Did I feel smug? Sure, I did. I was standing at a VIP event in a designer dress, on the arm of a professional athlete who could have any woman he wanted. If that wasn’t the antithesis of boring, I didn’t know what was.
Handshakes were exchanged, and it was very clear Carl had no idea he was shaking hands with a two-time World Series champion. Dash didn’t wear his ring, not that Carl would have recognized it. We had a gender switch with regard to sports. To him, sports were for illiterate clods, and baseball hearkened back to a dead agricultural past. I’d agreed with him and followed the game despite his disdain. Wives dealt with sports obsessions they didn’t understand all the time, and husbands went about their business, loving what they loved without apology. I’d done the same. To Carl, that had proven I was boring and provincial.
“You hurt me,” Carl said, hand over his heart. “When was I demoted to old friend?”
Jesus Christ. Was I really supposed to answer that?
Cherry put her hand on Carl’s shoulder and looked me up and down. “This the Viv who dumped you, baby?” She held her hand out for mine. “Thank you for setting him free.”
My jaw came unhinged from the rest of my head. I couldn’t imagine how unattractive that was because I was too busy imagining what kind of situation would lead Carl to lie about how we’d ended.
I put my finger up to accuse him of something. Not just lying but manipulating this woman’s heart. She was obviously defending him and pumping up his ego. It was nice. Too nice for him.
I pointed at her. “Don't believe a thing he says.”
“It’s complicated,” Carl mumbled.
A weight snaked across my shoulders. Dash Wallace’s arm pulled me away. I heard him say, “Nice to meet you,” but I didn’t feel fully present. I walked steadily on those tricky shoes but didn’t feel balanced.
What. A. Dick.
I must have had a black squiggle over my head because Dash didn’t say a word. He kept his arm around me, pulling me close as he guided me to the elevator, down to the parking lot, and to the valet. He opened the passenger door of his black Mercedes.
I wasn’t supposed to let him drive me home, but I didn’t care anymore. I got in, and he shut the door.
I got my phone out quickly to text Jim.
Don’t need a lift home. Everything good.
I shut off the phone. I didn’t even want to let him tell me good-night-see-you-tomorrow. I just wanted to go home and say the most terrible things to myself.
But Dash was driving, and he didn’t know where to go.
“West,” I said. “Left on Spaulding. Right on Hilgreen. You’ll wonder if that’s in the Beverly Hills city limit. It is. It’s a gorgeous house. You’ll wonder how I can afford it. I can’t. You’ll see it’s behind on upkeep. You can deduce why.”
“He really pissed you off.”
“You’re the one who nearly belted him.” My words were tight and accusatory. I didn’t know how to lighten up.
“I saw how you reacted to him. I’m sorry, I—”
“Because fuck him.”
I was forgetting to be happy. I was in a car with a dream guy, and I was still hung up on the douche who had crushed me two years earlier. I couldn’t control my thoughts or emotions. Couldn’t choose the fun thing over the sad thing.
“He dumped me. He just one day up and decided I was the reason he was a loser. Well, I never called him that. I never treated him like the piece of shit he was. And one day, he gets himself all pissed off over nothing and leaves. And guess who’s devastated? Me. And who’s the one who moves? Me. Who only goes out with our friends when he’s doing something else so she won’t be uncomfortable? Who watched him get his life together only after he dumped me? Who was boring? Who’s lower than shit? Me, me, me. And now he goes around playing victim with all his new girlfriends? What the fuck? He stole everything from me, and now he steals my victimhood? Well, no. He can’t have it. I was the wronged party. Fuck him. That’s mine.”
Was I crying?
No, I was not crying. Given another minute, maybe. But I crossed my arms and, clamping down on the tears, looked out the window as Dash drove past the closed storefronts of Olympic Boulevard.
“You could give it to him,” Dash said.
“He gets nothing.” I waited a minute as the storefronts turned to apartment buildings. “Give him what?”
“Your victimhood. You don’t really need it.”
“Fuck you too,” I said softly.
And wrongly. He didn’t deserve to be cursed. I was still wearing the jacket he’d surrendered so I wouldn’t be cold. He’d known me a total of two hours and had been more attentive to me than Carl had been in five years.
He stopped at a light, and I faced him for the first time since I’d started cursing.
He looked back at me. I hadn’t hurt him—I knew that much from the smile he was trying to hide—but that was no excuse.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You’re something when you’re mad.”
I laughed nervously and looked at my lap. “Yeah. I’ve heard that.”
“Have you ever considered boxing?”
The light went green.