by Lex Martin
Maybe slashing Jamie’s tires last summer was a tad over-the-top, but I figured he owed me for emotional distress.
Ethan doesn’t make me feel that degree of lunacy. Yet.
Which is why I should get my heart on lockdown before I get so riled up. I’ll be polite to him and eat dinner with his family, since he’s already asked me to, but I’m not hanging out with him alone anymore. I need to be smart and protect myself.
She squeezes my hand. “You’re just passionate. When you love someone, you give your whole heart.”
“I’m tired of giving my whole heart. I want to not give a shit.” I lean my head on her shoulder and close my eyes.
“Can I offer some unsolicited advice?”
I nod and wait for her to unload her big sister wisdom on me.
“Before you write off Ethan, give him a chance to explain. I don’t know what happened between you guys, and I don’t expect you to tell me, but men make mistakes, even when they care about you.”
I can’t bring myself to tell her the reality of the situation. That he’s going on a date with Sandra tomorrow night. That I shouldn’t care because nothing happened between us. We didn’t sleep together, we didn’t mess around. Hello, he never even kissed me.
But I thought… I thought that we were becoming friends and that maybe he liked me. That maybe he wanted more.
No, he wants more with Sandra. I’m just the nanny, someone he was probably buttering up so I’d take good care of his kids. Or maybe he thought I was someone he could fuck on the side but not get invested.
All of this makes me feel like a bigger loser, but I don’t want to underscore the sad state of my nonexistent love life to my sister.
“How did you know Brady was the one?” I don’t know where the question comes from, but I feel like a boat without a rudder, and I have no clue how to maneuver these waters.
“Hmm.” A big, dopey smile lifts her lips, and her hands gravitate to her swollen tummy. “You know how in art, they say the negative space in a painting or drawing is just as important as the image itself? In fact, sometimes the negative space is an image unto itself.”
“Okaaaay.” Please connect the dots for me, Kat, because I have no clue what you mean.
“Brady is my negative space, or maybe I’m his. But the best thing about negative space is how it changes your whole perspective of the composition once you can appreciate that component. It becomes more, almost like it’s breathing and changing before your very eyes. One minute you think you’re seeing one image, and the next, it’s different. And no matter what the images show, they always fit together perfectly.”
Like those weird pics on Facebook where you can’t tell if the image is an elephant or a butterfly? I’m embarrassed to suggest it because I’m probably wrong.
I laugh awkwardly. “I’m gonna have to mull that over.” This is why she’s the smart sister.
Kat reaches over to the coffee table and hands me a piece of pie. “Mull it over with some pie. Pie always makes everything better.”
I smile and shovel in a big bite. “This is why you’re my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister, doofus.”
“And I love you the most.”
Ethan
The whole evening wears on me, like the brakes on a car grinding.
With Allison coming tomorrow to pick up the kids, I can’t keep them out late to chase after my pissed-off nanny. At least, I think she’s pissed off.
I cringe when I think of her response to Sandra. That’s about all I’m good for. Babysitting.
With a patience I don’t really possess, I tuck each of my children into bed, read them their bedtime stories and cuddle, the whole time wondering how I fix this. Tori probably thinks I played her all week. That I was trying to get in her pants. That I don’t really care.
The second the kids are asleep, I stride into the living room and yank the remote out of Logan’s hand. “What the hell were you doing tonight? Why would you set me up with Sandra? In front of Mila?” I don’t say the rest. In front of Tori.
“What?” He shrugs and returns his attention to the TV, which I flick off. “Mila seemed fine, and you told me you’d go out with Sandra.”
“The hell I did.”
“Bro. For real. Week before last when I asked you about Sandra, you said you’d go out on a date.”
I stare at him as I collapse on the couch, wondering if he’s spent too much time in the sun.
He snaps his finger in my face. “It was that first day Tori brought you lunch.”
A long minute passes. “Really?”
“Yes, dumbass, really.” Groaning, I run my hand over my face. My idiot brother laughs. “Why you acting like I’m making you haul horse shit instead of thanking me for setting you up with a gorgeous woman?”
“I thought you wanted me to explore this thing with Tori.”
Surprise registers on his face. “Have you fucked her?”
“Don’t talk about her like that.” Anger burns hot through my body, way hotter than it probably should.
“Fine.” Raising his voice so he sounds like a prepubescent boy, he asks, “Have you made love to her?”
I smack him with my baseball cap. “No. Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve been hanging out.”
“Is ‘hanging out’ code for some other sexual activity? Oral? Anal?” With a devilish grin, he adds, “You know, some girls don’t consider anal to be sex.”
This is why every father in a twenty-mile radius locks up his daughter when Logan Carter’s around.
Undeterred by my scowl, he elbows me. “Bro, if things were moving forward with Tori, why didn’t you say something to me? Every time I brought her up this week, you changed the subject. In fact, when she came home last weekend, you told me you weren’t making a play for her.”
“Have you considered that maybe I wanted to keep it to myself? That this is personal, and I don’t feel like announcing shit to you so you can make light of it?” Even now I don’t like talking about this. Not when everything with Tori is so new.
