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“I didn’t say I paid attention to everyone. Just you.”
I wished that when he said things like that, I didn’t feel warm and tingly inside. I had hoped being engaged to Bowie would kill that. It hadn’t. Nothing ever would, I was afraid.
“All right then, when did I mention an engagement ring?” I asked him because he had been so accurate on Thanksgiving that I was speechless. Then, I had recovered and run interference with Bowie’s feelings again.
“I saw you zooming in with your phone on some actress’s hand once. You were looking at her engagement ring. I asked what you were doing, and you looked up from the screen to see me staring down at it. You laughed and said I was being nosy, then said, ‘What if I was looking at something private?’ I asked if someone was sending you dick pics, and you shoved me with your elbow, then laughed before going back to study the ring. I swear you kept looking at it for about ten minutes. When you finally stopped, you sighed as you set your phone down and said if you ever got engaged, you hoped you got an antique ring. I asked you what the difference was, and you said that they were more romantic and that a yellow diamond stood out in a way a white one didn’t.”
He remembered every detail of that conversation. I tried not to look as impressed as I was because he might think I was reading into it.
“Okay, but you mentioned two different kinds of vintage rings on Thanksgiving. The ring you’re talking about wasn’t the sapphire Edwardian setting with a cluster of diamonds around it.”
Kye dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. He took two steps until he was standing in front of me. “You made me watch William and Kate’s wedding even though we aren’t fucking British. I was nine, and it was torture, but I watched it with you because you were sick. Anyway, Kate’s engagement ring. You went on and on about it being Princess Diana’s and how beautiful it was.”
I let out a shocked laugh and stared up at him. I didn’t have any words. How in the world did he remember that? I barely remembered that.
He put his finger under my chin and tilted it back some, locking his eyes on mine. “And Bowie was there, too, but his ass didn’t remember. I did.” When he dropped his hand, he gave me his trademark smile. “Let’s decorate this tree.”
I stood there as he picked up an ornament and watched as he put it on the tree.
“I think …” I said, then paused, wanting to make sure I said this correctly. “That it’s unfair to measure Bowie against you. He’s not going to measure up in the friend department of our relationship. Most men don’t; that’s why women have best friends who know them better than anyone else.”
Kye picked up another ornament. “If a man is gonna shackle himself to one woman, then he’d better know everything about her. He should fucking worship her. Because only getting to fuck one cunt for the rest of your life is a real big commitment. No pussy is that good. So, he’d better know her inside and out because once he gets tired of fucking her, he needs to love the rest of her.”
And that was the reminder I’d needed. Thank you, Kye, for the hard shake of reality.
The warm, tingly feeling I had gotten earlier was now gone. No woman would ever be enough to make Kye settle down. He loved women. A pretty face could turn his head so fast, and after a few times of sleeping with her, he would move on and forget her name, if he’d ever known it to begin with.
I took an ornament and hung it on the tree. “You know, not all men are like you. They don’t think like you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, they fucking do. They just won’t admit it. No secrets with me, Baby Doll. You’ve always said I have no filter. But that also means I never leave you guessing. I say exactly what I think.”
That was true. Yet he still broke hearts left and right. Girls had always thought that they’d be the one to change him. They got their hopes up, and then he left them crying in the dust once he got bored or they got too clingy. The man should come with a warning label.
My phone rang, and I looked down to see Quinn’s name lighting it up. I picked it up.
“Hey, you,” I said in greeting.
“UGH! I miss you. My new roommate doesn’t even like Christmas.”
“I miss you too. She her how to enjoy it. Make your famous apple cider and play Christmas music while shoving icebox fruitcake down her throat.”
