Intoxicated

by Cynthia Dane

  Apparently! “Do I have to pay you for this? How do you know I’m still seeing him?”

  She shrugs. “I see and hear a lot of things around this town. It’s sort of my job. Yet if it wasn’t the private investigating, it would be some other part of my past. When you’ve done undercover work as long as I have, some things are instinct.”

  “I suppose.” I’m still not paying her for this.

  “I thought you should know.” Stella gets up, leaving behind her iced coffee. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I’m left alone at this blasted café, where happy couples, families, and BFFs are out on dates and having the fucking time of their lives. There are a million dogs tied to table legs and hiding beneath chairs. It’s one of the first really warm days of the season, and I’m on the brink of a meltdown.

  “We need to talk,” I text Drew. “About Jason Rothchild.”

  He’s not going to respond. Or, if he does, he’ll quickly change the subject to my tits.

  No good will come from this.

  ***

  It’s eight at night and I’ve barely heard from Drew. We had a little spat over text, I left him a nasty voice mail, and now I’m back to hating his guts. Suppose you could say I’m stewing in my self-governed misery once more.

  At least I have some old vinyl to soothe my soul.

  “What do you do when a man ain’t worth it no more?” an old jazz singer croons. “What do you do when you’ve gotta kick him to the curb, but your heart ain’t in it? Oh, girl, you gone and done it now.”

  I’m not a smoker, but here I am, vaping a little pot so I don’t go completely bonkers. This is what my stash is for. Drew may use his for extracurricular fun, but I need pot to keep my head on straight when I’m mad at some fucker for being a total douchebag.

  Someone buzzes my door. I’m not inclined to answer it. Probably some of the neighborhood kids playing pranks again. There’s a group of them that like to stop by my small apartment building and buzz everyone’s doors. While I don’t live in a converted Victorian, I do enjoy an older yet updated building that has certain amenities. Like old buzzers that sound through my whole one-bedroom while I’m trying to enjoy the sunset.

  It buzzes again.

  Then again.

  Then my phone buzzes.

  “Come on,” Drew texts me. “I didn’t drive three and a half hours through I5 traffic for you to turn me away. I see your light on.”

  Let’s get one thing sorted here, shall we? Drew has never been to my place before. The closest he’s come is where we’ve had a few dates over on 21st and 23rd. I don’t doubt that he knows where I live. It’s not like it’s difficult to find out if you’re savvy enough, and like I looked into his background, I’m sure he looked into mine! (I mean, the man was working me, after all. Hell, he still is!) So here I am, sitting here in my reading nook, staring at the sleepy residential street beneath me, expected to entertain an idiot out to ruin my life.

  “Fine. I’ll be at my place on the South Waterfront if you decide you want to be an adult about this.”

  I stare at his final text for two seconds before tossing my phone into a plush chair on the other side of the room. My vape is finished with a giant blow of air that can only compare to the relief you feel when a giant weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

  It’s while lying on my bed, staring at my ceilings, wondering what it’s like to be a frog – blame the pot, please – when I entertain the notion of going to see Drew one last time. Except I wouldn’t have as much rage this time. That was reserved for when I found out who he really was. Can I actually be that angry right now, when I knew this about him the whole time? Doubtful. That would be silly. I have no honor to protect. I’m really no better than him. Ah, now there’s a thought I continuously come back to these past few weeks.

  I don’t bother to change out of my old T-shirt and lounge leggings when I order a Lyft to the South Waterfront. Sheesh. Doesn’t this feel awfully familiar? Seems like yesterday I rushed to this apartment to blow a hole in his dick, only to start begging for it inside of me.

  Maybe the pot will relax me enough to keep the blow-up at bay. My goal isn’t to fuck him anymore. I know who the hell he is. I know what he’s capable of doing. To sleep with him now only makes me more culpable in my own demise. I suppose I deserve it, don’t I?

