“I know.”
“What?” Paul asks, causing us to giggle. I’m so busted.
“Nothing,” Neena replies. “Mom’s just over here using her lips as a thermometer.”
“Well, I thought I was subtle,” I sigh.
Neena smiles. “Night, guys.” She waves and heads up the stairs.
With nowhere else to look, Paul and I look at each other. I have no idea what to say about our kiss. So, for now, I’ll avoid it.
“About the kiss,” Paul says.
Scratch avoiding it.
“Let’s table it until tomorrow,” I pipe up. “It’s been a long day. We’re all tired.”
He nods once, sliding his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Well, you go on up to bed, I got the dishes.”
“Are you sure?” For some reason, no words have ever sounded sweeter. I can’t remember the last time someone did the dishes for me. Even if it means just loading the dishwasher or clearing the table.
“Yep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I trudge up the stairs. Climbing into bed, I flop down and bury myself under the covers. I try counting sheep. I try naming all fifty states in alphabetical order. I try it all. But sleep escapes me because my mind keeps turning back to Paul and the kiss, and how he confessed he still loves me.
And how I still love him.
He’s getting to me.
I’m officially in the vortex of the suck.
“Last weekend we left off where you and Clara were butting heads about her new . . . managerial methods.”
“Is that what we’re calling them?” I chuckle.
“Did anyone show up for the paint party?”
I scrub the length of my face with the back of my hands a few times, applying pressure with the knuckles, and prepare myself for the trip down memory lane.
When Sunday evening rolled around, Marcus and I were three-beers deep at a bar about ten minutes from the office. I’d driven by the office on the way to the bar about twenty minutes before everyone should have been there. Clara’s car was the only one in the parking lot. Being a young, arrogant ass, I continued on even though I knew deep down what I was doing officially made me an asshole. But I told myself she deserved it. Even after three beers, I was working hard not to think about Clara; willing myself not to think about how none of the staff probably showed up. I was trying not to imagine how she was undoubtedly going to ream me when I saw her again, and how I probably deserved it . . . sort of. I hated that maybe, deep down, I felt bad. There was absolutely no reason for me to feel bad. She was kind of an asshole, too. Just in a different way than me. I needed to get my mind off things; find a distraction. The two women that had just taken seats across from where we sat at the bar did the trick.
Distraction found.
With a jut of my chin, I motioned for the bartender to put their drinks on my tab.
“Which one are you going for?” Marcus asked as he lifted his glass in a silent toast to the ladies. The women smiled, glancing at each other before looking back at Marcus. You would think his height would make it difficult for him to get women, but it was quite the contrary. There would always be one intrigued by the idea of hooking up with a little person. He was at perfect eye level, after all. Maybe they were just curious. The list of women interested ran a mile long. But I’ll be damned if more often than not, that one hookup would turn into several. Marcus always joked he had a cock of gold, and I didn’t doubt it.
“Either one will do.” I shrugged. Women were all the same to me then. I had no desire to settle down . . . at all. Settling down meant losing my freedom, and my freedom was too precious to me. I needed to be able to pack up on a whim and hop a plane to Brazil, or anywhere, if I felt the need. Having a girlfriend or wife wouldn’t allow that luxury.
“What’s with you today?” he asked, his face scrunched up. “You seem . . . off.”
Sitting up straight, I widen my eyes in an attempt to look full of pep. “Nothing.”
Marcus eyed me with an inquisitive brow. “You worried about the shrew?”
“Pfft. Why would I be?” I feigned.
“She’s going to breathe fire in our faces tomorrow,” Marcus grumbled before popping the peanut he just shelled into his mouth.
I gave another nonchalant shrug. I wished he’d stop talking about her already. “She’ll get over it.” The side of his mouth quirked up as if he didn’t believe me. I did not want to discuss Clara with Marcus. I needed to change the subject. “I’m hungry, bro. You wanna order some food?”
He tilted his head as he snorted and took a swig of his beer. I wasn’t fooling him. But he didn’t push. After eating some cheap, grease-filled dinner, having two more beers, and playing a game of darts, I drove Marcus to his home behind the office. It was just past ten when we passed the front of the office and noticed only Clara’s shitty little car in the lot.
“Looks like no one showed up,” Marcus pointed out, snorting out a laugh.