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I park as close to Mondays as possible. The day has been sunny, but the sun is dipping now behind the buildings and it’s turning chilly. In my favorite fifties dress and vintage pumps, I shiver as I trot down the sidewalk, and it’s not just the cold. I feel as if I’ve landed in a spy movie.
It’s nauseating, spying on the guy you thought you wanted to be with. Only… When I reach the bar and walk inside, when I see them standing together—Fred and the strawberry blonde whose style eerily recalls my own, a veritable pin-up girl in her red dress, a match for my blue one—I don’t feel as devastated as I thought I would.
Weird.
I stay long enough to make sure I’m not making anything up, that they aren’t just friends meeting for a drink.
Hey, it looks like he isn’t confused about her at all. He doesn’t need time to figure things out. Doesn’t want to take things slowly. No, Fred’s all over the blonde Marilyn there. He’s sucking on her mouth like a vacuum cleaner. His hands are on her ass.
Yeah, he looks like a guy who knows exactly what he wants.
I back away before they notice me and return to my car. Feels like I’m walking through a thickening fog, battling against rising water.
I’ve been living a lie for months now. Waiting for him to make up his mind, to make the final move. Thinking I was the problem—my inexperience, my insecurity. Thinking he wanted me but was being nice.
What the hell just happened? Why would he insist he wants me if he doesn’t? What’s the matter with this guy?
My feelings are a whirlwind as I climb into my car and turn on the engine. I’m upset. Betrayed. Angry. Hurt.
But I also feel strangely relieved. Like I thought I was going crazy, that I was imagining something was off, that I was acting like a bitch, like a slut, like a crazy person, when he was stringing me along and seeing someone else.
I’m not crazy.
I still hurt, though. And I’m really pissed. How could he do this to me? Let me believe I wasn’t good enough.
Hot tears are rolling down my cheeks. I lick my lips and I taste their saltiness. Screw you, Fred, with your artistic ways and gentle manners. Screw your lies and your games. I want…
Christ, what do I want?
“If you’d let me, I’d show you how a boyfriend should treat you.” That’s what Seth said to me just yesterday. Seth with his dark eyes and even darker shadows, with his powerful body and sexy ways.
I’m turning the car about and driving toward him before I even know what I’m doing. I just know he’s the only one who can keep me from sinking to the bottom tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
Seth
Jesse’s here.
I thought I’d escaped interrogation for the weekend. Needed a reprieve after Manon left yesterday. After I realized she still wants the douche who isn’t sure if he wants to be her boyfriend or her brother, and that I’ve been pushing her for nothing. The only thing I succeeded in doing was to scare her and push her away.
Yeah, I needed some downtime to lick my wounds and discreetly beat my head against the fucking wall.
Somehow, with the sinkhole my life has become and the news of my mom returning from the grave, you’d think driving Manon away would be the least of my worries.
Well, it fucking ain’t. It’s killing me. It’s a fucking huge hole in my chest that won’t let me eat or sleep or think straight. Between beating myself up and remembering how she felt, how she looked, how she sounded, well… It’s a miracle I’m still sane.
Now if only Jesse would just fucking go… He’s been sitting here for well over an hour, trying to get me to go out with him for a bite and to talk, and neither is on today’s list. Especially not the talking part.
At least he’s brought me my walking stick.
“Come on, man.” He gives me his best puppy-eyes impression. “You can talk to me. You’re the only one who believed me back when everyone thought I’d cheated on Amber. You stood by me. Let me do the same for you.”
“I appreciate it, bro,” I tell him and mean it. “There’s nothing to talk about, though.”
“Don’t lie to me, Seth. Rafe said your mom’s back and asking you to pay her bail. Said you refused. Said your leg was broken—your other leg, dammit, the good leg—years ago, and you won’t tell him anything about it. And you lost your job because of the beating—a beating you took because of me! Fucking hell.”
Jesus. “This isn’t on you, J. None of it is.”
