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“If anything, he’s only gotten better looking,” I add, sipping my wine. “Evidently, single life has been good for him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No? Well, he looked damn good last night, too, when I was with Brandon at Gavin Castille’s new restaurant and saw Nick there having an intimate dinner with a gorgeous blonde.”
Just saying it stings more than I want it to. I want to be over him. I want him to be relegated to my past, where I can better cope with his absence and all of the hurt that goes along with it.
Seeing him at the party tore at the edges of too many of those wounds again. Seeing him on a date with another woman just a couple of nights later ripped a piece of me wide open.
I’m not over him yet. I probably never will be. I gave him too much of me, things I won’t ever be able to give anyone else.
The one thing neither of us seemed capa
ble of truly giving each other was honesty.
Tasha winces as I take another swig of the Malbec, a bigger one this time. “What happened after you saw them?”
“Nothing. I was on my way to the restroom. They were gone by the time I came out.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so. God, I hope not.”
Her silence stretches for a long moment. “What about Brandon?”
“What about him?”
“Does he know you’re still in love with Nick? For that matter, did any of the other handful of guys you’ve briefly dated in the past year know that?”
I stare at her, wishing I could balk at the suggestion. If it were anyone else I would.
“I don’t know what I feel for Nick besides hurt and betrayed and confused. Am I over him? No. But I sure as hell don’t want to be in love with him. You should understand that better than anyone.”
She nods slowly, no doubt recalling the mess I was during those first weeks back in the city. She and Tony took me in when I had nowhere else to go, making room for me in their already crowded home as though I were family. She saw me through the crying jags and the anger, and she helped pushed me back into my art as a means of off-loading all of my pain into something more productive.
“Yeah, Avery, I do understand. And I hate the bastard for how he hurt you. But how I feel about him doesn’t really matter. You need to figure out what he means to you. Maybe he needs to tell you what you mean to him too.”
I scoff. “I got that answer loud and clear in Paris, and in the twelve months since. All I was to him was an object to be acquired. He manipulated every aspect of my life—my job, my home, everything—until the only path I had left was the one that would lead me straight to him. I mean, how cold do you have to be to do that to someone? How would I ever forgive him for that?”
“Maybe you should ask him that question, not me.” Her eyes turn soft, sympathetic. “Call him, Avery. Have the talk you both have been avoiding for the past year.”
“No way. Not happening.” I down the remainder of the wine and set the glass on the bar. “I have no interest in letting him back into my life again. I can’t do it, Tasha.”
She arches a brow at me. “Then skip the talk and just go fuck him like you want to do. Get him out of your system and get some closure, if that’s possible. It’d serve him right to be the one getting screwed over for a change.”
“Oh, my God.” I gape at her because she’s clearly lost her mind to even suggest it. “You give really terrible advice sometimes, you know that?”
She grins, entirely without shame. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. You’ve told me yourself that you haven’t gone to bed with anyone since him, and that’s a damn long time for a woman to go without. Besides, nothing wrong with some good old-fashioned revenge sex—even if you gotta get it from him.”
I shake my head, appalled. Not only at her, but at myself for the way my body reacts to the idea of sleeping with Nick again, even under the dubious conditions Tasha’s proposing. Despite my intellect’s best efforts to shut down even the thought of it, desire prickles inside me. Like a living current of electricity, it slides through my veins slick and hot and intense, fueled by the knowledge of how good Nick and I were together.
We were better than good together. He was the best lover I ever had, and no matter how badly things ended, I know he was every bit as caught up in me. Seeing him the other night at the reception almost had me believing that he might still be.
Almost.
Fortunately, my pride proved stronger than any weakness I apparently continue to have where he’s concerned. I don’t want to think about how idiotic I would feel today if I had let our encounter escalate at the reception, or, much worse, had I been foolish enough to let him persuade me into leaving with him, even just to talk.
Tasha studies me as I run my thumb along the rim of the empty wineglass, my thoughts conflicted and my heart pounding heavily in my breast. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on my forearm, her brown eyes soft with concern.
