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“As I recall,” Rigger interjects, saving me from my own thoughts, “before you met her you were, and I quote, never going to spread your legs for a man. So you were either lesbian or bust.”
“Is that how I put it?” I cringe.
“Pretty much. You were excited when you met her, told me how funny she was, sexy and sweet, and how she was good with you exploring this side of yourself.”
That conversation with Rigger slowly floats back to me. I did tell him that, it’s true. “Well, you know my trust issues with men.”
“Yes, I do.” Rigger is the only person other than my dad who knows exactly what happened to me when I was young. He leans over, bumping into my shoulder. “Trust issues or not, you can’t help that you’re attracted to the opposite sex. Even I can see that, Vay. Just roll with it.”
I give him a stiff look, then swirl my latte, watching the foam disintegrate as I go back to something he said a second ago. “Sexy and sweet, understanding. Yep, Devin was all those things. And then she met me.” My stomach sours when I think about how different she is now that our relationship is over.
Rigger lets out a hollow laugh. “You sound like me after every relationship I end.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I’m so sick of apologizing to women for not being who they want. Or what they expect.” He’s staring into his coffee, and I take in his profile, feeling and seeing some of his dark right now. Rigger and I have had some deep conversations over the years. But almost all of them have been about me, my problems, my family, my history. Is he peeling another layer of himself back for me?
“I’ll bet you’ve at least been honest with them right out of the gate. With Devin, she makes me feel like I led her on. Says I never wanted her. That deep down, I’m really all about the dick.” His head bobs back and forth, like he agrees. “I know I was cold to her at the end, but calling me a pillow princess? And telling me to fuck off a cliff and die?”
“Whoa.” His eyebrows shoot up.
“I know, right?”
“What’s a pillow princess?”
“What do you think.”
“Sounds like someone who needs to be choke fucked.”
“Nailed it.”
He pulls out his phone and opens the browser. When I see that he’s typing “pillow princess” in the search bar I lean over to watch, I guess to make sure whatever link he clicks on is accurate. I can literally see the smile forming on his face as he reads the urban dictionary definition, and whatever irritation I initially felt relaying my morning is quickly overshadowed by the swift look of “impressed” he shoots my way.
“You should be proud of this. Put it on your resume,” he says, pointing to the screen. “It shows a submissive,femininequality most men look for in a girl.”
“And I would put it on my resume if I were in the market for a man right now.”
He chuckles and sets his phone down. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have been pillow princessing if you were that into her.”
And therein lies the question. Was I that into her? Or was I more into the fact that, with her, I didn’t have to deal with fleshing out the real me?
“And what about you, Rig? What do these women want from you that you can’t give?”
“I don’t know.” He sees a flyer for an upcoming Thanksgiving event sitting on the table and slides it over in what I deem to be an attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts. “Commitment. A future.”
I nod. That is hard to do when you travel the country killing people. “I guess you and I are equally screwed there. We don’t have much to offer our partners, other than a future of lies and secrets.”
“And bloody hands.” Rigger downs the last of his coffee.
Me, I’m startlingly calm at the truth in his words.
________
When I get back home that afternoon, I’m relieved to see Swain’s truck no longer in the parking lot. And bonus points are awarded for not being forced to look at all of Devin’s belongings once inside the sanctity of my condo. But there is a sadness lingering in her absence. I’ve lost who I thought was a good friend, someone I was comfortable with. And that hurts so much worse than losing a lover.
I fall on my bed, tempted to throw a pity party, when Ritz jumps up and lies down next to me, lecturing me with a look. I scratch his chin. He juts out his face, then out of the blue, hops down off the bed.
I hold my hand up in a wave. “Nice talk, bud. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”