A beat goes by before he scratches his head. “Tori didn’t seem like it was a big deal, you going out with Sandra.”
“Sure she didn’t,” I say dryly.
He lifts his chin. “You falling for her?”
Shrugging, I lean back. “I like the girl. Isn’t that enough? She’s fun and sweet and beautiful, and she doesn’t make me feel like an asshole for working long hours. Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Dating Expert?”
This answer doesn’t appease him like I think it should because his brows pull tight.
“What about this isn’t working for you, Logan? You’re the one who suggested I hang out with Tori in the first place.”
“I’m worried, okay?”
“Why are you worried?” I point the remote back to the TV, ready to tune him out.
“Because this sounds serious all of a sudden and you’re only now getting out of a goddamn marriage. One you didn’t want, I might add, and you’re already diving into something else that’s way too ambitious. I thought you might get up close and horizontal with Tori, not fall for her.”
Now I’m getting pissed. “Why are you saying I didn’t want my marriage? I busted my ass to make it work with Allison.”
“Calm your tits.” He waves his hand like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Can you honestly say you would’ve married Allison if she hadn’t gotten pregnant?”
That gives me pause. I drag my palm across my chin. “It’s hard to say. After graduation, she wanted to return to Dallas to be near her family, and I always planned on coming home. We hadn’t discussed anything serious before Mila came along, but I always cared for her.”
“That’s my point. Had she not gotten pregnant, you guys would’ve gone your separate ways.”
“Maybe.” All this talk about relationships is making me anxious. I finally flip on the TV, click the DVR, and immediately regret it when the Astros game f
rom last night flashes on the screen.
Logan clears his throat. “Sorry if I messed things up with Tori. I swear I didn’t know you really had a thing for her, beyond thinking she was hot.” If there’s any consolation, it’s that my brother is more clueless sometimes than I am. “You gonna call her?”
“Already tried. She’s not picking up.”
He bumps my elbow. “Try again. You know you wanna.”
I do. Reaching for my back pocket, I slide out my phone and hit her name. It rings. Once. Twice.
Logan and I look at each other when we feel buzzing and then down at the couch. He reaches behind a cushion to pull out Tori’s phone.
That explains why she’s not picking up.
He scrolls through the messages visible on the lock screen, the nosey jerk.
“Don’t snoop.” I snatch it out of his hand and toss it on the coffee table.
“She’s popular, bro. All her friends want her to go out this weekend.” He tries to show me, but I wave him off. “I’m only saying you better get on this stat before she…”
His voice fades, and I turn to him. “Before she what?”
“Before she hooks up with someone else.”
My fists ball up at my sides. “I already told you not to talk about her like that. Besides, what makes you think she’s gonna run out and hook up with someone else?”
“Doesn’t she think you’re taking out Sandra?” He lets the question hang in the air. “Gotta talk to her before Tori writes you off. That’s all I’m saying.”
Well, shit. Hadn’t thought about it like that.
I reach for his beer, which he lets me have without complaint. “I thought you didn’t want me to date Tori.”
“No, I said I was worried about you getting serious about Tori. I’m all for hooking up.”
Rolling my eyes, I punch him in the side. “You give the worst advice, but I still love you, numbnuts.”
He pretends to sniffle and wipes fake tears. “Love you, too, bro. Now how we gonna get your girl back?”
I shouldn’t like how that sounds—my girl—considering I haven’t even kissed her yet, but damn if I don’t want to soon.
Tori
This bar is like so many I worked at throughout college. Dark and seedy. Smelling of spilled beer and cheap cologne.
But I like it.
Because tonight I want to blend in, which isn’t hard since I don’t know half of the people Vivian invited. Laughter booms behind me, and I turn to see my best friend holding court at our table, which is filled with a bevy of beautiful people.
My eyes drop to the short, pleated skirt I’m wearing, and I tug the hem, which doesn’t budge. It matches the sparkly bustier-like tank top that makes guys take notice.
I’m not in the mood to have my body on display, but I had to borrow clothes because I didn’t have anything nice to wear. Viv thought dressing up would cheer me up.
It doesn’t.
Neither does the bluesy, heartbreaking Rihanna tune blaring through the sound system.
Viv’s motto is “fuck ’til you forget,” but I don’t think I have that in me. I feel men’s eyes on me, and it makes my skin crawl.
I toss back the rest of the mojito before leaning over the bar to order another and reluctantly rejoin Viv’s table. At least I’m not the designated driver.
As the night wears on, the alcohol spreads through me until the smile on my face is more genuine. Until I’m not totally faking it. Until that ache I felt when I realized Ethan had a date with another woman ebbs away a little.
When I’m wondering how many more drinks it’ll take before my lips go numb, Viv links her arm through mine. “Time to dance!”
I let her drag me to the back of the bar and down a dark corridor that opens up to a cavernous room where the club lights are low and the music thumps my internal organs.
Viv wraps me in a hug. “I’ve missed you!” she screams in my ear to be heard over the music.
“Missed you too! I’m so glad Kat had your number.” Am I ever. “She saved it the last time I got locked out of the dorms.”
Viv laughs. “Weren’t you in a t-shirt and underwear?”