  Is he surprised when I show up at his door? Or is he more surprised that I look like this? Dressed like I’m not expecting to leave my house, let alone have anyone recognize me on the street. Let’s not mention the little bit of buzz in my eyes. Bloodshot, huh? Is that it? I don’t think I had that much.

  Yet Drew merely walks away from his open door, silently inviting me inside.

  “All right,” I huff. “I’m here. You wanna be adults? I guess I can entertain you. Since you made so much effort to rush down here.”

  “Don’t make it sound like you’re doing me a favor.” Arms crossed, he leans against his island counter. That isn’t a look of lust in his eyes. Nor is that bite of his lip for my pussy. The man is thinking. Mulling over words? Deciding the best way to throw me out on my ass? I wouldn’t blame him for either, although I should be the one beating his ass with the little purse hooked over my shoulder. “So, you found out I’m still talking to your ex? How many eyes and ears do you have around here? Let alone up in Seattle?”

  “Don’t change the subject.” I meant to snap that. Instead, it came out in a pathetic whisper. I need to sit down. So I pull out one of the stools by the island and help myself, elbows sagging against the marble countertops and face falling in latent disbelief. “You led me to believe that you dropped Jason and were seeing me purely because it tickled your fancy.” I don’t go beyond that. Like how he was clearly getting off on fucking a demonic princess such as myself. I was still the cool girl, after all.

  Drew sighs. “I don’t recall telling you that at all. I had thought about it, yes. I honestly hadn’t thought much about him since he fell off the radar for a couple of weeks. He showed up at my office unannounced yesterday. My plan this whole time has been to drop him and give him back his money. I don’t need it. I don’t want to do this job anymore.”

  Now there’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Not even a good one. Does he really think I’m going to fall for that? “I thought it was your moral mission to rid the world of heartbreaking bitches?”

  “Very funny. You know it wasn’t really like that.”

  “Come on, Drew. Don’t insult my intelligence. We both know what was in it for you. Hot, crazy pussy in return for some cold, hard cash. You were basically a man-ho for hire.”

  “I still am, according to you.”

  “Not to you?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not lying to you, Cher. I’m not playing you. I’m not taking his money. He continues to believe I am, though. He’s very determined to see you come off your pedestal. You really did a number on him. I’d think most of my clients would give up by now, if I told them I thought it was hopeless.”

  “Hopeless? What’s hopeless?”

  We make solid eye contact for the first time since I walked through the door. “You’ve already made me, Cher. Even if you never did, somehow, you would still be too tough of a nut to crack. I’m good, but I’m not that good. I can’t break a heart that’s unwilling to fall in love.”

  “Is that what you think?” My mouth is dry. That also must be the pot. I’m not the type to wake up in the middle of the night suffering from cotton mouth. Yet why would I waste such precious saliva on him? He’s had enough of it in his mouth and on his dick already. “That I’m unwilling to fall in love? With anyone?”

  “You’ve said as much yourself. You’re too independent for the coupled life. This whole time I’ve assumed we’ve been fooling around.” His arms lower from his chest, yet his hands are soon in the air. “Having some great sex before we go our separate ways. Probably when we’ve had enough of each other’s bullshit. Or
you find your next mark.”

  “If you really think I’m such a terrible person…” I almost slip off my stool. My sandal catches me before my fall – or before Drew can leap forward and catch me. “Then what makes you think I still wouldn’t fool around with you on the side? Like you said, I’m great in bed.”

  “Excuse me. It takes two to have great sex. Give me some credit.”

  Is that a little smile on his face? How can he not be angry at me? Totally sober me would be in here chopping his balls off. Again. (Yes, yes, and we know how that ends. The more balls I filet, the more I gotta fuck, fuck, fuck.)

  “You’ve got your goals,” Drew says. “I’ve got mine. At some point, they’ll diverge. Sex won’t keep us together forever.”

  Why am I slumping so badly against this countertop? It’s as if the weight of his words press down upon my back, threatening to cut off my air supply. Only this is worse than when I put his hand around my throat when he’s already deep inside of me. It’s one thing to get off on a little erotic asphyxiation in the heat of the moment. It’s quite another to look this monster in the eye and realize he has the power to destroy me. He only has to try hard enough.

