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She gives me a blank look. “It’s Kendall.”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. Fuck. Rosalind was Grace’s fake Ren Faire name.
And just like that, I’m hit with a tidal wave of memories from the event:Peeling off her costume, and laying her back on the bed…
“Kendall comes to us highly experienced,” Dash says loudly. “We’d be lucky to have her.”
He shoots me a look, like ‘Don’t fuck it up’.
I nod, still a million miles away.
“Of course, I could always interview her,” Dash adds, giving a blinding smile.
“I’ve got it,” I say, trying to get my head back in the game.
I’m not exactly sure I trust Dash on hiring practices. But I’m also not sure I trust myself to be mentally present in an interview right now. What am I going to ask:So, have you ever knowingly screwed up your own happiness to protect yourself from later unhappiness?
“Let’s do this,” I say, banishing Grace’s hurt expression from my mind. I manage to keep it together long enough to quiz the woman on her past experience and have her make some test drinks for us to show off her moves. We finish up, and I promise to give her a call when I’ve checked out her references. Then she heads out—and I go brew a massive mug of coffee.
“She seems like fun,” Dash joins me, smirking.
“Hands off. Remember, we have a no-fraternizing policy.”
“Whatever. So, how are you holding up? You’re clearly having a full-on pity party back here.”
“No.”
Dash laughs. “It wasn’t a question.” He drops into the chair across from my desk. “So, what’s up with the hangdog routine? You always bounce back from breakups. Having second thoughts about Grace?”
“No,” I repeat, not even pretending to be patient with this question. “What’s there to have second thoughts about? She wants the real deal, and I’ve been down that road.”
“You’ve been downoneroad,” Dash points out. “With one person. Who wasn’t Grace.”
“Not you too.” I groan. “I’m doing her a favor by tapping out before it gets even more involved. I know how it ends.”
“I’m sorry,” Dash says, wry. “Did Grace propose to you?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I grumble. “You know what I mean. I don’t see you trying to lock down any of the girls you hook up with.”
He shrugs, as if this is beside the point and not obvious hypocrisy. “Haven’t met anyone who drove me to day drinking after a brief hello.”
I stand from my desk, pointing at him. “On that note! I’m taking a half-day.”
As I leave my office, Dash calls, “You’re pissed because I’m right! As you’ve admitted in the past, I always am!”
* * *
I storm backto my apartment, mad at the world. God—everyone says they value honesty, but no one ever wants to hear it. Telling Grace the truth has completely ruined the happiest few weeks I’ve had in… Ever? But that’s the fair thing. The right thing.
Or maybe you’re wrong in this case, a little voice inside of me says.
“I’m not,” I say aloud.
My apartment feels so empty in a way it never did before Grace, before her laughter bouncing off the walls. But then, I hardly spend time here beyond sleeping. I’m always at the bar, at events, on the go. When I moved here after the divorce, I hardly made an effort—didn’t attempt to decorate, couldn’t think past the next week. But what am I avoiding here; being alone with my thoughts?
Or just… Being alone?
Dammit.
