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“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t want to hear about Adam’s tongue. Come on. Respect the room, Meg,” Whitney cut me off.
I waved away her comments. “Whatever. The man can fuck like a god. It’s annoying how good he is. That’s probably why Chelsea came back for more,” I mumbled into my tea.
Whitney’s eyes widened. “Ah, I get it now.”
“It was supposed to be just sex, Whit. Crazy, pull my hair, and slap my ass sex.”
“Meg, please,” Whitney groaned, but I ignored her.
“But tonight I realized I wanted to be more than fuck buddies. I realized that I didn’t want to go back to New York. That I like watching movies with him on the couch. I like trading dirty texts in the middle of the night. I like watching him burn popcorn in the microwave.”
Whitney pushed the tin of cookies my way. “This is worse than I thought. Eat more sugar.”
I let out a sob. “I like his stupid dimple and the chip in his tooth that for some reason he’s never fixed even though he’s got more money than sense. So I realize all of this life-changing stuff, and I just knew he felt the same way. He told me my life was here, for heaven’s sake. He called me baby!”
Whitney handed me a tissue, and I wiped my eyes. “I need more of that tea. I’m not relaxed enough,” I said. Whitney got up and boiled the kettle again. “So, like the moron I am, I imagined how amazing tonight was going to be. I picture Adam’s face when I tell him that I want to be with him. Like really want to be with him. We’d have insane, monkey sex—”
“Meg, I’m going to start squirting you with water every time you go there,” Whitney warned.
I took the hot mug she handed me and stared down into the murky liquid, tears sliding down my face. “This was supposed to be the start for us. So, I go to his house with champagne to celebrate finishing the mural—”
“You finished? That’s awesome! I can’t wait to see it!” Whitney said enthusiastically, but I wasn’t going to let her change the subject. I was on a roll.
I put my finger over my mouth and shushed her. “So I went to his house and knocked on his door, and fucking Chelsea whore-bag Sloane answered in this itty-bitty piece of fabric. I could see her tits, Whit. And they were amazing.” I polished off two more cookies, my stomach rolling. I hoped I wouldn’t throw up.
“They’re getting a divorce, right? Maybe she was doing some psycho ex shit and boiling a bunny in his kitchen,” Whitney suggested.
“Adam was there. I heard him,” I told her miserably. My eyes started to burn again. I was getting really sick and tired of crying, but it seemed I couldn’t stop. The relaxation tea wasn’t helping. “I thought he wanted to be with me. Everything he’s said and done over the past four weeks led me to believe that.”
I buried my face in my arms on the table and started to sob again. Damn Adam Ducate!
Whitney put her arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, sis. If he’s messing around with Chelsea while messing around with you, then he doesn’t deserve your tears. But maybe that’s not what was going on. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding.”
I sat up and wiped snot from my nose, sniffing loudly. “It doesn’t matter if they’re bopping or not. I can’t trust him. I’ll never feel comfortable that he won’t hurt me again.”
Whitney sighed. “It was ten years ago, Meg—”
“And I just saw that bitch in her underwear at his house!” My voice rose shrilly. “I can’t be with him. I can’t do this.”
My sister pulled me into a hug, and I cried onto her shoulder the same way I did all those years ago. Over the same stupid boy.
She rubbed my back. “If a man makes you cry more than he makes you smile, he’s not worth your time, Meg. Take it from someone who knows.”
Did Adam make me cry more than he made me smile?
No.
But these tears sucked big time.
The doorbell rang. Whitney and I went to the living room, and she peeked around the curtain. “It’s Adam,” she whispered.
“No. I can’t see him.” I backed away from the window as the doorbell rang again.
“Meg! I know you’re in there! I see your car out front! Damn it, open the door!” Adam bellowed, banging on the door with his fist.
“He’s going to bust it down,” Whitney said, her eyes wide.
“He’ll go away. We just have to stay quiet,” I assured her.
Of course, Adam didn’t go away. He wasn’t the kind to give up.
“Maybe you should talk to him. Hear his side of the story,” Whitney suggested as Adam kept ringing the doorbell and banging on the wood with his hand.
