by Katy Evans
I glance up at him as he watches me patiently. “Saint wants me to stay away from you.”
All my hesitations flee when he gives me his wickedly devious smirk, and says, “I don’t think I will.”
His embrace tightens a little too noticeably around me, and he lifts my face. “My first priority is to look at you. Then I’m going to touch, and then I’m going to taste.”
His eyes darken. He studies me for a reaction, and his smile fades as if he’s seen something that he doesn’t want to see. He wipes the tear from my cheek and then edges back. His nostrils flare, and he’s frowning, deep in thought.
I groan in frustration. “Let’s do something other than watch me cry. Any ideas?”
“Plenty.”
He smirks as he pops open the top button of his shirt. My heart stops as he continues down the line, one by one.
“I was joking.”
“I’m not. Come on, you’ll look gorgeous naked.”
“Close your eyes or it’s not happening.”
I ease off my dress. He pretended to turn away but I can feel him looking at me. I avoid his gaze. Oh god. Please, moonlight, be nice to me!
Why do I care what he thinks?
I walk to the water as fast as I can and notice his head tilt—he is looking at me fully. Completely. I feel his stare.
I dive in, and I gasp at the freezing water.
I rise to the surface to see him wading in, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. I can feel his hunger calling out to me. I expect him to reach out and do something wicked. I’m prepared to stop him but I still want him to try.
“Why?” I blurt out.
“Why what?” His voice is thick against the crashing waves.
“Why haven’t you made a pass at me?”
He sinks into the water and swims close to me. “You’ve been hurt before. I’m not a guy who can make a woman like you happy.” He clenches his jaw and glances back at the party. “I don’t get it. Being faithful to a woman your whole life like that.”
“And here I thought you wanted me,” I scoff.
His eyes darken. He cups my face. “Too much to fuck you up.” He strokes my lips with one thumb.
I scowl. “The guy sitting at the table behind me was making eyes at me all night. I could go find him.”
“Yeah, you could. And I could go after the girls who were looking at me and get more action than I’ll get with you.”
Neither of us moves though. We stay in the water for an hour, and when I crawl out onto the sand, he sighs and drops beside me.
We talk a little, but mostly we just stare at the sky. The bright stars shine above us but I barely notice them. I’m too aware of his hot wet body lying barely an inch away from mine. And his breaths, slow and even, both comforting and seductive.
We end up in his room, which is closer than mine. I slip into a plush resort bathrobe and he eases into his slacks, then joins me in bed. I can smell the vodka on his breath as I lift my head to look at him in the dark. He’s so gorgeous and feels so predatory now that we’re alone in his room. I can’t stop staring at his rugged features. And he’s staring right back.
He said he’d look and touch and taste…
“Do you want me?” His voice sounds brusque, and a little low, uneven. He looks at me with an intense gaze. “Do you?” His hand curls possessively over my hip.
In his eyes, there’s a war. He’s debating whether to make a pass at me. Whether to fuck me.
Do you want me? his eyes ask.
“No,” I lie.
His eyes are dark and disbelieving for a moment. He nods and clenches his jaw. He pries himself away, rises, and puts on a shirt.
“Rest, call me if you need anything.”
He sets the cordless phone on the bed, within my reach, and walks to the door.
He’s going to see one of the other girls. I know it. And I stay in his bed, wondering if it’s the vodka’s fault that I care.
Hands on my breasts.
Wet lips on my neck.
Fingers try to tug my panties down my legs.
“Wait.”
I stop his hand, bringing our make-out session to an abrupt halt. I’m pretty sure I’m ready to kick Trent out of my bed. It feels so wrong. Why does it feel so wrong?
“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were into it?”
“I wasn’t…” Oh god, why wasn’t I? “Look, you’re a really nice guy but I’m not into one night stands, not really.”
When he looks at me incredulously, I groan and rub my temples. Shit. He seems…a little too drunk to make sense of it.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” I ask him, and when he only stares at me, I sigh. “You can spend the night but…no spooning or cuddling or even breathing my air, okay?”
He’s asleep within minutes, but I can’t close my eyes. I’m afraid I’ll see the blue eyes that I can’t get out of my mind—the ones that have been popping into my dreams.
Why did I bring him to my apartment? No guy has ever been here. This used to be Rachel’s and my sacred space, only Malcolm Saint dared venture here—and I hadn’t been too happy about it.
At 5 a.m. I find myself wandering the apartment in my pajamas.
I hate the silence.
Rachel and I shared this apartment since the end of college. It’s an industrial penthouse loft. Painted wood bookcases separate the living area from the kitchen. It’s dark now but as soon as the sun comes up, it will be bright and sunny.
I stare at the ceiling then glance at the calendar. Next month, an X marks the day that Wynn is moving in with me. I’m glad she is; I can’t afford to pay the rent on my own, and I don’t want to leave this place. I also don’t like being alone.
I’ve had three homes in twenty-three years, and I’ve always been the one left behind.
The first time, my parents told me they’d sold the house I’d grown up in, explaining, “We want to reconnect and get the spark back in our lives now that you’re leaving for college.” They left for Spain just after the sale closed. I finished packing and handed over the keys when I was done.
