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“You wouldn’t?” I could think of plenty of things I’d change. Not having my almost-ex-wife turn up to my sister’s wedding and ruin a good thing, for one.
He shook his head, ran a hand down his face. “Nope, I think it happened the way it was supposed to. But let’s not talk about the mess I’ve managed to make of my life. Let’s talk about you and the fact you kissed Chase.Chase.”
“I don’t know if there’s much to say about that, either, to be honest.”
He gaped. “How can there not be? It’s Chase, and you.Together. That warrants a conversation, does it not?”
I certainly thought so. “That would benot, according to her, because—and I quote—she ‘doesn’t want to be another woman I throw away’.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, confirming that it sounded as bad as I thought it did. “She said that?”
“She did.”
“To your face?”
“Yup. Along with the fact she loves me, as a friend and business partner, but doesn't want to be in a relationship with me.”
“Fuck.”
“That about sums it up, yes.” I took the bottle of whiskey sitting between us and tipped it to my lips, letting the liquid cut a trail down my throat and to my stomach.
We passed the bottle back and forth until there was nothing left. I got another, knowing that I would regret it in the morning but not giving a single fuck about it right now.
“You’re in love with one woman and still married to another, and I kissed...”
“Chase.”
“Chase,” I echoed.
“I guess we’re both fucked,” he said with a low, rumbling chuckle.
“Cheers to that.” I slumped further into the couch cushions and let my focus blur. I guess it was like she said, we needed to pretend like it never happened—just like before—but how was I actually supposed to do that? Every time I closed my eyes I saw her, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes alight, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Fuck. Was I in love with her?
It was nevera good sign to wake up after a big night and still be drunk. As far as I was concerned, it was worse than a hangover. I couldn’t remember the last time it had happened, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise given the ungodly amount of whiskey Nash and I had consumed yesterday. Even now, I could smell it leaking out of my pores; my stomach gave a roll. Eating should have helped the situation but, evidently, I canceled out any positive effect with more whiskey. And more whiskey. And more whiskey.
I pulled myself up, stumbling to the bathroom and into the shower, my head spinning. I just needed to stand under the spray for a minute, maybe an hour, and then I’d be okay. Or slightly more human at the very least.
Fragments of conversation came back to me as I dipped my head under the water, letting the flow soak my hair and run over my ears, drowning the world out. I was no closer to knowing what the fuck to do about the situation. Part of me said that I should forget, like Chase said, while another was sure that was a physical impossibility. I would never be able to scrub the feel of her from my mind. Even now the shape of her hips was a ghost against my palms.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
How the hell was I supposed to see her today and count stock like everything was normal? When everything was so far from fucking normal. Would she have changed her mind? Would she want to talk about it today? I wanted the answer to be yes, but didn’t feel confident it would be.
There was no sign of Nash on the couch, or anywhere else in the apartment, by the time I dragged my ass out of the shower. The only signs that he had been there at all was a clean kitchen, a full coffee pot, and a note on the counter saying that he’d be heading back to LA in a few days, and might be there a while.
After refusing to talk about the situation for the better part of the day, the whiskey eventually wore him down and once the words started flowing I didn’t have a hope of shutting him up. Despite their shaky start, what with Jemma thinking Nash was married when they first slept together—well, I guess Nashwasstill married when they slept together, but they were separated. Anyway, they got past that and, from the sound of it, shit got serious real fast. But Jemma walked away because she didn’t want to be the reason Nash didn’t try and make things work with his wife.
Last night he’d said there was nothing to work out with Nadia and, yet, he was going back to LA andmight be there a while? That didn’t sound good but I had my own problems right now. I’d check in with him later.
Even with a gallon of water and Tylenol, I could still feel a steady drum in my temples as I let myself into Rudi Blue. The door gave a groan that was probably relatively quiet but in my head sounded like a thunderclap. I winced.
Chase was at the bar, propped on a stool, attention focused on the laptop in front of her. Was it the same stool? The one she’d been sitting on when we—don’t think about it.
She turned, her dark eyes wide as they traveled down to my feet then back up in a swift perusal. “Jesus, are you okay?”
