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Guilt that I’d let things go on with Ali to the point they did.
Guilt that I hadn’t been able to stop it.
Guilt that there were some things about that night I hadn’t told Fiona yet.
But I didn’t want to deal with that, so I just pushed it all down and ignored it. It was easier to wallow in the anger instead.
I got up quietly so as not to wake Fiona. I was about to walk out of the bedroom when I glanced at the picture again.
Ali looked out at me from the photo. She was happy, radiant, alive – and draped all over a younger version of me.
And there was her cousin, asleep in my bed.
I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want both women in the same room at the same time. Yeah, I know that sounds crazy, but whatever. So I unhooked the picture and took it with me, where I stowed it in a drawer in my office desk.
Then I took a shower and tried to wash away whatever this was I was feeling.
Didn’t work.
I was lacing up my boots in the den when she opened the bedroom door. She looked gorgeous as hell, with the sheet just barely covering her breasts.
God, I wanted her so much.
Which is exactly why I shouldn’t have gone to LA. Why I should have thought this through. Why I shouldn’t have brought her back here.
I couldn’t stop being angry at her – but I couldn’t stop wanting her, either.
(couldn’t stop feeling guilty about Ali
couldn’t stop feeling guilty about what I did)
And that was fucking with me in a major way.
So I just went with what felt safest: not feeling anything at all.
“I didn’t hear you getting ready,” she said, a little surprised.
I kept my voice as even-keeled as I could. “I showered in the other bathroom so I wouldn’t wake you up.”
“You could have,” she said with a seductive little smile. “I wouldn’t have minded… I could have even joined you.”
I thought about the water spraying down on both of us, me pressing her naked against the tiles, grabbing her wet hair, taking her from behind –
Fuck, I wanted her so bad.
Just get through this. Shut it off and go do the goddamn meeting and just get through this.
“You should go get ready,” I said. “It’s almost nine. We need to leave soon.”
As she stood there in the doorway, I could see the uncertainty and the hurt in her eyes, which killed me. And because I hated feeling that way – especially feeling like I did at the hands of somebody who’d stabbed me in the back (it’s not fair – why the fuck do I feel guilty about this?!) – I got pissed off.
“What?” I snapped.
“Last night didn’t mean anything to you?” she asked. She was trying to keep it together, and she was doing a good job, but I knew she was dying inside. And that fuckin’ killed me some more.
God damn it.
I knew I’d been acting like a dick. I knew sleeping with her and then walking out this morning was an asshole move. It was like I was trying to get back at her, like I was trying to hurt her, even though that hadn’t been on my mind when I did it.
