Yeah, but I’ll never do that. I take my job protecting Amelia seriously—and that means never dropping her name. The number of dates I go on where they recognize me from that damn BuzzFeed article is absurd. They always want to know the gossip about Amelia. What’s she like? Is she sweet? Have I ever hooked up with her?
It’s wild to me the intrusive questions people will ask about a celebrity because they think their life is open for public consumption. And by the way, the answer to that last question is a resounding no. I have never, nor will I ever, sleep with Amelia. Like I said, I take my job seriously and sleeping with the person you’re protecting is unprofessional. Not to mention I like to think I have good morals, so sleeping with someone who’s engaged is not appealing. And third, after working for Amelia for so long now, she feels like the little sister I never had.
I don’t want to offend people, though, so I sidestep Gretchen’s statement just like I do everyone else’s. “Anyway my head jumped into work before it was supposed to after seeing Annie. I hate to do it, but I think I’m going to have to cut our date short tonight and head out after dinner.”
Gretchen frowns. “Wait. You’re not going to come back to my hotel?”
I get why she’s upset. Gretchen and I don’t see each other regularly. She works for a pharmaceutical company and travels a lot for it. We hook up occasionally when we’re in the same area, and usually go on a date before. There is a difference. But I’m not into it tonight. Annie is, for whatever reason, stuck in my head, and I don’t think it would be right to go to Gretchen’s place when I’m preoccupied with someone else.
“Yeah—I think I just need to get some sleep tonight.”
She scoffs with a smile, pulling her napkin from her lap to set it on the table. “Wow. She must have really made an impression.”
“I’m sorry, Gretchen,” I say again, and I really mean it. I didn’t intend for this to happen, and it’s never happened before.
Some of Gretchen’s icy demeanor cracks and she smiles genuinely. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t know why I’m acting so jealous all of a sudden. You and I have never had that kind of relationship, and I don’t want it either. I guess, I just…” She pauses, looks down at her plate and then back up at me. “The look you’ve had on your face while thinking about her—” She shrugs lightly. “For a minute I thought it would be nice to have someone look like that while thinking about me. Maybe I’m realizing it’s time to readjust my intentions.”
Wait, I’ve had a look on my face? That’s not good.
Gretchen sighs and continues, “Do you ever think of committing to someone? I don’t mean me…just someone in the future?”
“Never,” I say quickly. “Long-term relationships are not for me and never will be.”
I take a drink of my water, suddenly feeling like my throat is too dry to speak. Mainly because Gretchen’s question is ringing loudly in my ears. Annie did make an impression—and I’m not happy about it. I like women, I like dating, and I like to think I’m a good guy who appreciates and respects women. I make sure everyone knows my intentions up front, and I only sleep with women who have the same goals in life as I do—singlehood.
But lately I have noticed when I sit still, there’s a feeling I can’t quite pinpoint—or more accurately, maybe don’t want to pinpoint. It’s why I like staying busy with work and adventures. It keeps my head from wandering.
Tonight, however, after talking to Annie and then watching her drive off, I found myself rubbing my chest to ease that damn feeling. I hate it. I want to pay for dinner and take Gretchen back to her place and spend the night tangling up with her until the feeling goes away and I never have it again.
Instead, I pay for dinner and walk her to her car. We have an unmemorable conversation on the way and I sigh with relief when I get into my SUV and drive away from her—straight for the town that I hoped I wouldn’t have to go back to. Straight for the woman who now feels like the most dangerous person in the world to me.
Ten minutes into my drive, my phone rings and I answer it over my car’s Bluetooth.
“Hey, man,” I say to Ethan after answering. He’s two years younger than me, and we look nothing alike. Where I have dark hair and blue eyes that I’ve been told look grayer in certain lights than true blue, he has dark brown eyes and dirty blond hair. Other than how we look, though, we’re very much alike.
We don’t see nearly enough of each other because my job keeps me busy (read: I like staying busy) and he lives on the other side of the country in New York, with his own busy career. He’s a divorce lawyer, which is both fitting and satisfying given the way we grew up.
“What are you up to?” he says like it’s totally normal for him to be calling to shoot the breeze rather than getting straight to the point. We’re not phone talkers, which means if we call, it usually goes like this:
Hey, man.
Hey.
You okay?
Yep. You?
Yep.
Okay, see ya later.
And then we text each other memes on occasion to let the other know we’re still alive.
“I’m currently driving back to Rome, Kentucky. Which, by the way, gets really shitty service, and my call could drop at any second.” Yet another reason I’m dreading going back there. When I say this town has no service, I mean it’s like a black hole. If you want to make a call, you have to walk around with your phone extended above your head just hoping the cell phone gods will bestow a single bar. My agency told me it’s gotten a little better since I was there last with the help of several shops that installed wifi in their establishments, which I guess is better than nothing.
“I thought you weren’t going until tomorrow?” asks Ethan.
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel. “Decided to go tonight instead.”
I intentionally leave out the part about dinner, and seeing Annie, and then bailing on my night with Gretchen. Mainly because it isn’t a big deal, and I don’t want him to make it into one. I’m just tired and distracted, that’s it. Annie happened to throw me off balance a little, and all I need is a solid night’s sleep before my job starts tomorrow to get my head in the right place.
“Cool,” Ethan says and then goes quiet. The pause grows and grows until it feels tangible. Something big is coming, I can feel it. And if he’s stalling this much, it’s because he knows I’m not going to like it.
“So…uh—listen.” He stops. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Um…shit, I’m just going to say it. I asked Hannah to marry me last night.” Another pause. “She said yes.”
My throat closes. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and my hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
“Come on, Will. Say something,” Ethan urges when I stay silent too long.
But I don’t want to say anything. I want to scoff. I want to curse at him and hang up.
I squeeze the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t know what you expect me to say to this. Congrats? So happy for you? I can’t do that, and you know it.”
Ethan sighs heavily. I hate disappointing him like this, but he knows where I stand on marriage, and until a few months ago, he stood right here beside me in avoiding it.
“I don’t expect you to congratulate me, but maybe to…I don’t know, just try to hear me out.”
I grind my teeth and stare out at the dark road. “Dammit, Ethan. I don’t want to hear you out! You practically just met her. Like what, three months ago? How in the hell is that long enough to know that you can spend your life with her? You’re a divorce lawyer for shit’s sake, you know better than this.”
“Yes, I am, so you know that I’m going in with my eyes wide open. But I love her, man. I gotta take a chance because…I’m helpless to do anything else.”
Helpless to do anything else. I want to punch him in the face.
“Well, now I really know it’s a mistake. Tell me it’s for practical reasons—that she needed to go on your insurance or you wanted a tax break. Anything other than you’re doing it out of a misguided romantic notion—then I could come around to it. But helplessness? Ridiculous.”