “What?”

  “What do you do all day?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  Julian shrugs. “I go to the VA center in Northampton a lot. And see Brandon sometimes, since that’s where he lives.”

  “It’s where the restaurant is, too,” I point out.

  “Yeah.” He looks away, and I force myself to say goodbye and leave for work.

  * * *

  Work itself is nothing special. But when I come home that night, I see a light is on in Dad’s gym in the garage.

  Our garage is its own building, a big thing that looks like a house and sits at the end of the driveway. I think it used to be a horse barn or something a long time ago, because it has a large central area for four cars and then four adjacent rooms, two on each side. We use one for home storage, one for restaurant storage, one for gardening stuff and the fourth is Dad’s home gym.

  Dad’s not back yet, and I seriously doubt Estella’s down here at this hour, so that leaves only one person it could be.

  I tiptoe over to the door to spy on him.

  Julian’s in cutoff sweats and no shirt and he’s trying to reach from the weight bench where he’s seated to the door handle of the small fridge, which is just a few inches too far away from him. From my hiding spot by the doorway, I can see his surprisingly V-shaped bare back, and the rise of muscle that runs from his shoulders to his neck, and the cut of his arms. I clear my throat and he turns.

  Okay, there are guys who are utterly ripped, like bodybuilders. That’s not Julian. He’s not stacked like a bodybuilder. He’s just...buff, in this way, in this utterly sensual way. Like his pecs aren’t huge and bulging, they’re just pronounced enough. His chest, like his back, is broad and his body tapers in at the waist, leading to another hint of a V-shape pointing down from his hip bones, and above this the shadowy lines of a six-pack. He sees me. “Hello.”