  “Maybe not,” I say. “Like you said, though, I don’t give a fuck about the men I date. Just because I’m using the next one for money and status, doesn’t mean I don’t want some real sex on the side. I mean, you have to know by now that one of the reasons I’m all over your dick is because you actually know how to use it. Most of the duds in this town don’t know their balls from their ass. They…” I sigh. “Never mind. You don’t want to hear this.”

  “I mean, I’m into you stroking my ego. But you’re right. I kinda know that about you. Like you must know by now that I’m infatuated with you.”

  “Infatuated,” I repeat. “You’re infatuated with me.”

  “What? You want me to lie and say that it’s love?”

  “No. God, please, no. Anything but that.”

  “Excuse me.” He chuckles. How could he still not be offended? I’m over here trashing his heart. Next, I’ll be trashing his mind. Maybe his body. He really isn’t as good as he thinks he is. Nope. Not at all. “Come on, Cher. I have nothing to gain by playing you any longer. I haven’t been for weeks. Anything that’s been between us since we first had sex has been purely organic. I fool around with you because you’re fun and, like I said, I’m kinda infatuated with you. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure that infatuation will die soon.”

  I have no idea what to say. Drew’s words hit my ears, but do they mean a damn thing? What does he mean when he says he’s infatuated with me? That I’m some anomaly that’s pinged his radar? That I’m good in bed? That I make him reevaluate his life and what he wants from it? Or is that his lighthearted way of saying he’s in love with me? Love. God knows he can’t actually be in romantic love with me. In love with my pussy, maybe, but me? I thought he was smarter than that. You don’t fall in love with a mark. That’s not how it works. No matter how hot, how witty, or how great their genitals are, you don’t fall in love! That’s like cutting off your nose to spite your face! You’re better off going to your rich daddy and saying, “Pound sand, Dad. Donate my inheritance to charity for all I care.” Drew has been doing his disgusting thing long enough that he knows what the repercussions are.

  So does that mean it’s real? He knows better. He should know better, anyway. Like I don’t fall in love with the men I’m using, he’s not falling in love with the women he’s destroying.

  Actually, maybe it’s not real. Maybe he really is simply “infatuated” with me and waiting for the fancy to pass. Yet that also means he’s no longer working me. If he’s allowing himself to fall into a flight of fancy with my pussy at the helm, then that means he has nothing to lose. No money. No reputation. His only end game with me is to survive our encounters. Whether I’m sucking him dry or going crazy on his ass.

  “I’m not working you,” Drew repeats, as if he can read my mind. “I don’t know what it is you and I have, if anything, but I’m not receiving money in exchange for it. I don’t have nefarious plans to break your heart or dump you in the middle of nowhere. We’re only hanging out and having sex. Now, what you’re planning to do to me…”

  It may sound overly defensive of me, but I can’t help but say, “I’m not using you, either. Honestly rather put out that you paid my rent without asking me.”

  He grins. “Would you have ‘let’ me?”

  “Absolutely not. Because that implies this is…” I puff out my cheeks, hands meeting my hips. “A means to an end. I don’t think of it that way.”

  His approach doesn’t go unnoticed, yet my senses have dissociated enough that I barely recognize the moment his breath meets my cheek and his hand takes mine. “So neither of us are playing the other or going through with meeting up for the sake of money or gifts. Strange. It’s almost like…” My senses return to my body his lips lightly graze my cheek. Here comes the tingles. The shudders. The sensations of physical touch as they light up my fucking life. “We’re a casual couple having a bit of fun until something happens.”

