Amanda Hill - Love Like That

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For Katherine and Kelli

I am so incredibly fortunate to have had such wonderful people help see Love Like That on its journey: Thanks to Stephanie Lee, my agent at Manus & Associates, because she was its motivational force; and to Farrin Jacobs, my editor at Red Dress Ink, for believing in this book enough to publish it. To Mom, Dad, Lisa, Terry and Mimi, for their encouragement, support and love. To Tammy Jensen, my mainstay, because after hearing the story countless times, she still read every word. To Ann Phillips, for her unwavering enthusiasm. To Regina Sanchez, for her invaluable guidance. To my friends from Ventura, for their many timeless qualities that will always call me home. And lastly, a bit of gratitude to those not named who provided such unforgettable inspiration for the people who live between these pages.

In the city you’ll find me

mixed beliefs in liquored drinks

confidence purchased in sleek boutiques

lost dreams in rings of nicotine

sordid nights triumphant with poetic lies

carnal pleasure anointed with tight-fisted thighs

comfort snorted in glittering lines

red lips rebel in a sea of neurotic faces

street lights flicker inconceivable wishes

hidden beneath my cheapened skin

nurturing my inconsistent sin

In the city you’ll find me

—Katherine Larsen

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

My vomit was teal. When I first saw it I screamed and said we should call 911. I thought my insides were really that color and that maybe I was an alien. Jeremy said to shut up and relax. He said it was from the blue curaçao in the drinks. Some of it had crusted on the underside of the toilet seat.

I closed my eyes and imagined I had woken up from a four-poster canopy bed with satin sheets and lace and lush carpeting beneath my feet like a princess in a fairy tale. The faucet was leaking. Jeremy was coughing from the futon. He yelled that he had smoked too much and how could I let him do such a thing. I stumbled leaving the bathroom, and lit a cigarette.

He acted like he didn’t know me. He does that sometimes. I lay down on the futon with him and concentrated on breathing as the smoke circled around us in yellowish-gray streamers. He put Alien in the DVD player and we watched it in silence.

“Are you going to live?” he finally asked.

“I’m not sure. It might help if you rub my back,” I replied.

He scratched it disinterestedly for a few seconds, then stopped.

I remembered when we first met how we would lie facing each other and smile sleepily as we talked about all the things lovers do. Now my back was to him and he didn’t seem to care. I guess because we’ve gotten routine. Or maybe just because we don’t have to care. Maybe that is our routine.

“Can I get something to drink?” I asked.

He sighed like I’d just asked him to rearrange the furniture and got up with exaggerated effort. “I’ll see what I’ve got, okay? But I’m warning you—it’s probably not much.”

He was right. The only thing in his refrigerator was this yucky fruit-soda-type diet drink. He drank half and handed me the bottle. I took a tentative sip and nearly gagged. But it was cold so I drank it.

He settled down again. “Don’t you have to pick Roman up from the airport today?”

“You know I do.”

He yawned. “How long’s he staying this time, anyway?”

“Um…am I totally retarded, or wasn’t I just telling you last night that he’ll be here for three weeks?”

“Well…I don’t know. I wouldn’t say you’re totally retarded,” he replied. “Seriously, though. Three whole weeks?”

I frowned at him. “You shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“I don’t.” He put his hands behind his head and shrugged into the futon mattress.

“Then why did you say it like that? Three whole weeks?” I mimicked.

“I didn’t say it like that,” he informed me.

I sat up. “Yeah, you did. Like you’re put off by the idea of Roman being here that long because you know you can’t call me while he’s around.”

He eyed me. “Don’t fool yourself, toots. Three weeks isn’t even that long.”

I got up to locate my belongings. “Whatever. I’d better be on my way, actually.”

“Okay.”

How very odd to find my roommate’s shiny blue Prada pumps, which I’d borrowed on the sly the night before, in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink. I thought the empty tequila bottle on the kitchen counter could probably explain a lot of things. But not everything.

I felt Jeremy’s eyes follow me to the door before he said, “Hey.”

“What?” I paused with my hand on the doorknob.

“C’mere for a sec.”

I went over to the futon and knelt down. He placed a hand on the back of my neck and pulled me down for a dizzy kiss. He let go first and stroked my chin with the pad of one thumb. “Have fun.”

“I will.”

“Give Roman my best,” he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He gave me a little wave and I closed the door behind me.

The thing about Jeremy is that I can always tell he’s irritated by the idea of Roman, but then he acts like it’s nothing to him. And I don’t really think he has the right to be irritated, anyway. His girlfriend lives right here in L.A. Maybe he was worried about the bigger picture. Maybe I’m always fooling myself.

Outside it was hot and bright with the end of June and someone was having car trouble in the alley. I walked down the stairs and thought for the thousandth time that someday I’m going to trip and fall down these stairs. My head will be crushed open on the cement with brains and blood pouring out and trickling down into the dirty flower bed, where we used to throw cigarette butts and beer caps before the neighbors yelled about it. They’ll call the police and say there’s a dead girl at the bottom of the stairs outside of their apartment. Jeremy will be questioned and will say he has no idea who she is. He’ll get his camera and take pictures of my gooey head and the ooze that’s seeping from the hole and he’ll hide them in a box with a lock and look at them sometimes with a guilty pleasure. Roman will wonder what I was doing there. He’ll find out. He’ll find out about me, like in that Gin Blossoms song I loved in high school.

I went into the mart next door. Figures they would be out of my cigarettes. I encountered two crazy homeless men on the way out. They were smelly and filthy and talking nonsense. They asked me for money and I lied and said I had none.