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Caring.
A charmer. That’s what the dancers at Sweet Caroline’s dubbed me when I was a teenager. In my youth, I believed this compliment would take me farther than it did.
Untilshebroke me by choosinghim, snuffing the embers out.
Herdecision wasn’t even on a whim. Their meeting seems preordained. It hadn’t mattered that I saw her first. That I’d spoken to her and encouraged her to stay. That I’d actually told her upfront that he was different. His appearance spooked other women, and I wanted their introduction to go well. For my sake. Because I wanted her to understand that he and I were close. And I wanted her.
I don’t think she needed my warning at all. She saw into people’s souls, and she must’ve seen the traces of blackness already taking root in mine.
If I hadn’t encouraged her to stay, she wouldn’t have met him. I wouldn’t have had a backstage pass to see them fall in love, get married, and have a kid. I wouldn’t have lifted as many skirts in plain view to make her aware of what sex would have been like between the two of us. Not that it made a difference. I was his friend, and out of respect for our friendship, she put blinders on for everything I did. Greedy bastard that I am, I ate up any attention she gave me, hoping she’d see me as her friend. And when that wasn’t enough, I flaunted even more women in her face.
Maybe I wouldn’t have driven him to the florist after their car got totaled. Or, when he couldn’t speak, agreed that adding those fucking white lilies to the arrangement on her casket was fine. I’d known from the instant I saw her she was the kind of perfect that deserved the entire thing covered in roses.
But what did I really know? For years, she reappeared like an angel on every corner I turned. I’d been grieving losing her before she’d ever died. Her death wasn’t the precursor to everything going to crap. That shit snowball began rolling the instant he fell in love with her. Because he’d do anything to make her happy. And since his love for her was instinctive, she glowed, happy with anything he did.
I’m still pissed about a lot that happened back then. Everything he did continues to seem above reproach. He clammed up and made me choose those reeking lilies. So now he can blame me that she didn’t get roses… And where I’m burning in hell anyhow, so can she.
My indecision and pacing has brought me halfway back to my car. I spin on my heel, grinding one of the pinkish petals into the concrete, and face the apartment complex.
Paisley has cracked open the door of her unit. I see a single eye and then her whole body emerges, clad in fleece pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. She sets a hip to the frame.
“Are you going to be doing this much longer?” Her fingers walk back and forth, pantomiming my pacing. “My neighbors started texting me. You’re creeping them out.” She grimaces as she tightens her ponytail. Her arms cross over a form-fitting top, and she stares beyond me to where I parked my car on the road.
Paisley gets a kick out of doing that. Tempting me to look. Making me wonder how full and ripe they’d feel pressed in my palms but never giving me a view of her skin.
My obsessive thoughts of Paisley are a constant intrusion on my day. They are as flagrant as fucking a groupie in front of my friend’s wife before she passed away, and as blatant as the whip-fast sting when Kimber sidelined me for Trig. The difference between the two being by the time Kimber came along, I had moved past showing my manager the dick she was missing out on. I fucked out those feelings in private. It taught me how to hide them when Holly applied for a job at the club. I kept my distance from Holly. But with Paisley? Not only can I not stay away, I don’t bother trying.
The evidence is the bouquet I thrust toward Paisley because Holly says I need to make amends.
Me, the guy who previous to Valentine’s Day would go full bastard and spit that what happened last night when the girls came back from the ladies’ room at Royce’s wasn’t my fault.
“They’re peach. I couldn’t find coral,” I grunt, hating that I have one more thing to be remorseful over.
I went to three goddamned florists whose limited selection included pastel pink or red. Finally, I had to respond to Holly’s text to get a recommendation. She gave me the name of a grizzled old man who had them growing in his yard. These roses smell like her, too. Paisley, that is.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Paisley tucks her right hand behind her back and reaches out with the left. She brings her nose close to the petals, still refusing to meet my gaze.
She’s stoic but polite, speaking to me the same way she’d spoken when I’d picked her up and driven her to the restaurant for our date. I’ll go as far as to say she’s ashamed of our association and what I’ve forced her into. Laughton’s sister intended to humiliate Paisley with her rant, so I’m not sure why I expect a different reaction from my girlfriend. But it rankles me, nonetheless. The only reason Paisley should be thinking about Gavin Laughton is the same one I have. Had Paisley not run, then she wouldn’t be mine. But maybe that’s exactly what she is thinking…
Paisley should run away from me.
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14
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“I want you to know that, when you refused to go to Royce’s, I should’ve asked why you hadn’t wanted to go there.”
My lips twist. Trying to avoid the Nordic God from seeing my eyes water, I pretend the herringbone pattern of the sidewalk pavers is interesting.
Apologies don’t come easy for Jake, so I didn’t expect he’d flat out say he was sorry. He’s not especially great with sympathy or empathy either. I watched when one of his overwhelmed dancers cried recently. His reaction was annoyance surrounding dealing with any “bullshit”.
Yes, that’s what he called it.
And yes, it’s on their behalf.
Except whatever emotion someone else’s troubles evoked from Jake, they washed away the instant the dancer left Jake’s office.
