We all separate to go to our rooms, and I immediately jump right into the shower to cool off. I’m uncomfortable with how much I’m watching Ari, judging her reactions, ensuring she isn’t pissed at me—that small part of me hoping that she is.
Why?
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
Ican’tgive a fuck about that. Just like I can’t give a fuck about how good she looked in her bathing suits, or how I’m slowly starting to give her more rather than less. I’m not stupid. I’ve noticed that she’s worn pink more often after the comment I made on the beach. I know what I’m fucking doing and I keep doing it.
It only takes about two minutes before I’m fisting my cock under the stream of water. Needing to get this out of my system. Needing to calm myself down. For a brief moment, I wonder ifhaving sex with Lemmy this weekend would have enough power to put Ari off me altogether. To make her tired of this game. It only takes a second of thinking about it for me to decide against it.
Because I’d never use Lemmy as a pawn like that, and unfortunately, I don’t want Ariana to start looking at me differently, anyway. I don’t know what that says about me, but I know it’s probably that I’m a piece of shit.
I come with a muffled groan, not thinking about her pink bathing suit or her pink mouth, but thinking about the way her eyes lit the fuck up when I finally started playing her game on that beach.
The rehearsal goes by swimmingly. Typical wedding stuff. Ari stayed back and had a bubble bath while the rest of us headed to the venue. She made sure I heard that part, and it’s all I thought about for the next fucking hour, just like she intended.
I’m walking down the aisle with Penny’s sister, Aura, who is an older, quieter version of Penny. She’s got the same blonde hair, but it’s poker straight and shorter. They have the same smile, though. She’s a nice girl.
When I meet up with the rest of them for dinner, I don’t miss how Ariana avoids me and how Lemmy seeks me out. Lemmy and I have been doing this song and dance for years. We’re close. We tackle events like this together, always have, and it’s never been weird because we’re friends.
But there has never been an Ariana in the middle of that before.
Lemmy sits next to me, Forker on my other side. Ariana is directly across the table, chatting with everyone besides me, and it becomes strikingly clear that she’s done playing her games while Eleanor Lemon is around.
I might as well not be in the room.
Hate that.
Lemmy leans in close to update me on the Irina situation. She tells me that she has an undisclosed source who is sorting through the direct messages of the media company who interviewed Irina last year—and that she’s hopeful she’ll have some names in a week or so.
I lean my body away from Forker as Lemmy talks into my ear, ensuring he can’t hear. Both of us agreed not to bother him with this until we know for certain who has been behind it.
My eyes flicker across the table. Ari is finally looking at me, her eyes burning into mine as she slides the pick full of olives into her mouth and pulls it back clean.
Dear god.
Fuck her for that one.
I nod as Lemmy speaks, but my eyes are glued to Ariana’s face. She doesn’t look away, though there’s a cold edge to her expression now, one that makes me feel like I’m two feet tall and I have something to hide.
I don’t announce my sexual history because I’m polite and respectful, and what Lemmy and I do, or have done, is nobody’s business. But I feel like I need to confess everything to the girl across the table. Like I owe her something.
I don’t.
I need her out of my head.
Ari chooses to go back to the hotel in a separate car, and I climb into a rideshare with Forker, Arden, Lemmy, Lauren, and her husband. When I get back up to my room, her door is shut and there is a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the handle that wasn’t there before.
I stare at it and swallow.
Don’t knock. It doesn’t matter if she’s mad at you. You did nothing wrong. You have been clear that this will never go anywhere with her. Do not fucking knock.
I storm into my own room before I can change my mind.
The wedding is tomorrow, and it will force me to be away from her for most of the day. She’ll be at a separate table, maybe seated next to a stranger who will entertain her for the night. Maybe she’ll leave with him.
My stomach lurches at the idea of her being with someone else, just across the hall.
It would be for the best, truly. Best case scenario.