  “Something?” I duck out of his grasp, my heart aflutter and my mind struggling to make sense of what I’m feeling. Drew Benton is not my boyfriend. We’re not on track to get married. Even if his family would approve of me, he’s too much of a younger playboy, and I’m too independent. I don’t give a fuck if he’s richer than half the men I’ve dated. I don’t care if he has a body from God and the stamina to go for twelve hours straight. Drew can be the funniest man on Earth. We’re not together. This is casual. A fling. When it’s over, I’ll look back on it and wonder if the good dick was worth it. That’s it. Please, God, let that be it.

  I’m not ready for more. I’m not meant for more.

  “Either we’ll go our separate ways for one reason or another… or things continue down a course that looks like those love stories you see on TV.”

  Is that supposed to be funny? Supposed to make me feel better? I bet he thinks he’s soooo cheeky, implying that either he or I will be in this for the long haul.

  “I thought that’s what we were cool with.” Drew shrugs. He’s close enough that I feel the brush of his arm against mine. Why are there so many shivers in me right now? Why do I want to scream in sexual frustration? This guy’s hot, but he’s not so hot that I would set aside my fucking dignity for another lay. I don’t want him panting on top of me and spanking my ass a little. I want to talk. I want to remember why I hate him so much and why we would never work out, not in my girlish dreams. The more I’m around him, the more I forget. I forget my independence and my goals for the rest of my life. None of them include a guy like Drew. They don’t include any guys at all! I barely include visions of my dad at Christmastime in these dreams for my life!

  Drew is still waiting for a response. I take refuge against his island counter. I may be trapped, but at least for a few seconds… I’m away from him.

  Although I expected him to follow me, he stays a few feet away, where I had been standing only a second before. “Or is this it?” he asks. “You’re mad again, because you won’t listen for two damn minutes? I’ve already told you my piece. Jason Rothchild is tenacious, but I have the authority to turn down clients if I think it’s hopeless and a waste of their money.”

  “Only because I figured out what you were doing before you had a chance to do your worst.” That implies he would’ve had a chance at all. I don’t think so.

  “Nah. That’s not the only reason.” Drew turns toward me again. It’s like he’s laid everything out on the counter behind me. Or across that broad chest – that broad, muscular chest infuriatingly strapped within that tight T-shirt. See? Even when I’m mad at him, I can’t stop thinking about humping his bones. The man is a nuisance. A public nuisance. “I know when I’ve met my match.”

  There are about five different interpretations for that blasted line. His match? The spark that will light him on fire? The only woman on this pl
anet who could foil his nefarious plans?

  The girl who has finally stolen his heart?

  I need to get my mind off that thinking. I am not his match. Not in that way. Maybe I’m smart or clever enough to destroy his business, but I’m not in this game to make him fall in love with me. When I first met him, before I knew what he was really about, I would’ve played at love to get what I needed out of him. That’s my real MO. Now, though? That’s too dangerous. Having him genuinely in love with me could prove to be my own downfall.

  Why? I don’t know. I only know that I’m not interested in finding out.

  “Think what you want about me,” Drew says, “but I thought I should say something. I’m already putting plans into motion to change my line of work. Rothchild is gonna be the last guy I talk to. Technically, you were my last job.” He’s only three inches away now. “Not sure what I’m going to do next. I was half-serious about that idea to go into a matchmaking service. Maybe I’ll look into that. Hey, I’m privileged enough to not be too worried, but if there’s anything I’ve learned these past few weeks, it’s that I don’t need to be in the revenge business anymore. I’m too old for that shit. Time to move onto something else. Something that uses my time more productively.”

  Whatever this spiel is supposed to accomplish, my reaction is to say, “I still don’t quite believe you.”

  “That’s fine. As long as you’re not angry. Being so angry all the time isn’t good for you.”

  I snort. “It’s not my favorite thing to feel.”

  “So, are we good?”

  There’s still one thing weighing on my mind. Might as well get it out of the way now. “Did you really drive down here when you found out I knew about your meeting with Jason?”

  “Only when you weren’t answering your phone. What? Did you think I’d let you stew in your rage long enough to come up with a diabolical plan against me? I value my life way too much. Shit, I value the time we’ve spent together a little too much.”