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“That was her?” she goes on.
My bottle of water pauses halfway to my mouth, and I stare at her, as she stares at me, waiting. “You mean Ava?” I say like a dick, like who else could she mean?
“In the black lace.”
All over my lap while I was all over her neck? “Yes, that was Ava.” Sarcasm doesn’t fit this situation. But facts do. Or do they? I feel like giving Coral any hard-hitting truths might make this situation volatile, and it’s currently calm. I need to keep it that way. But there cannot be any room for misunderstanding either. We’ve got to put this to bed. The last time I saw her, I threw her out of my office. Being cold and hard didn’t work.
“She’s young,” she says quietly, and I hold my tongue, not feeling the need to defend our relationship. “Does she know about us?”
I give her a sharp look, desperate to tell her there is nous. “Coral, I’m in love with her.”
She laughs, and it’s really fucking insulting. Because the Lord of the Sex Manor isn’t capable of love. “She can’t give you what you need.”
Oh Jesus, not her as well. Why the fuck do all these women think they know what I need? I don’t entertain her statement. I sit back, crossing one leg over the other, and take some water to moisten my drying mouth. Coral looks at the bottle, where historically a glass of vodka would have been.
“You’ve stopped drinking,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was time,” I reply, and she nods, dropping her eyes briefly, fiddling with her fingers, before looking back at me.
“So that’s it? You’re turning your back on everything you were? If she loved you, she wouldn’t want you to change.” She sits forward more, her hand reaching across the table between us. “I wouldn’t want you to change, Jesse.”
I smile, and it’s really fucking sad. “And that is why you’re not the one for me, Coral.”
She retracts her hand, her face falling. And I see it finally sink in. “What?”
“The man you’ve slept with? Got drunk with? Played with? That isn’t who I am, Coral. And just the fact you wouldn’t want to change me means I could never love you.”
Her eyes drop, and she laughs to herself, putting her head in her hands, and I remain where I am, waiting for her next insult. Her next move. A good five minutes pass with nothing, and I start to get twitchy, constantly looking down at my watch. Then she abruptly stands, looking at me, and I see her eyes are full of tears. “I just—” She clears her throat, glancing away, as if she can’t bear to look at me. “Do you mind if I use the ladies’?”
“Of course.” I slowly lift a hand and point to the door. “You can use the one in the spa. You know where it is.” It’s a bit farther than the nearest one, but at least she won’t have to walk through the summer room with a face stained with tears. Because they’re coming.
Her laughter is really awkward. “Yeah, I know where it is.” She walks off, and I catch her discreetly wiping at her eyes as she goes.
The door shuts, and I stand, looking at my watch again before I down the rest of my water and throw the bottle in the bin under my desk, stuffing my hands in my pockets and starting to pace, wondering at what point it’s acceptable to instigate her departure. I don’t know, but she’s not thrown herself at me this time, which is an improvement on all others. Tread carefully.
Back and forth I go, for over twenty minutes. I eventually resort to venturing out of my office to look for her, worried she might have relocated her sly side and hit the bar.
I look left and right when I leave, heading away from the summer room and entering the spa area. I pass the pool, the steam rooms, the sauna, and reach the ladies’. I tap on the door. “Coral?” I call, listening. No answer. I push the door open slightly, scanning the space. Empty. “Coral, are you in here?” I hear a snivel and let myself in, walking down the line of cubicles. I find her in the last one, sitting on the lid of the toilet, sobbing her heart out.
I sigh, stepping inside, then back again, not knowing what to do. Then she looks up at me, a wreck of a woman, her body wracked with the force of her cries.
“I’m sorry,” she sobs, yanking off some toilet paper and rubbing at her nose. “I’ve been so stupid.”
My face twists, and I lower to my haunches, but I don’t touch her. Just pull off more paper and hold it out, and she smiles meekly through her snivels, accepting. “I’m not very good at this,” I say like a dickhead.
“What, emotional women?”
“Yeah.” I’ve had the pleasure of a few recently, but Coral doesn’t need to know that. It was so much easier to deal with the women of The Manor when I was full of vodka. It never needed to get this far, because the answer when a woman came knocking and threw herself at me was to indulge her. Fuck her.
Build their hopes up.
And now I’m dashing them.
Both unintentional.