I shrug. “It covered my ass.” Mostly.
She can’t criticize me for that lapse in judgment. Her antics usually exceed mine exponentially.
We dance until we’re sweaty and I’m loose-limbed, but when a remix of Twenty One Pilots’ song “Stressed Out” blares though the speakers, it hits me all at once. How sad it is that I got through almost four years of college but didn’t finish. That I’m a twenty-three-year-old babysitter. That the guy I’m working for was probably only hitting on me because I was convenient.
Oh, God. I’ve turned into one of those depressed drunks.
After trading in my mojito for ice water, I try to shake off this persistent funk, but it settles like a fog, thick and suffocating. How much have I had to drink?
Sticky bodies bump into us, and I’m ready to walk back to Viv’s condo alone if she’s not ready to go.
I turn, and almost run head first into some preppy-looking guy. He smiles, and I try to return it, but my face doesn’t want to comply.
I glance around and realize Viv and I must’ve migrated away from each other during the last song because she’s talking to someone several feet away.
Preppy leans into me. “Dance with me, pretty girl.”
My first impulse is to decline, but then I remember how easy it was for Ethan to go out with another woman. “Sure.”
My new friend is handsome. Tall with black hair and a cute smile that sadly does nothing for me.
Thankfully, my body moves to the music automatically, the driving rhythm animating my limbs when all I want to do is crawl into bed and veg out in my pajamas.
I’m already glistening with sweat, but I’m breathing hard by the time the beat breaks into a new song five minutes later.
As I’m twisting my long hair back and out of my face, the guy moves closer.
“I’m David,” he yells as his hungry eyes take me in.
I take a step back, realizing I don’t want to go down this road. Ethan might not want me, but I’m not interested in hooking up with anyone else. Eighteen-year-old me would’ve been delighted to kiss away bad memories, but the college-dropout me is tired of this crap.
The club lights strobe, engulfing the room in darkness when they shift away. I scan the crowd for my friends, but I can’t make out more than bodies and long shadows.
“Thanks for the dance, but I have to go.”
“Wait! I thought we were having fun.”
He wraps his hand around my wrist, and I shake my head. “Sorry. I can’t.”
I start to walk away, but he yanks me back, and I stumble into him. What the fuck? He did not just grab me.
His meaty hand slides up my arm, and I’m opening my mouth to bitch him out for touching me when he flies backward, flailing into people on the way down.
I gawk at the guy, who’s sprawled on the floor.
My skin tingles, and I glance over my shoulder. Beneath the flickering strobe lights, I see him.
Ethan.
He steps closer, his brows furrowed as the music drops out, leaving the steady beat of the drum.
“You okay?” Somehow, over the din of the club, I hear his rumbling voice.
He’s here.
My chest swarms with boozy-headed butterflies.
I blink, wondering if I’m imagining him. But nope, he’s here.
He takes a step closer and gently grazes his fingers across my arm where David gripped me. “Tori.”
The way he’s looking at me, like he’s worried and pissed and maybe misses me? Makes me want to snatch that kiss I never got the other night. Yes, kissing. I definitely wanna do that with Ethan.
Except…
Except he’s probably here with Sandra.
On his date.
“I’m fine.” Crossing my arms, I nod toward David, who is stomping away through the cro
wd. “I can take care of myself. You didn’t need to do that.” I work to keep my words from running all together into one incoherent strand of syllables.
Begrudgingly, I take in Ethan. It’s hard not to notice how mouthwatering he looks in dark jeans and a button-up. I’ve never seen him in anything other than old t-shirts. He must’ve made an effort to look good tonight. Dick.
I glance away, not wanting him to see that I’m hurt. Come Monday morning when I’m taking care of his kids, I can pretend I’m cool, but right now, I still feel the hot sting of rejection.
Ethan gently lifts my chin so I’m forced to look into his eyes. “Did you want him touching you?”
Reluctantly, I shake my head, but I have to close my eyes when the room tilts one way and then the other.
He leans closer. “You sure you’re okay?”
Those magnetic blue eyes stare down at me. Why does he have to have such beautiful eyes?
My words come out too quickly for me to temper the anger in my voice. “I’m great. You can go back to your date.” I barely hold in a wince at how whiny I sound, but it’s hard to sound smart when I’m buzzed.
Slowly, his hands lift to my shoulders, but he backs away until he can make eye contact. “You think I’m on a date?”
Reallllly? He wants to play games? I barely hold in a hiccup.
“Aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?” I motion toward him. “Why you’re dressed up?”
His eyes crinkle, like he’s keeping in a smile, before his attention dips down my body, but I can’t hear what he says because the music is too loud.
Ignoring the way I heat under his perusal, I shrug out of his hold. “By the way, it’s pretty rude to check out other girls when you’re here with…with…” God, what’s her name? “With Sandra.” That’s it! “Maybe you should find her.”
Except the thought of it enrages me, and I can’t help but bite out the next words, which I punctuate by poking his chest. “For the record, I’m not gonna fuck you like a side piece while you date other women. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ve got the wrong girl. And are you really getting a divorce? Or are you running around behind her back?”