My next home was one I shared with my college boyfriend, Paul. He was definitely the first to leave.
I didn’t used to be so anti-men, until Paul betrayed me. The worst part about being betrayed was that I hadn’t seen it coming. I’d been blind, deaf, and stupid for such a long time.
Paul Addison Moore was good to me, but he was also good to two other girls at the same time. They both knew of me, and were content to be in the background. I didn’t know about them for two years. Twenty-four months and nine days, to be exact.
One day, I received a call from an angry girl telling me she was his girlfriend and she’d been waiting for months for him to leave me, because he promised he would.
I hung up on her and told him some crazy girl had called to tell me this.
He grew very agitated—and suddenly began packing.
“Paul?” I asked. “It was a joke. Right?”
He just shook his head.
We were going to be late to class, so I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and I heard drawers slamming.
“She’s not the only one, there’s someone else too,” he suddenly yelled from the bedroom.
“Excuse me?” I walked to the doorway as I spoke through the toothpaste in my mouth.
The bedroom was empty.
I walked down the hall, my steps growing more hurried by the second, and I found him in the living room with his backpack and suitcase.
I froze.
“I don’t love you, Regina.”
That was the hundredth time he said the L word to me. He had said it while he lived with me, slept with me, called me just to tell me he was thinking of me.
He stood in the doorway as the toothbrush hung from my mouth. I must have looked awful. It felt like he’d shoved the toothbrush down my throat and stabbed my heart with it.
Finally, I took it from my mouth and sent it flying ac
ross the room at him.
“You!” I cried.
He picked it up and swiped the toothpaste from his shirt. “Very mature, Gina.”
I couldn’t talk to him, I couldn’t breathe.
I’d prepared meals based on this guy’s vegetarian tastes; I stopped eating meat for him. I had a map of my future and his name was splattered across every country. But on Paul’s map, Gina was a wasteland, the thing you left behind.
I burst out crying and put my head in my hands.
He didn’t say more. He left and closed the door. I heard the wheels of his luggage fade into the distance. And after two years together, after a hundred I love yous, after falling in love for the first time, I never heard from that cheating, lying asshole again.
I’m loyal to a fault. Even now, in an odd sense, I’ve been loyal to him. I’ve never been able to love again. He took my heart, the warm T-shirts that I used to sleep in, my trust, my hopes. He left me too scarred to ever feel that kind of happiness again. He walked out the door, leaving me to wonder if I was simply that foolish, or simply not enough.
MORNING AFTER
In the morning, I wake up after an hour of sleep, thinking about the night before. I really can’t believe how wild and luxurious the club was and I’m obviously one of the few who wasn’t completely wasted by the time I got home. I think about the drunk guy sleeping in my bed, and how, if I’d have gone through with it, the last man I’d slept with would no longer be Paul.
And then I think of Tahoe. God. Sexy, beastly Tahoe. I really hope I don’t have to see him again, at least not until Rachel and Saint return from their honeymoon, which Rachel said in a short text they were extending for two weeks.
I climb off the sofa and make my way to the kitchen, turning on my cell phone. I see I have a message from Wynn and I click Play.
“So, the guy you brought home? Emmett knows him. How did that go? Tell me! Also, I have to talk to you. Call me, okay?”
I open the fridge to pull out my fresh coffee beans, grind them, and dial Wynn’s number while I wait for my coffee to brew. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Gina. Emmett asked me to move in.”
I freeze while pulling out my artist mug. I set it down on the counter, softly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know I had that pregnancy scare at Rachel and Saint’s wedding. And it got me thinking about, well, how serious this is. Emmett has been doing some thinking too because…ah! He wants me to move in!” she squeals.
What about me? I want to ask. But I cannot be that selfish. I mean, yes I can, but Wynn is my friend. Wynn has been wanting to find The One her entire life. I think she always imagined she’d be the first of us three to get married, and instead it was Rachel, who’d wanted nothing but a solid career. Why should Wynn be stuck with the young version of Old Maid who will forever be single? Why would she say no to her chef boyfriend because of me? No way.
But I say, suddenly afraid of Emmett hurting Wynn the way Paul hurt me, “Are you sure it’s the right step, Wynn? You’ve been dating for…what?”
“A year! But Gina, I feel awful about not coming through for you after I told you I’d absolutely move in. I mean…what if you let me help with rent? Now that I’ll be with Emmett, I won’t be paying my own rent anymore…”
“Rotund no, Wynn.”
“Rachel made me promise I’d move in with you. She won’t be happy when she finds out. She’ll want to pay your rent too.”
“Nobody is paying my rent, okay? Except the person living here, which is me, alright!” I say.
But I stand there with my cell phone against my ear and stare at my lovely apartment, which I won’t be able to afford anymore. “It’ll be alright,” I tell her, and because I’m too exhausted to deal with the worry of probably having to find a new place, I tell her I’ll see her during the week and hang up.
I hear the sound of a door cracking open, and I turn to see the guy I brought home—Trent—standing fully dressed and ready to go. I smile at him, one of my regretful smiles, then pull out another coffee cup and a bottle of Advil. I bring it all to the table and push the Advil and the extra cup of coffee to the empty seat across from mine.
