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Alan’s right, I decide. I should go find him. I’ve tried just ignoring all the feelings I have about him. I tried that for years. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, but the moment he shows up again, there they are. This time, I need to grab the bull by the horns. This time I need to just find him, face and…
And what? That’s the hard part. What would I even say to him if I saw him. That I have weird feelings about him? That I don’t understand what they are or what I want from him? That would be a fun conversation.
I could try to be charming, of course. Just have some conversation. I’m good at being charming. That’s what being a model is, really. Charming people. Making them think that if they got to know you, they’d like you. It’s an act, of course. Every model has their own little tricks for how they do it. But all of us are masters at it.
Except that even back in college, before I did it professionally, Ragnar was always the one who saw through those tricks. I’ve always known how to come off as fun, glamorous even. I picked it up in high school and by the time college rolled around, I was an expert.
But Ragnar cut right through that. He saw me behind it, pulling the strings. That was what made our time together so passionate. I couldn’t trick him. He always knew how to cut right to me, to what I was feeling. He had a businessman’s mind. He never lost sight of what was real.
I could go try to find him. I could try to be charming and do my dance. But he’d see through it. He’d see what was going on underneath.
What would he see, exactly?
I don’t know. But I know, as I think about it, that I can’t possibly go after him. The idea of someone who knows how to see through me like that terrifies me. What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if he looked at me the way he always did and rejected me?
No, I decide. No, that is it. I had seen him for a moment at the show. It was nice, in a way, but it’s over now. If he had wanted to stay, he could have. He chose to leave. Chasing him down would just be setting myself up to get hurt.
“Shoot,” I murmur to myself. “Maybe I am lovesick.”
7
RAGNAR
Iwalk back into Gorlag’s home and collapse onto the living room couch. Grabbing a large pillow, I shove my face into it, as if I can run away and hide from my embarrassment. I want to scream into the cushion. But doing so would just attract attention from the other residents in the house. And honestly, that’s the last thing I want right now.
Mortified. Humiliated. Absolutely shredded to pieces. How the hell did I think I had even the slightest of chances with Bradford? I didn’t deserve him back then, and I certainly don’t now.
He’s incredible. And handsome, and charming, and confident, and pretty much the entire damn package! Bradford is everything I wish I could be. Everything I pretend I am every day in order to maintain my position in society. But he justis, seemingly effortlessly. He worked that crowd without even trying. They love him. How can I possibly compete? I’m a fool.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Gorlag says from behind me.
“Go away,” I grunt into the pillow.
Gorlag pats me roughly on the shoulder. He grabs the pillow from my hands and tosses it behind him. “Please Ragnar, it couldn’t have been that bad.” He circles round in front of me. “Come on, get up. Let’s have a beer and talk.”
I shake my head. “I want to sulk in peace, actually.” I hear a quiet giggle and shoot my head around the stairs. That little girl Amelia, Gorlag’s step-daughter, though you’d never guess she wasn’t his, is on the top, peeking down at us from above.
“Well, you can sit here and be the laughingstock of a five-year-old, or you could follow me and actually talk about your problem.”
I sigh and, reluctantly, stand up to follow Gorlag. “When did you become so emotionally intelligent?” I ask derisively.
Gorlag chuckles to himself. “Crash course from necessity. And you’d be surprised what having a kid suddenly slammed into your life will do to your brain.”
I cannot imagine. Especially a child like Amelia, who seems to enjoy making problems on purpose. I expect to see Gorlag retrieve his car keys and lead us outside, to find a bar or club to mope in. Instead he leads me into the kitchen and closes the door behind us. He grabs two bottles of beer and expertly flips the tops off one-handed, before giving one to me.
“Drinking at home now?” I ask. It feels strange to be standing in someone’s kitchen, drinking a pale ale from a bottle instead of the routine we used to follow back home. Going out to drink and throw money around at the hot spots in Atlanta used to be our nightly routine. This feels almost comically subdued in comparison.
“I like to be close by in case Emily needs me. Plus, you need to try this beer. It’s pretty good! Small batch, brewed nearby.”
Sometimes it feels like Gorlag is a completely different person. Where did all of this responsibility and consideration come from? I take a sip from the ice cold bottle and raise my eyebrows. “Huh. Yeah, that’s pretty good.”
“See? Told you. Now, let’s talk about Bradford.”
My shoulders drop and I shut my eyes tight, grimacing at the memory. “Bradford, as it turns out, is perfect.”
Gorlag laughs. “Yeah? You didn’t pick up on that from your run in at the grocery?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not like this. He came out to perform and…the crowd loved him. He didn’t even have to try, he just was. He was dazzling and just oozed charisma.”