“God, thanks,” he says, relieved. He pops open the Advil. “How bad was I?”
“You were that drunk?” I laugh. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened.”
“Well fuck, that bad, huh?”
“It was completely my fault. Cold feet after a long bout of…abstinence.”
“Ahh.” He sips his coffee. “I stole the invite to last night’s party. I’d never be invited to those places.”
“You did?” I laugh.
“How were you invited? Wait, I know. You’re incredibly hot.”
“Hahaha. Um, nope. Not half as hot as the other girls there. I just know the guy. Our best friends just married, so…”
“Wow, you’ve got friends in high places.”
I end up chatting amicably with Trent. I find out that he does business with Emmett—he supplies some of the restaurant’s produce—and I decide with a bit of regret that he’s sweet and honest, and it’s a shame that last night hadn’t gone very far. Why can’t you get your feelings where you want them? Why do I sit here and talk to Trent, all the while feeling the ache in my chest after Tahoe denied me?
* * *
I have to work at the department store that afternoon. Sundays aren’t my rest days, usually Mondays or Tuesdays are, when sales are slower. It still boggles my mind how expensive everything we sell is. We cater to the rich of Chicago. The store is pristine and never really packed unless we have our yearly sale, which draws everyone in, if only to peek at our perfect holiday window displays and array of fashionable items. Black Friday and Christmas sales are still a month or two away and there are only so many people I can sell cosmetics to. I’m worrying about my living situation and wonder if I should a) put an ad on Craigslist for a roommate, or b) move.
The thought of moving doesn’t thrill me, but the thought of having a strange roommate thrills me even less. I’m twenty-three, going on twenty-four, and I’m too old to live with a roommate.
My boss, Martha, calls me over. “Gina, let’s organize this, I don’t like seeing Pink Ecstasy on the Orange Flame holder.”
Martha always makes sure the store is impeccable. I like working here because being with beautiful people, dressed well, makes me happy. Nobody is crying inside this store. Nobody is struggling inside this store. Everyone is blessed and leaves with huge smiles on their faces, and leaves us with one too. Everyone says thank you and that’s that. I even have some regulars. So when I get a visit from Mrs. Darynda Kessler, telling me she has no time for me to do her makeup but she wishes I were available later, just before her big event, I seize the opportunity to expand my services.
“I would be happy to go to your place and do your face.”
“That would be a dream! Nobody knows my face better than you. How’s tonight at seven?”
“I get out at six, so seven works.”
I’m relieved to have extra work. It’ll keep my mind off…last night. And it’ll help me pay my rent until my lease is up and I have to move. I write down her address and tell her I’ll be there when my shift is over.
* * *
It isn’t until I’m on my way to Darynda’s place that I recognize the address. She lives in the exact same building Tahoe does. I can’t help but feel a little bit nervous as I walk into the lobby. I’ve been here before, with Rachel and Wynn. Never alone. All I remember of his apartment is that it was too big for just one person. And somehow when I think of him, I always imagine him on the living room couch where I last saw him, watching a White Sox game with a White Sox cap and a White Sox shirt.
I board the elevator and press Mrs. Kessler’s floor when I’m joined by two girls, both of them young and beautiful, who tell the elevator man who stands discreetly by the corner that they are going to HIS floor. He nods and slips in an access card.
“I could just di
e,” one tells the other as the doors shut.
“God, I know. Is my hair okay?”
“Your hair is great. How about my makeup?”
I try not to judge her by her makeup, but it’s hard not to when she’s overdone her eyes so much. I shouldn’t judge her. Our makeup is our mask. Good makeup can hide tired eyes, even sad eyes; nobody will ever know. Still, she looks beautiful, and I have to fight to keep myself from thinking this is why he turned down your birthday present.
My floor comes first, and they’re still fixing their hair with the excitement of women who know they’re seeing a very hot man whom they clearly want to see again and again.
I remember the last time I was in his apartment.
We were watching the White Sox game.
He’s one of the most devoted fans I’ve ever seen. He was rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans as he watched the game, yelling at the top of his lungs when they won. I laughed because it was funny, and then he looked at me and smirked. And then…he started to look at me the way he’d been looking at the TV, intensely.
Saint and Rachel left, Wynn gave me the eye signal that we should leave too. Tahoe made some signal to Callan, and soon Callan was striking up a conversation with Wynn, and Tahoe asked if he could show me something.
He led me to a massive room with all kinds of sports memorabilia.
“Wow.”
Signed balls from the White Sox filled one shelf, while lacrosse gear spanned the opposite wall.
“You’re a lacrosse fan?”
“I played in high school, college. I still play twice a month.”
The blond beast was entirely too focused on me. He was killing me with that damn dimple.
“I’ve never watched lacrosse, not really.”
“You should come to a game.”
God, that dimple.
I started to hate that tiny hole in his cheek, though it felt so nice to have it trained on me that my toes were tingling.
“Sure,” I said, with a shrug. “I’ll go.”
He’s texted me twice a month every time there’s a game: Game tonight. Come see me.
